#dbf!pedro pascal

[dilf-docs]

Darlin', Can I Be Your Favorite?

dbf!boxer pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: it should be simple. helping your dad's best friend to train for his upcoming match in his hometown, chile. but turns out, world-renowned boxer the viper isn't just a menace in the ring.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (girthy), smut, p. in v., oral (m. receiving), rough sex, public sex, praise kink, humilliation kink, daddy kink (she's got daddy issues; idc if this is mischaracterizing you, you'll live), dom!pedro, use of pet names (doll/baby), some angst because that's my staple, idk shit about boxing my bad (i'm more of a ufc girlie kinda) so let's focus on the filth!!

word count: 5,874 words

side note: this very different albeit genius request got me a small hit tweet. song of choice for this piece i sped up because of my ovulation is favorite, by isabel larosa. there are several paragraphs in this that could be used against me and are proof i'm loosing my mind during this midterm/fertile week had to use a clint gif because freaky tales clint is so sexy might watch the movie on theatres with my legs open

You weren't new to this.

The small walls, dim light, the sweat, the blood... you were shoved into it. By your father, since you were a baby. Long before you could even walk, grabby hands trying to reach for a ring that seemed so far, the violence and the rage contained inside the quadrilateral.

So you grew up wanting it. The desire. The ichor. Rough and brutal.

You'd never step in, but always stood by your father's side. Until the age of boys, over-coated glossy lips and blooming girlhood arrived. Long gone where the days were you'd be next to your dad inside the dim-light place, now filled with car rides and girly laughter about all and nothing. You changed the sweat scent of the place for vainilla, and the oversized t-shirts for skirts that showed your laced panties if you bent.

The fights started then, but the ring became your home. Slut, he'd call you, saying this wasn't the girl he raised. Your mother would cry, tired of trying to stop the fighting that extended sometimes until late at dawn, when you'd show up on the doorstep, skirt torn apart and panties wet despite the dry summer.

The beast laid dormant inside you. That primal raw hunger; it never ceased to exist.

Now it was on your roaring voice, refusing to shut up and take the harsh language spoken by your own blood. It was on the defiance, cutting your clothes even smaller, pushing the wearable limit. On the way your makeup and manners got more scandalous, and how you'd throw your door louder each time another confrontation took place, the once lively home now a wrestle between two forces refusing to back down. But when you weren't with a bottle in your mouth or a guy in between your legs, you'd think of his hands grabbing yours as he showed you the gym around, introducing you to regulars. My little girl, he'd said proudly, and you would smile like he did. You'd grab the broken frame you once threw against the wall in a fit of rage, crimson imprinted over the photograph below the broken shards you tried to miserably put together again. Fucking failure. But it's impossible to piece what's already broken back together.

But you were still a believer, despite it all: the same girl who saw the magic in the beasts trapped within the cage, thunderous brutality in the place you once called your second home.

Maybe that's why you agreed to help your dad on this. To see a bit of that smile that had faded in time like the colors of the rust painted lockers. To hear a good girl praise. Not slut. To see a glimpse of the man who said he'd pass this place to you, useless now on his mouth as the gym crumbled just like your relationship. In the end, you were his daughter, begging to be seen.

And you were seen. Not by him. But by him.

The Viper. Pronounced in a whisper, because out loud sounded like a curse, bound to risk too much.

He had been a casual before, remembering his days when no facial hair adorned his face and he'd talk with your dad while laughing in a boasting sound, like he knew he'd break out in the scene. He did. And then he stopped coming, because he was too busy winning and living life than to return to a place that was falling apart.

But then your dad came rushing home, like he was to bear bad news. And boy, wasn't he? The leather, the greys now starting to take over his hair like the bad choices in the form of women and alcohol, ones that had once carried a bad boy charm which now had ripen into a sour taste, a lifestyle that belonged to the golden years left in a past long left behind. He didn't belong anymore, but refused to quit. The violence was a vice, and despite loosing everything, he had never lost a match.

"He wants to train" your dad panted out to your worried mother, who thought worst. "For a match, in Chile, his hometown. He talks about coming back"

Your dad may have been the first to know such, but not the last. No, because what started with a call late at night on your dad's old office (He had said Remember me, old friend? oscilating between nostalgia and teasing, and when your dad called his name, a soft incredulous Pedro? he had let out one of his victorious golden laughs, like coins falling down, as to let him know it was still him, despite it all), ended up on the news.

He's coming. He's coming. He's coming. Like a warning before the big bad wolf struck again.

In a way, you think, as he stands before you, he is one: the sharp eyes and bearing teeth. A fighter never backs down, and he seemed to be always in guard.

Hadn't recognized you at first, blinking a few times before a lazy and easy sleazy smile appeared on his face.

"This the same girl that asked me to carry her on my shoulders?" and a chuckle. "I think I still could"

A low, dangerous rich rumble. A dare. Challenging. Pedro didn't know you too had changed in many ways, and he certainly didn't know either you had touched yourself at night to the sound of his velvety voice, wrapping you up like the sweat that set your skin ablaze, a fist in your mouth to stop his name from slithering past your lips, image set on the way his eyes roamed over your woman body like an all too well trap he always falls in like a vice, trying to think if it was real or just another one of the troubles you loved to cause yourself.

But once you're deep, you can only go deeper.

Your dad left for Chile a day earlier, to set preparations you could care less, which is why you're here.

You promised not to fuck it up, seeing a peek of that man who swore to protect you from the cruel world outside. You needed this. Wanted this. When his lips parted but closed, many words hanging on the air coated with burnt cigars and sweat (I'm sorry. I'm proud of you. Don't dissapoint me. Don't break my heart. Don't fuck this up. I love you), you decided you'd do everything in your power to get your dad back.

The task was rather easy: help The Viper train before his big match in Chile.

Easy, if said man wasn't your dad's best friend, Pedro Pascal.

You feel like a voyeuristic freak watching from a corner as he pounds into the boxing bag repeatedly. Drops of salty sweat begin to run through his back, the white cloth now near transparent with how it sticks to his tan skin.

Pedro is big. All boxers were, seeing them coming and going from your dad's gym. But he was beefy. Not the slender and compact, but the huge thick type. The one were just his hands alone looked like he could snap your neck in two if he wanted.

You're supposed to be out there, helping him, but after your dirty little session two nights ago, and yesterday's dinner at your home, you're just not capable to meet him in the eye, despite promises to your dad and the fire to get his affection back.

(He had come over for dinner. Your mom made lasagna, your favorite dish of hers, but the plate went cold as you took in his words like an oil, spreading the grave tone that coated your panties like a second skin. You pressed your legs together, a shaky breath escaping past your treacherous lips when he said how much you'd grown, blaming the sauce when he licked his lips. Your parents stood up to collect the dishes, and then he leaned down and whispered: Ain't you become a doll?)

(It was nothing. It was just a man who knew your father and no better. But you didn't, either)

Last night, to erase the spell he seemed to have cast upon you, you went to one of your old friends while he beat himself up on the gym, where you were supposed to be. But when your orgasm washed over, you said his name instead; no cold shower could scrub away the humilliation.

(And the house still smelled like him. Bitter coffee, leather and sweat. It was salty and citric, up in your nostrils with an invasion that was, if not, fitting. You were obssesed, with the champion and the legend, and he was an old man looking for a fresh doe-eyed girl who could take it)

You gawk like a man would, but, how not? Dude too appeared to be hung. What is it they say about men with big noses, big hands and big thighs? Big. Big. Big. Fucking hell, you needed to be locked up.

"I know you're in there, baby" his voice cuts through the silence. It's night, and you should be locking up already, scarce customers long gone. "Was never good at hiding"

You emerge from the shadows, sporting only a small black short and a white tank top. He chuckles. With you, nothing is a coincidence.

"Some things never change"

He snickers, "but glad some do"

You breath in, getting closer to him. Again, his scent intrudes your senses, making you dizzy like a drug. Your circuits are busy, and his high.

"You were supposed to help me 'round here" he motions the place. But you're stuck on his hands, wrapped in tape. Those hands, brief peek of his tattoo hidden between the white. "What would your dad say, huh?"

His tone is devoid of malice and full of teasing, but your stomach churns.

"He'd say what he always says" he shots up an eyebrow, as if daring you to speak. "That I'm a fucking failure"

Pedro seems taken back by the sudden change in the atmosphere, nonetheless, still charged with unspoken uncertainty.

"Your dad?" like he couldn't connect the man he knew to the one he is now.

"How would you know?" comes out harsher than you intended, a shameful bitter taste in your mouth. "A lot has changed since you left"

A quiet rage settles in his eyes, the beast caged behind the enclosure begging to be let out.

"Why you throwing it on my face? I ain't your daddy"

It shouldn't hurt. This is ridiculous. But, hell, it does; you're nobody's daughter.

"Good you aren't my fucking daddy"

The silence washes over you at the same time the embarrassment does. You realize too late the words that left your mouth, and if you're quick to try to run, he's faster, your back pressed to the material of the hanging punching bag.

"Say it" he demands, "again"

Your face grows hotter by the minute. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"First a terrible discreet and now a bad liar" his spit spurts in your face, each word with punctuation and a seethe. "Anything else?"

Yes. So much. You're drowning at this point, still not deciding if it's because of the smell his body is emanating or your heavy heart's fault. But he's the last person you'll tell all of this to.

"Not that it matters to you, anyway"

Yet, to an extent, it seems like he knows. As if he's able to see past the forced sweetness, the sarcasm and the layers of makeup and numbingly intoxicating vainilla. Pedro thinks at least he does.

So if you're on fire, he'll let you keep burning.

"I could be him, you know?" your ears start ringing at some point, and you're sure your heart stops. "I could be your daddy"

There's no going deeper than this.

"Thank God you aren't"

And it's like a slap to his face. The oh-mighty undisputed champion steps back. There is always a first, and maybe this is what loss feels like.

"Baby-"

Your ears keep on ringing as you move far from him, your heart dangerously close to leaping from your throat to the cold hard ground. Who does he think he is? He hasn't even been back for a day and has already found a way to break you from inside. To ruin you. As if he never left and has known every secret hidden between your ribs, his memory nestled since forever. But he's too picked apart your bones, in just a matter of seconds, biting down on the marrow of your deepest insecurities.

