mrsnegan

[mrsnegan]

Arrangement

Warnings: smut, 18+, age gap, f!masturbation, forced orgasm, overstimulation, squirting, mean!Joel, darcyyphilia, he is emotionally unavailable, but reader is desperate for anything from him, m!masturbation, facial, slight cum play, use of good girl and slut

A/N: I'm horny af, so I serve you messy smut. Enjoy!

"I...I can't."

"You do what I say when I say it, we clear? Repeat it."

Joel watches your legs shake, fingers still working your sensitive clit. You've lost count how many times you came already, the wet puddle of your own release underneath you a reminder of your own depravity.

He loves you like this, obedient, at display, all his. A trembling, desperate mess.

"I...fuck...I do what you say," you repeat, voice breaking from the onslaught of overstimulation.

"Good girl. Listening for once." He walks towards you, his boots hitting the wooden floor, the sound ringing in your ears. "Gonna cum for me again."

The moan spilling from your lips is a plea for his mercy and his touch at once, a desperate attempt for his sympathy. But that isn't part of the deal, part of your arrangement with a man old enough to be your father, cruel enough to kill dozens of men without even blinking.

"Please Joel, need you," you hiccup, tears of overstimulation threatening to spill over. Your fingers still rub your swollen clit, your pussy lips already puffy from all the stimulation, glistening, begging to be kissed.

"No, you gotta cum again on your own like this or ain't stopping. Cry as much as you want, darlin', I know you need it. Need to give it all to me, ain't that right? Need to be empty, head to toe."

You whimper at his words, tears now streaming down your cheeks, your hole clenching around nothing.

"Harder, I know you need it harder. C'mon, one more time and you'll get a reward."

You double your efforts, your fingers rubbing yourself furiously, eyes squeezed shut from the pain and pleasure alike. As much as you would love to stuff your fingers into your leaking pussy, giving into the urge to feel even slightly full, you know only Joel's allowed to give you the fullness you crave. And he isn't in the mood to grant you your wish.

So you scream louder and louder, your orgasm crashing over you without warning. You squirt again, shaking uncontrollably while you soak the sheets, collapsing against the pillows beneath you. You don't hear Joel approaching, don't register him taking his achingly hard cock out and stroking himself to your messy form. But you can feel the heat radiating from his body and open your eyes just in time for his cum to hit your hot cheek. Mouth opening without his command, you taste his salty spent on your tongue like a woman starving. He paints your face, covering you with himself.

"That's it, pretty little slut," he pants. His fist glides over his cock effortlessly, milking himself until the last drop drips onto your lips. "Beautiful."

With the hand previously wrapped around his cock, he wipes a strand of your hair from your sweaty forehead, smearing his pearly release into your hair too. And even if you want something else, something more from him, you still lean into his touch, desperate for anything he has to give.

[mrsnegan]

Oh. OH. 🥵

Good morning. 🫣

Joel Miller/You/Tommy Miller imagine under the cut.

You're sinking down onto Tommy's dick, settling your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. Then as you start to move, Joel steps up behind you, grips your hips and takes control. He rolls them in his strong grip, fucking you down onto Tommy's dick slowly and tortuously until you're both desperate and begging to come.

Not a single bit of pleasure can be had without his permission, and you're completely at his mercy. Just how you like it.

[mrsnegan]

I have no words. 🥵🔥 The angst, the tension, the smut? Love me some protective Joel. I absolutely get why he tried to stay away, but I would be as pissed as reader too.

Them finally talking and the blowjob following? Good god, the smut is something else. 😍 I need more, more, more. 🫠

to call you mine

chapter three: combing through the wreckage

masterlist | series masterlist

“You wanna touch yourself, huh? While I’m here to do it for you?” he scolds, his fingers rubbing slow, torturous circles over your underwear, just barely giving you relief.

“You that fuckin’ pent up?”

Pairing: dbf!Joel x female reader

Summary: Joel’s been avoiding you since things between you well and truly crossed the line. That is, until he shows up at your work, days later, acting like nothing’s changed. You’re rightfully pissed at him, but when Joel gives you a ride home after your shift ends, your ranting is soon silenced when his cock is buried warm in your mouth.

Tags: *SMUT!! MDNI - age gap (24/45), dad’s best friend, some angst, pining, cursing, serving and consumption of alcohol, unwanted drunk attention from a sleazy customer, protective/possessive joel, *female masturbation, *oral sex (m receiving), *fingering, *bodily fluids (good cowgirls swallow!)

Word count: 6.4k

Authors note: oh, here we GO. tysm for all the love here and on ao3, your feedback keeps me going and honestly means so much! pls remember to reblog if you enjoy! dividers by @saradika-graphics ✨

Work is the last place you want to be right now.

It beats the alternative, sure.

Much better than being at home, where your dad keeps innocently mentioning Joel in passing, completely unaware that every time he does, it feels like a knife twisting between your ribs.

Better still, than being alone with your thoughts, where there’s nothing to drown out the hollow ache of missing him.

It’s been three days.

Seventy-two hours since you last saw Joel, felt his touch, heard the heat in his voice brushing against your lips as his fingers stroked deep inside you.

The bar is far too busy for the middle of the week, filled with the kind of rush that should keep your mind too occupied to wander.

The rowdy patrons should be enough to keep you running on autopilot, pouring drinks, cracking jokes, throwing forced smiles at customers who get a little too comfortable when they’re three drinks deep, should leave no room for thinking.

But no matter how hard you try to push it away, no matter how much you attempt to put your focus elsewhere, your mind keeps circling back to the same thing.

Him.

You haven’t even heard from him since the morning you all left the cabin - unless of course, you count a measly thumbs up emoji over text, two days ago.

You’d been sitting in the back of the bar on your break, scrolling absently through your notifications, sipping a lukewarm can of lemonade.

Not expecting anything important, maybe some reminder from your dad about taking the trash out, or a picture of this week's job site.

But then you saw it.

A new message from your dad in the group chat, attached with a picture.

You’d opened it without thinking, completely unprepared for the sight that greeted you.

The picture from the hike.

The one your dad had insisted on taking of the two of you in front of the view, standing far too close, Joel’s arm draped around your form like it belonged there.

Seeing it took you right back to the ridge, remembering his warmth, his touch, the apprehensive tension before you knew what it was like to really feel each other.

Before you truly crossed the line.

Your dad’s caption had been simple, oblivious.

“Damn good view.”

And Joel’s reply?

A fucking thumbs up emoji.

Your fingers had hovered over your screen for too long, your chest tightening as you tried to make sense of the hollow feeling settling inside you.

Because the Joel you knew wasn’t impersonal like that.

The Joel you knew, who never hesitated to make some snarky comment, could never resist teasing you about anything, would’ve made a joke, at the very least.

Something about how ridiculous you looked, squinting because the sun was in your eyes, or the fact you look absolutely exhausted, that you clearly couldn’t handle the hike.

But instead, a thumbs up.

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does that this is the only contact you’ve had with him since the cabin.

He’s not even been to the house, the porch where he’d usually sit, beer in hand, joking with your dad after a long day's work suddenly feeling incomplete without his presence.

He feels absent from all the spaces he’s always occupied, the ones you took for granted, the ones you never thought about until they were suddenly empty.

It hurts, the way your stomach knots when you picture him.

The way your chest aches when you wonder if he’s just as tormented as you are, if he’s been haunted by the thought of you, the same way you’ve been entirely consumed by thoughts of him.

Maybe, you shouldn’t care, shouldn’t want him to reach out.

And yet, you do.

Because you’d felt the way he wanted you, needed you.

Felt the desperation in the way he’d touched you, the way he kissed you like he’d been holding back for too long.

You hate that it’s lingering, weighing on you like this, can’t stand that he has this kind of power over you.

More so, you can’t believe that you’re standing here, stewing over a man who hasn’t even had the decency to look you in the eye since he buried his hands between your thighs, moaning warm against your ear how much he wanted you.

But most of all, you hate how badly you still want him.

Click.

A sharp snap cuts through your spiralling thoughts.

Your head jerks to the side just as your coworker, Ethan, clicks his fingers in front of your face again, his expression half amused, half exasperated.

“Hey, trouble. You in there?”

You blink rapidly, pulling yourself back to the present, shaking your head like it’ll clear the mess still tangled in your thoughts.

“Jesus,” Ethan mutters, leaning against the counter. “Been calling your name for like, a full minute. Thought you were about to astral project or some shit.”

You exhale, rolling your shoulders back, pasting a smile onto your face. “Yeah, well. Maybe I was trying to escape.”

Ethan smirks, crossing his arms over his all black uniform. “Wherever you went must’ve sucked, because you looked pissed.”

You scoff, grabbing a glass, reaching for the tap, focusing on the steady pour of amber liquid instead of the way your chest still feels too tight. “Just tired.”

It’s a lie, but it’s an easy one.

One Ethan accepts with a small shrug, because he knows just as well as you do that this job will run you into the ground if you let it.

The bar is in full swing, surprisingly crowded with a middle of the week rush that always takes you by surprise, setting a pace that keeps you on your toes.

Ethan slides past you, his shoulder brushing yours as he grabs two shot glasses, setting them on a tray before spinning effortlessly back around.

“You better wake up, loser,” he teases, nudging your foot with his own before grabbing a bottle from the top shelf. “We’re barely getting started.”

He’s right.

You envy these people for having so little to care about for them to be on some midweek, drunken push to get them through to the weekend, their biggest worry being a call to their boss, lying about a hangover in the morning.

It’s loud, voices overlapping, glasses clinking, the bass of whatever song is playing thrumming beneath your feet.

You try to lose yourself in the mundane rhythm of it, grateful for the constant motion, something to keep your thoughts focused anywhere but on the man who has occupied them for the last three days.

So you do what you do best. Pour, pass, fake a laugh.

You and Ethan work in sync, dodging around each other with ease.

“You’re slacking,” he calls over his shoulder as he hands off another round of drinks across the counter, folding a tip into his back pocket.

You scoff dramatically, tossing your dishcloth at him. “You’re so full of shit.”

He catches it easily, tucking it into his apron. “Hey, ain’t my fault I’m the faster server,” he shrugs with a grin.

You huff, shaking your head, the tightness in your chest loosening just slightly beneath Ethan’s familiar teasing.

You take a step back towards the bar, ready to serve the next customer as you hurl another insult over your shoulder.

“You’re lucky you’re funny, Ethan, ‘cause you sure as hell - ”

“Whiskey, neat.”

The rest of your sentence dies abruptly on your lips as a new voice cuts through, low, rough, and entirely too familiar.

You stiffen, feet stuck to the floor like glue, heart stuttering painfully in your chest. It’s a voice you’ve longed to hear all week, but right now, it knocks you completely off kilter.

You turn slowly, your eyes landing on Joel, sitting far too casually at the bar.

Your mouth goes dry.

He looks back at you, expression unreadable - calm, composed, maddeningly steady, as if the past three days of radio silence were all in your imagination.

He’s leaning forwards, forearms resting against the bar, fingers idly tracing the rim of a beer coaster.

You swallow hard, the shock of his presence genuinely rendering you speechless.

He’s here.

After three days of nothing, no messages, no calls, not even a glimpse of him - he’s right in front of you like nothing ever happened.

Ethan’s voice pulls you back, the sound barely audible through the roaring pulse in your ears.

“Hey, you good?”

You blink quickly, nodding as you force yourself back into motion, reaching mechanically for the whiskey bottle behind you.

Your hands shake slightly as you pour, enough that you have to tighten your grip on the bottle, before sliding the glass towards Joel with a little too much force.

Joel catches it smoothly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Thanks, darlin’.”

You nod stiffly, grabbing a dishrag and wiping down the bar with a little more force than necessary before you glance up to him with a neutral expression.

Joel takes a slow sip of whiskey, eyes holding the heavy weight of everything neither of you is willing to voice.

Your pulse is a frantic rhythm beneath your skin, your chest tight and uncomfortable as you fight the urge to demand answers.

Where the hell have you been, why haven’t you called, do you regret it?

The questions nearly burst free, but you bite them back, swallowing hard as you deliberately turn your attention elsewhere, grabbing an empty glass off the counter just for something to occupy your hands.

The moment stretches uncomfortably, tension hanging thick between you and Joel until you step away, forced to busy yourself with another customer.

Even still, you feel Joel’s eyes burning into you, heat crawling up the back of your neck as you fulfil another order, willing yourself to not be distracted by his persistent attention as you count out the change for the guy you just served.

A sudden presence at your side makes you jump slightly, Ethan leaning in just enough so only you can hear him.

“Who’s the guy?”

“Friend of my dad’s,” you mumble, too aware of how weak the explanation sounds. “They uh, work together.”

Ethan’s eyebrows lift slightly, clearly sensing something you’re not saying, but he doesn’t press.

Instead, his lips curl into a knowing smile, amused, perceptive. “Got it.”

You shoot him a look that warns him not to pry, turning back to glance at Joel just as another man's voice cuts across the bar, slurred and overly confident.

“Hey, sweetheart, how ‘bout you bring that pretty ass down here and pour me another? Got a tip with your name on it.”

Your stomach knots instantly, dread creeping down your spine.

Irritation prickles under your skin, the familiar kind that comes with working in a place like this, where a forced smile is often mistaken for an invitation.

Before you can tell him exactly where to shove his ‘tip’, Joel beats you to it.

He moves, fast, body angling protectively as he pins the man with a sharp, heated glare, his forearm flexing against the counter as he cages him in.

“Think you better watch your goddamn mouth,” Joel warns, his voice low but dangerously calm.

The man scoffs, his bleary eyes flicking drunkenly over Joel’s form, sizing him up.

“Who the fuck are you, her daddy?”

A sudden heat crawls up your neck.

Joel’s jaw tightens visibly, his expression clouded with a barely restrained anger. “Somebody who thinks you better show her a little respect.”

The customer doesn’t take the hint.

Instead, he snickers, eyes darting from you back to Joel, clearly amused. “Oh, relax, old timer. Just havin’ a little fun.”

Joel huffs a humourless laugh, his head tilting slightly, a warning.

“Didn’t look like she was laughin’.”

The man scoffs, clearly emboldened now, leaning onto the bar with a smirk.

“What, she yours or somethin’?” he points a dirty finger between the two of you. “’Cause from where I’m sitting, she don’t look like she needs protectin’.”

There’s a dangerous beat of silence.

Your blood pumps erratic and uneven in your veins, your body betraying you with the way it reacts to the claim buried beneath the man’s presumptuous words.

Joel’s jaw clenches, his knuckles turning white around his whiskey glass.

Thankfully, before it can escalate any further, Ethan is at the other side of the bar, stepping between the two men.

“Alright buddy,” he says lightly, but there’s heat beneath it, a firm hand clamping down on the guy’s shoulder. “Think you better go have your fun someplace else.”

The man waits a beat, lingering just long enough to make a half-assed show of standing his ground, staring Joel down, whose eyes remain unwaveringly locked on his.

Joel takes a step forwards, his broad chest commanding the space, almost daring the man to challenge him with a tilt of his jaw.

Eventually, with a final sneer, he shoves off the barstool, knocking against Ethan’s shoulder as he makes for the exit, cursing the three of you under his breath.

Joel watches him leave, eyes stuck to his form, not breathing until the door finally falls closed on his sleazy ass.

He turns back to you, eyes still burning, a protective edge radiating from every tense muscle in his body.

You feel it in the air between you, the quiet anger still simmering beneath his skin.

“You alright?” he asks quietly, the softness of his voice at complete odds with the storm still raging behind his eyes.

You nod slowly, heart hammering violently in your chest. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m okay.”

Joel’s nostrils flare slightly as he takes a steadying breath, giving you a sharp nod, his jaw still tight.

You step away again, somewhat reluctantly this time, busying yourself with drying the glasses fresh from the small dishwasher tucked beneath the bar.

A sudden, low whistle beside you breaks through the rigid air.

Ethan lets out a slow, impressed exhale, shaking his head slightly as he steps in line beside you, grabbing a towel to help you dry up as he watches Joel from across the bar.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath. “Seems a little intense for just a friend of your dad’s, huh?”

You tense, your stomach flipping uncomfortably at the way he says it, not really a question, just an observation.

You shove your elbow into his ribs, maybe a little a little harder than necessary.

“Shut up,” you laugh, pointing a warning finger at him with an uncontained smirk. “I mean it. I’ll cancel that shift I said I’d cover for you.”

Ethan howls, doubling over slightly, rubbing his ribs with an exaggerated wince.

Despite yourself, you fall into a quiet fit of laughter too, the strained atmosphere somewhat slackening.

The night drags on, but your mind stays stuck in that moment.

Stuck on the way Joel moved without hesitation, stepping between you and that idiot at the bar.

The prouder side of you wants to be pissed, to tell him he had no right to show up acting like he cares now, that you can handle yourself.

But honestly?

It felt fucking good seeing him be protective of you.

Possessive.

For the rest of the evening, you keep your hands busy refilling glasses, wiping surfaces, tossing casual smiles at customers that don’t quite reach your eyes.

But none of it matters, because Joel is still here, sitting at the bar nursing his whiskey like he’s got nowhere else to be.

And maybe he doesn’t, maybe, he’s just waiting.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to finally turn around and face him again, but when you do, he’s still watching you intently.

You approach slowly, the air growing heavier with every step you take towards him, fingers tightened around a cloth as you lean into the counter to keep yourself steady.

When you stop just short of him, you swallow hard.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say softly, voice low enough that no one else can hear. “I deal with assholes like that every night.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, tension rippling down his neck.

“Yeah. I did.”

The answer is instant, firm with a tone of finality, like there was never another option.

He downs the last of his whiskey, sliding the empty glass towards you, his fingers brushing against the wooden bar as he retrieves his hand slowly.

You bite the inside of your cheek, toying with the glass between your fingers, your thumb sliding absently along its rim.

“You closin’ tonight?” he asks, his voice deceptively casual.

You can read between the lines of what he’s asking, but still, you nod slowly. “Yeah. Why?”

Joel pauses, eyes flicking to the bar, his fingers tapping against the wood once, twice, as he comes to some kind of decision.

“I’ll wait outside. Drive you home.”

You soften, shaking your head instinctively. “Joel, you don’t have to - ”

“Wasn’t askin’.” he cuts in.

His voice isn’t harsh, but it’s firm, leaving no room for argument.

It silences you, your lips pressing into a tight line as a faint, familiar lick of heat finds its way back to the pit of your stomach.

Before you can respond, he slides off his stool, dropping the payment for his drink onto the bar, and heads towards the door.

You reach out to grab the notes laying scattered on the counter, your stomach dropping as you mull over exactly what this means.

Tonight, neither of you are getting away without finally confronting what happened between you.

The rest of your shift passes at a painfully slow crawl.

It feels like an eternity before the last customer finally clears out, leaving the bar quiet and eerily still, an almost suffocating contrast to the chaos earlier.

You sigh, leaning against the bar, eyes fluttering closed as you drag your palms down your face, exhaustion slowly catching up.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you turn the key in the register, locking it up for the night.

You try to push away the nervous energy curling tightly in your stomach, but it proves useless, knowing what’s waiting for you outside.

But despite everything, the silence, avoidance, the hurt still festering beneath your ribs, you want it.

You need to see him.

You stack the last few glasses away behind the bar before shutting off the main lights, plunging the bar into darkness, save for the glow of the neon sign still humming softly above the entrance.

Ethan is lingering near the back door, slipping off his apron, stretching with a deep groan.

“Need a ride?” he asks casually, rolling his shoulders.

You glance at him, hesitating for a second too long.

For a moment, you consider it - almost say yes, almost take the easy way out.

Instead, you force a tight, practiced smile. “I’m good. Already got one.”

Ethan pauses, brows raising suggestively. “Yeah? Anyone special?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head quickly, hauling your bag over your shoulder like the weight of the conversation hasn’t just doubled.

“Knock it off,” you say with a laugh, an attempt to keep your voice level. “It’s just a ride.”

Ethan hums, unconvinced.

“Alright,” he grins, stepping towards the door. “See you tomorrow, then.”

You nod, watching him disappear into his car, waiting until the engine stutters to life and he slowly pulls away with an obnoxious honk of his horn.

You step outside, pulling the door closed, keys quickly finding the lock before your fingers punch in the code for the alarm.

Your palms feel too warm, the apprehension in your stomach making you feel a sickly kind of unease.

With a steadying breath, you push away from the door and head towards the parking lot.

Your eyes find Joel instantly, standing by his truck, arms crossed, head tilted slightly, watching you like he’s been waiting for this moment all night.

The air feels charged, thick with something more than just the summer heat as you slowly approach the truck.

He watches you carefully, his eyes darker than usual beneath the shadows cast by the dim parking lot lights.

“Hey,” he murmurs quietly, tense but gentle.

You swallow hard. “Hey.”

The word comes out smaller than you mean it to, like the air is too thick for your voice to travel properly.

Joel pushes off the side of his truck and opens the passenger door, waiting silently.

You climb inside, sliding onto the worn leather seat as he shuts the door firmly behind you, the sound reverberating through your chest.

He rounds the hood slowly, like he’s buying time.

Your hands rest in your lap, fingers twisting together as he finally settles in beside you.

Joel doesn’t speak.

Just shifts into drive, guiding the truck smoothly onto the road, the low hum of the engine filling the silence.

But it’s not enough to drown out the weight between you.

The weight of three days of silence.

Three days of questions, frustration, longing, not knowing where you both stand.

“You gonna say something?” you blurt, voice tighter than you want it to be. “Or are we just gonna go on actin’ like nothing happened?”

Joel’s fingers flex around the steering wheel, his jaw tight as he forces out a tired breath, his eyes remaining fixed on the road.

Avoidance.

Your stomach knots, irritation flaring hot beneath your skin. “You’re unbelievable.” you bite.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “What the hell do you want me to say, kid?”

You bite back a humourless laugh. “How about why the hell you’ve avoided me for three days?” you demand, frustration and hurt mingling in your voice.

“I wasn’t - ” he cuts himself off, rubbing a hand over his beard in exasperation, his voice tight with restraint. “I was tryin’ to stay away.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face.

