heartstoptrying - Tumblr blog

heartstoptrying · 3 months ago

Text

Anywhere you go, I'll follow

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Summary: Din saves you after your home is destroyed, giving you both a chance to finally come clean about your feelings.

Warnings: language, descriptions of death/violence, longing/pining, hurt/comfort, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, reader wants his baby real bad

WC: 5.9K

---

He knew something was wrong before he even landed.

Naxore was never what one considers a paradise, but the dusty planet never looked as ashen as it did from this distance.

It was small, but it managed to house about one thousand citizens. From his experience, they're good people. They mind their own business and require very little from the galaxy. Most of what they eat and use gets produced right on the planet itself. It's small, ugly, and hardly a blip on the radar. This never stopped the people who live there from loving it with their whole hearts.

When he first arrived all those years ago, ship in desperate need of repair and Din in desperate need of hiding, the citizens welcomed him. They fed him and cleansed his wounds without a second thought. They put their lives and their little planet in danger to keep him safe. And when he left, the doctor who tended to him and gave him a bed said, Keep Naxore a secret.

And he did. But whenever Din had the chance, he would stop by and pay them a visit. He brought goods and wares from other planets, trinkets and toys for the children, and anything else he could think of they might find useful.

He always stayed with the doctor, whose wife passed on before Din had ever arrived, but still had a daughter.

You.

He told himself he was being kind, that the reason for his visits were virtuous, but deep down he knew it was you that kept him coming back. After every visit, he became more and more infatuated. Less and less time would pass before his next trip, just so he could get a glimpse of you, and when he was away, his thoughts were consumed with your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes sparkled when he unveiled to you whatever little gift he brought. He thought of you constantly. He longed for the conversations you would have, all alone, late at night around the fire. He grew hooked on your every word, eager to learn as much about you as possible. You would tell him stories of your mother, of the children at the school where you taught, how worried you were for your father as he aged.

You never once spoke of a partner, and he never asked. It would be considered too forward. Besides, what sort of life could he offer you if he tried to make you his? A bounty hunter, living a life of danger with no real home?

No, you were safer with your father.

Still, he enjoyed his visits. It temporarily satiated his thirst to be near you, to listen to you speak, to watch the way your nimble fingers worked to mend clothes or knead bread.

Din didn't have many pleasures in life, but that was certainly one of them.

So as he began his descent and saw your little planet was barren, his heart sunk. He discovered once he stepped off the Razor Crest that what little trees and foliage you had are burnt to a crisp. Everything is grey, death looms everywhere. Corpses, nearly skeletons now, litter the streets. Buildings collapsed, rubble crunch under his boots, and the entire town is silent, yet he still follows the familiar path to your father's house. He knows what he's going to find, but he can't stop himself.

Sure enough, when your house comes into view, his suspicions are confirmed. The entire building is leveled to the ground. He stumbles a moment, fighting the pain swelling in his chest. Not much is recognizable, but there is a chair that used to be in the sitting room. The same chair you used to sit in while he regaled you with his stories.

He falls to his knees then, and dips his head, fighting the urge to cry. He isn't even sure why he bothers. No one is alive and he still has his helmet on, yet he still blinks back tears.

You were so young and beautiful. You had your whole life ahead of you. You were kind and thoughtful and patient with the children in your class and with your father.

His gloved hand digs angrily into the dirt, fingers curling like he could find some answer for his pain. If he just visited more — if he took you with him, like he always wanted — maybe you would still be alive.

He feels sick. Enraged. His heart splits in his chest and his body folds over, slowly, as if the weight of his agony was trying to bury him.

Just then, there's a noise. It sounds as though someone's walking over the rubble, albeit much softer than he just did. His breath stalls and he scans the area, freezing with his hand on his blaster when he spots the source.

He can hardly believe his eyes. Yet, there you stand. Dirty, ashen, hair a mess and clothes torn. But still, you're there.

He blinks and a tear slips past his defenses. He's convinced at first he must be hallucinating, but then you move again, looking at him like you must be thinking the same. Like he's a mirage.

When you get closer, his hand falls from his waist and he slowly brings himself to his feet. He refuses to tear his eyes away, afraid if he does, you'll disappear.

Finally, you slowly raise your hands to cup your mouth. Your eyes crinkle and streaks of wet trail down your filthy cheeks and you call out his name with a broken sob.

"Din."

He closes the distance in a heartbeat. His arms wrap around you and he feels your body heave, bawling and shaking in his arms. He murmurs your name, tells you you're okay, and promises to take care of you.

You nod and continue to cry. Your fingers grab at him, searching for comfort. They slide over his steel armor, feeble fingers clawing at unwavering metal, and he never before felt so angry. Angry at whoever did this to your planet. Angry at himself, for not doing more. Angry at the promise he kept to remain hidden behind a helmet.

He doesn't ask. He leads you to his ship, slowly. Your shoes aren't as good as his and your body seems weak and malnourished. But when it starts to grow dark and you stumble next to him, he scoops you up in his arms. A squeal of surprise slips past your lips but your arms wrap round his neck, anyway.

"You need rest," he says by way of explaination. "I can carry you the rest of the way. I have food and a warm bed. You'll be strong once again, and you will be safe."

You simply nod and lean your head against his shoulder. He feels your warm breath on his neck through his cowl and he has to resist the urge to strip himself of his armor and press his body to yours the second he gets you safely on the Crest.

He feeds you and gives you fresh clothes. He shows you to the fresher, where you can wash up, and promises to wait just outside the door in case you fall or need help. You don't, but he never once leaves his post. When you emerge, your eyes look sunken and puffy. You're exhausted and he knows there was no use in asking you for details that night. He ushers you to his bunk and you crawl inside, collapsing into his cot with a deep sigh of relief.

"I'm going to get us out of here," he says. You just nod with your eyes closed. "Call out if you need me," he adds before flicking off the light. He gives you one more glance before he ascends to the cockpit. You look comfortable. You look at peace. And you look fucking incredible in his clothes.

He stifles a growl and heads up the ladder.

His priority is to get you to safety. Everything else can wait.

---

"If you never take it off, how can you eat?"

Din's eyes flickered up to you through his visor. It's been two days. You nearly slept for one of them. You look healthier and more like yourself now. The sight made him happy, more relaxed.

"I eat alone," he explains. You're sitting across from him at the small metal table that folds out from the wall. You are halfway through your meal, which is nothing fancy, just some freeze dried rations, but based on the noises you made since the first bite touched your lips, you'd think you're eating fresh tiingilar.

Your eyes drop to the plate in front of him, untouched.

"Oh," you say, recalling from his prior visits when he would retire to his room to eat. You always thought it was due to exhaustion or perhaps he didn't want to hear you prattle on about nonsense like you had a tendency of doing whenever he lingered in your father's sitting room. It was always so hard to read him when his face and body was covered in armor.

"What if I turned my back?" you offer. His head tilts and his fingers thrum against the tabletop.

"I can wait," he assures you, then asks, "Will you tell me what happened?"

Your face falls and you look down sadly at your plate. You push around the food and drag in a shaky breath.

"We were attacked," you say. "It happened at night. They ransacked the town while everyone slept. I remember—"

You choke on your words and he stiffens.