You hate him. You hate Pedro. You hope he looses, and you accept you've already lost your dad.

But then, as you realize your sat at the end of the gym, the worn out lockers on display, you have an idea.

With you, it was always about revenge, wasn't it?

The beast is awake, howling upon you. Ichor. Rage. This rotten girlhood that started with Malibu dreams and has ended on beds that reek of cheap whiskey and a quick fix in the name of forgetting.

"Pedro"

His head almost snaps looking in your direction. Not like he wanted to search for you to ask for your forgiveness. A match to mark his comeback and change his life will happen in just a couple of hours; he's got bigger problems than a girl who can't see things the way they are. He isn't an apostle of acceptance, but his wicked selfish nature finds pleasure in punishing you for his same sins.

But to play a game, you need two.

"In here" he answers, as if he hasn't moved since your little altercation.

"You need to shower" he catches in time the towel you throw at him. He chuckles dryly at your childish behavior. "You stink"

"You sure? 'Cause just a minute ago, it seemed you were into it" he's quick to quip, matching your energy.

That cocky motherfucker. So full of himself. You hate the sleazy smile of a winner. Does he think you're going down as easy as that?

Of course, you aren't blind. He's attractive, but is this worth it? You see his damp shirt and sweat drenched thighs. No. You look away, flustered.

"I think you need a break, old man. You're not who you used to be" you turn your back to him, so he doesn't see your red hot face, "seeing things that aren't real"

You start to walk to the changing room, and even if not spoken, there's an implication to follow you. So Pedro does, because it's night and Friday and he's got nowhere else to go.

He follows you into the locker room, but this isn't you.

Not the little girl who looked up to him like he could beat the whole world, hand in hand. Not the broken woman, who tried so hard to keep up a mask he could easily see through, maybe because it was akin to his own.

No. This is a fucking temptress. A siren call to drown.

"Sit"

He decided to be a boxer the day he knew he wasn't meant to be bent. The day he realized he hated being weak and wanted to always lead his own path. If it was through violence and punches, so be it.

But he's obeying your command, like a lap dog. If the change isn't noticeable enough, your wicked grin gives it away. He takes his place on the bench, sitting down with aching joints.

"What were you thinking?" you whisper.

A vein on his neck pops out aggressively at the remark.

"I can still handle it"

The way his voice drops to a lower octave, the scowl on his face prominent, like he's both offended and peaked in interest by your remark.

"Is that a challenge?" you tease, playfully. "I'm not your opponent, Pascal. Save it for tomorrow night"

Your fingers itch, and before you think about it twice, they're digging across the soft flesh of his broad back.

"What-"

You hush him almost instantly. "Let me"

You trace patters across the expanse of his hard planes, arousal pooling at the rough of his edges, the dry and scarred of his skin. It's also the sturdy built, what makes it harder to not... appreciate. You happen to be into appreciating the small things, that's all.

(But small, he definitely isn't)

"You're tired" you trace his worn muscles, lost in the way he seems to equally tense and relax under your fluttering touch. "Let me help you"

"What's this?" equally soft. A tattoo. But not the one's you've seen; you wonder if it is for your bad memory or because it's new. "Vae victis"

"Woe to the defeated" he's quick to answer. Taking your silence as a signal to continue, he adds. "It's a way to remember the ones I fight are people, not numbers"

If his voice carries a tinge of vulnerability, you must've imagined it.

"Never took you as the empath type" and your fingers leave his skin, as if it burns.

He lets out a soft humorless laugh.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, baby"

You don't let him have the last word, and to punctuate your final blow, you press a short kiss to the tattoo. He didn't see it coming-- your mint breath ghosting over his shoulder onto his face. Pedro forgets how to breath.

"I've always loved a good mystery"

Knockout.

He looks up from the bench, breathing still panting as he sees your retreating figure, until all that's left in the room is him and his worn-out body. Then, the soft pit-pat of the water hitting the tiles jolts him awake.

"It's ready" your voice says, but you're still there, and not back to the lockers.

Why were you preparing him a shower? It's not like he couldn't turn on the switch.

Pedro removes the towel from his neck and walks over to the showers, only to find you still there, white blouse as damp as his.

"What-"

"Get in"

He's about to repeat it, this time harsher and louder (Have you gone insane, woman?), but then your sweet persistent voice digs on his mulish character like a knife to a wound, and his reasoning has flown out of the window.

"You're gonna wet yourself" is all Pedro can manage to say.

The (possible) double meaning makes his belly rumble.

"I know" you repeat, answering for both. And then get inside.

The water starts to make your clothes hug your body, and he's lost in the curves of your ass and tits. Your muscles, while albeit not worked out, are both soft and strong, plush skin inviting for a bite. You've got both the firm and the soft that comes with age and womanhood, and his cock is itching to have his invite to your warm walls.

"What are you waiting for? Are you going to bath with clothes on?"

He rolls his eyes. "Look who's talking"

The cold water hits him when you too have taken off your clothes.

Couldn't get challenged because your too stubborn ass fell right into the bait.

His breath gets caught in his throat as your soapy hands explore his body. His adam's apple bobs as he gulps, enthralled by your firm yet gentle scrubbing, washing away remnants of sweat and dirt. All words are lost at the devotion, worship and reverance that seems to pour from your digits as you sweep his body.

"How?" your voice drowns out with the drops of water.

"Bad move" he whispers, seeing it across his arm. It's runs across almost all of his inner bicep, big. It didn't heal as good as he'd liked, but chicks seemed to dig it. "Had to go to the hospital"

You, however, seem more into the... understanding side of it. Not on the thrill and the danger, but on the damage that's healed in time but never left. More on the pain, and not the punch.

"And this?"

"Gloves"

"What?"

"Gloves" he repeats, still not that loud, as if he's ashamed. "They can create cuts when the skin is pulled during a strike"

"I don't get it"

And instead of mocking you, Pedro finds himself trying to explain it.

"It's because of the friction of the gloves against the skin" he sighs. "Was too dumb and too full of myself to understand it. Then it happened and I got this"

"What has changed?" you tease him, but it's as tender as a lingering touch. "Don't worry, Pedro. Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats"

It's a rather sweet moment, only broken by your teeth sinking into the scarred tissue, yet you're quick to soothe it with a wet kiss.

He groans, head falling back as your greedy little hands now slide through the hard of his chest, his nipples perked under the cold of the water and the warm of your touch; body electric.

"Fuck, baby. You're going to be the death of me" he groans, shivering at your insistence on making him break. "Keep tryin', but you won't make me beg, muñeca" (doll)

Still hellbent on denying you of himself, the hotheaded stubborn prideful bastard. Not even with your tits in the air, bare cunt aching.

"No?" you feign innocence, batting those wet eyelashes of yours. Then your lips find his scars, licking and pressing sweet warm kisses across the expanse of his chest and body, ending on the one across his face. For a moment, he falters at the intensity of your gaze, almost slipping on the tiles. "Still no?"

You fucking minx. "Fighters don't beg" he says, but every contact of your lips and tongue against his wet body send bolts of electricity to his aching semi-hard cock.

"But real men do"

Without further ado, you descend until your knees hit the tiles, water running through your legs like a river. You don't wait for an answer, all you need to know in his parted lips and his deep stare at you through dark hooded eyes.

A low, guttural moan tears from Pedro's throat as your tongue flicks a quick lick at his sensitive head. He's grabbing your hair with rough hands, tangling into your damp curls, his hips jerking involuntarily as your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing the most sensitive parts.

"Fuck" he groans, "aren't you trouble, doll? Really gonna make me beg for that release, ain't you? With that tongue of yours"

You give another proud lick at his throbbing angry red flesh, head already leaking with precum.

"What'd your daddy think about his daughter sucking his best friend's cock in the showers?"

You ignore him, too busy lost in the way his cock throbs and pulses in your mouth, his balls tightening with a pressure that built more each passing second.

"Not a talker, huh? Were that loud mouth of yours go?" he teases, his grip not faltering on your hair. "That's what y'r daddy said. Or maybe he was talking of another daughter. Not this little obedient slut who devours my cock like she's starved" his voice is strained. "Such a good girl, though, taking care of an old man like this. You like how it tastes?"

You pull out, making him groan.

"Why'd stop?" his voice is strained, rough with desire. His pupils are blown wide, circling with desbelief and something more primal. But he'll never say that, will he?

Too bad for him, you don't know when to shut up. Or quit.

"I want to hear you say it"

He chuckles darkly, his grip on your hair tighter now. "What'd say?"

"Me? Nothing" your lips part, words slurring before you think better. "You is I wanna hear"

"Fucking cunt" his eyes darken, "think you can tease me and get away with it? No, you'll be a good little cocksleeve and take it all"

You moan at his lewd words, thighs clasping together in search for some relief for the pressure building on your bare cunt.

"That's right, you dirty cocksucker. Look at you, thinking you can bend a fucking champion like me"

He knew his power over you. Frankly, he had to thank your old man for fucking you up so bad. Pedro loved how all your resolute seemed to vanish in the air, looking so eager and willing, desperate to please him. Be it for praise or for how much you wanted this like him, but it is this what makes him feel like a true winner.

"Don't you wanna suck this dick so bad?" his thumb tugs down your lip, "Be a good girl and I might give it to you"

Just like that, you're done.

"Please, I want to be a good girl. Use me, fuck me with your mouth"

He lets out a growl, voice low and rough. "Oh, t's alright, muñeca. I'll use this dirty little mouth of yours, all right" he fists your hair again, pulling you closer. "Gonna fuck you so good, you'll be feeling me all week: every time you taste, swallow and speak. Fill your dirty mouth so good with so much cum, you'll be tasting it for hours, for days, 'n for the rest of your fucking life"

Pedro thrusts his hips forward, pushing more and more of his thick, hard cock past your lips. He sets a steady pace, eyes locked on your face as he fucks your mouth with deep strokes.

"Just like that" he praises, breaths sharp as he looses himself in how his girth is nestled in your mouth. "Take it all, like a good little girl. So show me, baby, show me how much you love the taste of my cock. How much you need it-- crave it"

Your moan gets lost in your constricted throat, struggling to take him deeper, breathing and swallowing almost impossible with his girth taking up all of the space inside of your mouth. If Pedro felt like a king before, now he feels like a god.