“Trying to stay away.” you repeat, your voice entirely hollow. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Ain’t about makin’ you feel better,” he sighs. “It’s about doin’ the right thing.” He punctuates the last two words by rhythmically tapping a stiff hand against the steering wheel.

A bitter laugh escapes before you can stop it.

“The right thing? That’s bullshit, Joel. You can’t just put your hands on me, kiss me like that, say the things you did - then disappear, like it didn’t happen.”

His eyes flick to you for a split second, his expression tight, pained.

“It happened,” he says, nodding slowly. “Ain’t sayin’ it didn’t.”

“Then what?” you demand. “Why shut me out? You’ve not even stopped by the house.”

“You think I didn’t want to?” he raises his voice.

You frown, faltering slightly, not expecting the edge in his tone.

He lets out a deep sigh. “You don’t get it.”

You let out a sharp scoff. “Then make me get it, Joel.”

Joel glances at you, rolls his eyes when he’s met with the disbelieving look on your face.

“Every day, I’m workin’ side by side with your dad, listenin’ to him talk, laughin’ with him, actin’ like - ” he trails off, shaking his head. “Like I didn’t have my hands all over his daughter three nights ago.”

His words land heavily, sinking into the space between you, wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

“Joel - ”

“I see him every damn day,” he interrupts, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white. “And all I can think about is you. About how wrong it all is.”

The words come out strained, like the guilt has been eating him alive, the weight crushing him.

All you can do is look at him.

You try to find the right words, ones that tell him you’re sorry he’s been feeling this way, but your own anger gets in the way.

You stare at him, watching his side profile, the furrow of his brow, the tight set of his jaw.

Your eyes burn. It feels fucking stupid.

“Three days, Joel.”

That's all you can say.

“It wasn’t easy for me either.” he says with a quiet exasperation.

“Then why the fuck did you do it?” you push, voice rising.

His control finally shatters.

“Because I thought it’d be fuckin’ easier for the both of us." Joel snaps, his voice sharp, heated.

The words are spat through gritted teeth, his frustration bleeding into every syllable.

Before you can fire back, he yanks the steering wheel, veering to pull up on the side of the road, tires kicking up gravel as the truck rocks slightly before lurching to a stop.

His chest is heaving, his breath hot and uneven, hands gripping the wheel like he’s holding himself back from reaching out for you.

“I thought if I gave us space, if I stayed away, maybe this,” he gestures between you both, “would all go back to normal.”

The words hang between you, heavy and hopeless.

You stare at him, anger curling tight around the longing you’ve been trying so damn hard to fight.

“And did it?”

Joel huffs a dry laugh, running a rough hand over his face, eyes burning when they meet yours again.

“No,” he sighs. “Not one damn bit.”

The admission softens your anger slightly, takes away the sting of rejection you’d been feeling.

You nod, the air between you shifting.

“So what now?” you whisper, your eyes dropping to your lap.

Joel doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he moves.

Leans closer, reaches a hesitant hand out towards you, waiting for you to pull away, to tell him where the hell to go.

When you don’t flinch, don’t pull back, his rough hand curls gently around your jaw, tilting your face up until you have no choice but to look at him.

His thumb drags slowly along your bottom lip, like he’s mapping you out, committing you to memory.

“I’m done stayin’ away.”

Your brows knit together, not out of anger, but fear.

“Don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it.” you plead.

He tilts his head, the look on his face imploring you to relent, to stop reading into everything so much.

The truck is too quiet, filled only with the sound of your shallow, apprehensive breathing, your heart pounding mercilessly against your ribs.

You know exactly where this is headed.

Yet, even now, after everything, a defiant part of you still pushes back, still fights to keep control.

“Maybe it would’ve been easier if you’d actually talked to me, instead of just making decisions for the both of us.”

Joel’s eyes flash dangerously, the muscle of his jaw tightening as he stares you down. “Don’t start.” he warns.

But you can’t help yourself, the past three days of hurt forcing you down a path of reckless defiance.

“Or what? You’ll just disappear again? Keep ignoring me until - ”

Joel’s thumb presses hard against your lips, silencing you instantly, your protest dissolving into a shaky exhale through your nose.

Your pulse jumps.

You should pull away, but you can’t.

His touch is firm, possessive - dominant in a way that makes your entire body burn.

“You never fuckin’ stop, do you?” he growls. “Always got somethin’ to say.”

You jerk your chin away from his grip, glaring back at him, even as your body leans towards his touch.

“Maybe you’re just an asshole who doesn’t like hearing the truth.”

Joel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between thick fingers. “Goddamn it kid, you got such smart mouth, you know that?”

You cross your arms over your chest with a sickly sweet smile.

“Didn’t have any complaints about my mouth when you were sliding your tongue into it the other night.” you shoot back, ignoring how your blood thrums with heat, how badly you want him.

Joel’s eyes drop to your mouth, eyes narrowing slightly.

He drags his thumb slowly along your chin, pressing gently until your lips part under his touch.

“You wanna keep talkin’ back?” he murmurs. “Or you gonna shut the hell up?”

Your body tightens as he slides his thumb into your mouth, pressing firm against your tongue.

You close your lips around him instinctively, your tongue dragging along the rough pad of his thumb, obedient in a way that makes his nostrils flare.

Your eyes flick up to his, watching for his reaction as you suck slowly, hollowing your cheeks around his thumb.

Then, you release him with a soft, gentle pop.

“You gonna make me?”

Something dark flickers in Joel’s eyes, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

“Be a good girl,” he grits through his teeth, unbuckling his belt with one hand, eyes locked onto yours. “And show me you know how to behave.”

Oh.

Heat surges between your thighs, the need you feel to please him as instinctual as the air you breathe into your lungs.

You don’t even hesitate before pulling your knees up onto the passenger seat, slipping your legs beneath you.

His eyes darken, his breath rough and uneven as you reach out towards his lap, hands shaking.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice straining as your fingers brush against him, freeing him fully.

You pause briefly at the size of him, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Joel - ”

He strokes his thumb over your cheek, the gesture unexpectedly tender given the intensity of the situation.

“You can take it, darlin’,” he says, gentler now, reassuring.

You nod, biting your lip as you lean further over the centre console towards him.

His hand moves slowly, tangling firmly into your hair, gripping tight enough to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to him.

“Open.”

You part your lips and he groans at the sight of you so pliant and willing to obey.

You let him guide you to his lap, edging his hard cock slowly past your mouth, feeling the hot, heavy weight of him on your tongue.

Joel moans above you, your cunt clenching around nothing just at the sound. He’s slow and careful at first, a shuddering breath escaping him as you get used to him, work yourself up to take him all the way.

His grip tightens on your hair as your tongue slides along the underside of his length, earning a low growl that vibrates through every nerve ending in your body.

“Fuck,” Joel hisses through gritted teeth. “That’s it baby, keep goin’.”

His praise sends heat flooding through you, fueling your determination, your head bobbing up and down like it’s your only purpose to make him feel good.

You’re wet and needy, desperate for more, to hear and feel the way his body responds to you.

Joel shifts his hips upwards, careful as he slides deeper, testing your limits, knowing exactly how far to push.

His cock presses hard against the back of your throat, and you accept it greedily.

“Look at me,” Joel chokes. “Lemme see you, darlin’.”

You lift your eyes as you continue to take him, watching his control shatter.

“Jesus,” he breathes, eyes dark with an unrelenting desire. “So pretty on my cock, huh?”

His fingers cradle your scalp, guiding you, working you slowly along his cock, your mouth stretching around him warm and tight.

You can still sense his restraint, feel the way he’s holding himself back, muscles trembling, trying not to push too hard.

And you don’t want that.

You press forwards, hollowing your cheeks, letting the tip of his cock pass the back of your throat. You groan softly, his hold loosening on your hair, but you diminish his worries with a defiant hum around his length, forcing him deep again.

Spit drips from the side of your mouth, your hand reaching to wrap around the base of his cock, stroking the slick over the parts of him you can’t reach.

The sound that rips from his chest is guttural.

His head tips back against the seat, one hand tangling back into your hair, the other gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles go white.

“Attagirl - fuck - just like that,” he groans, grunting as his jerks his hips upwards. “Knew you’d be good for me.”

His words send a lick of heat racing down your spine, pooling low in your belly, your own arousal growing unbearable. You let out a muffled sound of frustration, wanting more, needing more.

Joel chuckles breathlessly, noticing it instantly.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls, his tone teasing. “Ain’t enough for you, is that it?”

You whimper around him, the vibration making him hiss sharply through his teeth as you grind your hips pathetically against nothing.

”Goddamn it,” he pants, dragging your mouth down faster along his cock. “Wanna fuckin’ ruin you, you know that?”

That does it.

You press your thighs together, but it’s not enough.

You pull your hand back, slipping your fingers beneath your skirt, pressing gentle fingertips against your clit to relieve the impossible ache there.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he chuckles through a dark, teasing rasp. “Like knowin’ how bad I wanna fuck you?”

You moan softly around him, your breathing pulling through your nose in quick, desperate inhales.

You can’t stop yourself, slipping your fingers deep into your cunt like it will fill the empty ache, like it will ever match up to how you need to feel his cock stretch you open.

He knocks your hand away, his palm falling flat over your thigh, firm and possessive. “That ain’t for you to do.”

Your sobs are muffled again, your frustration and desperation making you tremble.

Joel shifts, his hand sliding between your thighs, cupping you through your clothes, fingers pressing exactly where you need him.

“You wanna touch yourself, huh? While I’m here to do it for you?” he scolds, his fingers rubbing slow, torturous circles over your underwear, just barely giving you relief.

“You that fuckin’ pent up?”

He pulls you from his cock, saliva dripping over your chin as you suck in a sharp breath, his hold on your hair forcing you to sit upright.

His eyes lock onto the swell of your lips, rubbing a gentle thumb over your mouth, using it to wipe the spit away from your chin before pressing the digit into his mouth, sucking it clean.

“Words baby. You want me to touch you?” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth.

You nod your head desperately. “Please, Joel, need to feel you,” you mewl, lips trembling with need.

He hums thoughtfully, pressing his thumb hard against your clit. You grind your hips forwards with a sharp gasp, your hands reaching to grip his shirt tight between your fists.

His thick fingers bypass your underwear, not even attempting to get you used to him before he pushes into your cunt, curling to meet the desperate knot of desire wound tight in your abdomen.

“Should’ve known you’d be this wet, just from havin’ me in your mouth,” he drawls against your ear. “Such a dirty girl.”

Before you can react, before you can even moan his name, he's pushing you back down onto his cock, guiding your mouth back along his length, matching the rhythm of his fingers curling into you.

“You gonna come just from this, baby?” he murmurs, slipping in a third finger, stretching you open for him. “From my fuckin’ fingers? Suckin’ on my cock?”

“Mhmm,” you manage, your body burning, so close to release already that you can’t even think.

Your hands grip at his thighs, nails digging into the denim of his jeans as you continue to work your mouth along his length.

His breath is laboured, muscles tense, holding onto his resolve just enough to keep himself from falling apart completely.

He’s waiting for you to get there too, you can feel the way he’s barely holding on in the way he’s bucking his hips upwards involuntarily, any kind of rhythm lost.

The idea of him coming undone for you is enough to make you roll your hips against him, coaxing his fingers deeper, harder into your cunt.

“Look at you,” Joel laughs, voice dripping with satisfaction. “So fuckin’ needy for me, ain’t ya?”

The words alone nearly send you over the edge.

You nod as well as you can with his cock lodged in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him to pull him closer too.

Joel watches you intently, voice lowering to a deep, ruined rasp.

“Go on, baby,” he urges, his fingers curling just right, his other hand pressing against the back of your head, still guiding you over his cock. “Come for me.”

And just like that, you fall apart in his hands, thighs pressing together around his wrist, riding the wave of sharp, blinding heat that wrecks through your limbs as he keeps his fingers moving, letting you take everything he’s got to give.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, his body straining beneath you.

The sounds you make are barely audible, but still, they’re enough to have him cursing under his breath, pushing him over the edge.

“Fuck,” Joel grunts, his hips bucking, thighs flexing beneath your palms. “Goddamn - baby, I’m gonna come, you can - shit, you can pull off.”

You tighten a hand around the base of his cock, unwilling to let a single drop of him go to waste, head moving up and down in defiance, a silent plea for him to give in to you.

He grunts, hands reaching to grip the steering wheel, his entire body going tense as he finally gives in, finally lets himself fall apart.

He pulses hard on your tongue, spilling himself into your mouth with a strangled, breathless groan, your name tumbling from his lips, head tipping back against the seat.

You swallow instinctively, warmth flooding your throat as you ease off him slowly, carefully, your body still humming with need.

Joel’s hands immediately cup your face, tilting your chin upwards, his thumb wiping the slick from your swollen bottom lip.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathes, chest rising and falling fast beneath the hand you rest against him.

His eyes search your face, still warm with desire but softened by something else, something tender. “You alright?”

You nod weakly, leaning into his touch, your breaths shaky. “Yeah,” you whisper.

Joel leans his forehead against yours, his nose nudging yours gently as his fingers stroke carefully through your hair as you both come down.

Eventually, he leans back, looks out of the window at the deserted road, running his hand over his bearded chin like he’s trying to force himself back to reality.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly, adjusting his jeans with a faint, tired smirk. “Let’s get you home, before your dad starts wonderin’ where the hell you are.”

You hum in response, smiling faintly as you sit back into the passenger seat.

Joel puts the truck into gear, pulling back onto the road as he fastens his seatbelt.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, expression softening when he notices your quiet stillness.

“We’re gonna talk more about this,” he says, voice firm but reassuring. “But not tonight.”

You nod slowly, resting your head back against the seat, exhaustion threatening to pull your eyes closed.

“Okay.”

He reaches over the centre console, his palm gently covering the hand resting on your lap.

His warmth comforts you in a way that makes those worries fade into the background.

For now, this is enough.

@alfiestreacle @joeldjarin @bbyanarchist @cuteanimalmama @jovl-millvr @missladym1981 @mellymbee @picketniffler @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pattwtf @ashleyfilm @goodvibesonly421 @justajoelsreader @pedritospunk @underchaos @shansphotos @rottingr4ven @cherrygirl19 @sophiabarber2001 @vickie5446 @sheweildsmjolnirs @fairylixie0915

[mrsnegan]

🥵🔥 Is there anything more satisfying then giving in to your desires? And with reader's dad still there with them? Holy shit, that's so hot. Everything about Joel fingering reader and talking like that makes me drip, not gonna lie. 🫠

to call you mine

chapter two: upper hand

masterlist | series masterlist

“Gotta keep quiet, baby.”

Baby. Oh, you’re so fucked.

“Your daddy’s only down the hall.”

Pairing: dbf!Joel x female reader

Summary: Your dad decides dragging you and Joel on a hike in the sweltering sun is the perfect way to spend the day. Of course, he has no idea that’s not the only thing prickling your skin with an uncomfortable heat - because things between you and Joel.. oh, they’re about to take a turn that there’s no coming back from.

Tags: SMUT* MDNI- age gap (24/45), dad’s best friend, consumption of alcohol, more unbearable tension and flirting, cursing, kissing!!!, *fingering (oh boy), guilt

Wc: 7.5k (it was an accident ur honour)

Authors note: let’s kick it up a notch, shall we? 😎 as always, reblogs and feedback are always so appreciated and make my day entirely!! enjoy my loves! 🖤✨ dividers by @saradika-graphics

The fire had burned low by the time you finally turned in last night, the flames reduced to nothing but dim, glowing embers.

Joel hadn’t said a single word about what had happened between the two of you in the kitchen.

No sly comment for you to read between the lines of while the three of you spent the night drinking, your dad getting looser with every beer.

Not a single snide remark aimed your way when you played a few rounds of cards, despite the amount of times you lost that provided him with plenty of opportunity to tease you the way he usually would.

Even when your dad sleepily slumped back against the sofa, the warm haze of alcohol having softened his edges just enough for him to announce he was heading to bed, he didn’t say a word.

Joel just carried on like nothing had happened.

Like his hands hadn’t lingered on your skin only hours earlier.

Acted like he hadn’t purposely lured you into the kitchen alone, leaned in too close and let his words wrap around you like a slow pull of heat - hadn’t left your body restless, wanting.

Maybe, you should be grateful.

Perhaps, you should have found some relief in the fact that he’d kept it casual, never let his gaze linger too long, never let his smirk give him away.

And yet, you were somewhat disappointed.

Confused.

Because you felt it still, that pull between you both.

Felt it in the subtle brush of his fingers when he passed you another drink, fresh from the cooler, the cold glass against your skin still doing little to curb the heat running through your veins.

You’d felt it in the shift of his knee beneath the table, just barely brushing against yours, but still enough for you to have to hide the catch of your breath behind a cough, taking long swigs of your drink to numb the conflict between your head, and your body's reactions to his touch.

There were a few times you’d caught him looking at you when he’d clearly thought you weren’t watching.

Times when your dad was mid sentence of some story you’d both heard a hundred times, laughing with his head thrown back, eyes half-lidded from too much beer.

There’d be a flicker of something in his expression, something a little tortured, reserved, before he dragged his gaze away again.

Almost as if, maybe, he hadn’t been quite as unaffected as he wanted to let on.

Now, in the stillness of the morning, it’s all you can think about.

The porch steps are warm beneath your legs as you sit basking in the morning sunshine, fingers curled tightly around the mug in your hands. The coffee inside is strong and slightly bitter, with just a hint of the cinnamon creamer you always insist on bringing for trips like this.

The world outside the cabin is already thick with warmth, the sticky edge of an Austin summer lingering even in the shade, though the morning still holds a hint of last night’s cooler breeze.

To say you’re tired is an understatement - it’s far more than that.

It’s the kind of exhaustion that comes from too much overthinking.

A night spent staring at the ceiling with your pulse skipping every time you’d allowed your mind to drift back to the way Joel’s words had stirred something deep inside you, the memory only more intense in the dark.

You sigh, stretching your legs out, your muscles still stiff from twisting and turning all night on such an uncomfortable mattress.

To your dismay, the door creaks open behind you, interrupting your escape into the quiet stillness outside.

You tense slightly but don’t turn. You don’t have to.

You can feel that it’s him - can hear it in the hesitant step he takes forwards, his weight creaking the wooden floor beneath his boots.

Your eyes flicker closed briefly, an attempt to steady yourself before you acknowledge his presence.

His steps continue forwards, closer, closer until he’s lowering himself onto the wooden step beside you, holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand.

“Didn’t realize you were out here.”

His voice is deep, rough in a way that makes something flutter deep in your belly.

You hate how much you notice it.

The way the sound rumbles through his chest, the faint rasp in his drawl, like he hasn’t fully shaken off sleep yet.

Your fingers tighten around your mug. “Got sick of your snoring.” you smirk, nudging his side with your elbow.

“That’d be your dad.” he knocks your knee with his own in retaliation, your coffee almost spilling over the rim of your mug. “Ain’t slept a goddamn wink” he laughs with a shake of his head.

Your mouth pulls up into an involuntary smile, the unexpected ease between you providing you with a sense of comfort. It’s enough for you to let your shoulders drop, the tension in your posture subsiding for now.

A comfortable, unrushed silence settles between you both, a quiet kind of peace you only find in mornings in the wilderness, the distant rustling of leaves in the warm breeze, birds singing their morning song somewhere far off.

Annoyingly, it leaves little room for you to think about anything else but the man sitting right beside you. Suddenly, you’re far too aware of yourself, how you must look after little to no sleep.

You reach up without thinking, fingers smoothing through your hair, trying to tame the wild mess it must be, seeing as you’d not even thought to drag a brush through it yet. You even rub the sleep from your eyes, just in case he’s looking at you in any kind of detail.

Which is dumb.

So dumb.

Because this is Joel. A man who’s seen you in far worse states, too many times to count.

He’s picked you up from the bar at ungodly hours, your dad blissfully unaware, long into the depths of sleep at the time of your drunken calls.

Dealt with your slurred rambles after one too many drinks, listened to incoherent stories interrupted by tipsy laughter as your head falls back against the passenger seat of his truck.

Not to mention the times he’s pulled over on the side of the road while you hang your head between your knees, trying not to throw up, his hand solid between your shoulder blades as you mumble complaints about how you’d never drink again, all while he just shook his head, amused.

And yet, here you are, suddenly self-conscious about how you look to him now.

Joel sips his coffee slowly, before his eyes drop to you, his brow raising.

“How’d you sleep?”

There’s something about the way he says it, the knowing edge to his voice, like he’s already well aware of the answer.

Like he knows damn well you spent half of the night turning over the memory of his voice in your head, the way it felt when he crossed this invisible line between you both.

You bring your coffee to your lips, buying yourself a second before answering.

“Fine.”

Joel hums softly, a sound that shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it does.

“That so?”

You swallow, your gaze still locked on the trees straight ahead.

“Yep.”

Joel chuckles knowingly, the sound sliding down your spine like warm honey. His hand lifts to rest against your knee, lingering longer than it should.

“Figured you might’a been out here so early ’cause you couldn’t sleep.”

You turn to face him, your eyes narrowing. “Any particular reason I should be losin’ sleep?”

His gaze lifts from his hand on your knee to meet your eyes. “You tell me, darlin’?”

The solid warmth of his fingers still presses against your skin, your eyes flitting between each of his own.

You try to form a coherent sentence, to shrug off his comments with a witty comeback.

But you don’t move, don’t say anything. You sit there, coffee slowly cooling in your hands, pliant and willing as Joel pushes further, testing the waters as he trails his fingers absentmindedly down your leg.

Your eyes stay firmly fixed on each other as you fight to keep your breath inside your chest.

“Joel - ” you breathe, the noise barely making its way through the tightness of your throat.

As smoothly as he’d first touched you, he pulls his hand back. There’s a brief moment that his eyes wash over with a faint trace of concern, perhaps wondering if he’s pushing too far.

But the pace of your breathing, the way your eyes fall to his lips, the tight grip of your fingers around your mug - it’s almost as if he can see the way your stomach drops at the loss of his warmth on your skin.

