21stcenturywitchcraft - Tumblr blog

21stcenturywitchcraft · 30 days ago

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fuuuuuuuuck… feed me more remmick please

Baked In Blood

summary: Driven by kindness, you walk to a secluded house every day, leaving freshly baked pies for the mysterious man who never shows himself. But when your neighbor, Mrs. Hatcher, is violently killed one night, everything changes. As fear spreads through the town, the man you've been silently serving steps into your life—and the true, terrifying nature of his obsession begins to unravel.

warnings: non-con, dub-con, explicit content, dirty talk, mentions of blood and murder, forest sex, prey and predator dynamics

pairing: dark!remmick x fem!reader

words: 6k

based off this request

The air was thick with that early morning quiet — not cold, but not warm yet either. Just still. Hushed. Like the world hadn’t quite decided to wake up. The pie in your hands was still warm, warmed in a red gingham towel that gave a slight aroma of sugar and cinnamon. You carried it like you always did, how you carried it to his house every morning. Steady, careful, both hands under the dish so the heat didn’t slip through and burn your fingers.

You took the long way, even though you didn’t have to. Past the lot where the hydrangeas used to grow, Past the old gas station that hadn’t sold gas in years. The street was empty, save for a squirrel darting across the sidewalk and a newspaper half soaked in dew.

You liked mornings like this. Quiet ones. Nobody needing anything from you yet.

His house sat at the far end of the block, past where the road cracked deeper and the shade settled in early. You could barely see the roofline through the trees most days. No cars in the drive. No signs of the sun shining into his house in the mornings, windows and curtains closed. Just that porch with the crooked step and the step and the front door that never opened.

You didn’t know who he was. No one really did.

You’d never seen him up close. Never heard his voice. Just a name once, muttered by a neighbor who looked like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth.

But none of that mattered. Never mattered to you.

You climbed the creaking and worn steps like usual, pie in hand, the porch groaning under your weight. You paused at the door. Knocked once… twice then three times and that was it. Never more.

SIlence only met you. Not even a sign of a curtain drawing back. Though you waited just for a few seconds more. Long enough to maybe give him a chance to open the door and accept the pie you usually baked.

There were signs he took the dishes you left on the little table posted by the chair on his porch. And you needed him to open the door sooner or later in the future because you sure were running out your plates and dishes.

So you crouched down slightly, set the pie down on the small round table. You adjusted the towel, smoothed it down with your fingers. And then left like you always did. Same way you came. With your back turned you never saw the figure that stood by the window– shifting the curtain ever so slightly to watch you leave.

It was a good twenty five minutes by the time you reached your gates, your rhoughts still back at that old house. You’d never gotten anything in return except for an empty door. But it didn’t stop you. Some things couldn’t be helped, and kindness was one of them. It was just who you were.

You didn’t know why you were this way– always looking out for others, always taking the time to lend a hand, even if it meant nothing in return. Maybe it was because your mama had always taught you that small acts of kindness could make all the difference in a world that could be a little too harsh and unyielding sometimes. Or maybe it was just your heart, too damn big for its own good.

You’d seen people look at you strangely when you held the door open for them or when you offered a smile to the grumpy old guy who owned a small grocery store cross the street who barely even returned the smile. But you didn’t mind. You’d always been this way, and you’d always keep doing it— whether it was helping your neighbor Mrs Hatcher with her groceries or just leaving one too many baked goods for a man who never even bothered to show his face.

As you reached the steps of your porch, you noticed Mrs Hatcher was sitting outside again, her rocking chair creaking steadily. The morning sun barely touched her, casting her face in a sharp light that made her look even more critical than usual. You almost didn’t want to stop, but you were too polite, so you gave her a quick wave as you neared the gate.

She didn't wave back. Not like how she would regularly do so. Instead, she looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, the silence between you both felt a little too thick. “Been out walking again, huh?” she said, her voice carrying the same sharpness it always did, but now there was something else in it— a little more judgement, a little less warmth than usual.

You nodded. “Just dropped something off.”

Her eyes flickered toward the street, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like it had a mind of its own. “And what’s that, exactly? Your ‘good deed’ for the day?” You shifted on your feet, a little uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Just took the guy that lives in that old house near the woods a pie. I baked it in the morning.”

Mrs Hatcher raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as if shw was trying to make some sense of you. “That house,” she started slowly, like she was comprehending her own words in her head before letting them out, “It ain’t one for pies, sugar. And it ain’t one for kindness neither. You might want to stop before you‘re the only one left out there handing things to a ghost.”

You felt a small flutter in your chest, but you didn’t show it. Sure you’ve heard the whispers about that house— from the strange way it sat, half hidden behind thick trees, the rumours that no one had ever seen the man who supposedly lived there. People called him strange, distant, dangerous even, but it didn’t faze you. You didn’t need to know him to know that everyone deserved a little kindness.

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” you said simply, smiling. “He’s always been taking them in.”

Mrs Hatcher’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Is that so huh?” She leaned forward, the creaking of her chair louder now, her tone dripping with a subtle challenge. “Well, maybe he don’t mind. But I’m telling you sugar, one day you’ll find out kindness don’t always come back around the way you think it will.”

You didn’t know why, but there was something in the way she said it that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Something that didn't sit right. But you ignored it, like you always did with her not bothering to listen to any of the bullshit any more, you just gave a simple smile and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a half smile before stepping toward your front door.

The last thing you heard before you entered was Mrs Hatcher’s voice, barely above a murmur, like she was talking to herself. “Just be careful, girl. There’s kindness… and then there’s being a fool for it, and that’s you right now.”

You didn’t let it bother you. It was just Mrs Hatcher, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, her words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, you wondered if there might be more to her warning then you realized.

Everyone was shocked to hear the news, but nobody could say they were surprised.

It wasn’t the kind of thing that was completely unexpected in a place like this. The kind of place where people get to be known by their routines, their quirks and their habits. So when the sheriff made his rounds, grim faced and speaking low, people leaned in a little closer, nodding pretending they didn’t already know.

Mrs Hatcher had been found in her chair— rocking still, like she was just taking one of her usual evening naps. But this time, her chair wasn’t creaking from the wear of decades. It was still in a way it never had been before. Her neck, torn open, blood spread thick across the porch, pooling like dark wine against the old wood.

It was late, the street bathed in that heavy hush. The silence clung to the scene, to the dark windows and the front door that creaked ever so slightly due to the wind.

But it wasn’t just the manner of her death that had the town rattled. It was the fact that it had happened right there. Just a few houses down from where you could practically hear the crickets and see the stars in their endless stretch above. Mrs Hatcher had never been the type to keep quiet. She knew too much, talked too loud, watched too long— and all her sharp words, there was always a thin, hidden thread of fear running underneath them.

The sheriff said it was too early to say much. But you didn’t need to be a damn detective to know that whatever had happened to Mrs Hatcher, it had come from the deep shadows beyond the streetlight’s reach. And that, as always, made you nervous.

You stood at the edge of the gathering, the murmurs of the townsfolk was a distant hum as your eyes were just fixed on Mrs Hatcher's porch. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

As you begin to take a cautious step closer, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You turned slightly, sensing a presence behind you.

Remmick stood there, half shrouded in shadow, his eyes reflecting the dim light with an unsettling gleam. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth when he saw your reaction to him somehow startling you.

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

You didn’t answer right away— couldn’t, really. It wasn’t just that he’d come out of nowhere. It was that this was the first time you were actually seeing him. Up close. And he wasn’t what you expected. He was just a normal man. Tall, wth skin pale like it hadn’t met sunlight in years. But it wasn’t his looks that held you. It was something else you couldn't quite take hold on.

“You’re…” The words trailed from your lips, thin and uncertain,

“Remmick,” he offered, with the faintest tilt of his head, the smile still ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “Though it sounds like folks ‘round here prefer other names for me.”

He glanced across the street, toward the sea of curious people that had gathered in front of Mrs Hatcher’s house. The porch light burned too bright now, casting hard shadows over shaken faces and murmured prayers. Someone was crying, but no one had dared to step past the old woman’s front gate. No one even noticed him. Not with the chaos. Not with the way the fear made them all look anywhere but the dark.

“Hell of a night,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice curing like smoke in the stillness.

Then he looked back at you. “You been bringing those baked goods, didn’t you, specially the one today?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The one in the red towel. Sugar and cinnamon.” His gaze lingered. “Tasted real good.”

Unease tightened in your chest, and something more but you weren’t sure if it was fear or something colder.

He chuckled again—low, almost fond. “Meant to bring the dish back. Got a mind like a cracked jar, though. Things slip out easy.”

You swallowed, unsure if you meant to nod.

“If you’re not too spooked to walk back with me,” he said, voice light like he was asking you to fetch a paper off the porch, “I could hand it off now.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then added with a crooked smile, “Seems like nobody’s watchin’ but you anyhow.”

You cleared your thrat, trying to keep your voice steady. “That’s alright, I can just come by in the mornin’ and pick it up.”

You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer. “Nah,” he said, low and smooth, like he was talking to some skittish animal. “Best do it now.” There was something in the way he said it—not harsh, but final. As if he was the one deciding for you instead.

You tried to laugh it off, light and easy. “It’s no trouble really. I don't mind—”

“But I do,” he cut in, still smiling. “Ain’t polite, lettin’ a lady like you walk all the way just to fetch her own plate back. ‘Sides, I got somethin’ for you.” That made you pause. “A gift,” he added, like he was sweetening the offer, though the word came off strange in his mouth, like he’d never had much reason to use it. “For all those baked goods. Seemed only right.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the crowd again that was still buzzing around Mrs Hatcher’s porch, not a single one of them looking in your direction. His voice dropped slightly, though the smile stayed. “AIn’t nobody gonna notice you’re gone, sugar. Not tonight.”

And it was true. They wouldn’t. The streetlamps were dim, the shadows stretched long, and everyone’s attention was wrapped up on what had happened. You could simply leave easy right now, and nobody would even call your name.

You swallowed, throat dry.

He turned then, back toward the narrow path leading toward the woods. “C’mon,” he said over his shoulder, his husky and slow with a soft roughness to it. “It’s just a short walk. You already know the way.”

Yeah a short walk… a twenty five minute short walk with a guy you baked for but he never did have the face to open the door, and suddenly he’s asking you to follow him home after the events that took place tonight. But you didn’t give it a thought any longer, telling yourself you were just now paranoid. So you just followed behind him.

The road felt longer this time. Each step kicked up dust that didn’t seem to settle, and the cicadas had gone quiet, like even they didn’t want to listen in. You kept a few paces behind him, watching the sway of his shoulders, the way he didn’t look back once—not even to make sure you were still there.

You told yourself it was fine. He was just being polite. Returning a dish, offering a gift. That’s all it was.

But the dark felt thicker out here. Heavier. Like it was pressing in, one slow breath at a time.

It was a good ten minutes before either of you spoke.

Just shoes on the forest floor. The occasional creak of a distant fence outside of the trees shifting in the wind. You were starting to think maybe he wasn’t much for small talk—maybe he’d changed his mind about that “gift” entirely—when his voice finally cut through the dark.

“You always that generous with folks who don’t bother sayin’ thank you?”

You blinked. “Figured you were just shy.”

That made him huff a laugh. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days.”

You could see the back of his head tilt slightly, like he was chewing on whatever thought came next. Then he added, “Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to keep bringin’ those goods. Thought you’d give up after the second one went untouched.”

“They weren’t untouched,” you said quietly.

Another beat of silence.

“No,” he said at last. “No, they weren’t.”

And that was all he said.

Just enough to make your skin prickle.

You kept walking, telling yourself you were just tired. Just tired and rattled from everything with Mrs. Hatcher. But still, something in his voice made you wonder if the pies were all he’d been taking.

The road narrowed as you walked, the trees leaning in closer like they were listening, their bare branches creaking softly in the wind as though whispering to one another. Crickets had gone quiet somewhere along the way. You didn’t notice when. Just that the silence had started to hum, low and constant, like something was holding its breath.

“You always walk this way alone?” he asked, voice low like he was afraid to break something in the dark, or maybe like he hoped he would.

You glanced at him. “Most mornings.”

“Brave,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound like praise. “Folks ‘round here talk too much and see too little. That kind of silence’s dangerous when no one’s listenin’ right.”

“You listen?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Don’t mean I always like what I hear.” You didn’t answer that. Just kept your eyes ahead, the trees curling over the path like ribs, and the moonlight catching in strange, pale flashes on the gravel. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken this road, but it felt unfamiliar now, like the dirt had been stirred different, like something unseen had stepped ahead of you first and left the path colder behind it.

“Why now?” you asked suddenly, the question clawing out before you could think better of it. “All this time, you never said a word. Never showed your face. Then tonight, after—” you didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. The name didn’t need to be said again out loud.

He took his time responding, just like he took his time walking. “Reckon I just figured the timing was right.”

“That because of Mrs. Hatcher?”

That smile again. Crooked. Sharp at the edges. “Didn’t say that.”

You stopped walking for a beat, not because you meant to, but because something in your chest pulled tight. “But you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

He looked back at you slowly, eyes gleaming in the dark like wet stones, and for a second, his face was half-lit by the moon, carved in angles and shadows that didn’t look entirely human. “You ask a lot of questions for someone still walkin’ beside me.”

That stopped you more than anything. Not the words, but the way he said them—calm, like he was commenting on the weather. Like he already knew you’d keep walking anyway.

And you did.

Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was that same part of you that kept leaving pies at the door of a man you’d never seen, even when the dishes never came back. That stupid softness your mama used to call your ‘God-given curse.’ Either way, your feet moved before your mouth could argue.

Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes. And then you’d turn around.

But deep down, you already knew you wouldn’t.

The woods felt suffocating, each step you took making the air grow thicker, heavier, as though something in the darkness was pressing against you. It wasn’t just the trees, it wasn’t just the silence. It was him.

Remmick walked ahead of you, so calm, so assured—like this was all part of some twisted game, and you were the only one who didn’t know the rules. His back was turned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of you, every movement of yours, every step you took.

Finally, you couldn’t do it anymore. The weight of his presence, the heavy silence, the way he didn’t even seem to care that you were still walking behind him—it all piled up. You had to say something.

“I think I’m just gonna head home,” you said, your voice shaky, betraying the panic you were trying to keep under control. “You can just give me the dishes and gifts another time.” Your words felt like a desperate attempt to break the tension, but they fell into the woods like a pebble into a deep, dark well—no echo, no response.

For a moment, there was nothing but the low rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the night wind. Then, without turning to face you, his voice cut through the air—low, dark, chilling.

“Daft.”

It wasn’t a word. It was a sentence. A judgment.

You froze. His voice, though soft, felt like it was wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat, your skin prickling. You couldn’t tell whether it was fear, the cold, or something else entirely making your body shudder.

Your mouth went dry, but you tried to force out something—anything to break this moment, this growing nightmare. “I—I'm just not feeling well. I think I should go.”

You took a step back, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t even turn to face you.

“Daft,” he repeated, sharper now. “You think I’d let you walk away after you followed me here?” Your breath hitched. Your feet felt glued to the ground, like the air was too thick to move through. You wanted to run, to scream, but your body betrayed you, stuck in place as if you were trapped in quicksand.

You looked at him now—his back still turned—but something about his posture had shifted. It wasn’t just his body language, though. It was in the air. It was in the space between you. Something darker had taken root, something unrecognizable.

He finally turned, slowly, deliberately, and the smile he gave you wasn’t the same one from earlier. There was nothing warm in it. It was sharp, cold, like a blade dragging across skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His eyes locked onto yours, but they were different now—flickers of red deepening in the corners, glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look human but at the same time he did.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

There it was again—his smile, wider now, crueler. It made your stomach twist, nausea rising up your throat.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice almost too calm. “You think you’re safe, walking through the woods like this? Like I’m some normal guy you can just forget about?” He took another step toward you, and you felt yourself sway back, but your feet stayed planted.

His eyes were glowing now, too bright in the dark, his pupils slit like a predator’s. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

You blinked, eyes wide. Your mouth opened, but no words came. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Her blood was so warm,” he whispered, as if speaking to himself, the words heavy with something sinister. “The moment my teeth sank into her throat, she stopped fighting. She knew. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t escape me. But she didn’t stop trying, not at first. She kicked. She scratched. She screamed—but there was no sound. No sound at all once I got my hand over her mouth.”

You could barely hold your ground now, your legs trembling. Every word he said made you want to run, but your body was frozen, immobilized by something you couldn’t explain.

“She tried so hard to get away,” Remmick continued, his voice softer now, like he was savoring the memory. “But the harder she fought, the better it felt. I could feel her pulse—fast, frantic, desperate. It was like the world had slowed down, and all I could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, beating in her veins, until it wasn’t.”

Your body was shaking now, your hands clenched into fists by your sides. You couldn’t escape his gaze, couldn’t escape the pull of his voice.

“She went limp, finally. And I could taste it—the victory, the power. The moment her body stopped fighting? That was the moment I knew. I knew it was perfect.”

You felt sick, but you couldn’t look away. His eyes—those damn eyes—had you trapped, every word sinking deeper into your chest, twisting, turning.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

That was when you began running.

Branches whipped your arms and tore at your clothes, but you didn’t feel it. You were moving on instinct—raw, clumsy, frantic. The darkness swallowed the path, and still you ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging. You didn’t even know where you were going. Just away.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

Then your foot caught—root, rock, something—and the forest flipped sideways. You hit the ground hard, your palms shredding on gravel and bark. The pain jolted up your arms and knocked the air from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, but your ankle screamed the second you put weight on it. There wasn’t time—he was too close.

So you crawled. Half-dragging yourself through the underbrush, eyes wild, hands trembling, and ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled pine. You pressed yourself against the bark, heart slamming against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it. The forest had gone still.

Dead still.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, every breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps through your nose.

He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

He found you before you could move again — an arm slipping around your waist from behind. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, gently but firmly, like you'd simply wandered too far.

Then, without warning, your head was guided down, not slammed, but pressed hard enough into the earth that the shock still jarred you. Dizziness bloomed behind your eyes. By the time you blinked through it, Remmick was already on top of you, his body blanketing yours with a frightening calm. His chest pressed against your back, steady, too steady. One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until it curled around your throat — not choking, just holding. Controlling.

A broken sound escaped you as tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your fingers clawed instinctively at his hand, the one wrapped so carefully—so cruelly around your throat. There was no strength in your resistance, only fear and the desperate hope that he might hesitate.

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

You try to push against his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His words echo in your mind as fear and confusion swirl within you. You feel trapped, vulnerable beneath him as he looms over you with a hunger in his eyes that chills you to the core.

You can see the intensity of his gaze fixed upon you, a mixture of desire and possession that makes your heart race with both terror and a strange, forbidden thrill. And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

You don’t even notice he’s moved your undergarments aside, not warning you.You suddenly wince as he inserts two fingers at once, not bothering to be gentle. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice a low growl. "You're mine now. Every part of you belongs to me." You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, unlike your own which is pounding wildly against your ribs. His fingers move inside you, exploring, claiming, and you gasp, your body betraying you with a shiver of pleasure.

He shifts slightly, his lips trailing down from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You can fight it all you want," he whispers, his voice like velvet darkness, "but your body knows who it belongs to." His thumb finds your most sensitive spot, circling slowly, deliberately, drawing out a moan from deep within you despite the fear that still lingers in your eyes.

You buck against him, a futile attempt to deny the sensations coursing through you.

He laughs softly against your skin, a sound that resonates with triumph. His teeth graze your shoulder, a gentle bite that should be a warning, but your mind is a swirl of confusion and desire. The nightgown tangles around your waist as he shifts again, releasing your wrists to push the fabric higher.

Oddly enough, when your fight waned, that was when things…changed. "There she is," he says, his hands warm on your bare hips. You know you should run, scream, do anything to break free from the spell his touch weaves around you, but your muscles betray you, your body succumbing in various ways as pleasure envelops you completely.

"You were made for this," he breathes, his eyes dark with certainty. He pins you down again, and this time you don’t struggle, the fight leaving your limbs as your own desires betray you. You can sense the mounting bliss intensifying within you, building pressure in your lower core as you teeter on the edge, about to climax on his fingers.

He watches your face closely, like a man studying a piece of art, ready for the moment when it overtakes you. "There you go darlin’," he murmurs, urging you on, and the sound of his voice is the final push. You cry out as waves of release crash through you and every nerve in your body sings with surrender.

He holds you through it, his fingers slowing to a languid pace until your breathing evens and your heart calms, pulling back slightly to look at you, satisfaction etched across his face. He removes his fingers slowly and careful, you don’t even have a second to even catch a break before you can hear the rustling of his belt and pants and you know what's coming. He parts your legs wider, opening you to him again, and presses against your entrance.

“Gonna claim ya real good now darlin’, you’re doing such a good job.” The sensation of him entering you is intense—stretching, burning, and pulling you apart with the thick, weighty movement of his shaft. He fills you completely, every inch commanding submission, and you arch under him, the feeling overwhelming and all-consuming.

His hands grip your hips, steadying you, pulling you closer as he begins to move. He thrusts slow and deep, each motion a deliberate staking of his claim, and your body responds in ways you can't control, meeting his rhythm, rising to meet him as he buries himself inside you over and over.

Your mind reels with the impossibility of it, the way desire silences resistance, and your body betrays every instinct to flee, surrendering instead to the brutal, relentless pleasure he forces upon you. You gasp his name, a broken plea caught between a cry and a moan, and he only pushes harder, his breath hot and wild against your throat.

"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with need, "take it all."

As he bent down to kiss you, you without thinking returned the gesture. His thumb grazed your damp skin, and a soft hum in his throat soon transformed into a groan. You didn't desire it, nor did your mind, yet it seemed as though your body was operating independently, driven by hormones.

His hand snaked through your hair, pulling gently as his lips pressed against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss deepened, full of demand and promise, his teeth and tongue teasing you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. The force of it all—the thrusting, the kissing, the claiming—pulled you further into a daze where pleasure eclipsed pain, and you were lost, floating on the brink of something infinite.

Your body arched helplessly, wave after wave of sensation leaving you breathless, raw, and vulnerable. He quickened his pace, his movements more urgent, pushing you both toward an inevitable release. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by his ragged breaths and your own soft, involuntary cries. It was too much, too fast, and yet nothing else mattered in those moments but the wild, terrible ecstasy of being taken, utterly and completely.

You closed your eyes, too overcome with the overstimulation, he curved his hips deeper into you. “Open your eyes darlin’.” He says getting your attention again. You obeyed, though some quiet part of you understood how dangerous it was—how locking eyes with the one unraveling you piece by piece would only carve the memory deeper.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

The air felt thick, like the woods themselves were leaning in to watch. His nose brushed yours with every movement, his brow pressed to your temple. You weren’t sure when the tears started again, but they did—quiet, unrelenting.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

As he continued to whisper shameful, dirty words to you, saying things like you’d never leave him, and as he still relentelly thrusted into you, his mouth found your neck—then came the sharp, sinking pain of his bite. It wasn’t just teeth. It was a claim. A seal. Something final.

And in the haze of it all, in the breathless dark, you stopped fighting the truth. Somewhere between fear and surrender… you accepted it.

#NEEEED THAT #WANT THAT #remmick sinners #fic recs #remmick #remmick x reader #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #jack o'connell #dark!remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick x y/n

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 1 month ago

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rory culkin as kappa is one of my biggest guilty pleasures bc holy fUCK 😩

Happy Trails

“You always get this wet for strange men, sugar?” Kappa asks as he traces his fingers up and down the seam of your cunt. He’s eager to get a look at it, to see all that soft and swollen, wet flesh. “It’s not safe to talk to strangers. Didn’t your mama tell you?”

Tags - dark, noncon, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, fingering, scaryfucking, stalking, kappa drowns you as he fucks you, creepy and eerie setting, breeding kink talks, hair pulling, orgasms that you dread, murdery shit, idk idk

A/N - hey hey :) we’re gonna have some fun with the various culkin characters in this creepy ass murder cabin. For my dear @cvntoid, who I love so much. I hope this fucking hurts you

Oh, how you love hiking. You love biking more, but apparently this trail isn’t very biker friendly. It’s alright, though. You really don’t mind. Any excuse to get outside is a good one.

You rub a little sunscreen onto your face before you go, then tie your shoes. You check your phone one last time, trying to see if any texts have gone through, but none have. So you leave it on the table before you leave, then lock the cabin door.

It’s a little exhilarating, no? Leaving your phone at the cabin, in some place you’re not familiar with at all. But really, what are you gonna do though, right? There’s no service anyway.

You pull an old, weathered map out of your pocket, the corners of the lamination are bent and peeling to hell. You found it in a little drawer in the kitchenette. There’s this trail that begins not too far from your cabin, and it loops right around the lake. It looks like it’ll spit you out right about where you entered.

And off you go, with your little backpack and everything, your water bottle looped so nicely around one of the straps. You’re wearing this pretty bandana you stole from a friend - oh, how you love her. She’s always worrying about ticks when you go on your hikes. She won’t mind her bandana being stolen if it’s for this cause, you think.

You descend a couple of steep steps and head right for the trees. It takes you a moment to find the trail itself, half-buried beneath long grass and other tangled plants. They stopped taking care of this place years ago, when…well. When it happened. Supposedly. Maybe. Maybe not. Some folks will tell you the money ran out is all, that the property as a whole got too expensive to keep up with and maintain for season after season.

But you don’t think that’s true. A lot of people don’t, really. There are some volunteers that keep this place up and running - well, parts of it. Your cabin, for one. Your special little cabin, the urban legend that it is. Something about some terrible man doing terrible things to women in this cabin, you don’t exactly know. You’ve heard about him drowning them in the lake, heard about him mounting their heads on the fence post outside. There’s so many versions of the story at this point, and who knows which is true? Maybe some strange cryptid hurt those women, if those women even existed. Who knows.

Rumors, that’s all they are. There’s no proof of much of anything happening here, just the stories told by word of mouth for decades at this point.

Rumors, but you can’t deny the way your skin bristled when you first entered the cabin. That horrible turn back NOW feeling you got, not unlike the feeling that comes when you open that one closet in your home. It could all be placebo, though. Right? Do you think that it is?

Finally, you find the start of the trail, though it’s overgrown. Not that you mind at all, you’re an appreciator of nature. It’s a strange temperature outside, sort of humid and chilly at the same time, though not unpleasant. But it is…creepy. All of these plants are lifeless. They’re lifeless, not dead. They’re colorless, their shades of green all muted. And there’s this fog that obstructs your view ahead, and it curls around your feet. Maybe it’s just because it’s overcast, or something. You don’t know.

Isn’t it odd how there’s no sign of life out here? You’ve not heard one bird chirp, and no insects buzz in your ear. The bushes rustle, though. When you look ahead you catch a glimpse of something - a figure, maybe. Something humanoid.

Oh, it makes you feel horrible to see that. Why is that, do you think? It’s normal to see others on hikes, sure. And you’re probably not the only one to stay in the cabins around here. But it’s off season, though.

You can do this. You’re going to walk right past the figure, and you’re going to grin politely as you always do. Your smile is beautiful, you know. So big, so bright. Lots of people love it.

…Are you okay, honey? You seem nervous as you approach the figure, with your shaky, trembling hands. What is it, sweetheart? Maybe you’re a little out of your depth here, perhaps? Not as brave as you say you are, huh?

The figure’s image sharpens in the fog - it’s - he is a long, elegant man who moves so smooth and cool, with his long strides. Things come into your view one at a time. His arms first, and then his hair, all long and wavy, curling where it hits his shoulders. He’s broad and slim at the same time, wearing a worn, maroon shirt with a deep V cut that shows off the toned muscles in his chest, tucked into his brown trousers.

You look down as you walk near him, whispering the softest hi. “Hello,” he says back. Before you can sneak past, though, he turns his foot and catches yours, tripping you. You land with a thud, hissing in pain. The man whips around, “Oh, woah there. Watch where you’re walking, sugar,” he tells you as he crouches down. He takes your hand in his and helps you to your feet, and this is when you see it - his beautiful, beautiful deep set blue eyes, so striking and fucking captivating. They’re sharp in a way that matches the beautiful blade of his jawline, his long nose.

“You okay there?” he asks.

It takes you a moment to snap out of it and gather yourself. “S-sorry,” you stutter. “I’m fine - new to these trails. And uh, thank you. You didn’t have to - fuck.” You wince in pain as you shift your weight, realizing you must’ve twisted your ankle on the way down, or something.

“I insist,” the man replies, still holding onto you. He’s got these long, spindly veins in his forearms, you notice. His fingers drag up and down your skin, tickling you a little. “New to the trail, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m, uh–”

Why’d you stop? Kappa wonders the same thing, tilting his head, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“Just new here.”

Smart. Very smart, sugar. It’s good that it’s occurred to you that you’re giving a little too much information to this strange man. Before it’s too late or you say too much, right? Withholding will keep you safe. It’s never a bad idea, of course.

“Hi, just new here. I’m Kappa,” he says, touching his chest. Kappa smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes, and he’s still holding your arm. He’s pressing his fingernails into your skin just so, not enough to pinch or to hurt but it feels bad that they’re there, in some awful way. It makes your stomach twist. “I know the trail. I’ll walk with you.”

Fingernails. There’s something so unbearably intimate about Kappa’s fingernails, pressing into your skin, gently scratching up and down your spine. They scare you too, though. What unsettles you most is feeling your own heartbeat pulse against him - a steady, involuntary throb against his fingertips. You hate that.

“No, thank you,” you tell him softly, tugging on your arm. Kappa still won’t drop it. Not yet.

“Why not?” he asks.

Why not? No means no. It should end here, but it doesn’t. No, Kappa’s looking you in the eyes, his icy stare unblinking as he traces the tendons in your wrist with his middle two fingers. That horrible tickle it causes - don’t you hate it? Is your skin starting to crawl yet?

He smiles a little, but not with any sort of kindness. “These woods can be dangerous, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” Kappa says, voice low and measured. “Do you think they’re real?” he asks, “Do you think someone might hurt you here?”

“I…”

You close your mouth, words evaporating under his stare. You hate the way he looks at you with his terrible, gorgeous eyes. Like oleander in boom, so beautiful and so toxic, every bit of it. There’s something so very dark about this man. Kappa. It penetrates deep into his guts and flows through his bloodstream like poison, and perhaps it is.

“You’re very pretty, you know. What’s your name?”

You give him your name - unsure why you do. Kappa repeats it and hums eerily, smiling. “Oh, my friend. It’d be so easy to hurt you,” he purrs softly, tilting his head. “Do you think anyone would hear you scream ? Do you think anyone heard - heard them scream?”

“I - I don’t know,” you stutter. “But I’d like to get back to my walk now, if you don’t mind.”

There’s a pause that hangs heavily, and then he lets go. “Sure, of course,” Kappa says with a slow blink, like nothing happened. “I don’t mind at all.”

He steps back, hands in his pockets now. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again or something,” Kappa says with that same soft lilt, already turning, already vanishing. “Happy trails, my friend.”

With that, he drops your hand and walks away, leaving you feeling charmed and sort of disgusted all at once. The first step you take has you gasping in pain, your poor, throbbing ankle. You look over your shoulder briefly, and Kappa’s there. Watching you.

Kappa thinks you move in an interesting way, even without your little limp. But oh, how he likes that. It’s important to him that you’re hurt, even if it’s not so bad. Even if you pretend you’re alright. It’s gonna make this whole process that much easier. You’re not gonna be walking for too much longer, he reckons, and he thinks it’d be best to follow you, watch you carefully. He doesn’t want you hurt, of course.

…Maybe he does. Kappa bets you bleed so pretty, just like they all did. He can still feel your soft skin under his fingertips and it has his cock twitching in his trousers. You’re so soft, you know. All that woman. Kappa thinks you’d take his seed nicely, and he imagines it - you so beautiful, swollen with his child. There’s nothing wrong with Kappa thinking this. It’s not perverse or unnatural or creepy. He’d just be doing his part, biologically speaking, and what’s so terrible about that?

When you look over your shoulder a couple more times as you continue your walk, are you bothered to see that he’s still there, following you? Kappa would assume as much, even though he maintains his distance. Oh, you. You’re unnerved, certainly. Kappa can see by the way that you pull your shoulders back and stand up a little straighter that you’re trying to look and feel confident. That’s good, darling. Fake it til you make it, or whatever the fuck.

It was inevitable that at some point your curious nature would get you into trouble. It got those other girls into trouble, too, and you’re not all that dissimilar from them. Not in the slightest. They too were drawn to dangerous things, dangerous men, and look where it landed them.

Kappa watches you stop to drink some water. Good, that’s good. You’re a healthy girl, very smart, pausing to look at that fucked up ankle of yours. Kappa’s sure it’s swollen now, all bruised and stiff. The added stress of hiking is likely making it worse. And he watches you continue on, smirking when you approach the fork in the trail. No, it’s not marked on the map. You confused, poor little lamb. Where are you going to go, sugar?

To the left, okay. Sure. And that’s going to take you right toward the little lake - it’s deceptively shallow looking, but Kappa knows how deep those dark waters go. You’re walking down the hill - Kappa’s still a good distance behind you - and you’re sitting on the dock. He likes that spot, too. It’s a good spot for, well…

That wood’s so rotten, sweetheart. Careful, now. You’re taking off your shoe and putting your foot in the cold water, probably hoping to ease the swelling. That’ll help, absolutely. Very good.

Fuck, you’re so nervous. You’ve been avoiding checking behind yourself for Kappa, because you don’t know if it would make you feel better or worse knowing that he’s gone or still there, still following you. You wish you didn’t meet him at all, honestly. Now you’ve got this ugly, awful, nagging feeling deep in your gut and it all goes back to him. You try so hard to tell yourself that you’re not afraid, and even if you are, you try to tell yourself that you like it. It’s what you asked for, anyway.

But it’s different when you’re actually confronted with it, right? This fantasy or whatever you could call it has lived in your head for so long and it’s been largely unchallenged up until now. It’s scary when it becomes realized, at least partially, and it’s scary when you lose control. Because it’s not just yours anymore. It might be Kappa’s too.

Speak of the devil. The dock rocks as Kappa steps onto it, buckling with his weight. You jump and whip around, and quickly pull your foot out of the icy water.

“You’re uh–” Kappa says, “You’re not supposed to be down here, are you?”

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was private property. I’m going.”

Kappa laughs, taking a seat next to you. Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. “No, it’s just…nothing, sugar.” He loves the lake, and he thinks about drowning you in it. All that endless, black water, so dark he can’t even see his reflection. “Are you lost?” he asks.

“No, I’m not lost. I just needed a break, that’s all.”

Kappa nods. “It’s your foot, isn’t it? Is it hurting? Can I take a look?”

