pascal-princess

[pascal-princess]

ㅤ⠀ ˚̣̣ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣⠀⠀⠀⠀토키⠀⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀( ✿ . )⠀⠀⠀⠀† ꯭ ⎯⎯

꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. You always thought things would change after high school. College was supposed to be your escape. But things don't change. You drop out and move back into your small home town, where you are still invisible, still too soft, still too dumb. Then people start dying. People who hurt you. People who laughed at you. People who touched you when they shouldn’t have. It feels like fate. Like someone’s watching out for you. And when you finally meet him it doesn’t feel like fear. It feels like being chosen.

˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ DARK JOEL MILLER FIC, killer! joel miller x fem! reader, afab reader, no outbreak au, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, violence, mention of bullying, slow descent into obsession, delusional reader, outcast reader, age gap (mentioned once), morally grey characters, made up characters and places, semi public sex, rough p in v (unprotected), creampie, knife play, marking/branding, cum eating, degradation, dumbification of reader, choking, slight size kink, slight breeding kink.

𝓁��𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: hey...how yall doin...? im sooo sorry i disappeared on you guys :( uni has been kicking my ass but i promise i will be more active from now on!!! had a chance to write for some of the requests so those will be coming soon! here's a small spring gift for you all :p i hope you enjoy it! 🎀🌟🐇

You thought it would feel different, leaving.

You thought that when high school ended, you’d find something different waiting for you. You imagined a new beginning, a fresh start, maybe something exciting—something where you wouldn’t fade into the background. But the reality was far from that.

You were always too soft. Too nice. You never knew how to be anything else, even when everyone around you told you to toughen up, to stop being so stupid.

In high school, they made sure you knew how weak you were. How easy it was to push you aside. You were a target for the mean girls, the ones with sharp smiles and even sharper tongues. They loved to mock you, but you didn’t have the heart to fight back. Instead, you retreated into yourself, hoping that one day, they’d stop.

You thought maybe things would change when you went off to college. It wasn’t like you had high expectations—it was just supposed to be a chance for something different. You imagined that the people there wouldn’t see you the same way. But it wasn’t different. It was the same. It felt like rot.

College was just high school in a bigger building. Louder rooms. Longer halls. The same laughter behind your back.

Your professors barely knew your name. The other students walked past you like you were invisible. And no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you smiled or how polite you were, it was always the same. You thought that maybe it was just a phase. That things would get better after a few months. But after three years, it just felt like you were fading. You didn’t belong anywhere. You didn’t even recognize yourself anymore. You didn’t feel like you were living.

That’s when you decided to come home.

Your parents didn’t question you at first. They asked once, maybe twice, but after a few months, the questions stopped. They stopped expecting anything from you. And so did you.

Now you live in a small apartment above an old antique store in Northridge, a place where no one expects anything from you. It’s quiet except of the floors that creak beneath your feet, and the window by your bed is stuck halfway open, even when you beg it not to. You don’t even bother trying to fix it anymore. It’s just easier this way.

You work at Sloan’s Bakery, a quiet little shop that smells like cinnamon and fresh bread. It’s nothing glamorous, but it’s safe. You like the routine. You like the silence. Now, you don’t mind being unnoticed.

Today isn’t supposed to be different. You’re just doing your usual thing, putting the price tags on the pastries like you always do. The oven hums in the back, the cash register dings every so often as customers come and go. You feel like you’re in a bubble, watching the world outside through the small window at the counter. Nothing remarkable. Everything in its place.

And then, the bell above the door rings too loudly. You glance up, expecting some sleepy regular—maybe Mr. Hanley, or that tired-looking woman who orders oat milk but forgets every time that you don’t carry it.

But you were never the luckiest person.

It’s Macy King. Her heels click too sharply against the floor, and for a second, it feels like you're back in high-school. You haven’t seen her since then. You don’t know why, but the second you see her, you freeze. You’ve never forgotten her face.

“Oh my god,” she says, too loud, too fake. “It’s you.” She laughs. That same high-pitched laugh you remember from the cafeteria. It scrapes something raw inside you. You don’t know what to say. You feel like you’ve been caught in something. “I haven’t seen you in, like… forever.” She giggles like it’s funny, but you know it’s not. She’s looking at you with that same old smugness, that always made you feel small. It funny really, she's at the same level since high-school yet she still believes everyone is beneath her.

“Didn’t you go to college or something? I thought you’d be, like, doing something by now.” You can’t find your voice. You nod slowly, trying to force the words out, but your mouth feels dry. “IㅡYeah… for a while.”

She doesn’t ask why you’re back. She doesn’t care.

“So this is what you’re doing now?” Her eyes sweep across the bakery. She’s sizing you up, like she’s inspecting the life you’ve built. “Wow, that’s… cute. Really, though, I didn’t expect you to end up here.” She doesn’t say it mean. But that’s the trick with Macy. She never said it mean. Not directly. Just enough to make you feel like dirt on the floor.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You want to scream, but it’s like your throat’s closed up, and the words aren’t coming. She steps closer, running her fingers over the glass of the pastry case like she owns the place.

“Oh my god, do you still make those little cookies?” she asks, peering into the display case. “The ones with the filling in the middle? What are they called? The jelly blobs?”

“Thumbprints,” you say softly.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll try one.” You give it to her, unsure of what to expect. She bites into it immediately, but her face twists in distaste.

“Ew,” she spits out, loud enough for the whole bakery to hear. “This is disgusting. Too sweet.”

You don’t move. You just watch as she drops the half-eaten cookie on the floor, the soft thud of it making your stomach turn. “Oh, wait. Let me try that one,” she says, pointing at a different pastry. You give it to her. She bites into it and immediately frowns, dropping it to the ground too.

“Ugh, all of these are gross,” she says, shaking her head like you’re the one at fault. She turns her back on you like she’s bored, her eyes scanning the other pastries, dismissing them with a flick of her wrist. “Do you ever get anything right?” she adds, but it’s not a question. It’s just another jab.

You bend down to clean up the mess she’s made, your hands shaking as you gather the pieces of pastry from the floor. The crumbs stick to your skin, like a reminder of how small and invisible you are.

She doesn’t say goodbye when she leaves. She just walks out, her footsteps echoing in the silence she leaves behind.

It’s hours later and it's finally time for you to close up. You don’t know why you turn the radio on, but you do. It’s the static hum of the local station, the voice on the other end dull and distant.

“…Body discovered behind the Valero gas station early this morning. Authorities have confirmed it’s a local man in his twenties…” Your heart skips a beat and you sit up straight, the words striking you harder than they should.

“…Multiple stab wounds to the chest. Police are investigating but no suspects have been identified. More details to come as the investigation unfolds.” You don’t know why it strikes you so hard, but you can’t shake it. The voice continues, but you’re already lost in your own thoughts.

Its not long until the whole town starts talking. Brandon Haynes. You remember him. He was just like everyone else. He touched you. Too much, too harsh. More than enough to make you feel small. To make you feel like nothing.

You don’t know why it’s so strange. Why it feels like you’re holding your breath. It doesn’t matter.

You don’t feel anything for him. But you feel something for the moment. For the chance that maybe something’s shifting. Something is moving. And in that quiet, empty way, you realize that maybe you’re not the only one who’s been pushed aside.

A few days later and it is close up time again. As always the radio voice drones on as you wipe the counters. “Macy King found dead this morningㅡ”

You don’t need to hear more. You already know.

Macy is dead too. How is this even possible? Was it all a dream, or was it the karma they couldn't escape from? You don’t feel sorry for her. You don’t feel sorry for Brandon either. But something’s stirring deep inside you. Something darker. Something that’s been waiting for a long time. It feels liberating. Maybe it makes you broken. But you don’t care.

Because some quiet part of you smiles.

You never said it out loud, but you hated them. For how they made you feel. For how they touched you, laughed at you, stepped on you. And now they’re gone. You tell yourself it’s not coincidence. How could it be? What if someone saw you? What if someone knows?

What if someone did it… for you?

The thought makes your breath catch. Makes your cheeks flush. It’s stupid. Delusional. But it feels like the first real thing you’ve had in months. Maybe longer.

Someone out there, somewhere in this cruel, gray little town, might’ve done what you’ve never had the courage to. And that makes you feel seen. Wanted. It doesn’t scare you. It makes your chest flutter.

So you hope, quietly, selfishly, shamefully, that whoever it is, does it again. For you.

Days later, the radio talks about Macy's death like it’s a warning. Like the whole town should be afraid. They now know the crimes were done by the same person. A man. But you’re not afraid. You’re captivated.

You walk home that day in a daze, the cold air biting at your cheeks, and for the first time in so long, you feel like someone is walking with you. Not beside you, but behind you. Somewhere. Watching. At least thats how it seems, or that's what you hope for.

And that thought that maybe someone sees you, maybe someone is thinking of you, it makes you ache. It makes your chest feel full. Like you matter. Like you’re real again.

So the next morning, you get up early. You shower longer than usual. You put on perfume, the one you wore back in college when you thought someone might notice you. You do your hair, just a little lipstick, and put on that soft sweater that hugs you just right. You don’t know why you’re doing it.

Except you do.

Because maybe he is out there. Maybe he's watching. Maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of him one day— maybe at work, across the street, reflected in the bakery window. Maybe he’ll come in and ask for a loaf of rye bread. And you’ll know. It’s stupid. But you don’t stop.

You start waking up earlier. Dressing softer. Smiling, just in case. The town is still cold and gray, but inside you, something is blooming.

A few weeks pass. You’ve stopped keeping track of the days. Everything just folds together now—sugar, flour, radio static, names whispered on the news.

The third victim throws you for a loop. Julian Moore.

He wasn’t like Macy or Brandon. He never laughed in your face, never whispered about your thighs or stole things from your locker. He wasn’t cruel.

But he stood by. That's your reasoning.

He was there, every time you were shoved into a locker or had your tray flipped in the cafeteria. He saw you crying in the girls’ bathroom after gym, after someone stole your clothes. He saw everything. And he never said a word. So when they find Julian’s body slumped behind the old church parking lot, throat cut clean through, something inside you hums. Not with guilt. Not even with relief.

But with a kind of satisfaction.

'You see me', you think. 'You’re doing this for me'. You’re too far gone now. You know it. But it’s like slipping into warm water. Soft and quiet and too easy to sink.

You don’t pray to God anymore. You pray to him.

Whoever he is.

Some nights, you whisper your thoughts aloud. Just in case he can hear you. You tell him about the people you hated, the ones that ruined you, the ones that still smile like they got away with it. You tell him about your dreams. About how sometimes you think you feel him just outside your apartment, under your window, in the creak of the floorboards that shouldn’t creak. You leave your curtain open a crack at night.

Just in case.

More days pass. The sky is bruised purple and gold, streetlights humming like quiet thoughts, the pavement still sticky with sun. You smell like sugar, yeast and a little vanilla, your apron folded neatly in your bag, your perfume still clinging to your collarbones. And you feel good.

It’s not something you admit often. But tonight, the wind is soft. Your chest feels light. And there’s that quiet, persistent buzz in your stomach that maybe—just maybe, he’s proud of you.

You walk slower than usual. You want to be seen. You smile at the window reflections. At your shoes. At nothing.

And then it shifts. At first it’s subtle. There's a sound that doesn’t belong. A presence you can’t place. But it thickens around you slowly, like fog, until you know you’re not alone. There’s someone behind you.

It's ot a feeling anymore. Not a maybe.

Someone is there. Slowly, your steps falter. You stop, you turn. And he’s there.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Older. He’s standing under the glow of a flickering lamppost like it’s a spotlight and he is the misunderstood actor, with shadows cutting across his face. His hair is dark and slightly curled, his jawline sharp, mouth neutral. He doesn’t move.

But he’s looking at you. Your heart slams up into your ribs. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just watches. You don’t know him. Or maybe you do. Maybe you’ve seen him before, in your dreams, in your prayers, behind your eyes when you’re alone in bed with nothing but wanting. Maybe he’s always been there.

The street is silent. The street lights glow faint behind you. Somewhere far off, a dog barks. And you— God, you don’t run.

You take a step forward. And he doesn’t move. Not until his hand shifts just a little and you see something glint. A blade. Maybe. Or maybe your mind wants it to be. You gasp, but it’s soft, almost reverent. You don’t feel fear. You feel certain.

You open your mouth, voice trembling but real. “I am not afraid o-of you…” He laughs. It’s a quiet sound. Deep and low and almost surprised. “Oh?”

But you mean it. You’re not afraid. You’ve wanted this—him, whatever this is, for so long, you’re not sure there’s any room left inside you for fear.

For months you’ve been dreaming of this. Not of murder or blood, but of him. Of being seen. Of being chosen.

And now he’s here. You don’t blink. Don’t breathe. “Stupid girl…” he mutters. His fingers brush the knife at his belt. And you? You smile.

He steps closer. You don’t move. Can’t. Your mouth is dry, breath catching somewhere between your chest and your throat, your heart trying to crawl up your neck. He’s beautiful. Not in any way you’ve ever known. He’s rough, a scar curling just near his temple, his face carved from something too human and too wild at once. His eyes are dark, unreadable. His mouth is stern, unmoved. You feel heat flush up your neck and to your cold cheeks. He’s right in front of you.

Close enough to see the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his eyes linger on your face for just a second longer than they should. “I—I know what you did,” you whisper, voice trembling, breathless.

He raises an eyebrow. You swallow hard. “Those people… Brandon. Macy. Julian. They hurt me. Back then. You—you knew, didn’t you? You did it for m-me…”

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

And that silence, it pulls more out of you. “I mean, it makes sense. Doesn’t it?” You laugh, soft and shaky, hands trembling at your sides. “No one ever remembered me. No one ever noticed me. But you—you saw me. You must’ve. That’s why you…” You trail off. You can’t bring yourself to say killed. Not out loud.

His expression shifts. A little. One corner of his mouth twitches. And then he laughs. It’s sudden and deep and rough, like it bursts straight from his chest.

You flinch, but not away. Never away.

“You’re a real sweet thing, aren’t you?” he drawls low, the faintest southern rasp brushing the words. You don’t know what to say. You just stare up at him, cheeks burning, stomach a mess of tangled knots. Then he leans closer. Close enough that you can smell leather and smoke and something more darker. Close enough that his voice grazes your ear when he speaks again. “I might just keep you longer.”

The words burn. You feel them everywhere. Your legs tremble. You’re too warm. Too soft. You feel like you could fall straight into him and vanish.

And still, he doesn’t touch you. He just watches the way you unravel—eyes wide, lips parted, breath shallow, as if it’s his favorite pastime. As if he likes watching you break.

The space between you is so tight it feels like you have been touched. Brushed. You wonder what his hand would feel like on your throat. You shouldn't want that. “I…” you whisper, barely audible. “Can I know y-our name?" He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink but you see his jaw tighten. Just a little. Like maybe something in him twitches when he looks at you too long.

“Why me?” you ask, stupidly, helplessly, hopelessly. His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up. And he smiles. Barely. “You talk too much,” he mutters. He leans in again “I liked you better when you were just starin’.” You feel heat bloom low in your stomach.

“You ever wonder what it’d feel like,” he murmurs, his voice a low drag in your ear, “if I just took you right here?” Your breath stops.

Right here. This alley. The air thick and sticky with heat, the only light coming from the weak glow of the streetlamp at the corner, flickering like it’s about to die too. He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“No one can see you out here. No one can hear you.” His hand trails down slowly, fingers dragging across your arm, your waist, until it rests low on your hip.

“What if I held you up against this wall,” he continues, voice crueler, “fucked you until you beg for me to stop, and then put a knife in your gut?” You should run. You should scream. But your breath comes out shuddered, and your eyes go wide, not in fear, but something closer to desire.

You want it. You want him.

He sees it. He feels it. Your body leaning closer, your thighs shifting, the way your lips part and tremble. And he stills. For a second. A long one.

“…Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You like that?” You nod. He stares at you. Quiet. Like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re the dumbest girl he’s ever met or the most dangerous. Maybe both.

He shoves you back against the alley wall and kisses you like a punishment, like he hates that he wants you, like he wants to see how deep the rabbit hole goes.

You moan. Loud. Needy. And that’s all it takes. His hands are everywhere—on your hips, your ass, your throat. One knee forces your legs apart and he grinds against you through your clothes, a low, guttural sound in his throat when he feels how soaked you are already. “You’re fuckin’ filthy,” he growls. “Gettin’ wet from me talkin’ about killin’ you. You sick little thing.”

You nod again, whispering a barely-there, “please—” And then it happens. Just like you have dreaming of. His mouth was on your neck, his breath in your ear, his body pressing you into the wall like he’s carving your shape into it. He quickly takes off his pants, leaving you no time to react to the sheer size of him. He forces the head inside of you, leaving you mewling under his touch. “Look at you, lettin’ a killer fuck you in a goddamn alley like a whore.” In no time he was in your guts, each stroke sending you further into oblivion. Your fingernails dig into his skin and he growls, rough hands wrapping around your throat as he whispered dirty nothings into your hair. “This little cunt’s never been touched, has it? Feels too fuckin’ tight to beㅡ shit!" He uses you like he owns you, like you’re a soft and stupid doll made just for him. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—feels so good…”

“I could kill you right now, and you’d still thank me for it, wouldn’t you?” he gloats, each snap of his hips hitting deeper into your cunt. Your tear stained cheeks press agains his hard chest, sobs muffled and eyes blurry from crying. Your head is spinning, brain melting into nothing but thoughts of him. “You’re gonna remember this every time you sit down, darlin’. Gonnaㅡ fuck, feel me for days.”

You hiccup, head bobbing up and down, as he hastily chases his high. He groans low into your neck, voice cracking like gravel, rough fingers digging into your hips as he jerks once, twice, then stills as he spills his cum inside of your ruined insides.

“Fuck… that’s it, girl. Take it. Take all of it, you stupid thing.” He stays inside, breathing heavy against your cheek, his hand slipping down to hold your belly like he’s wanting to feel how deep in he still is. “Maybe it’ll stick. God knows you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, dazed, breathless. You don’t even know what you’re agreeing to. But you're full. Of him. Of this moment. Of something filthy and real and unforgettable. It’s dripping out of you already and you shudder as it drops onto your newly bought underwear.

Your thighs still trembling, your skin still burning where he touched you. “I hope it does…” you whisper, blinking up at him, lips swollen, brain a haze of sugar and sin. “I really hope it sticks…” And he just laughs, sharp and cruel. He is entertained. “You're so fuckin’ pathetic.” But he doesn’t pull out. Not yet. The words sting. But not in the way they should. Not in the way a normal girl would cry over.

There's that filthy slickness between your thighs, and his rough hand moves down, slow, before dragging fingers through the mess he's left inside of you. You gasp.

He brings his fingers back up, slick and warm, and pushes them against your lips. "Open," he commads. And you do. You part your lips like it’s holy, like it’s something good, something earned. You wrap your mouth around his fingers and taste salt, heat and him. He watches you, slow and dark, chest rising. “ God dammit...”

Your eyes flutter shut as you suck, as if this will anchor him to you. As if this will mean something. And when he finally pulls his fingers away, wiping them on your cheek with something like contempt, you're still there, ruined, breathless, glowing in it.

He pulls away from you slowly, lazily, like he’s in no rush to care. His belt’s already half-fastened, knuckles grazed from the rough press of brick and skin. You’re still trembling, ruined and bare and aching in places you never knew could ache.

He pulls out like it means nothing. Like you mean nothing. The air cools around you instantly, and so does he. Zipping his jeans, flexing his jaw, his gaze flickers down at you once more, lazy and cold.

Then he turns. One step. Another.

It shouldn’t hurt this bad. But it does. Your voice cracks before you even know what you’re saying. “Please don’t leave—please—I’ll be good, I swear!" You’re shaking. Still sore. Still wet. Still his, in some awful, ruined way.

“Don’t go fallin’ in love, dumb girl. I ain’t your savior. I’m the reason people like you go missin’.” His eyes are sharp, unreadable.You're on your knees, legs trembling, underwear pushed to the side and forgotten, dress wrinkled and twisted halfway around your thighs. Your elbows ache from where you caught yourself against the brick, and your lips are raw from biting down too hard. There’s a stream of his come between your legs and bruises blooming along your skin. The alley smells like him. You do too.

Your heartbeat is still stuttering, off-kilter, your body stuck somewhere between shame and a high you never want to come down from. You blink up at him through damp lashes. “That’s all you wanted, huh? Someone to fuck the stupid outta you. Thought you’d get a happily ever after?”

It feels like you're begging without even saying a word. He should leave. He said he would. But he's still here, isn’t he? He just stares. Something in his brain ticks. And then, slowly, he pulls the knife from his belt. The steel hits the streetlight close to him and you freeze. He doesn’t say a word as he shifts closer. One knee between your legs again. Hand under your chin, tilting your face up to his. Finally, the blade touches your skin. “Stay still,” he mutters.

The metal is cold when it drags along your collarbone, slow. You whimper, but don’t pull away. It’s not deep. Just enough to hurt a bit. Just enough to bleed a little. When he leans back, satisfied, there’s a rough little 'J' carved just above your heart.

“Now you’re mine,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. Then louder “ So don’t go forgettin’ who you belong to, girl.”

You don’t say anything. You’re too out of it. Your fingers come back red as you touch the small mark.