"Such a perfect little cock sleeve for me to use, to fill, to fuck" he groans, his hips picking up speed, thrusts growing harder and more urgent.

His orgasm starts building, and he knows it by the way his balls tighten and his cock pulses inside the heat of your throat. Pedro knows he's close to coming, that he's seconds away from it.

Even if he's lost completely in the act, he's foremost a gentleman, but when he's about to pull out, your hands grip tightly to this thighs, and hold him in place as he tries to move. A rush of lust washes him over the cold water, a dark desire coursing through him at your pathetic display of eagerness and desperation.

"Fuck, baby" Pedro's voice reduced to a low, guttural rumble as he gazes down at you. You swear you can see a brief glint of admiration on his eyes. "You want my cum that badly, muñeca? Do you want to swallow it all down like a good little slut?"

He's rocking his hips forward, burying himself balls-deep in your warm throat, his swollen cock pulsing and throbbing against your tonsils as his orgasm crashes over him. Pedro throws his head back as so do his eyes, body shuddering and convulsing as thick ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock.

"You're doin' great, baby" he pants, his grip on your hair tight as he grounds his hips against your face, pushing himself deep into your mouth as he physically could. "Show me what a good little cumslut you are and don't waste a fuckin' drop. Swallow it all"

Aren't you perfect? Gulping and swallowing, trying your best good girl shtick as you take everything he has to give you, his musky sweat filled scent up your nostrils, despite the soap still covering some of his body.

"Fuck, y/n" he groans, body going limp. He falls back against one of the shower's walls, chest up and down with uneven breaths. "Greedy little girl with a greedy little throat"

He slowly pulls out of your mouth, his softening cock slipping from your lips.

"Get up, baby. Your father's bill will be brutal if we don't hurry up" he hauls you up and into his arms. "But truth is, I'ont give a fuck. I'm still thinking 'bout your lips 'round my cock"

Before you say anything, he's dragging your body again like you weight nothing, but this time, it's to crush his hot desperate mouth into yours with a rough kiss. Pedro can taste himself mixed with your sweet and drool. He groans at that, the sound painfully animal.

"Hey" he gently tugs you, a mannerism you would never associate with him. "Where you think you're going?"

You blink once. Twice. Then again, slower.

"What are you talking about?"

Your back meets the wall, Pedro brutally slamming your body until the tiles dig into your skin.

"Ow- wait" you hiss, "the fuck's gotten into you?"

"Think I'll let you go after this?" he growls. Then, chuckles, darkly so. "No, baby. I gotta try first" his fingers grab the supple skin of your ass until you feel them melt into it. He then spanks it, creating a weird sound with the combined water droplets. "Need to see if the pussy is as sweet as your mouth. So be a good girl and let me handle this, alright? As I said, I still can"

And for a reason, that feels like a threat.

His calloused digits venture dangerously close to your entrance, fingers going in. He coats it with your slick, making him laugh that laugh uniquely his.

"Fuck, muñeca. You're as wet as this shower head" Pedro presses himself into you, his cock touching your stomach. "Don't ever try to lie to me again, I ain't no fool"

Traitorous body. But his seething voice, the way his dominance slithers into jolts through your slick folds. You whine, pressing your tighs together. Pedro's quick to see this, and before you get to say anything else, he parts them roughly.

"I said I ain't no fool" he grunts while rubbing the tip of his cock over your folds, applying pressure on your clit. "Bad girl"

No warning, just his cock slipping past your wet dripping folds. Your hands fly to reach his neck for support.

"S'fucking grabby" he teases, slipping his pulsating dick between your folds once more, pressing and then pushing in slowly.

He swallows your whimper in a kiss, your poor pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth. His big hands pull your body closer to his.

"But I'm the grabby one"

He growls. "Quit talking"

With one brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, balls pressed against the flesh of your ass. You grip his hair, chocolate curls tangled between your fingers. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. The pain carries waves of pleasure laced within, despite his aggressive thrusting and quick pace. You roll your hips upwards, eliciting a faint whimper out of your lips.

"No, doll" his fingers dig in your waist, a purple soon to follow. "You do what I say, clear?"

His cock grinds forward, stretching you out.

"Fuck-!" you choke out, "Pedro!"

He growls when he hears his name on your lips, an all consuming desire to make you his washing over him.

He then grabs you by your legs, hooking them around his waist.

You mewl out his name in a cry.

"See?" Pedro blurts out. "Told ya' I still had it on me, baby"

Your hands scramble to grab him by his shoulders, the pain and pleasure making your head spin. He can feel your tits jump with each bounce provoked by his thrusts, the rosy skin pressed against his chest.

"Gonna fill you up so bad, you won't ever doubt me again"

Pedro pulls back and uses his arms to push himself up and hover over you. He began to drive his hips faster, loud clapping noises mixing with the falling water.

"I'm- I'm gonna"

"Ask, baby. Remember what I told you?"

"Yes. Sorry, daddy" you whimper. "Please, let me-"

"Let you what?" Pedro chuckles.

"Cum. Let me cum. Please, daddy, please" the words slurred as you feel yourself on edge.

"Very well" grinning satisfied, "but don't you dare keep any of those pretty noises just for yourself"

A high-pitched wails falls past your lips as you throw your head and eyes back, your legs shaking.

"Pedro-!"

He grunts at the sensation of your juices on his cock, coating it. In the way your walls flutter around his length, pussy tight making him groan against your neck, where he has now buried his face.

"Stay there, baby. It's my turn" his hips snap and his thrusts turn sloppy. "Gonna paint all of your tight folds with my cum"

His grip tightens as he fucks himself silly into you, chasing his high.

"S'fucking tight" he groans loudly. "Such a good girl for me"

He comes undone, salty hot ropes of thick white cum spurting inside of you, his cock deeply nestled inside of your welcoming warm walls.

"Fuck. Need to fill you up, doll. Until you're so stuffed you can't move without making a mess"

The water keeps falling, as you whimper softly, burying your face in his neck. Pedro keeps rocking into you while riding his orgasm out, soft breathless groans leaving him. He places you down, some of his cum on your thighs. He uses his finger to push it all inside.

"We have been to wasteful to keep on being, right?" Pedro jokes before closing the valve.

"Be honest. You don't give a damn about the planet"

He lets out a hearty laugh.

"Guilty as charged"

There's some silence before he's helping you get back on your shorts.

(He smacks your ass, saying you did it on purpose. You agree. After all, he's quick to know when you lie)

"Good girl" he praises with a small kiss. "Did so well for me"

You kiss him back, fiercely, your mouth practically sucking his lips.

"For good luck, daddy"

Pedro chuckles at your antics. "You fucking minx"

He leaves you after that, going for his stuff. But you stand still in the middle, lost like a little deer. Your ragged breaths fill the room, and he feels a little guilty about having fucked his best friend's daughter on his gym before leaving first thing in the morning to his home country.

"C'mere" you turn your head. "What? C'mon, don't leave me hanging"

You carefully make way to where he is, back in the same bench.

"Sit" he orders.

Oh, the irony of it all.

Once you take place next to him, he makes sure to remove a strand of wet hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"When I win, which I will" you chuckle at his ego, "I'll be sure to remember you, doll"

So when your dad sends you a video of Pedro's match in Chile a day later and The Viper winks to the camera as the referee raises his fist in the air, you like to think it's for you.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[layaispunk]

needs a good fix

jackson!joel miller x fem!virgin!reader

a/n: this idea is by @yxtkiwiyxt !!! i couldn't stop thinking about it.

summary: you can't stop fantasizing about joel taking your virginity.

warnings: UNPROTECTED P IN V SMUT 18+. competency kink. joel is jackson's handyman, reader has no physical description, dry humping, female masturbation, male masturbation, age gap (reader is over 21), reader is a virgin, praise kink, fingering, grinding, aftercare, soft!joel, lmk if i missed anything!!

wc: 4.7k words

Joel was always fixing things around town. 

Ever since Joel Miller showed up in Jackson, folks started calling him the town’s handyman. The way his hands moved, steady and skilled, fixing what needed fixing… he was good. he was good at what he did.

The creak of his boots echoed from the side of the barn as he repaired the gate hinges. A few days ago, it was the broken heater in the art room. Before that, the fencing near the stables. He was the kind of man who did not like to sit still, and Jackson had plenty of things to keep him going. He liked helping around, and it made him feel needed. 

You didn’t mean to notice him every single time. Your eyes just naturally averted to him, every time. At first it was small things.. how he always showed up early in the morning. How he talked to people with that low, Texas drawl, with kindness, and sometimes a little grumpy. It was clear he cared deeply about doing things right. 

His rolled up sleeves, the grunts he made when he was moving, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating … it was all too much. He did everything so well, no neighbor ever complained. Every time you saw him with a tool in his hand, or a smudge of grease on his forearm, something inside you twisted. It started as a quite ache, one you could ignore if you distracted yourself enough. But the more you saw him, the worse it got. 

And you… you were a virgin. Growing up in the apocalypse and all, you never really had the chance to get to know someone that intimately, besides, you were very comfortable with your own sexuality, taking care of yourself, and you were quite satisfied. Boys had thrown themselves at you before, but you weren’t into guys your age, immature and inexperienced. You always liked them a bit older, more experienced. You had a thing for competency, and men like him who were good at what they did. blue collar, broad-shouldered, good with their hands. Men who smelled like whiskey, sweat, and knew how to fix shit other people couldn’t. Joel, with that salt and pepper hair and his worn button-ups, the way he moved, was turning you on. You couldn’t look at him without your breath catching and sweat clinging to your forehead, without heat crawling low in your belly. You couldn’t stop thinking about your first time being with him, how protective he’d be, and how good he’d take care of you.

You didn’t live super close to him, but the universe clearly had other plans, because somehow your errands aligned with where he happened to be. And always, he’d greet you. 

Just a “hey”. Simple, and casual. Too casual for the way heat pooled between your legs every single time. You try to keep it cool, offer a quick smile, or a nod, but your words never come out the way you want them. If he had any idea how tightly you had to clench your jaw every time he walked by, he sure as hell didn’t show it. 