You’re silent as you turn and adjust, showing your swollen ankle to him. You’re not sure why you do such a thing. Kappa takes it in both of his hands, inspecting it with his brow pinched together, two gorgeous little lines appearing between them. He twists your ankle, rolls it in a circle. He bends it back enough to hurt you, and how pretty is that sound, you whimpering and struggling against him. Yeah, sweetheart? It’s hurting you? You know what Kappa would like to do to you, right now, is dangle you upside down with your poor, injured ankle in his hand. He’d dip you in the water, and he’d chuckle at the way you splash him as you squirm and fight for air.

“It’s just a sprain, is all,” Kappa murmurs, placing your foot on his lap. You take it back promptly and put your sock on, your sneaker following. You stand up quickly, wobbling when you put too much weight on your hurt ankle. “Woah there, friend. Where are you off to?” Kappa stands up quickly, again grabbing your wrist. You hate that, truly. His hands are so warm, and that should be nice, but it’s…it’s just not.

“I’d like to get back, now.”

“Then I’ll walk you there,” he says, leading you back toward the trail. He’s squeezing you just a little too hard, any harder and you’ll start to bruise. That’d be a sight, Kappa thinks. He loves bruises. Loves to dig his thumbs into them, then tenderly kiss them after. Kappa turns to look at you, making an amused face at your terrified expression. “And you’re not gonna say no to me this time, yeah? No, of course not. Because - I mean, think about it, right? Anything could happen to you,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s just not safe, sweet pea.”

Kappa’s glad you’re not fighting him on this. Smart move. He’s glad you’re not trying to run, either, as that’d be even more stress on that ankle of yours. He wouldn’t mind it so much, though. Kappa lives for the chase, honestly. Sometimes he gets lucky and one of you girls will try to run from him. He’ll give her a few seconds of a head start before he catches up, and Jesus fuck. You should see the look on her face when she realizes she’s backed into a corner. Real horrorshow sort of thing.

It’s not that you’re too trusting or too naive. Or, maybe you are. Nevertheless, you are enchanted by Kappa, enchanted by the way he scares you in his special way that penetrates deep into your bones. You’re an odd one, you know. You really are. And it’s going to get you into trouble sooner or later, though likely the former.

Kappa walks you back the way you came. “Which cabin, sugar?” You point in its direction, and Kappa chuckles. “Ohh, this cabin,” he drawls. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”

You shrug. “I guess.”

He worries about you, you know. He does. You’re so beautiful and all alone out here. What if you end up like the others? You’d be powerless to stop it, so vulnerable and fragile. It’d be a terrible thing

Kappa watches you reach into your pocket to pull out the little silver key that opens the front door, and he likes the tree-shaped keychain attached to it. “Thanks for chaperoning me, I guess. I’m just gonna go upstairs and sleep off my foot - ankle. Whatever. You’ve been really kind,” you tell Kappa, avoiding eye contact as you unlock the door and push it open. You hop inside and quickly close it, but Kappa places a palm on the door, stopping you before you can shut it completely.

“How’re you gonna get up the stairs?” he asks.

“I’ll just–”

Kappa pushes the door open and invites himself inside. His eyes are wide and he inhales deeply, like he can still smell the iron, all the blood…

He helps you up the stairs, his wide palm guiding your lower back the entire time. He knows his way around the cabin, these tight walls and low ceilings. He’ll take you to the bedroom, the same bedroom he took those other girls, and he’ll–

“The bathroom, actually. I want to take a bath first.”

Be his guest, why not. Kappa helps you into the bathroom, then leans against the doorframe as he watches you kneel at the tub. You plug the drain with a stopper and turn on the water, then pause. He’s still here.

“You’ve been a big help. Thank you, Kappa.”

“Of course, sugar.”

You smile, awkward and tight-lipped, and Kappa smiles back, arms crossed over his chest. You give him a little wave - not unfriendly, just a subtle cue. A polite dismissal. Thanks again, you can go now, Kappa. Really, you’ve overstayed your welcome.

Kappa chuckles, low and amused, then reaches back and locks the door with a click.

Your blood runs cold.

“Kappa,” you say, voice as firm as it can be, though it still wavers more than you’d like.

“You could slip, honey,” Kappa replies. “And I don’t want that.”

“You need to leave. Now.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. There’s nowhere to run, no way out but through Kappa, who’s now approaching you at the tub. You tense instinctively, squeezing the ledge of the tub. “Let’s get those clothes off,” he says.

You don’t move. Kappa leans over you and takes your jaw in his big palm, sniffs, and rolls his head from shoulder to shoulder, cracking every joint in his neck. “Don’t make me ask twice now. Won’t be good.”

You have to surrender yourself to it, to Kappa. You know this. Complying usually works out better than fighting, or so you think.

You breathe shakily as you pull off your shirt, bandana coming off with it, and Kappa takes care to undo your bra himself. He crouches behind you with his strong, long nose pressed against your head, and he inhales your scent deeply as his hands slide along the curves of your sides and belly. Your stomach flips as he unbuttons your pants, and you watch in disbelief as his hand finds that zipper, and pulls it down, down.

Kappa shoves the waistband of your pants and panties down your plump hips and thighs, letting out a hum as he sees you for what you are. You’re a beautiful thing, you, with your soft curves and gorgeous skin. Kappa especially loves that when he runs his long, spindly fingers down your spine, your skin erupts in goosebumps. Is that because you’re cold, darling, or because you’re scared? Maybe terrified, even? Your breaths are getting sharper now, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. If Kappa were to wrap his hands around his neck, he’d feel your pulse as well.

Kappa slides his fingers up the back of your neck and into your hair, where he grabs a fistful of it. He shuts off the water, and it’s eerily silent as you hear him unzipping his pants, the fabric rustling as he shoves them down his slim hips. “Some of them say,” Kappa begins, “That this is how he did it, you know. Drowned each of those poor girls in the bathtub, one by one by…one.”

The steam rising from the tub feels like a foreshadowing of what’s to come. Tears quickly build and then fall down your cheeks, splashing into the water below. Kappa laughs silently, then asks, “How do you think it felt, baby?”

He’s still got you held by your scalp, but now his other hand is sliding down your back, middle two fingers tracing over your ass, traveling over your tight hole until he finds your cunt and oh, would you look at that. You’re wet. Not just wet, darling, you’re fucking soaked.

You squirm against Kappa, pushing on the bathtub to try and force him away from you. Kappa’s all muscle and mass, though, and so much stronger than you could ever convince yourself that you are. “Oh, no, no, no, no, baby,” he murmurs, pushing himself closer to you. Kappa tightens his grip on your hair and continues rubbing your cunt, pushing two fingers right into your dripping entrance. “You are not going fucking anywhere.”

He pumps his fingers in and out of you steadily, sometimes doing a little twist before he curls them repeatedly, searching for that spot that makes you tick. “Kappa,” you sob, “Please fucking stop. I didn’t ask for this.”

“I think you did ask for it, actually. It’s okay. They did too.”

You moan despite yourself, gushing onto Kappa’s fingers. He pulls them out of you and sucks them clean, humming at the taste of your arousal. Girls taste better when they’re scared. He pulls out his cock, letting it bounce between your thighs as he brings his palm to your face. “Spit,” he tells you, and you’ve no choice but to comply.

“You’re gonna stay right here,” Kappa says. “And if you fight me, you are going under. Do you understand, my friend? Be good for me.”

You’re barely processing his words by the time he’s parting your folds with the thick, blunt head of his cock. No, you’re not thinking at all. Not listening. And that’s why you squirm and twist and wriggle, and it’s also why Kappa forces your head under the water, just as he promised he would.

You didn’t even have time to take a breath.

You scream underwater as he enters you in one swift thrust, splitting you in two. Even with his workup you’re still in pain, cunt throbbing and stinging at Kappa’s violent intrusion. He pulls you up by your hair, laughing at that big gasp of air you suck in. That’s it, attagirl. And with all your might, you fight him again. Back under you go, darling.

Kappa’s got one hand on the back of your head, holding you deep under the water, and the other on your ass as he rolls his slim hips against you. He watches himself draw in and out of you, long cock coated in creamy ribbons of your arousal. And you, you’re moaning. Even underwater, Kappa can hear it. They come out in these silly gurgling noises, but he knows exactly what they are. It’s sort of pathetic and almost disturbing to him the way you take him so well, but he has to hand it to you, honestly. They didn’t take his cock like you’re doing now.

Kappa pulls you up again, still fucking you as he lets you catch your breath. “Easy, sugar, easy,” he coos. “Breathe, sweet pea.”

“Kappa,” you cry, sobbing when he kisses your cervix so brutally. Your nose is stinging, your throat burning with the water forced up it. “Please.”

“You’re going under again,” Kappa tells you.

“No, don’t. Don’t, don’t don’t, please. I’m being good for you, don’t you see? Kappa–”

Last time, he promises. And Kappa agrees, honestly. You are being good, but that doesn’t inherently save you from his torture. Anyone can be good, and it can mean fuck all. And right now, it does. Sometimes, sweet pea, bad things just fucking happen to good people like you. Sorry. Life’s not fair, is it?

Kappa grunts as he fucks you, loving the way your underwater moans come out when he hits that special spot deep inside you. He lifts your head up a little, hovering it over the water. Your back aches and so do your knees, holy fuck. The raw, naked brutality of it all.

There’s a certain point in which your muscles relax, and you quit squeezing his cock so fucking hard. There’s a quiet before the storm, and there’s a quiet after it, too. Quiet except for those whimpering sobs and little uh uh uh’s you make, fuck.

“You wanna look at me, baby? You wanna watch it happen?”

“No, Kappa,” you beg. “Please, just - just finish.”

Kappa ignores you and pulls out of you, then forces you onto your back on the cold, wet tile of the bathroom floor. He peels off his shirt and you get a better look at him here - all of his toned, pale skin. He reaches for your wrist and pulls off your hair tie, then ties all of his curls and waves back into a messy, tangled bun. His erection is so long and thick, the tip of his cock resting just below his belly button. He’s got the most gorgeous happy trail leading into a thick patch of hair that surrounds the base of his cock, and his eyes - oh, his beautiful eyes. His pupils eat into the ocean of his irises, signaling how fucking hungry he is for this. For you.

“Yeah, look at me. Eyes on me, my friend, and watch it happen. Watch.”

Kappa forces you to look as he enters you again, burying himself to the hilt. You let out a loud sob as he bottoms out, and Kappa wipes your cheeks with his palm. “It’s okay,” he coos, rocking into you. He pins your hands above your head and finds a steady roll and rhythm that has you moaning and sobbing his name at the way his cock drags against your g-spot. For all of his violence, he rapes you rather kindly here. Long, deep thrusts that have your toes curling, your hands squeezing his.

You feel disgusting on this floor, and you feel disgusting because it feels so fucking good. Oh, you poor, sweet little lamb. You’re going to cum on Kappa’s cock, and there is not one goddamn thing that you can do about it. You’re probably gonna be killed after, too. Probably…probably gonna be stabbed to death, or something like that.

Your stomach and your thighs burn with that awful pleasure, and there it is. You moan loudly as you cum, pulsing around Kappa’s length. It coaxes along his own orgasm, and Kappa grunts and moans loudly with his release, pumping you full of his seed, fucking it into you so deeply.

He pulls out of you and leaves you there sobbing on the tile, then tests the temperature of the water. “In the tub,” he demands, and you feel sick. He’s gonna slice you open here, cut you from one set of lips to the other and let you bleed out.

He’s not, actually. When you’re in the tub, Kappa washes you clean with a bar of soap and his bare hands, bare hands that slide over your breasts and your aching, raw cunt. It’s a short bath, and then he’s drying you off and tucking you into the same bed he raped those other girls in.

Kappa rifles through your bag for some toiletries and finds a bottle of pills - just some ibuprofen he hands to you and makes you drink. “For the swelling,” he adds, taking a pillow and putting it at the end of your bed. “You keep that elevated, now. See you around, my friend.”

reblogs would be nice :) or asks, or whateve. get weird, perverts. thank you for reading.

#fic recs #rory culkin smut #rory culkin x reader #rory culkin x reader smut #rory culkin #kappa black mirror #kappa black mirror x reader #kappa x reader

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 2 months ago

Text

Lie to Me

Joel catches you red handed (3.7k)

Tags- dark!joel, i think we should call him darkdaddy!joel all in favor say aye, one shot, smut, dubcon, just the tip, oral sex (f! receiving) fingering, come shot, comeplay, overstim, handjob, coercion, masturbation, daddy kink, innocence kink, inexperienced/virgin!reader, biiiig girthy yet unspecified (legal☝️) age gap, weird feelings and some good ol' fashioned shame, hitting, implied abuse, Joel is fatherly in a hot and disgusting way, calls himself 'your old man', gratuitous use of the nicknames kiddo and pumpkin, Depeche Mode references because you can’t stop me. Balanced mix of Joel being mean and tender. This is a work of fiction and the characters involved are all adults - no minors engage in sexual activity.

A/N - been a while since we’ve seen this guy, huh? Everyone give him your warmest welcome <3 i wanted to warm up with him before getting started on this joel's whole story so, here it is. and I am FINALLY done with this semester, so for about a month you’re gonna get a heavy fucking dose of strang3lov3. Apologies in advance. @endlessthxxghts, you know what you did you sick fuck. thank youuuuuu ♡ and thank you @beefrobeefcal for your eyes!

The warm bath Joel gives you each night is your favorite part of the day. Always. Washing it all away, both the good and the bad. All that dirt swirling down the drain. The delicate soap, the tingling when the water is a little too hot. Bath time is quiet. Joel doesn’t talk much, and neither do you. And he’s gentle, gentle as he washes you. Tender hands rubbing your skin, mindful of the bruises and contusions and the scratches and scrapes he leaves you. He tells you he doesn’t like to hurt you, but that you leave him no choice when you disobey the way you do.

After helping you out of the tub, Joel thoroughly dries you off with a clean yellow towel. He’s a little rough as he does it, rubbing your skin too hard, tugging at your hair as he squeezes out the water. “Joel,” you whine.

“I know, I know. M’tryin’ to be gentle,” he says. “You’re tender-headed. Makes my job difficult.”

“You always call me difficult.”

“‘Cause you are difficult, pumpkin. Challenging. Got my work cut out with you.”

You shiver when Joel hangs your towel back up. He unscrews the lid of a container of lotion, scooping out a generous amount. He rubs the cold cream into your skin, up and down your arms and legs. You’re not such a big fan of this part. “It’s cold, Daddy.”

“Sorry, kid. Nothin’ much I can do about that,” Joel replies.

“Could warm it in your hands.”

Joel eyes you, brow raised. You’re testing him. He knows to expect it, you pushing his buttons. “And you could grow some thicker skin.”

After moisturizing your skin, Joel reaches in the cabinet for a tube antibiotic cream and dabs a bit on each of your wounds, rubbing the ointment in. “Yeah…they’re healin’ up good,” he murmurs. “Be gone in no time. Alright now, sweetheart. Bedtime.”

Joel lightly swats your ass and sends you to your room, following closely behind you. His knees crack more frequently with his steps, fuck, he’s getting old.

You bounce on the bed as Joel opens a drawer of your dresser, pulling out different pajama sets. “Let’s see what we got here,” Joel says, more to himself than to you. He shows you both options, “Blue stripes or green plaid.”

“That’s not green,” you point out, “That’s teal.”

“Mm. Clever, smartass. Now pick.”

“Neither. I wanna wear one of your shirts.”

Trouble. You know exactly which strings to pull with Joel wrapped around your finger. He rolls his eyes, biting down on a smile as he puts both pajama sets in your dresser and leaves to fetch you one of his t-shirts. “Arms up,” he tells you as he returns. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Joel pulls the shirt over your head, the fabric covering just enough of your body to keep you decent. You pull back the quilt on your bed and slip under it, and wrap a plush blanket around your shoulders.

“Scoot.” Joel sits right next to you, the springs of the bed groaning and creaking with his weight. “God dammit,” he hisses, adjusting for his sore back. Joel reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out his slightly crooked reading glasses to put them on, annoyed at the way they never sit quite right on his face. He runs a hand through his graying curls, then turns on your lamp and reaches for the book he’s been reading you. He uses the dog-eared page to find his place in the book, something that makes you cringe. “I don’t like when you do that,” you tell him.

“Do what?”

“Fold the pages.”

“You sound like the librarian,” Joel jokes. “Why don’t I find you some paints or somethin’ and you make me a pretty bookmark then, deal?”

“Deal.”

“Whatcha gonna paint for me?” Joel waits for your response, peering down at you as he pushes a bit of hair out of your face. “Don’t know yet?”

“Mm-mm.”

“S’okay. You got time to decide.”

Joel begins reading to you, making sure you’re following along with him. You rest your head on his strong bicep, your hands wrapped around his forearm. You trace the veins there, counting the scars and marks on his skin. His hands are so weathered and large.

When Joel finishes the chapter, he closes the book, this time putting a penny between the pages to hold his place instead of folding the corners down. “We’ll read more tomorrow. Maybe watch a movie instead,” he offers. Joel puts his massive, warm hand against your cheek and pulls your head towards him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then both of your cheeks, then the tip of your nose. “Get some sleep, pumpkin.”

Joel leaves then, shutting your door but not before turning on your nightlight. You miss his warmth immediately, the weight of him on the bed with you. He didn’t make you finish tonight, either. You’re sort of…itching for it, like you didn’t know how much you need it until now that it’s out of reach.

You’re not supposed to do it on your own. Joel says you don’t know what you’re doing, that only he can touch you there, be it his fingers or his tongue. But you’ve touched yourself there on your own before, and it felt good. Not as good when Joel does it, but almost the same.

You spread your legs wide, your hand going straight for your clit only for a moment, then bringing your fingers to your mouth to spit on them, just how Joel does. You reach for your pussy again, rubbing tight circles into your clit.

It feels okay. Fine. You close your eyes, focusing on the small amount of pleasure you feel. Picturing things you find erotic, like the romance books you read in without Joel’s knowledge or Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother. It makes you feel a little guilty to fantasize about him like this, but it feels thrilling, too. A special, private secret only you know about.

You hold your breath as you work yourself, alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise circles in an attempt to determine which way feels better. Which direction does Joel do it? You spread your legs wider, testing out bigger and smaller circles. It’s been maybe five minutes maximum, and you’re feeling impatient. That’s another thing Joel tells you that you are, along with being difficult. Impatient. Stubborn, too.

Joel pushes his fingers inside you when he makes you come, so you try doing that to yourself. Nothing much happens when you do it, sort of like when you try to tickle yourself. Your fingers aren’t as thick, as long, as deft as Joel’s are. But you try all the same.

Whining, whimpering Joel’s name, the squeaking of the bed while you rock your hips into your own hand, Joel hears it all on the baby monitor hidden in your room. Broken moans in the crackling static.

He’s only curious, wanting to measure your self control, if you even have any. You know you’re not supposed to be doing this and yet, you’re doing it anyway. Defiant. He gives you an inch and you take a mile, every single time. Always touching what’s forbidden to you, be it the handle of a door left unlocked or your own cunt.

Maybe he’s gone soft. Maybe Joel��s too easy on you. He doesn’t like to punish you, but what else can he do when you leave him no choice?

In truth, Joel likes this about you. It’s the thrill of the hunt, the game. And when his fingers are inside you, despite all that whimpering and crying, what’s really there? Arousal pooled at your entrance, twitching thighs and moans you do your very best to swallow. You’re all bark, no bite. You like it this way. His way. You just need a little guidance.

Joel listens to you fuck yourself on your fingers for a little while longer, palm pressed against his bulge as your frustrated noises pour in through that tinny speaker. He understands, truly. Can’t sleep without orgasming - he can’t either, for fuck’s sake. He’ll be listening to you all night if he doesn’t make you come soon. And therein lies the problem - Joel gives in too much. He’s spoiled you rotten.

Joel gets up and out of bed, takes heavy steps toward your bedroom. He can practically see you behind that oak door even before opening it - legs spread beneath the quilt, brow pinched together as you huff and pant in both frustration and focus.

Joel twists your door knob slowly, and silently pushes the door in. He takes the quietest of steps toward your bed, standing above you with his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at you. You look just as wrecked as he predicted.

“Psst.”

You freeze, eyelids flying open to see Joel glaring at you in the dark, his features harsh under the lack of light. You quickly move your hand-

“Nuh-uh, don’t you move,” Joel interrupts. “What’re you doin’ up so late? S’well fuckin’ past your bedtime, young lady.”

“I’m not-”

“Think it through. You really wanna lie to me? Even after what happened to ya the last time you pulled that shit?”

Your cheeks heat up, your hands shaking. “I’m…uh…” your voice wobbles, you swallow thickly.

“Spit it out.”

“I’m touching myself.”

“I see that,” is all Joel replies. A silence hangs as you wait for him to continue. The ticking clock sounds louder, the groaning wind against your window. “But you know you ain’t s’posed to be doin’ yourself, kiddo. We talked about this. S’the rules, right?”

“Right,” you whisper.

Joel nods, biting his inner cheek as he sits down on your bed, holding one of your feet through the quilt. “You’ve got quite the tendency of disobeying your daddy, you know. What’m I gonna do with you?”

You shrug and turn away from him to avoid his disappointed expression. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I just thought you forgot to make me come tonight, daddy, but I needed it. Please don’t be mad at me right now. I’m really sorry.”

Your apology tugs at Joel’s heartstrings. “Got me wrapped around your fuckin’ finger,” he groans, rubbing his large hand up and down your leg. “You win, kid. I’ll let it slide. But you promise me it won’t happen again, ‘cause I don’t like havin’ to punish you.”

“I promise.”

“Attagirl,” Joel whispers, smiling at you. He leans forward to press a kiss against your forehead, his wiry facial hair both scratches and tickles your skin. “Alright, now. Let’s see what you’re workin’ with,” he says, folding your quilt down your torso, and bunching it at the end of your bed. “Sounded like you were havin’ trouble, hm? S’that right?”

Joel doesn’t have to wait for your answer to know the truth. He pulls your hands away from your center, fingertips pruned and slick with your arousal. “Oh, pumpkin,” he tsks. “Look at the mess you made.”

He spreads your legs far apart and sits between them, then licks one of his thumbs and brings it to your core. He slides the digit up and down your folds, circling your clit here and there. “Joel,” you whine breathlessly.

“I know, I know, I know. Poor thing. You’re all outta sorts, huh?” he coos. “Gimme your hand. You don’t know what you’re doin’ at all.”

You hold your hand in front of yourself. Joel takes it, sucking on your fingers, growling at the taste of your wet before lowering it to your pussy. “Gotta give her a bit of finesse,” Joel instructs, dragging your fingers up and down your folds, just how he did with his own fingers. “Can’t dive right in. Gotta work up to it. See?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Am I doing it right? Like?”

“Yeah, jus’ like that. Give her a lil’ more, now. Rub that clit. Gentle, steady,” he directs, helping you to touch yourself. It fills him with a primal sort of power, being able to instruct you how to best touch yourself, knowing you’ll never be able to replicate his perfection. “Nice an’ slow, now. That’s it. Nope, slow it down,” he reminds you.

You whine his name, frustrated with how long this is taking. “It’s not - it’s not working.”

“Easy, sweetheart, I know you’re hurtin’. M’only tryin’ to help,” he says. “Gotta work on that attitude.”

You speed up your ministrations, frantically chasing a release that is painfully out of reach. Joel swats your bare thigh, a warning. “Gotta breathe,” Joel advises you. “Can’t force it. Let it come to ya.”

“I’m try-”

“I know you’re tryin’.”

Your tummy rises and falls with your uneven breaths, fingers slipping on your wet heat. You can’t seem to find the right pace to rock your hips at, and you’re biting your lips raw to conceal the words threatening to spill that Joel doesn’t let you speak.

“Alright, enough of that.” Joel pushes your hand away, and you cry in frustration. “You’re hurtin’ her. Daddy’s gonna take care of this now,” he whispers more to himself than to you, lowering his body. His hot breath fans over your slick cunt as he puts both of his wide, meaty hands on the backs of your thighs, opening you up wide for him. Poor fucking pussy, all swollen and throbbing and aching. Joel swallows hard and presses his lips against your folds, mumbling, “Gonna kiss her all better,” he says.

He begins with kisses, kissing your lips, nipping at your inner thighs. You’re dripping, leaving a puddle of arousal on the sheets. Joel can feel the heat radiating from your sex, how you vibrate with a need only Joel can satisfy. He squeezes the generous flesh of your thighs with his fingertips harshly, just shy of bruising you. Though he could, if he wanted to. But he is curious what your skin looks like unblemished by his violence.

With a flattened tongue, Joel licks a long stripe from the bottom of your slit right to the top, rounding your clit before repeating the action. The room is quiet, save for the way Joel breathes steadily in and out of his nose that’s pressed against you, teasing you. And your quiet moans, sweet little whimpering noises spilling from your lips with every exhale.

Joel circles your entrance all wet and sloppily, taking care to press a couple of more kisses against your folds before dipping his tongue inside you, tasting your arousal from the hole it drips from.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper.

“Hey.” he swats your ass cheek. “Is that how good girls are s’posed to use their mouths? Hm?”

“No, daddy.”

“Uh-huh. ‘Cause those pretty lips of yours are for kissin’ daddy’s cock. Right?”

“R- yeah. M’sorry.”

After chastising you for swearing, Joel dives right back in. Your hands find Joel’s scalp so you can tug on his hair, twirling your fingers around those silvery curls. The action makes Joel smile. God, your innocence.

He licks at your slick folds, sucking one into your mouth and then the other, neglecting the little part of you that needs him the most. He savors you like this, the scent of your musk, your arousal like honey on his tongue. When you’ve soaked his face, when your thighs are twitching under his wide palms, only then does Joel circle your clit. You shake and shudder, muscles straining under Joel’s grip as he forces you to stay wide open to eat the most sensitive piece of you. You’re dripping wet, clit throbbing and pulsing under his tongue. “Focus right here, pumpkin,” he murmurs, reaching up to grab your chin and tilt your face down. “Daddy wants to see his favorite eyes.”

Once you nod, Joel lets his hand trail back down your body. Instead of using it to hold you open, he turns his head to the side and brings two calloused fingers to his mouth, soaking them in his saliva before pushing them into your entrance. He curls them against the spongy spot inside you, its location is committed to his memory. You dance on his tongue, squirming and whining and writhing as he works you with his fingers. Joel pulling your strings, watching how you move. You’ll do anything.

“Yeah, daddy’s fingers do it better, huh?” he taunts. “Poor girl.”

God, it’s hard for Joel to eat you in the way he knows he should. It’s meant to be an act of love and it certainly is in some ways, sure it is. But really, it’s all for Joel. It’s all selfish, voraciously consuming you like you’re the first meal he’s seen in days, biting at your flesh like he means to tear it off the bone. His tongue laves over your sex, wiry beard rubbing your inner thighs raw - he’ll put ointment on your skin there, too, to calm down the irritation.

He strokes that sweet spot inside of you with his fingers, pleasure building quickly. It blooms deep in your gut, roiling up your spine and down your legs. “Oh, Joel,” you moan, babbling incoherently. “Oh, f- oh…”

The wet, sticky noises as you’re kissed, licked, sucked, lapped at, teased, stroked. The quiet as release approaches - holding your breath, muscles tightening, a pressure building. And then oh, there it is, there you are. Coming on Joel’s tongue, gushing into his hand.

Joel licks his palm, then sits back up. He sets your feet back down on the bed, mindful of your achy thighs. Your moans have quieted, replaced with peaceful breaths as you lie with your eyes closed. “Nuh-uh, I ain’t finished with you quite yet,” Joel says, lightly smacking your cheek to wake you up. “You know the drill. You get yours and daddy gets his.”

Slotted between your legs, Joel kneels then, knees cracking as they press into the plush of your mattress. He pulls the string of his worn-out pajama pants and pushes the waistband down, and his hard cock lands against his tummy with a smack. “Gimme a hand, pumpkin,” he says, and you hold out your hand for him. He spits into your palm, then wraps your fingers around his thick shaft. “All the way up an’ all the down,” he reminds you. “Jus’ like I showed ya.”

Joel leans over you as you begin stroking him, gliding your palm up and down his length.

“Tighter,” he says, reaching between your bodies to squeeze your hand tight. He keeps his hand there as you work him, keeping the pressure to his liking. “Attagirl.”

He works a twist into the motion now, bucking his hips into your hand. You admire the look of his soft tummy, the gray and white hairs smattered around the base of his cock. Joel’s cock pulses under your touch, in time with his beating heart. Tip red and swollen, aching for more, more…

Joel presses his forehead against yours and drops lower, taking control of the moment. With your hand still under his and holding his stiff length, Joel guides the tip of himself to your slit. He groans when the head meets your pussy, the warmth and the wetness. He lowers himself, the end of his cock prodding right at your entrance. “I think you’re ready for it,” he tells you, notching the tip inside.

Your heart pounds, and you put a hand against Joel’s chest. “N-no, not yet, daddy.”

“Toughen up, kid,” he urges, pushing in a little bit further, then pulling it out again. “Gotta rip that bandaid off sometime. Gonna let me do it?” Joel taunts you with the threat of fully penetrating you, dragging the tip of his cock up and down your folds, fitting it inside your tight entrance before pulling it out again. “On three. One, two…”

You shake your head.

Joel sighs deeply. “You’re breakin’ your daddy’s heart, pumpkin. I hope you know that.”

But it doesn’t change your mind. Joel tsks, then goes right back to fucking the head of his cock on your vulva. He focuses less on getting himself off, but rather getting you off again. Rubbing the blunt head of his cock against your still-sensitive clit, tapping it momentarily before rubbing it in the opposite direction.

You breathe heavily and shakily, “T-too much,” you say.

“Y’wanted to come bad enough you broke the rules for it,” Joel replies in a calm voice. “You’re givin’ me another, jus’ like this, and you’re gonna say ‘thank you, daddy’ when it’s over.”

He pushes his pelvis forward and resumes teasing your clit, moving the head of his cock in circles around your clit, causing you to twitch at the sensation. A quick dip inside your cunt and then he’s doing it again, but rubbing left to right. Like the good girl you are, you rock your hips in time with his movements, moaning as the pleasure builds once more. Joel coaxes one last orgasm from you, leaving you a twitching, throbbing mess. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy,” you whisper.

Joel kisses your forehead and allows you to relax on the pillows as he works himself, still using your hand. He breathes heavily, grunting and groaning as he quickens the way he pumps himself, thumb swiping over the head and the underside of his cock where he’s most sensitive. The pressure builds deep in his gut, just as it did yours, and his balls tighten. His brows knit together and he grits his teeth as he comes, growling as he paints his spend onto your sex. “Oh, Christ. Goddamn, fuck. Yeah,” he breathes, gathering his come onto the tip of his cock, then pushes it inside you before he softens. “You’re a good kid,” he tells you. “Good girl. Good girl, pumpkin.”

more dark daddy!joel here

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#fic recs #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #dark!joel #dark!joel x reader

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 2 months ago

Text

State of Play

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: You and Joel can’t keep things quiet.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Katoptronophilia (!) Loud and obnoxious I-Love-You-and-I-Missed-You Sex. C*m eating. Age gap. One (1) Almost-BJ. I think that’s it.

Note: For those unfamiliar with That Folgers Commercial

Word count: 8.2k

Airplane food tasted like shit.

Some prick in a business suit spilled his coffee all over you, your luggage had nearly been lost in transit between connecting flights, and someone’s unsupervised child had tried to bite your ankle while waiting at the gate.

The weather was bad, and all of the flight crew and your boarding group were pissed—your second trip was delayed by two hours due to inclement conditions. Snow had pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows without reprieve for what felt like years, and finally, the folks in air traffic control seemed to have just thrown up their hands and said, ‘Fuck it, let them go.’ You boarded the plane freezing your ass off and stained all down the front of your t-shirt in espresso. Your Achilles tendon ached.

And still, this felt like the greatest day of your life.

You were going home. And not just home but to Joel, who was picking you up from the airport that day. You hadn’t had any exams at the end of the week, so you’d decided to come home a half-day early and surprise him. With all of the delays, you wouldn’t be in until early that morning, but Joel was still happy to pick you up. You wouldn’t tell your dad you were back until the following evening, and in the meantime, you’d savor every second you had with Joel until you had to leave again. You didn’t want to be apart from him, but at least the separation this time around was sweeter: he was your boyfriend.

Just thinking those words made you smile.

Even sat next to a screaming baby the whole four-hour plane ride from Baltimore to Austin, you were happy.

Damn near cheerful skipping off the aircraft five hours after your original ETA, and heading to the baggage claim in a sea of pushy, disgruntled passengers.

You took the stairs instead of the escalator. You didn’t mind the extra effort with your far-too-heavy carry-on; you just wanted to take the fastest route to get to the place you’d be meeting Joel. Your sneakers sounded their light, quick thuds down the marble steps as you went, and you slung the strap of your duffel bag higher up your shoulder to get a better hold while you jogged.

You looked around, eager as ever.

Was that a pit of anxiety you felt?

Around Joel, that was never really a thing—but anticipating his presence after weeks spent apart was a whole different beast. Now your pulse pounded in your ears; your throat constricted a little bit. Where was he?

From: Joel

Just parked

Headed in now

That had been twenty minutes ago.

I’ll be over by the stairs

Except he wasn’t there.

You were at the foot of the stairs, peering anxiously around as you were jostled further out by the moving crowd, but the longer you looked, the more certain you became that Joel wasn’t there. In fact, there was no one that looked even remotely like him. It was mostly families and young people that appeared to be around your age—evidently, all colleges started break at the same time—that were standing around. You stood on your tip-toes to get a peek overtop these people, and you still couldn’t spot one single silver-flecked head that looked like his.

You pulled out your phone to text him.

From: You

Sooooo did someone kidnap you or—

You didn’t get to finish that message.

Before you could hit ‘send,’ you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You dropped your bag.

The same grin crept onto your face—you couldn’t help it.

“Excuse me, I’m actually waiting for my boyfriend…”

You pretended to tense with discomfort at the feel of someone’s body draped over your own, and then there were lips grazing your hair, stubble teasing your cheek.

“Oh, yeah? Then where is he?”

Joel turned you to face him.

Well, shit, there he is.

Both of you were beaming. Joel looked handsome but sleepy—and who could blame him at 5:21 AM, when he’d likely been at work since six the day before? You were the one to open your arms then. You lunged just in time for him to accept your embrace, and you didn’t miss the way he stumbled a bit. He also turned his face so your lips landed on his cheek, not his mouth. He blinked rapidly.

Perhaps you’d come on a little strong.

Easy now, he’s probably tired as shit.

“Sorry. Just missed you,” you mumbled into Joel’s neck.

He squeezed you tighter. He shook you back and forth.

His lips pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.

‘Don’t be sorry. I missed you more’ was all he said.

And before you knew it, you were headed home again. Rather than retreating to the house you’d grown up in, though, you went over to Joel’s cozy, ranch-style place. From all the time you’d spent there lately, and even in the years before, you knew it well. Joel kept it clean. Simple.

Cold as shit.

“52 degrees?! Have you lost your fucking mind, Miller?”

You’d pulled your parka fast about yourself as soon as you stepped in. You exhaled and saw it hang mid-air.