He tucks the knife away. “I’ll find you again. Same spot. Don't make me come lookin' for you." And then he’s gone. Just like that.

You stay there, knees scraped, heart pounding, sticky, aching and marked. You should be afraid. Instead, your fingers ghost over the wound, and all you can think is he’s coming back.

You walk home with your head light and your lips smiling. So stupid. So giddy. You’ll clean yourself up, cover the mark with something soft and cottony. And maybe tomorrow, you’ll wear something nicer to work. Just in case he’s watching.

[pascal-princess]

i am on MY KNEES. ohhhh my god.

imagine sitting on his lap, his hand resting on your thigh while the other absentmindedly plays with your hair, twisting the strands between his fingers ... his chest is solid against your back, his breath warm at your ear every time he leans in a little too close. and when you start moving back and forth - just a little, his hands tighten, his body tensing beneath you as you slowly rock your hips, feeling him get hard & pressing against you ...

(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

[pascal-princess]

just a little something 😵‍💫 warnings - pervy Joel

The third pair. Gone. Just like the last two. You stood by your dresser, fingers curling over the edge of the open drawer, staring down at the empty space where your underwear should be. You had searched everywhere—flipped through your laundry basket, checked the washing machine, even dug through your bags just in case you’d mindlessly stuffed them in there. But they were nowhere to be found.

A frown tugged at your lips as you padded downstairs to the laundry room, bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floor. The basket was full of your clothes, but the missing items weren’t there. You rubbed at your temple, frustration brewing in your chest.

Joel’s footsteps sounded from the front door—heavy, deliberate, the kind of steps that always sent a strange little thrill through your stomach. You straightened, peeking around the corner just as he kicked off his boots. He was back late, like usual, broad-shouldered and scowling like he hated the world. You still weren’t sure if he hated you.

You were only staying with him for a few weeks while your house got some plumbing repairs done. It wasn’t his idea. Tommy had insisted, told him to “be a damn gentleman for once” and let you crash in his spare room. Joel had grumbled about it, muttering under his breath the whole time, but in the end, he’d agreed. Not because he wanted to—just because it would shut Tommy up.

Now, you stood in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, watching as he rolled his shoulders with a groan.

“Joel?”

He didn’t look at you. “What?”

“Have you seen any of my laundry?”

His head barely turned, expression unreadable, voice gruff. “Should be in your basket.”

“It’s not,” you said, watching him carefully.

Joel shrugged. “What d’you want me to do about it?”

Your brows knit together. “Nothing, I just— It’s weird, that’s all.”

There was a beat of silence. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Then, with an indifferent grunt, he brushed past you, heading toward the kitchen like the conversation was over.

“You haven’t seen anything?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

“No,” Joel said flatly, not even pausing as he reached into the fridge.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair, before shaking your head and heading back upstairs.

You didn’t notice the way his gaze followed you, dark and heavy. Didn’t see the way his jaw tensed as he shut the fridge, fingers curling around the cool metal handle.

And you sure as hell didn’t hear the soft exhale he let out as he made his way to his room, closing the door behind him—his movements slow, careful.

Didn’t see the way he reached into his bedside drawer.

Didn’t see the lace between his fingers.

Didn’t see the way he pressed it against his face, eyes shutting, a low, barely-there groan slipping past his lips.

Yeah. He’d seen your laundry.

[pascal-princess]

‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ faithlessness, faithful ✧ ‧ ₊ ˚

dbf!joelmiller x fem!reader ‧₊ ♡ ‧₊˚

♡ ↳ part 2 to [ the princess’ prayer ]. warnings; dark!joel, manipulation, controlling dynamic, daddy/little girl dynamics, age gap (46+19), loss of faith (christianity, praying, etc), loss of virginity, angst, lmk if anything missed…

She felt her mind go blank as she kneeled down that evening; breath catching in her throat, words heavy but bare. Her hands trembled as she held her little cross in her ball of palm. Joel Miller had sparked her embers like a source of nicotine between the lips and discarded her like any other ordinary man would when they ran out of smoke.

A man’s obsession is a funny thing… The Bible depicts obsession as a persistent, compulsive preoccupation with something, such as a person, idea or desire… Obsession does not mean love— you could be obsessed with perfection but not love the expectation and disappointment that often follows. Joel Miller was only obsessed with her; obsessed with her innocence, obsessed with the way she looked at him, obsessed with the taboo and risk.

“Your god ain’t gonna be mad at you, he wanted this to happen. He wanted me to love you”

Oh those sweet words that spilled from his deep, whiskey flavoured, honey toned voice. They flowed so smoothy that they appeared more believable than any faith she had ever felt. Maybe at one point he meant it… Maybe she wasn’t good enough— maybe he wanted her to stay that innocent, good girl she always was before him.

She remembered the way he moved inside of her; The burning flame of the stretch causing bittersweet tears to fall down her cheeks as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear… Contrary to the beliefs of the church, she slept in his large and inviting arms that night believing that what they did was a beautiful act. She thinks she fell in love with him that same day— feeling his touch and his warmth burn through her blood, attach itself to her bones and inhale itself into her lungs.

She lived and breathed him from that day forward, clinging to him like a flame would to lighter fluid. Belonging to him like a secret… He loved it, he relished in it at first; It filled him with so much power, so much assertion over a girl who’s only devotion was to her faith. But innocence can only last so long…

He didn’t see the same uncertainty and bambi eyed dumbness when he touched her, she invited his kisses and wasn’t the nervous little soul that would’ve shyed away at the idea of basic intimacy. The polaroid of her smile that indelible Christmas night didn’t do the job for him anymore; He would sit at night tugging his cock until his wrist grew defective, sighing and staring at the ceiling as he willed his fantasies to guide him to that sweet release that never came…

The truth was his fantasy had already come true… and that’s all it was… a simple proscription fuelled by wandering thoughts and a starving man’s hunger. He spent weeks trying to convince himself he was in love with her— toying with her and his kinks in hopes something would spark that flame he felt before. But the more he put her through, the more her innocence withered away… the more he destroyed her from the inside out.

The sad part was she became more and more infatuated with him the less he desired her. Maybe he just enjoyed the thrill of the chase, playing cat and mouse with her— but everyone knows the cat loses interest when the mouse is caught.

He couldn’t help but hate himself, he would play with her for hours then sit beside her watching her attentively as she slept, seeing the girl he became entangled with fading further and further away.

He couldn’t keep going on like this… He couldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t allow himself to hurt her.

“Baby?” He spoke quietly as she laid on his chest.

“Mhm?”

He saw the heartbreak on her face as he told her he didn’t want to continue this anymore; His excuse being that she was too young, and it was unrealistic for a man of his age to want to settle down with someone who hadn’t even lived yet. She took in his words, her brows furrowed and tears begging to be set free. He watched the sparkle leave her eyes— the oxygen being starved and the flame withering away into nothingness.

She kept herself together in front of him… something he found to be extremely admirable for such a delicate, sensitive little thing. She saved her tears for when she got home— immediately shutting herself in her room and sobbing into her pillow as she felt herself finally understanding why sex should be sacred for marriage, someone who will give her their all and not abandon her. She felt the whole dreamy picture she painted of love get torn apart and burned in front of her… Joel was the inhaler… and she was the cigarette than ran out of smoke.

Anytime he was over at her house with her father, she kept herself locked tightly in her room— practicing prayers that she wasn’t sure she even knew the verses to anymore… God was supposed to guide her, to not let her get hurt… But it was her fault for being so stupid, for allowing someone to destroy her devotion and her promises to her faith.

She found herself neglecting her Bible more and more, perfectly proficient words of prayer long locked away in the back of her mind as she stared out of her window.

In the following months Joel found his thoughts wandering back to her every once in a while; He had gotten so used to seeing her everyday that not seeing her for 3 months straight was a big change for him. He didn’t even wanna be with her he just wanted to hear her laugh, see her smile, talk to her about anything… He wasn’t in love, it was just a phase of obsession… meaningless obsession that hurt her in the end.

He wasn’t in love, he just found himself wandering the house again at night… not necessarily looking for her, he just needed to stretch his legs.

He wasn’t in love, but when he heard she were going away with her friends for 4 weeks, he couldn’t help but feel slightly achy inside.

He wasn’t in love, but when her dad would tell him about her phone calls and hear her voice of excitement telling him she found her faith again… he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips.

He wasn’t in love, but when she showed up 4 weeks later with a boys arm around her waist, kissing her on those same pouty lips he used to kiss, before retreating into his car and driving away… He felt his fists clench and that jealousy rise again… He felt the obsession begin to rev up inside of him…

And that same night when he went home, he pulled out the polaroid and fisted his cock until his spend painted her pretty face once more. Leaving a satisfied smile on his mouth as he panted and pondered.

She was his… this was no longer an obsession… He would do whatever he could to make her his… He would go to hell 4 times over just to make sure no other man held her like he did… No other man would look at her like he did…

He wasn’t in love, but he would be soon…

— ‧₊ ♡ ‧₊˚

a/n : thank you so much honeys for all the love on part one!! i hope part two was satisfactory enough, i myself have been through a lot of troubles with crisis of faith and bad breakups and too have had obsessions with things i knew were bad for me. I tried to express as much realistic emotions into my work as i could!! i just hope it resonates with you all and you don’t hate me for painting a bad picture of our husband… lots of love, mila ♡

[pascal-princess]

‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ the princess’ prayer ✧ ‧ ₊

dbf!joelmiller x fem!reader ‧₊ ♡ ‧₊˚

—> read part two

♡ ↳ dark!joel, manipulation, controlling dynamic, daddy/little girl dynamics, age gap (46+19), slight angst, mentions of smut (m!masturbation, somnophillia kinda,, mentions of cum), christianity themes, talks of church. lmk if anything missed…

Was there any part of Joel Miller that knew his desire for her was wrong? Of course there was… Joel had tried to hold back his temptations since the day she turned 18; watching her blow out her candles with that pretty rosy blush in her cheeks, his fingers tightening around his glass of whiskey.

He knew it was wrong how much he craved her; he wanted to own her, to possess her, to fill every fibre of her being with his existence. He wanted her to kneel before him the same way she did to her god, her dainty little diamond cross held gently in her closed palms as she prayed… why couldn’t he be her god?

He found himself growing jealous of any person who looked at her, any person who talked to her or even breathed in the same vicinity as her… even if that person was her father… Joel’s best friend.

‘She’s my little peach’ her dad, Andrew would remark as he would watch her pick pretty flowers in the garden. Joel would sit on the bench swing, newspaper in hand, eyes barely scanning the pages as he felt entranced by the way her sundress flowed in the summer breeze.

The obsession took over his life, he couldn’t sleep without imagining her beside him, tucked under his arm. He would lie awake at night, stroking himself to polaroids of her that he had taken… he remembered it perfectly; Christmas day, he popped over to have a drink and cigarette with her father when she ran over to him, excited to show him her new present— a polaroid camera. He got drunker than he meant to that night and when he found her sitting on the armchair clad in her pink pyjamas, her head tucked in a book, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Give me a pretty smile baby” he spoke, holding her camera in his hands. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling as they usually did, she offered him her sweetest smile and he felt his heart warm. He snapped the picture and after it came out and he had given it a shake, he swore he saw an angel.

“Lemme see” her soft voice spoke, he walked over to her showing her the polaroid, she turned her nose up slightly “Don’t like it”.

“Shhh, you look gorgeous, sweetheart”

It was clear she didn’t want the picture so he tucked it in his back pocket, never to be seen again apart from every night since when he would retrieve it from his bedside drawer.

When he came back to his senses he was a panting mess; his spill painted his stomach and the polaroid in his hands, he didn’t want the picture to be ruined but he couldn’t help but feel encapsulated by the sight of cum on her pretty lips— even if it wasn’t real.

As the summer drew closer and Joel got hot and bothered, he found himself becoming further entangled in her. He found himself sneaking up to her room whenever he spent the night, creeping into her bedroom and playing with her hair softly as she slept. His fingers would trace her pouty lips and scoop up the slight drool that rolled down her cheek.

One night it got all too much and he couldn’t resist the temptation of pressing his lips against hers, feeling the soft plushy sensation that awakened every bone in his body, that made his cock rise with intent.

He found himself spending more and more time in their house, and conveniently ending up in any room she happened to be in. He would stand in the garden, cooking up a barbecue as she would play with the stray cat that came by from time to time, her father sipping a beer on the bench. He burned way too many things to count as he was too preoccupied with watching her.

One night he was sneaking upstairs when he saw the flickering of candlelight in the cracks of the door, he could hear soft mumbles of prayer from inside of the room— the door was already slightly ajar and he couldn’t help press his side into it gently as his eyes flickered through the slight crack to try and catch a glimpse of something… anything.

“Please forgive me for my sins… i don’t even know if it’s lust or something else but it scares me god… it scares me to my core”

She was kneeling in front of her bed, her hands held together with careful precision, her little diamond cross laid gently over the top. Joel’s brows furrowed as he continued to listen.

“Maybe i don’t even see him that way, maybe this is just a passing phase… but i wanna be around him all the time, he makes me nervous and i-”

Joel felt his body burn with jealousy, his fists clench at the thought of the stupid little boy that had her in his clutches, it pissed him off beyond belief.

“I swear he came into my room one night”

His heart dropped.

“Maybe i was dreaming it might not have been real, but i can still feel the lingering tenderness of what i think was a kiss”

He began to panic— How did she know? how the fuck did she know? he swore he was careful, he swore he studied her face carefully enough to know she was in a deep sleep. Would she tell her father? He’d be sent to hell, the whole town would know. ‘Joel Miller, the man who preys on innocent 19 year old girls’.

“Please forgive me god, and guide me through this test. Please give me a sign of what to do next”

The door creaked as if on cue and she froze, a slight quiver in her spine. Her eyes moved slowly towards the source of the sound and she felt it in her gut— she knew it was him.

“Joel?” She whispered, willing it not to be him. Was this her sign? Was this god telling her this was right?

Joel stood on the other side of the door, breaths heavy and ragged— he was just as frozen. His mind running at 1000mph… did he go back downstairs? His body wasn’t letting him, it was running on overdrive. His temptations and lust too strong.

His body moved before his mind did, opening the door to find her sat back, clutching her cross tightly. He could see the confusion and inner battles going on in her mind.

“Were you listening?” she practically whispered, she was shaking with nerves, her insides on fire. What if she had been imagining everything and now he thought she was crazy, just a silly little girl with a crush on her daddy’s best friend. She knew how it sounded, she was terrified about the idea of a sin. But all of her friends were in relationships bragging to her about the taboo endeavour that was sex.

“Nah I was just umm” he stuttered, struggling on what excuse he could even come up with in such short space of time. His stalling only further confirmed her fears.

“Please Joel… don’t tell anybody” her eyes brimmed with tears. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, hey…” he walked further into the room, kneeling down beside her on one bended knee, stroking the back of her head with his large calloused hand. “What’s wrong babygirl?”.

“I’m embarrassed Joel” she sniffled.

He tried to hold back a smile.

“Don’t be embarrassed baby, ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little schoolgirl crush” his hand was still stroking the back of her head, his large fingers becoming entangled with her soft locks.

“It’ll be our little secret, yeah?”

Joel knew those words had an effect the second her eyes locked onto his, he thought he might’ve been dreaming— he dreamed about this every night; about his lips locking onto hers, his hands dancing across her body… fuck it, he can pinch himself later.

He pulled her face towards him, his lips moving against hers in a blur of risk and meaning. She was frozen, her hands placed at her sides terrified at what was happening. He pulled away at her hesitation.

“This isn’t wrong baby, this isn’t wrong. It’s so right. You were made for me” He picked her up off the floor, her cross falling out of her hands and onto the floor… the same floor that supported her knees every night as she spoke her faith.

He placed her on the plushy covers, moving over her body and beginning to kiss her again. He knew she was so torn up inside— trying to forgive herself and willing god to forgive her for what she was doing.

“Joel, please” she whispered, softly in the candlelit room. Joel thought he was in heaven, these past 2 years telling him for so long he’d be going to hell for his obsession, his fixation. But here she was, below him and laying pretty and perfect just as he wanted her.

“Trust me sweetheart, I ain’t gonna hurt you” He murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Your god ain’t gonna be mad at you, he wanted this to happen. He wanted me to love you”

Was he telling her or telling himself? The lines were so blurred at this point he couldn’t even see sense anymore.

He spent the rest of the night kissing her and caressing her, deciding that her innocence could be saved for him another day.

She fell asleep tucked under his arm, sleeping soundly after tears about the idea of sin soaked his shirt. He held her tightly, his hands tracing circles on her spine as his eyes stared at the gleaming piece of jewellery on the floor— he swore he watched it taint, losing a flicker of shine that it had before.

-

♡ ↳ gonna write a part 2 soon if anyone wants to read it!! thank you so much for your time, i appreciate it sm

love, mila🎀

@roostersgirl-001

[pascal-princess]

✧ ˚ 　 · 　 　 . B L U E M O O N ✩ M O T E L

jackson!joel miller x reader ✧˖ * °

✧. ┊ ddlg dynamics, smut, fluff, edging, mean and soft joel, so basically joel, squirting, daddy kink, unspecified age gap, dirty talk, established relationship, just more of my depravity pretty much

✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° words: 3.9k

─── ⋆⋅. AO3 .⋅⋆ ──

“C’mon, baby, don’t cry.” 

There’s a hand down your face, another dancing along the skin of your stomach and pressing against the flesh—calming the heaving breaths that come with the tears. 

Both legs are shaking with the exertion, your lips trembling as you rub your thighs together in a desperate attempt to tip yourself over the edge. To finally give yourself relief from the nauseatingly painful ache that leaks between your legs—seeping into the crevasses of your brain and rendering yourself a dumb, whimpering mess at the faux sympathy and shaking determination of the object of your desecration. 

“Joel,” you whisper, throat too sore from where his cock had been inside it previously to open your mouth more than an inch. “D-daddy.” 

“Shhhh, babydoll, s’okay.” 

Through your blurred eyes, you can see his smirk, the undeniable pride that lingers in the pits of every bruise on his body; every scar that disappears when he has you so desperate. 

“It’s not,” you manage to whine. “Daddy, please, it hurts.” 

All he does is laugh, kissing uncharacteristically softly along your body—a distinct difference from the harsh treatment of your poor, abused cunt he had been toying with for the past hour. Sweat was glistening along your skin, naked as the day you were born save for the frilly little socks on your feet he had insisted you keep on in case your toes were to become cold. Couldn’t have that. 

No, Joel’s little angel baby could not have cold feet. That level of discomfort was far too much for the man to allow. It was perfectly fine to have your clit rubbed raw and swollen, however. That was a pain you needed for your own peace of mind. 

“I know it does,” he muttered with little sympathy, thumb running over your nipple—a jolt at the sensation and Joel’s smirk widening at the discovery. “Oh, honey, you’re so sensitive, ain’t ya?” 

You peel your eyes open to scowl at him, the condition he’s worked you up to making you so irritable you could hardly care if he was disappointed in your attitude. 

“Yes!” you whine, hand clawing at his shirt—the object of your desires hovering above you, still fully clothed whilst you lay naked and sweating. “Daddy, please, I haven’t been bad!” 

It was the truth. Joel knew it too. You’d been his perfect girl all these weeks he’d been busy helping control the dangerous amount of infected that had been hoarding the mountains surrounding Jackson. Long days and late nights, a tired and consequently irritable Joel coming home to a sweet and obedient you that didn’t cry, barely even flinched when he snapped at you that time you’d been rambling about your day and he wasn’t in the mood to find it endearing. You’d just quietly apologised and then crawled onto the floor to take your place at his feet—arm wrapping around his leg and face nuzzling into his thigh. 

He’d apologised the next morning and kissed you all over, more forgiving than he was now: hovered over you and pulling away every time you felt the coil tighten and threaten to snap. 

“I know you have,” he said matter-of-factly. “And daddy’s very proud of you but this isn’t a punishment, baby. I’m rewardin’ you.”

“No you’re not-” 

“Hey, now,” he scolded, gripping the hands that fisted at his shirt, wrapping his fingers around your wrists and pushing them against your chest; holding you hostage as he explained himself. “Don’t interrupt me or I ain’t ever lettin’ you finish.” 

You pouted, still defiant as ever but decided forgivingly to hear him out, mumbling a half-hearted apology and letting him speak. 

“I ain’t tryna make you feel bad, baby, daddy would never wanna do that to you. ‘Specially with how good you’ve been and I know it don’t feel too good right now but the payoff is gonna be somethin’ special, I promise you.” The grip of your wrists began to loosen at your quizzical brow, the contempt replaced with confusion. 

“But how-”

“Shh, honey.” He shook his head softly, bringing your hands to his lips and placing kisses along the knuckles. “You have to trust me. You do trust me, don’t ya?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, never one to deny the notion that you trusted him implicitly—he had your whole life and, despite his questioning, he would never doubt your devotion. 

“Then just let daddy take care of you, okay?” he mumbled against your collarbone, fingers sliding along your skin to nestle between your thighs again, stroking and pinching at your poor cunt once more—clit twitching as he played you with the expert precision that years of experience had gifted to him. Those goddamn hands that had your cheeks heating every time they touched softly along your skin; the most innocent of caresses sending you blazing hot. Skin marred. 