He hums thoughtfully, stretching his legs out lazily before he stands. He turns to head back inside, your eyes stuck to his form, the loss of his presence next to you leaving you cold despite the sun glaring down at your feet.

As he reaches the door of the cabin, his hand hesitates on the handle. He turns to look at you, his lips curving when he catches you watching him, a lost look painting your features.

“Be a good girl and keep those eyes to yourself,” he murmurs, something dark flickering in his eyes as he nods towards the cabin door.

“Your daddy’s watchin’.”

And then, he’s gone.

The cabin door creaks shut behind him, leaving you sitting alone, heart hammering, coffee long forgotten thanks to the swirling heat in your abdomen.

Joel might be gone, but his words linger, yet again.

They maybe shouldn’t hit as hard after everything that happened last night, but there’s still a huge part of you that’s struggling to catch up with this change between you.

This feels different though, even from last night's antics. It’s more obvious, maybe less of a test and more of a confirmation.

A silent exchange that tells you he’s done holding back, knows you are too.

You let out a slow exhale, forcing yourself to relax.

You need to pull yourself together.

Joel is just seeing how far he can push you, that’s all this is.

If you let him get in your head, let him know just how much he’s affecting you, then you lose.

And you really, really don’t want to lose.

You stand, rolling your shoulders, setting your still full mug of cold coffee down on the porch railing before heading inside.

The cool darkness inside the cabin provides a bit of relief from the already humid air outside, also serving as a distraction from the needy heat still prickling at your skin.

Your dad is already up.

He’s standing by the small kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee, still in his old t-shirt and sleep trousers looking as relaxed as you’ve ever seen him.

He glances up when you step inside. “Mornin’, kiddo.”

You force yourself to shake off the strange weight in your chest, offering a small smile. “Hey.”

He lifts his mug towards you slightly. “Joel up?”

Your stomach tightens. Why is he asking you?

You nod, hoping your face doesn’t give anything away. “Yeah. Just saw him outside.”

Your dad grunts in approval, taking a slow sip of coffee. “Good. Thought maybe I’d rope him into goin’ on a hike with us.”

You blink. “A hike?”

Your dad raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Somethin’ wrong with that?”

Nothing’s wrong with it.

Except that you’re going to have to spend the entire morning pretending that Joel fucking Miller didn’t just wreck your entire nervous system with a single sentence.

You shake your head quickly. “No, that’s fine.”

Your dad gives you a knowing look. “You sure? Thought you might be too tired after stayin’ up all night drinkin’ with us old men.”

You scoff. “I had like, three beers. You’re the one who was downing it like water.”

“Birthday privilege.” he grins.

You roll your eyes, moving past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, just as the door to the kitchen pushes open again.

Joel steps inside and your body reacts before your brain can intervene, your pulse skipping.

“Good, you’re up,” your dad says, turning towards him. “Thinkin’ we head out for a hike. You in?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Of course it does.

You exhale slowly, bracing yourself.

This is fine. It’s just a hike. Just a morning in the woods.

Just you, Joel, and your dad.

Nothing to worry about, right?

The three of you move around the cabin, readying yourselves for what should be a relaxed, unrushed day in the warm sun, resetting and de-stressing before you head back to reality tomorrow.

You move like you’re on autopilot, grabbing an extra water bottle from the fridge for your dad before pulling on your hiking boots near the door.

All the while, you’re trying to act like your thoughts aren’t still tangled up in Joel, all consuming.

He’s acting far too normal again as he pulls on his own boots, adjusts his watch, rolls up the sleeves of his shirt.

You look despite knowing better, eyes trailing over his arms - tanned, strong, the faintest sheen of sweat already forming in the warm air.

Your dad claps his hands together, pulling your attention away from Joel. “Alright, you two ready?”

You nod, clearing your throat. “Yeah.”

Joel hums, standing as he reaches for his bottle of water before his eyes flick to yours.

You push past him towards the door before he can see how much he's affecting you.

The door slams lightly behind you, the warmth outside hitting you instantly, thick air pressing against your skin the second you step onto the porch. It’s not unbearable, but it’s the kind of heat that sticks, clings to the back of your neck, warms the skin behind your knees.

You take a slow breath, willing it to steady you.

The cabin door swings open again behind you, the sound of boots against the wooden floor making you turn.

Joel steps out, adjusting the strap of a small backpack over his shoulder. You don’t look at him, don’t acknowledge him as he steps down onto the dirt.

Your dad is close behind him, locking the door before shoving the keys into the pocket of his cargo shorts.

“Alright, let’s get movin’. Sun’s only gettin’ higher.”

The three of you set off down the narrow dirt path leading from the cabin to the main trail. The trees press in around you as you walk, the forest thick and full of life, the occasional flicker of movement in the brush.

You focus on the rhythmic crunch of your boots against the sunbaked earth as you walk, Joel just a step behind you, ignoring the way his shadow stretches beside yours as the sun filters through the trees.

The trail winds deeper into the woods, your dad confidently taking over the lead, his voice carrying over his shoulder as he recalls stories of past hikes, mis-remembered adventures that seem to change slightly every time he tells them.

You find yourself nodding along, humming quietly, but your thoughts aren’t entirely focused on the conversation.

Not when Joel’s presence feels so close behind you, heavy in every step, every sound he makes as you move further down the trail.

You know you shouldn’t be this aware of him. Shouldn’t feel your pulse quicken every time the path narrows or the terrain grows uneven, forcing him close.

The trail ahead pinches tightly between a cluster of trees and a steep incline, your pace slowing as you edge along it.

“Careful,” Joel murmurs softly, his hand settling firmly at your waist. His touch is warm, steadying, fingers pressing gently into your side.

You swallow hard, eyes darting ahead cautiously, but your dad doesn’t even glance back. To him, it’s nothing. Just Joel being careful, looking out for you, like always.

“Thanks.” you mumble quietly.

His palm remains at your waist even after the trail widens again, fingers sliding slowly, almost reluctantly away.

Joel nods. “Don’t mention it.”

You exhale shakily, forcing your focus ahead as you lift your foot to step over a tree root jutting from the ground. Of course, you fucking stumble.

Joel laughs quietly behind you.

“You always this bad at watchin’ your step?” Joel says, hiding his chuckle behind a hand that swipes over his bearded chin, arms crossed over his chest.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “It’s an uneven trail, Miller. It’s not like I’m tripping over my own feet.”

Joel hums, unconvinced. “Could’a fooled me.”

You shoot him a glare. “You gonna keep hovering over me, or you gonna let me walk in peace?”

He grins. “Now, what kinda friend would I be if I let you roll your ankle out here?” he asks, his tone mocking, playful.

You narrow your eyes at him, tilting your chin upwards as you size him up. “Sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to put your hands on me?”

It’s meant to be a joke - kind of. A small push back, a way to throw his teasing right back at him.

But for the first time, you’ve got him.

Can see he’s at a loss for words in the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers twitch like he’s resisting the urge to do exactly what you’ve just accused him of.

For a small moment his expression is unreadable.

Then, just as smooth as ever, his smirk returns, his voice a low, slow drawl as he steps past you, brushing close enough that his shoulder touches yours.

“Keep your eyes on the trail, sweetheart,” he murmurs before pushing ahead. “Wouldn’t want you to trip.”

Joel glances back just once, meeting your eyes briefly before he turns forwards again, his steady stride slowly catching up with your dad.

You bite the inside of your cheek, silently smug at your ability to clearly get under his skin too, before quickening your steps to join them.

“Almost there,” your dad shouts over his shoulder as he notices you approach, excitement in his voice as the trees begin to thin out. “Just over this ridge. Hell of a view.”

You squint, catching glimpses of bright blue sky between the branches, the promise of an open view stretching beyond the dense woodland.

Joel moves easily beside you again, his steps sure and steady, meanwhile you’re feeling sweaty, flustered, your legs aching, heat prickling your skin in a way that has little to do with the blazing sun.

The three of you eventually crest the ridge, and your dad lets out a satisfied sigh, stopping at the edge where the trees break open, revealing the valley below.

“Here,” your dad says, stepping up onto a flat, rocky overlook. “Take a look at this. Breathtakin’ view.”

You climb up after him, boots scraping against the stone as you reach the top - and you have to admit, he’s right.

For the first time all morning, your thoughts go quiet.

The ridge stretches open wide, the landscape unfolding beneath you. A thick sprawl of trees leading into rolling hills, the shimmering ribbon of a creek cutting its way through the valley below.

The wind moves warm across your skin, carrying the scent of sun-warmed grass and water, cutting through the heat just enough to make it bearable.

For just a moment, you actually stop thinking about Joel.

“Worth the walk, huh?” your dad asks, glancing at you with an easy smile.

You nod, a genuine smile of your own tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It really is.”

Joel steps up beside you, exhaling a quiet breath.

“Not bad,” he murmurs.

You glance at him, catching the way he squints slightly in the sunlight, his fingers resting on his belt, chest rising slow and steady with his breath. The sweat at the base of his neck glistens faintly, dark strands of hair curling from the humidity.

Fuck, he looks good - too good.

You tear your eyes away, unscrewing the cap of your water bottle before taking a long sip. The water is lukewarm, but refreshing, the taste sharp against your tongue.

Your dad stretches his arms above his head, before rolling his shoulders. “Well, I ain’t movin’ for a while. My knees need a damn break.”

Joel smirks, shaking his head. “Guess that new decade is catchin’ up on you.”

Your dad waves him off, already lowering himself onto a large boulder. “Nah, it just means I know how to pace myself.”

Joel snorts, tipping his head towards you. “What about you, sweetheart? Feelin’ alright?”

His voice is casual to the likes of your dad, but you can read the edge that’s laced with something smug, like he knows exactly what kind of heat has been building between you both all morning.

“I’m fine,” you say, keeping your tone even. “But if you need a break, old man, don’t let me stop you.”

“Less of that damn cheek.” your dad cuts in.

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, unscrewing his own water bottle, tilting his head back slightly as he takes a long drink.

You watch him without thinking, eyes glued to the flex of his throat, the slow drag of his thumb over his lower lip as he wipes away a stray drop of water.

That goddamn prickle of heat beneath your skin is back, forcing you to look away.

You jump at the sound of your dad clapping his hands together, before urgently patting his pockets. “Hang on a sec, I almost forgot.”

You watch as he pulls his phone out, unlocking it, squinting as he taps carefully at the screen.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “You losin’ signal again?”

“Nah, just want a damn picture of y’all before we head back,” your dad says, already standing and stepping back to frame the view behind you. “Can’t come all the way up here and not get at least one.”

“Dad - ” you hesitate, glancing at Joel, but he’s already pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly resigned to obeying your dad’s request.

Your dad gestures impatiently towards the overlook. “C’mon, ain’t got all day, kiddo.”

Joel moves first, stepping into frame.

“You gonna make me pose all alone, darlin’?”

You force yourself to move, to ignore the heat curling in your stomach at the sound of his voice, at the casual way he stands, waiting.

You step up next to him, standing stiffly at first, planting a little space between you both. Your dad waves his hand at you both exasperatedly. “For Christ’s sake, get closer. Y’look like strangers.”

Joel steps closer, his presence solid at your side. The weight of his arm settles around your shoulders, warm and heavy, pulling you against him gently.

He’s done it a hundred times. But it’s never been like this, fingertips brushing against your bare arm, heat flaring across your skin, slipping down your spine.

“Smile, you two,” your dad calls, utterly oblivious to your inner turmoil.

You force a smile, the corners of your lips trembling slightly as Joel’s thumb shifts subtly against your shoulder, a purposeful gesture hidden beneath a seemingly innocent touch.

“Relax,” Joel murmurs, lips barely moving. “Ain’t gonna bite.”

Your dad counts down from three, but you hardly hear him, focused on the silent tension rolling between you. The camera clicks once, twice, before he inspects his handiwork.

He grins, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Damn, that’s a good one. Gonna send it to you both later.”

Joel clears his throat lightly, nodding. “Appreciate it.”

He releases you slowly, his arm sliding from your shoulders, leaving behind a strange emptiness.

Your dad shifts his weight from foot to foot, gearing up to get moving again. “Y’all ready to head back soon?”

Joel glances towards your dad, eyebrow raised. “Tired already?”

Your dad scoffs. “You already made it clear I ain’t as young as I used to be. ’Sides, I got beers back at the cabin callin’ my name.”

Joel chuckles, nodding. “Now that, I can get behind.”

You roll your eyes, taking another sip of water, grateful for the distraction.

“Gimme a minute,” your dad mutters, stretching his back out. “Nature calls.”

He steps away, disappearing into the trees, leaving you and Joel alone again on the ridge. The sudden absence of your dad’s presence leaves room to notice the tension between you, too loud, too thick.

You turn slowly to face Joel, biting your lip, trying to think of something safe to say, but Joel beats you to it.

“You’ve been awful quiet,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing just slightly, studying you. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You exhale, shaking your head softly. “No. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” he teases gently, mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Care to share?”

Your eyes flicker to the thicket of trees, ensuring your dad isn’t coming back just yet, before you dare meet Joel’s eyes again.

“Just wondering if this is how it’s gonna be now.”

Joel tilts his head, considering your words carefully. “How’s that?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, heart pounding. “Pretending.”

Something shifts in Joel’s expression, the teasing slipping away, replaced with something more serious, more intense.

He leans closer, his words rough with honesty. “You think I’m pretendin’, darlin’?”

Your pulse stutters, mouth suddenly dry. “Aren’t you?”

He’s quiet for a beat, exhaling slowly, his eyes holding yours intensely.

“You know damn well I ain’t.”

Before you can respond, your dad’s footsteps crunch back up the trail, breaking through the charged air.

Joel pulls back as soon as he reappears.

“Y’all ready?” he asks brightly, clearly unaware of what he interrupted.

“Yeah,” Joel answers, his eyes lingering unwaveringly on you. “Think it’s about time we head back.”

The walk back passes in a blur, the promise of cold beer seemingly leaving your dad’s aching knees long forgotten as the two men set a pace that you struggle to keep up with.

By the time you step inside the cabin, the late afternoon sun is low in the sky, the temperature much more tolerable.

Your dad immediately heads to the fridge, pulling out a handful of beers, passing one to you and Joel before stepping back outside to fire up the grill.

“Gonna get dinner started,” he calls back through the open door. “Y’all stay outta trouble.”

Joel smirks, twisting off the cap from his beer. “No promises.”

You shoot Joel a sideways glance, a small smile curling your lips despite your better judgment. You take a sip of your beer, savouring the cold bitterness.

“You wanna play?” Joel asks, nodding towards the deck of cards laying discarded on the small coffee table beside the fire.

You shrug, feigning indifference, though your heart quickens at the thought of sitting alone with him. “Sure.”

Joel settles into the worn leather couch, shuffling the cards with practiced skill. You join him, pulling your knees up beneath you as he deals two cards each.

“Texas hold ‘em?” you guess.

Joel nods, eyes glinting with amusement as he lifts his cards, studying you thoughtfully. “Unless you wanna play somethin’ else”

You raise an eyebrow. “Think I can handle it.”

He chuckles quietly as he sets the first three cards face-up on the table.

You study your cards with furrowed brows, willing it to be a good hand. Losing to Joel is the last thing you need right now.

He clears his throat after a few seconds.

“You gonna raise, fold? Or just stare at your damn cards all day?”

You look at the table dumbly, eyes flicking back up to him. “We don’t even have any chips.” you complain.

He chuckles, grabbing the discarded cap from your beer and flicking it to you with his thumb. You catch it, hissing at the sharp scratch it leaves on your finger.

You grin, raising a brow. “Oh, real high stakes.” you scoff.

“Figured I’d give you a chance” he smirks. “Of course, we could play for somethin’ else?”

You roll your eyes, ignoring his comment. “I’ll raise.” you mumble, throwing the cap into the middle of the table. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” he replies dryly, matching your bet without hesitation, his own bottle cap making its way onto the table.

The first round is spent testing each other. You know how Joel usually plays - steady, patient, always watching.

But Joel knows you too, knows when you bluff, when you’re trying to outthink him.

You play cautiously, watching him out of the corner of your eye, studying the way he handles his cards, the way his fingers tap absently against the table when he’s thinking.

Joel plays like he always knows something you don’t. Like he’s waiting for you to make a mistake, and you refuse to give him that satisfaction.

“You always this quiet when you play?” he muses.

You hum, considering. “Only when I’m winnin’.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. “Hate to break it to you, darlin’, but you ain’t winnin’ yet.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Yet.”

Joel grins, tipping his bottle towards you in silent challenge.

The second round is tighter, slower.

Joel leans forwards, elbows resting on his knees, his attention fixed on you.

You try not to squirm under his scrutiny, try not to pay mind to the way his fingers absently drag across the rim of his beer bottle, how his shirt stretches across his forearms when he moves.

Like he’s playing dirty on purpose.

“Sure you don’t wanna fold?” Joel asks.

“Why? You nervous?”

Joel’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smirk. “Not even a little.”

You hold his stare a second longer, before laying your cards down.

Joel’s eyes drop briefly to your cards, then back to you.

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head, throwing his cards onto the table.

“Shit.”

You pout, dragging the bottle caps towards you. “Huh. Looks like I’m winnin’ now.”

Joel sighs, sinking back into the couch, beer resting on his knee. “Don’t get used to it.”

You open your mouth to tease him further, but you’re interrupted by the swing of the cabin door opening.

You tense slightly as your dad steps inside, carrying a plate piled high with food.

“Alright team,” he says. “Hope y’all are hungry.”

Joel clears his throat, his expression smoothing into something neutral.

Your dad eyes the game setup, setting the plate down before grabbing his own beer.

“Poker?” he asks, already moving towards the table.

Joel nods, perfectly at ease.

“Kid was just about to lose everything,” he announces with a smirk.

You glare at him. “What the fu- I was not.”

Your dad chuckles, reaching for the deck of cards. “Well, guess I’ll have to put both of you to shame, then.”

You huff, shaking your head as the game resets, your dad dealing a fresh hand.

The night stretches on, the rounds only getting more heated when there’s three of you involved.

Your dad drinks beer after beer, throwing in his bottle caps like he’s got nothing to lose.

And Joel?

He’s relaxed as ever, settled against the couch, one arm stretched across the backrest, his fingers absently toying with the bottle cap between his fingers.

Your dad sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “You two are ruthless.”

You laugh softly, dragging the pile of bottle caps towards yourself again. “Don’t hate the player.”

Joel chuckles, lifting his beer to his lips, eyes flicking towards you over the rim of the bottle.

“You just hate that you’re losin’, pal.” Joel mumbles, tossing in his bottle cap for another round.

Your dad groans, shaking his head. “Damn. Maybe I really am gettin’ old.”

“Nah. You were just never that good.” Joel bites back, lips stretching into a smirk.

Your dad barks out a laugh, kicking Joel’s foot under the table. “Y’know, I should’ve known you’d get cocky, Miller. Ain’t never been able to shut your mouth for long.”

Joel just grins, settling back against the couch again.

You throw in another cap. “C’mon, old man, don’t give up now.”

Your dad groans, rubbing at his eyes. “Hell, I dunno, kiddo. Feelin’ my age tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah. Excuses.” you laugh.

Your dad shakes his head, chuckling, before stretching his arms wide, a deep yawn escaping his chest. “Think I’m callin’ it a night. Y’all go easy on each other though.”

You shouldn’t feel your stomach flip at that.

Shouldn’t feel your breath catch slightly as your dad pushes back from the table, standing, rubbing a tired hand over his jaw.

It was always going to happen, him turning in eventually.

But now, it’s actually happening, the last piece falling into place, the final barrier between you and Joel sliding away.

Joel shifts beside you, fingers tapping idly against his knee.

You don’t dare to look at him, because if you do, if you see that same knowing look in his eye, you’ll fold.

Completely.

Your dad pauses at the bedroom door, glancing back. “Don’t stay up too late now. And don’t go cleanin’ up without me. We’ll sort it in the mornin’.”

You nod tightly. “Yep, got it.”

Joel lifts his beer lazily. “G’night.”

Your dad mumbles his goodnights before disappearing into his and Joel’s shared room, the door swinging shut with a quiet click.

And then, it’s just you and Joel, alone again.

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. So heavy that it feels as though it wraps around your ribs, makes it so much harder to breathe.

Joel clears his throat softly.

“You tired yet?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head slowly, not trusting yourself to look at him.

“You?” you finally manage, breathless in a way you hope he doesn’t notice.

Joel shifts closer, his voice low. “Nope.”

The silence settles again and it’s agonising.

“Joel, I -” you breathe softly, finally turning your head towards him, your heart racing.

He’s watching you carefully, expression unreadable, save for the dark glint in his eyes, something that promises trouble, steals the words from your throat.

You’re slowly realising that, fuck, you want all sorts of trouble if it’s with him.

“Ain’t supposed to want this,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips. “But I do.”

You swallow hard, lips parting to say something - anything - but your words are lost the moment his hand moves.

It’s deliberate, a slow slide of his hand against your thigh, his touch gentle, but filled with intent.

Your throat feels dry, heart hammering wildly as his thumb drags slowly across the inside of your thigh, just enough to steal the air from your lungs.

He leans closer as he watches you, his focus unwavering, drinking in every little reaction you give him.

“Tell me you want me to stop.”

He’s so close, his face just inches from yours, so close that you can see the tension in his jaw, the barely restrained control he’s holding onto.

“I don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Don’t want you to stop.”

Any last shred of restraint, any lingering hesitation, all of it vanishes the second Joel’s mouth presses against yours.

The kiss is urgent, nothing soft or tentative about it, your whole world narrowing only to him, how he feels, how he tastes.

His tongue slides against yours and you melt helplessly into him, your fingers tightening in his shirt as you lean in even closer.

Joel breaks away just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven.

“Been wantin’ this,” he rasps. “You don’t even fuckin’ know.” His voice is rough, edged with a hunger you’ve never heard from him before.

You whimper softly, body thrumming with heat, with want, an undeniable need for more.

“I’ve got some idea.” you whisper, lips brushing against his.