"I remember going to the window when I first heard the shouting. I... they were dragging people from their homes. They took the women and killed the men."

Din stops breathing. His jaw tenses behind his helmet. You sniffle, then continue.

"My father built a small bunker underneath our home when I was a child," you say, wiping a tear from your eye. "He hid me down there and I begged him to join me, but he wouldn't — I begged him, Din."

Tears trickle down your face now. He reaches out a gloved hand to stop you, rests it on top of yours.

He knows it's a long shot, but still he asks, "Do you know who these people were?"

You shake your head somberly, eyes drifting now to his hand. You think it over for a moment before lifting your other hand to place on top of his. Your thumb idly rubs the tough fabric.

"I never found another living soul," you whisper. Din's gaze is still locked on your hands. "I searched for days. I suppose it's fortunate my father was a paranoid man."

"Your father was a careful man," he corrects. You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels horrible because it's clear your heart is torn in two and filled with guilt, yet he sits across from you, brimming with joy and relief that you managed to survive.

"What will happen now?" you ask, "what will I do?"

He swallows and you must hear it because you tilt your head slightly.

"I can take you anywhere you want to go," he eventually says.

You laugh, but it sounds flat. You keep his hand sandwiched between yours when you say, "I have nowhere to go. I've never even left my planet before. I have no one. Well... except for you."

Your cheeks burn. You give his hand a little squeeze before letting it go and even through his gloves, he instantly misses the heat from your touch.

"Navarro is nice," he says, "I have people there that I trust. People who can help you get back on your feet."

"Oh," you breathe. Then you blink and drop your gaze to your lap, food long forgotten. "Yes, okay. That... okay."

He studies you through his visor. He can tell the idea makes you nervous. You're shifting awkwardly in your seat and anxiously chewing your bottom lip.

Then, he says something foolish. Something reckless and selfish.

"Or, you could stay with me. On the Crest. It's not much of a life, but—"

"Really?" you ask, cutting him off. You peer at him hopefully through your lashes and warmth spreads in his chest at being the object you chose to grace with that look.

"Of course. You're welcome here for as long as you wish. I just ask you listen to me," he tells you sternly. He wants to make sure you understand the seriousness of what he's trying to say, but you're practically bouncing in your seat from excitement. "It can get dangerous, at times. If I tell you to stay on the ship, you need to stay on the ship, no matter how bored you might be, or—"

"I will, I promise," you say before jumping up and rounding the table. He barely has a chance to blink before you throw your arms around him for a hug. It's clunky and awkward with his armor, but you don't seem to mind. You're grinning from ear to ear, the happiest he's seen you look in days. He inhales deeply, breathing in your scent through the filter in his helmet. It makes him dizzy. With his soap and clothes, you smell so good that it leaves him breathless.

"Thank you," you say softly. You pull back slightly to gaze up at him and for one second, he thinks you can actually see him. Your eyes lock on his and you hold it, and it all feels so real that it has his breath catching in his throat. Without thinking, one of his hands lifts to cradle your face. You immediately lean into his touch but your gaze never falters. Nobody has ever looked at him the way you did. It cuts him to the core in a way he never imagined.

The air between you grows too heavy and he can't resist quickly scanning your body. Through his visor, he picks up your heat signature is slightly elevated in your face and chest. And he tries to fight the urge, he really does, but he can't help scanning lower. He clocks the temperature between your legs and his cock stirs when his suspicions are confirmed.

"You said you've never left your planet."

His voice breaks the tension. You blink and nod with a smile before stepping back, creating some breathing room between you.

"You shouldn't hide down here, then. You're missing the entire galaxy. Let me show you the cockpit."

Your eyes flicker nervously to the ladder before slowly nodding.

"O-okay," you reply shakily.

Din frowns and reaches for your hand. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I think you'll like it."

Your shoulders square up. Your chin lifts confidently and he smiles when you say, "I trust you."

He climbs the ladder first, then reaches down to help you up. When you clamber to your feet and look around, your eyes grow wide and your lips part with wonder.

"Oh, my..." you breathe, gaze raking over all the lights and controls before settling on the huge windows. He can see the reflection of the stars in your eyes and he can't tear himself away. As he suspected, all traces of your earlier apprehension vanished. You're hypnotized by the way the bright stars stretch and swirl through hyperspace, completely enraptured.

"This view. It's... beautiful," you whisper, unblinking.

With his attention still fixed on you, he replies, "Yes, it is."

Your eyes dart to him and you try to bite back a shy smile when you realize he wasn't looking at the stars.

"I've never flown before," you tell him, "it's so incredible. I can't believe you can do this all on your own."

"Really? Never?" he asks, and you shake your head. "Then we should celebrate," he adds. Your eyes light up when he spins around to a small cabinet bolted to the wall and pulls out a half filled bottle of liquor. As he pours the dark red liquid into two glasses, he realizes he hasn't stopped smiling since you stepped foot in the cockpit.

"What is this?" you ask when you take the cup he offers you. You sniff it and your nose scrunches up.

"It's Mandalorian wine," he says, "try it, it's good."

You take a tentative sip then look up at him with surprise. "It's sweet."

"I don't have it often, it's hard to come by," he admits. Then his free hand unlatches his helmet and your eyes snap to the place his fingers hook under the edge. He swears he notices excitement flicker across your face for a brief moment before you turn around.

"I won't look," you promise.

He opens his mouth to tell you it was fine, that he was only lifting it a few short inches to take a drink, but he doesn't. He sips from his glass and allows himself to take you in fully without your heated gaze pinning him to the wall. He can just make out your reflection in the windows and you faithfully have your eyes squeezed shut, just in case you catch an accidental glimpse. He sips again and his eyes darken. He can feel his body responding to how obedient you are and it's growing uncomfortable.

He slips his helmet back down and when you hear the telltale hiss of the latch, your eyes open.

"Can I turn around now?"

A muscle flickers in his jaw. Fuck, you're such a good girl.

"Yes," he says, voice rough.

You pick up on his tone. Your face warms as you slowly turn around to face him and its imperceptible, but your thighs squeeze together in his fucking pants. It's a good thing you can't see him because underneath the helmet, he is fighting every urge to pull you into his arms. He's sure it's written all over his face. Maker, he wonders what it would be like to be touched by you, to be held by you, to be kissed by you. It's been so long.

You're nervous again, he notes, but not due to fear this time. Your gaze shifts around the cabin and you swallow thickly before pointing towards the controls.

"W-what do all these do?"

He follows your finger. You're pointing to the control wheel and dials right in front of his chair.

He sets down his mostly empty glass and sits. He begins to half heartedly tell you what certain switches and knobs do, and you nod along, sipping from your glass and leaning into the side of his chair.

You lean forward, across his lap, and squint at one particularly important looking lever.

"What about this?"

His eyes slide closed and he breathes deep. You're so close to him he can feel the warmth from your skin through the slivers of exposed fabric that lies underneath his armor.

"It— it's one of the controls that sends us into hyperspace," he mumbles. You hum curiously and take another sip, draining your glass. Your body still stretches over his lap as you study the control panel and he hopes you don't notice the twitching in his pants.

"One of?" you echo. Then your beautiful eyes find his visor. He swallows harshly, leather creaking over his knuckles.