Heaving breaths came from your chest when he slipped his fingers inside your wet hole, slick running down your legs and creating a damp spot on the sheets. A stain that you would apologise for and he would clean, promising you that he didn’t care. That this house was as much yours as it was his now. 

It had been a quick transition: the way you began to permeate his space. Angel hairbrush on his dresser, panties hanging from the corner of the headboard and the smell of roses lingering in the bathroom steam. He kept you locked in the house that echoed deafeningly before you came traipsing through the front door—the adoration he had for you growing until there was nothing left except the sweltering, burning love that sparked the wood walls and encouraged the smoke that threatened to flame. 

You loved him; that much you knew. You loved the way that he took care of you, understood the grievances and the strife, understood the need to let go of yourself, to revert to that childlike personality you had lost years before you should’ve. The stunted childhood—lost to the corners of your nostalgic memory of what it was to be carefree. He let you not care. There was no responsibility, there in his arms. Your head was not full with the thoughts that came so dark in those hours of solitude that kept the blood pumping and your heart screaming. 

All you had to do was be loved by him; he made it so easy with the way he spoke to you. The way he loved you. 

“That’s my good girl.” The praise was dragged from him by a choked moan, his fingers curling, thumb playing with your clit and lips along your neck—bruising and marking. Time, as a moving thing, slowly began to soften his paranoia, and those blooming purple splotches along your neck and breasts, nipped along your thighs, were something to be proud of. Something that he looked at from the corner of his eye, smiling softly into his drink when Annie from the bakery worried over you—thinking naively that the marks were injuries from patrols you had been banned from long ago. Smouldering from afar as you tried to explain and then cowering when he would see Tommy’s disproving glare and Maria’s distaste grow stronger than usual. 

Marks that he created again in the sweat of his bed, with you whining and begging him for release. 

“Please, Daddy,” you sniffled, stomach tightening again—so easy to build you up after he’d deprived you so many times already. “Can’t take much more…” 

“Oh, my little girl.” There was a certain lilt to his tone as he cooed, an intentional quickening of his fingers that told you, even in your blissed-out state, that this was not the time. That he would pull away as soon as he felt you clamping around him and panting in the wake of your desperation. 

“Daddy,” you cried again, tears streaming into your temples, trailing along your scalp and making you shiver with the contrasting cooling of your blazing hot skin. “P-please don't.” 

“Don’t what, baby?” You groaned at his question, sobs falling at his laugh. “C’mon, angel, tell Daddy what you want. Don’t leave me wonderin’.” 

Your words were coming out in unintelligible babbles as the fire raged deep in your belly, spreading to your hips and forcing them to buck as they burnt—blisters appearing along your skin as you tried to ask him if you could come, tried to tell him how much you needed it, contemplating uttering that fateful word from your lips that guaranteed your safety. Cry in his arms for a bit and then smile as he softened and gave you exactly what you wanted.  

“C-come, Daddy,” you managed to whimper, ready to scream when he replied. 

“Say again, honey. Didn’t quite catch that.” 

You gripped at the sheets, sweating all over, feet too hot with the socks adorning them and cried into the pillows as he pushed you right to the edge of the cliff, holding you gracefully over the lip, keeping you teetering—stomach spinning. You begged him to let you go, to kick your legs out from under you and let you feel the sweet release. 

“Need to come, p-p-please.” For a moment, you thought you had him, clit tingling, palms sweating, chest heaving, ready to finally jump, and then as quickly as the hope had come, it was squandered as he pulled his hand away from your legs, and began shushing your cries—sobs fully encapsulating you as he took you in his arms and kissed over your face. 

“Breathe, angel, it’s okay,” he murmured into your hair, careful not to press his full weight into you as he pulled your chest to his and kissed the tip of your nose, each cheek, your forehead and then your lips—a choreographed worship that had become the biggest comfort to you in the times where he denied you everything you wanted. 

“Daddy…” you said through the sobs. “Why?”

“It’s okay,” he muttered, dodging your question with no grace and all brute force. “It’ll be worth it, babygirl, I promise. Daddy promises, yeah?” 

You shook your head defiantly, expressing as best as you could your irritation with him—a mood that he would let slide for now because he knew fully that you didn’t deserve what he was inflicting on you. You had been so good, the bestest of girls for him whilst he battled the long days and harsh conditions—staying as sweet as possible and knowing him well enough that being a brat purely because he wasn’t giving you enough attention, was not one of the ways to make him feel better. 

You had been good—his perfect girl. You deserved to come as many times as you comfortably could, and you deserved his love and affection—the softest of touches and the sweetest of nothings. 

But, he needed an outlet. He needed somewhere to put all the irritation and the gruelling mental battles—all the way inside you. He needed to punish you for his own peace of mind but still give you the sweet reward he was hoping to pull from you. 

“Listen to me,” he said sternly, looking you straight in your bleary eyes as you clung to the broad expanse of his back, adding to the maps of scars along the muscle with the unconscious press of your nails into his skin. “Daddy isn’t being mean, baby. I promise. I need you to trust me on this one and if you don’t, you tell me, okay? You know I ain’t gonna be mad.” 

And just like that Joel was there. Joel Miller, who treated everyone he cared about like they were fine china, was shining into the hedonism that darkened the bedroom. It softened your resolve, blessed by the beauty of every complexity that made up the man above you. So you nodded, the harshness of his eyes disappearing, the hint of a smile crossing his wrinkled brow and a promise sealed as he kissed you. 

“Okay,” you murmured, pussy still on fire, eyes still flaming with adoration and depraved desire. “I trust you.” 

The smile you got was an expression reserved only for these moments, times when he wasn’t being the stubborn, stoic man that you used to be so terrified of. The softness that he kept just for you—a woman that had captured him completely and made him feel revitalised by the innocence of your youth and the genuineness of your affections. 

A woman that he would watch squirm under the heat of his beckoning fingers as they slipped inside you once more, a determination in his eyes that smouldered and flickered until you were shuddering against the feeling—hips bucking into his hand, eyes fluttering closed as the tears pressed into your hairline, lingering in the corners of your eyes and spilling when your legs began to shake. 

“Daddy,” you whined, unable to think of anything but that goddamn word—the name that had completely changed your life on the barren plains of a cracked America, the solace of his arms and the comfort of the wondrous space he had provided for you. The safety. 

“Lean into it, babydoll,” he murmured over the squelch coming from in between your legs. “Relax for me…breathe.” 

His words soothed the burns, salve of his love stinging along the blisters and you let out a sharp exhale, chest slowing to a steady in and out. You braced yourself with a hand on his clothed back, whining at the feeling of fabric against his shoulders and trailing your fingers towards the hem of his shirt and tugging. 

The emptiness you felt when he pulled his fingers from you to rip his shirt from his body was almost unbearable, mumbling a high-pitched beg as your ears rang and your head went fuzzy. If you were just a little more conscious, you would’ve smiled at the unbelievable way he seemed to read you, his fingers slipping and thrusting as soon as the cotton hit the floor and his skin was against yours. 

“Better?” he muttered against your skin, a short laugh falling from his lips when you nodded eagerly and pulled him closer to you—desperate to feel him against you. You always were. You knew you were in trouble when he fucked you with his clothes on, the man knowing how much you adored feeling the heat of him against you, sweat against sweat, bodies completely entangled. You craved it. You breathed it. You devoted your life to the feeling of his body pressed against you and his forehead against yours as he breathed in every expelled depravity. 

It was building there again, clamping around his fingers, slick dripping and eyes squeezing shut as he pressed kisses all over your face—wherever his lips could reach. Devotion squeezed inside the domination, an overpowering feeling overcoming you as he began intentionally stroking at that damned spot inside you that he found with the same precision he killed—bloodied hands blooming inside you, scraping against the sponge and pressing his free palm against your stomach. 

The added pressure, the thumb against your clit had your brain ascending to euphoria, madness clawing at you as you tugged him closer; whimpering and shaking. 

“There we go,” he said proudly. “We found it, huh? I can feel you squeezing me. Gonna cut off my damn circulation.” 

“I’m sorry,” you cried pathetically, only recognising the scolding tone of his voice and not the jest that it was meant to be taken as, your hazy mind distracting you from yourself—pulling your body from its resting place and draping you amongst the clouds in heaven. A paradisiacal lunacy overcoming the sensibilities and leaving you in his hold. Trusting completely. 

“Don’t be sorry, sweet girl. Just focus on that feeling for me,” he requested, fingers still stroking, feeling still growing and transitioning. Something new. “It feel different?” he asked as if he were reading your thoughts. Half the time you believed that he really could see inside your mind and when you muttered a broken ‘yes,’ he nodded along with you, muttering praises that were laced with a fascination with your body’s workings—the mechanisms that brought you to such a brink. 

“Feels like-,” you heaved, moans deepening, fingers digging into his shoulders, marring the skin with sensual flagellation and scarring him with your love and desperation. 

“Like you’re gonna pee?” He finished for you and you nodded in confirmation, his fingers working double time now, pressing against your stomach as this foreign feeling brewed inside you—indescribably terrifying and equally enthralling. 

“D-don’t…can’t,” you babbled and a reassuring kiss was placed to the tip of your nose. 

“It’s okay, baby, just lean into it. Let yourself feel it, you ain’t gonna piss on me, I promise.” 

His strokes were so intentional, each swipe built to make you feel something so beautifully incandescent and sinful. His hand was flat against your stomach, his fingers guiding your hips upwards as he reached deep inside you, pulling cries from your mouth you had never heard before, thankful for the thickness of the walls and the security of his comforting words as he took everything from you. Swallowed every moan, every tear, every devotional that echoed along the four walls, seeped into the crevasses of the mattress and stained the sheets with a connection that could not be scrubbed from the fabric. 

“Feels- Daddy, it feels-”

“I know, honey, I know.” 

You begin to shake, thighs twitching and head spinning. Fingers scissoring inside you, a shit-eating grin on his face that you could only just make out through your tear-streaked vision and a gust of wind passing through your hair, sending it flying into the night as you reach the edge of the sea cliff and gazed at the crashing waves. 

It happened quicker than expected, more sudden than even Joel had anticipated when you begin to seize and go hurtling over the edge, gushing around his fingers, feeling the wetness spray all over him—all over the sheets that become soaked with the essence of you. 

“Fuck,” Joel whispered, enamoured with the way you arch and sing for him, trying to keep his own arousal at bay as you cry in his arms. “There we go,” he murmurs, coming back to himself as he feels you clinging to him; needing him close to you. “That's my precious girl…exactly what daddy wanted.” 

You’re jerking and writhing when he finally pulls away, dragging the slickness up through your folds, your legs closing around his hand when he brushes against your clit. 

“N-n-no, daddy,” you beg. “No more.” 

He laughs at the juxtaposition, the exhaustion that had replaced your desperation to come, the sensations that had overcome you: leaving you braindead. A state that he knew should not be taken lightly. 

“Oh, my baby,” he muttered. “You were perfect.” 

Your eyes were slow to open, his praise basking you in a light glow, illuminating the depths of your soul and replacing the broken pieces that he had just left strewn across the bed. 

“What…” you breathed out, legs squeezing together and a light moan gracing the room at the oversensitivity. “What did I just do?” 

“You just squirted, honey. Been wantin’ to try that with ya for a while now.” He said it so casually, like he hadn’t just given you an orgasm that rivalled every other release you’d had in your life—coerced by an hour of edging and begging; your body exploding into a diabolical rapture that replayed in your mind as he stroked your hair from your face. “Daddy’s so proud of you, baby.” 

You just whined in response, tugging him as close as possible, letting him rest on his side of the bed and pull you on top of him. You clung to him like he was your life source, breaths still steadying, cunt still tingling and three mumbled words on your lips that had been uttered so many times now you could hardly even remember your life before you adored him so ardently. 

“Love you, Daddy.” You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, happy with his hands all over you and his chest against yours. “Missed you so much.” 

He knew what you were referring to, he knew that you had needed his undivided attention—edged or not—for some time now. He hadn’t been as good to you as he’d wanted to be, quick fucks slowly replacing the languid strokes by the fireplace and the whispered words of devotion against the wall; it had been tough on the both of you. All those hours spent in the snow;  ugly, malnourished, infected lunging for him when he took a wrong step, fighting with all his might to survive. For you and the prospects that clouded your union. 

“I know, babygirl, I missed you too,” he confessed, pressing his cheek into the side of your head, lips pressing feather-light into your hair and his arms tight around your waist. He would not let you go. Could not bear it if you were to slip from his hold. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere now. You know I’ve got the next few weeks off. Gonna spend all of it with my girl. Gonna keep you fucked and fed, how bout that.” 

You giggled and shook your head, squeezing him tight and pulling your face from your hiding place to look him in the eyes. 

“Sounds perfect, Daddy.” 

He looked up at you, eyes scanning your face with a smile that lightened his old features, your hands cupping his cheeks and smoothing along the wrinkles around his eyes. And he let you touch him, let you admire his pretty eyes and strong jaw. All man and not mild. Strong and sturdy. Looking to protect you from the horrors that he daredn’t speak of, from the judgements of others until he’d convinced you that keeping you locked away was normal. That your contributions to the community was keeping him happy. 

A beat, silence permeating the tranquility and then you: managing to fluster the Adonis that lay underneath you. 

“You’re so handsome, Daddy,” you muttered. “The most handsome daddy ever.” 

Joel stared with poorly contained adoration, a smile playing at his lips, a glint in his eyes as he mirrored your movements and took your face in his hands. Thumbs stroked your cheekbones, playing at the softness of your lips and then trailing down the bridge of your nose. 

“And you’re the prettiest little babydoll I’ve ever seen,” he said softly. “My bestest girl.” 

Your cheeks grew hot, his praise and compliments that came far too often, always leaving you a grinning, sweating mess and you hid yourself in his chest, feeling the vibrations of his laugh as you rested your ear against his heartbeat and brought your thumb to your lips. 

You’d stay there forever if you could, naked, not afraid of the consequences of your vulnerability. Just completely safe in his arms, loved by a man who was so full of care he was bursting at the seams with a desire to protect someone. To protect you. And with a mumbled “I love you,” on his lips, a squeeze of your waist as he rolled onto his side, taking you with him, you understand what it felt like to be loved completely. To have every semblance of your being desired and wanted. 

If he ever left, you would have no idea how to reconcile the grief—how to cope with the loss of someone who gave you everything. 

So, you lay there and didn’t think about the next time he’d be on patrol. You lay there, in his arms, not thinking of the possibilities. He promised he would always come back to you. 

He would always come back.

© virginreprise

i have no idea what this is. i'm so tired i can't even be bothered to write this note. i wrote this in the past few hours and its now five in the fucking morning and i can barely see. please appreciate my effort.

[pascal-princess]

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

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

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

Word Count: 4.5K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He should have knocked.

[pascal-princess]

Good Night

writing this was too much - fluff central i need him rn i recommend listening to sweet by cigarettes after sex while reading this !!!

You lay nestled against Joel’s chest, his arm wrapped securely around you, fingers lazily combing through your hair. His glasses rested low on his nose as he read, the soft light of the lamp illuminating the gentle lines of his face. The warmth of his body enveloped you, solid and comforting, and his steady heartbeat was a lullaby against your ear.

This was life in Jackson—simple, unhurried, and steeped in a kind of quiet joy that felt almost sacred. Every evening followed the same cherished rhythm, a melody of love and familiarity you never wanted to break. After dinner—always cooked by Joel, who insisted on spoiling you—you’d step into the shower together, the warm water mingling with shared laughter and tender touches. His hands would linger, not out of need but out of devotion.

Later, you’d make love, the kind that left you breathless, wrapped in his warmth, every touch steeped in passion and care. His hands would linger, his lips trailing over your skin like he was memorizing you, until you were both utterly lost in each other. Then, as the world softened into quiet again, you’d settle into bed, your body curled into his, his arm wrapped securely around you.

Joel would lean back against the pillows, glasses perched on his nose, engrossed in a book, while you nestled into him, your head resting on his chest. His hand would drift to your hair, absentmindedly tracing patterns or tucking stray strands away. His warmth, his steady presence, the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear—this was all you ever needed.

It was perfect—a life that felt like a dream, yet so deeply real you couldn’t imagine ever living without it. It was home, in every sense of the word.

Now, your fingers danced lazily over the fabric of his shirt, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your touch grounding you in the quiet peace of the moment. Your eyes fluttered closed, your breathing syncing with his, as your fingertips skimmed over his stomach, savoring the simple intimacy of feeling him there, solid and warm.

Joel’s gaze dropped to you, and his lips tugged into the faintest smile, one so soft it barely lifted the corners of his mouth but carried a tenderness that always made your chest ache. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple, the warmth of his breath lingering on your skin.

You could do this forever, you thought, the ache in your heart bittersweet and sharp. God, why can’t you stay here forever? Why couldn’t life be this simple, this perfect, with nothing but the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek and the quiet murmur of his affection in every touch?

“You tired?” he murmured, his voice low and thick like honey.

“No,” you murmured, your face now smushed against his chest as you burrowed in deeper, inhaling him—soap, the one you both shared, cedar, and that unmistakable something that was purely Joel. He was warmth incarnate, the kind of warmth that made you want to melt into him entirely, to smush yourself so close there was no space left between you. You never wanted to move, not from this, not from him.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his gruff tone doing little to mask the affection laced within it. The corners of his mouth betrayed him, tugging into that familiar, reluctant smile that always appeared whenever you did anything—anything at all. It was as if you had some inexplicable hold over him, something he couldn’t fight even if he wanted to. And truthfully, he never did.

His hand threaded through your hair, each movement deliberate, gentle, and slow, as though he was savoring every strand, every texture, every part of you. “My sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the words so soft they felt like they were meant for your heart alone.

Yet, they reached you, sinking deep, sending a flood of warmth through your chest, wrapping around you like a protective embrace. You couldn’t help but melt into his touch, your heart swelling at the quiet affection in his tone. You loved being his—loved the way he claimed you, not with grand gestures or loud declarations, but with moments like this, soft and unspoken, but so full of love it was undeniable.

Then, his hand tapped your back lightly. “Sit up,” he said, his tone soft but with a quiet insistence.

“What?” you protested, your voice tinged with playful defiance, though you had no real intention of resisting. You were far too content, nestled against his side, his warmth seeping into you like a cozy blanket you never wanted to leave.

He shifted beside you, closing his book and setting it carefully on the nightstand before slipping off his glasses. “C’mere,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he patted his legs, making space for you to move.

Your heart flipped at the unspoken invitation, the way his gestures always carried so much meaning. Happily, you obliged, scooting up to settle between his legs, your back pressing against his chest.

The contrast had startled you the first time—Joel’s hands, weathered and calloused from years of hard work, wielded an unexpected tenderness as he braided your hair. There was something reverent about the way his fingers moved, weaving strands with care that felt almost sacred.

He adored your hair; you knew it in the way his hands lingered as if committing every texture to memory. He’d tell you, in his own quiet way, how much he loved the way it framed your face, how it shimmered in the sunlight, and how it carried the faint scent of lavender and the outdoors.

His fingers sifted through it now, slow and methodical, his touch so light it made your eyes flutter closed. The rhythmic motion was soothing, like being lulled to sleep by the ocean’s waves.

“You’ve got the prettiest hair, darlin’,” he muttered under his breath, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room, as if he hadn’t meant for you to hear them.

You hummed softly, leaning into his touch as his fingers continued their gentle work, weaving and twisting with practiced ease. Warmth bloomed in your chest, spreading outward like a soft glow. “You’re just saying that because you like messing with it,” you teased, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Maybe,” he drawled, his voice low and thick, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine as his lips ghosted over the back of your neck. His hands never faltered, steady and careful, as though he were handling something precious.

“Or maybe I just like takin’ care of my girl,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching with a faint, knowing smile.

And God, everyone knew that Joel Miller took care of his girl. He wasn’t subtle about it—not in the way he carried your pack when you both went out, or how his hand always found the small of your back, guiding you like it was second nature. He hardly let you in the kitchen, insisting on cooking every meal himself and making your coffee just the way you liked it. Your arms hadn’t lifted to wash your own hair in months, Joel deliberate in taking care of you in every way possible, as if it was the most important thing he’d ever do.

If being whipped was a person, it was Joel Miller, plain and simple. He was the kind of man who loved so completely, so unapologetically, that anyone who saw him around you could feel it—the quiet reverence in his gaze, the way his shoulders softened when you laughed, the way he seemed to breathe easier when you were near.

A smile tugged at your lips, one he couldn’t see but surely felt, known to him as if it were an extension of his own. The quiet stretched between you, a comforting silence filled with the steady rhythm of his hands in your hair, the weight of his presence, and the unspoken tenderness that tied you together.

“All done, baby,” Joel murmured, his voice low and soft as his hands fell away from your freshly braided hair.

You turned to face him, your knees brushing his, a playful smile tugging at your lips. The warm lamplight bathed his face, casting soft shadows that highlighted the rugged lines carved by time and a life that had seen its share of hardship. But his eyes—steady, grounding—softened as they met yours, the corners creasing just slightly in that way they always did when he looked at you with quiet affection.

You struck a mock pose, tilting your head and letting your braid fall over your shoulder. “Pretty,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff, yet somehow impossibly gentle. His calloused fingers cradled your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as he brushed a stray strand behind your ear. The touch lingered, unhurried and full of meaning, as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet.