He had no idea what he was doing to you. As far as Joel was concerned, you were just another friendly face in town. You were kind to him, sweet even, traded coffee for paint supplies, but you never stayed long enough to hold a conversation. Joel figured maybe he made you didn’t like him, that you, maybe you just weren’t the talkative type. 

He usually worn button-ups, long sleeves rolled up. But with the seasons shifting and the sun hanging higher, he was showing up in tight t-shirts that left little to the imagination. The fabric hugged his arms just right, tracing every muscle and vein, and it was impossible to imagine what those hands could do if they weren’t busy fixing shit. One time, he reached to grab something from a top cabinet, and with his arms stretched high, you caught a perfect glimpse of his waist. The way his shirt rode up just enough to reveal his happy trail leading down, and the waistband of his boxers. It made you feral.

Every night, you thought about him. What his huge hands might feel like. What his calloused fingers would feel like on your body. How his grunts might sound like if he was on top of you, whispering something low and filthy in your ear. Late at night, you let your thoughts slip where they shouldn’t. Under the covers, imagining what it would feel like to have someone there- Joel, instead of your own fingers, moaning and whimpering his name, hoping one day he would just magically show up and fuck you senseless. 

One afternoon, you told yourself you weren’t going to do anything stupid. But it was a hot spring evening, you had two glasses of wine, maybe three, and it was just enough to make you feel courageous. Or reckless. Tipsy, that made your skin feel too hot, your clothes too tight, and your underwear soaked. You didn’t let yourself think it through. You just walked down the street, heart pounding and thighs pressed tight, wearing a top that accentuated your breasts & an old fashioned lie. and knocked on Joel’s door. You told yourself it was innocent. A neighborly thing.  

He answered the door in a t-shirt. Collar a little stretched, fabric clinging to his biceps. You had to force your eyes to stay on his face.

“Hey,” you said, a little breathier than what you meant. “S-Sorry to bug you. I just-uh… my sink’s acting real funny. The one in the kitchen.”

The kitchen sink was fine.

Joel wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “What’s it doin’?”

You shrugged, toying with the straps of your shirt. “Leaking. Making a sound. I dunno.” you said nervously. 

“I can swing by tomorrow,” he said, nodding.

You licked your lips. “I’ll uh…. I’ll leave the door unlocked. In case I’m out. So you just let yourself in.”

Joel’s brow ticked. “You leavin’ your door open for just anyone, darlin’?”

Your heart stuttered. Was he flirting with you? “Uh… no, no.”

He smiled, “I’m just jokin’.” He clapped his hands. “Alright then, I’ll uh.. see ya tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, you turned around and walked back home, your heart about to rip open your chest.  

The next day crept up slowly. You woke up flushed, replaying yesterday’s interaction in your mind like a dream. 

You told yourself not to get too worked up. Not to overthink it. But by mid-afternoon, you were restless. The house felt too warm, your skin even warmer. You kept checking the clock, hoping his knock might come any second. 

And when it didn’t, you grabbed the wine bottle. To cool you down, ofcourse. To calm your nerves. You’d left the door unlocked like you promised him. Just a crack, enough for him to step inside. The kitchen sink was fine. Didn’t need any fixing. But your body…? That was another matter.

You wandered upstairs to your room, still leaving the door cracked, restless and a little tipsy from the wine. The fan hummed softly overhead, but it did nothing to cool the heat spreading low in your belly. Your clothes clung to you, damp from the warmth… and your wetness. You ran your hands down the front of your thighs, exhaling a shaky breath as your fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. They felt suffocating. You slid them down your legs slowly, the cotton catching slightly on your hips before pooling around your ankles. The air kissed your skin, and you bit the inside of your cheek, goosebumps rising on your legs. 

You sat at the edge of the bed at first, on your back. Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shit. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way his biceps flexed. His Texas drawl dipped in honey. The way he said your name. 

Your hand drifted over your stomach, skimming lightly, like even your own touch was too much. You didn’t rush, just let your fingertips trace lazy, aimless patterns, dipping lower each time until they reached the waistband of your underwear. There was a steady warmth pulsing at your core, a heat that had been building all day. You let your fingers press down, through the thin fabric, catching your breath at the feeling. You were already so sensitive, so wound up from hours of wanting, of imagining him. You were pretending your hands were his, touching you like this for the first time. You shifted against the sheets, chasing friction, letting your hips tilt just enough to press into your own hand. It was slow at first, knowing your body too damn well, until you started to rub your clit in small circles and gasping softly, your mouth falling open. 

-

Joel told himself he’d swing by later in the afternoon, but something about the way you looked at him yesterday.. the wine flush on your cheeks, the way your fingers played with your shirt straps… He was confused. He was old. Surely, he didn’t think you were flirting with him. Why would someone so pretty, want someone like him? 

The door was exactly as you left it. Unlocked, cracked open a little bit. He still knocked softly at first.

“Hey,” he called, voice low. “it’s Joel, you home?”

No answer.

So he stepped inside, slow and polite, calling your name softly. And suddenly, he heard it. Faint and breathless.

“Joel.. Oh..”

His heart jumped. You sounded like you were in pain, or crying. The sound of your voice had him moving before he could think. He dropped his tools, boots thudding against the stairs, every protective instinct in him lighting up. Another soft moan. “Oh God...”

He didn’t wait. “Darlin,? You alright?” He pushed the door open with his shoulder, chest tight, eyes scanning …. Until he saw you. laying back against the sheets, legs spread, hand between your thighs. Your shorts discarded on the floor. 

You froze. 

Joel froze too.

He wasn't dumb. He caught on what was happening immediately.

His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, but no words came out. His eyes were wide, locked on yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence was thick. 

You sat up in panic, putting your shorts back on. “I-I thought you weren’t coming,” you whispered. 

He looked dazed. He swallowed hard. Took one step closer.

“You left the door open,” he said quietly. “Said I could come in.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” You whispered, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. “Joel, I didn’t think you’d—”

He nodded once, firm, eyes still on you. “You say my name like that all the time when you’re alone?”

You couldn’t speak.

He took another step. “I came to fix the sink, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with something rough and warm, “but I think we’ve got somethin’ else that needs my attention.” You swallowed hard, heart hammering like it might break through your ribs. 

Your fingers were still trembling from earlier. From the way you’d whispered his name like a fucking prayer. And now he was here. Real. Solid. Broad shoulders taking up half the space in the room.

You felt small. Exposed. And yet… your body ached for him.

Joel’s eyes dragged down your frame, slow and deliberate. His jaw ticked.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he said, voice low. “I just… didn’t know you… felt that way about me.” He swallowed. “I wasn’t supposed to see that.” 

Your back straightened, chest still heaving. “Well, I do.” You blinked. “Joel, you should probably just go,” you stammered, voice shaky. You started rambling under your breath, words tumbling over each other like a flood. “I’m so dumb. I’m sorry, Joel. The sink doesn’t even need fixing. I mean, what was I thinking? I just wanted to see you, like some fuckass teenager with a crush. You don’t even like me like that.” You stared at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his eyes, heart pounding loud in your ears.

Joel shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Darlin’, calm down. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, eyes soft. “I… like you, I’m just surprised,’s all,”

You opened your mouth, words caught in your throat. “I had too much wine. I just need a minute, okay? I’m overwhelmed” 

He nodded, stepping back. “Alright, I’ll head home, okay?” His voice was low, unsure, like he wasn’t quite sure on how to act after that, and neither did you. He slipped quietly without another word. Did you just fuck everything up?

The next day, there was a knock on your door. 

Joel stood there, hand on the back of his head. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Can I…come in for a sec?”

You smiled and stepped aside, still mortified from yesterday. 

He glanced around like he was gathering his thoughts, then finally looked at you. “I been thinkin’ about what happened yesterday.”

You blinked at him, cheeks heating up. Talk about the elephant in the room.  “What do you mean?”

Joel let out a slow breath. “I wanted to apologize. You were embarrassed. Thought I didn’t… want you like that.”

You looked away, heat crawling up your neck.

He continued, gently, “I didn’t mean to walk in on somethin’ so personal. I swear, I only came in ’cause I thought you were hurt. You sounded like you were in pain, and the door was open, and.. I’m sorry.”

You chewed your lip. “Joel, you don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault, I should have closed the door.” You sighed. “I didn’t mean to make things weird”

“Nothing’s weird,” he said. “I just.. Jesus, I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around it, ‘cause you’re…” he trailed off, eyes on yours, voice soft. “You’re beautiful, and young. I don’t know how in the world you would want someone like me.”

You stared at him. Your heart was thudding in your chest, heat creeping up your neck, wanting to tell him that you’re a virgin and just blurting it out. “I’ve never… had sex.” Your voice barely carried, but it felt like the loudest thing in the room. “I just wanted you to know.” You paused, cheeks burning, then forced the next part out. “I guess... I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I just want to get it over with, with someone more experienced, you know. To know what it feels like. So, um. That’s what I was thinking about. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Joel blinked, his gaze holding yours, unreadable for a second. His eyes dropped for a second, then came back to yours, voice rough, blurting out a confession himself too. “I thought about you too, last night.”

You blinked, confused. “what?”

His breath hitched. A humorless little laugh left him as he shook his head. “Couldn’t get the image outta my head. We’re even now. Ain’t gotta be embarrassed.”

You tilted your head, searching his face. “are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

His voice was low, thick with something darker, more vulnerable. “No.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t move. So you kissed him. 

When Joel kissed you back, it was desperate. His hands gripped your waist, rough palms dragging over your back like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. Your fingers tangled in his soft curls at the back of his head, tugging him closer, swallowing the low groan he let out when you parted your lips for him. You whimpered softly into his mouth, pressing your chest to his, needing him even closer. He smelled so good. Like whiskey, and soap, and musk. It invaded your senses, and your brain turned into mush. 

His tongue swept over yours before he broke away to kiss along your jaw, then your neck, open mouthed and breathless. 

“Joel…” you moaned, “Fuck,”

Your knees hit the back of the couch, and the two of you stumbled, breathless and tangled in each other until you fell on top of his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he sank back onto the couch, pulling you down with him. Your legs were straddling him, your hands braced around his neck. Kissing you deeper, his hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, like he was trying to touch every part of you all at once. 