Joel groans softly, his mouth capturing yours again, rougher this time, strong hands sliding down your sides, brushing over your hips, gripping your waist and pulling you closer until you’re in his lap.

You gasp against his lips, warmth prickling your skin, your heart racing so fast you feel it pounding in your ears.

He kisses along your jawline, his mouth finding your neck, his beard scraping lightly against your skin.

“Joel,” you whimper softly, tilting your head to give him better access. “Fuck, please - don’t stop.”

His breath is hot against your ear. “Ain’t plannin’ to, darlin’.” he murmurs.

He drags his lips lower, pressing heated kisses along your collarbone, his hands sliding under your shirt to settle at your waist, fingers warm and calloused against your bare skin. You arch towards him instinctively, your breath hitching.

“Been drivin’ me crazy,” Joel growls. “Knowin’ you felt it too.”

You nod breathlessly, fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently, drawing a soft, deep groan from him.

The sound is fucking heaven.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you confess, your voice trembling. “Shit, Joel, been thinking about you like this - ”

The admission feels like a release, like you’ve finally let yourself breathe again after holding your breath for too long.

Joel responds instantly, his kisses more intense, more possessive, as though your words have ignited something even deeper in him.

His hands slide boldly over your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts, making you shiver beneath his touch. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his own filled with a heat that sends desire pulsing straight between your legs.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands softly, his voice strained, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Need to hear it from you.”

You cup his face in your hands, your thumb tracing over his jaw, your eyes locked on his. “I want you,” you breathe softly. “So damn bad, Joel.”

That’s all it takes.

Joel captures your mouth again, kissing you hard, his hands sliding over your hips to pull you tighter against him.

You gasp as you feel his own desire pressed firmly against you, your body instinctively rocking into him, needing more.

Your thighs shift, parting just enough, and Joel notices instantly.

His hand slides up your bare thigh, fingertips teasing just beneath the hem of your shorts.

Your breath stutters, a soft moan slipping past your lips.

“Gotta keep quiet, baby,”

Baby. Oh, you’re so fucked.

“Your daddy’s only down the hall.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself, trying not to fall apart completely.

His fingers slide beneath the fabric of your shorts, teasing over the thin lace of your underwear, just barely pressing where you need him most.

You tremble, biting back a moan, burying your face against his neck as your hips shift, rocking into his touch without thinking.

Joel hisses, his breath uneven, his body tensing beneath you as his fingers move your underwear to the side, slipping to rub gently through your folds.

“So goddamn wet,” he mutters, breath catching. “Shit. Bad fuckin’ girl.”

You whimper, back arching, your nails dragging over the skin at the back of his neck. “Joel - ”

He shushes you gently, kissing the corner of your mouth, lips dragging across your jaw, down the slope of your throat.

“I got you, baby. Let go. Trust me.”

His fingers press higher, sliding against your clit, his breath warm and heavy in your ear.

You bite your lip, struggling to hold in the sounds building in your throat.

You can’t be loud. Can’t get caught. Can’t make any kind of noise that risks your dad interrupting, just in case you never get to feel Joel this way again.

But fuck, you want him, and Joel wants you just as bad.

His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, hot pleasure coiling tight in your belly, your hips grinding instinctively, desperate for more friction, more pressure.

Joel presses a kiss to your throat, voice low and demanding. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” you gasp, your voice needy, desperate. “Need you to touch me, need - fuck - need you inside me.”

He groans against your neck, the sound enough to cause the desire twisting in your abdomen to simmer even further.

“Yeah? Gonna be a good girl and fuck my fingers while your daddy’s sleepin’?”

Joel's hand slips further down, teasing two thick fingers at your hole before he pushes in, curling into your heat with no hesitation.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his thumb reaching to circle at your clit, your hips jerking as a quiet gasp spills over your lips.

Joel hushes you, his free hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer.

“Shh, baby,” he breathes, his mouth brushing against yours. “Gotta be quiet, yeah? Gotta be good for me.”

You bite your lip so hard it almost hurts, your body aching, trembling, but you nod, letting yourself fall against him, letting yourself drown in the way he touches you.

Joel curses softly, his fingers stroking deep inside you with slow, agonising precision, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every reaction you give him.

“Goddamn it darlin’. You’re so fuckin’ perfect like this.”

You whimper, your breath catching as your body shakes against him. It’s all too much, the feeling of his fingers inside you, his strong hand against your back, his scent, warm, woodsy, a hint of sweat - Joel.

Your cunt flutters, your thighs tightening around his hips as your lips part on a silent cry. Joel takes it as an opportunity to kiss you again, swallowing down every sound you make.

“Shit, Joel,” you grind your hips against his hand. “I’m - fuck - I’m close,” you pant against his lips.

“That's it. Lemme feel you, baby. Let me take care of you.” he moans against your lips, his fingers still pressing inside you, stretching you open.

Joel groans, watching you fall apart, watching the way you react to him, the way you give yourself over to him so completely.

“Good girl,” he whispers, “That’s my good fuckin‘ girl.”

Your head falls down against his shoulder, muffling the quiet, desperate noises you make, your whole body shaking as his fingers work you open, filling you, pushing you higher, higher -

And then, you break.

It crashes over you suddenly, violently, pleasure ripping through you in sharp, shuddering waves.

Your muscles tense, your fingers digging into Joel’s arms, the sound of his name spilling from your lips silenced against the strong muscle of his shoulder.

Joel curses softly, holding you through it, his lips pressing against your temple, fingers stroking you through your pleasure with moans of your name, drawing it out, letting you ride it for as long as possible.

And when it finally ebbs, when you slump forwards, boneless and shaking, his arms wrap around you, holding you steady.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, you don’t speak.

Because there’s nothing to say that could change what just happened.

Joel’s hands are still on you, still firm against your waist, grounding you, breath still warm against your skin, lips close enough that you can feel every slow, uneven exhale.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, like if you let go, this will all slip away.

But it won’t, it can’t - there’s no coming back from this.

Not when you can still feel the press of his fingers inside you, still hear the tortured way he whispered your name, still taste him on your lips.

The urgency is gone now. Not the heat, not the ache still pulsing low in your stomach.

But reality, the here and now, it’s slowly setting in.

You can feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his fingers twitch against your waist like he’s fighting the instinct to pull away.

When you finally find your voice, it’s barely a whisper.

“Joel, we - what just - ”

His hands tighten against your sides, his thumbs brushing small, absent circles against your skin, like he can’t stop touching you, even now.

It should feel wrong, hell, maybe it does.

Maybe that’s what’s twisting in your stomach now, a different kind of heat, the first creeping licks of something like regret, guilt.

Not for this, not for him, but for what it means.

The fact that your dad is just down the hall, the fact that Joel is his best friend - the fact that there is no undoing this.

You don’t voice it, and neither does he, but it’s there, thick in the space between you.

Joel draws in a long breath, like he’s trying to steady himself, trying to convince himself that this isn’t as big as it feels.

You reach out, fingers brushing his jaw, trailing down the side of his neck.

Joel tilts his head slightly, leaning into your touch for just a second before his eyes flick up to yours.

They’re dark, searching, and fuck, you think you see it there too, that same confusing mix of want and fear, lust laced with something dangerously close to guilt.

Joel sighs, dragging his knuckles across your arm.

“Ain’t no takin’ it back now.”

And yet, even as that quiet dread settles in your chest, Joel draws you closer, his embrace protective, almost defiant.

He doesn’t say another word. Neither do you.

But you both know, there really is no coming back from this.

And deep down, despite everything, you can’t help but wonder if either of you truly wants to.

@joeldjarin @bbyanarchist @cuteanimalmama @jovl-millvr @missladym1981 @mellymbee @picketniffler @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pattwtf @ashleyfilm @goodvibesonly421 @justajoelsreader @pedritospunk @underchaos @shansphotos @rottingr4ven @cherrygirl19 @sophiabarber2001 @vickie5446

[mrsnegan]

The tension is everything! 🫠 I love how you write Joel, how their dynamic shifts. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time while reading. So, so good!

to call you mine

chapter one: kindling

masterlist | series masterlist

“Y'know,” he murmurs slowly, eyes holding yours with deliberate intensity, “you keep givin’ me that look every time I get close like this… I'm gonna assume you're imaginin' the same kinda trouble I am.”

Pairing: dbf!Joel x female reader. No outbreak AU, no Sarah

Summary: You and Joel have planned the perfect off-grid, surprise getaway for your dad's 50th birthday. With your dad running a little later behind, you and Joel are left alone to set up. Lingering looks and touches quickly shift the dynamic of your relationship into something that's not so easy to return from. Too bad your Dad shows up right before things get interesting.

Tags: age gap (24/45), dads best friend, lots of flirting and physical contact, joel being a menace, the beginnings of their relationship shifting to something inappropriate, mentions of alcohol.

Wc: 4k

Authors note: howdy 👋🏻 i fell in love with dbf!joel and reader when writing my one shots.. SO. here is the start of it all - the lies, deceit, the undeniable chemistry and lust.. what could go wrong right? if you enjoy, please remember to reblog or give feedback, it means so much! dividers by @saradika-graphics 🖤✨

The sharp crack of an axe splits the silence hanging in the air, scattering birds like a gunshot through the trees.

Joel exhales heavily, steadying his grip as he splits another log clean in half, the wood groaning under the sheer force of his swing before it tumbles towards the growing collection by his feet. 

The air smells of old pine and warm earth, damp from a recent, rare spell of rain. The stifling heat of an Austin summer has done a pretty good job at drying out most of the wood regardless, the sun cutting through the canopy of trees, warming his neck as it begins to set lower in the sky behind him. 

He rolls his shoulders, flexing his sore, stiff fingers before he reaches for yet another log. 

It’s quiet out here. 

The kind of quiet that somehow soothes the aches in your bones, allows your shoulders to drop, the tension to ease. It’s isolated, but not lonely, a nice change from the hum of the city.

Joel adjusts his grip on the axe, but before he can swing again, the low crunch of tires on gravel makes him pause. He turns, glancing towards the winding dirt track that leads up to the tree lodge, watching a familiar car approach.

He knows it’s you before you even step out.

Your tires skid a little across the loose stones as you brake to a stop, stretching your fingers before you release your grip on the steering wheel, killing the engine. 

The drive took far longer than you expected - not because you got lost. You’re braced, ready to fight Joel’s teasing on that one already. It’s not your fault that the roads wind and twist in ways that make you second guess every damn turn.

Who’s idea was this stupid off-grid location?

You sigh softly before pushing open the door of your car, stepping out into the fresh air. Your eyes fall to the lodge, a sturdy, wooden little place, nestled between thick trees, their edges painted with the golden glow of the setting sun. 

“Sure took your time, kid,” a homely, southern voice drawls, edged with amusement. “Thought you got lost.”

There it is. 

You roll your eyes, slamming the car door shut. “Not all of us have a built in compass, Miller.” 

He huffs a laugh, swinging the axe down into the stump in front of him. The sleeves of his flannel are pushed up, forearms coated in a dusting of wood splinters, a light sheen of sweat across his skin from working in the sun.

You try not to let your eyes linger too long. 

Instead, you walk towards him, nodding to the stack of firewood at his feet. “I see you got a head start, anyways.”

“Figured I’d be settin’ up this place alone,” he mumbles through a smug smirk, thick arms crossing over his broad chest. “Didn’t think you’d be showin’ up anytime soon.” 

“Yeah, well sorry to disappoint,” you flick his arm with your fingers, earning a chuckle deep from his chest. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t burn the whole party down before my dad even gets here”

Joel scoffs. “Ain’t even lit the fire yet, smartass” 

You smirk, kicking one of the chopped logs with your foot. “Yeah? Better get a move on then.”

“Don’t remember you gettin’ this damn bossy,” he mutters, but you don’t miss the faint curl of his lips. “C’mon. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, just grabs an armful of chopped wood like it’s nothing, hauling it towards the lodge. You shake your head and grab the remaining four logs and saunter quickly behind him, stepping into the dim warmth inside. 

It’s rustic, but inviting, wooden beams spanning the ceilings, a well used log burner in the centre of the main room, a long couch pulled up right in front of it. The wooden structure clings onto the heat of the day, so much so that you doubt the fire’s all that much needed.

It adds to the charm you suppose. 

Your dad will love it, it’s the kind of place that’s all rough edges and no-nonsense charm. 

Joel drops the logs near the burner, pulling your attention away from the ceiling as he brushes his hands off on his jeans before crouching to open the iron door. He glances over his shoulder towards you.

“Well?” he says. “Gonna stand there, or you gonna come learn somethin’?”

You nod as you kneel down next to Joel, handing him the logs and watching closely as he begins stacking them carefully, leaving little gaps for the air to flow through freely. 

You’re not all that sure why you’re paying such close attention, but there’s something captivating about watching Joel work, something comforting in the calm, practiced way his strong hands move. 

He catches your stare, raising an eyebrow with an amused smirk. “Y’know, if you pay attention instead’a just leerin’ at me, you might be able to do it yourself next time.” 

Your cheeks heat, surprised by his callout, but you act unphased, unsure how else to play it. “I am payin’ attention,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “Show me your ways, wilderness expert.” 

Joel shakes his head, chuckling softly under his breath as he strikes a match, the small flame catching the dry kindling tucked between the wood. 

You watch, mesmerized as the fire slowly builds, licking up the sides of the logs, glowing orange and gold. The heat pushes outwards, warming your knees where you’re crouched too close.

Joel glances at you, smirking slightly. “You just gonna watch?”

You blink, tearing your gaze from the flames, staring at him beneath furrowed brows. “What? Am I supposed to clap or somethin’?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for the metal poker leaning against the hearth. “You ever tend a fire before?”

You scoff. “I work in a bar, Joel. Closest I get to fire is some drunk guy ordering a flaming shot at two in the fucking morning.”

Joel snorts. “Yeah, well. This is a little different.” He grips the poker, adjusting it in his hand before holding it out towards you. “Here. Try it.”

You hesitate, but he doesn’t give you much of a choice. Before you can reach for it, he takes your hand in his, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal and guides it towards the fire.

Joel’s palm is broad, warm where it covers the back of your hand. His grip is firm, but not forceful, just enough to steer you. His fingers curl around yours, thumb resting against your knuckles as he helps you angle the poker towards the logs.

“Just like that,” he murmurs. “You don’t gotta stab at it. Just shift it a little, give the flames a lil’ breathin’ room.”

You nod, but you barely hear him. All your focus is on the weight of his hand over yours, the heat of his skin.

It’s casual. Should be casual, but something about it stills you, heats your blood.

The weight of his chest is close behind your shoulder, his breath ghosting over your ear. You focus on keeping your breathing steady as he continues to carefully guide your hand, painfully aware of every inch of space - or lack of it - between you.

“Attagirl. Just like that” he hums against your ear.

Did your stomach just flip?

He eventually lets go, and you slowly withdraw the poker, your hand feeling strangely empty without his palm around it. You take a breath, brushing your hair away from your face in an attempt to ground yourself.

Joel chuckles quietly as his eyes fix on your cheek, a hint of amusement softening his voice. “You got a little somethin’ there, sweetheart.”

“What?” you blink, confused.

“On your face,” he murmurs, leaning closer without hesitation. 

Before you can react, he reaches out, thumb brushing softly against your cheek. You freeze as his thumb wipes gently across your skin, warmth spreading through your chest.

His eyes linger on yours for a moment too long before clears his throat, pulling his hand back like he just touched something too hot.

“Sorry. You had a little.. uh, soot.” he holds his thumb up, showing you the black streak coating his skin.

You force a casual shrug, even though your skin still burns where his thumb brushed your cheek. “No big deal.”

The fire crackles between you, a white noise that fills the silence that stretches on a little too long. 

Joel shifts his weight on his knees, glancing at you for a second before turning his attention back to the flames, adjusting one of the logs with a little more force than necessary. 

You exhale slowly, hands smoothing over your thighs as you will yourself to stop thinking about how close he just was.

You need a distraction.

“You done playin’ with fire?” you ask, hoping to shift the mood.

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, standing up and dusting his hands off. “For now.” He nudges the poker back into place, glancing around the cabin. “Should probably get this place set up ’fore your dad gets here.”

Right. The reason you’re here in the first place. 

Your dad has no idea about any of this. That’s the fun part.

You and Joel had planned it all together, a little weekend getaway for his 50th birthday, a chance to get him out of the city, away from work, just to enjoy something for once. 

He thinks he’s driving out here to meet Joel, to check on a potential job for their construction company, completely unaware that instead, he’s walking into a place to put his feet up, kick back and drink beer with his buddy by the fire and forget about the worries of the world.

And yet, despite all the planning, you’re the one feeling caught off guard now.

You push yourself up, dusting off your knees as you glance around.

Joel rubs a hand over the back of his neck, eyeing the small pile of supplies on the table. “Alright. Where do you want me?”

The question shouldn’t make your abdomen tighten, but it does.

You swallow, pushing past it. “You can start with the banner.”

He glances at the bundle of decorations, one eyebrow ticking up. “A banner? You make it yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s a big one. Happy Birthday, old man! - the whole deal.” you grin, crossing your arms.

He begrudgingly obliges, on the condition you guide him through the whole thing.

You watch him struggle for a while, standing back, squinting.

“Higher.” you say.

He raises it an inch.

You shake your head. “More.”

He lifts it again, the muscles in his forearms flexing slightly, and you have to force yourself to focus.

“Little more,” you murmur.

Joel sighs. “You just gonna keep makin’ me hold this damn thing up, or you gonna pin it in? Some time this century?”

You smirk, stepping closer. “Maybe.”

His lips quirk, but he doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes on the banner, fingers straightening the fabric. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

You hum, pretending to think about it. “Mmm. Yeah, I’ve been told.”

Joel shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, but there’s no real heat behind it. You move to secure one side of the banner, stretching up onto your toes to pin it against the wooden beam.

“You got it?” Joel asks, eyes flicking down to you.

“Almost.”

You try to stretch higher, but your fingers just barely graze the edge of the banner.

Before you can adjust, you feel Joel shift behind you.

Then, a warm, steady hand finds your waist.

Your breath stutters, pulse hammering as Joel wraps his arm around your centre, lifting you off your feet just enough to reach. His other arm is still effortlessly holding the banner in place.

You freeze for a second too long, barely able to focus on what you’re doing. Joel’s arm is strong, holding you like it’s nothing.

Like it isn’t something that’s currently turning your brain into static.

Your blood is thrumming hot and heavy, your hands unsteady as you fumble with the banner. You’re too aware of him, the heat from his skin, the rough strength in his grip.

You don’t dwell on the thought that he could have just as easily pried the thumbtack from your hand, made some crack about you not being able to reach and handled it himself.

But he didn’t.

And that in itself feels like something all too telling.

“Go on, kid,” he murmurs, voice low. “Get it up there before I drop your ass.”

The rough drawl of his voice against your shoulder sends a shiver through you, heat curling low in your stomach. You don’t miss the way his grip tightens, just for a second.

Your fingers tremble as you press the tack into the wood, trying to steady yourself, trying to ignore the way your body’s reactions feel traitorous beneath his touch.

This is stupid. It’s stupid.

It’s just Joel.

A man who’s been around for as long as you can remember - watching football in your living room, throwing back beers with your dad after long shifts, grumbling about work over the rim of a coffee mug at your kitchen table.

It’s nothing. He's just holding you, just helping you reach some stupid banner. 

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay - I got it, lemme down.” you yelp, tapping his wrist in urgency, desperate to put some space between you before your body betrays you further.

Joel lowers you, slow and steady. His hands linger just a second too long, his fingers flexing against your waist before he finally pulls away.

You step back quickly, turning to him on instinct, searching his face for any sign that he felt the same shift too.

And that’s when you see it.

Something dark. Something heavy in his eyes, the way they flicker over your features, the way his jaw tenses like he’s forcing himself to step away. 

You’ve never looked at each other this way before, it’s all wrong.

Maybe that’s why heat unfurls low in your stomach.

This weird shift you feel? Yeah. He’s feeling it too.

The fire crackles in the background, the room too quiet, too warm.

Joel clears his throat, rough and deliberate, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“Banner’s up.”

You nod, swallowing hard, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to steady you. Because you can’t ignore it now.

This is Joel.

Your dad’s best friend.

And your body is reacting to him like he’s something else entirely.

Your skin still burns where his hands have been, the feeling seared into you, something irreversible, something dangerous.

Finally Joel moves. He shuffles over to the table, hands toying with the few supplies still sprawled out.

“You’re really gonna make him wear this?” Joel scoffs, holding up the ‘Over the Hill’ party hat you’d picked out.

The shift in tone is a relief and a fucking curse.

It gives you something to latch onto, something to drag you back to the surface before you drown in whatever this is.

But at the same time, the way he pushes past it makes you question whether you’re reading into everything too much.

You grin, forcing yourself to breathe. “Damn right. He’s not gettin’ out of it.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head, but when he turns away, you catch the slight twitch of his lips, the smile he’s trying to bite back.

Everything is the same, but it’s different.

And it’s driving you crazy, because you can’t stop staring.

Your eyes are glued to him, pulled to every detail like some part of you is trying to memorize him, the stretch of his shirt over broad shoulders, the way his forearms flex as he fiddles with a piece of tape, the curve of that smirk still lingering on his face.

It’s not fair, and it’s not right, but fuck - it’s happening anyway.

He lifts his eyes to meet yours at the wrong time, catching the way your longing expression betrays every single thought in your head, lets him see the wires in your mind desperately trying to revert to default settings, back to when you could look at him and just see plain old Joel. 

Not someone you feel a twisted sense of desire for.

The asshole actually chuckles. Crosses his arms over his chest and grins. Like he’s enjoying it.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dropping low enough to make your breath hitch in your throat. “I’m gonna start thinkin’ you mean somethin’ by it.”

Your stomach tightens, your fingers curl, nails digging into your palms just to keep yourself grounded. Because this - this isn’t some simple teasing.

Not really. It’s something else. Something risky.

Something that makes your mouth go dry, makes your pulse thunder in your ears, makes you feel like the ground beneath your feet isn’t quite stable anymore.