You leaned into his touch, pressing your face even further into his palm, craving the warmth and comfort it offered. You were utterly drunk on him—on his love, his care, the way his presence wrapped around you like a sanctuary that nothing in the world could breach. Your chest swelled with emotion, your breath catching in your throat as you gazed up at him, completely undone by how perfect he was in his imperfect, rugged way.

The slope of his nose, proud and strong, the scratch of his beard against your skin, familiar and grounding, the lines etched into his face—each one telling a story of a life hard-lived, a man who had endured but somehow still chose to love you so fiercely. He was everything, and in moments like this, you couldn’t fathom how you’d ever lived without him.

“I love you,” you said, your voice soft yet brimming with a devotion so pure, so absolute, it left no room for hesitation or doubt.

Joel’s lips curved into a slow, tender smile, the kind that reached his eyes and softened the edges of his rugged features. His thumb traced over your lower lip, unhurried, as if he were committing the feel of you to memory, savoring the moment. His gaze locked on yours, deep and unwavering, holding you in a way that made you feel seen, cherished, utterly his.

“I love you,” he said, his voice steady and low, the kind of tone that carried the weight of truth. “More than anything.”

The certainty in his words was unshakable, like a vow carved into stone—solid, eternal, and wholly Joel. You believed him without question, felt the truth of it in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, in the way his hands lingered as though letting go was unthinkable. There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind—not then, not ever.

“Now, let’s go to bed,” he said, his voice dipping into something softer, more tender, as he lifted his arm in a silent invitation. It wasn’t just an offer—it was home.

You didn’t hesitate, shifting into his embrace and curling against him like it was where you were always meant to be. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the comforting weight of his arm draped around your back, made the rest of the world feel distant and insignificant.

His warmth enveloped you, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm that grounded you, steady and sure. As your eyes drifted closed, the last thing you felt was his lips brushing over your hair, and the last thought that floated through your mind was simple but certain.

This is what love feels like—unshakable, enduring, perfect.

[pascal-princess]

Ain't Right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You have a major (borderline obsessive) crush on Joel, and you're on a mission to fuck him.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, cum eating, name calling, kinda mean Joel, alcohol, vomiting, an extremely brief mention of suicide

Disclaimer: I lowkey don't know the logistics of the show so if some things are wrong please look over it I'm just trying to write smut about Joel Miller godbless.

Ain't Right part 2

Ever since that tortured old man showed up in Jackson, your life hasn't been the same.

Tommy's older brother, and your absolute undoing.

When Joel Miller rode into town, it was like everything suddenly made sense. The skies got clearer, the air smelled better, and the birds even chirped their love songs louder.

Everything about him drew you in; his cold demeanor, stoic face, tired eyes—but gentle around those he cared about, which was only a few select people.

And you certainly were not one of those select people.

Joel didn't know what to think about you.

To him, you were odd. Yes, you were undoubtedly the most beautiful girl in Jackson, but he felt distance between the two of you was essential.

He felt this way because he knew.

Joel wasn't oblivious to your stares; he might've been an old man, but he remembered the laws of attraction fairly well.

He didn't like the thought of you liking him.

You were young, attractive, and had plenty of age-appropriate prospects just begging for your attention. Every boy in Jackson wanted a piece of you—but you only had eyes for Joel.

He was getting old and tired, ain't no reason why you should be so fond over him.

He also didn't like that you made your attraction so obvious. It made people whisper, and Joel about had enough teasing from Tommy.

"You gonna let that young thing jump your bones or what, Joel?" Is an example of the few things his brother would chirp at him whenever you were around and had eyes on him like he was a target.

So, all things considered, it's no surprise when Joel is reluctant to make a supply run with you.

You had begged Tommy to let you go out and finally start pulling your weight, carefully adding that Joel would be a great teacher for a first timer like yourself.

You stand near the truck, squeezing the straps of your backpack while watching Joel and Tommy whisper to themselves a couple feet away.

"You can't find anyone else?" Joel growls lowly, narrowing his eyes at his insufferable brother who he’d really like to strangle right now.

"Are you seriously scared of a twenty year old girl, Joel?" Tommy asked exasperatedly, throwing his arm out in disbelief. "It'll take two hours tops, what the hell are you so scared of?" Joel is exhaling through his nose, dragging a hand down his jaw in complete disgruntlement.

"You know what the hell I'm scared of Tommy—goddammit," He gets in his brother’s face before realizing you’re still watching them.

He takes a moment to back up and calm down, breathing out through his nose.

"I do not need this town thinkin' I am encouraging this girls...feelin's." He murmurs lowly.

Tommy rolls his eyes before shoving Joel's backpack into his chest.

"Just don't fuck her, Joel. How hard could it be?"

Joel watches as Tommy turns his back and walks away, leaving just you and him.

Joel had spent a lot of time making sure he was never in a situation alone with you—now he was about to be your unsupervised mentor.

He feels a groan try and crawl its way out his throat, but he pushes it down.

He starts walking to the truck, not even looking at you as he passes and yanks the driver side door open with more force than necessary.

"Let's make this quick." He grunts out, climbing inside.

You do the same, only with a little bit more enthusiasm. ***

The trip is a complete bust.

Joel barely paid you any attention, no matter how many flirty gestures you made at him.

You'd say something remotely suggestive and he'd either glare at you, or just flat out ignore you.

But you were relentless. Giving up on him wasn't in the cards for you, no matter how many judgmental looks he casted your way.

You guys had been driving back to town for around five minutes; Joel has kept his eyes firmly on the road in fear of you sparking a conversation with him.

But you do anyways.

You turn your body to face him in the bench seat, your eyes cascading down his breath-taking side profile.

You zoned in on the gray patches of his beard, and how his face had the remnants of a long, unforgiving life weaved into his wrinkles and scars.

You're momentarily rendered speechless by his looks before he side-eyes you.

"What?" He huffs out, not being able to handle your intense stare any longer.

"Why not?"

A beat.

"What?" He asks again, his brows furrowing together, an annoyed and confused expression painting his features.

"Why won't you fuck me?"

Joel physically winces at your language, scoffing in what looks to be disgust as he starts shaking his head.

"We're not starting this." He snaps firmly, a tone in his voice that you haven't heard before.

Completely disregarding his words, you start.

"Is it because I'm not pretty enough?" Joel groans out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Is it because there's someone else?" He's close to snapping. "Is it because you can't get it up? I heard thats a problem with guys your age-"

Joel slams on the brakes, sending you lurching forward. He shoves the truck into park before turning to face you, a scary look on his face.

"I am not going to fuck you--Christ almighty," Joel raises his voice at you.

You're staring at him, wide eyes and lips parted in surprise. You weren't really expecting this.

"you're bustin' my fuckin' balls, Look kid," He starts up again, this time with a softer tone. "M'about 40 years too old for you-"

You cut him off with a murmur. "36, I did the math."

"Same damn thing," he snaps, shaking his head. "Point is—you don't needa be wastin' your time with me; there are plenty boys your age that will satisfy your...you."

You scoff in his face but try to disguise it by clearing your throat.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Joel," You start, a sad smile spreading across your lips. "S'just sex." You say with a shrug, blush coating your cheeks because now your mind is imagining sex with him.

He stays silent and looks away from you, closing his eyes like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

That urges you to say more.

"I won't tell anyone," You're practically whispering, looking down at your fidgeting hands in your lap. "I'd let you do anything you wanted to me."

Joel's heart cinches in his chest at your words, mostly because he can tell you're being so genuine.

Why the hell did you like him so much? He just couldn’t understand it.

But he can't entertain this any longer because he knows if he did, he'd give into you.

"I don't wanna hear another goddamn word outta your mouth." Joel says in a strikingly even and calm tone, putting the truck into drive and continuing back.

He's eerily silent, and so is the rest of the trip because you're too dejected to speak.

Eventually, you both arrive home and you're fast to get out of the truck.

You slam the door and keep your head down as you walk away, snow crunching beneath your boots.

Joel takes his time, watching you storm off with tired eyes.

He feels bad for being so rough on you, but he figured it was the only way to get you to stop liking him.

Tommy walks up, a concerned look on his face as he looks back between you and Joel.

"Guessin' you didn't fuck her."

***

Nobody had seen you in days.

The pain of rejection had you in a mental place that you had never experienced before.

No one has ever denied you—ever.

The situation was 100x worse considering you actually liked Joel, and he wasn't just another toy to play with.

Joel figured his life would get easier with you not around, and it kinda did in some aspects.

But he couldn't stop the gnawing feeling of guilt slowly eating at him like a parasite.

He'd been cruel to you in the way he went about things, and he felt bad.

Had he really broken your heart? He didn't know you liked him that much.

He sits in his living room, contemplating how to go about this entirely fucked up situation.

He debates making amends with you, apologizing and rejecting you again but in a gentler way.

He deliberates on his plan of action while nursing a glass of whiskey before he's interrupted by three bangs on his front door, followed by a screeching: "JOEL"

He mutters a 'what the fuck' under his breath, walking to the door and picking his 9mil up on the way.

His eyes widen when he sees you-standing there in all your glory.

It's the middle of winter and snowing like hell, yet you're wearing shorts and a tank top with a beer bottle in your hand.

"Jesus, kid-what the fuck," Joel ushers you inside quickly, taking his big jacket off the coatrack and draping it over you.

He also tosses his gun to the side, obviously you were no threat.

"You tryin' to get frostbit? Christ," he's swearing and muttering profanities as he guides you over to the couch, now basically swaddling you in blankets.

You've never been inside his house before, only ever walked passed it a few times. It smells like him.

You, however, smell like alcohol and bad decisions.

Joel picked up on how drunk you were the minute you stumbled through the door. He takes the bottle from your hand and sets it aside somewhere, glaring at you like how a mad parent would.

"The hell are you doin' out in the snow like that? Fuckin' death wish or somethin'?"

His words are kinda fuzzy in your ears, you're so drunk that you barely even register them.

An unprompted giggle spills from your lips as you shake your head at him.

"It's not snowing silly," You chide, making him out to be an idiot when, in actuality, it's a damn blizzard outside.

He knows from that statement alone that you are way off your rocker tonight.

"How much have ya had to drink, kid?" Joel asks, raking a hand through his graying hair.

"Don't call me kid," You snap, a quick flash of anger in your expression. "M'not a kid."

Joel rolls his eyes so hard that he probably caused a tsunami on the other side of the world.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. What are you doin’ here?” He asks exasperatedly, dragging a hand down his jaw while looking at your trembling figure.

There’s a long pause before you answer. You just got distracted by his big brown eyes.

“Jus’ wanted to say hi.” You murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from his face.

“Say hi?” He reiterates, looking at you like you’ve actually lost your mind.

You probably have.

After a moment, Joel can’t help but chuckle in disbelief, letting his body lean back against the couch.

The absurdity of it all turned humorous to him.

Here you are, sitting in his living room, practically nude with only his coat and blankets protecting your modesty, having just trekked through the snow all for what? To say hey?

You’re still sitting there, motionless and trying to remember how to breathe because his laughing face has your heart lighting off fireworks.

“Fuckin’ hell—hi.” Is all he says, turning his head to the side to look at you as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You smile like a dope at him, so extremely happy to be there in his company.

But the alcohol in your system is fighting you, and you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

“S’it cool if I say the nigh?” You slur, falling vertically on the couch, your head crashing onto Joel’s thigh.

You nuzzle your cheek against the fabric of his jeans and Joel is just about to gently push you off, but he stops himself.

You look so comfortable and so at peace that Joel can’t do anything except stare at you.

Your cheek is slightly smushed, your lips are parted, your eyes are shut and don’t plan on opening—it’s insane to him how at home you looked.

Like you belonged here, head rested on his lap.

Fuck.

He was fucked this time.

He doesn’t move you. Instead, he fixes the blankets on top of you so you’re fully covered, and sits there with you the entire night.

He’s really gone soft.

***

When morning comes, you’re first to wake up, accompanied by a splitting headache.

You don’t even notice how Joel’s hand had fallen onto your waist some time during the night because you’re too busy making a b-line for the bathroom.

You chuck your guts up into the toliet, clutching the porcelain and groaning out in pain.

Joel wakes up to the sound of your hurling, momentarily disoriented before he remembers last nights events.

He’s quick to come to your aid in the bathroom, wasting no time gathering your hair in his fist to get it out of your face.

"S'right, get it all out," He murmurs out encouragingly, seemingly unfazed by the disheveled sight of you.

You’re too sick to be embarrassed, that’ll come later surely.

He sits on the wall of the tub as he continues holding your hair back, yawning every now and then like this was just a regular Tuesday morning.

Eventually, by the mercy of God, you get it all out of your system and slump up against the wall.

“M’sorry,” You immediately apologize, figuring that is the only right move in this situation.

“Don’t be. Been through plenty'a that in my day.”

His words are uncharacteristically reassuring and you find yourself taken back by them.

You soon realize this is probably just the hazy morning Joel, the Joel where he isn't worried about anything except coffee and breakfast—like everything wrong in his life is put on the back burner for this short minute in time.

“I’ll get you some water and Advil, sit tight.” He grunts before standing up on his feet, knees popping as he walks out.

You watch as he leaves, wiping the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Aside from the vomit part, you could get used to this.

You've never seen him so...domestic. His hair was all messy, his voice was raspy, he had that morning haze over his features that you felt so honored to witness.

You suddenly felt compelled to look at your own appearance, hopping to your feet and looking in the dirty mirror.

You resist the urge to audibly gasp at your reflection, opting for a disgusted look instead.

Your hair is a rats nest, your clothes are a mess, and your mascara has rubbed off in black smudge all over the skin around your eyes.

In a desperate attempt to look at least semi-presentable, you wash your face with water and comb through your hair with your fingers.

The idea that Joel had seen you looking like that was making your stomach churn again.

Before you can grovel about it any longer, he rounds the corner with a glass of water and little brown pills in his hand.

“Here,” He says softly, handing you the water and tilting the pills into your open palm. “Take these ‘n drink all that water and ya should get to feelin’ better.”

You do as he says, swallowing the Advil in one go before taking a big sip to wash it down.

His eyes drift down to your shoulder, where your tank top strap has fallen. No doubt from all that vigorous throwing up you were doing moments ago.

Without thinking, his fingers graze your forearm before bringing the strap back up to its correct position, clearing his throat in the process.

A beat of silence falls over the both of you.

You’re gobsmacked by the complete nonchalance of his touch, staring at him with your mouth slightly open in shock.

“What?” He asks defensively, his tone pointed.

You look between him and your shoulder strap, then slowly move to set your water down.

“Are you sure we can’t fuck?”

“Goddammit—” Joels cursing before you can even finish saying the last word in your sentence.

He turns away from you, probably the fastest you’ve seen anyone turn in their life, and walks towards his room with an accelerating pace.

He shakes his head in disbelief all the way down the hall, pivoting on his heel to duck into his bedroom.

You follow him, not really fazed by how he completely refused to answer your question, though you didn’t think he would anyway.

Before you can step foot into the threshold of his room, Joel walks out, causing you to back up.

He shoves a stack of clothes in your direction, looking down at you with a frustrated face. “Put these clothes on and go home.”

You look down, realizing he was letting you borrow a sweater and jeans of his so you didn’t die walking back to your house from the cold.

Your heart warms at this thoughtfulness.

Without wasting any time, you take the clothes from his hands, smiling happily. “Can I keep them?”

“Why the hell would you wanna keep my clothes?” He’s got that confused/angry look on his face as he asks, and you have to suppress a giggle at the sight of it.

You bring the pieces of fabric up to your nose and inhale, humming as you breathe out again. “They smell like you.”

“Christ,” Joel beings his hands up to rub at his eyes. “Fine, do whatever. Just hurry up and change, jesus,"

Ever the tease, you set down his clothes and begin to lift your tank top like you planned to change right in front of him.

Joel's hands shoot out to stop you, a 'don't try me,' look on his face.

"Put them on over your clothes," Joel says sternly, watching the way you sigh because you weren't fast enough in lifting your tank top off.

However, you sieze the opportunity in front of you.

Joel's hands are holding yours down, so you work to intertwine your fingers, invading his space by stepping forward.

"Or, you could take my clothes off," You purr, your chest now flush with his torso.

Joel exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching as he tried deciding how he was going to get out of this situation.

But then he paused.

Looking down at you now, so eager and wide eyed, made him wonder.

If he fucked you, and made you realize it wasn't what you were probably imagining in your head, maybe then you'd finally leave him alone.

He would just...pretend to be awful at sex.

(Even though it had been so long and he wasn't sure if he'd actually need to 'pretend' anymore.)

There's a long silence that drags out between the both of you.

Your stomach is doing flips because it's looking like he's finally going to agree.

His resolve cracks and Joel can't do anything but sigh in defeat.

Slowly, Joel pulls you back into his room, closing the door behind you both.

Time is moving in slow motion.

You can't believe it's finally happening.

He guides you back until the back of your knees hit his bed, prompting you to sit down on it.

"I'm only going to do this once," Joel's voice is uncharacteristically low and calm, and it has your core tightening.

You nod in acknowledgement, waiting to see what he's going to do next.

With care, he pushes your shoulder down so you're laying on your back. "Are you sure you want this?" He asks, brown eyes searching yours.

"Have I not made it obvious?" You quip, a giggle following shortly after.

Joel only shakes his head before his fingers latch around the fabric of your shorts, pulling them down and off your legs.

"S'pose you have." He murmurs, scratching the back of his neck.

You're vibrating with excitement and you repeat what you tried earlier, only this time succeeding with taking your top off.

Of course, you're not wearing a bra.

Joel realizes in that moment that he bit off way more than he could chew.

He hasn't seen breast that weren't on a soggy piece of paper in at least a few years, and yours--well, his cock stood no chance.

You hear him swallow, watching as he can't seem to stop staring at your chest.

Realizing that he might need a little encouragement to start speeding things along, you smile up at him and whisper, "touch me Joel".

Yeah, screw this. His plan of pretending to be bad was now entirely forgotten—he was going to do what he wanted, so help him god.

He huffs out a curse before sliding a hand up your torso, stopping once he's fully cupped one of your breasts in one hand. He kneads it like dough while using his other hand to disappear under your panties.

A choked moan erupts from your lips once you feel his fingers brush along your clit, rubbing around and spreading your slick around all too slowly.

"haven't even done anythin' yet and you're already fuckin' soaked..." He murmurs really to just himself, his eyes casting down to watch as he rips your underwear off impatiently.

"M'always like this whenever you're around," you mewl to spur him on, spreading your legs wider.

"Oh you are, huh?" Joel repeats back, the tiniest bit of cruelty in his tone that makes you shiver.

You nod, bucking your hips into his hand desperately.

"don't get why you like an old man like me, s'gross." His tone is flat but it's clear he's teasing by the way he curls his fingers inside of you. He's not really expecting a response, but you feel compelled.

You lurch forward, gasping at the feeling. "I really like you," You rush out breathlessly. "I'd do anything you wanted me to." You say earnestly as you stare into his eyes, loving what you're seeing.

Joel remembers when you told him that the first time, his heart cinching the same way it did then.

Joel is at war with himself. One side of him is screaming that this whole situation is fucked up and he is better off without you.

Another part of him thinks that this is the most he’s ever felt in a long time. And he doesn't want to lose it.

You can see the gears turning in his head. His fingers have slipped from you and you wince at the loss.

Slowly, you sit up. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your nipples pressing into his shirt.

He's confused and momentarily panicked when your faces get so close together, his hands seeking purchase on your hips.

In an unexpected move, you rake your hands through the side of his hair, looking lovingly at his face.

"I just wanna be someone for you," You murmur, your face breaking a little as Joel's resolve also cracks. "Doesn't matter what. I'm very versatile." You mumble the last part to try and lighten the mood.

Joel just stares at you—something swimming behind his eyes that you can't quite place.

Eventually, he crashes his forehead against yours, sighing out.

"You're makin' this fuckin' impossible." He rasps before kissing you with a passion you've never felt before.

You feel victorious.

He's finally given in to you.

Eagerly, you kiss back, wrapping your legs around his torso and grinding your bare cunt against the bulge in his jeans.

"Then stop trying so hard to get rid of me," You sigh out, chasing his lips even as you're trying to speak.

He groans and you catch it in your mouth, the pressure on his clothed cock making him dizzy.

“Fuck,” He’s quick to unbuckle his belt, sliding it out of the loops and tossing it somewhere on the floor. “Lay back.” He demands and you immediately follow suit.

He's never been that...assertive with you before. It makes you tingle all over.

He looks starved as he peers down at you, specifically your cunt.

He literally can’t tear his eyes off your sex—he only looks up to your gaze when you let out an impatient whine.

He rips down his pants, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

Now you can’t tear your eyes away from his sex.

You’ve only dreamt it so many times, but now that it’s finally in front of you—it all just feels surreal.

It’s better than you imagined, perfect.

“I don’t have a—”

You know what he’s about to say so you cut him off immediately. “S’okay, like it raw. Closer to you that way.” You murmur.

Joel looks physically pained that he’s not inside you right now. For some reason, you just know all the right things to say.

“Closer to me?” He huffs out, hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you down to the edge of the bed where he stood.

Now your cunt is flush with the base of his member and the sensation drives you both insane. “You’re fuckin’ insane.”

Joel rasps, but the way he says it reveals just how far he’s fallen. He knows you’re crazy, and yet here he is, balancing you out.