“It ain’t that bad. We got blankets,” Joel huffed.

He hadn’t talked much on the ride home from the airport. You didn’t blame him. You could see in his eyes and in the way he’d fixed his stare on the road all the way home that the man was exhausted. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. You decided not to push him on it.

But sleeping in an igloo was where you drew the line.

You spun on your heel to face him, brows pinched.

“My nipples could cut diamonds right now.”

And you peeled back your jacket to show him, where you only wore your tight, coffee-stained tee underneath. Sure enough, two small, hardened peaks poked out through the fabric to greet Joel in the chill of his living room.

To your surprise, Joel swallowed and looked away.

He left the room shortly after that—ostensibly, to adjust the thermostat. But it was the expression he wore as he did that gave you pause. The look on his face was hard.

Guilty.

What the hell had happened in the thirty minutes since you’d gotten here to make him take on that expression?

Was it the way you smelled after six or seven hours of combined air travel, not including all the excruciating minutes spent languishing in the Boston and Baltimore airports? That stupid story you’d told him about the flight attendant whose breath smelled of rotten pimento cheese? Or was it because you’d jumped him too fast—opted for a kiss on the mouth instead of simply hugging him and attempting to curb your enthusiasm a little bit?

Your mind whirred a thousand miles a minute with this thinking—overthinking, really. You couldn’t help doing it.

In spite of the near-dizzying excitement you’d felt coming home, it was easy to slip back into old habits. Worry, uncertainty, fear of feeling more for a person than they did for you and getting too invested, it was all there. It was astounding how quickly the dread crept in. Shit.

“Shit,” you repeated aloud, kicking off your shoes.

You were standing in Joel’s room, preparing for bed. The heat had evidently kicked on, but the space was still freezing, so you peeled your clothes slowly. You set them aside, one-by-one, and folded them atop Joel’s dresser while your stomach churned. Your toes curled in your socks, and for a moment, you contemplated whether or not to wear your pyjamas to bed. Or Joel’s. Or naked.

Did he want to have sex tonight?

He’d looked so tired, and he hadn’t touched you once since setting you down from the hug at the airport, but—

“Hey.”

A folded, fuzzy blanket landed on the dresser next to you

It was pink. It had polka dots on it, not unlike the towel you had back at college and had seen Joel wrap himself in before you’d snuck him into your communal showers.

You smiled faintly at the memory.

You looked back up at Joel.

“I figured you’d get cold whenever you came over here, so I got this. Now you can bundle up. And wear these.”

Emphasizing the last word, Joel dropped a pair of matching slippers next to the blanket. They were new. He’d bought them for you, and had remembered enough to know you liked pink, frilly things. And not freezing your fucking ass off in the middle of winter. Your smile grew.

You thanked him, and were about to turn to give him a hug, when he was off again. This time, to the bathroom.

You decided you’d dress in your own pajamas tonight. You grabbed your new blanket and slippers and then padded over to Joel’s bed at the other end of the room.

How long you waited there was anyone’s guess.

Changing out of his clothes, brushing his teeth, washing his hands or simply running the tap until the water all but ran out seemed to take Joel decades. You stayed curled on your side in his bed, rubbing your now-comfortably warmed feet under the covers and occasionally checking the time. You even scrolled for a little bit to distract your mind and keep it from worrying. He’s probably just tired.

And when, finally, he shut the bathroom door behind him and retired to bed, you could see it: Joel was exhausted.

You wanted to leave him be. Let him get some rest and pick things up in the morning, same as you always did.

Then Joel snaked a big, warm, muscly arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Against your back, you could feel it: he had on one of his long sleeve, waffle-knit shirts. You wriggled a little and shuffled your legs, and you shortly discovered he was wearing his thickest pair of pyjama pants as well. Joel almost always slept naked, or in only his boxers, so this was odd. Then again, it was dead of winter, so you couldn’t really blame him.

He pressed an innocent kiss to your temple before murmuring, ‘Night, sweet pea,’ and you couldn’t ignore what you felt, either. What you were feeling, presently, through the thick, cotton fabric of Joel’s pants was impossible to ignore—he was rock-hard against you. Joel shuffled back some, but still, the bulge was prominent.

Okay, well…maybe we don’t have to sleep just yet.

You weren’t entirely sure why you did what you did. You were pretty tired yourself. All you knew was that intimacy made you feel close to Joel—helped your brain process feelings better than speaking, sometimes—and right then, you felt needy. Lonely. With just a few gruff words and a strange look from him before, you’d grown self-conscious again, and you weren’t sure what to do with that emotion. You figured Joel’s dick in you might help.

So you turned around and climbed right on him.

You straddled Joel’s hips, a little more confident in how you maneuvered it now, after doing this dozens of times before. You and Joel enjoyed sleepy sex, whether it was first thing in the morning or right before bed, and usually, neither one of you had to talk to initiate. You simply clambered over the other person and got to work. It was a simple form of stress relief—a way to rid your brain of unwanted thoughts and get you right to sleep after doing the deed—and it didn’t take much to get either one of you off. You sighed when you felt Joel’s cock graze you through your light, satin pyjamas. You didn’t move too quickly, but you did bear down on him.

Joel’s eyes flew open.

He grabbed your hips, and he grunted through his teeth.

“Sweetheart—” he started, strained.

It encouraged you to feel him stiffen from that first motion of your lower half, so you did it again. You leaned down to kiss his neck, in just the spot he always liked, close to the jaw, and you rubbed yourself gently against his erection. His grip tightened on your hips, and the initial surprise seemed shortly to morph into desire.

Like always, Joel would probably flip you and offer to fuck in missionary. That was how you both liked to start.

You dragged your lips down the column of his neck and were about to bare your teeth to leave a quick love bite, maybe nip at the skin once or twice before moving your mouth lower on him, when Joel’s grip really constricted.

His fingers seared your skin.

A groan rumbled in his chest.

“Baby, please…” he croaked. He swallowed hard.

Was he trying to beg? That wouldn’t be a first, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. His tone was low. His voice was soft, and his fingertips were kneading hard

“I know you’re tired, so I’ll get on top,” you offered, quiet.

With barely more than a whisper and a brush of your hand against the bulge in his pants, you earned another throaty sound from Joel. He cursed under his breath.

“This…I need to…fuck.”

Words seemed to evade him, and that wasn’t surprising. When you were turned on, you also forgot how to talk.

Joel always teased you for it, so now you’d do the same.

Moving lower down his body, and pushing the covers back as you went, you kept your gaze locked on his. The house had heated considerably since you’d gotten back, and now you didn’t feel like you had to wrap up in fifteen layers just to stay tolerably warm. You flashed the man a sly little grin, told him he needed to use his words if he wanted you to put your lips to use where he wanted them, and proceeded to stray even further. Your bottom lip grazed past his navel, and your tongue darted out to lick down the strip of grey and black hairs running down his lower belly where the bottom of his shirt had ridden up a little bit. As soon as you did, Joel inhaled sharply.

“Baby,” he hissed.

He seized your hair in his fist. Surprisingly, it felt nice.

It made you want to take him in your mouth even more.

So, hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants, you didn’t waste any time. You yanked at the fabric, fully prepared to suck Joel off a little before climbing on and riding him, and just when his cock was about to spring free, you felt it—his grasp pulling back.

You heard him, hoarsely:

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Your chin jerked up. Probably no more than five seconds had passed since you’d slid down his body, and each act had transpired so swiftly, without a pause or a hitch from what you could tell, that for Joel to stop you so suddenly meant something was off. Something here was wrong.

“We can’t do this,” Joel blurted out at once.

You let go of his waistband. You tried to talk.

“What’s wro—”

“I— I need to tell you something. Now. I’m sorry.”

At the same time, Joel seemed to be asking you to get up. You didn’t hesitate to do exactly that, shuffling back.

Your stomach plummeted inside you as you feared you might’ve done something wrong, or crossed some line.

That, on top of everything else that night, and feeling like Joel might be having second thoughts about your relationship already, was enough to make your eyes sting. There weren’t tears, but that wasn’t far off.

How had you fucked this up so monumentally, so quick?

You chewed the inside of your lip. You blinked furiously.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Joel. I thought you wanted me to—”

“No, I’m sorry. We just can’t do this right now.”

His gaze was serious. Wide. Your heart sank.

You couldn’t help the words that followed.

“Did— did I just do something wrong?”

“No, baby, you didn’t do anythin—”

“You’re having second thoughts?”

Your pulse leapt and sped up.

“No, no, not at all. I’m jus—”

“Because you can tell me.”

“That’s not what I was—”

“If you want to break up—”

“What? That ain’t what I said.”

“So what is it? What’s going on?”

Your worst thoughts were winning.

You were jumping to conclusions again.

There wasn’t time to be rational or sedate.

“Joel Miller, if you’re gonna dump me right now—”

“Sweetheart, there’s a chance I might be your uncle.”

“What?!”

In fairness to you, his admission sounded fucking insane.

Joel could’ve handled this situation in a thousand different ways, and of course, he’d done it horribly.

The timing? Terrible. Treading close to atrocious.

The execution? Piss-poor. Actually, the worst.

You’d been a second away from wrapping your lips around his dick, and he chose that moment to tell you that you might possibly be his long-lost niece? Really?

The look on your face as you shuffled back didn’t surprise him at all. It did make Joel want to vomit a bit.

“Listen, I can explain…” he started, speaking slowly.

He lifted his hands in a conciliatory sort of gesture, then reached for you, but when you pushed back further in the bed, he dropped both. Your eyes went wide in horror.

“What do you mean you’re my fucking uncle, Joel?!”

His widened, too. You might’ve misheard him.

“No, no, I’m not. I’m probably not, I just—”

“Probably?! What is ‘probably’?!”

You’d all but screeched that.

You were standing from the bed. Looking down at it, as if to say, ‘What did I just do? What have we been doing?’ and your face gave way to a grimace. You winced like you’d just witnessed a car wreck firsthand, and again, Joel couldn’t blame you for that. He needed to fix this.

He’d meant to handle this himself. He’d called Tommy at least sixty times that night, when your dad had casually dropped the bomb that Tommy might have slept with his ex-wife and knocked her up over twenty years back, making him your biological father and Joel your uncle.

It was a stretch.

As far as Joel knew, Tommy had never been involved with your mom, much less around the time you’d been born. It was such a wild, far-fetched idea that he and your dad were almost positive that this wasn’t the case.

There was no way.

But if there was…

Joel hadn’t planned on taking any chances until he was certain. He also hadn’t wanted to cause any unneeded trauma by freaking you out and having you go into a panic, like you were right now. He’d intended to play it cool until he could get ahold of his baby brother—if he ever would pick up his fucking phone—and he’d meant to get the truth out of Tommy before doing anything else. Before you got home. Then you’d changed your flight to come back a half-day earlier, and even with all the delays you’d had, Joel still wasn’t able to get in touch with his brother before then. It was late. He’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place, debating whether to spill this big, terrible news that might turn out not to be news at all, while also revealing your dad’s secret that he might not be your father. It was a clusterfuck. It sucked.

Joel had only found this out hours ago, and already, it felt like the world as he and you knew it was going to shit

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lay a finger on you until he was absolutely sure that you weren’t his niece. He hadn’t wanted to fuck up your psyche, as well as the heart of your relationship with your maybe-not-biological-father, by sharing this news. So he’d tried to compromise. Sleep side-by-side and pretend to be too tired to do anything, so he could buy more time before he spoke with Tommy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Then you’d wrecked his plans by straddling his dick and proceeding to try and suck it, and Joel had been left with no choice.

He blurted it out before he could try and stop himself.

“Tommy might’ve— might’ve fucked your mom.”

It was graceless. Just like everything else.

Your eyes went even wider.

“What?” you breathed.

He kept going.

“There’s…your dad was tellin’ me, there’s a slight chance your mom and Tommy were messin’ around back in the day, about a year before you were born, and…and he isn’t completely sure—there were a few other guys, but he doesn’t know—and he told me. He told me this tonight, when we went out for drinks. And then you came back earlier than I was expecting, and…well, I’ve been tryin’ to get ahold of Tommy, but he ain’t pickin’ up. I wanted—”

“Get your keys,” you cut in suddenly.

Now it was his turn to be confused.

“Wait, what?”

Joel stared, and he saw you were already on your phone. Toggling something on the screen. Frowning down at it.

“Where are we—” Joel tried again.

You snapped your fingers, like you’d found something. Then you looked up at him, briefly, before striding out the bedroom door. You walked quickly; Joel followed.

He wasn’t sure where you were going or what you planned on doing, but he opted to dress while he walked. He threw on his jacket and kicked on his boots, then went fishing for his keys—they were lying in a hodgepodge of shit on the counter, as always—and just as he reached out to grab them, you seized them first.

You were already headed for the car port. You didn’t look behind you, and wouldn’t so much as turn your head when he called out after you. You marched to his car.

“Where are we goin’? You gonna talk to me, honey?”

Joel tried sounding soft. You weren’t having it.

You jumped in and barely gave him the chance to get his seatbelt fastened before you threw the thing in reverse.

You were backing the Bronco out in a blink. Your grip tightened on the wheel, and that was when he saw it.

First, a frown.

Then, your gaze cutting over to his across the center console. It was brief, but a look did more than enough.

“I have Tommy’s location. We’re gonna go beat his ass.”

Life was great for Tommy Miller.

Like, really great.

He had a lady he was half-certain was the love of his life sprawled out in his bed, the sheets they got to share were warm, and the world outside was quiet. At 6 AM, out in the sticks as they were, it usually stayed like this.

Cool. Calm. Serene.

He should buy a house of his own out here one day.

The place they were staying at used to be his granddad’s. Joel had already done a bang up job at fixing it himself, and Tommy wanted to help. He also knew it would make a nice retreat for him and Maria whenever they wanted to get out of the city themselves. She liked it here, which meant that Tommy loved it. He loved her.

Stupid as it sounded, he was now beginning to understand some of Joel’s fixation with you.

If his brother felt even a fraction of what he felt for Maria, Tommy could easily see why Joel would risk his whole friendship with your father to be with you. He got it.

What he couldn’t totally comprehend was why you two wouldn’t come clean already. All this lying and sneaking around behind your daddy’s back must have been awful for you both. It would suck telling him at first, to be sure, but your father wasn’t that intolerant that he couldn’t be convinced to warm up to the idea eventually. You’d be graduating in a few months—you could come back here, not have to treat each other like some big, ugly secret, and then live like he and Maria did, every day. That was what Tommy had wanted for his big brother, anyway.

These thoughts and at least a dozen more were all swirling through his mind after the break of dawn that day, when he was half-asleep and barely more conscious than not. He stretched out in bed, smiling to himself.

He was about to turn and drape an arm over Maria’s side when a sound at the front door stopped him. It was loud.

Someone was knocking.

Banging.

Striking their fist on the wood so hard it sounded like they might’ve been apt to knock the whole thing down.

For a moment, Tommy considered grabbing his pistol. Then he shrugged off the thought, not wanting to freak Maria out by brandishing a firearm at this hour, and instead bounded quickly to the door to see what the fuck this person wanted before their knocking woke her up.

He swung the front door open, nostrils flared.

And there you were, looking just as enraged.

“You motherfucker!” you hissed at him.

Before he could stop you, you were storming inside. He could see Joel behind you, looking almost as overcome as he was, but he didn’t have time to talk to his brother.

Tommy didn’t have time to breathe, as you knocked the wind out of him by pushing past him, your steps forceful.

Your eyes were wide with indignation and ire.

Disbelief and…something like disgust?

“Did you fuck my mom?!” you spat.

What the— what? What?

When he was too stunned to speak—from both drowsiness and the initial shock—you stepped in again. You didn’t touch him, but you got in his face. Very close.

“Answer the fucking question, Miller. Did you?!”

“Sweetheart—” Joel started behind you.

Tommy could hear that his voice was tight. Their eyes flitted up to meet each other, briefly, and at the same time, the door to the bedroom opened. Well, great.

“Did you fuck my mother or not, Tommy?!”

Perfect timing. Tommy swallowed hard.

For some reason, his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Evidently, you interpreted this pause as an admission, or something, because your face morphed into one of pure horror, and one of your hands rose to cover your mouth.

“Oh god, you did!” you shrieked. Words high and shrill. “You fucked her, then let me have sex with my uncle!”

Oh, fuck.

What the fuck?

What the everliving fuck?

At last, he found words: “No! No, I never—”

Tommy couldn’t imagine what Maria must be thinking.

You turned on your heel, and, hand still hovering over your mouth, you turned to Joel. You looked like you were about to be sick, as did he. Your breaths shortly faltered.

“We are so fucked!” you said to him. In shock.

Joel seemed as if he wanted to comfort you, but in truth, the man looked just as queasy, and you appeared to be in no state to want to be touched. You spun back around.

Somehow, Tommy was able to conjure up more words. Whether they’d actually make sense was anyone’s guess.

“I— I never had sex with your mom, kid. Never,” he said.

Decent enough.

But you didn’t believe him.

“My dad said you did,” you bit back. “He said that you and—and some other guys were hooking up with my mom right around the time she got pregnant with me, and he thinks you might be my dad, which would be insanely, insanely bad, since I’ve been fucking your brother for the last three months, and you knew that!”

Each word hit with all the force of an eighteen-wheeler.

Again, Tommy was too stunned to talk for a moment.

“Just…just come clean if you did. We need to know.”

That was Joel. His face was screwed up in a wince, like he didn’t really want to know any of this, but it was necessary. He needed to know if his brother was truly stupid enough to have sex with a woman and not mention the fact that her daughter might be Joel’s niece.

Tommy stared back, blinking, before recovering again.

This time, he knew he had to keep his shit together.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maria.

Keep. Your. Fucking. Shit. Together.

“I never…in my life, ever slept with Amy, Joel. I swear,” he said, slowly. Then, turning to you. “I was—what, like…twenty-two when you were born? I didn’t even lose my virginity ‘til I was twenty-four. I never had sex with her.”

“But her dad said—” Joel started.

“Her dad thought I was a slut back then, I know. I wasn’t, but I liked pretending I was. It was easier to act like that than tell the guys I was a virgin, alright? It was stupid.”

He felt stupid.

Even more so in front of Maria, who now not only had to hear this whole insane incest debate but also learned he hadn’t gotten laid until his mid-twenties. It shouldn’t matter—it didn’t matter, and he didn’t regret his choice in the slightest—but still, he felt a pang in his chest.

And more to the point, why the hell would your dad even insinuate that he might’ve slept with Amy? He knew damn well they’d never gotten together. They were friends, sure, but that’s all they ever were, or appeared.

None of it made any sense.

Clearly, the news was still settling in between you, Joel, Maria, and even himself. Silence stretched on for some seconds, and Tommy released a sigh to himself. His heart rate gradually slowed, and he looked to Maria.

And where he’d expected to find her distraught, if not disgusted or a little humiliated on his behalf, he saw a smile. It was faint, but it was there. From the opposite side of the living room, in the dim glow of the morning sun’s first rays, he could see it. She was smiling at him.

Your family’s kind of insane.

I still love you, by the way.

Maria didn’t need to speak to him in words, but he felt it. He couldn’t help but grin weakly back at her, wanting to walk over to her and give her a big, bear hug in apology.

Unfortunately, Tommy didn’t get that chance, as you jumped him in the next instant with a hug of your own.

You squeezed tight and exhaled shakily into his chest.

“Shit. Tommy, I am so sorry. I’m sorry,” you said.

His grin stretched bigger in spite of himself.

In spite of this whole ridiculous, messy situation, he smiled and hugged you back. You were like a little sister to him, thankfully not a daughter, and Tommy forgave folks easily. Over the top of your head, he glanced at his girlfriend again, and he mouthed a soft apology himself.

I’m so sorry, Maria.

Also, I love you more.

“It’s all good, kid.” Out of habit, and feeling the same protective instinct he’d always felt for you, he kissed the crown of your head. He rubbed your back as you hugged. “If I thought somebody was dumb enough not to tell me I might be fuckin’ my uncle, I’d also try to kick their ass.”

You laughed. You shook your head a little against him.

“You’re too big. I could never actually do it,” you said.

“I might,” Joel rejoined from someplace behind you.

That threat had no teeth. His brother was simply heaving a sigh of relief as he plopped down on the couch, likely thinking to himself that he was so fucking glad this conversation hadn’t steered where he feared it might. Briefly, Tommy caught his gaze, then squeezed you in his arms a little bit tighter. He angled your bodies to Joel.

“Even if he ain’t your uncle, are you sure you wanna be stuck with this loser, honey? He’s an ass, as you can see.”

He was talking to you, but his focus was on Joel. Smug.

The man on the sofa just rolled his eyes. He reached out to snag the waistband of your shorts and tug you back, while Tommy kept that wry, knowing smirk on his lips.

He let go, and you gladly dropped over into Joel’s lap.

“Too late. We’re dating,” his brother hummed back.

Dating?

Well, shit.

Tommy stared harder, only this time his look was one of surprise—and muted satisfaction. He glanced at Maria, who was yawning and preparing to draw back into the bedroom, it looked like. Then he remembered how early it was. His brother looked just as drained laying out on the couch, and if he’d had to guess, you and Joel would be retiring to the guest bedroom to crash at any minute.

He would have to keep this quick.

“Goin’ steady, huh?” he pressed.

“Don’t start.” Joel raised a hand, yawning himself.

You were all too tired for this shit. Tommy couldn’t resist. Like the bonehead little brother he was, he had to say it. He’d been waiting too long to see Joel in a relationship.

He was already retreating to the bedroom, to Maria, and he didn’t intend on dragging this out, but the opportunity was also too tempting to ignore.

“And y’all didn’t ask for my permission?” he called over his shoulder. Taunting. “A father has a right to know!”

Joel lifted one big, callused middle finger from the sofa. You smiled and waved and gave your best impression of a person much sweeter than you normally were, saying:

“Sorry, Dad, Uncle Joel’s dick was too good to resist!”

Eeeeeewwwwwww.

Tommy made a face as he left.

“I’m going back to bed. Y’all are sick.”

And on some level, he meant it. He was also grinning ear-to-ear as he shut the bedroom door behind him and turned to Maria, who was sliding under the covers.

“Your life is a Folgers commercial,” she chuckled.

“Pretty much,” he murmured as he joined her.

Then, without thinking twice about it, he reached for one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed. He nudged it over his girlfriend’s way, as if offering for her to take it, and when Maria cocked a brow, Tommy pointed to the door. He could already hear you and Joel going upstairs.

“You’ll need this. Use it to cover your ears,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I know anything about those two, they’re about to have some of the most disgustingly loud sex.”

You and Joel were having the most disgustingly loud sex.

It always was, though, wasn’t it?

The concern wasn’t one that often crossed your mind when getting drilled from behind by Joel Miller, but today, with his brother—who was not your biological father—and his girlfriend in the room directly below the one where you and Joel were fucking, you did consider it.

Were you being too noisy? Could they hear you now?

Was Joel pounding too hard, and should you have maybe put a pillow between the metal bed frame and the wall?

There was no time to fix the latter. You were in too deep. Joel was in too deep himself, digging through your guts with every quick, merciless thrust of his hips against you. His grip tightened on your waist, and he pushed down. He wanted your upper half damn near parallel with the bed, while your ass was up and pointed just where he could fuck your wet and needy cunt. He drove in hard.

Every push of his cock through your body, sawing back and forth, again and again with increasing vigor, could’ve supplied noise enough to wake the whole neighborhood. The dizzying squelch, the persistent, wet smack of his groin against your ass, the tiny strings of your shared arousal and sweat stretching far and then colliding all over again with each new thrust, all blew your cover.

If you’d had any desire to keep your sex noises private, your body and his were doing a terrible fucking job of it.

You might as well have painted it on a billboard by now:

‘WE REALLY, REALLY LOVE FUCKING!’

‘WE’RE NOT RELATED, BY THE WAY!!’

Perhaps that was why Joel was so earnest now—having just found out that this had all been a false alarm and you could fuck as much as desired, well…it did things to him.

It did things to you, too.

It made it hard to keep quiet or even try to curb the frenzy when Joel sheathed himself fully inside, held it, then leaned over your prone body to press his hand to the back of your head. He tilted your chin toward him as best he could in this position. He dug even deeper, and you felt him in your fucking lungs. You let out a whimper

“Joel—”

“Look at me, darlin’,” Joel said, gruff. “You’re close, hm?”

You were.

You nodded your head against his firm hold.

Your eyes tried meeting his from where your face was pressed against the mattress and Joel was hovering directly above, but the effort was fruitless. Your gaze couldn’t stay on his like he’d wanted. Joel grunted.

He pulled you up. He tugged you back into a semi-kneeling position, so that your back was flush with his chest and your bodies still connected. His lips pressed a quick, calming kiss to your neck before he moved again.

Before you knew it, you were off the bed and standing—more a function of Joel holding you up than any strength in your legs. You were propped against a pretty wooden dresser with a mirror attached to the back. In your shared reflection, you met Joel’s gaze, and he grinned at you. He wasted no time pushing back inside and watching your face contort with the pressure and the stretch of his girth. Your jaw went slack; you clenched around him.

And you could feel in the responding groan from Joel that he was just as close. You’d been at it for less than five minutes, but the ardor and the relief and the fact that it had been weeks since you’d gotten to do this together was enough to send you both spiraling fast. Joel reached for your hip in one hand and held your throat in the other. He went on at a relentless pace.

With every snap of his hips, your knees hit the dresser drawers. It didn’t hurt. Joel angled your body so he wasn’t pushing you too hard into the surface of the furniture, but he did make you feel it. He lowered his head closer to yours so that your faces were side-by-side in the mirror, and you felt his stubble graze your cheek.

“Y’know, I meant what I said. Last time,” Joel murmured.

What?

As close as you both were now, how could the man even string words together, much less bring up old memories?

You steeled yourself in place, barely holding his gaze.

“Wh— Huh?” You sounded dumb as shit. “What?”

Joel’s teeth grazed the soft, tender skin from your jaw to your chin while he continued to work himself in and out. He slowed his thrusts to a much calmer, gentler rhythm.

He kissed your cheek just as he plunged in, balls deep.

You let out a whine so desperate, pitchy, and shrill at that, you almost didn’t hear it when he spoke again:

“I told you that I was ready.” Another gentle withdrawal. “To tell your dad.” A thrust back in. “Whenever you were.”

Shit.

So that was what this was about.

You felt good. You felt like you were ready, too.

But the prospect of telling your father the truth about you and Joel was nothing short of terrifying, frankly. Imagining what he might say—or do—to the man you loved made you want to keep this hidden away for as long as you possibly could. It was selfish, you knew it. Still, it was scary to think of all the things that would change as soon as you made this known to your dad.

From what you could tell, though, Joel wasn’t feeling quite the same level of concern. He fucked you slow and deep. He let his hand slide from your throat to your legs.

Between them, he found your clit easily and pressed in.

He rubbed circles while he dragged his cock in and out at the most maddening pace, and with every thrust, you could feel him hit that sensitive place, again and again.

You shuddered in his arms. You braced your hands against the dresser below, not wanting to collapse.

Sensing you were right at the brink of ecstasy, and likely wanting something to fill the lull you’d left, Joel went on.

“You— you want that, too, don’t you?”

There was patent need in that tone.

The slightest tinge of insecurity.

You didn’t want Joel to think for even a moment that you were having second thoughts, so you fought back the worry in your own mind, and you nodded your head.

“Y-Yeah, Joel. I want it,” you whispered. “I’m just scared.”

Hell, that admission might as well have been written on your face, because your expression said it all. You were teetering on release and fucking terrified of this coming to an end. The eyes that held his were a bit glossier now. Joel saw that and seemed to ease off, pressing his lips back to your skin as he rocked his hips back and forth.

“I am, too,” he confessed. His breath hitched, and the circles on your clit grew a little sloppier. He was close. “We— we can wait. I just wanna…take you places, hon.”

You knew what he meant by that. Going out without having to check over your shoulder every ten minutes, wondering if this was the time you got caught. Not needing to worry so much. Again, you nodded, and you felt Joel’s cock twitch inside you. Your walls ached, and the knot in your stomach was tightening every second.

You were about to speak up, when Joel cut back in.

“I love you. I…I don’t care how long this takes us.”

“I love you, Joel.”

You couldn’t manage much more than that. Already the tides of pleasure were rising too high, and your chest was flooded with a heady feeling. You were about to give in, still holding Joel’s gaze in the mirror, and from behind you, you could see his demeanor harden with purpose.

On hearing you say those words, you loved him, plans involving his old friend and the worst the man might think when you two came clean with the truth were lost to the ether, it seemed. He set it all aside, at least momentarily, as he worked on drawing your pleasure out and also getting himself there in time. He held your hip tighter and drew his quick, messy circles through your folds in just the way you liked, and he kissed you gently. He fucked you gently. He made every last word and touch and brush of his cock inside you feel as tender as you’d ever felt it before. You came undone in seconds.

‘I love you’ was almost like a refrain between you both.

Joel shortly followed. He groaned against your neck as the pleasure fluttered and pulsed—muttered something about wanting to spill inside, but you both knew better. He withdrew just in time to paint the insides of your thighs, then your ass, then the small of your back.

There was so much. While relishing your own moment of bliss, you couldn’t help but savor the warmth and weight of Joel’s spend coating your skin. It made it feel that much more raw, and primal, and from the look Joel had lowered between your bodies to take in that wet, sticky mess, you could tell he was thinking the same as you.

You weren’t surprised, and didn’t flinch, when he pushed two fingers in your mouth. He still had you up against the dresser, eyes locked on your own reflection, so you saw what he’d wanted you to see. You licked and sucked the cum off his fingers until they were completely clean. A reflexive whine reverberated down those fingers after you’d swallowed, and Joel’s first instinct was to smile.

“You did so good for me, sweet pea,” he praised.

His hand strayed down your front, mapping the skin mindlessly and with that same, sweet grin on his lips. You preened beneath his touch and didn’t want it to end.

Eventually, it had to. You were both drenched in cum and sweat, and as cold as it happened to be outdoors, your activities had managed to kick the heat up more than a few degrees. Joel’s chest and shoulders were glistening.

“Shower?” you murmured, turning around to face him.

Joel hummed in agreement.

He swept his thumb between your thighs one last time before teasing the tip at your lips. You suckled it softly, if not with a drowsy and contented little smile to match his

You showered. You toweled off. You threw on his shirt, Joel slid on his boxers, and you both crawled into bed. Anything beyond snuggling in and sleeping wasn’t high on the list of priorities, as you assumed it was for Tommy and Maria, so you were surprised to hear a noise right after you closed your eyes. It was a knock on the door.

It was Tommy’s. You could tell.

Sensing the same, Joel called out:

“We’re sleepin’, man, c’mon. Go on now.”

You were certain Tommy and Maria could’ve said the same when the two of you had been engaged in your cacophonous fuckfest just fifteen minutes prior, so you stayed quiet. You squeezed Joel’s arm around your waist.

The knocking continued.

This time, it was accompanied by Tommy’s voice.

“Are y’all decent?”

In other words: not naked and going to traumatize him. You were both semi-clothed and under the covers anyway, so you yelled back that, yes, you were.

Tommy walked in. He had his phone to his ear.

Then he held the thing up, where you could dimly make out that the call was on mute, but what alarmed you even more was the contact name on the screen.

Joel leapt into a sitting position just as quickly as you.

You both froze; Tommy gestured as if to say, ‘Relax.’

“Wh— why is my dad calling you?!” you demanded.

You had no idea how the man was staying so calm. This was a bad thing, right? Beside you, Joel seemed to be thinking the same, because he twisted his head toward the window. He craned his neck, as if checking to see if your father might not be parked outside the front door. Your body tensed glancing back at Tommy—he was still holding the phone like it was a prize, or something—and when you saw him smirk a bit, you shot him a wary look.

“What?! What does he want?” you pressed again.

Instead of answering immediately, Tommy moved his thumb over to the ‘unmute’ button, and his grin grew.

“I dunno, why don’t you ask him yourself?” he said.

At the same time, and before Tommy could press that button, you and Joel both shouted at once: “DON’T!”

It almost would’ve been comical if it wasn’t also bone-chillingly horrifying. What the hell was his problem?

As if to press that last question, Joel stood from the bed and stalked over to his brother. Tommy ambled back, still taunting, and held the phone up closer to his face. Right when Joel lunged for it, the nimbler Miller jumped back. Joel blew out a breath and gritted for Tommy to grow the fuck up, would ya? Tommy just smirked and continued the song-and-dance for the cellular device. It didn’t take much for the two to get into a full-blown battle for the thing, and before you knew it, Joel had his brother snagged in a headlock, Tommy was laughing his ass off and telling him the chokehold’s illegal, asshole, and you were a second away from intervening. Fuck this noise.

“Tommy, you’re bein’ a—” you started, sharp.

“Fuckin’ dickhead!” Joel finished for you.

He’d almost wrestled the phone out of Tommy’s grip, when his brother turned and surprised you both again—he threw the phone your way. You shrieked out loud.

Force of habit.

You narrowly caught the phone in your hands.

And, having nearly dropped it at first, your fingers seized at the screen to secure their grasp. Of course, your thumb tapped right on the key you’d been trying to avoid

“Shit,” you cursed reflexively.

“Sweetheart?”

The phone was on speaker.

Across the room, Joel froze in place, and the color drained from him completely. You, too, were stock-still.

“D-Dad?” you stammered.

You half-expected him to shout—‘What on earth are you doin’ home early? And with Tommy?’—and you winced. For a second, you thought your friend might’ve snitched, and you shot him a look, but then your dad was back.

“Hey! Glad Tommy got ahold of ya. He said you caught an early flight back to surprise me. Y’all at the airport?”

You swallowed.

You must’ve said yes, because your father went on.

“Good, good. Keep your bags packed, alright?”

“Why?” You hoped he didn’t hear you falter.

Time was moving too fast. Your heart was no doubt drilling holes in your ribcage by now. Blood rushed and swirled and deafened your ears to all that was going on, but dimly, you could see Joel’s expression across the room. It was pensive, while his brother’s stayed amused.

Tommy knew something you didn’t.

Before you could begin to wonder what that was, your dad’s voice across the line shortly supplied the answer.

It was laid-back, easy, and uncharacteristically excited.

You hadn’t thought you’d ever heard him so eager about anything in his life, but there he went, telling you at once:

“I’m down in Galveston—I want y’all to come too, ASAP!”

#hilariously sexy LMAO #fic recs #joel miller smut #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 2 months ago

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Take It Easy

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller x virgin f! Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: you’re a virgin with a crush on your best friends dad and you’re determined to make him your first.

Warnings: SMUT! PWP, PIV, fingering, tiddy stuff, oral (f receiving) virginity loss, alcohol, dubious consent on a little of this, age gap, tiny bit of daddy, creampie, Joel is kind of a creep, fetishization of youth, big dick Joel. Dirty talk, sweat pants, Sarah lives, idk what else. Typos galore, not edited, hardly beta’d at all, straight up pornorgraphy. Don’t read smut for the morals.