You rocked against him as he groaned into your mouth, hips bucking up just slightly. His mouth found your neck once again as you kept moving against him achingly, feeling the thick press of his erection beneath you, hard and growing. You were so turned on it hurt. 

“Shit,” Joel rasped, gripping your hips, trying to hold you still. “Baby…”

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. You needed him. But his hands stilled you.

He leaned his forehead against yours, kissing your head, chest rising and falling under your palms. “Sweetheart,” he said, voice low and steady now, “we gotta slow down.”

You blinked at him with doe eyes, lips still parted. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” he said quickly, cupping your cheek. “God, no.” He swallowed, eyes on yours. “It’s just… it’s been a long time. And I want this to be good for you.”

He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You really want this?” he asked, voice quiet.

You leaned in, lips brushing his, barely above a whisper, “Yeah. I do.”

His chest rose and fell against yours, his eyes flickering down to your lips before dragging back up again like he was trying to memorize you.

He leaned in and kissed you softly, slow and unhurried, letting it linger, letting your fingers drift up the back of his neck and into his hair. He exhaled into your mouth, and you felt the way his hands gripped you just a little tighter.

Then, without a word, you reached down and tugged gently at the hem of his shirt.

Joel paused, eyes searching yours. But he didn’t stop you.

You lifted the fabric slowly, revealing the scarred, strong lines of his chest. Your fingers brushed over his skin as you pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall somewhere behind the couch.

His breath hitched when you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chest, soft and reverent. Another to his collarbone. Another just above his heart. He wasn’t used to this.

Joel’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, a hand coming up to hold the back of your head like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this.

You sat up, heart pounding, and slowly reached for your own shirt. You watched his face as you peeled it over your head. his eyes widened slightly, lips parting, awe written all over him like you were a dream came true.

You took his hands and placed them on your waist, his palms warm and steady. Then you leaned in again, and he kissed you hard, lips sliding to your jaw, down your neck. When his mouth finally reached your chest, your breath caught. he was kissing you there, slow and gentle, like he was learning the shape of your breasts with his mouth.

A soft moan escaped you, hips shifting instinctively in his lap. You felt the heat building again, sharp and overwhelming. Every place he touched felt like it burned.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice breathless, “need you to touch me…”

One of his hands slid down slowly, carefully, finding the edge of your waistband. His fingers brushed your skin, teasing, and you gasped softly. You could feel the heat between your thighs, a growing ache that had only sharpened since the moment he walked through your door.

“I’ve never-” you whispered, barely audible.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you. We don’t gotta rush a damn thing, sweetheart.”

You nodded, heart pounding, eyes locked with his.

“Jesus,” he rasped, resting his forehead against your chest for a second. “You tell me if anything don’t feel right. Any second. You hear me?”

You nodded again, lips brushing against his temple. “Yeah.”

He leaned back just enough to kiss you again, slower this time like you were something delicate, hands trailing up your spine. You arched slightly as you were dry humping on the couch, gasping at the friction between your core and his erection. You stood up, and discarded your shorts on the floor, just your soaked panties covering you.   When you lowered down on his lap again, your fingers found his, guiding his hand between your thighs.

“You can touch me,” you said quietly. “I want you to.”

Joel let out a quiet groan. “You tell me if it feels too much, alright?” he groaned, voice low and full of heat.

His fingers dipped down between your thighs, finding you through the soft fabric of your underwear. He rubbed slow, careful circles against you, patient and steady,  coaxing every sound out of your lips. 

You gasped softly, hips tilting toward his hand without meaning to. “Joel…”

“That feel good?” he rasped, lips brushing your jaw, his voice rough but gentle, making sure you were okay.

You nodded, too breathless to speak. Your fingers curled into his hair, holding on as he kept rubbing you through the thin cotton, your arousal soaking through. He could feel how wet you were, even like this.

“Jesus, baby…” he breathed, his voice thick. “You’re already so worked up for me.”

You whimpered as your hips began moving on their own, grinding against the heel of his hand. Joel’s breath caught, he was getting worked up too, chest rising fast, jaw clenched. His free hand slid up your back, gripping your waist like he needed something to hold onto.

He groaned again, almost like it hurt. “You keep movin’ like that, sweetheart, and I’m gonna cum in my pants.”

Carefully, he slid his hand beneath your waistband, fingers finally touching you bare. You gasped, the heat of his skin against yours sending a shiver up your spine. Then, ever so gently, he slid one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate.

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as you clenched around him. “You’re alright. Atta girl. Just like that,”

You whimpered again, his finger moving in slow strokes, your hips rocking toward his hand instinctively. He added a second finger, easing you open while his thumb stroked soft circles against your clit.

It was overwhelming, in the best way possible. The stretch, the warmth of him, the way he watched your every reaction like he couldn’t look away. This was so different compared to your own fingers. You knew it would feel good, but not like this. Definitely not like this. 

You whimpered, getting closer, reaching the climax as your hips stuttered against his hand. Joel was whispering quiet praises into your skin, fingers moving slow and steady inside you, coaxing you open like he had all the time in the world. Your thighs trembled, your body arching into his touch, and the pressure inside you built with every breathless second.

“Joel,” you whimpered, voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh, my god…”

“Right there?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re doin’ so good, baby. Just let go for me.”

Your body tightened, back arching, and then the wave came over you. your climax washing over you all at once, sharp and warm, overwhelming and dizzying. You gasped, clinging to him, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you cried out his name.

Joel groaned, holding you through it, kissing your temple and whispering sweet nothings as your body shook against him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowing his fingers as you came down. “You’re alright. I got you.”

You were breathless, body still burning for him, for something more. “Joel… I want to feel you.”

He stilled, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, fingers curled around his wrist. “I want you inside me.”

His gaze searched yours for any flicker of doubt. There wasn’t any. Just need.

He gently guided you off his lap, helping you lie back along the couch. The cushions dipped under you, the living room warm and quiet except for the sound of your shared breathing.

Joel stood for a moment, just looking at you. Then his hands went to his belt, undoing it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You watched as he slid his jeans down, then his boxers, breath catching when you caught sight of him, thick, hard, and flushed at the tip. He knelt between your legs, bracing a hand on the couch beside your head, the other guiding himself gently as he settled over you.

You reached for him, touching his chest, then his face, grounding yourself in the heat of his body.

Joel hovered over you, breathing heavy, gaze locked on yours like he didn’t want to miss a single second. He lined himself up slowly, hand cupping the back of your head against the couch cushion like you were something precious.

When he pushed in slow, careful, giving you time to adjust, you both gasped. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging in, and Joel groaned low in his throat, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

Oh my god.

Your thoughts spiraled.

This feels so good.

It was everything you hadn’t let yourself imagine. full, warm, overwhelming in the best way. You couldn’t believe how right it felt, how gentle he was, how every slow thrust was lined with care and need.

This. This is why you waited for someone like him. For Joel.

His body pressed flush against yours, one hand bracing by your head, the other still gently cradling it like he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He rocked into you with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, his breath ragged against your cheek, whispering your name like a prayer.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. “Such a good girl.”

You whimpered, already fluttering around him, your body starting to tremble again. “I-I think I’m close again,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“Me too, baby,” he murmured, voice cracking as he started to move faster, hips snapping a little deeper now, rougher but still so tender it made your chest ache.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, lips brushing his jaw as your body built toward the edge again. He kept whispering to you, grounding you, worshiping you through every second until everything tightened, and then you broke for the second time.

You came with a cry against his skin, body shaking around him as he groaned loudly, hips stuttering.

“Shit-darlin’, I’m gonna,” Joel gasped, and then you felt him follow, his body trembling with the force of it, buried deep and breathless. It was intense. 

Joel was still above you, calming down his breathing, foreheads pressed together, your bodies tangled and slick with heat. His hand was still cradling your head. 

You could still feel the aftershocks in your thighs, your chest, the gentle tremble in your fingers. Your heart was hammering. You’ve had orgasms before. You touched yourself often. But this was something else. You’ve never had this kind of orgasm before. Every careful touch, every word, every look… he'd made you feel safe. Worshipped. Taken care of.

You blinked up at him through the haze, and he looked down at you like he was in awe.

“You alright?” he murmured.

You nodded, dazed. “Mmmm.”

He exhaled softly, lips brushing your temple, and kissed it. Then your cheek. Then your mouth…slow, like he had all the time in the world now.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he said against your lips.

You didn’t protest when he gently pulled out, made quick work of cleaning you up as best he could with trembling hands and soft apologies, finding a blanket from your couch to wrap you in.

Then, like it was nothing,he lifted you into his arms. You curled against him instinctively, head tucked beneath his chin, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he carried you upstairs like you weighed nothing.

Your bedroom was dim, bed undone, but it didn’t matter. Joel set you down carefully, then climbed in beside you without a word. One of his arms slid beneath your head, pulling you close, his other hand resting lightly on your stomach beneath the blanket.

You sighed, melting into him.

For a while, neither of you said a thing. Just breathing. Just feeling. His thumb traced lazy little circles against your skin, and you let your eyes drift shut.

thanku for reading!

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[littledes1re]

His flannel shirts are making me act up so a little cockwarming thought

Imagine he is just sitting there trying to work on something, rough dirty hands, messy curly hair. Eyebrows furrowed, his glasses on top of his nose and his sweet darling sitting on his lap. He is fully concentrating. Until you decide to start grinding on him, he just looked too good, you couldn’t help yourself.

With a gruff and an eye roll he reaches for his pants, unzipping his cock. „s’what happens when your old man doesn’t fuck you in the morning.” making you slowly take his cock.

When you start riding him he stops you, squeezing your hips, making you whine. You just wanted to cum.

“Didn’t tell you that you could ride me, girl.”

And he is so god damn annoyed with you. Annoyed the way you whine around, the way you make his seat all wet. But his cock feels too good in you, to just sit on him. “Keep me warm, till’ i’m done with this or you’re getting nothing.”

With a pout on your lip, you try to warm him. Cunt all wrapped around his shaft, trying your best to bury your head into his chest, trying your best to not move up and down. And while his public hair is touching your clit, you buck your hips subconsciously at one point.

But joel ignores it until he himself can’t take it anymore. Putting whatever he was working on down and sighing.

“Have myself a needy whore hm? 24/7 only thinking of cock.” While he slowly starts to thrust up to you, seeing your eyes roll back.