He glides his member back and forth against your folds, gathering up your wetness with a clenched jaw and furrowed brows.

He looks so concentrated—meanwhile you’re writhing with pleasure and impatience. Your cunt is clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs to himself, eyes tracing all over you.

You freeze.

Joel had complimented you for the first time, and it was genuine.

He notices you stiffen and takes a moment to pause.

Your entire body erupts with goosebumps, your heart beating at exceptionally fast speeds.

He's worried for a second that something is horribly wrong.

“What?” He asks, confused at what’s got you so wound up.

Your face is flushed red as you bashfully giggle. “You called me pretty.”

Ah fuck.

Joel finds you so charming it hurts.

After he remembers how to breathe again, he rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

“I have my cock to your cunt, of course I find you pretty.”

You smile and shrug. “Still. Nice to hear.” You’re all smiles until his tip prods at your entrance, causing a gasp to leave your throat.

He continues to apply pressure with his tip and it’s driving you crazy.

“Fuck Joel—are you trying to kill me?” You whine, hips wiggling to get him in.

He scoffs and shakes his head. “Relax, m’almost there.”

Slowly, he begins pushing his way inside. His mushroom head breaches you entirely and it feels like you can hear the angels singing.

He continues forward, the stretch being mainly around the middle of his thick cock.

But you’re taking it like a champ.

Joel braces himself with hands on both sides of your torso as he bottoms out, a groan crawling its way out of his throat.

The sensation is absolutely delicious.

A little bit of pain from the stretch, but so much pleasure from the fullness.

“Joel, ohmygod you feel so good inside me.” You moan, throwing your head back.

Your hips start moving on their own, but he immediately stops you with two large hands.

“D-Don’t move—fuck.” Joel grumbles out, his face pinched together in what looked like pain.

You’re confused for a moment, thinking maybe that he might just be really into cockwarming.

But then it hits you.

“Were you gonna come?” The tone in your voice makes it seem like you’d be elated if that was the case—like the most flattering thing in the world.

Joel looks pissed that you caught on so quick.

In truth, the moment he put his tip in, he was holding back his orgasm.

Can you blame him? He’s only fucked his hand for the last couple years.

“S’been a while.” Is all he can say, his chest heaving up and down in concentration. You know he’s embarrassed, but you can’t help but smile like a dope at him.

“If you come, please do it inside, please,” you beg, reaching out for his arms that caged you in.

Joel's rational mind feels like it just touched down in looney town after hearing your begging.

He feels crazy because he liked the thought of the idea you proposed. You even see him hesitate. But then he scoffs and shakes his head.

Joel drops down closer to your face, slowly starting to rock his hips into you. "Tryin' to baby trap me, girl?" He grunts in your ear, making you moan out.

Your walls are clenching down on him, and it’s making it that much harder to hold back. “No-no, promise, just wanna be full of you." You manage to blubber out...unconvincingly.

You probably didn't really want a baby with Joel, but your lust-driven brain was working on fumes and you just wanted to do what felt good.

Joel's grunting in your ear was not helping things. His fingers were gripping your hip so hard, you figured it would probably bruise tomorrow

Good. You wanted whatever he would give you.

"Christ--m'not gonna last much longer," Joel groans, picking his head up a little to meet your gaze. He wanted to kick himself for not being able to last, but when he saw your face, all those feelings disappeared.

You looked so--perfect. Soaking up the moment in case it was the last, god you hoped it wasn't the last time. Now that you've finally had a tase of him, you weren't sure you could live without it.

Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him firmly in your cunt. Joel notices this and also your pleading eyes, a growl leaving his throat.

"Please, please, please, please," you beg, never breaking eye contact with him as his thrusts pick up speed.

He ruins your long string with pleas with a needy kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat like a starving man.

You accept it happily, moaning out into the kiss while Joel manhandles your hips to take his cock.

The feeling is damn near euphoric for both you and him. It gets even better when Joel's hand comes down to rub at your clit again.

Your back arches off the bed as you gasp and moan out, wrapping your arms back around his shoulders. "F-Fuck!" You moan into his ear, probably drooling on his shoulder in the process. "thankyouthankyouthankyou-" you sputter out in choked sobs. He was really good at working on your clit, you couldn't do anything else but thank him for it.

Joel feels a surge of something when he hears you. He's never had a woman thank him in bed before.

It's enough to push him over the edge. And apparently you too.

"I'm gonna come Joel, please don't stop," There are pools of tears in your eyes that Joel is just now noticing. He's about to reply to you, but he finds himself speechless when he feels your cunt start constricting and fluttering around him like a vice.

"Fuck!" He groans out loudly, his hips starting to falter in their rhythm. But then he picks up speed again, and in no time he's like a madman jackhammering into you.

You're a mess of screams and cries and moans underneath him, happily taking everything he was giving you.

When Joel feels himself about to come, he notices how your legs are still tightly wrapped around him, keeping him inside, and he manages to scoff out.

"Gotta let me go baby," You've never heard that pet name from him before, and it makes you crumble. His hands move to grab at your thighs, kneading the flesh there.

You whine out but reluctantly release the grip your legs had on him. Joel doesn't waste time before hugging both your legs on his chest, keeping them firmly placed while your feet squirmed by his ear.

"Atta girl," he murmurs before picking up speed again, his cock head pressing into your cervix.

It's all too much for you. Joel looks so amazing pounding into you from above, his concentrated face, his sweat, the way his salt and pepper hair is all disheveled, you're losing your mind.

Your core is on fire and you can't stop yourself.

In a staggering turn of events, you come first.

Your walls come down like bricks on his dick, you cry out, throwing your head back in complete bliss and ecstasy.

Seeing and feeling this, Joel is quick to follow in your steps. He rips himself from that warm hole of yours and pumps himself dry onto your stomach.

You watch it all with wide eyes, you wouldn't have missed Joel's orgasm face for the world!

Of course, his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth was open as he was breathing heavily, and his eyebrows turned down like he was mad.

God he was so beautiful.

His thick ropes of cum shoot all over your stomach and even your breasts as he jerks himself off to completion.

When he finishes, he takes a moment to catch his breath, finally opening his eyes to see you scoop up his cum from your breast with your finger and shove it in your mouth.

Your tongue swirls around his seed and you swallow eagerly, humming out in satisfaction at the taste of him.

Joel's watching in complete fascination, though his expression looks a little angry. When does it not?

"taste so good," you mumble with your finger still in your mouth, looking up at him with your big eyes.

He moves before he can think about it--ripping your hand away from your lips and caging you in a slow but deep kiss.

He soon falls down beside you and soon rolls over onto his back, his chest rising and falling from the excursion.

You curl into his side, watching his side profile so intently. You had just fucked Joel Miller.

And it was everything you had dreamed of. Extreme happiness doesn't even begin to describe your feelings right now.

There's a long stretch of silence that drapes over the both of you. Eventually, Joel breaks it with something extremely off topic.

"Last night...you didn't just come here to say 'hi', did you?"

You're momentarily speechless, not expecting that question from him at all. But you can't stop a giggle from coming through your lips.

"Actually, I came to confront you." Your voice is soft as you begin speaking, thinking back to last night's ordeal.

Joel doesn't expect this answer, his head turns to look at you while you speak. His arm comes down to drape over your shoulder.

"I was really upset cus you rejected me n'all. I just couldn't accept the whole, 'age gap' excuse. I wanted to know if you just really didn't like me or not." You're murmuring, drawing soft lines with your finger on the skin of Joel's chest.

He huffs out a breath at the explanation, shaking his head. "Guess you got your answer, huh." He grumbles out, somewhat ashamed of himself that he couldn't hold back.

You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek. "I did," you chirp happily, admiring his face again. "You know you're gonna have to fuck me, like, everyday now, right?"

You're kidding. But you're also not at all.

Joel scoffs and sits up, moving to pick up both his and your shirts. "Fat chance. Barely had enough stamina for one round." He grunts out, finding the neck hole in your tank top and putting it over your head for you.

You don't bother to pull it down over your breasts so Joel does it for you.

"It's okay, we can build up your tolerance over time." You quip with a teasing smile, loving the way Joel turned to glare a you.

He couldn't believe the youth these days.

[pascal-princess]

LESSONS LEARNED

CONTENT WARNING: pre outbreak, smut below the cut, pwp, daddy kink, breeding kink?, unmentioned age gap, unprotected p in v, fingering, rough, choking, slapping and spanking, degradation, praise, praise so good we’re crying

NAMES USED: baby, slut, y/n, sweet girl, sweetheart

A/N: this is just pure filth, i hope you guys like it T_T

JOEL truly hated one thing. and it wasn’t warm beer or having to fold clothes on a day where he feels like relaxing, it was your nasty eye rolling habit.

he’d tell you something you didn’t want to hear and being the brat you were, you just had to roll those eyes. “don’t roll your eyes at me.” he’d retort. and you’d just never listen.

until one day, he was just at his wits end. he had said something and you’d done it again. “what did i say about that?” he asked. he was driving down the highway, both of you heading home after spending a day out. you were used to him just pretending to get annoyed but today was different, he had been stressed at work during the week.

“whatever.” you laughed his words off rolled your eyes yet another time. “just you wait until we get home.” he said, glancing to you and then back at the road. you didn’t take it seriously, just returning back to listening to the radio.

“get on your knees.” he demanded, standing in front of you. obeying, you lowered yourself down onto the wood floor. “open your mouth.” he speaks sharply, bluntly.

he shoves his index and middle fingers into your mouth, making your lips wrap around them. you hummed as he practically fucked your throat, shoving them deeper and pulling them out halfway. your spit dripped down your chin and down your neck, falling between your bare tits.

his hands gripped your chin and he continued to shove them in, causing you to gag. you could feel yourself dripping each time he shoved his fingers in.

he pulled them out, a string of saliva connecting. “yeah, you like that? fuckin’ slut.” he spat has he landed a slap on your cheek. a smile blossomed on your face. “you’re a disgusting little thing aren’t you?” you nodded, eyes glossy from gagging. he leaned down to kiss you on your lips. “i love it.” he mumbled.

he helped you stand up and led you to the bed. he shoved you onto it, landing you onto your stomach, your bare ass out to him. he hovered over you. you could feel his hard cock rubbing against your thigh. his hand slid to your inner thigh, rough fingers rubbing over your drenched slit.

“got all wet from that, huh?” he chuckled darkly before slipping his fingers into you, erupting a moan. “joel!” you whined. he fit so comfortably between your aroused walls. he groaned, “fuck, baby. you feel so good, always so good f’me.” he could’ve came from the feeling of you around his fingers.

your fingers grabbed the sheets, face scrunched and cheek pressed against the bed. you wiggled against him, trying to get the most stimulation out of his two digits. “so needy.” he said before thrusting them faster. speeding up intensely, causing you to yelp, “fuck, joel!” your brows scrunching.

when the words left your mouth, a slap landed to your ass. “watch your mouth, slut.” his fingers continued their sensational dance in your fleshy walls as you were practically drooling.

joel removed his fingers, causing you to whine out. another smack to your ass. “be patient.” he lined himself up with your slit before slowly pushing in, alerting you and causing you to jolt but joel grabbed both of your arms, holding you in place as he thrusted himself inside with a “fuuuuckkk.” which caused a whimper to escape your lips.

his hands left your arms to grip onto your hips, squeezing the flesh as he pistoned his pelvis into you. “oh, daddy.” you moan out. “yeah, baby, s’that feel good?” you nod, “mhm.” he pulls you up by your hair, “what’s that?” your head was so fuzzy, all you could feel was joel’s fat cock kissing your cervix. “ye-yes, daddy. feels so good.” you manage out.

you could hear him in you, soaking the patch of hair before his cock. his heavy balls slapped against your sensitive nub, causing your legs to quiver. joel pulled you up by your hair again, your back against his chest, and he placed a kiss to your neck, his lips warm. “you feel so good, baby. so wet and warm jus’ f’me.” a tear streamed down your face. the pleasure, the pain, the intimacy of joel’s body and words was all so overwhelming.

you sniffle as more single tears fall. “shhh, oh sweet girl.” he cooed. his arms wrapped around your waist and your hand reached back to tangle in his hair and the other holding his hand on your waist.

his hips continued slapping against your own as your stomach started to fill up with warmth. joel could tell you were close as you clenched around his dick. “gonna cum,” you moaned.

“cum for me, baby. cum on daddy’s cock.” a few more thrust and you came undone. legs shaking as you orgasmed. as joel felt you spasm around him, he too, came. his seed filling up your walls. joel’s head was practically reeling. “ohhhh fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he mumbled breathlessly. joel’s moans and cum filling you up made you react the same, squeezing his hair.

he slowly lowered you down and pulled out of you which made you whine from the loss of feeling. as you laid in front of him, he could see his load dripping out of you, he leaned down and pushed it back into you which caused a shudder from the sudden sensation. “can’t have it going to waste, sweetheart.” he laid down next to you and then went to sat up, “no- wait.” you spoke tiredly. “can you lay with me for a moment.” you face smushed into the pillow and you already felt sleepy. “of course.” joel smiled and returned back to his spot. “i’m sorry if i was too rough.” joel mumbled as he pulled you onto his fuzzy chest, to which you shook your head. “you were amazing.” you placed a kiss to his chest as your eyes were closed.

“night, sweet girl.” he spoke softly, wiping the sweaty hair from your forehead. “night, daddy.” you mumbled cheekily. joel snickered and continued with his hand through your hair. you fell asleep very well rested and soon joel followed.

hi babies, i hope you like this! it was very fun to write.

[pascal-princess]

Warm me up

Joel miller x fem reader

Joel wakes to you coming into his room. You tell him how cold you are and he gives into his needs.

Warnings! Porn no plot! Age gap! (Reader is my age) oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, cum play, (?) degrading, praise and talk of male oral.

Written for my love @starkeysprincess I love you!!

“Joel? It’s so cold. Can I sleep in here with you?” He stirred from sleep, his shirtless body exposed from the messy blankets. He grunted a yes and you climbed underneath.

You were wearing an oversized tshirt, pair of black panties and knee socks. Joel felt his dick twitch. A pretty girl in his bed, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Your supple skin exposed as you moved closer to him, your arms looped around his waist, legs wrapped around his own.

Joel made a small noise and instinctively pressed you against him. His large hand splayed on the small of your back. His thick fingers feeling your cool skin.

“Better?”

“Still cold. Need you to warm me up.” Your soft voice caused Joel to groan. How could he refuse such a plea?

“C’mere.” He pulled you on top of him, your thighs caging his middle. Joel’s palms kneaded your legs, moving up to your hips and gently squeezed. “Is that helping?”

He felt a little guilt, the age gap between you both was large. Especially as you started rocking your pelvis, your pussy underneath your panties rubbing against his stomach.

“Mmmm, thank you, Joel.” He could see your smile even in the darkness. Joel broke, leaning up on his arm, he caught your lips in a searing kiss. Yours were soft, his tongue licked yours and he moaned deeply when you cupped his jaw.

You sloppily kissed each other and Joel put his whole body into it. He rocked his dick against your ass that pressed against it, his hand reaching to bury in your hair. He growled against your mouth and flipped you on your back.

“God, I don’t know if you know what you’ve done, little one. Rubbing your pussy on me.” He snarled and yanked your shirt up. Exposing your panties.

He dragged his fingers against your slit, feeling your arousal and smearing it on your clit. “Fuck, you’re wet. I bet you’re sweet,” He brought his fingers to his lips, sucking softly. Joel felt something unlock in him, an animalistic urge taking over and he pushed you back. You landed in a heap with your head on the pillow and he hauled your legs apart. He shoved your panties to the side, pressing his nose to your inner thigh and inhaled deeply.

“You smell so good.”

He shoved his face in your cunt, very gently nipping your clit before sucking it between his lips. You threw your head back, clutching his hair as Joel spit on your pussy and licked it up with his tongue. Whines and whimpers escaped you as he fucked your entrance with his mouth.

He was aggressive, moaning and palmed himself as he kept you against his face with his free hand. Your pussy was fluttering and leaking all over him. You were wailing, reaching your peak and finally it broke. You cried out and trembled.

“J-Joel!” You squeaked as he climbed up. Joel’s thick hands gripped your knees and pushed them up. He brought them over his shoulders and you noticed his boxers were gone.

His thick dick, throbbing between his legs was noticeable even in the haze. Joel slapped his tip against your clit, merging his precum with yours and then he pushed into you. The bulbous head straining and you mewled. Your nails dug into his shoulders as Joel thrusted into you.

“Atta girl, that’s a good little slut. Taking my dick like you have nothing else to live for.” He huffed and pounded into you harder. “Bet you’ll never be fucking cold again.”

Drool slipped from your mouth and Joel reached down to grip your jaw.

“Stay with me, baby girl. Need you awake so you can take it. Fuck, your pussy’s squeezin me. That’s it, yeah?” His vocal appreciation made you impossibly wetter and your eyes rolled back in your head.

Your second orgasm came embarrassingly fast and Joel grunted. He fucked you through it, still lasting as his hand wrapped around your throat. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. I know, I know, there you go.” He smirked as you jerked with aftershock.

“Gonna cum in you. Watch it spill out from that pathetic little hole then cover you with it.” He promised and amped up his depth. His balls slapped against your ass as he fucked you deeper.

Seconds went by and Joel let out a sigh. His cock twitched inside you and his cum coated your insides. You let out a shudder as he pulled out, jerking his dick and more cum sprayed on your stomach.

“Messy girl,” He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. He let go of your legs but didn’t remove contact. Joel lifted you by underneath your arms and set you on his lap.

“Give me five minutes, doll and I’m gonna train your throat.”

“Who said I need training?” You giggled as he smacked your ass.

“Training for a man’s dick, sweetheart. And you’re gonna be a good girl and suck it clean.”

Tagging: @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @userchai @stillwjk-channie-lixie

[pascal-princess]

Thorned Innocence

dark!joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

rating: explicit 18+ minors dni

word count: 4.1k

warnings: DDDNE, non-consensual rough sex, coercion, virginity loss, cunnilingus, substance use and drugging, age difference (19/50).

summary: on christmas eve, everything takes a dark turn when your sister has to leave, leaving you alone with her husband.

a/n: i never planned to write this, but the idea has been stuck in my mind. as a reminder, this is purely fictional, and i do not condone nor romanticize anything like this in real life. if this story is bothering you in any way, please take care of yourself. your well-being is the most important thing <𝟑. this is my first time writing smut btw and i tried my best :) also, im sorry for being inactive lately, everything keeps falling apart. ive been feeling overwhelmed and tired, but im trying to focus on writing because it helps me cope when everything feels out of control. i appreciate your support and patience, it means the world to me. thank you 𐙚

dividers by @strangergraphics

The snow falls softly outside the window, blanketing the ground in a soft, powdery white. It’s Christmas night, and the kitchen is filled with the comfortable glow of warm, dim light. The scent of freshly baked cookies fills the air as you carefully shape the dough into little deer for your sister, Ana, and her husband, Joel.

The cozy crackle of the fire in the living room adds to the peaceful atmosphere. Your heart is full of love and excitement as you can’t wait to share the little deer-shaped cookies with them.

You’ve been living under their roof for a month now, ever since your dad passed away. Your sister insists on it, not wanting you to be alone in your parents’ house, even though you’re nineteen and perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. She can’t bear the thought of you being all alone, even if you’re an adult.

She’s almost like a mother to you, despite the twenty-year age gap. Since you were a baby, she’s been there, always taking care of you to help your dad. Filling the void left by your mother, who passed away giving birth to you. That was until Joel married her when you were ten, and then she left.

Sometimes, it feels like it’s your fault that your mother isn’t here, and as a child, you would wake up in the middle of the night, crying, overwhelmed with guilt. But your sister was always there to calm you, wrapping you in her arm, and reassuring you that it wasn’t your fault. She would remind you that your mother’s love was an act of sacrifice and that you were never to blame. Her soothing words always helped lift the weight from your heart.

You love your sister deeply, and you often feel that the least you can do is show your gratitude in small, meaningful ways. Baking those cookies for her and Joel is your way of expressing how thankful you are for everything they’ve done for you.

“What are you doing, doll?” Ana asks, stepping into the kitchen with a warm smile.

You don’t hear her footsteps, and it’s almost as if she’s purposely creeping up behind you. Startled, you quickly turn around and hide the baked cookies behind your back. “Nothing,” you say, trying to act casual.

“It’s not nothing. I can smell it from upstairs. Move!” she says with a playful laugh, gently nudging you aside to peek behind you.

“No!”

Her eyes light up as she spots the deer-shaped cookies. “Oh my god, this is so cute!”

“You’re not supposed to see it now,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your voice as you cross your arms, a small pout forming on your lips.

“Well, I already saw it. Can I try one?” she asks with a teasing smile, reaching for a cookie.

“It was supposed to be a surprise, and now it’s ruined,” you reply, trying to hide a smile.

“Wait… you made this for me?”

You bow your head, trying to hide your rosy cheeks, and bite your lip before speaking softly, “Yeah… I made this for you and Joel.” Your voice is quiet, almost shy.

“You’re too sweet,” she says, her voice filled with affection. She looks at you with an expression full of love. “You didn’t have to do this, but it means so much.”

“I wanted to,” you say softly. “It’s the least I can do… for everything you’ve done for me.”

She smiles warmly and pulls you into a hug. You always love the feeling of being wrapped in her arms—it’s a warmth that feels like coming home.