"Yes," he rasps, "there's — well, there's levels I need to check first and a course needs to —"

He stops speaking when you straighten up and sidestep so that you're wedged between him and the control panel. He watches in a haze when your small hands wrap around the control column, right where his hands normally go to steer the ship.

His gloved fingers dig into the arms of his chair.

His legs straddle yours where you stand. If you sat, you'd be right in his lap. His hands twitch and his heart stutters in his chest. You're so fucking close, he could simply wrap one arm around you—

The ship hits an unexpected rough pocket and it jolts. It's small, nothing he would even wake up for, but you're not used to flying. Your knees give out and you fall back, right into his chest.

His arms circle your waist and you let out a squeak of surprise. Then your hands cover his. Instead of pulling them off your body, you tug them tighter and squirm a little in his lap, as if you're trying to get your bearings and stand, but it's taking just a little too long.

Din murmurs your name and you still.

"Cyar'ika, I'm a patient man. But you're testing me, and I think you enjoy it."

He can't see your face, only your back and shoulders, which tense at his words. There's a long pause as if you're trying to decide your next move and he holds his breath, hoping he didn't read things wrong.

Then, your shoulders drop.

Your fingers loosen around his hands but still remain in place, holding them to your stomach. When you tilt your face to the side and look at him over your shoulder, you give him a sly grin.

"Am I that transparent?"

He doesn't respond right away, but his cock does. It swells underneath you and a soft noise that has him forgetting how to breathe slips past your lips.

"Din—"

He shakes your hands off his so he can pull frantically at his gloves, one at a time. They drop to the floor, then his hands are back on you again. Your eyes flutter shut and you tip your chin up when you feel him — really feel him — for the first time as he explores the skin under your borrowed tunic. It has been so long since he's felt the warmth of another that it makes him weak. Under his helmet, his jaw drops open in wonder. You're breathing heavy, he can feel it, and it's making his vision blur.

He cups your left breast and you whimper before leaning into his hold. Stars, you're so soft and warm and perfect that he never wants to stop touching you.

Your body sags against his chest when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your back presses against his beskar and your head falls backward onto his shoulder with a loud thud. You wince and try to hide it, but he sees it.

"Sit up," he orders. He releases your breast and you whine but you do as you're told and lean forward so he can remove the metal that covers his upper body.

He eases you down so your back rests on his chest once again. Now, the only metal you have to contend with is his helmet and the plates on his thighs. When the back of your head comes to rest on his shoulder, you instantly twist so you can bury your face into the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply, like you're committing his scent to memory, before fumbling for his hand and guiding it down, past your waistline. His fingers dip underneath your pants and he bites back a groan. The fabric is oversized and loose, making it easy for him to find exactly what he's looking for.

"D-Din," you stammer when the pads of his fingers slide through your slit. Your head rolls and your lips part when you lift your hips off his lap, chasing his gentle touch.

You must hear how fast he's breathing. Even though the modulator muffles it, it's so loud it's impossible you don't notice.

"Maker, you're soft. So soft and wet," he murmurs. You preen a little in his lap, hips rolling so his two thick fingers slip through your cunt, spreading your folds and slick with each pass.

When he sinks both fingers past your entrance, your hand flies back, slapping loudly against the side of his helmet.

"Oh!" you cry out, fingers clutching uselessly at the metal. Your back arches off his chest with a wet gasp when he pushes in all the way to the knuckle, then he's shushing you. His distorted voice is trying to quiet you down but, as it turns out, you both want each other so badly that it's an impossible task, even for a Mandalorian.

"Do you know how long I've thought about this?" he asks, watching the way your eyes pinch shut and your jaw trembles each time his fingers drag in and out of you. Your backside writhes in his lap and he has to use his other hand to keep you still, wrapping it around your waist from behind and pressing his palm flat against your stomach.

"No," you shudder. You're coming apart so easily for him, heat blooming in your chest and cheeks the faster his hand moves down your pants — his pants. He's so hard, his stomach hurts.

"Years," he grits. "Each time I left, I dreamt of taking you with me. Dreamt of your perfect mouth, your beautiful eyes, your smile, your laugh—" He curses under his breath when you clench tightly around his fingers. He can't wait to feel you wrapped around his cock, squeezing him so tight and milking him for every last drop of his release.

"You came b-back for m-me," you stammer breathlessly. "Y-you — oh, f-fuck, Din—"

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead. You're grinding down on his hand, back bowed and nails digging ruthlessly into his covered arm. You look so sweet, coming apart on his hand, moaning his name, that he wants nothing more than to kiss you, to taste you.

But, he can't.

So, he settles for driving you wild, for curling his fingers deep inside you, grunting in your ear, rubbing his palm against your clit until your lungs are empty and your entire body is pulled tight.

"Pl-please," you beg, "oh, please. Pleaseplea— I'm g-gonna come," you whine. You gasp hotly against his helmet, holding him so close with a hand still clutching at the back of his head that his visor fogs up.

"Come for me," he tells you shakily, even through the modulator. "Come for me and then I'll fuck this sweet little pussy, just the way I've always wanted."

That tips you over the edge. You moan his name so loudly that it echoes in the small room. You thrash your head around on his shoulder, body convulsing in his lap as he pulls every ounce of pleasure he can, and then your teeth find a small patch of exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt, below his ear. He swears when your teeth pinch him and his grip on you tightens, holding you steady until your orgasm slows and you relax in his arms.

He doesn't give you much time to recover. He can't. He's so pent up, it's making him dizzy. Sliding you off his lap, Din reaches down and pulls on his pants, lifting his hips and tugging the fabric down just enough to free his cock. You're still in a daze, slumped against his shoulder, chest heaving. When he tugs you back in place, leaning against his chest and sitting in his lap, he loosens your slacks, letting them pool to the floor.

In his crazed, lust-filled stupor, he manages to realize something through the fog. The position you're in — with your back pressed against his front — maybe...

His hand fumbles around until he finds the button he's looking for and he smacks it, probably louder than is necessary. You jump in his arms when the cabin goes black, the only lights filling the space are from some switches on the console, too dim to create a reflection. But, if you turn your head—

"Keep your eyes closed."

You open your mouth to ask the question, then clamp it shut and quickly obey. He regards you for a moment, just a moment. He trusts you. You wouldn't look.

A hand comes up to unclasp his helmet and it falls to the floor with a loud thud. You jump again but keep your eyes closed.

He says your name, voice clear to your ears for the very first time. You shudder in his arms and your brows pull together, like a blanket of warmth just passed over you. He smiles to himself, then his hand drops to grip his leaking cock. He presses the thick tip between your thighs and you twitch before spreading your legs as far as you can manage.

He can't wait any longer — his hips flex and you moan in unison as he slides inside your warm, perfect cunt. The way you clench around him, the noises you murmur in his ear — it all adds to the heat building at the base of his spine since you stepped foot in the cockpit.

"M-Maker—" he groans, "you feel so good."

Then you start to roll your hips, tight pussy gripping and fluttering around his length as you try to fuck yourself in his lap. Your legs drape over his thighs, feet dangling near his ankles, unable to graze the hard metal floor for support, yet you still try to work faster, just so desperate for him.

His hands grip your hips, helping you move. Your eyes are still squeezed shut but your mouth is open, gasping for air every time he pushes back inside to grind against a spot that makes you whine through your teeth.