“That’s why daddy always needs to fuck her every morning, huh? Whining about wanting to make breakfast early today. But daddy just knows better, baby.”

And you know you should’ve listened to him but you are lost in pleasure as he guides your hips on his cock, daddydaddydaddy spilling from your lips repeatedly.

“There she is. S’my good girl.”

[ultraviolencer23]

nsfw 18+⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ minors dni!

pairing : older!joel x inexperienced!fem!reader

warnings : smut, established relationship, praise, use of pet names (darlin’, baby, good girl), inexperienced reader, fingering, unprotected p in v, jackson!joel, shy/nervous reader, fluffy, it’s implied that joel & reader are fairly new in jackson (having travelled together), joel has a filthy mouth and talks SO MUCH, appearance from tommy at the end, this is literally 3.7k words of pure pornography im sorry

summary : joel was your first. your relationship has blossomed since then but you’re still inexperienced and he is certain to let you experience everything when it comes to intimacy although you still may be nervous to try new things.

an : ik this account has been exclusively cod characters but i’ve wanted to write for joel for soo long. kinda wanna rebrand and start writing again!!!!

“c’mere,” he murmured, holding his arms out to you, effectively compelling you into his lap. you straddled his thighs and looked down at his lustful gaze, feeling your chest tighten at the sight.

he didn’t seem to care about the fight he’d just had with tommy; you hadn’t even remembered what it was about this time, but what you did remember was tommy storming out of his own house, calling joel a “fuckin’ asshole” and leaving you and him in tommy’s living room like this.

you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and play with the hem of his t-shirt. you hear him sigh above you and lean back against the sofa, instinctively resting his hands on the small of your back as he nosed at the side of your neck.

“you smell real good from that soap they let us use,” he murmured, his gruff voice in your ear.

you smile a little, “i do?”

“mmh,” he hummed, his hands reaching to fidget with the ends of your hair, “don’t know about you, darlin’, but i could get used to this life o’ luxury.” he leans down to press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, inhaling as he does.

the flesh on the back of your neck erupts in a shiver, feeling his breath fan over you as he exhales. you stay there, on his shoulder, wanting him to continue; he does. he paves a line of light kisses down to your shoulder as he pulls the neckline of your shirt to the side. a gentle hand runs under your shirt and over the skin of your back. he grins into your skin as he hears you exhale a sigh - a happy sigh - beside his ear.

joel shifts you in his lap, bringing you closer to where his hips bend and gently pulling you from the crook of his neck.

“joel..” you murmur shyly, to which he replies with the raise of his eyebrows in questioning. “you’re um… i can feel you..”

he gives a light chuckle in response and traces his fingertips over where your hair falls over your face, “that right darlin’? you feel what y’re doin’ to me?”

you give a shy nod, feeling your cheeks grow hot. he notices how you avoid looking at his face.

“don’t be goin’ all shy on me now, baby. ‘s alright to feel things.”

you nod again, glancing down to his lap where his jeans seemed much too tight and constricting. he notices but doesn’t say anything, his hands moving to your hips and gently up your sides beneath your shirt. they rise just beneath your breasts; he softly thumbs over your nipples, watching your face intensely for a response. you almost squirm at the delicate touch as you watch the shape of his hands moving beneath your shirt, and exhale a quiet sigh of his name.

“we haven’t done it like this before, have we?” he speaks softly, his hands moving back down to your hips as he sees your nipples are hardened under the soft fabric.

“what?”

“we’ve never fucked with you… on top o’ me,” he repeats. a thumb comes up to trace along your jawline and your eyes flicker back up to his face as you shake your head. he smiles when you look at him, “mmm… you wanna change that, baby?”

you nod.

his smile widens and his thumb on your jaw slides down your neck, to your shoulder, where he pushes your hair back. his other hand transgresses the waistband of your sleep shorts, watching your face as he does so. his hand nestles over your centre, the pads of his fingers tracing over you through your underwear, feeling the dampness. your eyes flutter but you watch intensely as he then delves beneath the thin fabric.

“let’s open you up a bit for me baby, huh?” he says, rubbing slow circles over your clit.

you nod eagerly, his words clouding your mind with arousal.

“there y’ go darlin’.. ‘s a good girl,” he praises as you whimper at his touch. he runs a calloused fingertip through the seam of your pussy, coating himself in your wetness.

using his other hand, he finds the hem of your shirt, and slides it up your waist, exposing your abdomen. “can i take this off?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“i…” you hesitate — what about tommy? if he comes back..? joel continues to swirl his fingers over your sensitive clit, making it near impossible to articulate thoughts. “i— don’t know.. what— what if tommy comes ba-ck?” you struggle between short pants and breaths.

he shakes his head and chuckles, “tommy ain’t comin’ back anytime soon darlin’. don’t you worry.”

“but… if he does? i don’t wanna.. take it off.”

his eyes soften; his fingers slow. “you’re worried about him seein’ you like this, hm?”

you nod.

“th’s okay, baby. you don’t gotta. ‘s okay,” he reassures gently.

you nod again.

he takes his hand from your centre and moves both to your waist, pulling your shirt back down. he places soft, wet kisses along your neck again, speaking softly as he does, “‘s no worries.. we’ll just take it slow. lemme take care o’ you.”

his hand finds its way to your hair, tucking it behind your ear. he pulls away from your neck as he feels you fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, and glances up at you expectantly.

“are you.. gonna take yours off?” you murmur, afraid he’d say no and accuse you of hypocrisy.

he raises an eyebrow and smiles, amused that you’re asking. “you feelin’ shy again darlin’? y’ want me to take it off?”

you nod cautiously.

smiling wider, he laughs lightly, “all right, darlin’.” he takes the hem of his t-shirt from your fingers and lifts it over his head, exposing his abdomen and chest, and his hands find your hips again. your eyes rake over his skin, speckled with greying hairs over his chest and a trail of them that let down to his jeans. he watches you watch with a grin wide on his lips, almost with pride.

he gently runs a hand up your thigh; his touch reminds you that he is not in fact just an object that you get to stare at. you glance back up to his face, almost guiltily for the way your hungry eyes take him in.

“don’t feel bad for lookin’, darlin. y’ know i don’t mind.”

he feels you start to get restless in his lap, growing needier with each passing second. his hand slips back beneath your shorts, eliciting an almost frustrated whine from your throat, needing some real alleviation.

“shhh.. ‘s okay baby. ‘m gonna give you what you need in a bit.” his fingers softly graze your centre, wanting to see how much more he could rile you up.

you grind down into his fingers, the whisper of contact simply not enough. he pushes back against you in response.

“you need it real bad, huh?”

you nod, eyes staring to well with tears of need and frustration.

“ohh, i know darlin’, i know,“ he whispers, fingers still circling over your swollen bundle of nerves, as he glances up to you in awe. “you still wanna try bein’ on top?”

you nod.

“good girl.. tha’s my girl…. just need’a get y’ opened up a bit for me, ain’t that right?”

a whimper escapes your throat, feeling your core pulse at his words.

“oh, baby,” he muses pitifully, “…now, ‘m just gonna start with one finger, ‘kay? work up to maybe 3. that all right?”

your mouth falls agape as he pushes one digit into you, up to the knuckle and he curls it towards himself. “not 3, joel.. i don’t want—“

“shhh.. ‘s alright baby. i’ll do whatever you want, ‘kay?” he reassures as he repeatedly pumps his finger inside of you, soothing over that sweet little spot that made your head roll back. your hands move to his biceps, squeezing onto them tightly; he smiles widely as you do.

“there ‘y go.. ‘s a good girl.. lemme hear you baby,” he murmurs, adding a second finger.

you whine softly as he pushes that little bit further inside, and your pussy involuntary squeezes around him, almost keeping his fingers in place.

“j—joel..” you whimper, feeling how the bicep that is pumping his fingers inside of you strains and flexes beneath your grasp with each movement.

“c’mon baby, y’ gotta relax f’ me.. squeezin’ me so god damn tight.. ‘s like y’r try’na break my fingers or somethin’,” he chuckles, gently soothing his free hand down your side.

“sorry,” you whimper, slightly embarrassed although you know he doesn’t mind.

“‘s alright darlin’.. there y’ go, ‘s alright,” he mutters, feeling you open up as warm waves of pleasure wash from your abdomen and over your body.

“such pretty sounds y’r makin’ baby,” he compliments as you whine, mewl and babble his name, obscene wet sounds making your mind go fuzzy, “you think you’re opened up enough f’ me yet darlin’? y’ ready for me?”

he slows his fingers as you nod; with one last deep push into your aching spot, he removes them from you.

you whimper at the emptiness, shifting upon his lap and eyes darting around his face pleadingly.

“i know, i know darlin,.. y’ wantin’ more ain’t ya?”

you nod shamelessly.

“well now baby.. i need you to be patient for me then.. don’t want you hurtin’ yourself because you were impatient, now, do we?”

you shake your head, becoming aware of your neediness.

“hmmm.. didn’t think so,” he muses as he leans back into the sofa, “now.. you wanna unbuckle me or do you want me to do it?”

his fingers splay over his belt; you look between his hands and his face, afraid of disappointing him.

“um… you can do it,” you mumble

“tha’s all right. ‘s no problem darlin’,” he smiles at your bashfulness as his fingers begin to make work of his belt. he doesn’t wait to pull the soft leather from his jeans; he just unbuttons and unzips them, his self control running low.

he sees your curious gaze glancing down to his hands, eyeing his arousal through the thin fabric of his underwear. “you got me so fuckin’ hard baby,” he chuckles, palming himself through his boxers with a soft grunt.

you blush in response, unable to hide the proud smile that spreads over your lips. he grins, and his thumb moves to your lower lip, gently brushing over the delicate skin. “sweet girl,” he muses, “y’ still alright with bein’ on top?”

you nod in response, excitement building and tightening your chest.

“all right then darlin’. y’ just need’a relax for me, okay? we’ goin’ real slow, just like we’ve been doin’ so far, right?”

you nod; he holds your gaze for a little while, his fingertips moving to the hem of your shorts where he traces along their underside, “can i take these off darlin’?”

you nod eagerly - maybe too eagerly. smiling, he hooks his fingers into their waistband and tugs them down your thighs. you lift a leg out of them to help, leaving them dangling from your other. his thumbs rub over the front of your underwear, “‘m just gonna pull these to the side, that all right baby?”

you nod again, and he squeezes your thighs, shifting you closer, musing a quiet “c’mere” as you settle further into his lap, the most intimate part of you flush against his still clothed hardness. “there you go darlin’.. you ready to give it a go?”