You inhale sharply, but you can’t breathe.

Because what the fuck is this? What is he doing? And why does it make something twist deep inside you in a way that feels impossible to ignore?

Joel lets it sit in the air for a second, just long enough for your mind to reel, before he pushes off the table, stepping away like he didn’t just throw a lit match into dry grass.

Like he didn’t just ruin you.

You open your mouth - whether to fire back or to completely fall apart, you have no idea, but then -

The door of the cabin swings open.

“Goddamn service out here is useless,” your dad grumbles as he steps inside, dusting off his jeans. “Drove in circles ‘cause my damn phone wouldn’t load the map - ”

He stops short when he sees you.

The heat that had been simmering low in your stomach, crawling under your skin, is gone in an instant, doused like a fire dumped with ice water.

You barely manage to pull yourself together before your dad’s eyes widen in surprise.

“What the - ” his gaze flickers, sharp with confusion. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Your stomach lurches, because for one terrifying second, you’re still standing in the previous moment. Still caught in the way Joel looked at you, still reeling from the way he spoke to you.

But your dad, blissfully fucking oblivious, is giving you a perfect out.

And you take it.

His shock at seeing you here keeps his focus off the way you’re still holding your hands in tight fists, shifts the attention off the fact that Joel is leaning against the arm of the sofa now with that same damn smirk, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You swallow hard, forcing a grin. “Surprise.”

Your dad blinks. “Wait - ” He glances between you and Joel, brows furrowing. “What’s goin’ on?”

And just like that, Joel steps in, completely relaxed, totally unaffected, like the past five minutes never happened.

“Fooled ya, old man.” he says, his voice a smooth, lazy drawl as he strolls past you and claps your dad on the back, looking back at you as if he didn’t just leave you standing in the middle of the room with your heart still in your throat. “Happy birthday.”

Your dad’s face is still twisted in confusion, but you can see it forming, the slow realization, the way his brain is piecing it all together.

His eyes flick to the decorations, the banner, the gifts stacked near the fire.

His shoulders drop. “You planned this?”

You nod, smiling through whatever the hell just happened inside you. “Yeah. Thought you deserved a break.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Your dad exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw, shaking his head like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Well, shit,” he mutters. “Didn’t see this comin’.”

You laugh, stepping forward as he pulls you into a tight hug. “Thanks, kiddo. This is - hell, I don’t even know what to say.”

Joel watches the whole exchange with an unreadable expression. You glance at him over your dad’s shoulder, and he meets your eye for just a second before looking away.

Your dad finally pulls back, shaking his head, still looking a little stunned. He’s never been great at surprises, always too caught up in work to expect something like this.

“Well,” he grunts, scratching his head. “Damn. You two really pulled one over on me, huh?” His eyes flicker over to the fire. “Been a long time since I actually…” he sighs, hesitating. “Since I just sat down and relaxed, y’know?”

“Then sit down,” Joel says, nudging him towards the couch. “Now’s as good an excuse as any. Ain’t every day you hit the big five-oh.”

Your dad grumbles something under his breath, but he listens. Sinks down onto the worn sofa with a deep groan, stretching his legs out, sighing when the warmth from the fire reaches him.

Joel smirks, satisfied.

“I’ll grab you a beer,” he says, already moving towards the back room. “C’mon, kid, gimme a hand.”

There’s no reason for you to go with him. None.

But Joel doesn’t wait for your answer. His hand finds the small of your back, steering you towards the kitchen before you can even think of an excuse.

Your dad doesn’t even look up. Just waves him off, mumbling something about not taking all night.

But you?

You’re barely breathing.

You step into the cramped kitchen, tucked around the corner from the open living area. Joel opens the fridge and leans down, the old appliance buzzing as he pulls out a few bottles. He straightens slowly, glancing sideways at you as the fridge door thumps shut.

The air is heavier here, thicker with something you’re afraid to name. Joel's eyes skim over your face carefully. He holds out a beer, and your fingers brush as you take it from him, sending a fresh wave of heat through your belly.

He leans a little closer, voice lowering into something hushed, something just for you.

“Y’good, sweetheart?” he asks softly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes flicker down briefly, lingering shamelessly on your lips before dragging slowly back up. “Look a lil’ flustered.”

You swallow hard, your breath lost somewhere in your throat.

“I'm fine,” you manage to whisper.

Joel’s eyes darken slightly, and he shifts closer still, not quite touching, but close enough that the warmth of his body radiates through the thin space between you. His voice dips lower, rougher, his words sliding into a drawl that makes your pulse thrum even harder.

“Y'know,” he murmurs slowly, eyes holding yours with deliberate intensity, “you keep givin’ me that look every time I get close like this… I'm gonna assume you're imaginin' the same kinda trouble I am.”

The air knocks from your lungs, heart tripping into your ribs so hard you swear he can hear it.

You should say something. Laugh it off. Pretend like your stomach isn’t currently twisting itself into knots.

But you can’t.

And Joel fucking knows it. 

He watches the way your lips part like you want to speak, but can’t. Watches the way your breath stutters, the way your shoulders tense at the boldness of his words.

He lets one last beat pass between you, long enough for you to feel it.

Then, finally, he steps back. Too casual.

Like he didn’t just flip your entire fucking world upside down.

He twists the cap off his beer, tips it back for a long sip, then lets his tongue drag over his lips, eyes flicking to you one last time.

He gives you that same annoying, enticing goddamn smirk.

“C’mon, kid.” he drawls, his voice holding a different weight, a new, mischievous edge.

“Let’s not keep your old man waitin’.”

@joeldjarin @bbyanarchist @cuteanimalmama @jovl-millvr @missladym1981 @mellymbee @picketniffler @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pattwtf @ashleyfilm @goodvibesonly421 @justajoelsreader @pedritospunk @underchaos @shansphotos

[mrsnegan]

Wow 🥵. There's never enough praise for this fantastic series! The angst, the smut, the setting! The writing itself is perfection, I wish I could write like this.

By far one of my favorites for sure! I can't wait for the next part!

to call you mine - series masterlist

hi, hello! 🖤 ✨ some of you may have read my dbf!joel snippets before, but this series is taking us WAY BACK, back to where it all began. buckle up, i hope you enjoy! taglist is open ✨

How is it that in one simple, fleeting moment, the dynamic with the constant in your life, your dad’s best buddy, old, gruff Joel Miller.. shifts into the most thrilling, turbulent secret you’re forced to keep under wraps?

If only you knew where it was always doomed to lead.

MDNI* this series WILL contains mature and explicit themes 🫶🏻

Pairing: dbf!joel x reader

1: kindling

2: upper hand

3: combing through the wreckage

[mrsnegan]

It's giving Joel and Negan vibes and I'm totally here for it. 🥵🔥

What if I pulled your panties to the side and fucked the stress out of you?

[mrsnegan]

Mean Joel does things to me. Gosh, so damn hot. 🫠 The hand on reader's throat? Yes please. 🥵

Sentimental Nonsense

Joel Miller × f!reader

Warnings: [18+] Reader has a savior complex, unprotected P in V, rough sex, degredation, age gap: reader is in her 20s, Joel is in his 50's, Joel is MEAN, toxic dynamic, overstimulation, choking (for a short period of time), Joel is emotionally unavailable (he definitely loves her but refuses to acknowledge it), mean!joel has my heart, angsty, no closure or comfort

wc: 2.7k!!!

Summary: Ever since he'd arrived in Jackson, you were all over Joel. Too nice, too caring, too loving. Everything you gave him was all sentimental nonsense. One night, Joel has decided he's had enough of your pity and takes that into his own hands.

"I want to help you, Joel! You're hurting!"

A dark chuckle premiates through the room as he shakes his head in exasperation. His hardened eyes lock on yours. "You think you know me? Huh?" His tall frame rises from the sofa, heavy foot steps approaching you. You frown as he comes closer, suddenly feeling small, feeling embarrassed. Embarrassed for caring so much about Joel.

"But—"

You begin as your back hits the wall. His large hand quickly glues itself against your lips as he barks out his words just several inches from your face.

"Shut up." His teeth are gritted, eyes angry as his jaw locks tightly. You still continue to pleadingly stare into his dark brown eyes. The beautiful pools of pained chocolate brown. This causes him to squeeze your mouth harder.

"Fuckin' stop. Stop fucking trying to figure something out. Quit lookin' at me." He grits out the words, voice hoarse and deep. "Get out of my head."

Tears well up in your eyes without accord. You care for him, always have since he'd arrived in Jackson. Tried to take care of Ellie, tried to drop off homemade dinners at his house, and trays of cookies.

You were always around. Always following him around due to some dumb girly crush. He could see through you because he'd lived long enough and dealt with enough young women to know. It annoys him. It annoys him how kind you are, how beautiful you are, how fucking right you are.

Your lip wobbles and his eyes travel down to observe you tremble. He isn't blind to the apparant savior complex you have towards him. He knows you love him. Stupid sentimental nonsense. That's all it is.

A look of disgust crosses his features as he himself stares into your glossy bright eyes. Whatever he'd shown then reverts to the hardened face he possesses at most times, his perfect lips in a tightened line. Next thing you know, he's forcefully spinning you around, pressing your front against the wall. The jacket he wears is thick, warm against you as his hands grip your hips. He leans down against your ear, breathing hotly.

"God..." He groans in frustration, wrapping his arms around your midsection. "God you won't get outta my head. What are you tryin to do t'me? Huh?"

"I'm sorry..." You whisper, body shuddering at the feeling of the strong hands that pave their way up your belly. "Joel—"

He lets out a slow breath into the side of your neck. "I said be quiet."

You inhale as you open your mouth to begin to speak. He hears this and twists you back around to face him again, large hand moving to clamp around your mouth like before. He shakes his head, lips in a disappointed frown. "Don't listen d'ya girl? That's okay." He hums as his free hand runs across the softness of your chest, feeling up your breasts through the fabric of your gown.

It turns you on that he manhandles you, gets in your face, and puts you down. Yes, it hurts, but he must be hurting, too. You know he's hurting. So you let him, you let him handle you while that place in between your legs throbs with need for his touch. It makes you feel validated in a twisted sense.

"I'll shut'ya ass up m'self. Hm? I like you better when you're quiet. when you do what you're told."

His breath trembles, his hands shake. And it angers him. It angers him that you've consumed his very being, broken into his damaged psyche. He feels ugly and exposed to you, and it makes him feel pathetic and weak. Your beautiful smile, glowing hair, your kind nature, the way you smell. It made him weak. And he lets himself give as he hikes you up from the ground, your legs clinging around his waist desperately, as if he's what you truly need. That fact makes him sick to his stomach. Even though he treats you like you're nothing, you come back to him.

Pathetic.

This desperate need you have for him is conflicted among the blood that rushes to his cock and the pressure of guilt in his chest. A sweet young thing attached at his hip, prying into his head, taking care of the things he should be dealing with himself.

A sharp sigh leaves your lips as he slides the silky fabric of your sweet night gown up your thigh. Calloused hands paving up, slowly and sensually, contradicting the violent storm inside of him. Your head tilts back as fingers snap the waistband of your cotton panties with a satisfying slap against you.

Goosebumps erupt across your skin in reaction to his teasing touches. Next, he moves his fingers to slide your dampened panties to the side, observing a thick string of arousal cling to the fabric as he peels it away. His chest rumbles, face flushing at that obscene image before him. Your body drove him crazy.

"You shouldn't get this wet over an old man. What's wrong with you, huh?" He begins, shaking his head, moving those two fingers back to your slick core, eyes glued to the movement of his large thick fingers laving through your cunt.

A small whine is all he earns in response to his taunting and that is enough for him. Nothing coming from your mouth makes him hurt just a little bit less. Compliant and quiet is all he needs from you.

"Oh, I know, sweetheart..." He coos mockingly before sinking one finger into your wet heat. A moan slips from him as he crooks that finger against your soft insides, slowly, just to really make you feel it. For you to remember the way his fingers rub into that spot that sends lightning down your spine.

"Oh god. Joel, please..." You dont know what you beg for, and neither does he. Faster? Harder? Slower? Stop?

His eyes stay attached to his pumping fingers coated in your slick, the sound of your juices and pulsing walls squelching against the punch of his fingers. It makes him dizzy. It feels like a hit off of the best drug with the worst side effects.

That's what you are. A side effect.

"Shh. Don't need ta' speak. Dont need to think. I'll do it for ya. You just focus on cumming alright? Focus on my fingers sweetheart." And he adds a second finger, curling them rapidly against your special spot until he hears those sharp and high little moans. Chuckling darkly, he speeds up, watching your breasts jiggle slightly at his intense pace until you begin to clench around his digits, tightening so hotly as you cum, a trickle of your spend traveling down his wrist as you begin to tremble, legs and arms wrapped around his body so you don't fall. He uses his other hand to caress your clit with soft circles. Just to draw it out, just to get off on your squirming. Just to punish you for being so kind in a world of pain. For knowing him so well.

After a few minutes , he sees sweet tears spilling down your cheeks. Reluctantly, he pulls his soaked hand from your swollen core.

"That's it, thats it. Come down, yeah? That feel good?"

That's what he does. He talks you through it. This poor girl. He thinks to himself. This pathetic poor girl who seemingly hasnt had a good orgasm in her life, falling apart on an old man's fingers.

Joel moves your slumped body against his fully clothed one with ease and, without another thought, deposits your lithe form on the rickety sofa. Your silk night gown is pulled off over your head and tossed away somewhere in the dark room. Then, your ruined panties are slid down your legs and thrown along carelessly with that gown. You finally gain a level of clarity from your fogged brain to observe the broad man undoing his pants, pushing them messily down his thighs halfway.

"Hey." He bites suddenly, gently taking the side of your jaw into his warm hand. The touch is soft, but his face is stern, eyes blackened.

"M'gonna fuck you, okay?" And with one knee between your thighs, he knocks open your legs before reaching into his jacket pocket to reveal a cloth. Your eyes glace over at it in confusion. Before you can ask, he places it over your eyes, tying it messily around your head.

"I know what you'll do. think you'll be able to see how I feel. no, you can't. not when there ain't no feelin'." The gruff words break your heart. But you give, and he takes, you love him enough to know. you'll be patient, it's okay. And when he settles between your legs, you know you don't need to think. he'll do it for you.

Joel pumps himself, head tilting back towards the ceiling, bracing the tip of his thick cock right against your soaked cunt. He is a patient man. He takes his time. Just to savor the only chance to feel as if he is in control with you. Pleasured grunts leave his throat as he slides his throbbing length against your slippery center, nerves on fire. You gasp as he purposely circles the tip against your swollen clit.

You wish you could take off this stupid blindfold to witness him moaning, eyes closed, greying brows furrowed, sweat on his brow. But the only sight you're granted is the blackness of the cloth and the sound of his chesty groans gracing your ears.

"God. God I'm fucked up for this. And you're fuckin' stupid. Stupid for letting me do this to you. Yer' a goddamn mess."

Demeaning his words are, but you moan at the sound of it, bracing your hands against his clothed shoulders, just longing to feel the wired muscle underneath. Fuck.

Correction, Joel is not a patient man. In one fluid motion, he slides his thick cock right into your tight and wet heat. No giving you time to adjust, no coos and sweet words. No praise. Just laying it on you thick, savoring the pulse of your soft, wet insides.

"oh- oh fuck. so wet arent ya? hm?" He presses, hands holding your hips in a bruising grip as he begins to rock against you, admiring that deep blush that coats your cheeks, that fucking widened mouth. He imagines he could fill up your mouth with his cock to really shut up your sweet, sweet gasps and moans. Choke you out and flood your throat with his thick cum. That would teach you.

In and out in and out, slowly, deeply.

Joel speeds up his thrusts, fingers that have now moved from your hips to your bouncing breasts, now sure to leave bruises. He doesn't care. Not when you squeeze him so tightly. His fingers begin softly rub your nipples as his hips audibly clap against your sensitive bundle of nerves, that thick thatch of wiry hair rubbing you so intensely.

He's going to cum soon if he doesnt slow down. It angers him further. Your body is tearing him apart, making him feel weak, like a brainless fucking teenager again. So he slows down his thrusts to intense grinding against you. The shocking change from hard thrusts to deep grinding has literal tears spilling from your eyes, soaked up by the black cloth. He sees it. He watches the fabric darken further.

"Oh baby." He begins, still twisting his hips as he speaks gruffly into your ear. "It's so deep, isn't it? so deep. feel me in your guts, huh?"

A sharp whine and your body bucking up from underneath him is the response he earns. It's so good, the way you thrash as if the overstimulation inside you is burning, tearing your mind apart. Good. he thinks to himself. That's what you get for turning me into a distracted fool.

Once the rough pad of his finger feels for your burning clit, you cant take it anymore. You plead for him to move again, to do something, to make you cum, to make you feel important. Useful to him. The thrash of your hips wont convince him.

"Naw... naw I want you to cum like this. You will cum like this." He adds.

"Joel." You sob, digging your much smaller hands into his back. He grunts, dropping his head onto your breasts, sweat pooling from his forehead down your navel. "Oh my god—! Joel... Joel..." At this point, you're hyperventilating, and he grinds against your clit once- twice- three times before you finally unravel.

He gasps as your core clamps down around his length, once soft, your insides clench and throb, taking his breath away. You always take his breath away. He's tired of it.

So his massive hand wraps around your throat. He collects himself before resuming his thrusts, except they're harder, deeper. You scream out when you cum, hands moving to pull at the grey hairs on the base of his skull. If he focuses hard enough he can feel tracks of your slick dripping down his cock, down his balls, matting down the thick hair on his thighs. A fuckin mess. Just like him.

Just like you.

You quite literally can't breathe. A mix of your overstimulating orgasm and that hand around your throat. His hand tightens. Panic begins to flood you, and he notices this, pulling his face from your chest, thrusts never letting up, but his hand loosens. Relief floods you while you fight for that precious oxygen.

"Hey." He gently slaps at your ruddy cheek. "Cmon. Breathe. I know. I know. You just feel so good, dontcha baby? Fuckin' need me like oxygen."

He notices the waver in his own voice. So close. He is so close. Before he can think, not like he could with the impending orgasm, he rips that blindfold from your beautiful eyes. Eyes that are watered and dumb. Dumb from his large cock. It fills him with a sick pride to have broken you down like this.

"Jah- Jo—el..."

You're inentelligable. Quickly, he returns a hand to your throat one final time, forcing you to look into his eyes. You're unable to see anything but him. Him. Him. Him.

"Baby- im so sorry, baby..." He mumbles this, but you hear him. You know you hear him. One final tear slides down your cheek before he cums deeply inside you.

Joel sounds like an animal, he groans, almost sounding pained, before jamming his hips against you one more time before you feel that thick, hot, cum fill your tingling pussy. Blooms of searing warmth spread from your toes to your head.

Several minutes go by. Neither of you has spoken, but what really needs to be said? His sweating and panting form eventually peels from your body, leaving you dripping cum on the uncomfortable sofa. The sofa feels itchy and sticky against your skin.

He has risen to do up his pants, but he remains unmoving. You know he is staring at you, and like the lovesick puppy you are, you stare back up at his emotionless eyes pleadingly.

I love you, Joel.

I hate you, Joel.

Stay?

Leave.

"Quit it." He quips. "You're makin' a mistake. Final warning."

He leaves you alone, used up, and a mess. No more words. But you love it, you love Joel. You want to make him happy as much as you're able. You know Joel doesn't need you, but you will always need him until there comes a day you never see him again, because in this world, it's easy to lose. But you don't want to think anymore. You'll torture yourself doing that, anyway. You wish Joel hadn't left, so he could take those thoughts away.

"Dont need to think, I'll do it for ya."

———

♡♡♡

[mrsnegan]

Holy shit. 🥵

This work of art needs so much more praise. Good god, want him to do that to me too.

Pillow Talk- A Joel Miller x f!reader one shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI WC: 1.6k

Tags: Joel Miller x f!reader, established relationship, unprotected PIV,  D/s dynamics, soft Dom!Joel, pleasure dom!Joel, spanking (mentioned), Joel-typical pet names (darlin’, sugar, baby, sweet girl), Joel calls reader a good girl, reader refers to herself as a slut once, light choking/ hand around reader’s throat. Minimal descriptions of reader. She has hair that is long enough to tie back in to a ponytail/ grab. no use of Y/N. 

A/N: Last week was crappy, and I wrote this to make myself feel better. Phew, this is just straight up porn without plot, and I’m not even sorry. I hope you enjoy!

The cool fabric of the pillow did nothing to soothe your burning cheeks when your face pressed against it, goose feather stuffing catching your breathless moans, swallowing them in to silence beneath the thick weight of want in the air. 

You were exactly where you wanted to be, where you’d spent all week dreaming about- pinned in place face down by Joel as he set an unyielding rhythm, thrusting into you from behind with the fervour you’d begged for minutes before, when you’d still been on all fours, ass stinging from where his hand collided with it. Tears streaked down your heated face, repeating filthy affirmations back to him before each sharp slap. 

I’m your sweet girl. I promise I’ll be good. I belong to you. I was made for you to fuck me. I love it when you fuck me so dumb I can’t think. I’ll take everything you give me. I love being your dirty little slut. Please fuck me.

You’d keened under softer touches, calloused fingertips dragging over raised welts as he soothed your prickling skin with kisses and the ghosted breath of whispered praise. His fingers moved to brush between your legs, sliding through the slick that had gathered there, pushing two curled fingers in to you before spreading the evidence of the two orgasms he’d already pulled from you with his tongue and his fingers across your folds. You’d tried to rock back against his hand, moaning through the remaining shudders of your sobs, but he removed them with a chuckle the moment you did, tutting when you cried out at their absence, quivering breaths giving way to frantic pleas. 

“Don’t worry, needy girl, you’ll get another.”

You weren’t sure when your arms had given out, but it only seemed to have spurred Joel on, content to fuck you down in to the mattress and revel in the noises he pulled from you as he did. 