"I've wanted you so badly, it hurts," you confess shamelessly. Something about not being able to see him makes you feel bold. "I would follow you anywhere, Din Djarin."

He groans and nips at your earlobe. You feel his chest rumble against your back and you smile. Your hand falls to where you're connected and your fingers spread, gasping when you touch him. He's thick and hard and soaked with your arousal.

"I always knew you must have had a nice cock," you whisper, still feeling emboldened with your eyes closed. "No one carries themselves the way you do without having the goods to back it up."

You cry out when his hips snap roughly against your ass, and your entire body is practically bouncing in his lap. If it weren't for his ironclad grip around your middle, you're sure you'd have fallen out of the chair.

"Keep — talking," he grunts. His wet tongue slides slowly up your neck before his lips pucker and he begins to suck a mark that will take days to disappear.

"I— I —" you stammer. He's fucking you so fast now, it's hard to think, let alone form a sentence. "I used to — to think about you — oh, f-fuck, right there—"

"Think about me?" he repeats, ignoring everything else.

"Yes," you hiss, then your hand reaches back to slide through his hair — it's thick and a little curly and you commit the feeling to memory before it's taken from you.

"I would think about you — wh-when I... when I would touch myself."

Your stomach muscles begin to bear down and your thighs go rigid. You're so fucking close, you can taste it.

"Yeah? You thought about me when you made yourself come? Thought about my cock in this tight pussy, just like this?"

His deep voice in your ear makes you shudder.

You nod with your mouth hanging wide open.

"Oh fuck," you whimper when the tip of his cock finds a sensitive spot deep inside. You writhe and roll your hips, eager to find the angle again, but Din knows. He knows what you need and he wants to be the one to give it to you, so his hands still your movements and he rocks upward. You're both breathless and sweaty, but it doesn't matter because he's there — he's right fucking there, right at the spot where you need him the most.

Your mouth creates a combination of noises and melted words. There's no sense to be made when he's fucking you like this. You push back, deepening the angle. You both moan so loudly, it echos, but you barely register it.

His fingers fall to your clit and he starts to swirl messy circles over the throbbing bud. Three, maybe four passes. That's all it takes.

You throw your head back violently, his name ripping from your throat as you cunt clenches around him, pulsing and squeezing. Your stomach flutters, the released tension rippling across your muscles.

He doesn't stop. His fingers move frantically and he fucks you through it until your body sags and you whimper when swatting weakly at his hand.

"That's it, that's my g-girl," he groans, abandoning your clit. He wraps his arm around you instead, keeping you upright so he can thrust into you as hard as he can. You moan and bite at his neck, his ear, his cheek... any part of him that's normally hidden by his helmet. You feel the stubble under your lips and you lick his skin, reveling in the sharp prickle across your tongue.

"Come inside me," you whisper. He makes a choked sound and shakes his head.

"Can't."

"Please?"

His movements grow erratic. He's losing rhythm.

"No, it's — too risky."

"Would that be so bad? Don't y— don't you wonder what it would — be like?"

You're babbling. You sound insane. You don't care.

"Please stop," he begs, then his teeth sink into your shoulder and he pulls out of you roughly, just in time to shoot hot cum all over your inner thighs. He's groaning your name into your skin and he's panting so heavily, you fear he may pass out.

"I'm not —"

Din swallows and then he drags in a deep breath. With your eyes still closed, you start blindly peppering kisses across his cheek.

"I know," you mumble, "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, his fingers pinch your chin and he tilts your head so his lips press firmly against your own. Your heart stops when you first feel what it's like to kiss him — never in your wildest fantasies did you think you would know what his lips felt like. The trust he must have for you makes you weak and you melt, getting lost in the taste of him when his tongue slides into your mouth.

"I wasn't going to give you my child without kissing you first," he murmurs when he pulls back, but he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against yours and he sighs when your hand lifts to get lost in his messy hair.

"Really?" you whisper in disbelief, but you're smiling like a fool.

"Is that something you really want? With me?" he asks. You don't need to see his face, you can hear the doubt — the shock — that you would pick him out of anyone in the galaxy.

You nod and peck a kiss to his lips. "I'm tired of waiting," you tell him. "We almost lost our chance... I don't want to waste another second with you."

He laughs and you grin when his soft exhale fans across your face.

"I will gladly devote my life to you, if you'll have me," he says.

And yes, it feels fast. But what's the point in waiting when everything you want is right in front of you? You very easily could have died, but you were given a second chance.

And you refuse to squander it.

2K notes · View notes

heartstoptrying · 4 months ago

Text

Hot. I want this. I need Joel Miller!!!

ride

joel x f!reader

request: "prone, leaving a hickey on their neck, in a truck bed" sent in as part of my 5k celebration! or you try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him 🤠 6.5k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (unspecified but college age reader and it's said that joel is over twice her age), oral f receiving, unprotected piv, pr0ne b0ne, creampie, hickeys, dirty talk and pet names, bit of daddy kink (sue me okay), angsty feelings, alcohol, reader has a mom and dad and clothing is described (shorts and t-shirt).

a/n: saw this prompt and instantly loved the visual! such a fun one to write, and i got weirdly caught up in these two having history and a bit of angst so it ended up way longer than i anticipated (aaand everybody is thinking we are not surprised julie couldn't shut up).

Today had you on edge, taking in your surroundings more dutifully, fearing the rounding of corners on campus in case you’d run into him. You try to pretend you don’t want to see him, but can’t deny the sinking feeling in your stomach as you arrive for your shift that evening without having any chance encounters. You hate that you’re imagining how one would go as you wait on your tables, how you’d pretend you hadn’t even thought about the possibility of him also being on campus for parents weekend. Casual. It was totally, completely casual - the same sentiment you’d been trying to convince yourself of for months.

His daughter Sarah is only a year younger than you and ended up at the same university a couple of hours from your hometown. You’d played little league soccer together for a few years as kids, and your parents became much faster friends with Joel than you and Sarah ever did.

Despite Chip’s Bar & Grille being located off campus, it doesn't seem immune to the influx of people due to parents weekend as you weave through your tables, a sweat breaking out on your neck. Your asshole of a boss - the Chip of Chip’s Bar and Grille - never quite learned how to keep the temperature comfortable in here for the workers. He’d also declined your request to have tonight off to spend with your parents - too many other coworkers of yours had the same idea as you with people’s parents being in town, apparently. You know he also simply just enjoyed telling people no.

You plaster on a fake grin as you carry a tray of beers over to a rowdier group of men, probably here to watch Friday Night Football or something, judging by their team spirited paraphernalia. They’re already a few drinks deep, getting increasingly more bold with their commentary towards you, but it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with here before. You easily brush it off, navigating your way through their charged remarks with grace and sweet looks that should only boost your tips, letting the act drop dramatically as soon as you walk away from them.

Karina, the hostess - a sweet girl around your age - flits up to you, buzzing information in your ear. “Table 19 just got sat. Said it’s your parents, I think?”

You smile to yourself - it’s thoughtful that your parents would brave the greasy, unappetizing food at Chip’s just to see you twelve hours earlier than planned. They instantly glow and warm up at the sight of you, looking slightly out of place but nothing short of comfortable. They were the type of people that could adapt nearly anywhere.