“mhm,” you almost whimper, lifting yourself slightly as he palms himself again, before he pulls himself out - achingly hard and leaking at the tip. he strokes his hand over himself once, a small groan leaving his lips. his freehand settles at your hip, guiding you to hover over him, as you steady yourself on his shoulders and look between your two bodies.

“just do whatever feels natural, baby.. whatever feels right, okay? you ain’t gonna hurt me and i ain’t gonna judge you,” he reassures, as if he can feel your racing mind.

you nod and you let yourself fall a little closer to him, whimpering when you make contact. his tip notches at your weeping entrance; he slides the head of his cock through your slick, eliciting a small whine from deep in your throat.

“easy baby.. now, y’re nice ‘n’ wet, so it shouldn’t hurt, okay? ‘s just gonna feel real full,” he mutters with an adoring glint behind his eyes as he takes the image of you in: eyes fluttering closed, hair slipping over your shoulder, mouth agape and falling apart on his lap.

you lower yourself down a little more, his tip pushing into you and your pussy swallowing him wholly. you earn a grunt from joel; he moves both his hands to your waist, gently guiding you over him, selfishly unable to hold himself back.

“just like that baby.. yeah, feels real good.. there y’ go,” he mumbles breathlessly, feeling you lower further. you instinctively squeeze around him at the praise, your abdomen fluttering and erupting in spasms of warmth, sinking yourself down until you’ve taken him to the hilt.

he releases a guttural groan at the warmth of you clenching around his cock. on the brink of losing himself already, he tightens his grip on your hips and stills you, a series of grunts and breaths stringing from his throat. “christ, baby.. y’ gonna have to wait just a minute.. just a sec.. y’ got me seein’ fuckin’ stars sweet girl,” he speaks, his eyebrows pinched together and eyes tightly closed.

you moan out at the feeling of fullness, your head falling to rest in the crook of his neck as his dick presses into a delicious spot deep inside of you. he regains composure after a little while and begins to lift your hips slightly before pulling you back down. soft mewls and whines fill his ear, the pretty sounds travelling straight to his cock.

“mm.. there y’ go baby girl.. y’ feel that? feels nice ‘n’ full, huh?”

you nod weakly, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes at the sensation of being so full. lifting you with both hands, he slides one up your side beneath your shirt; you help him by steadying your legs around his thighs and raising yourself up, before he pulls you back down, earning a loud whine as a tear spills down your face.

he moans, head leaning back and reeling in the way you’re wrapped around him so tightly. noticing the small stream down your face, he speaks breathlessly, “you okay darlin’? you ain’t hurting on me, now, baby, are ya?”

you shake your head, barely able to concentrate on his words, “‘m fine.. just feels— good.”

his thumb wipes over your warm cheek as he grins, “mm.. well.. you’re doing so good f’ me baby.”

as you squeeze around him again, he grunts loudly, his hold on you tightening and an almost pained expression coming over his face. “i swear to christ, y’re doin’ that on purpose,” he strains.

“sorry,” you mumble, trying to relax.

he smiles and shakes his head, “don’t apologise baby.. felt real good. y’r pussy’s just so goddamn tight.”

you start to move on your own, your forearms resting on his shoulders for leverage as you push yourself up and then back down, building a painstakingly slow rhythm. your faces just mere inches apart, he grabs onto your chin and pulls you to his mouth, your lips pressing together hungrily. he swallows your whines and moans with his tongue pushing into your mouth and his lips enveloping yours as you keep up your slow pace, up and down over his cock. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving wet marks along your neck that have you whimpering his name.

“tha’s a good girl baby,” he murmurs into your skin, “just make y’self feel good.. take y’r time… that’s it, take it nice ‘n’ slow darlin’.”

you take him slow and deep, undoubtedly unable to increase your pace, but he’s patient enough to let you take him however you want to. his cock notches against that sensitive spot inside of you that only joel knows, dragging along your walls with every rut against him. you look down and watch as you take him, filled to the brim every few seconds, your clit pressed against his greying hair. his chest gleams with droplets of sweat and his abdomen rises and falls with his short breaths. your mouth stays agape and you bury your head into his neck, moaning into the skin there each time you feel him deeply.

“ohh.. ‘s that feel good sweet girl?” he asks as he looks down to you pressed against his shoulders.

“uh-huh,” you mewl, barely able to form coherent words.

“tha’s good.. doin’ so fuckin’ good f’ me baby.”

its not long before your thighs begin to ache. you slow down even further, your legs burning with fatigue. being on top isn’t as easy as it seems; you grasp onto joel with the last ounce of energy you have left.

he feels your thighs tremble and your pace begin to slow more. “you doin’ okay there darlin’?” he drawls, guiding your head out from his neck.

“i— i can’t joel,” you almost whine as you stop, his cock still hard inside of you.

“‘s okay baby. you tired y’self out, huh?” he murmurs empathetically, giving a light kiss to your cheek, “you wanna get on your back?”

you hesitate for a moment, wondering if he’s secretly disappointed, but nevertheless, you nod. “c’mon,” he muses, lifting you onto your back, his dick still inside of you. as he lays you down onto the couch, he gently soothes kisses over your neck and your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. you shuffle yourself downwards slightly, getting comfortable and you exhale a needy sigh, moving your arms to enclose over his back as he holds himself above you.

“‘s that better baby?”

you nod and give him a smile, to which he returns with a grin and a tender kiss to your lips before he pulls back his hips and pushes them back into you. he starts to set a slow pace with long, gentle strokes, grunting with each movement, feeling you tighten around him as the speed of his hips gradually increases. a particularly deep thrust had your back arching with a sharp moan and your nails press down into his back. his head drops at the feeling, a series of loud groans leaving his mouth, as he caught a glimpse of your lower abdomen rising slightly with each thrust of his hips. his groans turn into a soft laugh as he continues to rut into you.

“oh.. sweet jesus baby..” he says, glancing up to your face, “gimme y’r hand.”

you take a hand from his back and hold it to him. his own hand encloses over the top of yours and he moves it between your two bodies, placing it over your abdomen as his hips move against you. you whimper at the feeling of his cock pushing against your walls from the outside, the flesh of your stomach pushing against the palm of your hand as his thrusts quicken in their pace.

“y’ feel me right here, hm? y’ feel that baby?” he almost taunts, pressing your hand down a little harder. the extra pressure has your eyes rolling closed; you tighten around him subconsciously.

“ohhh.. she likes that, huh?” he chuckles, removing his hand from yours and picking up his pace, determined to drive you closer to the brink of your high. his thrusts grow more erratic as he nears the edge himself, haphazardly pushing in and out of you as he begins to lose focus. he feels you swallowing his cock tighter with each movement of his hips.

“you gettin’ close f’ me baby girl?”

you nod, the pleasure building at your abdomen overwhelming all of your senses.

“c’mon then baby. let go f’ me darlin’. lemme feel ya.”

his ruts grow deliberately deeper and faster; he grunts grow louder and strained behind his teeth. you mewl into his ear, your back arching your abdomen into his and the heels of your feet digging into his lower back.

“joel— i’m..”

“tha’s it baby. don’t fight it.. let it happen.. good fuckin’ girl.”

his praise pushes you over the edge, the coil inside of you pulling taut and your core spasming with waves of heat, carnal pleasure shooting all the way to the tips of your fingers. your clit pulses as he continues to sloppily move inside of you, teetering on the edge of his own orgasm, until he feels he’s about to collapse over the brink with one last thrust. he pulls himself out and strokes his wet cock a few more times before he bunches up your shirt and spills himself over your stomach with a guttural groan, his hips jerking with each rope of come that paints your abdomen.

he collapses atop of your spent body with one final grunt as his head falls to rest on your shoulder. your body still trembles with the aftershocks of your high whilst you both try to catch your breath.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chuckles breathlessly, glancing up to see a lazy smile spread across your face, “you doin’ alright there baby?”

“mhm,” you hum, too tired to talk as your eyes flutter closed.

“good.. you did real good darlin’… y’ know.. i was—“

the sound of the front door opening. joel’s head drops to your shoulder again, muttering a quiet “shit”. your body is hidden beneath him; tommy must’ve been able to see joel’s back from behind the sofa. you hear what could only be tommy’s laugh.

“don’t tell me you two have just fucked on my couch.”

“uhhh..”

an : haven’t posted in likee 10 months oopsies

dividers by uzmacchiato

[ilikeevilblondes]

World’s Worst Chauffeur

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping.

TL;DR: You convince old man Joel to dick you down.

W.C: ~6.2k

Warnings: dbf!Joel, unprotected p-in-v sex, praise AND degradation (whoops), big fat age gap (Joel is around 50, reader is 21), daddy kink for a sec soz, aftercare, slight size kink, cunnilingus through panties, cunnilingus, dry-humping, couch sex (no outbreak!)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62586064

Note: hey y'all, trying my hand at joel miller smut because i saw an edit of pedro pascal and literally licked the fucking screen protector, so i guess that's god's sign of telling me to write filthy shit. anyway, hope you enjoy! wrote this instead of a politics essay #yolo

“C’mon, Joel.” Your dad sighed, meeting his best friend’s eyes with a pleading gaze.

“Look, I—”

“Just this once. Please. I really can’t get out of this meeting, the board would kill me. Especially with the damn FTC breathing down our necks.”

You were visiting your hometown for Spring Break. Tomorrow night, there was going to be a party in a town fifteen minutes away from your own—one that you had been invited to. Your dad was supposed to give you a ride home, but as always, there was some last-minute work emergency. So, Joel was his solution.

The aforementioned solution frowned, crossing his large arms over his plaid torso.

“I got better things to do than chauffeur your little girl.” Joel shrugged.

That was, in fact, horribly untrue. His agenda for that night consisted of re-watching one of the Die Hard’s and drinking a nice, cold Coors.

“I’ll owe you one.” Your dad insisted.