The edge of your hearing caught his ragged breaths and mumbles of praise, even as your thoughts started to quiet and your limbs began to feel weightless. You gave your whole self to him and he took it all. Your trust in him never faltered, he always knew exactly what you needed. He always took such good care of you. 

“That’s it, baby. Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me,” he rasped, punctuating the words with hard thrusts, each one knocking the breath from your lungs and the thoughts further from your brain. 

His fingers fisted in your hair, tugging your face away from the pillow, your moans spilling out on to the mattress now that they were no longer muffled. 

“There we go, sweet girl. Tell me- Tell me how much y’need this.”

Your breath caught, turning your words even more desperate. “I need it- please Joel, I need-”

He deepened his thrusts, pulling you impossibly closer each time with a tug of your ponytail wrapped around his fist. His other hand gripped your hip like a vice, making sure that you knew there was nowhere for you to go other than exactly where he wanted you. 

The air burned as it hit your lungs, sucked up through jagged gasps. Everything blurred. Joel was the only thing you could focus on. Your hands numbly searched for something to hold on to, but you’d lost the ability to grip anything. 

You whined as the last vestiges of your thoughts slipped away from you, replaced by a heat licking from deep within your core, smouldering embers that had burst in to flame. It spread like wildfire, consuming every other sensation. Your thighs trembled as you clenched around Joel’s length, drawing a growl of satisfaction from him. 

“Fuck, baby. Look at you- takin’ everything I give you. Made for me. All mine, ain’t you?”

When you didn’t answer, the hand clenched in your hair moved to curl around your throat, pulling you up so hard that your back slammed against his chest. He didn’t lose his pace, thrusting up in to you as hard as he had been before without pause. 

“Ain’t you?” Joel snarled against your ear, tightening his grip just under your jaw. You let out a strangled cry and a garbled noise of agreement, the molten heat in your belly expanding, sparking and bubbling up through your chest. 

“Answer me. C’mon. Use your words.” 

Your thighs quivered as the tension from your core trickled down in to your muscles, making them twitch as they burned white hot along with the rest of you. Your throat was hoarse, and you barked out a reply, throat tight under his fingers.  

“Yes- fuck! Yes, Joel. I’m yours. I’m yours, I’m-”

The words trailed back in to gasped moans and feeble pleas and your hands clawed at his forearm for purchase, gasping against the effort to keep yourself upright. As if he could read your mind, his other arm moved to squeeze around your middle, holding you tighter against him. 

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” Joel gritted out, his breath cooler than your burning skin. He groaned in to the hair at the nape of your neck and the sound urged you ever closer to the edge of your release. Your walls fluttered, tightening around him in a desperate pull. He cried out, thrusting harder against the sensation; chasing your pleasure like he could use it to sate his own desire. 

“That’s it- fuck- so fuckin’ perfect. Come f’me. Let me feel it.” 

Every muscle in your body locked, seizing all at once- tight and aching. You were silent for a moment before the wave of pleasure receded all the way out, only to slam back in to you. You were powerless to do anything but let it crash over you, molten tendrils of rapture carried on the crest of the wave as your body convulsed helplessly under Joel’s clutches.

He didn’t slow his pace, he kept thrusting up in to you, his low groans vibrating the sensitive skin behind your ear, adding to the rolling shockwaves of your orgasm. Your moans broke to sobs before you could stop them, emotions spilling out of you as you broke apart completely in Joel’s hands. He held you together as you jolted with aftershocks, pressing himself flush against you as his thrusts turned erratic. 

His grip tightened, almost bruising as he slammed in to you one last time, spilling inside you with a deep growl. He buried his face against your neck, as his groans morphed in to light whimpers as he rode through his release, clinging to you like you’d keep him afloat against the wave of it. The hand at your throat slid up to cup your face, whether to hold you close or save your head from lolling forward in the absence of a support, you weren’t sure, but you were grateful for it. 

You tried, and failed, to match his breaths as they steadied, his hips slowing to a stop. Your tears pooled against his thumb and he swiped them away, the calloused pad of his fingertip leaving a blazing sting across your burning cheek. You stayed like that a moment, both content not to move or break apart. The world was hazy and you were unable to make out the words Joel was murmuring against your skin. His tone was warm with satisfaction though, and the feeling of his voice rumbling in his chest against your back gave you something else to focus on as you floated back down to earth.

He slid out of you and lowered you down on to the sheets. The fabric was cool and you hissed at the contrast in temperature in the seconds before it felt nice against you. There was a rush of air against your skin as Joel peeled himself from you. You winced at the loss of his weight against you, feeling less grounded without it. Before you could voice any disquiet, his touch returned, rolling you gently on to your back, low murmured praise tumbling through the air to soothe you, low and soft, wrapping around you as warm as any blanket. 

The press of a warm cloth between your legs was so gentle you barely registered it as he cleaned you up, the fingers of his other hand tracing lines against your upper arm. Your sobs faded to hiccuped breaths, and you focused on the slow rhythm of Joel’s strokes against your skin, following the pattern like he’d taught you to do. 

“Y’did so well, baby. Atta girl, you breathe f’me. That’s it.” 

Joel settled back on to the mattress beside you, hooking an arm around your waist to roll you against to him. Your cheek came to rest on his chest and he shivered slightly as your breath chilled the beads of sweat still scattered across his skin. He peppered kisses against your temple, punctuation to murmured adoration against your hairline.

You’re so perfect, baby. So damn beautiful. Can’t ever get enough of you, never will. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re the best thing in my life, sweetheart. I could stay here forever. I love you so much. 

His words were a balm, sinking under your skin to ease your muscles and replace any residual bewilderment with a glowing, contented sense of safety. 

Joel’s ability to take you apart with ministrations of pleasure, to take the parts of your anxiety-riddled brain and still them- even just for a little while-  was nothing short of a gift. An extra perk of the love you shared for one another, a vow unspoken at the altar, but honoured often. 

You hummed happily in to his chest as you drifted off, exhaustion winning over to pull you under, safe in the knowledge that no matter how broken you were, Joel would always be there to piece you back together.

[mrsnegan]

Scratch That Itch

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel catches you taking care of yourself and decides to help you out.

Warnings: age gap, a sprinkle of angst, lots of smut (so 18+ only), f!masturbation (reader is ovulating and horny af), semi-public activities, dirty talk galore, f!oral (Joel is pussy eating king), spitting kink, Joel tries to be responsible, reader may have a tiny breeding kink, mentions of m!oral, fingering, brief mention of fisting, squirting

A/N: Well, this escalated a bit. I reblogged a piture of Pedro with a little Joel drabble and decided to make a oneshot out of it. Have fun reading, feedback is always appreciated!

"What is it with you today?" Joel sits opposite of you, eyeing you over the rim of his glass.The Tipsy Bison is crowded, leaving almost no room to move, leave alone to get a good breath of fresh air. Which is exactly what you need right now. Your skin feels sticky, heated even, and not only because of too many people in one place in the middle of summer.

You're ovulating, you think, because there's no other sane explanation for your sudden need. And of all people you could be lusting over, it's Joel. Grumpy "leave me alone" Joel who currently helps you with fixing the roof of your home because he used to work in constructions and is good with his hands. Joel, older than you by nearly two decades, who you invited for a drink as a thank you for helping you out. Joel who can be equal parts intimidating and caring. Everything about Joel is strength and skill and warmth - the latter if you happen to be one of the few people of his inner circle, those who he cares about. He's private, doesn't take shit and smalltalk, his reputation well-known and sometimes feared. Joel with his greying hair, trimmed beard and those chocolate eyes, manly and capable.

You gulp heavily, taking another sip of your drink, thighs pressing together under the table to get a little bit of friction. What the hell is wrong with you?

"It's nothing. Just...a bit hot in here," you answer, eyes avoiding him.

"You're a bad liar, darlin'," he states and takes a long sip from his Whiskey. You can't help but look at his throat rhythmically swallowing the burning liquid. There's one single bead of sweat travelling down the column of his throat and you're dying to lick it off of him. You feel the need between your legs intensify.

"Excuse me for a sec, will you? Need to...use the bathroom real quick." Without waiting for his answer, you stand up, avoiding to look at him, and head straight for the restrooms at the other end of the Tipsy Bison. Breath quickening with every footstep, you try to make your way through the people chatting and drinking, bumping into various bodies, apologizing quickly and praying nobody wants to chat with you.

When you finally reach the door to the restrooms, you open one and quickly close it behind you, your body hitting its dark wood with a thud. An all-consuming desire for release washes over you, your fingers working faster than your mind. With little effort you slip your hand into the waistband of your shorts and touch yourself over the cotton of your underwear.

"Fuck," you whimper at the contact, realising how soaked the material is. The need for relief is too big to stop now so you yank down your shorts and panties to your knees, upper body leaning against the door again afterwards. Your fingers find your bare folds, slippery and needy to be touched.

You moan, a bit too loud maybe, but you can't help yourself. As depraved as this might be, it's all hormones, you try to reason with yourself. Better get it out of your system now than risk an even bigger mistake.

The pleasure shooting through your body drowns out everything around you. There are footsteps at the other end of the door you don't register until you feel rather than hear a knock.

"Everything alright?"

Shit, fuck. It's Joel outside the door. You panic, torn between finishing your business and pulling your shorts back up, heart hammering uncontrollably. By the time you finally decide to stop touching yourself, it's too late. You feel the door pushing against your back and damn yourself for not locking it proberly.

"No, no, it's...everything's fine," you stammer breathlessly, trying to push back and close the door again, but of course Joel is stronger, making you stumble forward. You catch yourself by gripping one of the nearby sinks, blood turning cold the second you lock eyes with Joel through the mirror who now stands frozen in the doorway.

It takes several heartbeats which feel like an eternity before he closes the door with a bang, instantly locking it without even turning his gaze away from you.

Quickly you look down at your hands, gripping the edge of the sink like a lifeline, coming up with an excuse for all of this.

"Look...it's...hormones, okay? Don't know why you're making me all horny and...fuck...I'm...ovulating or some shit, just wanted to take care...real quick before, you know, I jump you...I'm sorry...," you babble, hands flying to your shorts to pull them up again when you feel his presence right behind you. There's a shift in the energy all around you, you can feel in the air. Frozen with your ass sticking out, Joel's touch burns your skin, his hands grabbing the flesh of your round globes, crowding you from behind.

The low rumble from deep within his chest makes your whole body tingle, your cheeks aflame with embarrassment and arousal alike.

With great effort you haul yourself up into a standing position again, hands resting on the sink, his own still anchored on your flesh. You dread to look in the mirror, afraid what you will find there gazing back at you, but you do it anyway.

Joel's eyes are instantly catching yours in the reflection, his pupils dialated.

You stare at each other, unable to move. The throbbing between your legs intensifies with every passing moment, making it unbearable to stand still any longer. Transfixed with Joel's intense stare and his hands on you, you push back against him, the movement suptle at first. Surely he can smell your desperation for release, the need to be touched and filled. It's plainly written all over your face.

Like in trance you move against him, his scent surrounding you.

"Hurting, ain't ya?" His voice is deep and rich, a mix of Whiskey and sirupy honey combined to the most delicious treat.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut when his hands leave your ass to find a new home on the edge of the sink next to your own, caging you in some more. His hips start grinding against you, driving a whimper out of you.

"Joel," you breathe.

"Want me to help you out?"

Biting your lip, you nod absently, relishing in your shared movements. You can feel him stiffening through his jeans, his breath hot against your neck.

One of his hands finds your hip, fingertips drawing patterns on your heated skin. They keep playing with you, exploring you, drifting to your inner thigh and then back.

"Please," you whimper, mouth slightly agape from just this.

Just when you think he will finally relent and touch you where you need him the most, he bends over slightly to pull your shorts and underwear back up over your ass.

"My place, ten minutes," is all he says before his warmth leaves your body completely and you watch him through the mirror head to the door, turn the lock and leave. Chest heaving, you stare at the now closed door, your arousal dripping into your already soaked panties, ruining them for good.

Ten minutes feel like an eternity. You push yourself through the sea of people, your body vibrating from what just happened and what's about to happen. You step out of the Tipsy Bison into the warm night, heading straight for Joel's home.

You can still feel his hands on you, the ghost of a touch between your thighs. Your underwear clings to your body, sticky with your own juices, the feeling both unpleasent and thrilling alike.

In no time you find yourself in front of Joel's door, knocking urgently.

You don't have to wait long for the door to fly open and Joel pulling you inside with a force you don't expect. Your back lands against the closed door, his tall frame towering over you. At the thought of him surely smelling your need with how close he is, your pulse quickens, heat rising up to your ears.

With a thundering heart, you stare at him staring back at you. His gaze is hungry, intimidating even. There's passion and need. There's hunger, a hunger for you. The realization drives a whimper from deep within your throat.

"If I had known you're this desperate and squirmin' for me to touch you, I would've given it to you already," he breaks the silence, eyes trained on yours. "Young thing like you wants an old man like me...unbelievable," he adds, more to himself than towards you.

"I do," you whisper, your hands touching the weathered skin of his face. "So much."

The magnetic pull between the two of you is undeniable, the kiss finally following sealing your fate. His lips touch yours, tongue seeking entrance into your mouth. Moaning into the kiss, you gladly take him in, pulling him into you with desperation.

His hips seek friction, his own hands roaming your body before one of his hands finds your hair while the other one wanders around to squeeze your ass.

"You've no fuckin' idea how hard your little stunt back there got me." His mouth wanders down your throat, leaving a wet path.

"Please show me, need it."

He sucks on your skin, blinding need rushing through your bloodstream. "Fuck, please touch me."

His hips stop their movements, the hand in your hair tightening. "Touching you already. Not enough?"

Another whimper leaves your mouth, this time because Joel's pulling away again.

"Patience darlin'."

The new sensations cloud your mind, his touch burning hot on your skin, turning you into to puddle of arousal.

You have absolutely no idea how the hell you end up on his sofa. He pushes you down with one gentle hand and you comply without resistance. Then he's back between your legs, finally pulling down your shorts. They land somewhere in the room, carelessly tossed away and you can't care less.

"Fuckin' aching, ain't you? Let's see what I'm workin' with."

Embarrassment slowly creeps up your body. You want do cover your face because you know what he will find down there. Still you look down at him, the need to see him seeing you up close greater than your embarrassment.

Joel pushes your legs apart some more, revealing your soaked cotton underwear to his ravenous gaze.

"Fuckin' hell," he all but growls and dives right in.

A shocked shriek creeps up your throat, not expecting him to put his mouth right there.

But he does, urgently so. He inhales your scent, giving your clothed center an open-mouthed kiss, before he sucks your folds and drenched panties into his mouth.

"Oh sh-shit, Jo-el."

Your head falls back onto the cushion beneath you and you cover your mouth with your hands to suppress the scream threatening to escape.

Joel notices and pulls back.

"No darlin', want to hear you."

There's no time for you to prepare for what's to come, because Joel is fast. He rips your panties with one hard tug and puts his mouth where you need him the most, tongue circling your entrace, licking his way upwards to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

Words have left your brain, your mind clouded with the sheer pleasure Joel provides with just his tongue.

"Does that scratch that itch, darlin'?" he asks and you nod absently.

"Use your words or did I suck your voice right outta your cunt?"

The bluntness of his words makes you tingle all over. Who knew grumpy Joel was this good at talking dirty?

"So good," you manage to say, the fingers joining his mouth distracting you.

You feel him gently rubbing your already slick folds. And then he spits a good amount of his salvia right onto your clit, spreading your wetness and his spit all over your center. You nearly lose it, arching your back and canting your hips into his hand, the lewd gesture driving you wild.

You hear Joel chuckle, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

"So responsive, so desperate."

He pushes two of his fingers into your tight channel, tongue returning to your clit and you scream at how good it feels.

Loud moans, heavy breathing and the shlick sound of him fingering you fill the air, a perverse symphony of desire.

"Want you, Joel," you mumble, head thrown back in pleasure from his fingers and tongue working on you.

He pulls back slightly, looking at you squirming for him.

"I know, darlin'. But not tonight. Won't be able to pull out, don't want to risk it."

Chest heaving, you pull yourself up a bit, resting on your lower arms while you look down at him.

You know exactly what he means, how desperately he wants you too, but won't risk knocking you up while you're ovulating. His confession not being able to pull out once he's burried himself in your heat drives you mad with lust. You want him there, so badly, want him to pulse and moan and spill inside of you. It's reckless and probably the most stupid thing to fantasize about, all the same your mind won't shut up.

"But what about you?"

Joel stills his fingers inside of you.

"Doesn't matter right now."

"How gentlemanly of you. But it does for me."

He smirks at you, fingers moving again.

"You want to make me feel good or just need my cock inside of you?"

His words drive fresh heat to your cheeks.

"Both?"

Joel laughs at that, bending down again to kiss your clit, making your thighs quiver.

"Oh? Well, darlin', if you insist, there are other holes f'me to use, I guess."

You choke on your own spit at his words and the bastard laughs even more.

"Can lend me a hand too, if y'want. Or watch me. Up to you."

With a thud you let yourself fall back on the sofa, eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure cursing through your veins. His fingers pump in and out of you steadily now.

"I want you in my mouth," you confess, more a whisper than anything else.

He stills between your legs once more, a low rumble leaves his chest at your words.

"Takin' you up on that offer, darlin'," he answers before driving back in.

Moan after moan leaves your lips like a prayer, his name spilling from your lips, tasting so damn delicious.

He laps at you like a starving man, eating you out passionately. His fingers retreat, glistening with your arousal, and are replaced with his tongue, licking into your heat.

You whimper at the stimulation, fingers gripping his hair tightly, rocking your body against his face.

Joel moans, the sound shaking your whole body. If it's even possible, you get wetter, offering him your sweet nectar straight from the source.

Coming up for air, Joel bites lovingly into your inner thigh, smearing your juices all over it.

"Tastin' like sin. Want more?"

Unable to answer him properly, you nod and move your hips.

His fingers enter you again, but this time it's a much tighter fit.

"Oh fuck," you whimper, trying to look at what Joel is up to between your legs.

His eyes are trained on your center, transfixed with the view.

"Shit, look at that. Three fingers and suckin' me right in. Hungry little cunt, droolin' all over the place."

Joel's dirty talk alters your brain cells. Eyes rolling back, you relish in how full you feel, that it's him driving you straight to the edge of oblivion.

He comes up between your legs, fingers still anchored in your tight channel, his thumb finding your slick clit to draw tight circles. His upper body cages you in, his glistening lips taking yours in a desperate kiss. The taste of yourself on his tongue does it for you. You come with a cry, your walls rippling around his fingers, your sounds absorbed by his mouth.

"Fuck, that's it, good girl," Joel praises when he breaks the kiss to watch you come undone. "Beautiful."

You still shake underneath him when he picks up the pace again, driving his fingers into your heat with purpose, stroking your inner walls just right.

"Ahh, Joel..."

"Shh, it's alright. Want to see it happen again, want to see you even fuller."

At his words, you shake your head, mind still hazy from your orgasm.

"I don't think I...it's..."

"C'mon darlin', I know you can take more."

You moan at the thought of taking more than three of his fingers which are currently stretching you so deliciously.

"Want to take my cock, sure as hell can take my fingers then," he mumbles more to himself. "Probably could take my fist too."

"Joel...," you warn him breathlessly.

"Don't worry, sweet thing, not gonna push you too far just yet." He sounds drunk on your pussy, watching his fingers disappear in your sloppy channel.

The squelching sounds heat your cheeks, your body moving with his fingers, seeking more friction, more of him, more, more, always more.

You feel Joel retreat, but only for a second. Four of his fingers return, pushing past your entrace into your heat.

"Fuck, so full," you mumble in bliss, your hands fisting the cushions around you.

"That's it, so beautiful, takin' my fingers like they belong there. Wish you could see y'self right now."

His fingers drive into you, first slowly, then he's picking up the pace, stroking your most sensitive spots.

"Can feel you chokin' my fingers, darlin'. Hear that?" He fucks into you even harder, the stretch burning.

"Going to cum again, ain't ya? Let go f'me, darlin', soak my fingers real good." He presses his thumb right onto your clit and the added stimulation tips you over the edge once more.

There's nothing you can do about it, you take it, white hot pleasure washing all over you. Overpowered by your orgasm, you helplessy shake underneath him, gushing around his fingers.

"There you go," he mutters, voice rough.

Joel fucks you through it, watching more and more of your juices dripping down his hand onto the sofa.

"Oh my god," you whimper, hoarse from moaning his name over and over again.

When Joel finally pulls out of you, you gasp at the loss of his fingers.

"Fuck me," he breathlessly says, "your juicy cunt is absolutely beautiful like this. Drippin' and gapin', just how I like 'em."

"Thank you."

Joel laughs at your words, hands undoing his trousers to free his aching cock.

"You're welcome darlin', was a pleasure. Feelin' better, ain't you? Yeah, just what I thought. Takin' you up on your generous offer though."

You sit up with great effort, feeling the wetness all around your legs, the friction of your movements on the sofa nearly too much to handle for your sensitive and fucked-out cunt.

"Good girl," Joel manages before he steps in front of you, stroking his big cock with the same fingers which you soaked seconds ago. The praise sends fresh new arousal right to your core. You gently roll your hips, eyes fixed on his impressive length, mouth watering.

"Open wide, darlin', eyes up 'ere. Won't pull out of this hole until I'm comin' down that throat."

[mrsnegan]

Fucking hell. 🥵🔥🫠

joel miller • be quiet, or i’ll make you

“Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

WARNINGS - smut smut smut mdni, porn with some plot, forced proximity, feral!joel, risky/secret sex, brutal sex, size!kink, dubcon if you squint but mostly a mutual want situation, reader and joel have an unspoken relationship, copious amounts of dirty talk, piv, creampie, daddy dom joel.

The world ended in disaster.

You’ve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think you’ve finally come to terms with the kind of things you’ll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms.

You know that at this point you’ll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.

And it’s with that thought that you find yourself following Joel into the city, your steps just as reluctant as he was to agree to this. You don’t particularly want to be out here — and neither does he — but you’ve been wanting to look for more medical supplies for a while now and Joel wasn’t about to let you go alone. Despite how much bitchin’ he did beforehand.