“Hey, honey!” your mom trills, hugging you tight, pressing the slightly damp t-shirt you’re wearing into your back.

“Sorry. Sweaty,” you warn her too late, getting a chuckle in your ear. Your dad squeezes you tightly next, and when they go to sit down, you notice with confusion that Karina has placed three menus on the table.

Your eyes snap up to the front door just in time to see a familiar, broad form step into the fray, weaving his way through the bodies and tables. His eyes scan across the restaurant - dark and brooding as always - then land on you, standing tall above where most people are seated at their respective tables. Your stomach leaps, leaving your breath caught in your throat, him letting his lip twitch into some semblance of a smile - or a smirk, rather, given how haughty he looks right now.

For that brief second, it’s only the two of you in this bustling, noisy room, before the bubble bursts and he stalks over to you and your parents. It’s only then his eyes are torn off of yours, leaving you breathless and confused. And angry.

“Oh, good, already got us a table. Parkin’ was weirdly a nightmare out there,” he says, smooth and silky, announcing his presence. With one more flicker of his eyes to yours just before your mom pops up to hug him, blocking you from view, you see the mischievous amusement behind them. He’s enjoying the fact that he’s caught you off guard, that you’re flustered by his mere presence alone.

Yeah, angry sounds right. Joel Miller: certified prick.

After the fuss settles down, your parents explain they ran into Joel at a cafe when they got to campus this morning while you were still in class. Being their gracious, hospitable selves, they’d promptly invited him to come out to dinner with them tonight to catch up. Just your luck.

“The rest was history. Joel seemed awful happy to get to see you too, know it’s been a while,” your dad happily and obliviously trills.

You’ll bet he seemed happy.

Joel moves in for an embrace, and you stiffen before feeling his meaty, thick arms draping around you, the warmth of his chest pressing closer, his breathing in your ear. Everything feels lit up inside of you, sparks skittering across your skin. You beg your knees not to buckle, reminding yourself that refusing to hug him begs more questions than you’d like from your parents. You try not to melt into the familiarity of it when your arms fling around his neck, try to keep it… casual. The word bites at you, stinging deeper each time you try to convince yourself of its place in this relationship.

“Hey there, sunshine. How you been?” he mutters in his slow, sweet drawl. You can’t help but smile at your favorite pet name he’s had for you for years, wishing to wipe it off your face as he pulls back and sees it. There’s a returned softness there beneath all his amused loftiness.

“G-good. Good,” you manage to stammer out. “How’s the business… How's Sarah?”

You watch on as Joel stays planted right in front of you, the moment lingering longer than necessary or normal. You watch him have the same realization, clearing his throat and turning to pull out his chair, sitting down.

“Good,” he echoes you, smiling softly. “And good. Girl’s too busy with friends to see her old man tonight, though. Stuck with these two now.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of your parents.

The dig gets a hoot out of your mom, her hand playfully nudging him. The noise of her balking breaks you out of your reverie where your eyes had been plastered on his features, begging them to tell you anything.

You suck your lip between your teeth, blinking a few times to snap yourself out of this haze. You’d wanted this, hadn’t you? A chance to run into Joel, knowing that parents weekend would likely bring him this way. It’s too much, too… intense, to see him in your workplace, somehow merging his life with the one you lived separately from him. Back home the two of you had been on equal footing, but now he invaded your space, the places you were able to go to get away from whatever this was, to get away from him.

“I - I’ll go check on my tables. You guys decide what you want to order and I’ll come back. And I’ll talk to Chip about a family discount, or something.”

Your dad insists it’s not necessary before you scurry away, but you ask anyway. Chip unsurprisingly argues with you, huffing and puffing and generally being the asshole that he is.

“You want a discount for your family? And where’s that money gonna come from? Maybe from your tips tonight? Would that work for you? Hm?”

“Forget it, Chip.” Muttered under your breath, you roll your eyes, feeling dejected as he stalks off to likely terrorize someone else or put on his fake schmoozing act with a loyal customer.

When you glance back at your parents across the room, Joel’s eyes are on yours, intense and questioning. They burn into you, making you immediately turn away, trying to hide the glistening of tears from Chip’s beratement. It’s dumb, really. He’s always this big of an asshole. You aren’t sure why you expected anything other than his default or a single generous thing from him.

After pulling it together enough to do the rounds on your tables, you stop back to take your parents’ and Joel’s orders. Joel seems like he’s stewing, his energy quiet and distracted as he glances down at the menu, ordering a cheeseburger with a distant voice.

It’s not until you’re off at the point of sales system tapping in their orders that a presence sidles up beside you, the voice deep and hushed.

“That your boss there? The one lookin’ like he’s got somethin’ shoved up his ass?”

You do a slow turn to peer at Joel incredulously, glancing around as if you’re caught in a compromising position. You suppose maybe you are, but at least your parents are out of view from where you’re tucked back in the little hallway leading to the restrooms. It’s cramped back here with the service station, leaving Joel’s body close to yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, instead of answering his question.

“It’s not a crime to go to the bathroom,” he quips back. “Answer me.”

“What? You’re gonna beat him up?” You give Joel a pointed look before focusing back on the screen, punching in your dad’s Dr. Pepper.

“No, jus’ wanna know why a boss is out here makin’ his employees cry.”

“I wasn’t crying. He - he’s just an asshole. And why do you care? You’re not my -” you cut yourself off, shaking your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s fine. I promise. Please just… why are you here, Joel?”

“Havin’ dinner with your parents.”

You have to force in a deep, calming breath before sighing it out. “You like this. Surprising me, catching me off guard. You’re the one being an ass now.”

Joel visibly softens at your stressed demeanor. “It’s also not a crime to want to see you, y’know. And have some fun trippin’ you up along the way. I didn’t realize -”

Your eyes linger on his face for a long, quiet moment, burning with frustration and contempt and something deeper you won’t allow yourself to access. “I’ve got to get back to work,” you say, concluding the conversation as you snap the notebook containing your orders shut and push away from the computer. You brush past Joel’s shoulder, turning to glance back at him.

“It is nice to see you,” you utter, half hoping he can’t hear it over the bustle of the restaurant. When his lips twist to the side in a lopsided smile, you know he did.

“You too.”

Joel seems to behave the rest of the evening, paying the proper, appropriate amount of attention to you, treating you like the family friend that you are and nothing more. Just as it should be, you remind yourself every time a pang of sadness pulses through your chest.

When they pay and leave, you breathe a sigh of relief, working the rest of your shift with an odd buzzing in your head, picturing Joel’s tanned skin and rugged lines. The memory of the feeling of his body close to yours in that hallway makes you shudder, then curse yourself.

A mixture of disappointment and irritation worms its way into your mind as you realize that was your chance. That was the time you got to spend with Joel this weekend, when he was so close within your grasp. He’d be busy tomorrow, spending time with Sarah, letting her tote him around campus - showing him where she takes her classes, her favorite places to eat, her dorm that is likely decorated with purple accents and posters of her favorite bands.

You’d missed the opportunity to actually see him, too busy being pissed at him for existing in your sacred space, for never leaving you alone no matter how hard you tried to get him out of your head. You never knew when the next time would come around - even if you were back home, time spent around Joel was never guaranteed. Nor was it appropriate.