“I love you, doll.”

You smile, your voice barely above a whisper as you try not to get too emotional, “I love you, too.”

“For god’s sake, just try the cookies,” you say with a playful laugh as you gently push her away, your cheeks still warm.

“Fine,” she says, grabbing one of the warm cookies and taking a bite, then she grins. “This is amazing! You really outdid yourself.”

“Really? Thanks,” your cheeks turning a little pink under her praise.

Too caught up in the moment, you don’t realize Joel has been standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the two of you all this time. It isn’t until he coughs that you notice him, his brown eyes fixed on you.

“Honey, come over here and try the cookie she made!” Ana says excitedly. “She baked these just for us.”

“Really? Reckon it’s alright if I try one, sweetheart?” Joel asks you, his voice deep with a slow southern drawl.

“Yeah, actually they’re for both of you,” you say, smiling shyly.

Joel steps closer, his hand reaching for a cookie, the other gently resting on your waist as he stands behind you a little too long. The touch lingers for a moment before he pulls back, but you remain lost in the warmth of the moment with your sister, not noticing.

Joel looks at you and speaks, “You really know how to make somethin’ special.”

You look up at him, unaware that there’s more behind his words, something unspoken. “Thanks, Joel. It’s supposed to be eaten with cold milk to taste even better.”

You cannot help but miss your dad so much. But as you stand there, surrounded by your sister’s laughter, and Joel’s quiet presence, you find comfort. It feels like the warmth of family, a sense of belonging that you’ve longed for.

The sound of the phone ringing fills the room, breaking the peaceful moment. Ana reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, glancing at the screen before answering. “Hello?”

Her facial expression shifts, her smile fading into something more urgent. Eyes widening slightly, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

“What is it?” Joel asks.

You kneel on the couch in the quiet living room, your chin resting on your crossed arms which you fold over the backrest. Watching your sister’s car grow smaller in the distance until it finally vanishes behind the thin lace curtains.

Meanwhile, Joel watches quietly from behind, secretly enjoying the sight of you at that moment, a twisted smirk slowly forming on his lips. His thoughts drifts, imagining the feel of the silken skin of your back and waist beneath his touch, savoring the vulnerability of your posture on the couch.

“Sweetheart,” he calls for you.

You turn around and sit down, looking up at him. He can see the tears shimmer in your eyes, threatening to fall, while your soft lips slightly pouty.

“She’ll probably be back ‘fore you even wake up,” Joel says gently as he tries to soothe you.

“I know, but it’s Christmas Eve,” you speak softly. “Why couldn’t they have called another doctor instead of her?”

“Most of ‘em are probably outta town now.”

Ana suddenly had to rush to the hospital after hearing about a car accident in the local town. Joel wanted to drive her, but she firmly urged him to stay behind, telling him that she didn’t want you to be left alone on such a night. As the door closed behind her, Joel couldn’t help but feel a dark sense of satisfaction being alone with you.

“You don’t have to be sad, I’m here, little girl,” he whispers softly. Joel slides his hand gently along your soft thigh as he kneels before you. You’re so beautiful up close, like a delicate porcelain doll—fragile, with a vision of innocence.

You smile softly, sadness in your eyes. “Thank you, Joel,” you whisper, and wrap your arms around him.

The feeling of your body pressed against his sends a shiver down his spine and stirs undeniable arousal within him. His pulse quickens and he aches for more, so he holds you tighter.

It’s not just desire—it’s a need, dark, and uncontrollable.

Joel had always seen you as his wife’s little sister. He’d watched you grow up from a distance, never once thinking of you in any way other than family, you were just a kid in his eyes—until you moved in with them.

You’ve grown up and blossomed into a lovely young woman. You’re beautiful in a way that feels dangerous, almost too much to bear, and it unsettles him. You’re still shy, still that quiet little girl, but there’s something new there, something he can’t look away from.

You’ve been consuming his thoughts for the last four weeks, invading his mind, even in his sleep. To him, you are both salvation and damnation.

Joel takes a deep breath, reluctantly pulling away. His big hands gently cradle your warm cheeks as he looks into your eyes. “How ‘bout we watch somethin’ you love? Got a go-to Christmas movie?”

“Edward Scissorhands?”

He chuckles, shaking his head with a playful grin. “That ain’t a Christmas movie, sweetheart.”

“Yes, it is!”

“I don’t know ‘bout that,” he says. “But if you wanna watch it, I’m all for it.”

The rosy smile returns to your face as you nod. “Okay.”

“Alright, c’mon.”

“I’m gonna put all the cookies in the jar first. Wait for me?”

Joel sits on the couch, remote in hand, pretending to focus on the screen, but his eyes dart to the doorway every few seconds. He hears your footsteps before he sees you, and his heart flutters. You walk in, holding a small bowl of the deer-shaped cookies.

His eyes trace every inch of you, and you’re utterly unaware of it. He loves the way your lips curve, the innocent tilt of your head, your eyes blinking, like a shy little creature who doesn’t even know how dangerous it is to be this close to him.

You place the bowl on the coffee table, and you settle beside him, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your body.

As time passes, Joel’s attention drifts away from the movie. Instead, it’s entirely on you. The way your smile lights up as you watch Kim dancing in the snowfall while Edward carves an angelic ice sculpture of her. The lace-trimmed strap of your top slips from your shoulders, revealing the gentle curve of your collar bones, which move rhythmically with each breath. Your leg brushes against his, sending a wave of heat through him.

Joel shifts uncomfortably. His hand moves, adjusting the growing tension in his jeans, and he pretends to cough.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he mutters. “Wait here.”

He leaves the room without looking at you, and all he hears is the faint sound of your soft voice saying, “Okay.”

Instead of heading to the bathroom, Joel makes his way to the kitchen. He takes a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and takes a long swig straight from the bottle, savoring the burn.

Convincing himself that this is something he must do, he steadies his breath. There you are, oblivious, sitting innocently on the couch. Tonight, he has you all to himself, and he’s not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

Joel makes two cups of hot cocoa, the steam rising from the mugs. Then, he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a bottle of Rohypnol, and crushes a pill between his fingers. He stirs the powder into your Peter Rabbit mug.

Again, he adjusts the growing tent in his jeans, the dark thrill of what he plans to do with you tonight coursing through him. A low groan escapes his lips at the sensation. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he grabs the mugs and heads back to the living room.

“Here, sweetheart, drink this.”

You happily take the mug from him, unaware of the danger hidden within. “Thanks, Joel!” You take a sip of the warm drink.

He returns to your side, his hand squeezes your thigh lightly. “Do you like it?” he asks with a hint of a smirk.

“Hmm, let’s try it with the cookie,” you say cheerfully, grabbing one for yourself and one for Joel, you smile innocent and unaware.

In twenty minutes’ time, he sees your eyes blinking slowly, the sleepiness overtaking you. The mug is empty in your hands.

A cruel smirk forms on his lips as he watches you in your vulnerable state. “C’mon, little girl, let’s go to your room.”

With unsettling calmness, he gently lifts your weak body, cradling you in his arms. He walks down the hall to your bedroom in the stillness of the cold night.

Your room feels dreamy and cozy, with its dim, soft, and golden light. There’s a bed with ruffled bedding, an antique wooden mirror, some pretty flowers on the dresser, and a porcelain doll sitting on your bed.

The chamber is delicate, reflecting you, Joel thinks.

He lays you down on your bed. His gaze, dark and predatory, moves over your smaller body, taking in every detail, memorizing the way you look beneath him—so beautiful and perfect.

Joel never wanted anything the way he wants you. You’ve awakened something within him—something dark and primal—that he never knew existed. It’s like a hunger that cannot be ignored, a need that must be fulfilled, or he’ll die.

He leans in, your breath warm against his skin.

“Joel,” you whisper, your drooping eyes locking with his.

Joel slowly but firmly crushes his lips against yours. He groans as he tastes the sweetness of your lips for the first time.

You begin to move beneath him in an attempt to get away, but it’s no use. He observes you struggling weakly, darkly pleased.

His kiss loses its tenderness and becomes rough and desperate. A soft whimper escapes your lips, and God, he loves that sound.

With merciless force, he pushes his tongue past your delicate lips, tasting and exploring while leaving a trail of moisture behind. The taste of you drives him wild, his grip tightens on your body.

“No…”

“It’s alright, little girl. It’s just me,” he says, his voice deep and strained with arousal.

Joel trails his lips down your neck. When he reaches the fluttering pulse at your throat, his teeth graze your flesh before he bites down, but not enough to leave a mark. Then, his tongue moves slowly, wetly, tasting your skin.

After a while, his hands move with deliberate care as he begins to undress you from your sleepwear.

Joel’s breath catches in his throat. You’re exquisite, every inch of you more perfect than he imagines. His eyes roam over your naked form, drinking in every detail. The curve of your soft breasts rises and falls with each breath.

“So pretty.”

He squeezes your breasts with his large hands and roughly sucks on your nipples, as though trying to coax something out. All the while, he ruts his hard cock against you.

The weak pressure of your hands against his shoulders and your soft whimpers, makes him groan. He can feel his cock throbbing painfully hard, pulsing beneath his jeans at the sensation.

“Joel… please.”

He leans back, pulling your nipple with him before releasing it with a soft pop, leaving trails of drool behind.

“You want more? Is that why you’re cryin’?”

He gently pushes your hair away from your tear-streaked face and he presses his lips against your damp cheeks, tasting the salt of your tears.

Then, he slowly removes your white ruched lace panties, noticing the dampness at the center. He laughs as he runs his fingers over the fabric before slipping them into his pocket.

You weakly try to close your knees, but Joel presses his fingers sharply into your skin, forcing them open. The pain makes you cry out, tears falling from your eyes.

“Pathetic,” he mutters under his breath.

Joel lets out a low groan at the sight of your little pussy. It’s glistening and swollen, and he knows that when he thrusts his massive cock inside, it will be searingly hot and impossibly tight.

“Well, look at that, such a pretty pussy, little girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with disbelief and hunger. “And you’ve been keepin’ this from me?”

He uses his fingers to spread your folds, admiring the swollen little clit hidden beneath. It’s pulsing and gleaming in the dim light, soaking his finger.

Joel starts rubbing your swollen clit, and it doesn’t take long for you to become more wet and needy. Your tight hole clenches rhythmically around nothing as he rubs you faster, he savors the sight of it and your helpless cries.

“Jesus, baby, you’re soaking wet,” he chuckles darkly. “Ain’t nobody ever touched this sweet little pussy before, huh? So fuckin’ needy.”

“Stop,” you say breathlessly.

“Need to get my mouth on you.”

Captivated by the sight of your little cunt drooling all over your thighs, he pulls his finger away. You gasp and wail as he starts using his mouth and noisily slurping at your wet cunt.

It’s rare that he gets the chance to taste such a beautiful, untouched little pussy. And he’s going to savor every second of it.

He greedily laps at your wetness, pushing his tongue into your slit before assaulting your clit with hard and relentless strokes. Then, he lowers his face, pressing his nose into your clit as his tongue delves deeply into your core, forcing you open. His movements are wild, drilling through your cunt and pushing against your walls as his fingers painfully sink into your thighs.

He groans against you, swallowing all the sweet juice pouring from you, like a fountain of youth. “How the hell you taste this good, little girl?” he growls.

After a while, you’re trembling in his grip. Your sobs and pleas fill his ears as you weakly kick your feet against his back, your hands unable to move, futilely tugging at his salt-and-pepper hair as you cum. Your juices flooded his mouth and soaking the sheets beneath you.

“That’s my good girl.”

He feels the wetness of his precum staining his jeans, a growl escaping him as he quickly undoes his belt and takes off his pants to free his aching cock, desperate for release.

He retrieves his phone from his jeans pocket, presses record, and sets it on your bedside table, carefully angling it to capture every raw detail of the two of you before he begins.

Joel knows it’s going to hurt—his cock is massive, thick veins throbbing beneath the thin skin.

He ruts his hips against yours, his bulbous tip gathering your slickness along his hard cock. A soft whimper escapes your lips each time he brushes against your clit.

“So sensitive.”

Joel wraps the base of his girthy cock with one hand, the other finding your hip, holding you still as he lines his cock with your tiny hole and split you in half.

You whimper as you struggle with the overwhelming stretch of just the tip pressing past your entrance and start squirming. “Hurts!”

An animalistic groan escapes his lips as your pussy swallows his angry, red tip with a wet squelch and a tense pulse, stretching you open.

“You’re so goddamn tight, little girl. Fuckin’ made for me,” he grits his teeth, barely holding back.

“Hurts… stop.”

Your pretty face is flushed and streaked with tears as he watches you, lips red and swollen, whimpering in pain. He enjoys the way your face is contorted. “Be quiet, little girl.”

Joel inches his cock deeper, the earlier strokes of his tongue doing little to ease the intense stretch of your cunt around him. Patience wearing thin, he roughly forces his cock inside you in one go, nudging against your cervix, making you moan in pain.

Desire clouds his mind, blinding him to your well-being.

Your moan turns into a broken hiccup, followed by a soft sob as Joel starts to pound into your tight hole with a ruthless, brutal force.

“Joel, hurts,” you cry, your hands desperately clawing at his chest, muscles weak and useless.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, little girl,” he moans from the pleasure, his grip on your hips tightening. “Takin’ all of my cock so well. Such a good girl.”

Joel is in heaven. His eyes are closed as he focuses on the sensation of your hot, wet cunt wrapping tightly around his massive cock, his lips muttering incoherent praises for how perfect you feel. He moves faster and rougher, slamming into your little pussy with pure force, like a man possessed. “Perfect little cunt, all fuckin’ mine.”

“No, please, s-stop…”

Ignoring your pain and cries for him to stop, he continues to pound into you relentlessly, pushing you further beyond your limits. “I’m sorry, baby… it feels too good to stop.”

His darkened eyes trace every inch of you, your skin slick with sweat despite the cold weather. Your breasts bounce with each brutal trust, and his gaze locks on his cock buried deep in your swollen, red lips. The slick, blood-coated friction as he slides in and out of you fills the room with a sickening, lewd squelch, sending a shiver through him as his eyes flutter shut in dark pleasure, he lets out a low snarl.

“Look at that, little girl, we were made for each other,” his voice low and strained.

Your breath grows ragged, choking on sobs and moans, yet your back arches and hips lift, instinctively chasing his cock, your body betraying every shred of resistance.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Joel grins with dark satisfaction at the reaction he’s coaxed out of you. “Look at her, baby, drippin’ like a faucet, can’t even control herself.”

He bites back a groan, his hand sliding to your lower stomach, feeling the thick bulge of his cock pressing against his calloused palm with every deep, punishing thrust, each one slamming into your cervix with merciless force.

A warmth builds in your stomach. He grunts and curses under his breath, feeling your pussy clamping down on him, the tightness driving him wild as your body trembling as you near the edge.

“My little girl wanna cum?” he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. “C’mon, baby, cum for me.”

“Joel,” you cry.

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

Your body quivers, eyes half-lidded as they lock with his, mouth falls open, letting out a choked moan. He relentlessly pounds into your cunt, you squeeze tightly around him, your clit twitching and pulsing. He drives you to the edge, forcing you to squirt. The hot, slick release splashed against his abdomen and thighs.

“God damn!” he growls. “Oh, that’s it, baby… good girl.”

Joel kisses you deeply. A sense of pride and bliss fills him, knowing he’s able to make you squirt on your first time.

Still rock-hard, he keeps thrusting into you after your orgasm fades, consumed by the insatiable spell you have on him. Your pussy is like a drug to him, better than anyone Joel’s ever had.

You become a crying, trembling mess beneath him, overstimulated and shaking uncontrollably, unable to endure the overwhelming thrusts.

“T-too much.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ done with you yet,” he growls into your mouth. “You’ll take every damn second I give ya, and you’ll be beggin’ before I even think ‘bout stoppin’.”

Joel pulls out sharply, slapping your swollen pussy hard, making you squeak and whimper. He manhandles you, spinning your body around and pushing your face into the pillow. He grunts loudly as he enters you again, sliding deep before his grip tightens around your waist, each thrust more brutal and faster, chasing his own release.

His chest is flush to your back. He breathes in the floral scent of your skin, his nose grazing your neck as his thrusts lose their rhythm, becoming messy and desperate.

Your walls pulse and squeeze around him once more, desperately trying to milk him dry. “Don’t worry, little girl. Gonna pump you full of my cum.”

He feels lightheaded, chest heaving with each breath, sweat glazing his skin.

The sound of your muffled moans makes his cock twitch deep inside, pushing him closer to the edge. His body quivers as the pressure inside him peaks. With a final, punishing trust, a deep, guttural whimper escapes his throat as he cums deep inside you, painting your walls with a creamy, thick white, filling you to the brim.

Your nails faintly claw at his arm, your body quivering beneath him, as your orgasm washes over you for the third time, leaving you whimpering. His heat and wetness blend with yours as he holds you close.

“You’re all mine now, baby,” he growls softly. “I’ll make sure you feel every inch of me again.”

The pill he gave you will leave you with no memory of what he does. He honestly cannot wait to collect his own personal porn collection of you next time his wife leaves the house again.

[pascal-princess]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[pascal-princess]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After breaking up with your boyfriend of four years, you’re left heartbroken and desperate to leave it all behind. But as fate would have it, just as you’re about to walk out the door of his house, you run into his fatherㅡ the man who’s always lingered at the edges of your mind. the next sensible thing to do is fuck him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: pwp, bf's dad joel miller x f! reader, short description of toxic rs, fight scene, afab reader, i dont know if this is categorized as cheating :p , age gap, fingering f receiving, joel has a huge one but we alr know!, dirty talk, pet names, p in v unprotected, creampie, slight slapping and hairpulling.

✿ 🪽 𓈒 ﹫𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 ..＼ ♰ i have been neglecting you cute freaks, but i am here to feed you. behold! boyfriend's dad joel miller smut! around 2.6k words, so it's pretty short, but i hope you love it. not proofread!!!!! okay baiiii 😎🫶🏻

The fight tears through the house like a hurricane, each word leaving wounds too deep. "You never listen to me!" you yell, your voice raw and trembling. Your chest aches, your throat burns, but the word vomit won’t stop pouring out. "Four years, and it’s like I’m shouting into a void! Do you even care about us?"

"Do you even fucking hear yourself?" he fires back, pacing the room like he can’t bear to stand still. "God, all you do is pick fights! You always need something to be wrong. What the actual fuck?"

"Because something is wrong!" Your voice cracks, and the tears come faster now, hot and humiliating. You hate how small you feel, how desperately you want him to care. "I’ve been fighting for this, for you, and all you do is act like it’s a burden!" He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Maybe it is. Maybe you are." The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath catches, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly still. You don’t want to cry anymore, but the tears fall anyway, blurring your vision as you step back. "Fine," you whisper, your voice trembling. "If that’s how you feel, then we’re done. I’m done." He freezes, his expression shifting to something almost regretful— but not enough to stop him. "Fuck this." He grabs his keys from the counter and storms out without another word. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet house.

For a moment, you just stand there, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you try to hold in the sobs threatening to break free. The silence feels suffocating, pressing in on you from every angle. You can’t stay here. You need to leave.

You grab your bag and wipe your face as best you can, hands still shaking. You tell yourself you’re fine, that the fresh air will help. But as you turn the corner into the foyer, you collide with something solid— someone solid. "Whoa there," a low voice drawls, steadying you with hands firm and sure. Your heart stutters as you look up and see Joel, your now ex-boyfriend's father.

Your breath catches in your throat. His hand is on your arm, warm and grounding, as his dark eyes search your face. His presence is like a balm, so different from the storm you just walked out of. He’s all quiet strength and rugged edges, his salt-and-pepper beard only making him look more like someone carved out of the earth itself. "Hey, sweet girl," he says, his tone warm and laced with that familiar twang. "What’s got you all worked up? You alright?" The sound of his voice is enough to break you all over again. You shake your head, the tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. You try to answer, but your words falter. All you can do is nod, though you know you’re far from alright. Not when his thumb is brushing lightly over your flesh, not when his scent— warm, woodsy, familiar— makes your knees fall weak. You can’t look at him, can’t look at the steadiness in his eyes or the way his hands ground you when you feel like you’re falling apart.

"Hey now," he says softly, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. His arms wrap around you, strong and safe, and for the first time all night, you don’t feel like you’re about to shatter. "C’mere, sweet thing. You gotta talk to me, mkay? What happened?" You press your face into his chest, breathing in hus smell that makes you feel like you’re home, even though you know you shouldn’t.

It’s absurd, really. You’ve always known he was handsome, but standing this close, it hits you differently. You’ve always noticed him in ways you shouldn’t, caught yourself glancing too long, wondering too much. And now, with tears still wet on your cheeks and your heart in pieces, he feels like the only steady thing left in the world.

"It’s over," you mumble against his shirt, your voice muffled but thick with emotion. "I broke it off with him. For r-real this time..." Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands settling on your shoulders as his brow furrows. "You and him?" he asks gently, but you could tell he wasn't quite sure in your answer. "You sure ‘bout that?"