A word from the author: well, here we go. Big dick Joel getting real nasty with his daughter’s virgin friend.

MASTERLIST

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At 9 AM a bead of sweat trickled down Joel’s temple. It was a cold day, highs only reaching into the 40s. Rain was expected and he had called Tommy to take over the job site for the day, blaming a terrible migraine triggered by the weather, probably.

With no one else home and no place to be, Joel could devote himself to the task that had been hanging over him for two weeks.

You had the day off too. Classes didn’t start up again until after the new year, despite everyone heading back to campus with their clean laundry and gifts from their parents and grandparents. Sarah included. You and your best friend since 11th grade had arrived home on the same day and spent days together at your parent’s house making cookies and wrapping gifts and watching movies and drinking too-sweet amaretto sours in her and her father’s kitchen. Now she’s gone and you’re left behind, one more thing to finish up before you could get back to college life.

Joel was focused and diligent, careful and patient, but determined. His tongue slid across his bottom lip. “Just relax,” he reminded you. How could you, at a time like this?

You hadn’t been relaxed since the first night back at Sarah’s dad’s house, since you first saw the width of his shoulders, the size of his biceps, or his big dark eyes. There was no relaxing when you saw him size you up as he grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, when he spoke to you and Sarah, but only looked at you when he said to be good. All you wanted was to be good for him.

You campaigned hard. Arching your back, ass out, bright pink fabric of your thong showing above the waistband of your sweatpants while you leaned over the counter eating pizza and flipping through Sarah’s stack of magazines in the Miller family’s cozy kitchen.

“Save me any?” Joel asked, sidling up behind you, reaching for the greasy pizza box and letting his hand drag over your exposed skin, the side of his pinky finger just barely reaching under the waistband of your panties. Your cheeks heated as he smiled at you, chomping his pizza and, unbeknownst to you, semi hard in his jeans.

Of course Joel didn’t mind Sarah bringing friends home, especially little things like you, with bodies like yours that played havoc on his self control. Ones that were eager to flirt with an older man, ones who didn’t know what they were asking for.

You thought you knew. Sure Sarah was your friend, but you were still human and her dad was hot. You might not be experienced, but you had a whole treasure trove of dirty stories you read between classes and studying about how an older man could treat a younger woman. Those stories occupied your mind. You masturbated, imagining a handsome man who took charge of you like the imaginary ones, you whispered “daddy” as you came, just like the women in the stories, thrilled with the naughtiness of it all.

Now, here you are with this handsome older man, already going gray, and you wondered if he would like it if you called him daddy. You imagined how the word would sound if he said it.

You’d harbored a little crush on Joel since you first saw him at Sarah’s high school graduation party. You’d watched him from across the yard all night, wanting him to see you, but not wanting him to all at once. You never imagined he might look at you with the same carnivorous hunger in his eyes.

Of course he’d seen you, how could he not? You’d shown up looking way too beautiful for your own good then made eyes at him all night. He’d spent the entire party avoiding you so he wouldn’t be tempted to drag you up to his bedroom and wipe that fucking temptress look off your face. He knew he couldn’t.

When Sarah called to tell you about the date she had planned with some guy, you encouraged her. Told her to see a movie, dinner, anything. You helped her pick an outfit and did her eyeliner for her. When her date picked her up at seven, you were on her doorstep at seven thirty, playing dumb and looking for the jacket you’d left behind. Of course he invited you in to get it, and offered you a drink.

“You’re twenty one now, ain’t ya?” He winked at you as he poured two shots of whiskey and slid one over to you.

“Close enough,” you mumbled, low so he didn’t hear.

He watched as you swallowed the burning liquid, fixated on the way your throat moved as you obediently swallowed what he gave you. You grimaced, shaking your head and sputtering at the taste. Joel grinned and poured another and put it in front of you. “Second one goes down easier.” He was right. It went down easy, and it made you feel warm and relaxed.

You leaned close to talk, tilting your head, your eyelids heavy. “I didn’t really need my jacket,” you confessed. “Kinda just wanted to see you again.”

Joel held his liquor much better than you, but he played along, feigning ignorance. “Yeah? What do you want with an old man like me?

Of course, after that it wasn’t safe to let you leave, so you sat with Joel on his couch, a movie playing in the background. Joel pulled your bare feet onto his lap and spread a blanket over you both. Your eyelids were heavy, and you couldn’t help but stare at his profile, the curve of his nose, the fullness of his lips.

He turned to look at you, and smiled. “You gonna keep statin’ at me all night?” You licked your lips and nodded. “You can do more than look if you want to, pretty girl.”

Joel’s arm reached across the back of the couch, making the room feel smaller, the air warmer, and what happened next inevitable. He leaned over, taking more of your space, and tilted your chin up. The kiss started tender and soft, something sweet, not innocent but with no hint of how reckless he would be with you. He was so big and strong, and you felt so vulnerable and small with his arms around you, his hands roaming over your body and his tongue slipped into your mouth.

He took your hand in his and guided it to his lap, letting you feel the size of his hard cock, straining beneath the fabric. “Look what you did,” he panted, breaking away from your lips. “That’s all you. You keep comin’ over here teasing me and then I gotta go take care of it on my own.”

You gasped at the size of him, feeling the length, the thickness through his worn denim. You’d only seen pictures, and having a cock in your hands was thrilling and new. You went to unbutton his jeans, eager to take it out and see it for real when he stopped you. “Uh-uh. You ain’t ready for that yet.”

He knew you were a virgin. He’d heard you telling Sarah how frustrated you were, poor thing. The thought of being the first to have you had given him two weeks of fantasy material to jerk off with. He thought of you on your knees, mouth open obediently. He thought of you bent over the back on his couch, bare pussy showing under the hem of a short skirt. He thought of the way your cry his name when he filled you all the way up and came in your tight little snatch. He was ate up with his dirty ideas.

Sarah’s dad lifted your shirt instead, pulling it up over your tits and kissing the tops of each breast, silently reminding himself to not rush. You made soft sounds of pleasure as he worked slowly, kissing, licking, nibbling gently, pulling the cups of your bra down so he could circle your nipples with the wet point of his tongue, flicking them, sucking them, making you whimper. You’d never felt a mouth there before, and your panties were soaked already. Joel seemed to know they would be.

“You makin’ a mess for me? Let me have a look.”

“Mister Miller,” you warned him, giggling and nervous as he unbuttoned your jeans and tugged down your zipper. You held your breath as his hand slipped down the front of your damp panties. He felt the soft strip of hair you’d left over your mound, the rest of you bare and inviting.

Joel chuckled when he discovered how wet you were. His fingers were immediately covered in your slippery wetness.“Goddamn, sweetheart. All this just ‘cause I played with your tits?”

His teasing embarrassed you, until he put your hand over his erection again. “Think you can take him?” You nodded, wide eyed and he thrust against your palm. Joel laughed again. Even for an experienced woman he knew he was a lot to take. He never got tired of the whines and hiccuped breaths as he drove his cock into them for the first time. He twitched at the thought of you, eager and new, dripping wet but tight as a vice around him.

You kissed him again, pulling him down on top of you, but his hand never left your pussy. He rubbed over your slick vulva, and delved between your folds to draw out more of your arousal, spreading it around, circling your clit, teasing you into a panting mess. You closed your eyes and gripped his tshirt in your fists as you came. It was even better than when you do it yourself.

“That good, baby? You like coming like that for me?” Joel watched your dazed, loopy smile drop in surprise when he brought his wet fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean and hummed at the flavor of you on his tongue.

He had his middle finger poised to slip into your pussy, beginning the task of opening you up just enough to let his cock do the rest when a pair of headlights swept across the room. Sarah was home.

Suddenly feeling much more sober, you and Joel scrambled to right yourselves and you grabbed the jacket you’d accidentally-on-purpose left behind to help explain why you were here, alone with her father. He grabbed a beer and turned on the tv, feigning interest in a show about crab fishing.

Sarah was confused by your presence, as you’d expected.

“What are you doing here? Is everything ok?” She was so sweet and concerned, and what you really wanted to do was ask her what she was doing here, wasn’t she supposed to be on a date? You waved it off, holding your jacket up as explanation.

Sarah shrugged. The two of you went to her room, closing the door behind you for a post-date recap while Joel was left alone on the couch, cock still hard.

Two days passed before you saw him again. When you came over to help Sarah pack up for the drive back to school he was there, in the same place on the couch where he had pushed you further than anyone else ever had.

As your best friend of the last almost two years tried to decide what she needed to take back with her and what she should leave in her room, you excused yourself to the bathroom. Joel saw you go in and waited behind his bedroom door for you to come back out. When you passed, his hand reached out and grabbed you, pulling you into his room and held you against his warm body, letting you feel the bulk of his erection in his sweatpants as he kissed you.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come back,” he whispered low in your ear. “Me and you have some unfinished business.”

You instantly burnt with your need for him, nothing else was as important as feeling him, kissing him, touching him, finding out what else he might do to you.

Joel’s breath was warm and his mustache tickled your ear. “I want you here first thing in the mornin’ you understand? I’m not done with you,” he palmed your ass roughly, pulling you against him. He had a mind to just toss you onto his bed and sort you out right here and now. He was certainly hard enough, and he was sure if he checked you’d be dripping wet for him.

Down the hallway Sarah called for you, snapping you out of whatever was happening or could happen with just a little more time. You should feel guilty. You let your best friend’s dad finger you. You almost fucked him. He’s twice your age and she’s your best friend, but your traitorous pussy didn’t care. You wanted to find out what else he would do. You helped her finish packing, and went home to touch yourself under the covers in your own childhood bedroom.

You’d been nervous, barely sleeping all night, horny and excited and worried that you didn’t have any way to contact Joel to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind.

When you woke up you showered and put on the cutest panties you’d packed, a soft cotton bikini with a heart on the back that said “Lucky You” in bold letters. You hoped they wouldn’t be soaked by the time he got his hands on them. You misted yourself with vanilla body spray and practiced looking cool, which was the opposite of how you felt. You felt like a goofy, awkward teenager. You were acutely aware of your inexperience. You dressed in a snug pair of jeans that hugged your ass and a soft white sweater, and tamped down the guilt of driving to Sarah’s house with the intention of fucking her dad.

Sarah was already gone when you got back to her house the next morning. You arrived at eight thirty, just as Joel had instructed.

Any lingering nerves or doubt vaporized the instant he opened the door. It swung open, warmth and the smell of coffee rushing out. Joel was still in his sweatpants and a soft white tshirt, obviously slept in. He filled the doorway, looking you up and down, practically licking his chops like a hungry wolf. It was reassuring to see the way his pants were already beginning to tent. It made you feel bolder.

“Good morning, Mister Miller,” you batted your lashes at him, tilting your head flirtatiously.

“Get your ass in here,” he grumbled, checking the street for any boring eyes. Luckily most of his neighbors were at work. He shut the door and locked it before turning his attention back to you.

There was no formality or polite small talk before he was on you. His lips on your neck, sucking hard enough to mark. His hands pulling impatiently at your jeans, tracing his fingers down the back seam to cup your pussy.

“You smell good,” he said. “You get dressed up to come over here and fool around with an old man?”

“I came over for you.” You rubbed your nose against his shoulder, leaning into him, feeling his warmth and strong, sturdy body.

“I’m old enough to be your daddy.”

As if you needed the reminder.

“I don’t care, Mister Miller. I like it,” you said, emphasizing your point by grinding harder against the thick curve of his cock.

You reached for his waistband, eager to see and feel everything that was promised. You were ready to drop to your knees, but he stopped you again. “I told you you’re not ready for that.”

“Can you get me ready?” You asked so sweetly that Joel thought he thought he surely must be dreaming.

“Yeah baby. I’ll get ya ready. Come on.” Joel took you to his bedroom and sat you on his freshly washed sheets. He took off your sweater and tossed it onto a chair in the corner where his own laundry was already piled. He kissed you and unsnapped your bra. He took off his own shirt and threw it behind him. You covered your chest with your arms, but Joel pulled them away.

“Uh-uh. Don’t be shy now. You like teasing older men, walking around my house looking good enough to eat, looking at me like you do, I’m gonna take my time.”

Your body lit up when he climbed over you and pushed your tits together with his big, rough hands. He licked across your nipples, teasing them to firm points with his tongue, sucking each one, squeezing and kneading your breasts. When he had enough of that, when you began to roll your hips, he popped the button of your jeans with ease. He tugged them down your legs and held your thighs open wide. You knew you’d soaked your panties. The look on his face told you.

“Are you nervous?” he asked. You shook your head no. “Has this pussy ever been licked?” Another shake of your head. “No? Well I’m gonna fix that right now. Hold your knees up for me, baby.

You bit your lower lip and held the back of your knees. You could feel your pussy blooming with need. Joel hooked his fingers under your panties and pulled them off. He read the words aloud. “‘Lucky You,’ he laughed. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

On his tired knees, he licked your puffy cunt. He sucked and slurped and hummed happily as you panted. His tongue pushed into your entrance, a hint of what was to come. He flicked his tongue quickly over your asshole, then through your slick, sticky folds to suck your clit. You moaned and thrashed, you dug your heels into the edge of the mattress until he shoved your knees back up and looked at you pointedly from between your legs.

You could have come from this alone, his lips and his tongue, but he pushed one finger into you, then another. Even when you fingered yourself it wasn’t this intense. Your orgasm came quickly, radiating over your body, seizing your muscles.

Joel stood, wiping his face with the back of his hand and smiling proudly down at you.

“Did good, baby. Pussy’s so sweet I could eat it all day.”

You laughed. Feeling almost as buzzed as you did from the whiskey. “Will you?”

“Is that what you want?” Joel stroked his cock through his sweatpants, a wet spot had darkened the gray fabric near the tip, and he seemed even bigger than you remembered.

“No,” you sat up on the bed and looked up at him. When you tried this time, he let you reach into his pants. His cock was hot and firm, with smooth, soft skin, you pulled it from his sweatpants and stared. Your fingertips didn’t touch when you held his cock in your fist. You slid your hand up and down in a gentle, timid stroke, quickly gaining confidence and Joel watched you explore him with glassy, half lidded eyes and a bead of precum leaking from the thick, blush pink head. In a daring moment of impulse, you licked it up, savoring the forbidden taste of him on your tongue.

Joel had to stop himself from holding your hair and shoving his cock into your throat. Patience, he reminded himself. He had to give you time. He knew you’d be taking him in every hole soon enough. An eager girl like you. A bad girl. A cock hungry little slut in the making and you were his to mold.

“That’s good, baby. That’s real good, but if you keep that up I’m gonna come and we don’t want that, do we?” Joel stepped back and kicked off his sweatpants.

You were both naked now, fully bared to each other, his body graying now, with scars and years of wear and tear, yours, young and new and untouched by anyone but him.

He got into the bed beside you, pulling you up to kiss him, the smell and taste of your pussy clinging to his mustache. He deepened the kiss and rolled on top of you once more, the time positioning himself between your legs. You felt his cock, heavy and long against your folds. He slid against you, rocking your hips, and you mirrored his movements, coating his turgid member in your wetness.

His deep, husky voice was so sexy, low and rumbling against your lips. “You feel so good. Can you feel me? Feel how bad I need you?

“I feel you Joel,” your voice strained. “You’re so big.”

“You can take him, baby. You’re ready. You did so good for me. You want it? You want daddy’s cock? You gonna be a good girl and take it for me?”

“Yes. I want it. I want it, please,” you begged in a haze.

Joel dragged his cock head through your folds again, gathering your slick, and nudging against your tight, virgin hole.

“Relax for me baby. Let me in,” Joel urged impatiently and you tried, but he was so big. That word floated in your head. Big. Everything about him was just so big. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply until he managed t fit the first inch and a half inside.

“Come on, you’re doin’ so good. Focus right here.” He sucked his thumb into his mouth, wetting it with his saliva and pressing it against your clit. It helped a little, but you couldn’t ignore the stinging, overwhelming stretch of him in your impossibly tight little cunt.

It took several beats of your heart pounding in your ears to work him all the way in, inch after throbbing inch filling you completely. You didn’t dare move. You let Joel take control. He had to focus too. You weren’t the first virgin he’d ruined but he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He inched out, and pushed back in. Out, then in, keeping a steady pace as you got acclimated to his size.

You did, slowly relaxing, relishing in the warmth of his body, the pain washed away into pleasure. Each stroke of his length into you stoked your growing orgasm. It was nothing like you’d ever felt. You began to feel crazy over it. You slipped your hand between your bodies and rubbed your clit the way you did when you were alone.

“Fuck yeah. Make yourself come. Let me feel you,” Joel encouraged, his temples glistening with sweat. He needed to come. He wanted to do the right thing. He wanted to make this good and keep you coming back but you felt so damn good. He wanted to mark you with his cum like no one else ever could.

You whined, his words, his voice were what did you in. You came hard on his cock. It was a smooth, rolling, heavy feeling, instant addiction. The feeling was soon followed by Joel’s orgasm. He didn’t stop to ask where, he just pushed deep and released inside, cum held in place with his softening cock and the weight of his body collapsing on top of yours.

What now, you wondered. You’ve fucked him, what now?

He rolled off of you and kissed you, then for a few moments you lay side by side in silence. His cum dripped out, adding to the mess between your legs.

“You ok,” he asked. “I didn’t hurt you did I? I know it’s a lot. You’re not bleeding are ya?”

“I’m fine, Joel.” You wondered if you should leave now. You went to the bathroom and cleaned yourself up. You didn’t look any different in the mirror now that you weren’t a virgin. You didn’t look like someone who would have sex with their friend’s dad, either.

You went to find your clothes and purse so you could leave, but Joel was still in bed, holding his arm up for you to get back in with him. He had no intention of letting you leave soon.

“I thought I could make us some lunch before we try again.”

#fic recs #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #bfd!joel #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 2 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader x Eddie Munson

summary | Joel and you go on patrol and woah—Eddie's coming with?

author's note | uh...hahaha. okay. i had a brief moment the other night, a lapse in judgement if you will and was like...joel would so be annoyed of eddie if they were stuck on patrol together and then we got horny and that's how this came about. this is my early valentines gift to WHOEVER is reading and enjoying this, it was a blast to write. a special thanks to @gracieheartspedro @amanitacowboy &. @chaotic-mystery for supporting my insane and always stupid ideas.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, is this crossfic or crackfic the jury is still out, jackson!joel, eddie munson survives but the cost = apocalypse, threesomes (m/m/f), eddie is an absolute munch, voyeurism, unprotected piv, spitting, ass slaps, slight dom/sub undertones across the board, this is ALL about reader and getting both her men, double creampies, cum feeding, choking, freak nasty at an unhinged level i'm sorry

word count — 5.5k

You were the one who found him.

Eddie.

Alone, hungry, terrified.

Hiding inside an abandoned boathouse for days in a patrol spot that had been neglected for most of the winter. It was only chance that you came alone, usually stuck with Joel who would have scared him off in a matter of seconds.

He’s like a puppy, shrinking impossibly smaller despite his height and lanky figure, hair filthy with a mix of dirt and leaves, weeks spent living savagely in search of his next meal and resting place.

Luckily, Tommy Miller was a soft soul.

One look at Eddie and Tommy didn’t even question it.

Eddie had made his rounds, too. He tried to find a place where he fit - kitchen duty wasn’t great, nor was butchering or helping run the stable.

It isn’t until he throws out the idea of patrolling that Tommy even considers it—it wasn’t something he liked to offer up unless people showed interest.

And even then, it was an adjustment.

A mix of both trust and skill—constant awareness, a willingness to communicate, and the ability to brave whatever challenge or elements you’d face outside the fortified walls of Jackson.

So, that’s where you were.

Eddie has tagged along for your patrol with Joel.

It was two days and one night in the small cabin out west. It wasn’t far from Jackson, either. In fact, it was one of the easier patrols and Joel could easily doze off at his post while you kept yourself busy.

It was easy, calm.

“Is this all you do?” Eddie asks curiously, tearing into his bag of jerky like a rabid dog, the dried meat cracking under the pressure of his teeth, “Just sit?”

It wasn’t the first question he’s asked, nor the last.

It started with him asking if Joel and Tommy were real brothers before divulging into several questions about life before the infection spread—all mundane and simple, but you have learned so much about Joel in the few years you’ve lived in Jackson.

When he was tired or irritated, happy, when he needed you without the courage to ask, but more importantly—

You could tell when he was annoyed.

You glance over your shoulder and catch the shifty gaze he gives you, biting his tongue for a moment before he nods you over, sitting at the kitchen table whittling away on a chunk of wood to keep himself busy.

Both physically and mentally.

“Shit is a killer,” Eddie adds, “—might have to bring my guitar with me from now on, play some tunes or—“

His voice is drowned out by Joel as he speaks without looking at you, playing your actions off as you were searching through your pack.

“Shut him up,” Joel demands, “now,”

“He’s excited,” You shrug, watching as Eddie stood to explore the cabin, tapping on some old, withering blinds that fell to the floor in an instant, his gaze shooting up at you both and looking immediately sheepish.

“He’s interrupting,” Joel corrects, his head tilting up slightly to look at you as you smirk, biting down on your lip to stifle the laugh in your throat.

Joel was greedy and never shy about it, not with you.

Eddie brings the broken set of blinds over and places it on the table with a smile before pulling the chair back with a loud, ear grating screech against the hardwood and taking a seat with a loud thump.

“Oh, shit—that’s cool,” Eddie notes, pointing lazily at Joel and the soon-to-be figurine tucked away in his meaty palm, met with an eyebrow raise and a quiet noise of acknowledgement before both of their eyes shift to you.

It was similar in intensity, both with entirely different meanings. Joel had you, for months now. One small incident of a shared bed had helped something blossom between each other, though largely unaddressed.

He liked having you around, you liked being around, even if that only meant patrols and the occasional nights Joel would drag you up to his room and have his way.

You don’t question it and neither does he, but Joel was mostly undisturbed until Eddie came along, that all too familiar twinkle in his eye that he caught from many of the younger men around Jackson.

You were like a new toy; fresh and ready to be played with. Although Eddie seemed harmless, he posed a challenge for Joel. Not only because of his growing obsession with you, but because he was a nuisance.

“So, princess,” His feet slam against the table as his boots shake the surface, “what’d you do to keep busy?”

Joel chuckles quietly, a subtle noise that Eddie doesn’t seem to catch, unfortunately you do.

Him. Joel.

Joel keeps you busy. Whether with your mouth or his own.

“Uh, sleep,” You answer lamely, “or nothin’—s’kinda nice to sit with your own thoughts sometimes with how busy Jackson is lately. It’s quiet out here.”

“Dunno ‘bout that,” Joel retorts.

Eddie chuckles unknowingly, “What’s that mean?”

His eyes shift toward you as you shove your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and walk around the table and near him, his fingers dragging along the leather of the jacket he had claimed while sifting through the newest delivery of clothes that had been found during a search.

It was almost identical to his own, save a few tears in the fabric.

“Looks amazing,” Eddie comments, a smile spreading across your face almost instinctively, your heart fluttering with the way his fingers trail against the inside of your palm as he loosely holds your hand, “knew it would.”

Joel watches the exchange with a newfound curiosity.

He’s never been possessive, but seeing you interact with Eddie ignites a strange feeling within him, shifting slightly in his chair to break the moment apart.

“Go on, kid—it’s your turn,” He nods toward Eddie who seems eager to get his first chance at rounding the area, grabbing the shotgun off the table and trampling out the door without question.

As the door shuts, Joel places the items in his hands on the table and scoots back, standing from his chair as quietly walks the expanse of the table before he reaches you, rubbing a finger along the tacky leather of your jacket.

“Princess,” He begins mockingly, “a real charmer, ain’t he?”

You scoff at his tone and push his hand away, quickly met with resistance as his hands cup your face and maneuvers you back against the dining table, clumsily landing against the surface as Joel’s tongue spears between your lips and into your mouth, swallowing up the gasp of surprise that slips out.

“Are - are you jealous?” You ask through the smothering, wet exchanges of tongue and teeth, spreading your hands out over his broad shoulders before they’re pushing him back, begging for a break.

“Kid follows you around like a stray,” He tells you, “he’s waiting for a treat—but I think you know that.”

“And if—“ A gentle kiss to the neck, slowly pushing the jacket off your shoulder, “if I do?”

“Careful,” Joel warns, his fingers pushing your shirt off your shoulders before your hands wrap around his thick fingers, pushing him away gently.

“Last I checked, I don’t belong to anyone,” You retorted.

And you’re right—Joel would never force that on you.

You were allowed to have whatever you wanted. Even if it extended beyond him, but for Joel, you were it for him.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever have the courage to admit it, but internally, he’s known it for a while.

“I know a way to keep him quiet,” You begin, tugging weakly at Joel’s belt, still fastened in place and mostly to tease him, his hands spreading out flat against the table to steady himself, “but you aren’t gonna like it.”

Joel could stake his claim now, forbid it.

But, he doesn’t.

There’s a brief glimpse of intrigue that crosses Joel’s features and you catch it, a smile growing on your face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t sneak off,” You assure him, “I know you like to watch.”

Joel’s skin flushes hot at your words, cock swelling behind the layers of fabric that kept him confined.

He’s watched you countless times, under his instructions as you play with yourself, fingers sliding through a slick mess of your own doing, occasionally a mix of his own.

“The kid can barely look at me,” Joel counters, “ya think he’s really gonna do anything with me in the room?”

“I think you severely underestimate me,” You challenge him, “and I really don’t appreciate that,”

“Go on then,” Joel taunts, “that shithead ain’t better than me, we’ll see how well it goes for ya before I have to step in.”

Challenge accepted.

—

When Eddie returns, Joel takes his place.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?” Eddie asks randomly as he strips off his own jacket and unties the plaid button down from his waist, leaving him in a thin shirt and ripped jeans, toeing off his boots before he collapses into the couch, spreading his legs as one hikes over the back and his hands fall against his stomach.

“Joel is hard to get along with,” You admit.

“You seem to be doing fine,”

“It takes time,” Among other things.

Stripped down to a similar few layers, you fit between his legs as you sit on your knees, elbow propped against the back of the couch as your fist meets your chin.

“I do like the jacket,” You assure him, watching him fiddle absentmindedly with one of his rings as he smiles at you, the lines near his cheek deepening.

“Yeah?” Eddie perks up with a surge of confidence.

“Don’t let him get to you,” You nod vaguely toward the front door, “he’s just jealous.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at that, silently begging you to elaborate.

Quietly, you scoot closer and trade his fidgeting hands for your own, playing with his rings.

“He hates the way you look at me,” You admit, spotting the brief recognition across his features before his eyes slowly darken, rising on his elbows as your hand slowly reaches for his shirt, hand sliding out flat against his stomach, “or how I let you touch me.”

“But, we’ve never…”

“I know,” You nod in agreement, “doesn’t mean I don’t want to—I do, I was just…waiting for you to ask.”

The air shifts with your words, watching him slowly raise to his palms as you lean forward, bodies only a few inches away as you climb into his lap, lips brushing against each other briefly.

“M’not—I’ve never—“

“Kissed anyone?”

It was endearing, in a way.

“No, no—‘course I have. Just, never really done much else. I’ve gone down a few times, sucked a couple cocks, but…”

Oh.

”I really shouldn’t be corrupting you on your first patrol,”

Eddie chuckles against your lips, feeling the subtle brush as your hips shift against him, his neck straining as he chases your mouth.

“Fuck it,” Eddie answers flippantly, “Joel’s got it.”

You nod in agreement with a mirrored shrug before Eddie’s kissing you with a sudden eagerness, surprisingly more rough than you’re expecting as his teeth dig into your bottom lip.

He’s smothering in the best way, hands splayed at your hips before they get curious, squeezing at your thighs, legs, finding their way underneath the material of your shirt as his fingers squeeze against the base of your spine. Exploring your mouth curiously until you’re both panting against each other more than kissing, his face squished against your cheek as you rut into him.

“We should move right?” Eddie suggests, “He’s coming back soon.”

“Who cares,” You shrug, leaning back just enough to strip your shirt off and pop the button of your jeans, “besides—maybe he’ll take up my shift for me, you know, if he sees us.”

He wouldn’t, but you still provide reassurance.

And Eddie looks somehow even more adoring as he slips the makeshift hair tie from your wrist and pulls back his own hair, unruly curls and overgrown length, desperately due for a trim.

“Just in case we get messy,” He tells you, watching as you pushed back to strip your jeans off, laying back on the couch before he’s moving between your legs and pulling your pants off the rest of the way, his right hand reaching down the center of his back to yank at his own shirt, discarding it along with the growing pile of clothes.

“I’m counting on it,” You retort, fingers pushing through the front of his hair just before the hastily tied bun as you bring him down slowly, his fingers twisting around the band at your hips, his nose nuzzling into your cunt as he breathes you in, eyelashes fanning over his rosy cheeks.

It’s fresh soap and lavender oils, homegrown and made within the walls of Jackson—he’s become used to the smell. It was like home now, making do with what he had.

He smells of it too with a faint musk of sweat from the spring humidity, silently maneuvering your panties down and off your ankle, tossing them to the floor.

“May I, my lady?” Eddie asks with a smirk, his hot breath fanning over you cunt as you nod frantically, feeling your pussy clench at how close he was, begging for his mouth.

“Oh, please,” You feign distress, a short-lived giggle transforming into a surprised gasp as his tongue spreads through your folds, wide and spearing into you with little hesitation or fumbling hands, surprisingly sure of himself.

Your fingers tighten in Eddie's hair as his tongue explores the divine split between your legs, sending waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body. He laps at your clit with focused intensity, a strange sight as his eyes are closed and his hands tighten around your thighs, alternating between broad strokes and pinpoint flicks of his tongue that make your legs shake.

“Eddie,” You sigh, feeling two fingers breach your hole, pushing inside of you with ease as the dual sensation of his fingers and tongue blind you to everything, back arching from the couch slightly as he hums against your pussy, acknowledging your call, “fuck—oh, god—I’m gonna—”

His eagerness grows with your words, shaking his face slightly into your cunt as his nose grazes your clit, the already sensitive nub soaking up the attention as your walls squeeze around his fingers, dexterous and rubbing deep inside of you, curling at just the right angle.

“I gotcha, princess,” He assures you, moving away for a brief moment to kiss at the spot where your thigh meets your cunt, grunting at how tight you’re gripping the chuck of his hair twisted in your fist, “if you could see her—” His fingers pulling out as he collects the sweet slick, fingers slowly sliding down your pussy and up before he’s bringing the fingers to his mouth, three fit between his lips, “shoulda known you’d make a mess.”

You can only laugh, a broken sigh as he continues his relentless rubbing of your clit, watching as your hole fluttered around absolutely nothing now, missing his tongue and his fingers, both of you so caught up in the moment that you don’t hear the front door creak open until Joel’s boots are stomping past and Eddie’s first reaction is to pull back, your eyes peeking open to stare down a suppressing satisfaction on Joel’s face as your orgasm whisked away from you.

Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the scene before him - you splayed out on the couch, legs spread wide, and Eddie between them with slick coating his lips and chin. For a moment, tension crackles in the air as Joel's gaze flicks between you and Eddie, before decidedly landing on you.

Then a slow smirk spreads across Joel's face. "Don't stop on my account," he drawls, leaning casually against the back of the couch with his palms curling over the edge, just within reach. "Looks like you two were havin' quite a time without me."

Eddie hesitates, his hands still gripping your thighs.

"Go on, boy," Joel encourages, his voice low and rough. "Finish what you started."

With a grunt, Eddie dives back in, redoubling his efforts. His tongue swirls around your clit as two fingers plunge inside you once more. You cry out, hips bucking against his face.

Joel moves closer, almost taunting. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Let us hear those pretty sounds."

You gasp at the intensity of Eddie’s tongue, his fingers slipping out to flatten against your chest, stilling your insistent squirming as you grab his hand out of desperation, a need for an anchor.

Your eyes flutter closed, pressure building as the heat in your belly swirled, feeling a hand fist into your scalp similarly to how you had Eddie, but it was Joel, forcing your eyes open with the tinge of pain it brought as he glances down at Eddie who’s also got his eyes on you, obediently silent despite his current course of action.

Your own eyes are pleading, speaking to Joel silently.

Look, I did what you asked. Praise me.

Eddie doesn’t question it, the dutiful boy he was.

But, he’s also…sensed things for a while.

Pining away at a person who would never truly be his own, already claimed.

Though, maybe he was wrong.

Joel’s eyes on him, Eddie’s on you—Joel was always watching, careful to keep the young pup in line, but he can’t help admiring your face, a mix of anguish and pleasure as you stared up at Joel.

“Come for us, darlin’,” Joel demands, Eddie’s lips sucking at your clit with his pointed words.

You come with a broken sob, an intense wave of ecstasy washing over as Eddie works you masterfully through your orgasm. Joel's approving growl mingles with your cries of pleasure, working silently at his belt as you work through your frantic breathing, patting Eddie’s head gently at his squeezes comfortingly at your thighs.

He’s working up the courage to say something, anything, but you rise to meet him where he is at his knees, “It’s okay,” You assure him, “Joel’s all show, anyways.”

Not true, but you both share a short laugh.

“He likes to watch,” You admit to Eddie, “don’t you, Joel?”

“S’long as my girl is satisfied,” Joel shrugs, a creeping smirk on his face that always meant he was up to no good, “you satisfied, sweetheart?”

To an extent, sure. But, as Joel strips the leather from the loops in his jeans, he’s almost taunting the idea at you and Eddie who isn’t shy about his strange attraction to the energy you both emit, rubbing his palm over the front of his tight jeans, swallowing audibly.

“Depends,” You counter, reaching forward while your eyes are locked on Joel, matching Eddie’s hand as you squeeze over the sizable bulge in his jeans, “Eddie, you need Joel to show you the ropes?”

You turn to Eddie then, eyes bright and excited but tentative to his response.

“Uh, ya—yeah,” He agrees, “fuck yeah.”

–

Joel has never been shy, but is quiet about his confidence.

The difference between he and Eddie was stark and obvious, but he could see the kid was genuine. Young, unjaded, still full of life—he knows you’re better suited for Eddie.

But, Joel is also selfish when it comes to you; he could share, within reason.

If you wanted it.

He’s lucky these faded, old couches sit so low otherwise his knees would be punishing him for it.

Eddie’s waiting in the wings, oddly attentive despite the strange dynamic as Joel removes his cock from the confines of his jeans and underwear, lengthy but dominating Eddie in girth without a challenge and he can’t help but look at you, eyes half-lidded and simmering with the remnants of your last orgasm as Joel swiped the head of his cock through your folds, a content hum slipping past your lips.

Joel instinctively spits on your pussy, a sensual action that feels wholly intimate.

It makes Eddie’s mouth water with how pretty you sound, how eager he is to have you make those sounds for him too.

“He wants more,” You note, talking to Joel but your hand reaches for Eddie and spreads out over his thigh, “should I let him fuck me instead?”