You worry your lip into oblivion, realizing it’s for the best, anyways, as you push the back door to the bar open after your shift, letting the cool night air greet your grimy, post work skin. You go to round the building, heading for the bus stop on the main street that will take you exactly twenty five minutes and eleven stops back to your dorm.

A voice cuts in, seeming to come from the darkness itself. “You always wear shorts that short to work?”

God damn it. You flinch and then press your lips together, slowly turning your head to the corner of the parking lot, following the gruff, familiar voice. You see Joel leaning against the front of his truck, arms crossed over his chest. He’s half illuminated by the streetlamps placed periodically across the asphalt, casting long shadows on him. The blue flannel he wears is stretched tightly over his arms, the sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms that make you feel more than you’d ever care to admit.

“Better tips,” you reply, nonchalant. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, walking over to him. You stop short, giving a wide berth between the two of you, attempting to avoid the always inevitable pull you feel towards him.

“That so?” he says, sounding amused. Joel lets his eyes roam up from your feet, scanning your bare legs, drinking you in all the way up your chest until his gaze rests on your face where it softens. He’s obvious about it, not caring to hide the lust that lives between the two of you now that you’re alone.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, feeling like a broken record. You watch as he turns and starts walking to the back of the truck. You peer around to see the bed is open, staunchly crossing your arms and not following him.

“Thought I’d give you a ride home,” Joel throws over his shoulder.

“What if I had my own car here?”

“You don’t,” he punches out. “Parents told me they hate you takin’ the bus so late.”

You quietly groan to yourself. Of course they did.

“And I thought you could use one of these after a long shift,” Joel adds on, proudly holding up a six pack of cheap, generic beer, strung together by plastic loops. You give him a sardonic laugh, finally giving in and making your way to the back of the truck. Joel has it parked with the bed facing the far corner of the parking lot, looking directly into the thicket of trees beyond that separates Chip’s from the McDonald’s behind it. It’s late, the lot nearly empty and the businesses around you all quieted down for the night. Some kind of thickness hangs in the air, otherworldly and separating you from reality, pressing in on you to be so alone with Joel.

“Aren’t you driving?” you ask, brows raised.

“Ain’t for me. It’s for you.”

“Miller Lite,” you say, gesturing to the six pack. “Clever. And disgusting.”

He smirks, tearing one out of its loop and handing it to you. It’s chilled, but not cold, and you nearly grimace. You don’t even like beer, but being around Joel still makes you nervous so you crack it open, listening to the little click of the pull tab and ensuing fizzy noise from the liquid inside, then take a long swig.

“Attagirl,” Joel comments passively. Your heart flutters at the small praise and you peer at him, doelike, from over the can, hoping your eyes don’t give you away. Of course they do, they always do. You look down, shuffling your feet, clad in your black, non slip work sneakers.

His hand is hesitant, reaching out to you from where he now leans against the open truck bed, clasping around your wrist with a gentle authority. It tugs you, forcing you to take a step towards him.

“Joel…” you warn, still unable to bring your eyes up. You know if you do, you’ll fold.

“Hm?” he rasps, moving you closer still. Joel’s legs and feet come into view, thighs thick and meaty in their denim, his work boots dirty and scuffed. It made something inside of you flutter again, these details about him. You liked his mess and his manliness, the way he didn’t give a shit if his shoes were dirty, but that they were functional. You like his worn denim with the outline of his wallet seared into the back pocket from too much use. You like… him.

“Come sit,” he begs of you, and despite your best efforts, you’re unable to resist. You hop up onto the back of the truck, letting your feet dangle while taking another sip of crappy beer. He pulls himself up next to you, and leans closer, knuckles brushing along your neck, making you shiver. It’s heavenly and electric, everything you’d craved and missed and wanted, never able to stop thinking about these calloused hands and the man they’re attached to.

“We… we can’t do this again,” you force yourself to utter, fiddling with the pull tab on the can held in your lap.

Joel’s hand freezes. “You got a college boyfriend now or somethin’?” he spits out, unable to hide the greed from his voice.

“No…” you admit.

“Alright, why not then?”

“We just… shouldn’t.”

“Y’weren’t sayin’ that over winter break. Or durin’ Thanksgiving, or the summer before that when I was fuckin’ myself deep inside of you, lettin’ you call me your daddy,” he drawls out lazily, continuing to softly revere your neck with his hands, slowly moving to your shoulder and back, fishing underneath the collar of your branded Chip's tee shirt to find bare skin.

You swallow hard, feeling your cheeks blazing at the memories of how caught up in it you’d gotten. “I - I don’t think…”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Just don’t think.”

You finally dare a flash of your gaze to his, finding his eyes dark and wanting. “Joel…” you plead again, unsure of how to express anything else. “This isn’t… right. Who you are to me, my parents. You know that, right?”

He licks his lips and nods, moving in close and ghosting them over your neck. Your eyes roll back, your touch-starved, needy body begging you for more. “Torture myself over it all the damn time, pretty girl,” he rasps right next to your ear.

“Then why did you come here tonight?” you ask in a lusty whisper as his lips attach to your skin, sucking softly. Your breath catches in your throat, fighting a whine.

“I don’t know. I jus’... did,” he says earnestly, sounding pained. “I wanted it. Didn’t care ‘bout the rest. I wanted to see you, just us.”

Your heart pitter patters in your chest, that pesky, squeezing feeling of it that always takes over around Joel pulling taut. You know he doesn’t mean it, that he doesn’t want you. He wants what you offer - your body, your naïveté to stay involved in this, your company when he’s lonely. It was hard to say just how Joel felt about you, because he’d never dare say it out loud for fear of making this too real.

His scent invades you - musky and something fresh and nature inspired, pine maybe - and you feel yourself folding in real time.

“Joel…” you warn one last time without any resolve behind it, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into your neck. You want this. You don’t want this. You want him. You don’t want this uncertainty, this unstructured and wild thing that you two have become tangled up in.

It happens before you can even register your body moving of its own accord, crashing your lips into his waiting ones. His hands are fast, eager, to touch every part of you now that you’ve given some semblance of a go ahead. Squeezing, groping, one hand relishing in the feel of your tits, the other cupping your cheek, pulling you deeper into the searing kiss.

“Fuck,” he mutters when your hands move with equal fervor on his body - squeezing his thigh, wrapping around him the to clutch the hair at the base of his neck. “The hell says we shouldn’t be doing this…”

You shake your head, smiling into the kiss. “Probably everyone.”

“Makes me want you more, baby,” Joel counters, and you nod feverishly in agreement, squeaking in surprise when he pushes you down to the truck bed, swinging himself over to straddle you. His weight crushes down, comforting and arousing all in one, no time to even dwell on it before his lips are on yours again, a hand plunging between to cup you through your shorts. Warmth flows freely between your legs, the fabric dampening the sensation but it’s still too much, too built up, and you buck your hips.

“I want these shorts gone,” he demands. “Everyone wishin’ they got a peek under these, givin’ you all those tips, except at the end of the night it’s me right here, gettin’ everythin’ they want.”