"Y-yeah..." You nod, your throat tight. "So you don’t have to... act nice anymore. You don’t have to pretend like you like m-me or care or whatever. It’s done now..." His expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face before something warmer takes its place. His lips part slightly as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

"Sweetheart," he says, his voice dipping lower, softer, like a secret meant just for you. "What the hell gave you the idea I don’t like you?" You blink up at him, stunned. "I just—"

"Little lady," he interrupts, leaning closer, his voice growing rougher, "it’s damn near impossible not to like you." Your breath catches as his thumb brushes over your cheek, his stare unflinching, as he examines your tear-stained face. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never noticed before—something unguarded, like he’s been holding it back for years. "Sweet thing like you," he murmurs, his lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. "Anyone with half a brain’d like you. But me? Hell, darlin’. I’ve liked you since the day I met you."

You step back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze fully, searching his face for any hint of pity, of kindness given out of obligation. "You don’t need to lie to me," you say, voice trembling. It feels like your heart is spilling out of you, breaking open right here in front of him. "Not just to make me feel better..."

Joel’s brow furrows, his dark eyes softening, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. A thread holds stretched taut between you. He doesn’t drop his hands from your shoulders, doesn’t let you pull away any further. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’re the most important thing in the world right now, like he’s trying to figure out how to put the pieces of you back together.

"What reason would I have to lie to ya now that you ain't with my sorry ass boy?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it carries a shiver down your whole body. You swallow hard, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—" You stumble over your own tongue.

Joel exhales slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes bore into yours. simmering, waiting to swallow you whole. "Darlin’," he murmurs, "Let me show you then." Before you can even think, he leans in.

The world falls away the moment his lips meet yours. It’s soft at first, hesitant, like he’s giving you a chance to stop him if this isn’t what you want. But when you don’t pull away and when you melt into him instead, your fingers clutching at his shirt, he deepens the kiss, large hands sliding from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips are warm and sure, washing away any heartbreak you might've felt.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. "Am I lyin'?" Your chest tightens, the tears welling up again, but this time they’re different. They’re not the tears of heartbreak—you’re not even sure what they are, only that they feel a little like hope.

"Mister Miller," you breathe, his name dancing on your puffy lips. He smiles, soft and a little sad, brushing a thumb along your cheek. "I got you, sweet girl. You just let me." and you crumble completely. with no hesitation, he picks you up, taking you to the nearest bedroom, where he closes the door behind.

it felt wrong. it was wrong. but the way he looked looming over, you got your head spinning in all the right ways. the bed pooled under you, sheets rustling as you watched joel discard part of his clothes. you nip at your lower lip, scooting your body upward to remove the pants you had on. in mere seconds, both of you are naked, gasping, and holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.

You finally get to see joel fully naked and you can't quite understand how a man his age looks the way he does, and how he's still single, given the package he's been blessed with. "you can stop starin' now. you wanna get me shy?" joel teases, his shaft now on full view for you to gawk at. you're taken by surprise when he so easily pulls you down towards him.

he trailed kisses down your chest like flowers fall from cherry trees in the spring, your body reacting in ways you didn’t know were possible. "Please hurry..." and he chuckles, maybe proud maybe amused to see you this desperate. "'m sorry, darlin'" You purr under his touch, wrapping around him like he's a lifeline. his lips crash against yours again, rough palm slipping into your wet panties. you gasp, the feeling so strange yet so familiar. he lets go of your lips, thick fingers working their way inside of you. Joels eyes meet yours, and he curls his digits, speed picking up. the sounds youㅡ your pussy made, were pure music to him, constant encouragement to go harder, faster, loving the way you looked crumbling onto his fingers. "got such a pretty pussy. Sure you ok with an old man ruin it for anyone else?" he asked it as if it was the least absurd thing he could say right now. you nod your head profusely. "atta girl. knew you were the obedient kind first time I saw ya."

"You gonna come?" Almost mocking you, but you could bot form the proper words. You just looked deep into his glinting eyes as your hand made its way to his hardened crotch. "P-pleasee..." Joel almost loses himself, but he's steady with his movements. "Wanna come on my cock, hm? is that what you beggin' for?" your folds drip and clench around him deliciously, you don't want it to end. and when you're almost there... he stops. you whine in protest but you're quickly put back in your place with a firm tug at your hair. "You take what I give you, girl. Now ass up." you comply. in a second, your back is facing him, red cheeks now hidden into his pillow. you try to balance yourself up with one arm, but he grabs you by the wrist.

"Spread 'em." And you do just that, pulling at your flesh. like an auction. only it's you presenting your cunt for fucking. "Fuck, look at that..." he tuts, gathering some of your juices on his pulsing tip, dragging it up and down your puffy lips. "Pretty girl. She cryin' for me, baby?" a string of fain 'yesyesyes' reaches his ear. hes quiet for a bit but the moment he pushes the tip inside you feel your knees buckle, all the strength you had left into your arms fluttering away. you fall face first into the mattres under you as joel pushes down your lower back. it hurts, but the pain is delicious. your moans feel the room, the occasional slap to your ass interrupting them. Joel is strong, fast and brutal, leaving you no room to breathe, fucking so deep into you you're sure he's way past your bellybutton. "T-takin' it so well, pretty girl, so well.." your skin burns where joel touched it, whole head fuzzy and empty. "pleasepleaseplease" as the whole bed shakes and strums to his movements.

your back arches as waves of pleasure break over your body like water on a shore. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, baby, take it." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made. "been dreamin' about havin' you like this, baby. look at herㅡ" joel throws his head back, delivering a harsh thrust, the pain quickly melding into pleasure. "gonna come, hm?" he's stern and rough with his request. "hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." You don't know if you're crying because it feels too good or because of how long you've waited for this, no matter how unforgiving this could be.

eyes shot open when he roughly yanks your hair, your skin slapping on his being to only sound you can faintly make out in your dazed state. you let your whole body go, tongue lulled out as he takes out on you anything he might've been feeling. you were at his mercy, your moans irrefutable. your stomach flips and churns as that familiar feeling pools again in your lower tummy, and you were chasing it, crying. from what, you didn't quite know. maybe because you've never been fucked this good or maybe because it'll be over too soon.

the room was stuffy. "o-oh myㅡ god!" You yelp when joels speed picks up, shocked that he can go that fast, considering you've heard him multiple times complaining about his bad back. "shitㅡ i gotta come, baby. you gonna let me do it in ya? huh?" You nod your head so, squeezing around him like a ring, and he rewards you with a slap to your ass. "fuckin' slut." he laughs through breathy moans. you're holding on for dear life, reaching for anything your fingers can grasp at this moment. you're sure the neighbors are having a blast seeing the whole house shake. "that's it, girl. take itㅡ c'mon..." with a few more pumps his hips come to a halt, whole body trembling as he comes ropes inside of you. you let go, bliss washing over you, the ringing in your ears covering the soft curses escaping Joel's lips. steadying himself, he pulls out, voice cracking as he speaks again. "fuuck... baby, look at her." he smiles crooked, watching intently as his come drips out of you, cascading down to your thighs. you lick your lips, looking back and right up at him whilst spreading your legs wider.

"Don't do that. think I don't have it in me to fuck you again?"

you tease, "i don't know. do you?" and he laughs, pushing inside of you again, watching as your face contorts in pleasure. "Careful, girl."

you wonder when your boyfriendㅡ i mean exㅡ will come back home.

[pascal-princess]

stay awhile (joel miller x f!reader)

summary: you & joel are travelling to jackson, and make the most of a well-needed rest stop along the way.

warnings: age gap (29/56 — if this isn’t for you, that’s fine! you don’t have to read it), canon typical violence, no ellie, cursing, food, alcohol, mention of parent death, unprotected piv (don’t do that), smut, kissing, shower sex, joel miller being in love and not knowing how to say it, soft!joel, anxiety, weapons, insecurity, panic attack, fluff & comfort, 18+ mdni.

notes: my first foray back into fic writing! yay! nothing much really happens in this one: i just wanted some soft, comforting vibes from joel <3 enjoy 🫶🏻

this is a gift for @ovaryacted 🤍 thank you for inspiring me to write again, babe, by being horny about slick-back joel. i love you. as ever, a huge big gorgeous shoutout to my @macfrog, without whom this fic wouldn’t be seeing the light of day. love you forever.

Dirt clings to your shoes, dry and heavy like sun-baked concrete. Shoulders twinging as you shift your pack across your back, your stomach rumbles. Loudly. Joel looks over his shoulder at the sound, ahead on the path as always.

“Not much further now.”

Your sigh of relief is muted, not wanting to show your struggle. You don’t want him to ever think you’re a burden, that you’re just a girl out of her depth. You want to prove you’re worthy out here past the walls you were raised in.

Time has become meaningless since you left the Boston QZ; a rinse-and-repeat cycle of waking up with the dawn, chewing rabbit, walking ‘til your feet bleed, and Joel fucking you under the stars every night.

You can’t recall the last uninterrupted sleep you had; the last night he wasn’t inside of you. It marks the end of another day you’ve both survived, helps you to forget the shit you’ve seen — and undoubtedly will again, the next time the sun raises her weary head over the scorched Earth.

Some nights, it’s Joel who’s works you up: touches you all day, innocently at first, until it isn’t. Most of the time, however, you’re the one pulling at the zipper of his sleeping bag, finding your way underneath his shirt, toying with the buckle of his belt. He’d lit a fire in your belly only he can put out.

You’re always pinned beneath him, rifle next to his hand as it drives into the dirt beside your head. His thick fingers wrapped round your throat, your back arching off the thin material beneath you as he pushes you over the edge, telling you to take it.

Just like Joel takes what he needs, over and over, and gives you more than you’ll ever be able to tell him. Namely, a tiny, jagged piece of his heart: pulled unwillingly from his chest and dumped into your fragile grasp for safekeeping.

You wondered, at first, if it was purely physical. If you were just a body for him to pour his frustrations into, a tight space for his pleasure only. You wouldn’t resent him for it: crossing your ankles over his back to feel him deeper, scratches from your nails adorning his shoulders.

But then, one morning, he held your hand.

His huge, warm palm over yours, his lips at your temple as he thanked you for taking the overnight watch. Joel’s eyes had twinkled, and you knew from that point on you meant something to him. Something undefined, lingering on the tip of his tongue — something he can only convey with the way he takes care of you.

Joel stops, now, and waits for you to catch up. He offers to take your pack, slinging it over his thick forearm and kissing your sweaty forehead; allaying your earlier fears. “It’s just past this clearin’,” he tells you, squeezing your hip lightly. Your throat is parched as you carry on, the township coming into view past the trees.

The street must’ve been nice, back then. It’s obvious someone’s tried to spruce it up here and there; white picket fences and a vegetable patch seemingly out of place with the barbed wire surroundings. Must’ve been Frank, you muse, remembering what Joel had told you this morning.

They’re decent people. Well, Frank is. Stay out of Bill’s way, ‘f you can. They’ll house us for the night — feed us, let us shower, all the good stuff. Then we make tracks for Wyoming.

Jackson, Wyoming. The place Joel’s taking you to.

He’s had word from his brother that they’ve set up a community, which is thriving by all accounts. There’s a place for both of you there, if you could make it. Free of FEDRA, rations and rats. It sounds like a pipe dream — you’ve told Joel as much. He’d responded with a wry smile, and little else.

Whether it’s real or not, you know you’ll follow Joel to the ends of the Earth. You’d rather be pulled apart by a pack of clickers than left behind in Boston to rot without him.

Joel stops at a gate, indicates for you to go on ahead. The house is beautiful: littered with thriving plants and flowers you’d forgotten existed, besides illustrations in old books. The front door opens, and two men emerge: one wearing a wide smile, the other seemingly chewing a wasp.

Joel introduces them both: Frank and Bill, respectively. The latter eyes you both with suspicion; something you’ve already been warned to expect. Frank’s kindness is a strange but welcoming contrast, adding to the absurdity of their picture-perfect home in a town time forgot.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Joel?” Frank grins, and Joel clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Your eyes remain rooted to the lush grass bordering the pathway, unsure of how to aid him. You hadn’t discussed this, hadn’t found a reason to. Until now.

“She’s — uh, she’s my —”

“Your daughter, or something?” Bill’s eyebrow lifts towards his hairline disapprovingly.

Joel’s lip curls. “Partner.”

Bill’s face screws up incredulously, Frank intervening with a hand over his chest. “It doesn’t matter who she is,” he smiles, mostly at you. “Any friend of Joel’s is a friend of ours.”

///

Dinner is an experience you’ll never forget.

A smooth wooden table, elegant candlesticks, polished cutlery. Succulent meat, fresh vegetables, red wine — a night of firsts for you, your eyes widening to take it all in. Life before, with treats and trinkets like these, is hazy to you: nine-years-old when the fungus took over, the next twenty years of your life clouded by trauma and violence.

Joel checks in with you throughout, pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist when the two of you are alone, Bill and Frank bickering in the kitchen.

“Feelin’ any better?”

You hum contentedly, belly full and warm. “Can’t fucking wait for a shower.”

He smiles; small and lop-sided, the one you think might be reserved just for you. Your hosts return, and small talk resumes. Joel empties his pockets, the medications you know are paying for your stay lined up on the table. Bill examines them closely, rattling pill bottles and poring over labels.

Frank takes your hand in his. “The guest bathroom is stocked for you — well, as much as it can be. Use whatever you’d like, and take it with you if you want.”

A lump rises in your throat unexpectedly, tears sprouting to the corners of your eyes. They don’t have to provide anything for you — you’re imposing on them, really. Your parents have been gone for so long, and Frank’s soft voice and quiet kindness makes you ache for them.

“Thank you,” you mutter, squeezing his hand. “I really appreciate it.”

///

As soon as the plates are cleared, your eyelids are drooping. Frank ushers you upstairs, Bill having shut himself away in the garage. “Joel can show you how to work the shower,” he tells you, both of you following his lead up the stairs.

“Any clothing you don’t want anymore — just leave it in a pile. We’ll use them to make cleaning rags,” he grins. “There are boxes in your room, marked with sizes. Take what you want.”

You wring your hands, returning his smile shyly. “Like shopping?”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “And tips for the staff are always welcome.”

Joel is quiet, lingering behind you both for a while. You sense his eyes on you, though. You always can.

“If you need anything else, just ask. Joel knows his way around,” Frank tips his head towards him, squeezing your shoulder lightly. Joel thanks him, and he leaves you both in the semi-darkness, footsteps echoing down the stairs.

“C’mon,” he sighs, holding out his hand. “Shower.”

///

The water is heavenly. Hot and burning across your skin, dirt and sweat disappearing down the drain. Eyes closed, you tip your head back and submerge yourself fully, losing yourself in the sensation, blood rushing in your ears.

A pair of hands on your hips bring you back: Joel’s close behind you, his lips against your shoulder. Stripping off in front of him felt different on this occasion: you’re not dipping yourself in a freezing river, and he doesn’t have a gun close to hand. You took your time, his gaze dark and watchful.

You turn to face him, his cock hard and insistent against your belly. He bends to kiss you, hands sliding across your slippery skin, finding purchase on your ass. Your whole body is relaxed, fluid — the luxury of time meaning you can enjoy the sensation of Joel’s tongue in your mouth, focus on nothing else but the way he’s touching you.

There are no threats here, just the two of you indulging in one another over the clean white tiles. Every movement is languid, determined to stretch the minutes into hours. At some point, Joel lifts you into his arms, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrap round his waist instinctively. He winces in pain as you move, brows drawn together.

You’re not the only one with back problems.

You kiss his nose, droplets clinging to his lashes. “Put me down, old man.”

“Take no notice of Bill,” he smirks, both of you remembering his earlier comment. “He’s never liked me all that much.”

You hum, eyebrows raised, fingers in the grey streaks of his hair. “Well, I like you. A lot.”

You’re not sure what’s made you so bold, if it was Joel’s constant, reassuring touches along your thighs beneath the table all night, or the fact you’ve just washed the soap from his body like you’ve done it your whole life. Like it’s routine for you both to be here: naked and content in somebody else’s shower.

Joel’s lips drag a path of fire down the column of your throat, and you’re whimpering like he’s touching you for the very first time, like he’s mapping every contour and curve of your body and committing it to memory.

“Wanna fuck you like this, baby,” he groans, nosing at your pulse point. “Make you feel it for days.”

You think you could come already just from his words; the way his thick forearms support you, broad chest pressed into yours. Joel lets you beg for a moment, but soon enough, he’s filling you up deliciously, stretching you at a torturous pace to have you feeling every last inch of him.

“Good girl,” he groans, damp forehead against your own as you grind down on him eagerly, his thrusts meeting yours in a rhythm you’d established long ago. Joel’s big — sometimes overwhelmingly so. The sensation of him splitting you open has you clawing at his shoulders, moans caught in your throat. “So perfect f’me,” he reminds you, breathing short and laboured as you both reach the point of no return — your favourite place to be.

///

Joel flicks the light switch, boxes stacked high around the room. You don’t even know where to start; sleepy eyes bewildered by the sheer amount of choice.

“We’ll make this quick.” His hands find your hips again, kiss pressed below your ear. You nod, tugging at the first box you can reach.

A pile of items begins to grow — new jeans, socks, sneakers, and sweaters. Joel finds himself a flannel and packs it away, pulls on a plain black t-shirt and fresh underwear. You sneak glimpses at him as you continue rifling through the clothes; tanned biceps pushing against the fabric, thighs dusted with the same dark hair that spreads across his belly.

Arousal claws at your insides, white-hot and agonising. You’re still reeling from the orgasms Joel had pulled from you half an hour ago; watching his release paint your tummy, washing it away as his chest heaved with the aftershocks. Thinking about it has your thighs clenching, and you busy yourself with your task as a distraction.

The next box in your search is full of pajamas: plaid pants and graphic tees, camisole vests and matching shorts. Dropping your towel, you pull the silk vest over your head, shimmy the shorts along your thighs. “What d’you think?” you ask, adjusting the straps over your shoulders. Joel’s on his knees, distracted by a pair of boots.

“Hm?”

“Do you like this?”

He looks up, eyes wide. You watch his throat bobbing as he swallows, taking in your bare legs, the lace trim. You’ve never worn anything like this before, never had cause to. You like the way it feels against your skin, how it makes you feel in front of Joel, who’s still struggling for words below you.

You approach him slowly, cradling his chin in your hands. You feel powerful; his pupils dilated as his calloused palms drift along the back of your thighs. His hair is combed back from his face, silver waves flat against his head. Your fingertip runs along the curve of his nose and comes to rest on his full bottom lip.

You pull Joel to his feet, his thick thumb sneaking underneath the camisole strap. He plays with it absentmindedly; eyes heavy with tiredness. “You need to sleep,” you murmur, running your hands along his biceps. His brows raise, grin tugging at his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m serious, Joel.”

“I, uh, don’t mind takin’ the couch, ‘f you…” he trails off, chest slumping as he exhales. “Oh,” you mutter, taken aback slightly. “I mean, I could take the couch, if you didn’t want to — y’know, share.”

Something akin to hope lingers on his features, eyes flitting between you and the bed.

He takes your hands in his, rubbing over your thumbs.

“There’s no way you’re doin’ that with your back.”

///

You’ve never slept on anything this soft.

Back in Boston, your bed was propped up on pallets; blankets scavenged and traded for, pillowcases stuffed with clothing past repair. On the road, the forest floor sufficed. You don’t remember your bedroom from before, although you know it must’ve been nice — soft shades of pink, a story to lull you to sleep, your mom kissing you goodnight.

Joel’s arm circles round your waist, anchoring you to the present. His warm palm against your tummy, you feel his soft exhales of breath over your ear. The moonlight throws shadows across the room: both your packs ready to go in the morning, an assortment of weapons and stores of food, a reminder that this safe haven was only ever temporary.

Tears prick suddenly at your eyes, and soon enough you’re sobbing quietly; tears soaking the mattress beneath you. Joel stirs, looming over you in an instant. “Hey, don’t cry,” he hushes, gathering you into his arms. You go into them gladly, Joel tracing his fingertips along your spine to soothe you.

“Long day,” he murmurs after a beat.

“But a good one.”

Joel kisses your damp cheek, pulls back to check in on you. “You wanna talk about it?”

Wiping your eyes, you curl into his chest: greying hair tickling your face, his steady heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You feel your own begin to regulate as a result, encouraged by his presence. Now you can’t see his face, your tongue loosens.

“I just — I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go back out there. Infected, raiders, God only knows what else.. I want us to stay here, with our nice bedroom and hot water and proper fucking food.”

Joel is silent for a moment, digesting your confession. Your earlier fears begin to surface — he’ll think he’s made a mistake. That you’re a burden. He’ll take you back, leave you on the road. Leave you to die.

You’ve fucked up everything for him.

“Breathe for me,” his voice pulls you from the depths of your despair; not even realising your heart rate had spiked again, fists curled into the floral coverlet. You inhale deeply as per his instructions, breathing out as he sits upright, pulling you into his lap.

“I wish we could stay too, baby. But that’s never been the arrangement — n’ trust me, Bill can be meaner’n any clicker when he wants to be.”

You laugh shakily, Joel’s lips at your temple.

“Sorry for being pathetic.”

“Got nothin’ to apologise for. I should be the one sayin’ sorry; I didn’t think about how overwhelmin’ this might’ve been for you.”

Fingers brushing against his chest hair, you sigh heavily. “Do you think Jackson will be like this?”

“Maybe. Not sure about fancy plates ‘n all that, but Tommy’s sure been talkin’ it up.” Joel scratches at his chin, shifting you a little across his thighs. “Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’.”