“He can’t do it like I do,” Joel smirks and presses the head of his cock inside of you to prove a point, savoring the delicious stretch of him as he pushes his hips forward, nails scratching against the denim of Eddie’s jeans with the motion, your walls squeezing around Joel’s shaft, “she always remembers me, don’ she?”

You gasp with a nod, arching your back as Joel fills you completely. Your hand tightens on Eddie's thigh, and you turn to look at him and instantly see the hunger in his eyes. Joel's hands grip your hips and he starts to move, slow and deliberate at first. Each thrust sends finite sparks of pleasure through your body, helpless to the small moans that escape your lips.

Eddie leans in slightly, mesmerized by your twisted expression of obvious pleasure but also at how Joel’s cock sinks into your cunt with the powerful thrusts as he kneels over your, sinking into the old cushion as your knees hang lazily at his hips, feeling the distant touch of Eddie’s fingers around your ankle, a constant reminder of his presence.

His own erection strains against his jeans, and he shifts uncomfortably, desperate for some relief. Joel isn’t ignoring him either, his hand coming up behind your neck to arch your chin up, exposing your chest to both of the men.

“You want a turn, kid?” Joel grunts, menacingly teasing. He never breaks his rhythm, crows feet deepening around his eyes as his face scrunches up in pleasure, before Eddie can answer Joel speaks again, “gotta earn it—show ‘er some attention.”

Eddie doesn't hesitate. His hands are on you in an instant, cupping your breasts and squeezing. The added stimulation makes you cry out, your body trembling between the two men.

“There ya go,” Joel encourages, “feels good, don’t it?”

You only realize a second too late that he’s talking to you and not Eddie, a sharp slap to your ass as you nod weakly, “Mhm, so good,” You answer softly, earning a chuckle from Joel.

“Forget how cock drunk she gets,” Joel speaks to Eddie who’s as equally mesmerized as Joel.

Joel quickly picks up his pace, thrusting into you harder and faster, the deafening sound of skin slapping against skin drowning out your moans and Joel’s grunts.

“Tell ‘em, darlin’,” Joel demands, “tell Eddie how good I fuck you.”

Your fingers travel higher, curling around his belt as you pull him forward until his knee is pressing into your rib cage, “It’s per—perfect,” You sigh brokenly, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes that deep spot inside of you that makes your toes curl,

“C’mere and pay attention, ” Joel orders with a growl, nodding his head in a matching motion, “She likes it slow at first, real deep. She’s greedy. You gotta build her up - nice, slow, until she’s beggin’ for it. And trust me, she will.”

Eddie nods dumbly, fingers rising to scratch at his chest as Joel’s thrusts falter, his groans growing longer and deeper, legs shaking with his own impending orgasm.

“Touch me,” You beg up at Eddie, who’s still dumbfounded with his hand on your breast but his eyebrows quirks in question before you’re shaking your head subtly, guiding his hand down to the point where you and Joel are joined, brushing his fingertips over your clit as you nod.

Eddie's fingers circle your sensitive bud hesitant at first, then with more confidence as your breathy moans encourage him. The dual sensations of Joel's thick cock pounding into you and Eddie's skilled fingers on your clit quickly push you to the edge again, gushing over Joel’s cock as his hips falter to a stop and the surge of his orgasm forces a groan from deep within his chest, filling you to the brim with his warm seed.

“That’s it,” Joel coos, “show Eddie how pretty you look when you come apart on my cock.”

Your orgasm crests as Eddie watches in awe, his fingers continuing their motion over your clit until your hips shake with overstimulation, sobbing weakly as you reach over your head to grip at the couch with the hand that isn’t pinching Eddie’s skin at his waist.

For a moment, there’s silence. Only a mix of your and Joel’s heavy breathing and Eddie’s occasional pant, eyes blown wide with pleasure as Joel stands with a grunt and pulls his jeans and underwear back on, hastily buttoning them before he’s nodding at you.

“Go on,” He says gruffly, “your turn.”

The ache in your cunt is devastating but Joel watches with admiration as the opaque liquid pushes out of your hole as you cunt spasms and you can sense a brief moment of hesitation from Eddie before you finally look at him, a silent moment of understanding.

“Do you want to?” You ask curiously, head rolling to the side as you glance up at him.

“Do I—huh, you’re kidding, right?” Eddie asks with a tone of incredulous disbelief. “Uh, yeah—fuckin’ yeah. I want to.”

You giggle softly, “I’m just checking,” You assure, “I don’t want to pressure you too much.”

Eddie’s eyes darken with desire but still, somehow, maintain his softness.

“There’s no pressure,” He assured, “but if—if you don’t mind I’ve got a couple ideas of my own.”

Oh?

You squeal softly at how Eddie manhandles you into his position of choice, ass held up by his steel grip as your head sinks into the lap of Joel who’s decidedly taken a seat as your head lulls to the side, peering up at him with a playful expression.

He smells like sex and outdoors, a hint of cleanliness from his washed clothes but it was intoxicating, mesmerizing, feeling the ringed hand of Eddie slide up your spine once he’s stripped himself of his remaining clothes without hesitation.

You reach down between your legs to guide him, gasping softly as the head of his cock nudges against your sensitive, swollen folds. Eddie groans at the sensation, his hips jerking forward instinctively.

“Easy,” Joel says instinctively, his eyes stuck on you as he brushes your mused hair away from your face, “remember—slow, she’ll let you know what she wants.”

Eddie nods as he eases inside of you, aided by the prior stretch of Joel, but his length is astounding, nudging deep against your walls before he’s even fully sheathed. His thrusts are fumbling at first, hearing the deep breaths he takes as he adjusts to the intense feeling around his cock, astounded that it has taken him this long to achieve such a thing.

He really shouldn’t beat himself up over, given the end of the world and all, but he can’t believe he’s been missing out on this for so long.

Eventually he finds a steady rhythm that has you gasping with every thrust, fingers crawling up Joel’s bare chest until you reach his face, fingers curling around the back of his neck as you moan into the denim, drooling over the fabric.

“That’s it,” Joel encourages and Eddie’s eyes are stuck on you, forcing himself to commit the moment to memory, watching how greedily your cunt sucks his cock in, squeezing at the flesh of your ass as he moans pathetically, the sound making your pussy flutter.

And Joel knows he’s still being as equally selfish as earlier, your attention locked on him despite Eddie’s affect on you and there’s tinge of jealousy that strikes Eddie as he watches the exchange, your moans building in intensity before he’s less than carefully maneuvering you upright, towering over you like this with how you sunk into the cushion, his hand traveling up the front of your chest until his fingers squeeze around your neck and tilt your head back until you’re looking directly up at him, pupils blown wide.

You were his in this moment, not Joel’s.

“Open your mouth,” Eddie tells you, lips parting without argument as his thumb drags over your lips, pulling your bottom lip down as your tongue peeks out to lick at his finger with a soft giggle he matches with a toothy grin before he’s accumulating the saliva in his mouth and puckering his lips to spit into your waiting mouth, a long string stretching as it hits your tongue, moaning audibly as you swallow, sealed with a devastating wink from Eddie.

He was giving Joel a run for his money, that much was obvious.

Joel's eyes narrow at the display, a mix of arousal and possessiveness flaring in his chest.

He won't be outdone that easily.

With a low growl, he moves to his knees, sandwiching you between the two men as his fingers drift over your clit similar to how Eddie’s had earlier, “Speak up, sweetheart,” He bites, “is he treating you right?”

You nod eagerly, “Faster,” You beg to Eddie, a hand creeping around the back of his neck to fist into his hair that was wild and falling from the tie on his head, an attentive listener as his pace picks up instantly, “fuck—yes, like that!”

Eddie smirks at Joel over your shoulder, clearly enjoying the competition now.

Eddie tightens his grip on your throat slightly as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your body is on fire, caught between the two men and helpless to their greed, seconds away from devouring you whole if you allow it.

Joel’s fingers work your clit in tight circles as he leans into you, nearly chest to chest as his hot breath brushes your ear, “Still ain’t better than me,” He teases, “but he’s got the spirit.”

The gentle brush of his beard and his lips sucking at your neck could make you pass out if you let it and your body trembles, caught between the two men vying for your attention.

Eddie's thrusts grow more erratic as he watches Joel mark your neck beside his fingers, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your head swim.

"Fuck, you feel so good, princess," Eddie groans, his free hand snaking around your stomach, wrapped up in both the men and helpless, "Gonna make you come on my cock while he watches, alright?"

“Uh huh,” You respond airily, a stuttering gasp escaping your lips as Joel’s pace quickens against your clit and matches Eddie’s enthusiastic thrusts, his own moans growing in intensity as his head dips, breathing against the base of your neck as your hand in his hair twists and the other grasps desperately for Joel’s naked shoulder.

“That’s it, darlin’,” Joel purrs decidedly, “Let go for us.”

“I can feel it, princess—s’right there,” Eddie encourages.

Your third orgasm hits you quick, vision whiting out as you clench around Eddie's length. He follows soon after with a strangled moan, hips stuttering as he spills inside you.

The room fills with heavy breathing as you and Eddie come down from your shared high, his grip on your throat loosens, hand sliding down to rest on your collarbone. Joel's fingers slow their movements, drawing out the last tremors of your waning orgasm.

The thought dawns on you as the room stills.

You’re fucking exhausted.

A laugh bubbles from your throat unexpectedly.

“There’s our girl,” Joel chuckles, “ya still with us?”

You nod slowly as Eddie gently maneuvers away from you, the air catching in his throat as he watches this mix of his and Joel’s cum dripping from your cunt, clearing his throat as he hides the smirk on his face. There was a brief look he shares with Joel before Joel’s hand is smoothing over your back, his other hand explorative as he touches between your legs.

“What a goddamn mess,” He notes fondly, swiping up the slick on his fingers before he brings it to your mouth, wordlessly you take the fingers in your mouth and suck, “tell you what—you go on and shower, clean up—the kid and I’ll cover your turn.”

You do have other ideas, but you can sense Joel’s hesitance.

Eddie is a good distance away now, face still flushed as he digs through his bag.

“I thought you couldn’t stand to be alone with him?”

“I’ll put up with it,” Joel admits, “seein’ how much you like him and all.”

“You sure I can’t get you both to join me in the shower?”

Joel hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

“Careful, darlin’—don’t push it,” He warns.

“Do you need any help?” Eddie perks up eventually, a relaxed smile on his face as he grips the fabric of his shirt in his hands.

You shake your head and smile at the subtle rejected puppy dog eyes that flash your way.

“I think you and Joel have a lot to talk about, fortunately.”

And boy, did they ever.

#HOTTEST SHIT IVE EVER READ HERE #MY FANTASY HAS COME TO LIVE #joel miller #eddie munson #pedro pascal #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #eddie munson smut #joel miller x you #eddie munson x you #fic recs

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 3 months ago

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PEDRO PASCAL as JOEL MILLER The Last of Us, Season 2 Episode 1: Future Days

#needthat

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 3 months ago

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Too Close for Comfort

Pairing: Joel Miller x Babysitter!Reader

Summary: You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

Or, Joel likes to jerk off to your lookalike on PornHub. It’s time you showed him what the real thing is like.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Creampie. Mommy/Daddy Roleplay (HEAR ME OUT!!) Brief boot humping. Squirting. Perv!Joel. Breeding kink.

Note: ‘Just call me if anyone else checks in…and by anyone, I mean any swingin dick’ is a line from No Country for Old Men

Word count: 12.7k

Purple slime had been Sarah’s idea.

It was an innocent thing, really. The four-year-old had practically been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and shining with excitement when she’d begged—‘Can we pleeeeease?!’—and who were you to tell her no?

You’d only be breaking one small rule of Joel’s, after all. One silly little admonition he’d made before leaving for work the first day you’d started babysitting for him. That had been over a year ago, and he hadn’t even sounded that serious when he’d said it. He probably wouldn’t mind if you bent the rule this one time at Sarah’s behest.

‘Don’t go in the computer room, please.’

Don’t use Joel’s desktop. Don’t rifle through any of the drawers in Joel’s office—it was a mess, but everything was in its place, according to him. Just don’t go in there.

But in exchange for Sarah agreeing to take her nap that day without protest, you’d promised to order her slime.

Purple, gooey, glittery, sticky stuff for her new collection.

You weren’t sure when the fuck putty had become the plaything of choice for kids in Pre-K, but you hadn’t been in a place to judge; whatever Sarah wanted to do, so long as it was safe for her to play with, was totally fine by you.

It was just one rule.

Surely if Mr. Miller knew how badly his daughter wanted the slime, he’d be fine with you booting up his computer once. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

What kept humming through your mind as the desktop came to life and you toggled straight for Google Chrome.

Be quick, be quiet, it’s fine. It’s fine.

Purple goo—it was safe. Innocent. Completely justifiable.

What could the sweet, old, forty-something and forever polite Joel Miller possibly have to hide on this machine that made it wrong for you to buy this one simple toy?

You reached for the keyboard and inhaled a quick breath.

Then you typed one letter, and your heart nearly seized.

P…

…ornhub.com

It was the very first thing that appeared in the search bar.

You couldn’t unsee it. Instinctively, your hand clamped over your mouth, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help but read the four URLs that immediately dropped down below the first; they were just so garishly inviting.

Hot, Naughty Babysitter gets POUNDED by her Boss!

Slutty Babysitter Gets Railed from Behind and Loves It

Big Dick Boss Gives Babysitter a Passionate Raw Fuck

‘I’ve Never Done This!’ Babysitter Deepthroats Cock

“Oh…my gosh,” you said, words muffled by your palm.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was just too bizarre, too far out of character, too unlike your boss.

The man had scarcely said ten words to you altogether that didn’t relate to your job in some way or another. He rarely ever engaged in casual confab, and he certainly wasn’t the type to flirt, or make you uncomfortable in the slightest. Frankly, in all the time you’d been babysitting, you always thought you were just…invisible to Joel Miller.

Not this. Never this.

You were still staring at the screen when you realized that you’d missed one URL title from the list. It was long.

It was the most unnerving one of all, you came to see.

Babysitter Lounging Poolside in Hot Red Bikini Gets a BIG Surprise—Her Old Boss Teaches Her How to FUCK

Your hand lowered from your face. It trembled, contemplating, before coming to rest atop the mouse.

Something about this seemed familiar. Strangely…off.

You couldn’t explain it, but your head and your heart and your hand gravitated to that one odd link in particular. You hadn’t even meant to move the mouse. Or press it with your finger. But there you went, following your instincts like some dumb, brainless ditz, and then the screen was changing. Going dark with the shift to an adult site before brightening anew with the thumbnail.

It was paused on one frame. Your jaw slackened.

The girl staring back from the scene was you.

Or looked exactly, uncannily like you anyway.

It was then that you noticed what she was wearing, too—what you guessed wouldn’t be on her body for long—and you glanced down to your own shoulder. Just like your on-screen doppelgänger, you were wearing the same bikini in a bright, cherry-red hue beneath your tank top.

You wore it under your clothes damn near every day, indulging in the Millers’ backyard pool more often than not, and even being allowed to swim there on the days Sarah had summer camp—Joel had been so obliging.

So accommodating and sweet.

You never thought he’d be seeking your fucking twin online on a porn site after watching you traipse around his property wearing it. Your gut clenched; you clicked.

“Hey, sweetheart! Everything go OK?”

The voice that rumbled through the speakers was low. Male. Vaguely paternal and with a hint of a Southern lilt.

You swallowed, knowing exactly where this was going.

You weren’t sure why you were even watching when you could already predict what would become of it. The camera panned over a body identical to yours; it landed on a face that was smiling and sweet and so like your own you almost had to question whether it might not be you after all. Had you somehow forgotten this secret porn alter ego in a bout of amnesia? You kept watching.

The girl bit her bottom lip and let out the phoniest giggle.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Do you like my new bikini?”

Be so fucking serious, you thought, critically.

Then you remembered it was porn, not an Oscar-winning film. You saw the camera tilt down to her tits, and you had to admit, she had a great rack. A bit nicer than yours.

For a beat, you wondered if Joel had thought the same.

You had to batter those thoughts away, because the next second brought a big, burly hand onto the screen. It reached for the girl with her perfect, perky breasts and it kneaded them softly. No further pretense or prelude was needed—they just jumped right in and let it happen, like this was a normal thing for a babysitter and a boss to do.

Maybe in some other universe it was. In a world where a girl your age could just smile, and bat her eyes, and let them roll back gently as a whimper crossed her lips and she begged him, ‘More, daddy, more!’ this was all okay.

The man squeezed the flesh harder. She whined, and he proceeded to push the red nylon aside and expose the whole expanse of her breast—and holy shit, even the nipple looked like yours. Your mouth opened wider, and for a moment, it was like you couldn’t breathe as you watched that old, sun-kissed hand fondle the breast of a girl who looked just like you. Who was peering up at a man who sounded almost like Joel, murmuring, ‘Attagirl.’

You’d heard your boss say that once.

It had been such a silly, off-handed thing that you doubted he even remembered saying it. But one time, you’d struggled to open the passenger door to his truck before he drove you home. Once you’d narrowly managed to pry it open and slide into your seat, he’d laughed and rumbled: ‘Attagirl.’ Your face had warmed.

Just like your cheeks were doing now, all hot and bothered and desperate to hear more. Presently, the man slid the top off of the girl’s chest, and her breasts hung freely. You could hear him groan behind the camera at the sight, and not too long after that, before he could reach to touch her tits again, she was crawling on her knees toward him. Shuffling easily and expertly across the lawn chair and undoing the belt, button, and zip of his pants in a matter of seconds. A hand smoothed over her head, and you could see her preen beneath his touch.

Before she’d even wrapped her lips around his cock, your stomach was churning. Your fingers were stirring from the mouse and moving gently—again, of their own volition, it seemed—toward the waistband of your own bottoms. It was sick, admittedly. So wrong to be wanting to touch yourself to the very same video your boss had indulged in himself, in the very same chair he had done the deed. But you couldn’t help it. Your fingers slipped under the the fabric of your shorts, then your bikini, then your throat let out the tiniest noise upon seeing a cock appear on-screen. It was abnormally large, of course.

Silently, you wondered if Joel’s might not look the same. Your stomach flipped as soon as the girl took it in her mouth, and your index and middle fingers landed on your clit. You barely needed to touch to feel a jolt of pleasure.

Her head bobbed up and down. You felt powerless to do anything else but rub. And circle. And moan the slightest bit when you saw her coat his length with her shiny spit.

You heard that your noises mirrored hers. You didn’t care. Really, it felt as though you were in a trance, and you couldn’t stop watching, or touching, until you’d had your fill. Like Mr. Miller had done himself. It was all too much.

Before you even realized it, five minutes had passed, the man and woman on-screen were shifting from oral to raw, penetrative sex, and you were nearing your peak. Right before the cock that had been lodged down the girl’s throat could slide into her wet, glistening cunt, you felt your stomach lurch. You rubbed harder, watching the fat and leaking tip of the man’s cock tease through her folds, and just as he was about to slide in and you could finally find your release…a door banged open downstairs.

You almost screamed.

As quickly as you could, you yanked your hand out of your pants and clicked out of that browser even faster. The second you heard footfalls on the steps, you scampered out of there. Half-sprinting, half-tip-toeing down the hall and toward the bathroom, before halting at the door. You made your presence known with one light stomp of your foot, pretending to be turning and walking out, and as soon as you did, Joel was right there. Staring.

Sweating.

Scrubbing at his face with one weary hand, before taking a rag and wiping it through his beard. He sighed heavily.

“Long day?” you chirped while trying to mask the panic.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Joel answered, voice wan, “How’s my little terror? Asleep? She give ya any trouble?”

Just asked me to buy her a toy online and inadvertently led me to find your internet Spank Bank archives full of women who look like me. Other than that, it was fine.

“I put her down about an hour ago. She was great.”

You forced a smile, and Joel seemed to believe it.

“Perfect. Need me to give you a ride home?”

“No, no, you should stay here with Sar—”

“‘S’alright. Tommy’s right downstairs.”

Of course he’d brought him home.

“No, really, I can walk. It’s fine—”

“Don’t be silly. C’mon, kiddo.”

Kiddo.

The man had been jerking off to the thought of you for who knows how long, and now he called you ‘kiddo’?

You hated how arousing the nickname sounded from him

You despised yourself for rubbing your clit in his office.

Most of all, you loathed the way your panties had gotten wet the last time you’d climbed into his truck and heard that word crawl off of his old, drawling tongue: ‘Attagirl.’

Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You followed him downstairs and hoped the car door wouldn’t stick again.

He had to stop.

It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ his dick would lead him straight off a cliff, and today, Joel was starting to think that precipice was looking extra nice. Tempting.

Almost as inviting as the divot he could see at the small of your back, glimmering with a couple hot beads of sweat under the midafternoon sun. He swallowed.

Sarah was at camp today. You’d had the time to yourself, and the weather was blistering hot, and of course, where else would you be but his backyard? He’d told you ad nauseum, ever since you started babysitting his kid, that his pool was open to you whenever you so chose to go.

Presently, Joel wished he could revoke that invitation.

Seeing how you were flipped on your stomach, body all soft and warm and splayed out on one of his deck chairs—wearing that fucking red swimsuit, of all things—Joel was left to ogle from his office window, and inside, he felt like a certified pervert. Arguably, he was. His old, worn hands had all but glided to find his mouse as soon as he’d sat down at his desk and saw you out there, and no sooner had his cursor found Chrome than his cock started to stir. He’d wanted to watch. If not you in all your bare, sun-baked glory, then surely the woman he could see getting her throat and cunt stuffed on his screen.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Was he really that much of a gooner he couldn’t let his kid’s babysitter lounge outside without stroking his dick?

Shit. He had the bottle of lotion in one hand and the box of tissues in the other in no time at all. He ripped three free Kleenex aside and reached for his mouse once more.

He was pissed at himself. He toggled over to the Hub with a grunt, and in no time at all, had you pulled up.

Joel liked to pretend it was you, anyway.

If he couldn’t have the sweet young thing every swinging dick in this town would’ve killed to have himself, he could rub one out to a girl exactly like you. He could fantasize.

He could skip the video to 8:53 on the dot, as he always did, and he could rub himself raw. It wouldn’t take long.

He always fast-forwarded to that exact part, without fail, because she moaned like you then. He’d never forget it.

It had almost been six months since it happened, and he still remembered that sound as clear as day. You’d been hauling your backpack off the couch in the living room, having stuffed the thing full with more school supplies than you could feasibly carry, and Joel had been in the kitchen, unseen. You’d lifted the bag with effort, and once you had, you let out a soft but audible whine. You dropped the bag back down to your feet, and when you bent to try again, you’d moaned fully. It was like the stretch had made you feel good, or something. You’d huffed and managed to get the weight slung over your back with modest success, then left, but Joel had been changed. Too quickly had he retreated to his office and swore to find any clip where a moan sounded like that.

“Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!”

Granted, the dialogue was cheesy, but the sound after it was identical to the one you’d made. Joel repeated it.

He hadn’t even noticed, but he’d already lathered his hand and cock with lotion. He was scrubbing vigorously while your twin wiggled her hips and begged her co-star to put it in, to quit teasing her pussy like that, can’t you see I’m practically dripping for you, daddy? Look at it!

Unfortunately, Joel’s head was turned the other direction—away from the screen, and toward the window—watching you where you sat out on the lawn.

He stroked harder. He groaned.

You had just turned onto your back. Your tits looked incredible. Joel reckoned they’d look even better with his dick pushed up between them, and at the thought, his mouth watered. His lips were slightly parted, and he feared he might drool. What a sight he must have been then: jaw slack, lids heavy, cock in hand, and moan after moan bubbling out of his throat. He got closer to climax.

“Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.”

It wasn’t long after that that Joel heard the girl whine in pleasure—the man behind her had notched in the first inch and told her to behave—and meanwhile, he watched your chest rise and fall, rise and fall outside. It was calm. Unlike the girl being taught how to fuck poolside, you remained untouched. Spotless. Placid and serene while your hands picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. While Joel’s orgasm crested inside him, he wondered if you’d ever want to try something like that. Roleplay. Or would it be fake at all? Had you ever been touched by a man, shown the best ways to give and receive pleasure, or was it all brand new, like it was supposed to be for the woman on his screen? Joel panted, and he fucked his hand harder. He groaned.

“Oh, daddy, it’s so big! Feels so good going inside me!”

“You love gettin’ fucked by an older man, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please don’t stop—oh, OHHH!”

Joel wanted to be the only older man you had.

If he wasn’t the first, he sure as fuck could be the last. Give you all the dizzying, euphoric feelings your body deserved and stretch you open gently for the taking.

He could teach you so much, ruin you for any oth—

Shit.

What the fuck was this asshole doing here?

At the back gate, he saw his neighbor Dieter.

The man strolled across the lawn, and Joel’s orgasm receded in a blink. He was walking right over to you.

No. No, no, no. Joel released his dick from its vice grip and felt the thing twitch in indignation. Meanwhile, the sound of skin on skin continued to flood his eardrums from out of the computer speakers, where the happy babysitter-boss duo was hitting a brutal pace. The girl let out one over-the-top shriek of pleasure, and Joel clicked pause. He toggled out of the browser. Then he redirected his gaze out the office window, where his own girl was being accosted by Dieter. His blood boiled with anger.

Who did this creep think he was? The man never so much as looked Joel’s way or approached his property unless it was to ask to be ‘lent’ some booze or else ask after some friend, relative, or coworker Dieter wanted to be introduced to—he was perennially unemployed and a fuckboy bachelor to his core. The last Joel had heard, he’d spent the last year in Los Angeles, or Paris, or some other too-big city to chase his singing and acting dreams

And here he was now, hitting on his poor, defenseless babysitter. Joel wouldn’t stand for that in any world.

Though his dick was still erect, it had softened some, too. His rage facilitated that, and him shoving his length back in his jeans, zipping it up, and all but punching the desktop off made it spongier still. He walked like he was mad at the floor beneath his boots. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive—he had just been rubbing one out to the sight of you less than five minutes ago—but now wasn’t the time for thinking. He had to act.

Protect, if he had to.

What if his neighbor wanted to go for a swim, too?

Joel would drown the man with his two bare hands if he so much as reached for your bikini-clad form. He stalked loudly down the hall and searched for a less sweaty shirt to wear, then some deodorant, then a comb. He peered in the bathroom mirror and saw his black-and-grey locks all out of sorts, and for a second, he contemplated taking a shower. You’d probably be able to smell his unsatisfied desire from outside. He looked, and felt, a bit unhinged.

Joel decided he didn’t care, before plodding downstairs.

Outside, you lay in the same position he’d seen you last. Your hand was shielding your face. You were smiling.

And beside you, Dieter was grinning even bigger.

Joel made a beeline down the porch steps, then across the lawn, like his life might’ve depended on it. Scowling.

“—but getting cast in Gladiator II would’ve been wild—”

Of course Dieter was yapping about his failed acting career. Of course. Joel could hear him drone on as he approached, though he didn’t register a word of what he said. Instead, he waved a hand. He feigned a calm tone:

“Dieter! How’s it going?”

And he slowed down, too.

Just as he drew in, his neighbor volleyed a look his way. Joel couldn’t miss how his smile twitched down a little.

“Joel.”

Accepting a cordial hand in greeting.

“Doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?”

Joel nodded fine, just fine and offered some offhand remark about not having seen him since last summer, and Dieter couldn’t resist the chance to puff up and mention a school he’d been attending. Joel didn’t hear it, or give a shit. His gaze was already trained on you. Your own flitted from Dieter, to Joel, then to Dieter again, and your lips were smiling kindly enough. You seem humored.

“Mr. Bravo just got back from Berlin,” you beamed.

Then Dieter met your look and shook his head.

“Dieter, sweetie, Dieter. Or Dee, if you want.”

Joel almost wanted to vomit in his mouth.

“Germany, huh? What brings you here?”

No sense in beating around the bush.

Joel meant to ask why Dieter was here, in his backyard, with his babysitter, of course. Why the fuck he was eyeing you like that, like your tits were two Emmys and the only way to earn it himself was to stare as long, and as hard, as possible. Joel cleared his throat instinctively.

Dieter blinked and cast a glance back to him.

“Oh, here. Yeah. I, um…I just wanted to see if you had that— that—” He snapped his fingers, “That leafblower.”

Leafblower?

He was so full of shit.

“My leafblower,” Joel repeated.

It was fucking July, for crying out loud.

Evidently, his neighbor didn’t seem to care. He met Joel’s gaze with an even look, and he nodded his head.

He doubled down: “Yeah, the leafblower. I’ve had some debris pile up in my yard since I’ve been gone, y’know.”

“Are you gonna be in Austin long? Or are you going back overseas once you’ve had that casting call?” you asked.

You cocked your head with genuine curiosity. Joel grit his teeth, but he tried not to let his discontent show anyplace else on his face. A muscle might’ve jumped when he saw how smugly Dieter smirked at your intrigue.

“Oh, I’ll be here long enough, don’t you worry,” he said.

That was it.

Joel gestured to the shed in the back corner of the yard, about to tell Dieter that the leafblower was in there, go knock yourself out, when his neighbor cut in once again.

“In the meantime, maybe I’ll have you babysit for me. I hate to steal Sarah’s pal, but maybe you can split your time between my place and Joel’s. What do you think?”

You blinked a little quicker, like you weren’t quite sure what to say at first. Joel took the chance to interject.

“You don’t have any kids, Bravo,” he practically growled.

“I know. I’ve got cats, though,” Dieter just grinned back, flitting a cheeky look to you. “And you have no idea how naughty those pussycats can get while a man’s away.”

That was really all Joel could take. He didn’t even let you answer; he just pointed to the shed and made a fist with his other hand at his side. His chest was heaving breaths.

“You and her can chat when she’s off the clock, how ‘bout that? Leafblower’s in the shed. Door’s unlocked.”

His words didn’t invite protest of any kind. Dense as he was, Dieter probably sensed that he’d ticked his neighbor off with the suggestive comment to his babysitter, and he backed away, both literally and figuratively. He bid a quick, cavalier goodbye with a shit-eating grin stretching his lips, and then he went to the storage shed and left.

You were still blinking, still creasing your brows tight, by the time the back gate had slammed shut behind him. You watched after him, teeth gnawing at your cheek.

“He seemed like a funny gu—”

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

Joel’s words appeared to sting like a slap in the face. You jerked your head back to him, seeming to say, ‘What?’

“You know what. Don’t play innocent now,” Joel griped.

You continued to stare, then started to shake your head.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Don’t Mr. Miller me, either,” he snapped, far shorter than he’d ever spoken to you before. His nostrils flared, “You’re old enough to know better. You did all of that.”

“All of what?” you shot back.

“Attracted men like Dieter into my yard.”

“He’s your neighbor! What do you expect?”

Offense marred your tone. He didn’t entirely blame you.

“No, no—he never sticks his nose over here unless he sees something he wants. You were flaunting yourself.”

At that, your mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Miller? Are you serious?”

“Language, young lady—”

“I don’t give a shit.” You stood up from your chair. Your eyes flashed with ire. Just like his hands had before, yours curled into fists. You stood your ground with him. “You invited me to come swim here whenever I wanted to. You did that, asshole. What did you expect me to sunbathe in, army fatigues and fucking combat boots?”

Joel blinked hard at that. He didn’t like being mocked.

“Still shouldn’t be that damn skimpy. And I said lang—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dad. Don’t act like you’re mine.”

Don’t act like you’re mine.

Joel’s chest tightened. His gaze seared into yours, almost as though he were as angry as you were now, but deep down, the man only felt remorse. Resentment. Whatever rage he harbored now was reserved for himself

He shouldn’t have gone there.

He shouldn’t have masked his own jealousy with pseudo paternal scolding. He looked like a dickhead doing that.

And you weren’t shy to let him know it in the slightest.

Presently, your finger was jabbed in his face. You were planted less than two feet from where he stood, and though you were noticeably dwarfed by his size, your next words had him beat by a foot, if he’d had to guess.

“I watch your kid, Joel. I am not your daughter. If you don’t want me hanging around here in my hot red bikini, then you can just say that. But don’t blame me for him.”

Joel bristled at your words, though he wasn’t sure why. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you added:

“And don’t blame me for that, either.”

Suddenly, he realized your finger was pointed at his legs.

Or, rather, what was poking up stiff between them.

Joel’s cheeks heated up to a thousand degrees.

You’d just caught him. You’d seen his arousal.

And you were turning on your heels again.

Before Joel could even try to summon the words to his tongue, you were grabbing your things. Shoving your shoes onto your feet. And Joel had only to stand there.

Feeling stupid and inert beside you.

As you went to the back gate, he somehow managed to call that you didn’t have a car, let him drive you back.

You didn’t even dignify his words with a verbal response.

You just raised your middle finger over your shoulder.

And then the gate crashed shut behind you.

You would be walking home that day.

Two big eyes and round cheeks were all you could see.

Then, they darted beneath the covers and were gone.

“Oh no, where’d sweet Sarah go?” you wondered aloud. Sitting at the edge of the bed and pretending not to see where she’d just dipped her head under the blankets, you furrowed your brows and proceeded to pat around you.

Everywhere you felt with your hands, you completely ignored the big lump under the duvet. It was a game.

A silly one at that—hide-and-go-seek was generally best left to places where you couldn’t figure out her location in the blink of an eye. But you played along. You heard a soft giggle. You continued feeling around the twin-sized mattress like this was the most bewildering puzzle of all.

“Whe-ere’s Sarah?” you sing-songed.

You heard a shuffling of limbs, a sniffle.

Your palm tapped right by those little feet.

And as soon as you did, she screamed. At four years old, Sarah hadn’t quite mastered the art of being stealthy.

You’d cut her some slack. You always had.

Blindly passing where her body lay, you glided to the opposite side of her bed and tapped inquiringly there.

“Is she…here?” You got a pillow.

“No!” Sarah shrieked back.

Such a helpful, obliging kid. She’d make a terrible spy.

“Is she…up here?” You rapped the headboard twice.

“No!!” she squealed.

You glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was approaching bedtime. Taking note of this, and knowing you couldn’t keep up with the charade for much longer, you let out a sigh. You stood from the bed, looked around the room with dramatic éclat, then started to walk away.

“Okay…I guess if Sarah’s not here I’ll have to leave…”

The second you said that, Sarah threw the covers back. She jumped up in bed, and she stomped her little feet.

“No! No! I’m here! I’m here!”

You spun on your heels, eyes wide with faux surprise.

“Sarah!”

And then you rushed back over, just in time to watch her drop to the bed and flash you a wide, exuberant smile.

“Your Sarah,” she corrected.

She adored it when you called her that. Your Sarah.

You nodded your head in agreement, “My Sarah. Sorry.”

She nodded too, like she’d just reminded you of the most important thing, and then she slipped back under her covers. She let you drag the purple duvet over her frame, all the way up to her chin, and when she was all snug inside, she gave another smile. She kicked her feet again.

“Stay,” she commanded, tone still sugar-sweet.