Your head goes fuzzy, swimming with lustful thoughts as his dirty talk ramps up. It turned out that Joel Miller had the filthiest mouth you’d ever encountered, something you’d never have expected from the quieter, gruff man. He was an archetype of southern politeness most of the time - not without his sass, sure - but you’d never expected… this.

“Take them,” you breathe out. Joel grins above you, unbuttoning the shorts with ease, hooking his fingers in the sides.

“You’d let me, really? Right here… right out in the open?” Joel tsks, the grin on his face spreading into something wicked. You blink back to reality, to the parking lot around you, and yet your answer remains unchanged.

“Yes,” you whisper, feeling shame burn at your cheeks.

Joel works your bottoms down slowly, taking your panties with it and speaking unhurriedly. “Let anyone who comes to see what all the fuss is about see all of this, would you?”

“Yes,” you answer dutifully.

“God damn.” He chuckles, tossing your shorts to the side, leaning back to glimpse at the bottom half of you, now exposed to him. “Dunno what’s worse. This, or that closet at your parent’s place. You’re a dirty little bitch, ain’t you?”

You nearly growl. “You love it,” you shoot back, spreading your thighs wide open for him.

Staring between them with a certain wonder about him, he answers. “I do.”

He sinks himself down, moving to pleasure you, pulling your clit into his mouth and giving it a gentle suck. You yelp, a tiny squeak that has your hand flying over your mouth to quiet yourself down.

Joel moves his tongue to lap at your folds, drinking in the sweet slickness you’ve already poured out for him. The slickness that had been pooling between your thighs just at the sight of him earlier tonight.

“You been this wet all night for me?” he asks incredulously, toying a finger through it now, circling your clit in a slow, tortuous circle.

You whimper first as an answer. “You - you make me -”

“I know I do. Ain’t easy to hide a hard fuckin’ cock under the table with your parents either, y’know. Wearin’ shorts like that on that gorgeous ass of yours.” He tsks into your pussy before slurping again, groaning as your arousal starts to coat his beard.

Your chest heaves, desperately needing more from him, his satisfaction with toying with you going longer than you can handle tonight. Not after how long it’s been.

“Please, J-Joel.”

He chuckles darkly. “We both know that ain’t the name you want to call me right now.”

He was right, the word had hung on your tongue since the second you’d been alone together, since you felt his warm hands exploring your skin. It came out somehow more naturally than you’d expected or even wanted, but something about it just felt… right.

Self conscious, you hold back and grumble as he withholds contact from you, staring up expectantly. “Come on, angel. I wanna hear it, too. Been too long.”

“Please, daddy…” you correct yourself shyly, readjusting to the word on your tongue. Joel’s face, shadowed by the yellow light of the closest streetlamp, breaks into a smirk.

“That’s right. Right now, when we’re like this, I’m your daddy, aren’t I?”

You nod and he continues to lick your needy cunt as a reward, swirling his tongue over the delicate bud near the top. “Yes, you are.”

Joel’s tongue moves faster, urged on at your breathless cries for him. “And you’d want to come for your daddy, wouldn’t you?”

The words twist your core tighter, the warmth building to a near breaking point. “G-god, yes. Y-yes!” You cry out louder as he sinks a finger inside, crooking it to make you go a little dizzy. You clamp a hand over your mouth again, tighter this time, stifling your cries.

Joel pulls back, a string of saliva and arousal connecting the two of you. His finger keeps the pressure on that spot inside of you, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as the most painful tease.

“Nuh-uh. Think you should be loud. Unless… you don’t want your coworkers to hear ya? Or better yet, that asshole boss of yours?”

You picture the ramifications of what Joel is saying, the way Chip’s face would go red, twisted up in anger before he likely fired you. You break into a cheeky smile, and without conviction you say, “I - I shouldn’t."

“You should be doin’ a lot of things right now, sweetheart. But here we are. Don’t act like you don’t like the idea of pissin’ off that bastard.”

You chuckle, nodding in a dazed agreement as Joel glides his nose over your sex, flicking his tongue out periodically and making you start to squirm impatiently. “Bet he wants to fuck you, too. Such a pretty, perfect girl. Bet he wants to bury his mouth in this sweet god damn perfect cunt.” He punctuates his words with a deep inhale to your pussy, his nose now tracing a little circle over your clit.

His words send you reeling - something about the possessiveness he holds over you makes you clench around his digits like you’ve never done for anyone else. “Please -” you beg before you can even think.

“Please you want him to fuck you?”

You sigh in lustful, irritated frustration. “D-damn it, Joel. No. You.”

“Need daddy to fuck you good, don’t you? These college boys ain’t doin’ it for you, are they?” he purrs into your skin, finally pulling himself from between your legs to glide up over your body, shielding you completely.

You feel yourself flush hot, still sheepish even after all these months affected by his dirty words and that stupid, yet hot - so hot, god why is it so hot - title he’s bestowed himself. A tickle of embarrassment creeps into your belly knowing that you’ve hardly pursued anyone at school, never able to find exactly what you’d already had all along - only it wasn’t yours to keep. It never could be.

“I - I -” you mumble, avoiding eye contact as his face hovers above yours.

“What? They’re that bad?” he teases, and you bite your lip.

“There aren’t many… relations going on, okay?” You grimace, finding his dark eyes and seeing him amused, yet studying you carefully, more seriously.

Joel throws you the tiniest smirk, but his voice is deep and sincere. “Damn shame for all of them. But makes me awful happy to hear on account of myself.”

You swallow, nodding, feeling an anxiousness playing in your belly. “Have - have you…? Since we last…?” You don’t know why you even ask, why you’re hellbent on setting yourself up to be hurt.

Joel hesitates, debating for a moment, then leans in to kiss you, long and deep. He pulls back, then shakes his head. “Not since December, no.” The words are hushed, whispered, one hand squeezing at your hip.

The moment is tense - too much so - and the urge to escape it crashes into you. You shift underneath him, pressing your hips up into his to entice him. “Don’t you want to fuck me then before ol’ Chip gets his chance?”

Joel practically growls, his hold going tight. “Wouldn’t fuck you like I do.”

You shake your head, licking your lips and feeling the flicker of desire reignite between your thighs that had briefly paused. “We’ll see about that,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“God damn it, kiddo, you’re tryin’ to piss me off.”

“It’s better when you’re irritated with me -” You lick your lips, your hands finding the waistband of his jeans, toying with it. “Daddy.”

That same growl erupts from his throat, aggravated and breathless. His hands scramble with yours to free his cock, and you can’t help but peer between your bodies to catch the sight of it. You love every bit of his body, love seeing the way it moves for you, with you. The way that it evokes things in you you’d never known possible, hitting all of your buttons just right.

Only getting a short glance at his erection, your body is quickly handled by Joel’s rough, eager hands rolling you onto your stomach. You’re held down immediately, his weight crushing into you, nearing on uncomfortable with the bumps and ridges in the bed of the truck. One hand presses to the back of your head as he mounts you, the hot skin of his cock teasing at your ass.

All you can do is whimper, your head straining to look back at him as he spreads your ass cheeks, slipping between them and to your slick core, nudging at your entrance. Anticipation hangs in your labored breaths until he enters you, the tension released in an exhale of relief and sharp tenderness at the full stretch of him.