You can’t tell which is more depressing; the streets covered in broken glass and littered with remnants of a life long gone, or the buildings that are nearly crumbling to the ground. Neither are very pleasant to look at, but not many things are these days, so you keep moving. You have a job to do, and you don’t have too much time to do it — the sun won’t be up much longer, and you want to get the fuck out of here before the real dangerous kinds of people come out lookin’ for their next meal.

Or, whatever Joel had said earlier. Mostly just in attempt to scare you.

Minutes feel like hours as you keep your gaze pointed forward, and when you pass a shattered window belonging to some old broken down building, you don’t dare look inside.

You’d rather not know what lingers inside death eaten walls.

But it’s while you’re doing that, keeping your gaze ahead, that you miss the fact that Joel has stopped walking. When it finally registers that the world around you has gotten quieter - and when you finally do turn around - you’re surprised for two reasons.

The first being that he even stopped at all, and the second being the fucking look on his face.

“You alright?” You ask as you edge closer, glancing at the abandoned building that’s in front of him. It doesn’t look like anything remarkable, but there’s definitely something in the way he stares at it. “Joel, you still with me?”

He isn’t saying anything, his expression is rather blank — but you know him well enough to know that he’s not just seeing what’s right in front of him. He’s seeing something else entirely. He snaps back to attention faster than you would have expected at the sound of your voice, and when his eyes land down on yours - there’s something inside them that makes your heart sink.

“Somethin’s wrong.” Is all he says before he’s grabbing your wrist, and yanking you inside.

Your heart starts pounding faster, but you try your best to stay calm. He isn’t the kind of man who would panic without cause, so you know he must have seen something - or heard something - and you’re doing your best not to let that scare you.

“Joel—shit—what the hell—“ you stumble over rubble and pieces of broken furniture. “What’re you—“

He’s pulling you deeper into the building, not giving you a chance to stand still long enough to say more. When you get to a staircase he yanks you down a few steps, waiting for the sound of the door shutting behind you before shoving your shoulders back against the wall.

“You listen to me—“ he’s panting, words spat through grit teeth. “You’re gonna’ shut up, and you’re gonna’ stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

The tone of his voice alone forces you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from talking. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen him this serious. You’d almost forgotten that he was capable of producing this kind of tension - the kind that’s so palpable it could be cut with a knife.

So, you just nod, lips pressed into a thin line, and you hope that it’s enough.

“Alright.” He doesn’t seem certain of your answer, but he nods anyway, reaching for your wrist again and dragging you down the remaining stairs.

When you get to the bottom, he opens the door slowly, eyes darting around until they land on a nearby closet - and it’s only after the first step you take towards it that you hear noises on the floor above you.

Footsteps.

And way too fucking many for you to be comfortable.

The kind of heavy, laden-boot marching you’d dread to hear on good days - nevermind while you’re out in dangerous territory, trying your damnest to flee unseen. It’s only seconds before the steps grow louder, and you can feel your heart rate speeding up again - while Joel is staring at the ceiling with such intensity you think that he might just be able to will it to break if he so much as blinked at it.

Then, in a flash, he snaps out of it - dragging you toward the closet and shoving you inside before you can even think about protesting.

And god, is it fucking cramped.

The closet is small. Small enough that you have to force yourself closer to the wall so that he has space to squeeze inside behind you. And it’s within the first second that he shuts the door, and the darkness swallows you both whole - in which you realize you have a new problem altogether.

“Joel—“ you choke out as a heavy palm snakes around your waist, pressing tight against your belly. He’s a solid wall behind you, his front flush against your back, and all you can fucking feel is his hot breath against your ear - his stubble tickling your cheek. “What’s—“

“No talking.” And then he brings his free hand up to cover your mouth, and you have to stifle a noise that threatens to explode in your chest. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

You take solace in the fact that he can’t see how flushed your face becomes, but your stupid brain is working overtime - overanalyzing the feeling of his calloused palm against your lips, the heat of his mouth way too fucking close to your ear, his free hand that seems to be sliding lower down your abdomen—

“Stop squirming.” He whispers, all heat as his fingers press a little harder against your lower stomach.

You long to bark at him. I can’t control it.

But you can’t. So instead you try to focus on the sounds of the people upstairs. You try to pay more attention to the way your heart is threatening to break free through your sternum. Anything to try and take your mind off of the way he’s touching you - but he makes it so, so hard.

You’re certain you would have a better fighting chance if you were to try and move mountains.

Without even thinking, your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and it’s then that his lips curve into a smile against your ear. And when the realization comes crashing down - the realization that he’s fully aware of what’s happening to you - you think you may just collapse.

Oh, god, this is torture.

If it were anyone else, you’d think this was a joke. You’d think that perhaps the way he’s touching you was some kind of attempt at making the terrifying just a little more tolerable, a little more exhilarating for different reasons - but this isn’t just anyone. This is Joel. And you know his mind never works like what. Instead, he simply acts on instinct - in ways that usually leave you reeling and your thoughts in a whirlwind.

You’ve been through this a million times with him.

Unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

And as you try to focus on the footsteps above you - desperately searching for a thought, a train of any kind to follow - his hand moves again, fingertips tracing the waistband of your dirt covered cargos - barely dipping between fabric and skin.

It’s slow, teasing, but it’s enough. And you don’t currently have enough control over yourself to stop your back from arching, pressing directly against the bulge in his jeans that’s growing impatiently despite himself.

And it’s the way he exhales in your ear, the way you hear him inhale right after before his nose brushes the shell of your ear — before his hand dips lower to trace the zipper of your fly — that you find yourself fighting for your life to swallow the moan that threatens to spill because the people on the second floor are now shouting and hollering, and the whole floor seems to quake under the force of their heavy boots.

A second passes. Then two, and then ten — there’s silence. You’re pretty sure the steps are now heading away from where you’re hiding, and you think Joel must agree because he slips his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your jaw.

“Joel—“ you choke out, the last syllables of his name sounding desperate. “I-we—“

And yet again, you aren’t able to finish, because he has a habit of taking the words you think you want to say straight from your chest. You aren’t able to process it until a moment later - when his mouth finds your neck, fingers slipping into your now unzipped cargo pants.

This isn’t what you meant.

You don’t have the chance to tell him that. You don’t have the cognitive ability to push the idea that this isn’t the time. You don’t even have enough room in your head to acknowledge how this could go so badly, so quickly. You’re too drunk on the high of his touch to think straight.

And when his fingers drag the lace of your underwear to the side - all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to a God you’re sure you’ve never actually believed in that you’ll survive this without the shame over how fucking soaked you are eating you alive first.

His fingers find your clit, making slow, small circles. Just enough to make you keen. Just enough to make you forget who you are, and what you’re doing. You think if he keeps it up for any longer, the sounds trapped behind your teeth are going to jailbreak before you can get a handle on them. He knows it too - because it’s only a split second after that thought enters your mind, that he whispers gravel in your ear again.

“If y’can’t stay quiet, I’ll make you.” And it’s said with enough sternness to let you know that it isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. “Be good f’me.”

You don’t know if you can. You don’t know if you can possibly keep yourself silent. Not when his lips are teasing your burning flesh, not when his fingers are rolling your clit, not when he’s whispering promises of heaven in your ear.

But it’s then, that you hear the floorboards creak, and you know then, that you have no choice.

Either find a way to stay silent, or throw yourself headfirst into danger.

“Mm.” He hums as his fingers slip lower, sliding along your slit until they find your embarrassingly wet heat - to which you find yourself widening your feet despite yourself.

And this time, the noise that slips isn’t audible. Not to him anyway. But you can feel the sound vibrate the back of your throat. You can feel the way it glides over your tongue - and when you have the wherewithal, you bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough that it’s almost painful. He doesn’t seem to notice, and you’re glad because you know he’d only find it funny.

He pushes a finger into you, and holy fuck—

“Oh—“ the sound gets out of your mouth before you can stop it, involuntarily defying his direct order to shut the fuck up.

You hope, foolishly, it was quiet enough for him to not hear.

It isn’t, and as a result the hand that had been sitting lazily around your jaw slips firm over your mouth again, yanking your head back against his shoulder. You feel his fingers tighten as if to let you know that it’ll only get harder as his finger pushes deeper, and then retreats, pumping into you slow and steady.

“F-fuck—“ your whine is smothered against his palm, and you somehow have half the mind to realize the footsteps have stopped. Vanished. “J-joel.”

You’re expecting some type of response, some biting be quiet — but instead, all you get is a deep grunt in your ear and a roll of his hips against your ass as he slides another finger into your cunt, thumb brushing your clit.

And there’s almost no fight in you left to resist this - to resist the pleasure he’s pouring into your veins. You’d curse him if you could, if you could put more than four coherent words together to do it - but all there seems to be left in your mind is his name, which he’s using against you like he always does.

“Good girl.” He praises between slow, steady thrusts and you have to wonder what kind of game he’s playing to get you like this - to get you so undone you don’t even remember your own goddamn name.

Then again, you know better than to think there’s a game, at all. There are no games with Joel. He does what he wants and you’re either the benefit of it, or you’re the object of his ire.

But when a third finger slips into you, stretching and stuffing your cunt wider than you were mentally prepared for - you forget about any of that as you bite down on his hand as hard as you dare because it’s just too fucking much.

“J-joel—“ you try again, shaking your head. The footsteps haven’t returned. You have to believe they’re gone. You know Joel knows it too. “P-please—“

And like someone struck a match in a room full of gasoline, he seems to have decided that you’ve waited long enough. In the blink of an eye, you feel his palm leave your mouth, and move to the limited space between you. He’s unbuckling his belt.

“What’s the matter, huh?” He all but growls in your ear, still pumping his fingers deep. “Three too much for you? How d’ya think you’re gonna’ take my cock if you can’t even take my fuckin’ fingers.”

God. His voice is deep, dripping like sin. It goes straight to the center of your chest and you feel like the walls of your rib cage are cracking open. You have no idea how you’re going to be able to take him like this - especially when he’s so far gone it’s like he’s forgotten himself.

“I-I don’t know—“ and it’s the truth. You have no concept of how you’ll take a single drop of him in this state. But he’s already shifted himself free, pulling his fingers out to yank your pants down and slide his throbbing shaft into the slick space between your thighs. “F-fuck. You’re crazy.”

“Worse.” And you already know what he’s going to tell you just by the way the word drips into your ear. “M’insane.”

Truer words.

You never imagined that you’d ever find the thought of Joel Miller going insane so enticing. You imagine all kinds of ways you would have pictured it if someone had told you back when you first met - but somehow, this was never one of the things that came to mind.

“What does that make me?” You hiss as his fingers find your clit again, as he kicks your legs a little wider to slide his leaking tip against your slit.

“A goddamned fool.” He answers as he sinks into you, and there’s never been a more divine connection in the world. He groans into your ear, and you have to bite your lip again until you’re sure you might draw blood. “But you already knew that.”

And somehow, even still - you do.

Yeah. You do. He isn’t the type of man someone can ever know fully. He’s got walls and barriers built high - a fortress, impenetrable and vast - but somehow, you still manage to squeeze your way through it. It isn’t lost on you that you’re the only one who has.

“J-joel—go fuckin’ easy, please—“ you’re grabbing at the wall infront of you as he splits you open without so much as giving you a chance for breath. “It’s—been a while—“

And that stops him for a beat - but not for long, and not long enough. He still doesn’t go easy, still thrusts right to the hilt with the kind of power you’d associate with a man half his age - a man who (if the world hadn’t gone to hell) would be so close to retiring that he could taste the future on the back of his tongue - but you wouldn’t want him to anyway.

“I know, babygirl. I know. Just take it nice n’ deep, f’me. Just take it.”

And then he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you back so he can get even deeper, your spine arching just enough.

Fucking hell.

The sound that’s almost impossible not to make threatens to rip from the pit of your chest, but you bite down in time and it turns into something between a strangled cry and an elongated whimper. You know you’re going to be walking funny tomorrow - but right now, there’s no such thing as being able to imagine tomorrow.

“You—fuck.” It’s a whisper so pained someone might think you’re actually being impaled. In some ways you are. “Oh, god, Joel. Ohmygod you’re deep—“

“There she is.” He all but growls into your ear. “There’s the tough woman I know.” If he wasn’t holding you so tightly you might’d fall at the way he suddenly slams into you. “Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

You almost bite your tongue in half at the very thought of him doing that. Your mind is a wasteland of icoherent thought - and it��s then that you know with all the certainty in the world that you’d been done for the moment he came into your life. He always had a rough edge to him - but back then, when you first met, you thought it was just the product of a shitty life. But now, you know better - now, you know he’s just a good-natured person with an innate drive to protect - and you’d go to your grave knowing that you’d go there loving him for it.

Even though, right now, it feels a lot more like he’s trying to kill you rather than protect you.

“Ohhh, fuck—“ you hiss through grit teeth as he pulls out, dragging slow at tight, wet walls. “M’close to cryin’ now.”

“Mmm.” He all but purrs. “That’ll mean I’m doin’ my job right.” There’s heat in the way he speaks that you swear would burn even the toughest person. But then again, that’s always been something you’d only ever been able to say about Joel. “M’not gonna’ be gentle. You know you ain’t deserving of it right now.”

Another time, you’d tell him he was wrong. Another time, you would have argued that you hadn’t done a single thing wrong - but right now, your thoughts are just as lost as your voice.

Still, you try your best. “W-why? Because I—mmf—dragged you outta’ bed?”

“Wrong.” You can’t see it, but you’re sure there’s a smirk on his face. “You really wanna get into it? Wanna’ make a list?”

You don’t, but you have the horrible feeling that this is going to happen either way.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask with what little breath you can find.

“No.” The word sounds so simple - but in that moment, it might as well have been a dagger. “You don’t.”

He pulls out just so he can drive back into you harder, hand sliding from your hair and back over your mouth.

“First, you dragged me outta’ bed. That right there? Shoulda been spanked for it. Next, you got yourself pinned in a goddamn closet with me after raiders chased us down. Almost got us killed.” Another painfully slow draw out, followed by a hard drive back in - smacking your cervix. “An’ for what? Cause’ you don’t wanna’ listen when I say it’s too dangerous to be out here.”

There are a million retorts you could have - most of them have something to do with you being able to take care of yourself - but none of them even find the beginning of your tongue.

He’ll take that win. Just like he takes everything else.

“Not t’mention you’ve kept this perfect ass from me for far too long.” He’s fucking you hard now, head kissing your cervix with each long thrust and you’re crying out under his palm but the sound doesn’t escape. He makes sure of it. “Mmm, yeah. Far. Too. Long.”

You want to tell him to shut up - that he’s being an ass - but you’re two broken breaths from wailing at the sting on your cervix and the pressure he’s now swirling on your clit. The only thing that’s left for you to do is the only thing you can do.

Take it.

You roll your hips, shoving back against him with every thrust just to have him hit that much deeper - and if he has something to say about it, he doesn’t say it. But he seems satisfied with just that, and suddenly, you think he’s just as close as you are.

“That’s it.” His voice is tight. “Good girl. Just like that.”

His hips snap against your ass so hard you think you might end up bruised tomorrow, but the thought only adds to the haze in your mind.

“Ffffffuck—Joel—“ you mewl, pathetic desperate and needy as a whore, against his palm. His fingers speed up against your clit. “Oh!”

“Take it, baby. Make me fuckin’ proud.” He hisses in your ear, a groan slipping out between it. “So good. Pussy feels so good.”

“Gonna’ make me cum.” You try to speak - maybe another time you’d be embarrassed by how desperate you sound, but this isn’t that time and it’s not the time to be anything other than truthful. “Mmm—gonna cum J-joel—“

“Yeah you are.” He grunts, the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering just a little. “Squeezing my cock so goddamn tight. Fuckin’ cum on it, babygirl. Wanna’ feel you.”

The sound that pushes past his palm at just the last moment doesn’t sound like you - but you know it is. It's the sound of the kind of pleasure that you’ve never experienced before that makes your entire body feel like a rubber band that’s too tight, and you have the vaguest sense of your walls squeezing the life out of him but there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening at all - becuase your climax hits you like a goddamn freight train and its run you over hard.

You think he’s saying something - you know he is - but you can’t hear anything aside from the blood racing in your ears. Even still, you know exactly what happens next, because you’ve experienced it so many times. The way he loses himself, like he forgets every bit of control he prides himself for having and the need to empty himself inside you takes over.

He spills into you hard - and you love every second of it for the simplicity of the comedown.

It’s the kind of feeling that washes you in warmth. It’s the kind of feeling that tells you that the world is going to be okay, so long as you’ve got him and he’s got you. He groans and his hands come out to brace against the wall infront of you to hold himself up as he shoots hot jets of cum deep inside your cunt - and you can’t remember the last time you’d heard him breathe this hard. Though, truth be told, you can’t remember the last time you heard yourself breathe this hard, either.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind feels hazy, and your legs feel weak - and as he leans over you, he can surely tell all three - but he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he drags his mouth over your ear with an inhale.

“Mmhmm.” He grumbles as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Look what you made me to do ya.” Your cheek gets the same treatment, and a breath later as he turns your head slightly, your lips do too. “Gonna’ have my cum leakin’ out of ya all the way back to camp.”

The sound you make doesn’t even seem human, but it’s muffled before it even comes - because he’s kissing you. And it isn’t a hard kiss like you’d expect - it’s slow and steady, and you know he’s doing it in a way to say sorry, as if he realizes he might’ve gone a little too far.

You smile into it, and he does too.

“You really are insane.” You whisper as he pulls back slightly. “My cervix gonna’ need a week vacation after that.”

“M’not a good man, darlin'. If I was, I’d say sorry for that.” He whispers with a small kiss against your lips. “But I ain’t. So, I’ll just tell you I’ll take care of you later as much as you like. That good enough for now?”

There’s only one answer for you. Only one that’s ever been the answer with him.

“Always.” There is a beat of silence, and you smile in the dark. “I love you.”

He pulls out of you, finally, leaving the part of himself behind that tells you how much he loves you too without verbalizing it. Soon as he fixes his jeans, he helps you fix yours.

“And I love you.” He whispers, calloused palm finding your own. “Let’s get outta’ here. The sooner we’re back, the better.”

And that, you can’t agree more with.

[mrsnegan]

Whew. 🥵🔥 Okay, never knew I needed Soldier Boy smut in my life but here we go. So, so good!

let the band play

one-shot

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: This is the last straw. While out on recon with Butcher and Hughie, Ben went into your bedroom and used your favourite shirt to clean himself off. You're going to let the smug idiot know exactly what you think about him. Trouble is? He likes it.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben being his own warning again, language, creative insults, smut (panty-sucking, p in v, clitoral stimulation, cum on face, biting, sucking, licking, kissing, throttling, rough sex, slapping), misogyny, dirty talk, degradation, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 3,930

A/N: OKAYYYY, I got another one written and I lowkey (very, very highkey, actually) love nasty, mean, rough Ben more than I can ever put into words. Can you even imagine the pure hate-fucking this man is capable of? Ungh. <3 This one was inspired by a song... if you wanna give it a listen, then please do: "Let The Band Play" by Badflower. It's dark and gritty and just delicious for the tense vibes of this one-shot. As always, please give me feedback, if y'all feel like it. Until the next one! All the love.

"Oh, you lazy, no good, deadbeat Lying, woman-hating, piece of vile fucking scum You fucking downright piece of shit I'll spit on your grave, I'll make you suffer I'll massacre you, you fucking bastard You vile piece of shit, I'm coming for you You hear me? I'm coming for you! I'm coming for you! Ah!

And let the band play" 

Let The Band Play - Badflower 

The rhythmic slosh of the washing machine filled the cramped space, a dull, ceaseless churn that did nothing to tamp down the blistering heat rising in your chest. Your arms were folded tight, foot tapping against the scuffed linoleum, jaw clenched hard enough to make your teeth ache. The faint smell of detergent curled in your nose, too clean, too artificial, grating against the raw fury pressing like a hot coal against your ribs.

You weren’t even supposed to be here right now. You should’ve been upstairs, knocking back whatever cheap whiskey was left in the cabinet, decompressing after another long recon run. Instead, you were here, waiting for your shirt—your favourite black shirt—to be scrubbed of his fucking filth.

Because Ben had gone into your room. Again. He’d slithered his way into your space while you were out with Butcher and Hughie, ransacking your drawers, shifting your weapons, mixing your bullets in the wrong order—his usual bullshit. But this time, he’d taken it further. This time, you’d picked up your shirt and felt it, the crusted, stiff stain scraping against your fingers before your brain even caught up with what it was.

That fucking bastard.

The worst part? You weren’t even surprised. You’d known for a while now—panties disappearing, small things out of place, the gnawing suspicion sitting ugly in your gut. He’d been toying with you. Pushing, needling, waiting for you to catch on. And now you definitely had.

The door creaked behind you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. The air changed when Ben walked into a room—went heavy, charged, dangerous. That insufferable, lazy swagger, the barely-there drag of his boots, the scent of cologne and gunpowder and sheer, unrepentant arrogance.

“You’re stompin’ those pretty little feet like you got somethin’ to say, sweetheart.”

Your teeth snapped together so hard your molars screamed. His voice was dripping in amusement, thick with condescension, his usual cocktail of shit-eating smugness and predatory glee. He’d been waiting for this. Fucking waiting for it.

Slowly, you turned, arms still crossed, eyes slicing up to meet his with a glare sharp enough to slit his throat. He was leaning against the doorway like he had all the time in the world, watching you, his gaze hungry, expectant.

“I’m going to kill you.”

The words were calm, measured. Deadly. They only made him grin wider.

“Yeah?” He took a step forward, slow and deliberate. “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “You know exactly what.”

Ben hummed, tilting his head like he had to think about it, like he wasn’t fully aware of what he’d done, like he wasn’t thrilled about it. Then—mock surprise, all wide eyes and fake innocence.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, lips curling. “You mean your little t-shirt?”

The rage that slammed through your system nearly made your vision white out. He knew. He fucking knew.