“I will, baby. ‘Til your daddy gets back, I’ll be here.”

“I mean forever!” Sarah dragged out the last syllable, and, not yet content with the answer you’d proffered, tried swaying you again, still more emphatic, “For-ever!”

If your daddy wasn’t such an ass, I might consider it.

Instead, you smiled back at her and shook your head. You smoothed the hair away from her face, then you leaned in and kissed her forehead with a gentle peck.

“Then my family would miss me. I gotta see them.”

“Says who?” Sarah’s pout was unmistakable.

Before you could reply, she cut in again.

“You can be my family. My mommy.”

Your throat constricted at those words. You weren’t sure what to say, or how to assuage your sweet Sarah then.

Again, you were about to open your mouth to speak, when your pint-sized companion piped up again. This time, her voice was softer. Surprisingly delicate and low.

“I want you to be my mommy,” she told you quietly, “Then you’ll live here. With me and daddy. And you’ll never have to go home again and we can play all day!”

Your heart ached. You kissed the tip of her nose and turned away, momentarily, to hide the hurt on your face.

Sarah Miller deserved much more in a mother than you.

When you looked up again, her grin was big. Hopeful.

“Don’t you wanna be my mommy too?” she asked.

“‘Course I do, baby,” you answered without hesitation, “But…don’t you think your daddy should have a say too?”

Somehow, her face got even brighter.

“He will! He— he…”

Sarah trailed off a second, as if considering her words. She didn’t understand what marriage meant. You’d help.

“Your daddy,” you finished for her, speaking slow and soft as you leaned in close, “is a good man who deserves a good woman to make your mommy. Don’t you agree?”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, but—”

“And a mommy’s gotta be someone he really loves.”

“But he…”

She was thinking again. You could tell. You pressed on.

“He is gonna find someone great someday. He’ll love you and her to bits, and y’all will get to play together all day.”

“But he loves you!” Sarah cried, at length.

A beat.

Your breath faltered.

The girl’s words had scarcely hung in the air for more than two seconds, and their meaning hardly registered in your brain before your own were coming out fast. Certain

“Your daddy doesn’t love me, baby. I’m just his friend.”

“Yes, he does! He told me so himself!”

Again, you shook your head.

“You misunderstood him, sweetie.”

You tried to smooth her hair back again, but Sarah’s head bucked away. She scrunched up her nose in clear protest and refused to let you cradle her face until she’d spoken her piece. When she did, her voice was pleading all over:

“Daddy loves you, he told me. You can be my mommy.”

And for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you felt your heart balloon in your chest. Your gut clenched—but not for the reasons she or you wanted it to. The truth was that you didn’t have the words to tell a four-year-old girl that her father didn’t love you like that at all, that his head and his heart were anywhere but with you, and that, if you were being honest, you were furious with him. How he could so much as hint at such nonsense was beyond you. His little girl dreamed of having a mother. It was stupid and senseless and cruel to even suggest that that woman could be you. You sighed.

But, despite your every thought and feeling to the contrary, you knew you had to soothe the girl with some small semblance of hope. Something to hold her over for the night, so she didn’t cry herself to sleep thinking that you didn’t want to be her mommy. Gently, you leaned in.

You lifted the covers back up from where they’d fallen. You tucked them snug around her torso, and you paused.

Your tone was measured and soft when you spoke next:

“I don’t know about your daddy, baby. What I do know is that I would be the luckiest lady alive to get to be your mommy, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

And you meant it. You saw one look light up her face, and every ounce of anger that had been provoked by her father was forgotten in an instant. Her grin ensured it.

“Anywhere,” she parroted back.

“Anywhere,” you said, again.

Then you kissed the crown of her head, wished her sweet dreams, cut the little light off. You left the room quietly.

It was only when you were out of there and far enough away down the hallway that your skin started to burn.

You couldn’t help it. Anger was fast to trickle back.

This feeling was only compounded when the next moment brought a sound to the landing on the stairs. You glanced over down the hall, muscles all tensing at once, and when you saw him there, it was as though your rage just bubbled over. Your jaw clenched; your stomach flipped in a way so decidedly unlike how it had done for him two days ago, in his office, and suddenly, your throat was working again. You kept your voice low this time, keen not to draw Sarah’s attention out there, but the words you used were clear. Quiet. Doubtlessly effective.

Even in the dark, you saw his brows jump when he heard:

“Joel, we need to talk.”

It had been two years since he’d had a woman in here.

Joel wished it were under any circumstances but these.

Presently, your eyes were ablaze. The two of you had just stepped into his room and shut the door behind you, and with the click of a latch, you hadn’t thought to hold it in:

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked.

Well, many things.

Joel wouldn’t have had the space to explain it all if you’d given him a week, and still, he had to say something. He blinked again, made a sound in his throat as if to clear it, then shook his head. His shoulders sagged in his jacket.

“I…I’m sorry.”

For the other day. For getting caught up in his own anger and taking it out on you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for now, or what he should say, but he thought it best to start there. He shrugged his jacket off and set it over the back of the nearest chair. He turned to you again, where you were standing with a warning look.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” you said. “Say sorry to Sarah.”

Sarah?

Before he could speak, you went on.

“You’re just setting her up for heartbreak, you know that? I mean how selfish— how stupid could you possibly be?”

You pursed your lips like tears might threaten if you didn’t. This caught him off guard—his daughter? What could he have said or done to hurt her in any of this?

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I’d be her mom, Joel!”

He winced. You furrowed your brows and set your mouth in a line—really trying to fight the emotion behind it—and, while all the rest of you bristled in anticipation for what was to come, Joel softened. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to be the guy who lost his head at the thought of seeing you cry and forget the whole reason you were upset with him in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. Though you looked like you wanted to kill him right then, Joel drew closer. He shifted toward you.

“Did— did she, uh…call you…mommy?” he said, pained.

“Yeah. And you let her believe she could,” you spat.

He hadn’t meant to do that, either. Sarah had been calling you that for a while when you weren’t around to hear, and after enough times telling her otherwise, he’d just stopped correcting her on it. Sarah wanted a mother. You were the closest thing she had, and who was he to sabotage that? At the time, he’d just wanted to…pretend.

That was a running theme he had going with you.

Right now, you didn’t seem to care about that.

You just rolled your eyes in that cool, juvenile way when you didn’t hear a response from him, and he had to bite his tongue from saying something worse. He hated when you did that. It made him remember your age—the reality of you being his kid’s babysitter and how guilty he should feel for wanting to do something more about that eyeroll.

He wasn’t your father.

You weren’t Sarah’s mother, either.

You most certainly weren’t the girl on his computer screen, as much as he would’ve liked to see you that way, and even though you were standing here in his bedroom.

That was all fantasy. Make-believe. This was his reality.

You were visibly pissed and wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Is it really so bad if she says it?” he grit out.

Your eyes widened. You scoffed.

“Of course it is, Joel!”

You backed away.

He hated seeing that, too. He hated having you move from him, not toward him, wearing that scowl on your lips as you did. His fingers twitched—itched—at his side.

“Sarah’s young. She doesn’t…mean anything by it. She’ll grow out of it soon enough. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You’ll hurt her even worse by not telling her the truth!” you snapped. You sounded exasperated saying it now. “We’re not a family. I’m the goddamn babysitter, and— and— you’re Sarah’s father. Act like it, for Christ’s sake.”

That set his teeth on edge.

Joel felt the urge to fight back, but narrowly refrained. He flexed his fingers, and he bit down hard to keep the vitriol at bay. Because that was exactly what fathers did. They controlled their anger; even when faced with a smart-mouthed babysitter who wore his patience out.

Even when your arms were folded over your chest in that impossibly tight, white tank, and your tits looked like they might spill from the fabric at any given moment. Joel swallowed and refocused his gaze before going on.

“Don’t tell me how to be a father.”

Something flared in your eyes.

“Why? I’m fucking right.”

“Language, young lady.”

That only seemed to irk you worse; your hands flew up.

“Yeah, well,” you started, accusing, “If we’re playing house, I might as well be allowed to say what I like.”

“We are not playing hous—”

“But you want to, right? That’s why I’m always here.”

“No, I need a—”

“Maid? Mommy?”

You paced closer. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Obedient little housewife?” you sneered.

Your eyes were shining like two derisive pools. With every blink, you seemed to mock him more. Goad him on and beg for your reward, though you hardly knew what it was.

“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” you chided, voice low, “What is it?”

What he was, or what he’d stand to take. It wasn’t this.

“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I’ll show you what.”

The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them.

It was a reflex—something that had been stewing in his mind since the second you’d set foot in his room and went on provoking him. But it was wrong, of course.

He was wrong for even thinking it, much less saying it.

Now your eyes were round, and your mouth was slightly agape, and your brain was likely working a thousand miles a minute to process what had just been said.

Joel had to fix it.

“That— that ain’t—” he began, already hating himself.

To his surprise, and embarrassment, a laugh rang out.

Its sound was explosive and short. It split the air with such hot, bitter force that his words dropped off. His gaze had no choice but to remain plastered on yours.

“Oh, I bet.”

You grinned, humorless.

You didn’t appear shocked in the slightest. In fact, his remark seemed only to embolden you then, as you teased that smile wider, drew yourself closer, and tipped your chin up. You looked doubly enlivened by his last admission. Vindicated in some strange, inexplicable way. Your breaths were warm, and the swell of your breasts came to hover just inches from his chest when the last thing he needed to happen, happened between you next.

You pointed again. Joel didn’t need to look down.

“‘Don’t tell me how to be a father,’” you repeated his words from before, voice taking on a low, faux baritone.

Your amusement was clear. His cock was hard.

It seemed you’d never let the latter slip past you.

“Is that what we’re gettin’ at here, Mr. Miller?” you asked, tone now precocious. Probing, “You showing me what a great daddy you are, and me being the mommy you al—”

“No.”

Joel pushed off. He didn’t want to hear another thing.

He headed straight for the door, prepared to usher you out of it. This conversation had taken an irreparable turn.

When he reached for the handle, though, he had to stop. Your voice made him stop, echoing from the opposite end of the room. Joel turned, and he saw you on his bed.

“I’m just curious. Is that really what you meant?”

You were sitting at the foot of it, legs casually hanging off. Your look was innocent, and still more knowing than Joel could bear. The heat left to swirl in his groin nearly suffocated him below the waist, and he inhaled deeply.

“Mean what? I didn’t…mean anything.”

His touch fell from the doorknob all the same.

Your feet were swinging when he faced you completely.

“Just like you didn’t mean for Sarah to call me mommy?”

Maybe he had meant it more than he let on. He couldn’t answer. Joel felt every bit the creep he knew himself to be—decades your senior and letting you rest on his bed, soft, smooth legs kicking back and forth as he watched.

He was good at that, wasn’t he? Watching. Waiting. Aching from the comfort of his home office while he watched those filthy clips on repeat, images of you flitting through his mind at every stretch, moan, and whimper. His will was powerless to his perverted needs. He had only to defend himself against their influence by planting his feet firmly in place and refusing to move.

“You wanna teach me, though. Don’t you, daddy?”

It was as though your words reached him from another place. Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind—his memory—and the tone of it stirred him. It was familiar, in ways you couldn’t have possibly understood. Unless you were living in his head, there was no way in hell you could’ve known what those lines meant to him.

‘Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.’

It made him ache.

Joel still wouldn’t move, but you could come to him.

He blinked once, and you were there. Off the bed. Walking to him. Down on your knees in front of him.

This had to be the work of his own sick imagination.

He groaned at just the sight of your smile, curving slow.

And then you peeled off your top, revealing the bright, nylon, cherry-red fabric he’d seen far too many times on his computer screen and off it—on you, by his pool. Joel sucked in a breath and shook his head, gaze darkening.

“Thought you didn’t wanna play mommy,” he growled.

If this was all just in his head, he could talk as he wanted.

“I don’t,” you answered him soberly. Suddenly, your chin was in his hand. Your eyes were still glistening up at him. “But you need to get this out of your system. Just once.”

Out of his system.

Joel was out of his fucking mind with desire.

“Just once?” His voice cracked as he said it.

Only one time. That was alright. Forgivable.

From what he half-believed to be a figment of his own perverted mind came the word from your lips: ‘Once.’

The next had the thumb that was cupping your chin slipping between those same lips. Still smiling while your mouth slid down to his knuckle. You sucked him gently.

And in just one glimpse, one fleeting second on that lone, thick thumb, the sight below him had every other obscene thing entrenched in his memory beat by a mile. You were better than everything else he’d seen or tried to dream up. You were real, he hoped, sliding your shiny wet lips up and down the surface of his skin, and when you pried them off, and you asked for his cock, he had no choice but to oblige. He had to rack his brain for words.

This was his babysitter, his daughter’s companion, his—

“Sweet fuckin’ girl,” he said when he first felt you there.

Before he even knew what became of his belt, buckle, and zip, the base of his cock was in your hand, and your lips were hovering precariously over the tip. Your breaths were soft and hot. Your graze drank him in with curiosity.

“Should I kiss you here, daddy?” Your mouth lowered.

“Right there, sweetie,” Joel breathed out.

He truly couldn’t believe it when the warmth of you enveloped his tip. When the first lick of your tongue came to collect the bead of precum sitting at the slit and he damn near bucked his hips up. You licked at it again.

And again. And again. And again.

You whimpered lightly, enjoying the taste.

The second you pulled your mouth away, Joel hissed.

“Baby, please—” he started, tone strained.

“What? Where does daddy want it?”

The question was so innocent.

It was clear you wanted to hear him guide you through it, as evidenced by the way your lips twitched at his hand smoothing down and over the crown of your head. Joel held it like he might never get this chance again, and, at once, his voice lowered along with it. He scarcely recognized himself with how gently he spoke then.

“Let daddy show you,” he said, “Open your mouth.”

And you did.

Your jaw fell slack, your lips split apart, and your eyes peered up with a wide and open stare. In a look, you seemed already to say that you trusted him to fill it.

No sight on a screen could’ve made him so hard.

He fed you an inch, eyes locked with yours as he did. His cock slid in another, and another, then stopped. He pulled back. The wetness and the warmth of your mouth nearly did him in, and the way you whined for more had him fisting your hair tight. Trying to keep his composure.

“That alright, honey? Feel…nice goin’ in?”

“Yes, daddy,” you hummed obediently.

Your mouth opened wider.

“More, please?”

Your tongue was flattened in a second. Joel slid back in, and his shaft was greeted by the slick, shiny cushion of the muscle underneath. He sank in. He invaded every inch of your mouth he could find, and he breathed out.

“Just like that, sweetie. Takin’ daddy so well.”

What little gurgles he heard stifled between your lips at that, spit drooling gently from either side, he only found more endearing. When he pulled back and saw strings of your spit trail after its path, he felt delirious. You were real, coating the whole throbbing length of his cock with your saliva and your precious soft whines, and you were sweet for him. Pliant for his cock. Jaw obliging and inviting and hanging wide open for him to fuck again.

He let you have it. He slid in once, grazed your throat, slid out again. He cupped your face in his hands and thumbed your cheeks. He coaxed your lips wider for him. You took it all well; you responded to every tender little directive from the man who was stuffing your mouth, ‘Faster now, atta girl’ and ‘Take daddy deeper’ and ‘Keep that pretty mouth open and those eyes on me.’ Joel was so caught up in the feel and the friction and the intimacy of every passing moment that he almost didn’t see when you started to shift your legs. Parting them.

And, right when the head of his cock had reached the back of your mouth and was teasing down your wet, open throat, he felt it fully: your whimpering plea.

You grinding your cunt against the toe of his boot, and peering up at him with eyes all wet, wide, and needy.

You rutted your hips. It looked like you couldn’t help it.

It seemed as though it were a mere spasm of the body that you couldn’t control—like his cock down your throat was too good for your sense or your oversexed mind to handle. He’d scarcely stirred in place when he felt you humping him, whines rippling down his length with every bob of your head as you keened for some kind of release.

Joel had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know what to say or do except stroke his hand over your scalp and pin you with a look. His cock twitched in your mouth.

“Is that how we ask to get fucked in this house?”

His tone surprised him with how steady it stayed.

Your mouth still full of him, you tried to shake your head.

What came next was more instinct than logical thought; Joel pulled you off his cock and onto your feet. His touch on your body was soft. He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his being so gentle, but every second that elapsed now seemed to demand it. He was teaching you to please. There could be no better place for kindness than here.

He’d lead you to the bed and guide you down himself. He’d tell you to open your mouth and then he would kiss it, and lick inside it. Maybe spit inside it, too. He’d tug at your bikini straps, watch your breasts give way to the pressure of the pull before bouncing right back in place. He’d take off your top. Latch his mouth around a nipple, swirl his tongue across the skin, and he’d kiss you again.

Joel did all these things, and you let him. You met him with whimpers, with wide open legs, and eventually, with your feet digging into the covers beneath you, begging, ‘Daddy, please put it in.’ Your gaze was febrile as you did.

Whether you meant it, or were simply pretending for him, gave Joel pause. Just as you’d tried to yank your jean shorts down your legs, he dropped his hands to your own. He stopped them in their path. He leaned closer.

“Do you know what you and me are about to do, hm?”

His question was barbed but sweet. Testing the waters.

Were you game to keep playing house? Did you want it?

These things mattered to Joel; whether the wetness between your legs was meant for him and him alone. Whether you needed him there, like the breath in your lungs. He wouldn’t fuck you if he wasn’t. He might feel lonely at times—desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his too-old cock like your life depended on it—but he was a man who wanted to be wanted, too. An instant of clarity hit, and suddenly he was asking it, plain and in your face:

“Do you wanna do what mommies and daddies do?”

Your mouth fell slack. Again. You nodded.

Either you were the single best actress, or you wanted it. Hoping desperately for the latter, Joel kissed the side of your face. You turned your head, quickly, and captured his lips in yours instead. You pulled him down to you.

“Like this?” you murmured, words muffled against him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and then ground your clothed lower half with his—Joel’s cock was tucked haphazardly back in his boxers, and his jeans, unzipped, hung just underneath them around his hips. He felt like a teen again, clothes thrown askew and hormones all wild.

Except he wasn’t. He was a grown man, in his own bed, with his child fast asleep down the hall. He thanked his lucky stars that their rooms were as far apart as possible, and that he no longer had to worry about the prying eyes of his mom or dad trying to catch him out after curfew. This wasn’t high school, or a night out in college, or the time a condom had split and Sarah had been conceived.

Now if he could just make sure she didn’t get a sibling…

Kidding.

“Pill,” Joel choked out, just as your legs drew him in to meet your movements, “Are— are you on the pill, or—”

Am I going to have to hit up a Texaco at 10 PM to get some rubbers and admit I haven’t gotten laid in a year?

You grinned.

“IUD.”

That works, too.

Joel probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager. He probably shouldn’t have taken your face in his hands and kissed you so hard, either. But his skin was ablaze; his eyes were wild; his limbs were molten; and his head—you didn’t want to know where it was. What he was thinking.

What he wanted to tell you while he tugged his cock back out and started working his hand up and down it. It felt too intimate, too depraved, to be spoken aloud.

Then, to his shock, you said the words yourself:

“Show me how you’d make me a mommy anyway.”

If not for protection. If not for common sense. If not for that thrumming, pulsing, warning repetition in his head: Do not get her pregnant. Do not give your kid a sibling.

But this was all pretend, wasn’t it?

Joel yanked down your shorts, practically tore them from your legs, and situated himself between them, breathing hard and fast, before he nodded his head and kissed you. With his one free hand, he held the base of his dick, and he guided it closer to your slick, puffy, aching entrance through the barrier of your red bikini. He rutted his hips.

You were bare beneath him, save for that one scrap of fabric between your lower half and his. You smiled, and you wriggled your body against his, and you drew him in. Joel groaned when he felt you slide your bottoms to the slide and let him feel, for the first time, how wet you were. How warm, inviting, and tight that cunt must be and how badly he needed it. How desperately he had to be buried inside that heat—he all but panted the words:

“Can daddy put it in?”

You spread your legs wider. You nodded.

Then he did. Without one breath of a thought to the contrary, he pushed the head of himself past the fabric, through your folds, into that wet and precious spot he’d only dreamed he’d ever feel, and he let out a full-throated moan. He felt your walls contract, heard the tender little squelch of your body making room for his length, and he damn near blew his whole load right there. You felt good.

Your chest rose with a breath, and your eyes widened.

Like you hadn’t just had him down your throat, drenched in your spit and gliding in and out: “He’s so big, daddy.”

Joel’s lips kissed your cheek. His tip kissed your cervix. You whined a little, and he pulled you in closer to him.

“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed, rocking you with the softest motions, “Ain’t that what mommy likes, though?”

Your lips parted again. A strangled whine of assent slid out, just as his hips withdrew himself back to that shiny, bulbous head, and then he fucked back in. Back and forth, back and forth, Joel sent your body bouncing with every thrust. He felt you clench, and the strokes sped up.

The bed creaked underneath. It seemed to shake the whole room. In truth, there wasn’t a thought in Joel’s head except for the ones relating to you and how good you took his cock, but somewhere, not far off, there was the instinct of a father idling too. With every stab of the headboard against the wall and every moan of yours under him he had to smother with his lips, he was reminded you two had to be quiet. He leaned in.

Grazing your ear with a stubbled chin, and fucking you gently into his bed, Joel sank his weight even lower.

“Can mommy stay real quiet for daddy? Can she try?”

From the way your eyes were glazed, he expected you to nod. And you did, just barely, heels digging in the mound of his ass and your fingers finding his sides. But then you slid a touch up his ribs; you squeezed the flesh. You let him pound your cunt for a few more precious seconds, and just when he thought that was the end of it, you tilted your head to him. Your nose bumped his, and you grinned, flashing the single most pretty, fucked-out look.

“Feels like a fucking dream, daddy,” you breathed.

Joel balked. He almost stopped right then and there.

Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!

Oh.

You couldn’t have known that.

There was no shot you knew where the fuck those words were from. Or what they meant. Joel furrowed his brow and kept rutting his hips, hands tightening in the sheets beside your head as the scene from his naughty all-time favorite film flickered briefly through his mind. No shot.

Then your legs wound around the backs of his even tighter, and your eyes were all but shining with a fresh, twisted glint. With a measured tone, you went on for him:

“He’s so big, daddy. Feels so good going inside me.”

You even mimicked her tone. Joel paled above you.

His hips stalled a moment, and your cunt hugged him tight. Your teeth nipped at his chin, playfully, and before he could even try to speak again, your lips were there.

At his ear, whispering what he’d dreaded hearing most.

“You should really clear those PornHub searches after you’re done. Or at least lock your office while I’m here.”

Joel’s thrusts stopped completely.

He was about to search for his voice again, when your walls clamped down around him, and his vision went swimming. His cock pulsed inside you, and he groaned.

Then his hips picked up; it wasn’t a conscious decision. He just needed to fuck, needed to finish, needed to see the light twinkle and burst behind your eyes while he stuffed your cunt full. It didn’t matter what you knew—your lips were curled in such a sweet, smug smile below him, there was likely no use in trying to explain himself now. Joel just gritted his teeth, and he tried smiling back. He fucked you faster, and harder, than he’d done before.

When you clawed at his back, the pace grew merciless. Every inch of the space around him, it seemed, was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans. As before, Joel almost didn’t recognize his voice.

‘That so?’ was all it could manage to get out at present.

With your cunt fluttering repeatedly, hips rolling with his own, and those lips letting moans spill out one after the next, it was all he could do to try to keep his composure.

Joel kissed you, and then he flipped your body around. He moved back to find the headboard and rest himself against it, got your legs straddling his, and slid you down

Down, down, down on his cock. Stretching you out. Then moving you back up again. Making you bounce in his lap and have your hands fumble to find his shoulders. You squeezed his biceps and moaned, and at the same time, his slick-smeared lower half rutted to greet yours. Your essence drenched him; he could feel it soak straight through the black-and-gray hairs at the base of his cock.

You looked perfect like this—better than any girl on camera could’ve been. Your hips rolled, and you moaned while sliding up and down on his dick, again and again. Joel felt the trembling pulse through your body and his, groaned at the grip of your cunt around him, and helped you ride him. With one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your face, he held you close to him. Your pace quickened, and the hand at your chin made its way to your throat, to hold you firmly there.

Joel had a thumb on your pulse and his eyes raking over your writhing form when he felt compelled to talk again.

Share a truth, since all the rest was coming out anyway.

He didn’t think so much as feel it flow from there, like the blood rushing through his veins. Joel winced at a fresh influx of pleasure and let you grind on him twice more. Then he was gripping you tighter, fucking up into you harder, and he was skimming his teeth along your skin. As a knot coiled deep within his stomach, he let it out:

“Wanna cum inside this pussy, baby. Fill her up with me.”

The head of his cock struck a dizzying blow to someplace close to your cervix, and you held him tighter.

“Yeah, Mr. Miller?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone.

You fought a breathless laugh, then were forced to suck in a gasp of air just as quick; his length sheathed itself inside you completely, and Joel’s grip constricted on your throat. He kissed you. He lapped his tongue into your mouth while he fucked up into you, again and again.

You whined, and he mumbled against you, “That’s right.”

You hissed at him deep in your guts, and he went on:

“Gonna stuff her full. Make her wet and messy and drippin’ with me. Show mommy how much daddy lov—”

He cut himself short. His balls were heavy, full, and ready to paint you white, but that line was a touch too far, even now. He couldn’t say it outright and not sound like a fucking creep, no matter how deep in this roleplay you happened to be. Joel squeezed your hips and grunted.

And, for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, you surprised him. Your chin tilted to his, your lips brushed against his mouth, and you smiled, again. It was tender.

“How much does daddy love me, hm? Show me.”

Your walls clenched at the end of the last sentence, and Joel couldn’t help but groan in your mouth. His eyes lifted to yours, and in your gaze, he found anything but incredulity—you already knew what he felt, somehow.

“Sarah tell you that, too? That I love you?” he growled.

He’d said it once. At the time, he hadn’t thought he’d meant it at all, but the words just sounded so good when it came to you. Sarah had asked him if he’d wanted you to be her mommy someday, if he loved you like a daddy loves a mommy, and he’d said he did. Looking back, it hadn’t felt half as good as it did right now: peering into your eyes, feeling your warmth swallow him whole, and sensing you were nearing your climax, all because of him. It made him want to say it over again, now face-to-face.

Be it roleplay, fantasy, fixation—he needed to say it now.

“Daddy does love you,” he went on, before you could even respond. His pelvis rutted against yours, and his gaze stayed steeped in desire as he felt you grip harder, “Loves you so damn much he wants to stuff a big load in that pretty little cunt. Make you his. That alright by you?”

Your gaze went blank in an instant. Your lips twitched.

Something delectably wet, tight, and far too tempting shuddered someplace inside you, and with pride, Joel sensed the remnants of it leak out and smear his tummy. You liked that idea. Still, you seemed hesitant as your teeth snagged your bottom lip between them. You drew one steadying breath, and you slowed your movements.

“I’ve never…had that,” you admitted quietly.

Then that sticky-sweet embrace your cunt held him in got even wetter. Like your mind wasn’t fully on-board, but your body was all in. You were close, by the feel of it.

But Joel would only give what you were fully ready to take. At length, he lowered one hand to the small of your back, and his thumb rubbed at the skin. He let you feel him in only the shallowest of strokes, bouncing you softly

“Ain’t gotta be inside, then,” he murmured, assuring, “I’ll shoot this load wherever mommy tells me to go, alright?”

That made you whimper.

From there, your mind seemed to be decided all at once.

“Cum inside. I-I want it.”

Joel swallowed thickly.

“You sure, sugar? I can—”

Suddenly, your hips were stirring. They started up quicker than before, and your hand was swift to plant itself flat on his chest, as though to stabilize yourself.

“Cum. In. Me.”

It was the most decisive, and desperate, you’d sounded all night. Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, he saw a plea.

With a look like that, Joel knew he couldn’t make you wait. He wouldn’t make you wait. Trying not to smirk as he did, he leaned in and kissed you, and felt you drip more arousal as something knotted in your belly. He smoothed your hair away and delivered the gentlest thrusts from below—he knew it wouldn’t take much.

“Mama goes first,” he prodded. He felt you tense, and clench, and leak a little more down his front, and when the head of cock nicked a soft ridge, he groaned, too. “Cum for daddy now and he’ll give you his load, OK?”

Then his touch slipped between your legs. You keened.

“Daddy, I—” you hiccuped, grip tightening like a vice when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing.

Joel circled faster.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

“I can’t,” you cried, “Feels too—”

Good. Your body seemed to finish for you.

It started with a pulse. Then a pinch. A trickling warmth. Joel hardly knew what else to do but keep rubbing that little pearl between your folds, even when you started to gush around his hand. It wet his tummy; it drenched all the hairs around the base of his cock, and still, he kept thumbing your clit and rocking you back and forth above him. He let you cry out and bite his shoulder while your climax tore through you, and though he knew you had to be quiet, he couldn’t help but relish the sound. He smiled

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Give it to daddy.”

And, while he also told you to keep breathing and let him have it all, he was right here—in a matter of seconds, he was slipping off, too. He couldn’t hope to try and stop it. With one more pulse of your walls, you groaned and got your wet, spent, needy hole stuffed full of him, just how you’d asked. Joel flooded your insides with his seed and kept you fucked straight down to the hilt so he wouldn’t see a drop of himself escape. He hugged you tight and heard you whine at that primal sensation, getting pumped with rope after rope of his cum, then he felt your limbs go limp. Joel kissed the side of your face. He cradled you, held you securely in place, and let the last of his spend paint your walls in a couple more gentle spurts

When it was over, he stroked your back. He sensed the aftershocks of your climax pass through your tired frame, and he made sure not to rock you too hard against him. He just wanted you to feel that he was there, if the heft of his cum and his cock still deep inside you wasn’t enough.

His head grew clearer, too. While still drawing short, ragged breaths in time, he managed to find the words that had evaded him before—what he should’ve said.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.

You just nuzzled your face deeper.

“Don’t be.”

“But I—”

Then you tilted your head—enough for your gaze to meet with his, briefly, and tell him all that he needed to hear.

“You’re a good dad, Joel.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already pressing on.

“And I don’t…mind if Sarah calls me what she wants for now. I’m sure you’ll find someone great to be her mom someday, and then this whole thing won’t even matter.”

For some reason, the sound of it made Joel wince.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he knew he didn’t want you thinking that. His grip constricted around you.

“No,” he muttered, indistinct. Defiant.

“No?”

You almost laughed.

It was insane, admittedly—just last night he’d been dreaming of the feel of you in the grip of his fist, wishing for nothing but his own release and a fleeting thought of your body underneath him, and here he was, doing this.

You’d said it was a one-and-done deal, and maybe it was.

But for him, maybe, it wasn’t. He’d be remiss not to try.

If you shot him down and left him to pine and meander through the manifold archives of PornHub for the rest of his horny life, that would be alright. At least he had tried.

With these thoughts thrumming through his brain, Joel was about to pull you closer and venture to speak again, when, for the second time, his words were cut short. His voice was presently supplanted by a sound that startled you both, and in a moment, he recognized what it was.

A knock.

“Da-a-a-a-a-a-addy?”

Shit.

He nearly caught a knee to the gut with how quickly you tried scrambling off his lap, limbs revived and frantic and desperate to get your clothes back on before that tiny voice could resume its speech—or get a hand to the door

“Yeah, sweetie? Give— give daddy a—” ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath as he tripped over your shorts on the floor, “—a minute. I’ll be right there. Just gimme a sec.”

Joel fell. You floundered. His hand snagged the edge of the bed before he hit the ground fully, while you set off across the room to fight the strings of your bikini top and wrestle the thing on. The second you sensed that battle was lost, you grabbed your shirt instead. You were just yanking it on, and Joel was just regaining his bearings and about to chuck your shorts your way, when a voice through the door stopped the two of you cold—again.

To your horror, it was hopeful. Too sweet to be real.

“Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?”

You could’ve soundly beat Joel’s ass with that pretty, skimpy swimsuit in your grasp and not regretted a thing, if he had to guess by the look you were flashing him now.

He didn’t blame you. His hands shot up in silent defense.

“Mommy— mommy’s not here, honey. She went home.” Joel shortly tried, and failed, to keep the pretense of innocence alive, all while dodging the first swing of your bikini’s bra at his head. He ducked; you struck a lamp.

He jumped back, a wordless grin stretching his lips as he righted that fixture fast. With one look, it seemed to say:

I’m so, so sorry, baby.

But inside his head, he couldn’t help but admit this was a little bit funny. Probably sensing this, you swung again.

“Yes, she is! I heard her,” Sarah huffed outside.

Joel was sliding up his jeans. Apologizing with his eyes and also trying not to crack an even bigger smile at you.

“Don’t be silly, Sar—”

“You’re having a sleepover!” she accused.

Well, in a manner of speaking.

Joel had just buckled his belt and redid his zip when a flash of red nylon smacked him in the face. Playfully.

You were evidently beginning to fight a grin like his, dropping the feigned indignation and pacing closer.

“Sleeping my ass—” you started in a whisper.

And you were about to chase him again, or else propose jumping from the window to get out now and save face, maybe, when Joel felt an old, familiar feeling crop up inside him. Like before, it wasn’t the kind of urge he could fight; his instincts took over, and he did it swiftly.

Admittedly, the timing was terrible—but he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to your own and relished the feeling. He grabbed both sides of your face and walked you back to the bed—the same one drenched in sweat and your release, which he’d definitely need to change in a minute—and for a fleeting moment, it was all he needed. Your mouth was on his, grinning a little and promising silently that if Sarah ever does walk in on us, I’m gonna kill you.

Against his better judgment, he pushed you back on the bed. He dropped his weight over your body and kept the kiss ongoing, feeling need surge inside for something far beyond the physical. It couldn’t be ‘one-and-done’ here.

But for now, at least, in spite of his feelings, it had to be.

Joel didn’t want to let go or stop kissing, but the next second left no room for much else, unfortunately. His daughter’s voice returned, and the words that followed proved impossible to ignore, for either one of you then.

All color drained from his face, and your eyes widened.

“I heard mommy screaming before. Is she alright?”

#never thought i’d put the word hot and adorable in the same sentence #FUCKING HOT HELLO #fic recs #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 5 months ago

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this obsession for professor!joel is KILLING MEEEE

NAUGHTY THOUGHTS

Professor Joel Miller x f!reader || 1,3k

Summary: you’re failing Prof. Miller’s class and he finds a punishment for you.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, lil bit of fluff, big legal age gap (reader’s in college), power imbalance but reader is an initiator, f!oral, edging, pussy pronouns, just the tip, unprotected piv, creampie, professor kink. Pics are only for the mood, reader has no physical description but she wears a skirt.

A/n: huge thank you to @megangovier for this ask and for the idea. Megan, you keep inspiring me with your requests and I’m so grateful! ILY!💞 Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and workshopping the story with me😘 And thanks to the Fantastic 4 trailer for ‘the horny’ and for the hot professor image. I hope you will like this story. Love you all!❤️ dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more professor kink

“Another F. Are you happy with it, miss?”