Joel wastes no time slamming into you, satiating every fantasy you’d had of him, every desirous, late night thought that caught you off guard since your last rendezvous. It was always just as you’d remembered it - a miraculous connection of your bodies that seemed to stump the two of you every time you’d tried to make sense of it.

“Hell yes, angel, you always take me so good, so perfect,” Joel grunts out as he thrusts into you. “Never complainin’, jus’ takin’ what you’re meant to.”

Your eyes roll back slightly as he presses impossibly deep inside of you. Despite everything - his size, your ages, the myriad of reasons this shouldn’t even be happening right now - it feels like the perfect fit.

“S-so good,” you whine , breathless as his body starts to lean in close, his chest pressing against your back.

“So good, who?” Joel reminds you, his voice now rumbling right in your ear.

“F- Daddy. So good daddy,” you quickly spit out, lost in the moment. Joel had once called you cock dumb, and you’d wanted to scoff, but moments like these proved it to be a very real phenomenon. You typically consider yourself relatively level headed, but right now you’re completely helpless to the power he holds, all thought centered on the way he slips in and out of you, every sensation and nerve lit up from the drag of the head of his cock inside of you.

You shudder, feeling his hulking form so close as he brings his lips to your ear, wet kisses trailing to your neck. He’s always loved your neck - it was the first thing he’d deigned to touch all those months ago that had felt charged, different than your typical interactions. That’s when he’d drawn you in, hooked you and pulled you into this whirlwind.

You scramble a hand back to reach for him, touch him, but he grabs it, tracing his fingers over your palm, interlacing them with yours for a brief moment before your wrist is pinned down. He fucks you harder, faster, his lips bouncing against your neck before they latch on, sucking hard.

“J-Joel!” you cry out in a panic, realizing the possibility of a mark being left with an impending meet up with your parents tomorrow.

“It’ll be fine,” he purrs against your sensitive skin, sucking a little harder before moving to another spot. "Jus' leavin' you with a little somethin'."

You see stars as his cock presses as deep as it can go on his next thrust, and you lose the will to fight a losing battle. You have makeup for a reason, you suppose.

You moan, loud and clear, suddenly unable to even care about the world around you, an audience or Chip or any of your coworkers rounding this truck and seeing you getting absolutely ruined by a man well over twice your age. None of it matters when you have Joel so close to you, so ready to please you and take care of you.

“G-god, you’re so deep,” you whimper out in a garbled haze as he keeps up his punishing thrusts, letting the head of his kiss the deepest parts of you.

Joel chuckles dryly, doubling down on his efforts, the both of you panting, close to reaching something extraordinary together. “Mmm,” he groans into your ear, still lapping at your neck periodically. “What d’you want with an old man like me anyway, huh?”

It’s a question you’ve asked yourself dozens of times, one you’ve never quite found the answer to, even after searching deep within yourself. Joel was brutal in the sheets but also sweet, and maybe that was a balance you’d been seeking without knowing it. The illusion he created of not caring was always overpowered by the look in his eyes that told you there was something more there, something you both wanted to build upon but knew you never could. So you took moments like this - dark and rushed and secretive in parking lots - and made the most of them while you could pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Instead of saying all of that, you just mumble out through your panting, “Y-you know why.”

“That’s right, this big cock, fuckin’ you like nobody else can,” Joel replies for you, and you nod languidly, your eyelids heavy, your mind concentrated now on the heat building deep in your belly, furling tighter with every thrust.

“R-right there, oh my god,” you breathe, pressing your hips into each thrust to pull him that much deeper, to make each crash of your bodies into one another that much harder.

Joel moans quietly, attempting to stifle the lusty little sound but it's music to your ears, listening to him fall apart for you. “Come for me, sweetheart, s-shit, daddy needs to hear you…”

“D-daddy!” you whine out loudly, knowing he loves to hear that name nearly pornographic off your lips in these heated moments. Your pants and noises break into little moans that crescendo as bursts of pleasure wash over you. Every muscle is taut and taking Joel’s harsh, relentless thrusts into you, nearly making you scream with how vibrantly every sensation seems to crash over you.

“Y-yeah, let ‘em hear it. Christ you sound so pretty f’me, baby. Milk daddy’s cock, f-fuck that’s it…” Joel’s string of praises reaches your ears in a distant fog before his hips stutter inside of you and he’s spilling himself deep and full. You clench around him one last time, shuddering at the sensation as your skin tingles pleasantly. You feel floaty, far gone as you try to regain your bearings, slumped and ass up on the cool material of the truck bed. Reality comes back slowly as Joel kisses down your back, planting one on your ass cheek before giving it a playful bite and kneeling next to you.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asks softly, and for some reason, despite feeling elated, tears prick at the back of your eyes. It’s too much, too emotional. You will them away in a second, not daring to let Joel see.

“Mhm,” you weakly utter, nodding. Joel’s hand strokes along the side of your head, and you peer up at him with a slack smile, finding that he’s giving you one back.

He comes down to your level, kissing your forehead. “Best yet, maybe,” he says playfully, but you aren’t sure you feel like laughing.

“Maybe,” you ponder, watching Joel’s face morph into a more serious expression. He curls his fingers around your ear, tracing shapes along your hairline, your neck, your shoulders as you stay just as you are for a long, quiet moment. He guides you to sit up, silently handing you your discarded clothing, helping you dress as the mess of him slips down your thighs. You have the passing thought that maybe he has napkins in his glove box, but then decide you’d rather have the reminder of him.

Joel sits next to you on the edge of the truck bed again, and interlocks his hand with yours. “I - I’ve got a hotel, right on campus. I could take y’home, but I’d like if you came back w’me for the night.”

His words give you pause, a tiny inhaled breath as you go to speak, snapping your lips closed and looking down at your lap for a beat. “Is that a good idea?” You ask for so many reasons, knowing that Joel is as acutely aware of all of them - the worst being that the longer you spend together, the harder it is to come back to reality.

“It ain’t a bad one,” he rasps, sultry and rough, and you crack a tiny smile. Always persuasive and charming when he needs to be.

“It’s not,” you admit, looking into his inquiring gaze.

“W-well?” he asks, nudging your side. “Jus’ one more night. I hardly get to see you, an’ you can go in the mornin’.”

You know how the night will go. You’ll both think you’re there for the sex - to sweat and say dirty things and pant all over again until you both come so hard that it boggles your mind. You’ll convince yourself that’s all it is, until you end up staying up late - talking, laughing, held in the other's arms. Intertwined together, bodies naked and comfortable with the other, because you’ve been here before.

You’ll both find yourself wanting to shy away from that fact that more is there - a real connection, two people with unlikely similarities, that just… get the other. You’ll both get lost in it, until the sun shines the next morning and you have to pretend that it doesn’t exist, that it was some figment of the power that the night holds over a person’s emotions, those dark twilight hours taking over your minds.

But you’ll both know that isn’t true, and there is nothing you can do about it.

“Okay,” you tell him, knowing the fate you’re subjecting yourself to - one that’s as wonderful as it is confusing. It hurts at times, but the spectacular things this man makes you feel outweighs it all. It’s worth it, that pain, to be able to find one another time and time again, and maybe even dream of more someday. “Let’s go.”

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#joel miller #hot older men #i need him #i want him #hot as hell #so hot and sexy #hot old man

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