“Are you—are you fucking serious?” Your voice came out strangled, barely contained. “You—you used my shirt? You went into my fucking room and—“

“Oh, come on,” he cut you off, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you were wearin’ it.”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

Ben chuckled, a low, dark thing, rich with enjoyment. He took another step closer, and you barely stopped yourself from stepping back. You wouldn’t give him that.

“You’re gettin’ all worked up over a little mess,” he mused, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “What, you never had a guy come on your clothes before?”

Something inside you snapped.

The next thing you knew, you were shoving him—hard. He barely moved, but it didn’t matter. You wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to know that if you had a knife in your hand right now, you’d be planting it between his ribs.

Ben laughed.

A deep, rich, obnoxious fucking sound, like you were the funniest thing he'd seen all day. Like your rage was a fucking delight to him. His grin stretched wider, slow and deliberate, his eyes glinting with something sharp and dangerous.

“Aw, c’mon now,” he drawled, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve. “That all you got?”

Your hands curled into fists. “You are a scummy, vile, dirty old man,” you spat. “You’re just an old fucking dog, and I shouldn’t be surprised that you can’t be trained, because you can’t teach old dogs new tricks.”

Ben preened. Actually fucking preened. His broad shoulders straightened, his smirk turned smugger, his eyes burned with excitement.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, faux concern dripping from his tone. “Keep twitchin’ that little eye of yours like that and you’re gonna pop a blood vessel. Then what? No man’s gonna wanna fuck you.”

Your nostrils flared. Your pulse roared in your ears. Oh, fuck this.

Your hand snapped out, grabbing the first thing within reach—the bottle of fabric softener sitting beside the washing machine—and hurled it at him.

It hit him in the chest with a solid thud, and the bastard laughed.

“You’re real fuckin’ feisty, you know that?” He taunted, shaking his head. “Maybe if you weren’t such a mouthy little fuckin’ bitch, you’d actually get laid.”

Your vision blurred with rage. “And maybe if you weren’t such a festering, antiquated, deadbeat, woman-hating piece of shit, Payback wouldn’t have sold you out to the fucking Russians!”

His expression flickered. Just for a second. Just for a fucking second. And then his grin turned razor-sharp. His entire body shifted, and before you could register it, he moved.

He was on you in a breath.

One second, the space between you still existed—thin, crackling, electric. The next, gone. Ben stepped into it, filled it, drowned you in it, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go. He was all heat, size, weight, a walking, talking fucking menace with that razor-blade smirk cutting across his face.

“Say it again,” he murmured, low and lethal, a dark, dangerous purr that slithered up your spine and coiled in your gut.

Oh, he was furious. You could see it in the taut set of his jaw, in the slight twitch of his fingers, in the barely restrained tension vibrating under his skin. But it wasn’t just anger. No, it was something else, something filthy, something that made his nostrils flare and his chest rise just a little too quickly.

He liked it. He fucking liked it.

So you gave it to him.

“You’re a no-good, perverted, misogynistic, chauvinist fucking cunt.” Your voice was steady, vicious, every word sharper than the last. “And if you ever step foot in my fucking room again, I’ll kill you. For real.”

His smirk twitched. Something flickered.

You weren’t done.

“You’re not a fucking war hero, Ben. You never stormed a goddamn thing in your life. Your entire legacy is bullshit—a propaganda piece for a country that doesn’t even fucking remember you. You’re just a relic of Vought’s past, and even they didn’t want you anymore.”

The groan that rumbled out of him was filthy. Deep, appreciative, dragging through his throat like smoke and sex and something far, far worse.

His hand slid down his front, blatant as all hell, and he palmed at the hard line of his cock through his jeans—adjusted it, made a whole goddamn show of it, a smirk creeping across his mouth as he let his head tip back just a little.

“Fuck, you’re really gettin’ me going now, sweetheart.”

Your stomach turned. Your lip curled into a vicious scowl, disgust and rage flooding through you all at once. You swung for him. Fast. Hard. Unforgiving.

He caught your wrist mid-air. Effortless. And then he moved.

A sharp yank, a forceful shove, and you were bent backwards over the still-rumbling washing machine, your spine curving against the vibrating metal, heat searing across your back from the sheer force of it. The room tilted, the whir of the machine filling your ears.

Ben’s weight pressed down, locked you in place.

One huge, brutal hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you down, thumb digging against your pulse, while the other clamped down on your hip—heavy, immovable, possessive.

A slow exhale ghosted across your cheek, the warmth of it infuriating, unbearable, suffocating.

His voice was a murmur, low and deep and satisfied as all fucking hell.

“Now we’re talkin’.”

“Get the hell off me.”

Your voice was sharp, but the angle was all wrong, your body bent backward, pinned at an unnatural curve against the still-running washing machine, his hand locked around your throat, fingers flexing just enough to remind you he could tighten his grip whenever the fuck he wanted.

And he laughed. Again.

That deep, gravel-rough chuckle, smug and entirely too entertained, rolling through his chest like you’d just told the funniest joke of his goddamn life.

“Sweetheart, I could pop your fuckin’ head off right now if I wanted to.”

Your teeth bared, rage coiling tight and vicious in your gut. With a sharp growl, you surged up, trying to fight against his hold, trying to push through the weight of him—

He used it against you.

Fast. Effortless. Completely, infuriatingly controlled.

His grip tightened around your throat, his other hand locked down hard on your hip, and suddenly, you were being lifted, hauled up like you weighed nothing. The room tilted, the washing machine’s hum shaking through your spine as he set you down on the edge—your thighs now spread around his waist, your body trapped between the vibrating machine and the sheer, unrelenting weight of him.

One of his hands clamped down on your hip, fingers curling in deep, holding you in place while his other shifted, the grip around your neck moving—repositioning—until his forearm was suddenly braced against your throat, keeping you folded against the machine, against the wall, against him.

And fuck.

Your breath hitched—not just from anger.

He felt it. He heard it.

That small, involuntary whimper that spilled from your lips the second he shifted, the hard, thick length of him dragging against you through your clothes—through nothing but layers of fabric.

His grin sharpened.

Head tilted, eyes dropping low, slow, deliberate—watching exactly where his hips were pressed up tight against yours. Then, back up to you. Those green eyes burned—mocking, amused, completely, utterly in control.

“You wanna get fuckin’ spread open, doll?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing down the humiliation pooling hot and unbearable in your gut. Your body was betraying you.

Every slow, deliberate grind of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat rippling through you, the thick, heavy length of him dragging against the growing dampness between your thighs—and he knew it.

Of course he fucking knew it.

Your fingers curled against the vibrating metal beneath you, desperate to keep some grip on your sanity, your dignity, your fucking composure. You still had fight in you. You weren’t going to let him see you fold.

Your lips curled, voice dripping in mockery, even as your breath hitched.

“Surprised you can even still get it up, Grandpa.”

His grin was wicked.

Then—pressure. A sharp, sudden grind, his hips pressing hard into yours, forcing the full, thick line of his cock against you, pinning you in place with nothing but pure weight and heat and dominance.

Your breath punched out of you in a soft, humiliating whimper.

Ben just grinned wider.

“That feel like I got any performance issues, sweetheart?”

His voice was thick, syrupy and dark, the rasp curling at the edges, drenched in amusement. His forearm pressed harder against your throat, not cutting off your air, but reminding you—reminding you exactly who was in control.

Your hands twitched, nails biting into the fabric of his jacket, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Then, his mouth dipped lower, his voice dropping into something slower, heavier, more dangerous.

“I know you wanna get fucked by me.”

Your stomach flipped. Your body went rigid, your breath caught hard in your throat.

His smirk stretched wider, all sharp teeth and victorious smugness.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he murmured, tilting his head, his hips rolling slow and steady, rubbing deliberately, cruelly against your aching core. “When you think I’m not watchin’. When you think you’re bein’ real fuckin’ subtle.”

Your brain screamed denial, denial, denial, but fuck, fuck, fuck—

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Your mind flickered back—to the safe house gym, to the few times you’d ended up in the same room, both of you training, ignoring each other, keeping your distance.

Except you hadn’t really been ignoring him.

You remembered it too well—the way your gaze would drift, the way your teeth would sink into your bottom lip without thinking, watching the sheer power of him, all raw, solid muscle, all sweat-slicked, feral fucking strength, the way he moved, like a goddamn beast barely caged.

You had watched him.

And he’d fucking seen it.

“Shouldn’t feel too bad,” Ben continued, his voice low and thick, that tone dripping with mock sympathy. His hips rolled forward again, slow, deliberate, grinding his cock hard against you, dragging that pressure right over your aching, humiliatingly wet core.

“I watch you too, doll.”

Your breath hitched.

Oh, fuck.

“Barely hold myself back from comin’ over n bitin’ your fuckin' ass when you’re doin’ squats in those stupid little shorts.” His voice went rough, nearly gravelled, all hot and smug. “Y’know the ones, sweetheart—the ones that look like they’re painted the fuck on.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because your eyes had flickered down—without thinking, without meaning to—and suddenly, you realised you were wearing those shorts right now.

Your body went rigid, heat flaring over your cheeks, over your chest, a full-body flush of anger, humiliation, something else.

Ben’s smirk widened. His forearm pressed harder into your throat, cutting off just enough space to make you feel the pressure, to make your breath catch.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips nearly brushing your jaw. “I noticed.”

Your stomach flipped.

His hips ground into you again, the full, thick line of his cock pressing exactly where he wanted you to feel it.

Then—his voice dropped into something low, dark, final.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time. Real nice.” His smirk twitched. “Do you wanna get fuckin’ split open—” another sharp grind, your body jerking at the friction, your mouth parting in a whimper—“or are you gonna keep pretendin’ to be the little modern feminist pussy we both know you ain't?”

The word tore from your lips before you could even think.

“Once.”

The second it was out of your mouth, he moved. His lips slammed into yours, all teeth and heat and hunger, a brutal, ravenous collision, his tongue licking into your mouth like he was trying to devour you from the inside out.

He growled into the kiss, biting, sucking, wrecking your lips like he had every intention of leaving them swollen and bruised for days. His hand snapped up, tangling roughly in your hair, tugging, tilting your head exactly how he wanted.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You scrambled for purchase, hands grasping, clawing at his hair, his jacket, trying to pull him closer, tighter, anything—but your angle was still off, your back still pressed at that awkward arch against the washing machine, still trapped by his weight.

You barely had time to process before he grabbed the neckline of your shirt and—

Ripped.

The fabric tore in half with one sharp pull, the pieces hanging uselessly off your arms, baring your heated, flushed skin to the cool air of the laundry room.

Your eyes snapped up, scowling.

“You’re a dick.”

Ben grinned, chest heaving, thrilled.

Then you fisted his own shirt, fingers curling in tight, and ripped it straight down the middle—just like he had done to you.

He laughed, a deep, rasping sound that sent heat pulsing between your thighs. Then he hooked both hands into your shorts, yanked hard—

Riiiip.

The material shredded apart, leaving you in nothing but your soaked underwear.

Ben hummed, voice all mock innocence, the barest smirk curling his lips.

“Oops.”

Before you could snap back, before you could snarl and shove and cuss him out, he shoved you down, pushing you flat against the washing machine, his hands pressing down heavy on your thighs to keep them spread.

And then—his mouth was on you.

Right over your slick, soaked underwear, latching on, sucking hard, loud, obscene, the heat of his tongue pressing hot and wet through the fabric.

A sharp, wrecked sound tore from your throat, your hands flying out to grab for anything—his hair, the edges of the washing machine, the crumpled remains of your shirt.

Ben moaned against you, soaking in your reaction like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking heard.

And then—he did it again.

Ben’s groan vibrated straight into your core, deep and wrecked, as he sucked hard, his mouth sealing over your underwear, dragging the fabric and your aching cunt into his mouth. The heat of his tongue pressed, the wet suction pushing through, and your hips jerked, a sharp, unbidden gasp ripping from your throat.

Then he pulled back, lips slick, breath ragged, eyes burning as he flicked them up to yours.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dark and guttural, half-taunt, half-worship. “Real fuckin' sweet.”

Before you could fire back, before you could even breathe, his hand snapped up and—

Smack.

A sharp, stinging slap right over the spot where his mouth had just been.

A startled yelp tore from your lips, your body tensing against the vibrating metal beneath you, and Ben just grinned, eyes gleaming with something hungry, predatory, insatiable.

You barely had a second to recover before he was shoving his jeans down, just enough to free himself, his cock thick, flushed, hard as fuck, and you were already struggling, fingers shaking as you tried to yank your underwear down.

You got one leg free—

Then he was back on you. His hand slammed against your chest, pinning you back down, your underwear still clinging to your other leg, tangled just above your knee.

“Nah, sweetheart,” he rasped, gripping himself, lining up. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that.”

And then—

He sank in.

One, long, achingly slow stroke, stretching you open, shoving in deep, until he was buried to the fucking hilt.

Your mouth parted, a wrecked, breathless moan spilling past your lips, your hands clawing for something, anything, nails scraping over the metal of the machine, the bare skin of his biceps, the solid muscle of his stomach.

Ben let out a rough, punched-out breath, his head tilting forward, his forearm tightening where it pinned your throat again.

Through gritted teeth, voice low and shattered, he muttered, “Holy shit, sweetheart—way fuckin’ tighter than I thought you’d be.”

You barely registered the words.

Your mind was already white noise, your body blissed out, wrecked from the stretch, from the sheer, impossibly full feeling of him seated so deep inside you, from the unrelenting weight of him pressing you down.

Then he pulled back.

And slammed home again.

Your head hit the wall, a strangled moan punching out of you as the pressure built, his hand still wrapped tight around your throat, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, keeping you open and helpless and fucking ruined beneath him.

Ben was ruthless.

The hand not wrapped around your throat dropped, his fingers sliding down, knuckles dragging over the plane of your stomach, the sweaty dip of your navel—before they pressed, rubbed, circled your aching clit just right as he kept slamming into you, rough and unrelenting, shoving you higher, higher, higher—

And then he laughed. Low, dark, mean as all fucking hell.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He rasped, his breath hot against your jaw, grinning as your back arched. "Ain't you supposed to be some big, bad feminist? All that moral high ground, all that virtue-signalling bullshit—" he gave a brutal, punishing thrust, making you gasp, your hands scrambling against his shoulders—"melting right the fuck outta your pretty head now, ain't it?"

You shook, legs trembling, your body betraying you, the heat coiling tight and hot and fucking unbearable.

"C'mon, use that big mouth of yours." His fingers rubbed harder, faster, pushing you closer to the edge, his cock hitting deep, hitting perfect with every driving snap of his hips. "Tell me how much you fuckin' hate me, sweetheart. Tell me how I'm a misogynistic piece of shit while you're soakin' my cock."

Your breath hitched, a sharp, wrecked whimper slipping from your lips.

His smirk deepened.

"That's what I fuckin' thought."

He was so fucking smug. So fucking cocky. He was growling into your skin, sneering at your unraveling, at the way your nails bit into his skin, at the way you tightened around him, nearly choking his cock, your thighs clenching, your entire body locking up—

And then you cried out, pleasure ripping through you, your body shaking, spasming, your orgasm hitting so fucking hard it knocked the breath out of you.

Ben groaned, biting hard against your collarbone, his tongue lapping over the mark immediately after. "Yeah, that's it," he gritted out, his cock still pounding into you, working you through it, keeping you locked down, shaking, helpless. "All you fuckin’ needed was a good, hard fuck to get that attitude outta you, huh?"

Your mind barely processed it—not when he was licking and sucking, his mouth everywhere, his teeth scraping rough along your throat, biting at your face, dragging his tongue over your cheek before kissing you filthy and deep—

And then—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The washing machine. Your shirt was done.

Ben stilled for a half-second. Then he fucking laughed.

The second his laughter faded, he was right back at it—pounding into you, all force and greed, using your wrecked, overstimulated body to chase his own high, the smug, cocky bastard making sure you felt it.

His hand dug into your hip, his grip on your throat tightened, pulling you into every brutal thrust, forcing you to take him, take it, take all of it.

“You better hurry up, sweetheart,” he mocked, voice raspy, strained, dragging his teeth along your jaw, pressing a wet, biting kiss just beneath your ear. “You wanna come again, you better fuckin’ keep up.”

His fingers found your clit again, but his movements were deliberate, lazy, cruel—not giving you enough, not letting you have it until he wanted you to.

“Such a good little fuckdoll,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your damp, overheated skin. “So fuckin’ sweet when you’re just takin’ it, huh? That’s what you needed. Just needed to get fucked stupid, yeah?”

You whined, barely coherent, barely able to even snap back at him.

Ben groaned, tension knotting in his stomach, his pace turning desperate, erratic.

“Where d’you want it, sweetheart?” He rasped, voice thick and hungry, hips snapping into you harder. “Inside you? All fuckin’ deep, fillin’ you up, yeah?”

Your brain kicked back online real fucking fast.

“Under no circumstances can you fucking come inside me.”

Ben snarled, gritting his teeth as his pace stuttered, his grip tightening in irritation.

“No fuckin’ fun.” His sneer was vicious. “Fine. You want it on your fuckin’ face, then?”

Before you could even breathe, his grip on your throat yanked you forward, pulling you off the washing machine. Your knees hit the floor, legs still shaking, useless, your mind still spinning as he fisted his cock, his other hand gripping your hair, holding you right in place.

“Fuck, sweetheart—"

With a low, guttural groan, he spilled across your face, his breath ragged, loud, unrestrained, groaning deep and shameless, his entire body tensing as he pumped himself dry, streaking hot, thick ropes over your cheeks, lips, chin.

And then—

"Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Your blood turned to ice. Your entire body locked up.

"Pair of fuckin' animals."

You whipped your head toward the door—and there stood Butcher. One hand on his hip, the other rubbing his temples, shaking his head like he'd just walked in on two stray dogs humping on the sidewalk.

And then?

He turned and walked right the fuck back out.

Mortification. Pure, searing, full-body mortification. You were still on your knees, still panting, wrecked, still covered in Ben’s cum.

And when you turned back?

Oh, he was grinning. That shit-eating, cocky, bastard grin.

Your stomach sank. Because in one hand, Ben was holding—your shirt.

Your freshly washed, still-warm shirt that he’d clearly grabbed right out of the machine while you’d been frozen in horror, looking at Butcher.

And now? Now he was wiping himself off with it. Casual. Smug. Completely unbothered. Once he was done, he tossed it at your face.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His smirk was lethal. “Get cleaned up.”

@mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @itshellfire @nevercameraready @suckitands33 <3

[mrsnegan]

(via Screen Rant Plus on Youtube)

[mrsnegan]

"C'mon darlin', I know you can take more."

You moan at the thought of taking more than three of his fingers which are currently stretching you so deliciously.

"Can take my cock, sure as hell can take my fingers," he mumbles more to himself. "Probably could take my fist too."

"Joel...," you warn him breathlessly.

"Don't worry, sweet thing, not gonna push you too far just yet." He sounds drunk on your pussy, watching his fingers disappear in your sloppy channel.

The squelching sounds heat your cheeks, your body moving with his fingers, seeking more friction, more of him, more, more, always more.

You feel Joel retreat his fingers, but only for a second. Four of them return, pushing past your entrace into your heat.

"Fuck, so full," you mumble in bliss, your hands fisting the sheets.

"That's it, so beautiful, takin' my fingers like they belong there. Wish you could see y'self right now."

His fingers drive into you, first slowly, then he's picking up the pace, stroking your most sensitive spots.

"Can feel you chokin' my fingers, darlin'. Hear that?" He fucks into you even harder, the stretch burning.

"Going to cum, ain't ya? Let go f'me, soak my fingers real good."

Is that a challenge, babe? 👀

[mrsnegan]

👀

Is that a challenge, babe? 👀

[mrsnegan]

Oh. My. Fucking. God. 🔥🥵

I want him like that. Just like that. Damn, so good!

he doesn't want to stop.

his hips move against yours with a force that shoves you up the bed with each deep thrust. the hitch of your breath and the clench of you tight around him spurring him on as he grips the back of your knees like a lifeline. the bounce of your free chest, tight nipples catch the morning light streaming in through the blinds and it makes bright spots edge around his stark, vibrant sight.

every whimper, every keen, every guttural sound that he punches from your chest with the drive of his thick cock into your wet heat is a symphony collascing wiht the slaps of his bare skin against yours, the deep huffs of his breath, the slick sound of where you two connect as he grinds into you- pausing only to lower one hand after hooking a knee over his shoulder to the back of your head.

thick fingers tangle into your loose hair, protecting you from the headboard he's got you crowded up against. your own hands scrabble at his sides, nails nipping into the skin of his ribs as you try and hold on to something as he pistons himself at a devastating pace.

'jo-oel!" you choke, voice raspy and slurred as you look up at him through wide eyes, mouth wide open as you feel him pulse.

'tha's right, baby, say my name just- like- that!' each word is spit out with a thrust, heat coiling tight in your middle, flaring out to the very tips of your fingers and making your head spin, your body flutter, your skin sparkle.

you do it again, crying out as the coil snaps. white blinds your view of him as your head flies back and your back arches. he's growling as you tighten around him impossibly so, pulling his own overwhelming release he had been staving off to bring you to yours.

hot spurts coat your insides, spilling out around him where he's pushed as deep as he can get, coating the curls at his base.

'just like that, you did such a good job f'me, baby.' he coos in that delicious voice of his, not bothering to move from where he presses into you. you can only babble in response, not sure of anything but the tangle of skin and limbs that make the two of you up. unsure where he ends and you begin. when he pulls out, you feel the thick, hot stream of him leaking out and keen at the loss.

but he knows. he knows he can't stop now, not when you make the prettiest sounds. he grips the backs of your thighs and spreads them, stretching you open and his dark eyes drink in the sight of you fluttering around nothing, his bottom lip between his teeth as he takes in the sight.

and then he dives in, pulling a shout from your heaving chest as his tongue gathers it all up and licks it back inside.

[mrsnegan]

This had me drooling all over the place. The thumb in her mouth, her on her knees? Too damn hot to handle. 🥵 Would want Daddy to teach me how to take him too.

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.

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?”