You are standing in front of Professor Miller in his classroom without a trace of guilt on your face. He’s leaning against his desk, scolding you like you’re a silly little girl. Whatever.

“What’s the problem? I’ve given you extra time to revise for the test, helped you with the material and you’re still failing my class.”

You bite your lip, hands clasped in front of you, staring up at him with your Bambi eyes. Your head is empty and your pussy is on fire. You barely hear him. Who could think about grades when there are men like Professor Joel Miller in this world?! Ugh!

“I’m very disappointed. You’re a clever girl but you just don’t seem to care.” He makes a pause and then orders, “You're staying here. Think hard about what makes you fail and then write that you won’t do it again. Until you fill the whole board.”

“Are you making me write lines? It’s not an elementary school, Professor,” you laugh with your brows raised. He walks to his chair, glares up at you and gruffs,

“I don’t care. Go ahead.”

You shrug and saunter to the blackboard. You take a piece of chalk and write in beautiful cursive —

I won’t dream about Prof. Miller’s cock in my pussy anymore.

“Fuck!” You hear him curse before he bolts from his seat and wipes the sentence off with his palm.

“The hell you thinking about? What if anyone sees it?” He’s looming over you, so big and broad and your clit twitches. Your voice sensual and soft, you reply,

“You told me to write the reason I’m failing your class. And it’s the fact that I want you to fuck me, Professor.”

“Stop it,” he hisses, staring daggers at you. While he’s close, you use the opportunity to glide your hand over the expanse of his strong chest covered by a crispy white dress shirt.

“I’m sure you want it too, Professor. You already know what she tastes like, why not feel her too?”

He’s glaring down at you, seething heat coming off his body, his heart booming under your palm. He looks like he’s about to slap or kiss you. You’ll be fine with both options.

Pushing him further, you gently take his big hand, bring it under your skirt and press it to your lacy panties.

“See how soaked I am?” Your whisper makes him shudder. “This is the reason why I don’t hear a thing you say during the lessons.”

He mumbles a ‘fuck’ as you rub his fingers against the lace and moan at the sensation.

In a second his face softens and he falls on his knees in front of you.

“I hate you— I hate you— I hate you—,” he chunts under his breath, pulling your skirt up and you gasp when he presses his face to your covered pussy. He pushes his nose right against your puffy clit and breathes you in. You smile, your fingers running through his curls.

“More,” you moan, bucking your hips into his face and Professor Miller orders with steel in his tone, “Get on my desk, you menace.”

He gets up and you see a huge bulge tenting his black pants. He yanks your panties down your legs and you step out of them with a smirk, then perch your naked ass on the edge of his desk.

He’s standing in front of you, palming his big hard-on, as you lift your feet and plant them on the surface and then spread your folds with your fingers, showing him your crying hole.

His eyes pitch black, his lips wet, he swallows loudly, watching you trace your soft entrance with a pad of your finger, inviting him inside.

“Please, fuck me,” you purr.

He shakes his head.

“No. I can’t. I won’t.”

You sigh deeply and your eyes well up with tears.

“Why? Am I not pretty enough, Professor?”

You see a glimpse of sympathy in his expression but it vanishes as fast as it appears.

“Don’t play with me. I see what you’re doing. I’m not putting it inside you.”

You scoff with annoyance and wipe your tears off with your hand.

“Fine. Make me come, then.”

He shakes his head, angry at you or himself but probably both and bends over to your blooming pussy.

He’s not wasting his time, his lips latch straight to the source of your waterfall - your sopping hole, and he laps at it with his hot tongue, drinking your essence, growling and moaning against your cunt.

“Oh, Professor—so good— don’t stop,” you whimper, tugging at his curls, pushing his mouth closer to your buzzing pussy.

His tongue is dancing over your clit and you arch your back in pleasure, but the moment you feel the heat rise up in your core, he rips the climax out of your hands. He moves his lips to your mound and gently bites your flesh. Your pussy is aching, hungry for a release, but he does everything except makes you come— he peppers kisses along your inner thighs, traces your entrance with the tip of his tongue, kisses your folds all over. He’s torturing you, punishing you for your brattiness and the edging soon makes you whine.

”Professor, I wanna come. Can I come?”

”I don’t know. Can you?” He mocks as his eyes snap up at you, before he continues kissing your folds.

“May I come, sir?” you correct yourself with a shaky voice. You feel his smile twist his face and spread your pussy lips. Professor pulls away to sting you with his smirk but his face falls when he sees your glossy eyes and flushed face.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles before his mouth flies to your poor clit and he begins rubbing it with a flat of his tongue, finally giving you the pressure and the sensation you’ve been craving so much.

After the edging, an orgasm hits you like a wave, your back drops on the desk and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, cutting down a loud moan that’s rising from from deep inside you. While you’re shaking and jerking under the caress of ecstasy, Professor keeps licking your pulsating pussy, thirsty for your cum, generously flowing into his mouth.

You’re panting heavily, still lying down, smiling in a haze of an afterglow, when you see him hastily get up, his hand wrapped around the base of his stiff cock, leaking and engorged.

“Put it in, Professor,” you murmur, massaging your puffy pussy. “She’s so wet and warm. Just for you to use.”

He grunts and, breaking his own rule, pushes his cock into your cunt but only to the tip. He drops his head down and moans, his chest rising and falling fast. You give his fat head a squeeze with your walls and he immediately starts spilling his hot cum inside you.

“Yes,” you purr triumphantly, “Give me all of it, fill me full. Let’s hope no one notices your cum sliding down my thighs later.”

He growls but doesn’t tear his eyes from his thick member twitching in his hand, pumping his sperm into your cunt, rope after rope.

When your core is stuffed with his load, he pulls out slowly, trying not to hurt you. With half-lidded eyes, he watches a pearly globe of his seed slide out of your hole, then scoops it up and pushes it back inside you.

You slowly sit up, drunk on the cock and the orgasm and give your professor a satisfied smile.

He looks pleased himself and leans in to kiss you. His lips gently caress yours as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Love tasting myself on your lips,” you mumble, pulling away, and he sighs.

“I bet. Bad girl.”

He helps you to slide off his desk and fixes your clothes.

When you both look decent except for your flushed faces, you hug him and whisper in his ear,

“I’ll see you Tuesday, Professor Miller.”

He curses and you giggle, walking to the door. You unlock it, send him an air kiss and leave the classroom.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!💞

MASTERLIST || more Professor kink

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

#fic recs #joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #professor joel #joel miller smut

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 5 months ago

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Hiiii! I’m a big fan of your Thanos x Reader fics they’re so good! I was wondering if you could do some nsfw and reader is being too loud and player 124 wakes up and kinda listens in or watches but thanos keeps going? If you’re uncomfortable that’s okay! Thank you!

ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴘᴇᴇᴋ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴏꜱ (ᴄʜᴏɪ ꜱᴇᴜɴɢ-ʜʏᴜɴ) x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: SMUT, taking substances/drugs, under the influence type sex, swearing, cowgirl, making out, lip biting, voyeurism (Nam-gyu's watching them), Jerking off, unprotected sex (if you're gonna get silly, wrap your willy).

A/N: My coochie was doing the beat box while writing this.

Masterlist

ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ ᴀɴʏ ꜰᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ/ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, ꜱᴋᴇᴅᴀᴅᴅʟᴇ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʀɪꜱᴋ.

You had no idea what's gone into you that night. Maybe it was the drugs that you took or maybe your morality just left your body completely after the last game of mingle. Now here you were, riding Thanos, completely naked on his bed. You had began to sleep with him ever since. You didn't care if the people above, next, or in front of you heard. At first, you tried to be quiet, but Thanos wanted to hear you, he also didn't care if you were heard.

"Thanos! Fuck!" You moaned, as you bounced on his cock, hard. Causing his mattress springs to bounce also bounce and cause some noise. Thanos was busy, kissing and biting your neck. Like a rabid animal. He always gets that way during sex. It was probably the effects of the drug you and both ate like candy. Thanos then got a hold of your breast, giving it a hard squeeze and a pinch to your nipple. Making you whine loudly by his sudden action. "Don't stop!" Thanos moaned against your ear, giving your earlobe a small bite.

You did as you were told and didn't stop bouncing, you couldn't help but dig your nails into his back. It felt so good, almost too good. You didn't even know anymore or cared. Thanos then finally got a hold of your face with his free hand and pulled you into an open mouth kiss. You moaned against his lips, still riding him, despite your hips and thighs getting sore.

Nam-gyu slowly opened his eyes, he was in a deep sleep, but suddenly he just woke up. He knew he wouldn't go back to sleep. As his senses were beginning to activate, he heard moaning and heavy breathing under his bunk. He sat up and then moved look down under his bunk. As soon as he saw your naked back, and riding his good friend Thanos. He quickly backed away in order to not be seen, 'what the fuck!' He thought, but he couldn't help but look again. This time, he laid on his stomach and carefully peeked again.

He simply stared at you, riding Thanos naked as if there was no tomorrow. He swallowed the saliva that had built up in his mouth, to prevent himself from drooling. He continued to stare, he felt himself getting hard by just watching you both. "Fuck." He said under his breath, slowly. He brought his hand down to his pants, giving himself a firm squeeze. Getting even harder by watching. He bit his lip, watching as you continued to ride Thanos. He was too focused on watching that he didn't notice Thanos noticing him.

When Thanos saw his goon, watching how you rode him, gave him an idea. "Change position, I want to fuck you properly." Thanos whispered to your ear. Confused, you got off Thanos and laid down on the bed, on your back. Thanos got between your legs, easily and thrusted inside you again. You moaned and your body arched by the way he thrusted back in you. Giving Nam-gyu a better view of your naked body. He watched how your tits bounced by the way Thanos thrusted in you. He pulled out his cock carefully and processed to stroke himself.

As Thanos continued his thrusts, he looked up from his shoulder, staring back at Nam-gyu, knowing full well what he was doing. His thrusts got more rough and aggressive. Making you moan and whine more. "T-Thanos!" You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck. Holding into him. Thanos turned his attention back to you and gave you a kiss on the lips. You kissed him back, desperately. You felt thirsty, and he was the small drop of water. You devoured him as much as you could. Even going as far as biting his lip, harshly.

Nam-gyu continued to stroke himself, faster and harder, he licked his hand and went back to pumping himself on his fist. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with Thanos! He was literally giving him a show, without you knowing. It was hot and weird in some way. It should bother him, but it didn't. He loved his, he enjoyed it. Like a goddamn perv. He buried his forehead into the mattress as he continued to stroke himself, sweat building up on his forehead and face turning red. The noises that both you and Thanos were making got him off even more. His hand was growing tired, but he kept going, not stopping even if his hand would go numb.

He heard how you let out a high pitch moan, he knew that you had just cummed. Also making him cum, all over his hand and his stomach. He laid there, trying to catch his breath. As did you and Thanos. He rolled onto his back, still trying to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, then wiped his hand covered cum onto the thin blanket and wiped his stomach on his shirt. "What the fuck." He mumbled to himself, covering his face with his numbed arm. Trying to process what he just did. "You want to go again?" He heard Thanos ask you, in which you quickly replied. "You don't need to ask twice." You responded with a small giggle. Nam-gyu's eyes widen. He then grabbed his pillow and covered his face with it. Trying to muffle out your conversation, but it was no use. Since he'd be peeking again.

#LORD HAVE MERCY IM ABOUT TO BUST #fic recs #choi su-bong x reader #choi su-bong x fem reader #choi su-bong x y/n #choi su-bong x you #nam gyu x reader x thanos #thanos x reader #nam gyu x reader #thanos x fem reader #nam gyu x you #thanos x y/n #thanos x you #player 230 x reader #player 124 x reader #player 124 x y/n

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 5 months ago

Text

oh he’s such a nasty freak

GIVE ME HELL

Stepdad Joel Miller x f!reader || 1,9 k

part 4 of A Step Into Hell || can be read alone

Summary: you come home drunk and Joel isn’t happy. He decides to teach you a lesson.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, Joel's POV, dub con (alcohol intoxication) but reader's very into it, big legal age gap, dark!Joel, mean!Joel, possessive!joel, jealous!Joel, pussy/cock pronouns, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, degradation, slut shaming, a lil bit of praise kink, daddy kink, spanking (1), cum eating, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of unplanned pregnancy, swearing. The pics are for the mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions but wears a skirt.

A/n: huge thank you to 🎯 anon for the hottest thots😘 I used the schoolgirl skirt idea in this story, it suited the plot perfectly! Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and for loving the mf💋I hope you all will enjoy this part! Love you!💞

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST

Here you were. Miss ‘I need daddy’s cock to sleep’ came back from a party, looking like a whore. Who was surprised? Not Joel. A tight top was showcasing your gorgeous tits perfectly, a schoolgirl skirt was so short it was barely covering your ass. But what grabbed Joel’s attention immediately was your slightly smudged make up and your glossy eyes. Even in the dim light of the tv illuminating the dark living room Joel could see that you were drunk.

Probably trying not to sway, you purposefully leaned against the doorframe to say hi to your mother, your voice slightly higher than usual.

Joel wasn’t fooled by your act. A mix of rage and arousal set his body and mind on fire.

Drunk slut! Probably dragged your ass home after being groped and rubbed against all night. What if some horny frat boy fucked you?

Joel’s blood started boiling and your mother’s nonchalant attitude to the sight of you made him clench his fists even harder.

You needed to be punished. What wouldn’t he give to bend the whore over his lap and spank your juicy ass and slutty pussy. Fuck! His wife was next to him on the couch.

“How was the party?” she asked you with a smile.

“ ‘s ok. Going to bed. Good night.”

And you turned around and went upstairs. No! Not gonna happen. You weren’t getting out of it so easily.

Joel turned to his wife with his brows furrowed, having put a mask of virtuous concern on his face and hiding his semi with a throw blanket.

“Aren’t you gonna talk to her?”

”What about?”

“Her state? You ok with it?”

Your mother gave him a shrug.

“Yeah, she’s a little drunk but .. she’s been at a party. And she’s old enough to decide for herself whether to drink or not.”

Joel clenched his jaws but then took a deep breath, calming his nerves, and returned his eyes to the tv. Then he mumbled matter-of-factly, feigning his interest in the show,

“Hope ya ready to become a grandma then.”

He saw his wife fidget on the couch. Yeah, now someone was concerned!

“Why? What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you let her behave like that, then wait for her to get knocked up by some blogger or any other unemployed fucker. No college, no career. Doubt your ex’s gonna be happy that she ruined her future right under your nose.”

Joel glanced at his wife and shrugged like she’d done earlier. The naive bitch looked really worried.

Daddy Joel to the rescue!

“Honey, don’t panic. I’ll handle it. Let me talk to her. As a father figure.”

“Really? You’ll do that?” his wife asked with hope in her voice. Joel took her hand and looked into her eyes.

“Of course. I care about her. Very much.”

He wasn’t lying. You were his perfect fucktoy and he took care of the things that belonged to him.

“Don’t be too harsh on her,” his wife said as Joel got up and quickly adjusted his perked up cock.

“I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.”

Of course that was a lie. When Joel came up to your bedroom, he unceremoniously stormed in and locked the door behind him.

You were standing at your desk, smiling at your phone, probably sending out 1000000 slutty selfies from the party all over the internet.

“Hey! You can’t just barge in like that?” you exclaimed, pouting your pretty lips.

Joel placed his hands on his hips and grumbled with a glare,

“Wrong! It’s my house and I can do whatever the fuck I want. You on the other hand —,” he pointed his thick index finger in your direction and barked, ”— can’t!”

“What?” You seemed confused and tired but all Joel cared about at that moment were his heavy balls and stiffening cock, locked and loaded to ruin his stepdaughter’s hole.

” ’m here to have a talk with you.”

You giggled, “What talk? The birds and the bees?”

“Somethin like that,” Joel grunted, taking a step to you, and then pushed you to your desk.

“Joel!” you half whispered, half exclaimed, trying to stop him with your little palms on his chest, but Hurricane Joel couldn’t be stopped. He roughly grabbed your hips and made you sit on the edge of the desk.

“No… Mom’s downstairs…,” you mumbled softly, already melting when he settled between your spread thighs.

”Then be quiet. You can cry a lil. She’ll think you’re really sorry,” Joel sneered, looking down at you. His chest swelled with pride and dominance - he was big and strong and you were just a silly girl, who foolishly thought that she could do whatever she wanted. Hell no!

“Ya think you can come to my house drunk? Lookin like a whore who’s been passed around?”

You averted your eyes in shame, murmuring,

“Mm.. no. Jus’ had a few beers.”

“Did ya have a few cocks too?”

You shook your head before Joel grabbed your chin with two fingers and tilted your face up to look into your dopey eyes.

”You let anyone use you? Which hole? Bet your sexy schoolgirl skirt is soaked with cum.”

“No-no, daddy, I didn’t…”

He slowly glided his palms down over the fabric covering your hips and then pulled your skirt up, exposing your bare cunt.

A deep growl rose from Joel’s chest before he gruffed, his voice ringing with rage,

“Ya went to the fucking party with your cunt out in the open like that? Ready to serve any cock close enough to her?”

Joel's nostrils were flaring, his fists were clenching your skirt, as he was glaring down at you. He must have looked really scary because you widened your eyes and grabbed his thick forearms.

“Oh no-no-no, Joel! I took ’em off just before stepping inside. Like you told me, remember? No panties in the house.”

His dark eyes were darting between yours, searching for any sign of deceit.

“Hope you ain’t lyin to me,” he grunted, burning you with his fiery gaze.

“I swear, daddy.”

That ‘daddy’ really helped your case. Joel got more horny than mad and looked down at your pussy. Without a word he pushed a finger into your hole and you gasped.

“Did ya wet yourself? Or just that needy?” he asked, keeping the finger inside your sopping cunt. ”Who’s all this slick for? Someone at the party caught your eye?”

“No, I… I kept thinking about you, daddy.”

Joel smirked, “Yeah? What were you thinkin?”

“You… you doing things to me.”

“Hnggg,” Joel pulled his finger out of your hole and licked his skin clean with a lopsided grin on his glistening lips.

“You got horny-drunk, yeah, babydoll? Could’ve called daddy. I woulda come down there, dragged you to the bathroom and pumped ya little cunt full.”

“Really?” you asked with a drunk smile, your heart eyes set on Joel’s face.

“Course not, dumb slut. I ain’t drivin god knows where on a Friday night to fuck you. Especially when I know that the pussy is gonna come to me.”

You scrunched your nose and pouted.

“You’re so mean.”

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings!” Joel barked a laugh and roughly grabbed your pussy, making you moan. Then he leaned down to your face, so close your lips were almost touching, and you reached up to him, initiating a kiss, but Joel pulled away and instead squeezed your cheeks with his hand.

“I ain’t kissin your beer hole. And here’s the talk I promised you.”

You pushed his hand away and glared up at him. Your stepdad grabbed the back of your neck with one hand, your pussy with the other and continued,

”Ya got drunk. And drunk girls are always in danger of bein used. I reckon you better learn this lesson at home than at a party full of strangers, uh, sweetie?”

He shook his hand full of your cunt and you whimpered a needy “yeah”.

Then Joel pulled you off the desk and roughly spun you around. You squeaked but didn’t protest. Manhandling you was always easy, like dealing with a rag doll, especially now when you were drunk.

“We don’t have much time so let’s start,” he spit and pushed you down on the desk. In a second your hands were clasped by his hand behind your back, his huge cock bulge pressed to your naked ass, your holes ready for him to use.

“Daddy, fuck me,” you whined needily, wiggling your naked ass, brushing it against his hard-on.

Joel titled his head and grinned. The bitch was really desperate. You’d always been a slut for his dick but the alcohol seemed to have made you extra horny.

“You don’t deserve my cock today, slut, but all this slick can't go to waste”.

Joel let go of your wrists, tugged his sweatpants down and freed his leaking stallion. Then he roughly stabbed you with his length and shoved it to the hilt in one go. You took him easily, your pussy dripping with need for his giant schlong, and moaned into your palm, already fluttering around him. Suddenly, Joel froze.

“Wanna come on daddy’s cock?”

“Yeahhhh.”

“Yeah? Then work for it, baby,” he ordered through gritted teeth, keeping himself from bursting inside you — your cunt felt fucking fantastic as always.

“Daddyyyy…”

Your whine only made Joel laugh. He slapped your asscheek, and growled,

“Move! If your pussy wants the fireworks, ya better ride my horse cock. I ain’t doin shit for you tonight.”

He stood still with his hands holding your hips, his throbbing cock deep to the base inside you, while watching you squirm and almost cry with frustration. You begged him again but Joel didn’t move an inch while all his inches were being soaked by your crying pussy.

Probably having realized that he was serious, clumsily and slowly, on trembling legs, you started moving your body back and forth, exposing Joel’s shaft to his eyes and then swallowing it back with the greedy mouth of your cunt.

“Yeah, sweetie. You doin it, look at ya. Take what you need. Milk him dry, babydoll.”

Joel’s praise seemed to entice you, to inject some energy into your body, and you started fucking yourself with his cock faster and harder. Slapping noises filled the room as your ass was banging against Joel rougher and rougher. Your stepdad dug his fingers into your soft hips, watching you pleasure yourself with his hard cock.

“She’s so thirsty— wants to get drunk on daddy’s hot sperm, uh? — ’ll make her swallow it all to the drop.”

Panting heavily, Joel sounded intoxicated himself while talking about your wet cunt, seeing her rhythmically sucking in his fat length and spitting it out.

“Yeah, daddy. Please.”

“Good girl—,” Joel croaked and began emptying his balls inside you, pouring all his rage and jealousy into your pulsating cunt.

You came right after, almost crying on his exploding cock, pushing your face into your palms to muffle your ecstatic moans.

When Joel filled you full of his cum, he pulled out and stood over you splayed on the desk like a used fuckdoll. He was catching his breath, watching your winking hole drip his creamy jizz, then wiped his cock with your skirt and helped you up.

”If I see you drunk again in my house, I won’t let you come for a month, ya hear me?” Joel roared and you hastily nodded. Then his lips curved into a satisfied smile.

“I’m glad we had this talk.”

He looked you up and down again, shook his head and left the room.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST

People who were interested in pt 4, no pressure to read bbs: @sunshineispunk @bonezone44 @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @tateypots

#fic recs #tw stepcest #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #dark!joel miller

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 5 months ago

Text

Hand To Heart (I'm Gonna Stay Faithful)

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: a pregnancy scare makes you realize just how deep you are in this.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pregnancy scare, fingering (WE GET IT U LIKE IT), bit of praise kink, humilliation kink, breeding kink (they're stupid and insane acc), dacryphilia, sex thru the looking glass (there's a mirror in reader's dorm), ANGST in capital, they're starting to catch the feels™ ur honor, hurt/comfort, plot thiccens, this people are clearly NOT in a good headspace btw idk we listen read and don't judge.

word count: 4,757 words

side note: everyone calling this joel nasty but thirsting after him too? was going to hold a trial over my citizens but yk... what the hell, sure! i too want nasty bfd!joel to ruin me: he can be my baby daddy who doesn't pay for child support of our 4 kids and we'd make way to bed for our 5th LET'S GO also spam time! but i also happen to write in wattpad, and got a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) it's on spanish tho, but if u speak the language and would like to tune in, u can read it here

part: prev | masterlist | next

It's a regular Tuesday when his phone rings at ten in the morning.

"Dad"

Joel gets up from his desk in a brash move, immediately picking up his daughter's worried tone. Tommy bursts inside, telling him to calm down, but all Joel can hear is the anxious beat in his chest.

"What's it, babygirl? You okay?" his throat tightens. "Talk to me"

There's silence before she answers, as if she's unsure to continue.

"It's not me" he feels his muscles relaxing, but then Sarah drops the bomb. "It's y/n"

Joel's heart beats with a different type of worry.

"What's wrong with her?" voice firm but emotionless.

It's almost summer again, and he's still seeing you. In a way, you had carved a space for yourself in his cold heart, so naturally, fear settles in. He'd never admit this things out loud, though.

"I don't know, dad" his daughter starts to rush the words out, panic evident on her voice. "She has locked herself in the bathroom and won't stop crying. I-I didn't know who else to call"

"Don't worry" but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "M' comin'. S'anyone else in there?"

There's a pause on the line before she answers.

"No"

He thinks of you. He'd seen you cry before, of course, but it'd been over silly childish stuff, like getting sent to bed early or not getting what you wanted for Christmas.

He thinks of you. Images of your pretty face, etched in pain, make his stomach drop. It isn't fair: your face was one destined to be happy for eternity, your smile so contagious Joel would sometimes find himself surrendering to your juvenile joy, his crow feet a little more notorious since you entered his life and carved your space on it by force; a light in the dark.

He just couldn't bear to see a mirror of his dullness on your face. It wasn't right.

"Stay put. I'll be there"

He tries not to think about your eyes drained of life. He tries not to think he's the cause. And then, he hangs.

As soon as Joel enters your dorm, your perfume is up his nostrils, providing him with a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. It was comforting and familiar, words that used to be hollow now carrying a knowing feeling that stung right on his chest.

"Dad" Sarah calls out, going for a hug. Joel embraces his daughter tightly while caressing her hair. "I'm so glad that you're here. I didn't know what to do"

"Breath in, babygirl. S'alright" he looks at your door, closed. Broken sobs can be heard, and his wounded heart feels like a heavy burden on his chest.

"My class starts in ten" Sarah speaks against the fabric of his flannel, "but I just couldn't leave her like this"

His daughter has a good heart. At least one of them did, anyway.

"Go to your class" he's commanding before he can fully process what he said.

Sarah breaks the hug, looking at him with a look he can't quite place.

"What? But, dad-" she tries to protest, concerned for your wellbeing.

"I'll take care of it. Always do, haven't I?" he sees her hesitation, and afraid of where her doubts would take her, Joel adds a small joke in there. "Y'know those classes ain't free, kid. Go ahead"

"Okay" she gives up. "Just... tell me if anything happens, yes?"

"F'course. Trust me"

"I trust you"

He still remembers when Sarah's kindergarten teacher handed him that drawing: Joel was wearing a cape, and she said his little girl had told everyone in class his dad was a superhero because there was nothing he couldn't do. That same admiration and faith is there in her eyes, even as the small naive kid slips from his fingers and turns into the woman that stands before him. He's not the devil, but the worst father in the world, and that is pretty much the same to him.

When Sarah is out of your dorm, he's trapped inside the small room with your heavy crying on the other side of the door. He looks at the small place, thinking about all the times he's sneaked inside during the night, hiding like a criminal as you wait for him behind the door full of scrapped stickers, ready to capture his lips with an eagerness that gnaws his chest.

Now it's just him and your sobs, his terrified reflection displayed in the mirror in front of your bed, mockingly staring back.

What are you doing? it questions, and Joel, always ready to answer, has suddenly lost the ability to speak.

Forcing himself out of such a pitiful state, he approaches the door, knocking softly.

"Sarah" your hoarse voice speaks up, and just then, he realizes how much he loves hearing your voice, no matter how it sounds. "Don't you have classes to go to? Leave me, please. I promise I'm good, I-"

Joel hears your distress, so he interrupts what looks like the start of a nervous rambling wreck. Huh, doesn't he know you so well?

"Sarah's gone" a beat, "It's me, Joel"

As if you wouldn't recognize that deep voice even if you were deaf.

There's silence before the door flings open, surprising Joel, who takes a step back, barely noticeable to the rest, but obvious to you, who has spent hours admiring him and all his small movements, he who you could draw by memory and built in your head as real as he who was standing before you, his eyes circling with a whirlwind of emotions you can't quite place, yet make your heart race.

Joel takes in the sight of you, deciding it's unfair how good you look, despite your disheveled hair, run mascara and red-rimmed eyes: you are still the prettiest sight he's ever seen, and now he doesn't know what scares him the most.

"You're wearing my shirt" he says out loud his latest discovery. It's all he manages to say: not an are you okay? nor an what's wrong?

No, Joel just happens to be very stupid(ly in love).

"Sarah didn't see me" you hug the fabric that makes your frame look smaller, or maybe it's your tired composture that makes it seem that way, avoiding Joel from enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. "If that's what you wanted to know. Been inside there for hours, already was when she came by"

The fact that you rather explain and assure him of his supposed possible worries instead of sharing your own, makes his stomach tie on a knot. Were you too kind or perhaps selfless? Maybe just stupid(ly in love).

Joel grunts, and you're not sure if it's his way of dissmissing your comment (maybe he thinks you're lying), chastising you in a shallow manner or the fact that you're poorly trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Maybe he thinks you're still a foolish careless child who can't comprehend the weight of whatever it is you're doing by being with your bestfriend's dad behind everyone's back.

"Tell me" he gets closer to you, fingers on your cheeks, but they don't dig the skin, instead, his roughness hiding a surprising tenderness to them. "What happened, y/n?"

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. Joel Miller, who seemed a man impossible to waver, now stood before you, wrapped in a gloom that left you at loss for words, something akin to hope planting it's seed on your heart.

"Tell me" he demands, yet his pupils move as unsteady as your heart. There's no power for command in his voice, only what you could allude to helplessness.

Was it because you were putting up walls like he did?

Was it because the consequences of being with you are starting to dawn upon him?

Whatever it is, you don't like it.

"What's wrong?" he's pushing for an answer softly, such a contrasting image to that of him in bed. "Please, talk to me"

Please.

The words slip past his trembling lips, defenses crumbling.

Joel Miller hasn't pleaded since Sarah's mother packed her bags and walked out of their shared home. He promised himself he would never be vulnerable again, never at the feet of a loved one, beggin to be seen.

To be heard. To not be hurt. To be loved.

But here you were, red eyes blown wide at a confession spoken through other words.

Please.

Your chest feels heavy, breath constricted.

"Joel..." you utter his name like a prayer. As something to believe in; something to hold.

He rushes to your side, strong arms caging around you as your labored cries fill the tiny room.

"S'alright" he whispers against your ear, burying his face on your shaking shoulder. "M' right'ere, doll"

Your hold turns more desperate, practically clinging as if your life depended on it.

"Take your time, y/n" your name so soft, you feel like crying more. "I ain't goin' anywhere"

"Promise me" you whimper, holding tightly.

"I won't go" he assures. There it is, the same unwavering strength you know. It's for you, he thinks.

"Joel" you call out again, tone terrified. "I think I'm pregnant"

It takes him at least a minute to speak. Even to breathe.

"...What?"

He feels your erratic pulse against his chest.

"Joel. Look at me"

He doesn't feel your heartbeat anymore. Just then he realizes he's backed down, embrace letting go of yours. Joel takes in your eyes, shimmering with new tears and fears.

"Joel?"

"I'm here" his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, and the reminder like it's for himself.

"I know" your small voice speaks up, "but, just- please, look at me"

Joel holds your gaze, and it's like your air supply as been cut.

We don't want this.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks cautiously, as if you were a small animal he's afraid to scare.

"No" you breath in. "I bought the test, but I couldn't take it... I was, for the very first time in my life, scared. But there's always a first, isn't it? That's when Sarah found me"

There's always a first. You weren't afraid when he pounced you next to his sleeping daughter, neither when you didn't stop coming and he let you in everytime, and absolutely not when he obscenely ate you out while Sarah was on the phone. No, you were brave―brave enough to stand defiant when his conflicting gaze pierced through you, daring you to be the first to leave this mess and forget about him. But you were brave because you stayed, despite it all.

That had to mean something, right?

"You said you wouldn't leave me" it comes out in a shaky breath; a threat. Your voice seethes with a quiet rage. "You promised, Joel"

Like the word promise was a dagger twisting on his insides, not a sacred oath.

So he forces himself to be that hero Sarah still thinks he is. After all, he promised her he's going to solve this, didn't he?

"I did" he runs a hand through his hair. "Got the test with you?" You slowly nod. "Take it, then. I'll wait here"

You don't move from your spot, chest still moving uneven under your labored breaths.

"When you come out, I'll promise I'll still be here"

He can't promise you more. The world? It's what you deserve but not what he can give; Joel can only give so much.

"Okay" your tone is clipped, and that's all you say before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The room feels smaller than it is, the small plastic stick feeling heavier in your fingers than it actually is. You hear the clock's tick, Joel's frantic pace and your own irrational beat. It feels like a bomb: ready to explode and destroy everything within it's range.

Time drags like a cigarette, walls closing over your shaking pale frame. Your phone has a timer going on, yet for some reason, it feels an end to your beginning. You hug your body, wishing it was Joel's arms doing so.

But you saw it: fear, hesitation. It was on his eyes, auburn cracking like wood under fire. He was weak, and so were you. All of this... it starts to loose it's meaning. What started as a summer fling now falls upon you like a second skin you can't quite wash off, and it's suffocating as much as the enclosed space where a stupid line could change the rest of your life forever.

Joel outside isn't doing much better. He's aware his walking probably set you on edge, so now he's sat at the small bed that dips under his weight. He takes one deep breath, two―then looses count.

How could he be so careless? For a brief moment, why did he let himself believe it could be?

For God's sake: you were his daughter's friend. He had seen you and Sarah play on his house, laughing on his porch, gossiping on her bedroom. Growing up.

He wanted you, a desire so consuming it sometimes kept him up at night, thoughts confusing with something else. Probably fear, probably acceptance.

Joel is aware you changed his life. You, with your wild spirit and obnoxious laugh. You whom he couldn't tear his gaze away when standing in the same room, a magnetic force making the world around you drawn to you and that dangerous allure you had that made it impossible to resist you. To forget you. To live without you.

He feels dirty. A monster. A wolf with an insatiable hunger, sinking his canine teeth on your soft flesh. He'd drink your blood, to always keep a part of you with him; to be one. Like a lamb sent to the slaughter: but you wanted it. You had placed your head inside his jaw; trusting. As if knowing he could devour you, yet he'd never hurt you. Daring, almost.

Show me you can love me. Take a bite. Take me as yours. Mark me. Ruin me for anyone else. My blood, it belongs to you. This isn't a sacrifice―this is love.

When you exit the bathroom, hand holding the pregnancy test, it's all clear to him.

For a moment even, Joel forgets there's a world outside and sees a small baby: they have your smile, your eyes―and nothing of him, because you're the sun of his moon, the light of his darkness, and that baby is a mirror of you and your beauty. You and your warmth, devoid of his cold and far from where his filth can taint it. They have to look like you, because you are the most beautiful person in the world, and suddenly, the idea one more of you is possible, makes it feel like just you isn't enough.

"It's negative"

For the second time in the day, Joel is rendered speechless. His gaze is trained on the floor, lost in thought. Besides his lack of an answer, whatever he's thinking makes you nervous.

"Joel, are you okay?" you call out.

He swallows the lump on his throat, pose awkward before he moves next to your bed.

"M' fine, baby. C'mere" he sits over it again, motioning with his hand the empty spot next to him. Joel's embrace is warm, like it shields you from the cold harsh truth.