You loop your arms round his neck, nose to nose in the silvery white light. His hands move to your waist, flex across your ribs. “Go ahead.”

“When we get there —” you notice there’s no if. Joel has no doubt; certain you’ll make it through whatever horrors lie ahead, “— I wanted to know.. ‘f you planned on stayin’ with me. Livin’ together, wherever they put us.”

You swallow, feeling tears threaten once more. The comparison clutches at your heart: the risks and perils that lie in wait on your journey don’t trouble him, but asking you if you’ll remain in his company has Joel averting his eyes, lip caught between his teeth.

“If you’ll have me,” you whisper, kissing him softly. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The kiss that follows is long, both of you breathless when you break apart. Joel’s hand drifts under your camisole, squeezing your breast as he hardens underneath you. The smile he saves for you is back: half obscured by the darkness, but you trace along his lips anyway, feeling it for yourself.

“You got room to pack this?” he asks, voice deep and guttural, tugging gently at the silk.

You push him back into the sheets, pin his wrists above his head. “For you, Joel Miller, I’ll make room.”

[pascal-princess]

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂

Father in law!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Your soon to be husband leaves you at the alter, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Literally just porn without plot, lotsa fucking, I want father in law Javi. Minimally edited lmao I just banged this out Can’t wait for you to read it!! Hope you enjoy, nasties! Mwah!

Masterlist

You rich and I'm wishin', um

You could be my mister, yum

Delicious to the maximum

Chew you up like bubble gum

You love me, he wants me

I think I want you too

Best day of your life- yeah, what a fucking joke. But what were you expecting? Ditching people at the altar seemed to run in the family. Okay, maybe that was a bit of a harsh assessment of the Peñas, especially Peña senior, who, despite all you had heard of him from your ex fiance, had always shown you kindness. 

The thing is, it becomes really fucking hard to be charitable to a family when their son humiliates you infront of the entirety of Texas. Leaves you high and dry on the steps of the biggest church in town in your great grandmother’s silk dress. It becomes even harder when you learn his mother had been in on it all along, sparing you not even a little apology, or a comforting embrace after her son's little getaway plan had been revealed. 

Instead of extending you a supporting hand, she ran away to make sure her baby boy was okay, and that this entire ordeal hadn’t taken a toll on his emotional and psychological well being. 

How thoughtful. 

Of course, you were the pathetic one– unable to look anyone in the eye, sobbing on your fathers shoulder till you couldn’t breathe any longer. So distraught and unwell even getting out of your wedding attire seemed impossible. It only made you feel even more pathetic. At some point you ended up curling up in your hotel bed, still in the “happiest day of your life” outfit, and pleading for some time alone from your friends and family to wallow in your own suffering. 

You would eat your feelings in the from of the apology chocolates the hotel had complimented for you, but you couldn’t manage to even do that without feeling like a total fucking looser. 

After all that had transpired, and after years of hearing nothing but sour things about your soon to be father in law, safe to say you were surprised to see him at your hotel room door at midnight as the ambassador the family seemingly sent to smooth things over. 

For it being only your second time meeting the man, this was far from the most opportune scenario. In fact, him showing up all sorrowful and apologetic for his shitty excuse of a son, in his navy blue suit and loose tie, made your already pathetic day all the more difficult to get through. 

Your whole relationship you had blamed every fault of your boyfriend on his absent, detached father. You’d heard plenty about the lack of childhood visits, quality time, and playing soccer that had plagued your partner’s life, and had found it quite easy and comforting to pile on every relationship problem you ever came across as the consequence of Javier Peña’s lack of responsibility and good parenting. 

What you didn’t expect, was to find that Javi Peña was a whole lot more normal and level headed than you anticipated. He was just a guy trying to make a good living and provide for his family. Sure, he was a little bit reserved, but he was only ever warm and sweet and even quite chatty with you. To be frank, you should have seen your boyfriend’s shitty behavior as a consequence of his insufferable mother from a mile away. God knew you weren’t expecting Peña Sr. to be the better of your two soon to be in laws. 

That being said, you would have never expected to be on your hands and knees, on what was supposed to be your marital bed, being pounded from behind by your ex soon to be father in-law. 

Because that's where you are now, eyes rolling to the back of your head thanks to the most intense pleasure you've ever felt. The drag of Javis cock against your walls has been building a steady heat in your belly, the stretch of him so perfect and delicious it has you pushing your hips back to meet his every thrust. 

Any other day a man like him wouldn’t have needed much to woo you– with his cut jaw, handsome features and those chocolate brown eyes you wished his son had inherited. Safe to say on a day like this one it took even less, just a few rubs on your back, a hand smoothing over your head and trailing down your waist, a few “pretty girls” and “poor things” and some fucking sympathy from someone from your boyfriends sorry family. 

Fucking pathetic. 

But Javier knows his son is pathetic, knows he is a good for nothing moron who doesn't even know what he was losing out on when he walked out on you.

“He’s a fuckin fool- look at this tight little pussy, squeezin’ me so fuckin good. Bet he didn’t fuck ya like this, huh baby? Didn’t make ya cum over and over, make ya scream… stupid fuckin boy..” Javier’s grip on your hips tightens on hearing your moan, and he curses under his breath when your pussy flutters around his cock. 

Your legs are threatening to give out under you, your knees tender from how long you've been leaning on them. Javier’s hand moves to grip the fabric of your veil, using it to pull your head back and make you face the mirror that's been teasing you all evening. “Look- Look at ya- fuckin cryin’ on my cock. ‘S the only reason ya’ shoulda’ be cryin’ in this pretty dress..” With drooping eyes you're faced with your own reflection– stains from your mascara running down your face now less thanks to the sorry of the afternoon and more thanks to the way Javi’s cock has been nudging your sweetspot. 

You watch your tits spill out of your beautiful silk dress, the fabric now disheveled and a far cry from the sophisticated, simplistic garment it once was. You can barely recognise it, but then again you can barely recognise your own reflection. “Look at that pretty little body- fuckin made for me.” 

“Yours-” you cut yourself off with a gasp, Javi’s hands squeeze your hips and your cheeks set ablaze at the way he looks at you when you catch it in the mirror. The whole sight is so debauched and depraved– you on your hands and knees for a man who could easily be mistaken for your father. But somehow it's even dirtier- the possibility of your ex finding out sends you into overdrive. 

The silk of your dress brushes against your hot skin, flipped lewdly up to reveal your bare ass, bunched at the waist, the straps drooping and threatening to fall. Javi pulls the zip down even further, watching as it hangs off your body, draped like fabric from a 15th century painting. 

Javi’s voice calls your attention back to the present moment, lewd words showing you he doesn't hold back the way his son does. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt up..” The stretch is so delicious between your legs, you feel the steady throb continue to tighten the coil inside you and you can’t help but moan. “Yeah, you want that? Want daddy to put a baby in you?” the thought makes you shiver, that name makes you shiver, has your cunt clenching around his cock. What an image- you, belly round with your father in laws child, well, your ex father in law. Unlike his son you were sure he would be the perfect husband, would bend you over ever surface in your picket fence house and fuck you just like he’s doing now. 

Deep, and hard and fast, just like you need it. Just like you've always needed it.. 

“Please daddy, want your babies, wanna be yours…” Your voice is so broken and wrecked you're afraid he can’t understand what you're even saying. To be honest you can’t be bothered much, it feels so good, his thick, hard cock feels so good pounding between your thighs there's little else you can keep your mind on. 

“Yeah? you like that sweetheart? we can play house..” you nod your head and his hand tightens its grip around your veil, exaggerating your movements, bending you to his will. “Wanna play house with daddy? can be my pretty little wife” you fist the sheets, pushing back against him with his every thrust. You do want that, you’ve always wanted that. And what better person to do it with. Sure, his wife always complained about how he was never around, but that's looking a lot more like a her problem– especially with the way Javi’s tip continues to kiss your sweet spot. 

“Yes daddy, please..”  

Javier lets go of your veil, and pushes his palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you down into the mattress till your cheek is pressed against the warm, fluffy duvet. One hand keeps you there, the other lands a quick spank to your ass and kneads at the flesh with a newfound desperation. “Won't be able to even say his goddamn name after I'm done with ya. Stupid boy doesnt know how to treat a pretty thing like you– so sweet, so gorgeous, so fucking smart. Too fucking good for him.” 

With your lips parted and breathing heavy you drool onto the covers, letting Javi pound you into the mattress and overshadow every other thought that dared cross your head earlier in the day. If his plan is to make you forget about anything that isn't him, it sure is working. You don't think you’d even want to sound out his incompetent son’s name after he’s done with you. 

As if he can read your mind his voice calls from behind you. “Want ya to be drippin with me.” the wet schick of his cock fucking into your tight, wet, hole reminds you of just how needy you are for him, and the prospect of having him dripping out of you– down your thighs, between your legs, leaving you all messy for him to come back and do it all over again, drives you absolutely insane. 

“He’s fuckin useless, just like his ma. But look at you, so fucking tight ‘round me, making all those pretty sounds, she fuckin’ wishes she was you.” His words have your cunt squeezing around his cock, and a lewd, pornographic moan slipping past your lips. “My girl’s gonna be the perfect lil’ mamma, aren’t ya, so fuckin’ pretty.” You would certainly like that- in fact you’re almost surprised with how appealing it sounds to you. 

“Gonna be perfect for you daddy, only for you.” your dress rides up even further, the front slipping further down. 

“Thats my fucking girl.” That growl of his sends shivers down your spine– possessive, and confident and dripping like honey from his lips. It was almost like it could send you over the edge by itself. The lewd creaking of the bedframe fills the room, the sound of skin on skin driving you wild. The way he handles you– firm and deft but gentle and passionate, it's nothing like his son. 

He’s nothing like his son. 

“Yeah, bet it feels good don’t it, bein’ fucked by a real man? Feel daddy so deep in ya? Nothin ever been that deep before, huh..” You shake your head ‘no’ and he coos at how pathetic you must sound, barely able to make a coherent sound, forget string together a whole sentence. 

“Make me go fuckin’ crazy, babygirl.” 

What he says is fucking filthy, there’s no denying, no justifying it. It makes you squirm, makes you even wetter, makes you want him even more. 

“Think you wanna go back to him? With daddy’s cum drippin between those pretty thighs, show him how a real man treats his girl?” 

“Gonna make ya beg him to stay, gonna talk some sense into him, just so daddy can have ya all to himself, ain't that right? You gonna sneak into daddy’s room in the middle of the night? All wet an’ achy? Beggin’ daddy to fuck ya how ya need?” 

“Wanna run away with me baby, live in a perfect little house, let daddy give ya his babies, fuck ya full’ve my cum every single night?” 

His hands roam your body, smoothing over your hips, reaching forward to squeeze at your breasts, pinching and kneading the flesh. He bends down to trail light kisses along your spine and the feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your head twists side to side against the sheets as you squirm, each sensation like it's heightened to the maximum, the heaviness and the throb between your thighs at an all time high. 

You know you're close, you can’t hold it off much longer. Your cunt squeezes and your toes curl. You also know Javi won't last, you can feel him pulse against your swollen walls, can feel the way he desperately thrusts into you, pushes you further down against the mattress, grips your skin with that renewed fervor, with the desperation of doing anything to hold on to the incredible sensation. 

“Come for me, babygirl, come for daddy, show daddy how much ya needed this, show daddy how bad ya need his cock.” 

Your legs part even further under you, if that's even physically possible, your entire upper body being smashed into the mattress. You call out Javi’s name, followed by a string of desperate, strained, whiny daddy daddy daddy’s. 

With a strangled moan that's partially muffled by the covers you come undone, your head spins and your heart pounds in your chest, you feel yourself gush and clamp down around his cock. You feel Javi’s hips stutter behind you and his cock throb against your wet walls. The feeling only prologues and intensifies your orgasm, your body going slack and eyes rolling back into your head. 

“Please daddy, need your cum, please, give it to me..” 

Javi’s groans catch your attention as you come down from your high, still reeling from the aftershocks when you feel his cock twitch inside you and paint your walls with his hot spend. Your words are strained and slurred, but they clearly get the job done. You shiver and press your ass back against him to meet his stuttery, sloppy thrusts, and bite your lip when you feel him tighten his grip on your hip, feel him land a final spank to your ass for good measure as he slows down. 

You keep your ass in the air, face still pressed against the mattress as Javi pulls out. You hear him mutter a few strained curses under his breath as he does, and catch him looking between your legs to see his spend obscenely leak out of your used hole. He reaches his fingers to rub against your messy folds and you whine, feel him gather up your juices and push them back inside your cunt in a way that has you almost cumming right there again. 

Your dress is still pooled at your waist and he unzips it entirely, sneaking his hands under your thighs and flipping you over and yanking you towards him. 

“You really want daddy’s babies?” Your head falls back against the bed when you feel his hand cup your cunt, rub your messy, swollen folds with the calloused tips of his fingers. You barely manage to nod. 

“Then I ain’t done with ya yet pretty girl.” You tilt your chin to catch his gaze, now in nothing but your stupid little wedding veil. You’re not sure about the best day of your life, but this sure as hell contends for one of the best nights. 

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

I'm neon phosphorescent

Open like a Christmas present, oh

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

If you're seeking heaven

Then you wanna come and get it alright

Be my daddy tonight

What's up what's up

What's up what's up

Be my daddy be my daddy

Be my daddy be my, be my daddy tonight

AHHHHH feel like I’m going to hell for this one. Thanks so much for reading!! Please please please let me know what you think. I’d love to know your thoughts!!! Thank you to everyone who engages with my work, you keep me writing!! 💗🐝

[pascal-princess]

FawKtober2024 Part 8- Javier Peña

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Kinks- consensual non-consent (cnc), rough sex, aftercare

Word count- 1.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), rough sex, handcuffs, gags, consent is explicitly given and safewords are established, pet names (baby, sweetheart), no physical description of reader other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- Please be aware of the warnings on this one as it's rougher and not going to be for everyone! But I do love me some cnc and it's been a while since I wrote one so this was fun to write! Enjoy!

~

It was late, and Javier should have been back hours ago. You sat on the couch, the tv just background noise as you wrapped yourself up in a blanket waiting for him to get back. Stifling a yawn, you fidgeted in your spot as your nerves rose with every passing minute. Part of you was a little scared, but that was a part of the thrill of it all. And most of you was excited anyway. From the moment he called in the afternoon and said the secret code word, nothing else was on your mind.

You were so wrapped up in your own mind that you didn’t hear the door open and shut or the footsteps that got closer and closer to you. It wasn’t until a large hand covered your mouth that you knew you were no longer alone.

The hand stifled a scream as you struggled in its strong grip. You flailed your arms around as you thrashed in an attempt to break free, but the hands that held you were too strong. Plus, you were caught off guard, so any type of advantage you could have had was gone.

It wasn’t until you heard your name in a familiar voice that you froze.

“It’s me, baby,” Javier whispered in your ear. One hand kept you still on the couch while the other stayed over your mouth. He paused for a moment, giving you the chance to tap three times to end this if you wanted to. But, when you didn’t, he went back into character. 

“Who would leave such a pretty thing home alone so late?” Javier’s tone dropped as he pushed you onto the couch on your stomach. 

You yelped as you suddenly found yourself thrown down. But, before you could react, you felt a weight on top of you, pinning you down. You tried to wiggle your way out from underneath Javier, not wanting to make this too easy for him, but he was able to keep you in place.

“Fuck you,” you spat as you thrashed under his grip.

“I plan to,” Javier smirked from behind you as he pulled his handcuffs.

He was fast and nimble with his hands, and Javier had your arms tied behind your back before you could resist much. You whipped your shoulders around in an attempt to break free, but Javier let his entire body weight sit on your hips as he pushed you back down flat. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmured as he ran his hands under your shirt and his calloused fingers grazed the skin of your back.

“Don’t touch me,” you jerked your body as much as you could, trying to fight the growing arousal between your legs.

“Oh,” Javier mocked you, “Don’t be like that, baby,” he let out a low growl as he suddenly yanked at your pants, tugging them off as you screamed and held your body down to keep him from undressing you.

“Stop it! No!” you yelled as you dug your hips into the couch.

“Shut your mouth,” Javier snapped, “Do you want the neighbors to hear?” It gave him an idea. Javier reached into his pocket and dug out a bandana and quickly tied it around your mouth. “It’s a shame to waste those pretty screams,” he rumbled, “But I don’t want to be interrupted.”

You whimpered as you rattled muffled insults through your gag. It only made Javier chuckle lowly. He took advantage of your distracted mind and tugged your pants and under off in one swoop, leaving you exposed. Your muffled cries only fueled him on more, and he felt his jeans tighten as he cock hardened.

“Shit, baby,” he whispered in awe as he soaked in the sight of you like this. You were cuffed, helpless, and at his mercy… and you had never looked more beautiful. Part of him wanted to stop this little game and kiss and make love to you tenderly and sweetly. But he knew how much you wanted this, and although he was reluctant at first, Javier now saw the appeal. 

Another whimper from you broke Javier out of his trance, and he was reminded of the strain between his legs. He groaned as he quickly unzipped his jeans to free his aching cock as you squirmed under him.

“Gotta have you, sweetheart,” he growled through gritted teeth.

You tried to protest, tried to mumble a “no,” but all you could do was moan. Javier grabbed your scalp and buried your face in the couch cushion with one hand while his other reached between your legs and spread you open, exposing you to him. He growled in anticipation as you whined underneath him, turning him on even more.

In the blink of an eye, Javier suddenly thrust into you without warning. Your scream was muffled by the cushion and your gag, but his groan echoed in the room as he felt your warm tightness around him.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good,” Javier rumbled. 

Tears filled your eyes at the sudden intrusion, and you felt an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure that only Javier could bring you. You screamed into the couch as he thrust into you in slow but harsh movements. You tried to claw at him from where he bound your hands, but it was no use; all you could do was barely scratch at his skin as he had his way with you.

“Fuck,” Javier groaned as he sped up his pace, fucking you harder than he ever had before.

Your cries of pain quickly turned to pleasure as you could no longer pretend you didn’t want what Javi gave you. Muffled moans filled the gag as your eyes rolled back with every harsh thrust of his hips. He almost actually hurt you, and you loved it. You craved more. You wanted more, harder, faster.

“Javi…” you managed to mumble through the bandanna. 

“That’s it, baby,” Javi encouraged you as he slapped your ass once, making you yelp. “That’s it,” he grunted as he thrust himself as deep inside you as he possibly could.

Tears fell from your eyes as you moaned into your gag as his thick cock filled you harshly over and over again. Your world felt like it was crumbling around you, like an earthquake and a hurricane at the same time. You felt like your body was on fire and about to be ripped apart simultaneously. It was pain and it was pleasure and it was everything and more. And it was perfect.

And that was when Javi growled in your ear, “Gonna cum, baby,” his low rumble went right to your core and you squeezed your inner muscles around his cock, “You gonna let me cum in you like a good fucking girl?”

You choked on your own spit as he yanked on the back of your neck, “Uh-huh,” you mumbled through the gag.

“That’s it,” he groaned, “You gotta cum too, baby. You gotta cum on my cock even if you don’t want to.”

A mix of a whine and the most obscene moan escaped your lips as your mind spun. He adjusted his angle so that his cock struck your sweet spot with precision, and it made you cry out through your gag. Your tears soaked the bandanna as your moans got louder as your climax started to build, as much as you tried to fight it.

“I feel you fighting it, baby,” Javier growled, “It only makes me wanna make you cum more,” he sped up his thrusts, pounding into you with wanton lust that completely took over his mind.

Javier’s hips slapped against yours as heat rose in the room. It didn’t take much longer for him to get what he wanted as he felt your body tense underneath him. You screamed into the bandanna as you trembled under his body and your climax washed over your body, filling you with pleasure. Javier grunted as he finally let himself go and his hips stuttered as he came just behind you, spilling himself into you as a string of curses spilled from his lips.

Exhausted, Javier fell forward and collapsed down onto you with a groan. Together the two of you laid on the couch in a sweaty mess as you both caught your breaths. Javi kissed your skin where he could reach as he carefully tugged at the bandanna. You gasped as your mouth was freed finally and you took a deep breath through your lips.

“You ok, baby?” Javi asked in a softer tone. 

“Perfect,” you replied in a hoarse voice and a smile on your face. Turning your head to meet his gaze, you added, “Thanks for indulging me, Javi.”

Javi smiled down at your before he kissed you tenderly on the lips, “I’ll admit I enjoyed it too,” he smirked against you, “Thanks for talking me into this.”

That made you laugh as you kissed him again, chasing his lips every time he tried to pull away.

“Now let me take care of you, baby,” Javi murmured, “I got you.”

“I know you do,” you whispered as you felt him push himself up, whimpering as he pulled out of you, “I trust you, Javi.”

Javi didn’t say anything as he uncuffed you and rolled you onto your side, gathering you in his arms. He wrapped himself around you and held you close as he kissed your temple. You nuzzled into his chest as you let out a sigh, placing feather light kisses on his chest as you closed your eyes contently. 

“You know I’d never hurt you for real, right?” Javi broke the silence as he caressed you, “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“I know, Javi,” you said, “That’s why I trust you and no one else to do this with me. We’re alright.”

“We’re alright,” he repeated as he rested his head against yours, “We’re alright, baby.