"Are you upset?" you ask over the comfortable silence, the underlying tension stretching like a rubber band.

"No" his answer comes quick, "but I won't lie to ya', doll. Thought for a sec and ol' man like me could give a pretty girl like yourself a baby as beautiful as their mamma"

A treacherous pink dusts your cheeks. Had you lost all your common sense? Seconds ago, your life hung by a fragile thread, and now all your body can think is to go for the same risk again. Fuck it.

"Did you? I thought you were too busy freaking out"

Joel lets out a nervous laugh. "M' a busy man, doll. Learned how to do two things at once"

A fire settles in your stomach when his touch lingers over your soft flat belly, longing.

"Hmm, I see" your fingers move from his hold to his collarbone, as they play with the buttons he hasn't wore.

"Y/n" he warns. You stop for a moment, not because you're unsure, but because when you look up, his eyes don't shine with that glint of danger and hunger that gives you the thrills. Instead, they look at you with a fondness he doesn't seem to even realize―the one that gives you the hope of it all.

"I want this" you speak up, voice confident.

"I don't think that's a good idea, doll. What'ya need is-"

"You" your face gets close to his, cutting his words and breath. Joel's adam's apple bobs, your throbbing pussy going through a Pavlovian response, such action an indicator he's surrendered to you, mouth watering at just the thought. "You said you could do two things at the same time, right? The comfort me in the only way you know"

There's hesitation on his eyes, and while you think it's because he's still hung up on the idea this isn't what you need, Joel's mind is stuck in the fact you think he can only warm your bed but not your heart. It's stupid, indeed. It can't affect him that much. Ashamed, he cuts the space hanging between your lips and traps them in a heated kiss.

"Hmh, Joel" your voice barely audible as Joel's fingers grip on your hair, his sleazy tongue sliding it's way into your mouth until you can feel it in your teeth. "Please..."

He chuckles at your neediness. "Please, what?"

"Please" you whimper, feeling your back heat with droplets of sweat under Joel's shirt, the sticky feeling akin to that starting to pool in between your thighs. "Please, make me feel good"

Joel smiles adoringly, moving your body until your legs are up his shoulders. Sure, his knees covered by his dirty worn-out jeans are ruining your fresh laundry, and his joints may crack here and there, but you don't pay mind to this little things: all you care is how he's kissing your bare thighs, his salt and pepper stubble tickling skin that feels more sensitive than ever; burning almost.

"Gon' touch 'tis pretty pussy 'til you forget y'r name, doll" he breathes out. "Will ya' let me?"

You nod eagerly as he helps you get out of your panties, throwing them somewhere around the room. You smack his arm playfully at his rough manners, but then he's pressing his lips with wet ticklish kisses on your legs and laughter bubbles at the tingles it's causing.

"S-stop, Joel!" you beg, legs shaking. Your giggles are contagious, and soon the foreign feeling lifts the corners of his scowl into a smile, a concept becoming more familiar with time.

"I ain't stopping" his fingers then graze your clit, tauntingly. You whine, as Joel doesn't let up on your clit, his calloused digits coated in your arousal. "'Tis what you asked for, baby. So 'm gonna make you feel good. So good until you can't speak nothin' that ain't my name"

The threat feels like a delicious promise, so you tell him you'll behave.

"I wanna try somethin', doll. Wait" you whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, and then he's moving your body until he's against the wall and you're on the border of the bed. With your eyes, you follow his line of view. "So needy, ain't ya'? Cockhungry slut. Jus' scared the shit out of me and now you want me inside?" he tsks. "Sick fella"

"Joel..." you breath out, desire pooling into your orbs.

"Wanna see you, doll" you see your reflection in the mirror as Joel lowers his head to whisper on your ear, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. "Want you to see yourself, too. How you'll be beggin' for me"

His middle and ring finger dip between your folds as he continues the minstrations, fingers pumping in and out as they graze your moist cunt. They start to go in circles, and even if it's not exactly next to your bed, you can see the mirror begin to fog, whines condensed in the heavy air.

His shirt clings uncomfortably to your body, but you don't care. In a way, he feels even closer to you, as if he was an extension of yourself.

Joel's body radiates heat on it's own, making the room's temperature skyrocket.

You lean your head back onto the mattress, moaning.

"Need ya' to use that pretty mouth of y'rs, doll. Say it" his fingers linger on the dip of your hips, waiting for an answer with a smirk and daring manner. "Say what ya' want; that's if you can"

It takes you a while to speak up, the slippery sound of Joel's coated fingers the only sound to be heard on your dorm.

"I... I need" you whine through labored pants, "I need you, Joel"

I need you, Joel. It's in the heat of the moment, really, yet on that very instant, he makes a silent vow that hangs unspoken in the air.

"Good girl" he bites your earlobe, making a chill run down your spine.

His fingers fuck into you just how you like it: swirling to explore your inner tight walls.

"Fuck. Love how your pussy takes me, doll. 'S mine, isn't it? Say it, say who this pussy belongs to. Who's the only man allowed to have it"

You close your eyes, but the answer comes clear. "You, Joel. Just you"

You whine, feeling him go harder in a new-found confidence. Your nails dig on his biceps, but he doesn't flich, still busy burying his fingers inside your clit as his mouth continues spilling filthy shit you barely can comprehend, mind starting to go numb.

Normally, Joel would make you cum on his fingers, always making sure to lick it after, claiming it was bad manners to leave to waste. But today, the clock ticking in your wall, he knows he must hurry.

"Eager, eh?" you taunt back, seeing how quickly he's pulling down his underwear, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your dripping cunt welcomes his cock, tip teasing your entrance.

"Don't" he seethes.

"Don't?" you laugh. "Don't what, laugh?"

His fingers grab your jaw tightly, forcing you to look behind you.

"Don't stop lookin', doll"

Joel slips the tip of his cock into you, his hands grabbing your waist to steady you. He looks at you through the mirror, seeing your dazed eyes, waiting as you bite your lip.

"That's it, good girl" he praises, purring against your ear. You see his face go down and lick the side of your neck before sinking his teeth in it. "Gonna reward you for'at"

Your mouth falls agape when he fully pushes his cock inside of you, burying himself to the limit in the first thrust. You moan, stretch wet pussy trying to adjust to his girth. He groans, his hips moving back and forth with yours, to meet his thrusts.

"R-right there" you whimper, feeling eyes starting to water. It had been a long day, and with his cock buried deep inside you, you can't think of anything else: just him―like this, for the rest of your life; you don't need more. "Fuck, don't stop"

His thumb rubs across your cheekbone, capturing a tear that had slipped past your foggy mind in a brittle moment of vulnerability, brown eyes flickering with something else. It could be.

We could be.

"Fuck, you cryin' over this cock, doll? What'a fuckin' slut" he laughs incredulously, but there's a hidden fondness to it. "S' that how good 'm makin' you feel?"

You can only moan, his dick harder now, his infatuation with your fucked-out state evident in the way his movements become more hectic.

"Can't even speak? What'a dirty minx inside 'tis sexy little body"

"Mhm" you blabber, tears running hot down your cheeks, landing on the mattress in fat droplets, noticeable through the reflection even. Joel stares back at your puffy eyes, devotion pouring at your glossy gaze, coated in a faint red tint, more pronounced from your earlier cries. Fuck. Never did he think your lambent eyes and sniffle sounds could turn him on this much. Something about him being the cause of it has his head spinning.

"New rule" he growls, "you keep those pretty red eyes lookin' at me when you cum"

You whimper at his words, the powerful aura they carry pushing your orgasm closer to the edge. You feel your tight folds clenching around his cock, hands holding to his back while your nails dig in it. You feel yourself approaching your release, multiple tears escaping down your cheekbone. In an obscene gesture, it isn't his thumb but his tongue what removes the wet stream from your body, feeling the salty drops on his tastebuds.

You were already so worked up, it was a matter of seconds before you could cum at any moment. Your walls clench around his length, and before you can process, Joel pulls your body up, caging your tits until they're pressed against his soft chest. You face the white paint of your wall, and Joel can see your back in the mirror as he's still buried inside of you. You gasp at the change in position, all of the sudden, a painfull delicious sensation flooding your senses.

"You're gonna cum, aren't ya', doll?" Joel's asking, hot breath nestled in your neck.

"Hmh" you barely manage to blurt as he fucks into you harder, your arms clutching onto him. You were being so loud now that you were sure you'd get at least one noise complain, hoping it stays there; if they found out not only had you been fucking, but with a fourty year old man who happpened to be the father of your bestfriend, you'd probably get expelled. "So close..."

"You know?" he whispers, voice fragile over the sound of your pants and worked up breaths. "I was scared, ealier. M' sorry you had to see that" your body trembles, making you close your eyes. "But I need ya' to know, for'a moment, I did think about having a kid with you"

Your forehead drips with sweat, mixing with the sodium of your tears.

"Maybe in 'nother life, huh?"

Your heart feels like it's about to burst when he sloppily kisses you, as to prevent any words come out of your mouth―humilliating or full of regret, avoiding the heart ache of a rejection. Joel, for a moment, lets his heart wander off to territories he shouldn't, thinking of things he should leave to be. Joel digs his hole deeper, but he doesn't care: he just wants to be the best grave in your cementery.

"Maybe" you answer, but it sounds like a possibility, the promise of a foolish mind betraying the guarded hidden hope.

"Fuck, Joel" you bury your face against his soft pecs, your orgasm crashing over you. Your whine comes our rather loud, trying to drown the sound against his body. He doesn't stop holding you on his arms, firm; you'd probably fallen if he didn't.

"Wait for me, doll. 'M close"

"Please" you plead, kissing his jaw. "Need you. Want to feel you, Joel"

Not daddy, but his name. I want you. I need you. Want to feel you; for you to fill me. He groans, rhythm sloppy as he crashes his lips into yours. he should stop, especially after today's events, but God, his traitorous head is filled with images of you, belly round with his child, one carved to be the spitting image of you.

Do it.

You moan inside his mouth when you feel him finish inside of you, thick, your fingers running through his dark greying hair damp with sweat.

"M' right here" he says his words from earlier, and you feel yourself hugging him to keep his body next to yours even as he pulls out.

"I know" you hum, arms around his neck. "Thank you for coming"

"What of both?"

You let out a laugh.

"Jesus, Joel" but your tone is devoid of malice, adquiring that layer to it, just like his own. There's a shift in the air, and if you felt it before, now you know there's no point of return. "You sure are something else"

dts: @ann-gell; angél de mi corazón, tkm mucho, gracias por llegar a mi vida, ah.

#i need him as my baby daddy too #fic recs #pedro pascal #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #bfd!joel #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 5 months ago

Text

The Pedro!Reed Richards!professor fanfics are gonna go CRAZY

#HECK YEAH #pedro pascal #mr fantastic #reed richards #the fantastic four first steps

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 5 months ago

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STOP IT THE TENSION???? THE GLASS SCENE????

Hello!! 🤍 I was wondering if you could write something where Joel is the reader’s college professor, and then Prof. Miller INSISTS that reader comes over to his home for tutoring assistance, (because of failed tests or bad essays), and then finally coaxes her into letting him have his way with her.

hi nonnie! here it is! i hope you enjoy 💖

extra credit

6.2k | joel miller x afab!reader (professor!joel au)

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: professor!joel au, age gap (joel is 46, reader is 21), soft!dom joel, pining, consensual sex, pet names (darlin', doll, baby), oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, piv (unprotected, wrap it folks), squirting, joel spitting over the reader's ass for 0.5 seconds (OOPS IDK???), a pretty dress with easy access, hints of after care, spoiler: honestly prof. miller could've told reader to just do the paper in a different format but – that's the point 🤭

When you picked your major, English was a necessary credit needed to achieve your goals. It wasn’t your strong suit, but you weren’t one to quit just because you were bad at it. So far you were coasting through, getting a mix of good and bad grades in your English Lit class when the last essay before finals was presented.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front. He hands out papers, hovering by your desk. Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down. You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings. “Shit,” you say to yourself. That was it. That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course. You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling. You failed. Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind. What were you to do? How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it. The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller. Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes. His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns. He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve. A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt. Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him. “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?” Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl. Proving not to judge a book by its cover. The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff. Predicates and imagery? I’d rather be learning about biology. But I need this course, you know. And I…,” you swallow hard. God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher. He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,” Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table. He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms. Keeps his distance. “It happens, you know. There are things we can do to accommodate. You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail. You have options. I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final. Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare. You know the workload of this university. Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?” You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it. The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help. You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all. I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though. You’d have to come by my house…,” he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course. If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it. You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did. Though, that was neither here nor there. His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing. Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place. But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay. Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race. Tonight? Tonight?! Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.” How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively. “Here’s my address. 7 o’clock.”

“Seven. Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.” His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat. You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers. It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar. Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach. It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home. Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans. His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted. His stomach, soft at the bottom. You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks. You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too. Charismatic as he invites you into his home. Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks. His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower. What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home. It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time. His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures. Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children. He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right? When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too. Fuck, this feels so easy. But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language. He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that. You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally. Plump and ripe for the taking. Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you. What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression. You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him. And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen. You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?” When you take the water from him, your fingers graze. The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind. He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead. The two lines between his brow. “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table. Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree. You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop. All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down. You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster. You dread it, you really do. Going over your failures? You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,” Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift. The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head. “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought. You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax. Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself. “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything. See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.” Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format. This citation works for your research papers, right?” He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day. You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper. “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs. You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it? You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly. If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format. Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting. An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse. You shift your gaze to look at him. The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest. The freckles that splayed over his aged skin. “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement. And a pointed one, it seems. Someone to tell you what to do. And Joel wanted to be that person? Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it. Maybe he did that just because this was his house. That must’ve been it. He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next. He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either. What? I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart. Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap. You deserved better than that. He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself. He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes. He felt for you. And he was a bit lost in your eyes. You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit. Joel could see that. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted. You threw him off without even trying. The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise. You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly. “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay. You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.” He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. The candor, the nerve. A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were. Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain. They look soft, and… willing. You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else. You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming. He’s not married? You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this? So close? Backed by the glow of his house? It was so different from the boys you were used to. In their dorms or disgusting apartments. It smelled as nice as it looked. You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself. You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster. Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway. I know I didn’t at that age.”

There. The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?” You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee. Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers. “Forty-six. You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion. How will this land? What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa. He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out. Do you fake it? Do you give it to them straight? Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you? N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you. It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp. But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge. It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you. Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone. No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet. He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day? You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing. Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans. His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that. All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things. That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready. His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing. Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually. He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination. “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses. Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does. On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat. You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this. You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.” Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request. “I – what?”

“No?” Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood. It’s just, straddling his face? Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?” His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural. But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school. Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today. He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you. “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?” You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place. And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures. His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor. “Fuck,” you mutter. This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does. You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest. Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand? All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening. “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.” Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told. Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart. Then, it’s incredibly palpable. His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him. You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself. There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too. Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt. “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks. Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do. Has so much to teach you, if you let him. Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much. Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him. An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much. It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt. Delicious, deliberate. Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was. Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last. Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you. A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained. “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly. Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery. Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips. Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there. Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you. The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you. Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too. He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin. Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally. Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone. Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar. You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was. Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly. Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor. His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons. “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had. You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm. And everything else.

“You know what you did?” Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand. You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress. “What was it?” You ask, curiously. Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you. His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance. “What is it?” You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him. “No. No. I want to feel you. It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that. At how gone your brain is. Here he was, thinking he was the only one. “Okay, okay, darlin’. I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion. But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head. You were everywhere. His mouth, his glistening chest and beard. He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation. Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock. “Such a needy little thing, now,” it’s as if someone else is talking. This isn’t the Professor Miller you know. This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it. “So fucking wet. Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock. Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it. “Take my cock.”

And take, you do. Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock. Clenching around the head and he growls at that. “You dirty thing. This how you fuck all your teachers?” It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you! Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you. It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him. “Just me, show me then. Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over. Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once. Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own. The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else. His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole. You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected. Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore. “Fuck me, Joel! Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?” Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first. Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this. When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you. How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now. His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow. The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on. The way it sounds. Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you. Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake. You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs. Over your own stomach. You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your. His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it. I know you can take it. Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby. That’s it, that’s good, darlin’. Shh, easy. Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat. Come for me, I know you can be so good for me. Good for – fuck – fuck. Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit. “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop. Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come. Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore. You feel too good. Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves. “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!” Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms. You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out. So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear. He doesn’t want to any more than you do. But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out. Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you. You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back. But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle. When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too. He’s just as disheveled. The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?” He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender. More playful. More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.” he’s finished enough for you to roll over. You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop. He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant. “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow. “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,” Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now. “You will pass by your own volition. I meant it – you are bright. You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.” He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave. And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.” You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue. Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

taglist: @cool-iguana – comment to be added!

#fic recs #YUMMMYYYYY #professor!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x f!reader #soft!dom joel #softdom!joel #professor!joel x reader

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21stcenturywitchcraft · 5 months ago

Text

So Is it Your Place Or Mine?

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: summer is over, but your affair with joel isn't (or, you grind on joel's belt buckle while sarah is at soccer practice)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., exhibition kink (sarah is again a victim of this), brat taming (this two are soo into it), degradation kink, praise kink, lwk breeding kink, daddy kink (wow! it's a whole library of alexandria of kinks in here), fingering, dad bod!joel (best joel you mean), angst (oh guys look oh no it's alr starting), dirty talk!!!!! (they're so dirty ew i want it too wait who said that)

word count: 3,701 words

side note: and it became officially a series. hope u all are into this as much as i am because it's my first series ever !!!!! ALSO angst finally makes it way in this mess LET'S GO (i'mcrying i really looked up big texas belt to come up with a mental image in the middle of class, i'm so sorry to whoever sat behind me but idc abt me writing smut while at uni; we die like real men)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"What do you mean you're not coming?"

It's been an unspoken rule that, even if you hate sports and the ball stays ten meters away from you, you always come to Sarah's soccer practice, cheering for her from your usual spot at the benches.

Except today, you aren't there. And now Sarah is calling you when she shouldn't, but that she doesn't know.

"I can't. I have stuff to work on stuff"

Bullshit.

Your laptop and the half-written essay sit untouched at the coffee table. The thing being touched in question, is something entirely different.

"Need help?"

His hands grip any free spot of your glistening skin, sucking on the rosy pink until it turns maroon red.

"I'm at my dorm, sorry"

Double bullshit.

Sarah doesn't even know your car is parked next to her dad's truck. She has about four hours to find out.

"I can drop by later then" she suggests.

His hot breath tingles against your neck as his nose caresses the spot. Bad girl, he mouths, like he wasn't the one who told you to pick up, despite his daughter's name on the caller's ID. You try to reach for a kiss, but his digits press on your hair, pulling you back with violence to forbid your lips from touching his. Bad girl, and your arousal drips with more intensity at the remark. Bad girl.

"No!" the answer comes quick, your voice strained, and Sarah jokes that you should take it easy with your classes, instead of suspecting anything else.

"Fine! I won't go if you don't want me to, but if you show up dead by stress, I'll be free of guilt"

He kisses the outline of your jaw with sloppy movements, like he just wants to busy himself while Sarah blabbers about the practice, and you keep trying to make her stop, but she tells you not to worry, that she's on a break right now, and the task to avoid whimpering at his rough kisses across your neck becomes increasingly difficult. A gasp escapes your lips when his teeth sink into your flesh. Mine, not to be said but to be felt. Seen by the rest. A pretty red that tastes like the blood he craves, the hunger akin to violence. Bad girl, and he's biting your lip to stop any other filthy noises from escaping. What if she hears?

"Are you okay?" concern laced on Sarah's tone. Guilt creeps through the cracks of the worn-out paint of his bedroom, one your friend had practically begged him to restore; the joke of it all was that was about his job yet he couldn't fix his own goddamn house. "Y/n, did you hurt yourself?"

I'm treating you well, ain't I, doll? and then he'd grin against the crook of your neck before looking at you, his dark blown-wide pupils gazing at you with a hunger you didn't think it was possible. They'd burn, and the fire didn't scare you: it was the warm your cold body needed. Tell Sarah her daddy ain't hurting her slut of a friend.

"I-I'm fine" you manage to choke out. Good girl.

Joel's lids feel heavy as a crown. But you like 'em rough, don't 'cha, baby?

"Should I worry?"

Joel pulls harder, your scalp burning at the harsh tug. Answer when I ask. You breathe in heavily, and Sarah keeps on asking you if you're okay, threatening to burst through a dorm door she'll find empty.

"N-no" you meekly answer, and he laughs at your demeanor. Under his weight, pinned down on the mattress, there's nowhere to run to.

"Is it okay if I-"

"Sarah I need to hang, okay? My head hurts. Bye" it all comes down in a rush, the words a vomit of excuses. You make sure the call has ended, and so does Joel, that in an act of mercy, has stopped. You both look the screen until the lockscreen is back up again, a picture of you and Sarah. Despite used to having his weight on top of you, your throat feels constricted.

"Do you want to traumatize your daughter, Mr. Miller?"

He's back at his task of kissing, making you moan and writhe at the sensitivity of your kissed and bit skin during the last hour. You hate how he takes his time―edging you; unbearable.

"What I want is you"

The lie comes out effortlessly from his teeth. He wants you, needs you, but does he really want you? His daughter's best friend, the college girl he was going to lecture just last summer―to live life and forget about him, yet couldn't. He lies to himself, saying he didn't because you felt asleep, but feeling a warm body next to him, being your beautiful frame of all people, made it hard.

The way he makes a moaning mess out of you, how he knows every spot of your body no one had been able to please before, how your cunt stretches perfectly around his cock, how you call his name like no one else had done. It belongs to you now, and this is a vice.

It's like he's got a wound, and you're the only balm that can soothe the pain. But the effect is temporary, and after you leave, he always finds himself wanting more.

The doubt on his eyes has your heart beating out of fear.

"Then have me, Mr. Miller" you dare.

When Joel smiles, barely noticeable, something flutters in your stomach.

"Al'ight, impatient one. We have sum hours until Sarah's back. Spread" his hand nudges your thighs apart, and you oblige, making Joel chuckle at your obedience. "Good girl, baby. S'good f'r me"

You let out a gentle moan at the praise, and he smirks at your reaction.

"Feelin' desperate, are we?" he taunts, seeing your pretty lips parted and face flushed, a whine escaping them.

"Shut the fuck up and just kiss me already" you beg, pussy throbbing painfully.

"Damn brat" he hisses, "ain't you such'a needy greedy slut?" his finger hooks on your panties, tugging you closer into him, your body rising to clash against his softer frame that has nothing to do with his rough demeanor. You can feel the bulge that has formed through his pants, making you moan in delight.

"Sorry, daddy. I'll be a good girl" you squirm under his weight, pouting lips and batting eyelashes. "Please, kiss me. Pretty please, daddy"

"Jus' cus you asked well" but he knows it's an excuse to capture your sweet lips until he's tasted all of you. You once heard old men kiss like they want to devour every inch of your mouth, to make space for their tongue like it's going to live in there, and they were right.

He pulls away from the kiss to pull out his shirt, revealing his soft body. Your hands itch, immediatly reaching for it with wandering fingers. He chuckles at the eagerness, but then he catches the subtle adoration in your eyes, and his breath hitches, heart stopping.

"What's wrong?" you look up, and it's gone. Maybe he imagined it.

Joel doesn't know why he feels dissapointed by it.

He tries to push the thoughts back, head diving down between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and messy trails of saliva with his tongue on each one. He gives a special lick to your hardened nipples, making you squirm.

"Gonna bend y'r fuckin' sexy little body on this sheets. Gonna make you cum all'over, until y'r scent is'mpregnated on 'em"

You groan at his words, fingers pulling down the pajama shorts you brought over, revealing your pretty black laced lingerine.

"Fuck, baby. You wore 'em for me?" he's asking, and you'd be crazy if you think the tone reveals devotion. Is Joel even capable of warmth?

He leaves a new trail of kisses, this time, running from your neck to your stomach.

"Gonna make you scream my name 'til that's the only thin' you know how to say" his hot breath tingles over your abdomen. He buries his face in there, the mustache and scruffy graying hair tickling the skin. "Gon' give you such'a load, this flat stomach of yours will be bustin' with my seed"

You whine at his filthy words, mouth agape slightly. He looks at your soaked panties, arousal on clear display now. Joel's cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

He lets out a low growl. "Look at you, such'a slut for me. Drippin' wet like a fuckin' whore and desperate, when I ain't even touch you"

To prove so, Joel teasingly runs his fingers along your inner thigh, dangerously close to your soaking core.

He pulls your underwear down, taking them off.

"M'gonna fuck you real good, baby" his fingers dig on your thighs for support, the burning sensation of his calloused digits on your soft skin delicious. "Gon' take care of what's mine"

Mine.

The words ring loud and clear. The only other noise to be heard is his lips leaving wet sounds against your thighs. Does Joel even realize what he said? Or was it in the heat of the moment?

No, wait. Stop. Why do you care?

He begins to rub circles in your clit, coating his fingers in your dripping arousal, prodding the tense needy hole, making you moan in desperation.

"Please, daddy" your lips cry as you beg for him to do anything to remove the pain in between your legs.

"Please, what?" Joel teases, voice raspy. He keeps prodding your center, his digits in and out in a gentle manner, contrasting his hard hold on your thigh. You squirm and whine at the sensation, but maybe it's the dark on his eyes that's really responsable for making you shrink under his gaze. "Think 'm doin' this for ya'? To please ya'? No, baby" he tuts, "you were a bad girl. Almost got caught"

"If you didn't make me answer" you seethe, a moan almost escaping your lips when his fingers hit that sweet spot of yours. "Maybe if you didn't, she wouldn't-"

Joel removed his fingers from you, and you reduce to a moaning mess, begging for the release you were chasing and now it's lost.

"But you wanted'er to know, didn't ya'?" he unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his worn-out jeans, revealing a barely concealed neediness on his side. "Wanted'er to know where 'er slut of a friend was: at daddy's house, beggin' for his dick like a cockhungry slut"

"I-I want it. Want you dick" you barely choke out, lips parted at the sight of his pulsating dick's silhouette under his brief.

"Then take it, hungry one"

His tip buries deeply into your cunt before you even speak again, sliding inside in one swift motion. You gasp, as he fills you up completely, because despite the way your cunt stretches for him, or the way you have had his dick and need it, his girth never fails to amaze you.

"D-daddy" you moan, walls stretching to accommodate his size. Your sweet arousal drips down your thighs, coating Joel's balls. Fuck, doesn't he love to see you squirming under him. He's never had a woman like you before, wrapped around his finger. You may be a girl, but God, you feel so much better around his dick than anyone else: your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his dick twitching when he takes a look at your legs shaking and fucked out state.

"That's it, pretty girl. Beg for'it"

His words go straight to your core as you moan. "Please. Let me take all of you, Joel, please"

You said his name. Fuck. He shouldn't be this aroused, but the way you say it like that's the only thing you know, like it means something more, it makes his dick throb and heart sting. That he, Joel Miller, old bitter man, single dad, could mean more to a young pretty girl like you.

"Fuck" he grunts, grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you with harsh movements. The sound of skin clapping is obscene as he begins to fuck you mercilessly. "Ain't you a noisy lil' thing, huh? You like that, baby? You like it rough?"

Your voice comes out shaky. "Y-yes, daddy. F-fuck, just like that. I like it a l-lot"

"Good girl" he grins satisfied with your respone, his thrusts getting rougher and messier. "Lookin' s'pretty with my dick's inside of you"

Joel changes angles without telling you, brushing your g-spot. A noise so loud and vulgar comes out of your parted lips, and you feel ashamed.

But then he's brushing a strand of hair from your face, with a delicacy you've seen reserved for his daughter only. It feels weird, and you try that it doesn't distract you from your looming orgasm.

"Joel..." you breath out his name.

"Yes?" with everything coming out of his mouth: possesiveness, neediness, pleasure. Like he'd give you the world if you just ask, despite telling himself he wouldn't.

"K-keep going"

Your gaze bores into his eyes with an intensity that almost makes him stop. Because the words are simple, but Joel's been alive enough on this Earth to know it doesn't mean just that.

Keep going. Don't stop. Don't end this. Don't let me go.

"Whatever m'princess asks if she asks 'em nice"

You scream in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, his balls slapping against your cunt, as your slick begins to run down your thighs. Joel thinks he's going crazy at the way your folds take him, how tight you feel, and the loud noises you make, begging him to fuck you harder, to use you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, writhing under his touch as you begin to see stars.

"You close, aren't ya'?" he laughs, but it's devoid of mockery. A subtle softness hides behind them. Ask nicely, and I shall give. "Gon' cream 'round my dick like a good girl, right?"

His digits dig in the flesh of your hips, guiding himself to fuck you harder, for you to take him better, caging your body under the sheets, pushing you even closer to your orgasm. You mewl loudly, tears in the corner of your eyes at the delicious burn.

If you told yourself a year ago you'd be crying over Joel Miller's dick, of all people, you'd probably laugh. But no college boys had been able to please you, less bring you to tears as you reach your orgasm. This is heaven, and you aren't ready to say goodbye to the paradise you found in summer just yet.

Your core tenses around him, body so close to finishing, hair a mess, eyes brimming with tears, and lips spilling the filthiest sounds ever heard to humankind. It's heaven, and Joel isn't ready to give it up just yet. Your pussy throbs, and as your juices mix as one, you roll your eyes and head back, your high approaching, knot in your stomach tightening faster. Before you can register, your mind goes blank and you're seeing stars.

You come around his cock, coating it in your arousal as Joel admires how you cream his member, tight walls almost pushing him out of you. He groans at your simmering cries, some tears coming out of your eyes.

"What'e fuckin' slut, baby. You sure are somethin' else" he chuckles, his thrusts messier by his own high approaching. "Wait for me, yeah, baby?"

You humm, as he buries deep into you, filling you up completely, as his hips stop their harsh movements when he feels the tension in his abdomen release.

"Fuckin' sweet" he uses a finger to clean some of the slick that's run down your leg. "Good girl"

He licks them off in an obscene display, making sure to never break contact.

"If you keep doing that, I'm gonna become a real bad girl" you taunt.

Then he pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your cunt. He grabs one of the corners of his sheets, cleaning some of his seed from your thighs. Joel should be careful, but all his foggy mind can muster is you being his in every way he can. Making you his. Mine. Mine. Mine. You plead him not to do that, but he argues laundry day is soon and he likes it better when it smells like you anyway. You confess with a cute light blush in your cheeks that you do the same when he comes over to fuck you in your dorm, sleeping better when the covers smell like him. He shouldn't feel like this: like it could be. But he allows himself to, even for an instant.

"Oh, yeah?" he pants, "what you gon' do?"

Your eyes travel to his jeans and untied buckle he hadn't wasted time taking off, rather just pulling them down.

"I have something in mind..." you wander off, remembering filthy thoughts of your first night together, how you briefly thought about it. "I-" you cut off, blushing furiously.

"Yes?" he holds your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him as his rough fingers press on the skin. "Remember what I told ya', baby? To ask nicely? 'Cause you said you'd be a good girl, so be one and tell daddy what'd ya' want"

You gulp, trying to hold his gaze. You never back down. You never back down. But the intensity of the shinning copper makes that insufferable character of yours to be tamed, boiling against the surface but just scratching, all screams lost. Is like he knows this power over you, acting on it with a benevolence so sick, it has you thinking loving Joel Miller isn't impossible.

You never back down, but being with Joel feels like walking over stones, always thinking about the next step and the ones that were, ghosts of the lingering doubts and afterthoughts behind every step you take. It's like there's a river below them, washing away regret.

But you're still here: water up your knees then and now over your head.

You're barely floating. You'd be willing to drown anyway.

"I want to ride your belt buckle"

There's silence in the other side, until its met with a light chuckle.

"Yeah?" Joel keeps on laughing, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "S'that what that filthy head of yours be thinkin' on?"

"Stop it" you groan, covering your hot face with your palms. You wish you could erase that ugly smirk off his face. "I'm never telling you anything again, ever"

"Now c'mon, baby. I was jus' messin' 'round" his tone adquires a soft edge to it, tender warm hands removing yours from your face. "Don't cover your face, baby. You're too goddam pretty" you blush, and Joel better resist the urge to kiss you just for the sake of kissing you. "I didn't mean to make fun of ya'. You know y'can tell me anythin' that's goin' inside that head of yours"

"Then you'll let me?" your pretty eyes look up to him, shinning like the stars of the summer night sky months ago.

He can't deny you anything, and a small crack of fear wounds his impenetrable heart.

"Get'ere you filthy slut"

You eagerly climb onto his lap as he sits against the beds headboard, your thighs pushing against his belly.

"Now" he tries to put in a more comfortable position, his tired joints creaking. He avoids your gaze, coughing over his blush. "You do all the job, baby. I ain't gonna help you, this greedy pussy took all of my energy"

You giggle, moving until your bare pussy clashes against the cold. A shiver runs down your spine, the dried juices moistening again over the metal piece. His hands move to your hips, hands now soft as they hold you, and he seems unsure of it, both of your breaths coming out ragged.

"You said you weren't gonna help" you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck. His face feels closer, and you can see lines time has marked across his features. "But thanks, daddy"

His heart takes a dangerous leap.

"'Course, baby" he smiles. "You know I spoil ya' too damn much"

You begin to roll your hips, sliding your pussy over the cold material, your arousal making a wet slick sound that bounces off the walls, a shiver down your back as you feel your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

"Mmm, can't say no to me, can you, baby?" you mock, rocking your hips back and forth. A shaky breath escapes your parted lips, and Joel feels his renovated dick spring hard. You moan, your ass barely touching his now tense member.

"Quit runnin' that mouth of y'rs, baby" his digits dig on your skin, "or I'll bend ya' over again"

"Sorry, daddy" you feel the metal star on the middle digging inside your pussy, the borders of the imprint brushing your leaking cunt in a pleasant way. "I promise to be good"

"Do" he grunts, "you're runnin' out of time, doll"

You close your eyes, movements more quick and erratic, little moans leaving your body as you groan.

"Tell me how this lil' experiment of yours feelin', baby"

"F-feels good, daddy. Fuck" you groan, lifting your hips a bit as you grind yourself down across the material. "So so good, daddy. Thank you, daddy"

"Mmm, that's right. Now be a good girl and come for me. Let me see that pretty face of yours when ya' come over ma' belt"

You let out a shaky breath, juices spilling over his jeans even as you see stars. He chuckles, enamoured at the sight.

"You gonna need help with that?" you point out his boner.

Oh, aren't you a doll? So kind-hearted.

"That's okay" he breathes out, tiredly. He thinks of the next trip to the bathroom, the image of what he'll fuck himself to clear now.

You smile at him, for the first time forgetting this started as a blowing-off-steam-time or transaction.

For a moment, it feels like it could be.

"Jus' seein' you cum all over me so prettily is'nough, baby"

#daddy is a state of mind #fic recs #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #bfd!joel miller x reader #bfd!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n

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