“Desperate ain’t a good look on you, buddy.” Joel cracked a small smile.

Your dad ignored this jab.

“Joel, we’ve been friends for almost two decades. You’ve let me borrow your car, helped me paint my house more times than I can count, and even bailed me out of jail when I sped down the interstate.” He counted the feats off his fingers. “But picking my kid up is where you draw the line? Come on.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth.

The real reason he maintained his firm stance on not giving you a lift home was, really, a bundle of three smaller reasons.

One, ever since you turned eighteen you’ve made it painstakingly and increasingly clear you wanted to get in his pants.

Two, you were a huge flirt.

Three, he wasn’t so sure he could keep on resisting. But he had to. For god’s sake, what kind of a friend would bone his friend’s daughter?

Hopefully, not him.

“I–” Joel began but was shortly interrupted.

"I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. You’re picking up my kid. She has no one else, and I don’t trust her friends to be sober enough to get her home without getting in some kind of drunk-driving accident."

He levelled Joel with a firm look.

"So, are you picking her up, or should I expect to see her name in tomorrow’s obituary because one of her little buddies got behind the wheel after doin’ a keg stand, or a gazillion games of beer pong or I don’t know—fuckin’ ‘Cheers to the Governor’?”

Your dad stared him down with an expectant look.

Joel took a second to process this.

He rubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and then met his friend’s stare with a sigh.

“Fine.” Came through gritted teeth.

Your dad patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He chirped happily.

———

And so, there Joel was.

Leaning against his old Chevrolet, idly spinning his keys around his finger, and staring at the front door of the party.

Several kids filtered out; stumbling into worn Honda Civics with disgruntled parents waiting in the driver’s seats, or with their arms interlocked and their sides almost melded together, giggling off to god-knows-where.

When you came out, you were part of the latter group.

Some blonde-haired boy—tall, but not too tall—was holding you close to him with a stupid smile on his reddened face. You mirrored it with a stupider smile of your own.

He whispered something into your ear that made you laugh and was promptly leading you in the opposite direction of Joel. But Joel was both keen and quick to intervene.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel called out, crossing his arms.

You froze and turned your head to lock eyes with none other than Joel Miller. Your neighbour, your dad’s best friend, and more importantly, your long-time crush.

“What are you doing here?” You arched a brow, slipping away from your friend and nearing him and his truck.

Your friend followed after you and settled by your side, resting an arm that hung a little too comfortably around your shoulder.

“Evenin’ to you, too, sweetheart. And to answer your question, I’m pickin’ you up.” Joel stated simply, then tossed a quick surveying look to the guy next to you. “Who’s blondie over here?”

“Daniel.” Blondie blinked and stuck out his free hand, glancing at you. Under his breath, he muttered, “you told me your dad couldn’t give you a ride.”

“He’s not my–” You started, but were immediately cut off by Joel.

“Get your hand off the girl, will you, Derek?” Joel narrowed his eyes at him, a dangerous look underlying his seemingly casual tone.

Daniel immediately did so, going so far as to step a pace back from you.

“It’s Daniel.” He coughed awkwardly. Then added, “sir.”

Joel ignored him—or, at least, didn’t show any sign that he had heard his correction—and turned around.

“Time to go home, young lady.” Joel said lowly. He opened the front passenger door, and upon finding you in the same spot as you were standing before he had turned his back, continued with, “that wasn’t a suggestion.”

You mumbled a quick ‘goodbye’ to Daniel and hopped inside the truck.

“Good girl.” Joel sighed, closed the door with a bit too much force and walked around the front of the car. He spared a few seconds to glare at your friend before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Suddenly, the engine thrummed to life and the two of you were headed down quiet suburban streets in the late hours of the night, leaving what's-his-name in the dust.

The air had been thick with a tension neither of you could describe and was further blanketed by a heavy silence broken only by the hum of the engine, the faint skid of tyres against asphalt, and your own rapid heartbeat pounding insistently in your ears.

Not five minutes had passed before Joel spoke up.

“Who was he?” Joel asked casually, his eyes still focused on the dimly-lit road ahead.

You sank further into the cracked leather of the front passenger seat.

“A friend.” You shrugged, not looking over at him.

Joel hummed a non-committal noise as he carefully took a turn into a side street, the truck slowly crunching over loose gravel. His grip on the wheel remained firm, but his eyes flickered over to you.

“Your daddy let you out of the house like that?”

You huffed out a short laugh and looked down at your choice of partywear; a low-cut top and some tight-fitting jeans. Not necessarily the most vulgar apparel, in your humble opinion.

“No, actually, he called the cops on me for indecent exposure, but I managed to escape.” You spat out sarcastically.

Joel didn’t find your comment funny. Or rather, there was no indication on his unwavering poker face that he had found it funny. Or was experiencing any emotion at all other than slightly tired.

The two of you sank into yet another silence.

“I’m not a kid, Joel.” You said after a minute or two.

“Like hell, you ain’t.” Joel scoffed.

“I’m in college, I can dress how I like.”

“Is ‘how you like’ a prostitute?”

You turned to face him fully, your arms crossed and your brows furrowed.

“That’s both slightly misogynistic and completely off-base, don’t you think?” You snorted, then smiled smugly to yourself. “Plus. Admit it, you like it.”

That threw him off-guard.

For the first time that evening, Joel showed a sliver of emotion. His eyes widened slightly as he opened his mouth, quickly closing it, and then opening it again to say, “what the fuck are you going on about, kid?”

“You were definitely staring at my tits.”

Joel was even more taken aback. First, by your absolute gall, and second, by your accuracy. He may have snuck a peek at your cleavage, but in his head, it was very discreet. But, fuck, did they sit perfectly.

“You’re drunk.” Joel shook his head.

“You didn’t deny it.” Your smile grew. “But yes, I am a little tipsy. Not drunk, though.”

“I noticed.”

“Just say the word, Miller, and I’ll flash you the twins anytime you like.” You leaned over the control arm, your eyes travelling along his tensing frame.

“Fucking Christ.” Joel breathed. He kept his eyes fixed on the road but released a hand from the steering wheel to rub the lower half of his face.

This. This was why he didn’t want to do this favour for your father. You were already a handful while sober. And you had been a handful ever since you started college—making throwaway yet entirely flirtatious comments, pressing your tits against his chest a bit too much while you lingered after a hug, and wearing the tightest clothes known to man.

And now drunk? You were literally throwing yourself at him.

The worst part was that he couldn’t control his body’s reaction to you. In fact, his jeans felt a little tighter the closer you got.

Fuck, he was more than twice your age and here he was getting a hard-on—

Joel was suddenly violently snatched from his internal monologue when he felt your hand ghost over his lap.

“That’s ‘cause of me, isn’t it…? I can help with that.” You whispered, your tone almost pleading as your fingers gently traced over the front zipper of his jeans.

“Honey, sit back down.” Joel said slowly. His eyes remained intently glued onto the road.

Jesus Christ, he was fucked.

“Joel,” You practically whined.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucked.

“You’re drunk,” Joel said, more to himself than you as some sort of ill-justified dismissal.

“Tipsy.” You corrected helpfully, yet not retreating back to your seat. “But not really.”

Before he knew it, Joel was pulling up in front of your driveway, his grip on the steering wheel deathly tight.

Joel sighed. “You’re home.”

You glanced out the window disappointedly.

“No shit, Sherlock.” You replied.

Joel muttered something to himself under his breath and got out of the car, quickly appearing by your side and opening the door for you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He nodded toward your house.

You got to your feet indignantly and marched up to your porch. Joel followed after you, leaning against one of the support beams of your front awning as he watched you dig through your purse.

After a few moments of your struggle, Joel cleared his throat.

“What?”

“Can’t find my key.” You frowned.

“I’ll call your dad.”

“Not home. And won’t be, ‘till tomorrow morning. He’s in the city for some work emergency, remember?”

Joel ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, visibly mulling something over, judging by the crease in his forehead.

“And you don’t got a spare key lying around somewhere? Under a flower pot or a welcome mat or shit like that?”

You shook your head.

If Joel were a better man, he’d have caught the glimmer of an ulterior motive dancing in your mischievous eyes. He would’ve brought up the spare key given to him for emergencies—this would’ve constituted as such. And he certainly wouldn’t have said what he had next.

“You can stay the night at mine.”

You blinked up at him, your hand frozen in the opening of your purse.

Joel straightened up, taking his weight off the support beam.

“Or you can sleep outside. Up to you.”

“I’ll take option number one.”

A few minutes and a trip across the road later, Joel had wriggled his key through the entrance lock and opened the door, inviting you inside.

Joel’s two-story craftsman was cosy and lived-in. The leather couch facing a moderately-sized flat-inch was slightly worn, the coffee table was cluttered with magazines and empty cans, and standing by its lonesome in a forgotten far corner of the living room was an acoustic guitar. More importantly, his house smelled like him; like warmth and vetiver and wood.

You had been a guest at his house on several occasions, but such instances had always been with the company of your dad.

That evening you found yourself free of his presence and, coincidentally, free of a conscience.

However fortunate your moral freedom was, it was only partially incited by your father’s absence. The four lukewarm cans of Lone Star you had chugged at the party may have had more of an influence on your risqué behaviour, because you sure as hell weren’t pushing Joel down on his leather sofa and straddling his lap with complete sobriety.

Joel let you take control, placing his big hands on your waist like they were always meant to be there while you moulded yourself against him, and met your lips with equal fervour when you smashed your mouth against his.

He sighed into the kiss and gripped your waist tighter as you slipped your tongue past his lips, ignoring the slight scruff of his greying stubble rubbing against your jaw.

But it was when you began slowly rocking your hips against the tenting figure in his jeans did he suddenly remember himself and wrench his face away from yours.

“Shit.” He panted, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving as he zeroed in on your kiss-swollen lips and your half-lidded, desperate eyes.

Why the fuck did he just do that? ‘That’ being the act of letting you kiss him, but he was just as equally angered with himself for stopping.

“We shouldn’t.” He shook his head, but his eyes were focused on your pretty, slightly parted lips.

“Why not?” You sighed, leaning closer.

Joel took your chin in his hand and held you at a safe distance.

“You know fucking well why.” Joel’s voice rumbled deep with frustration.

“Give me a reason.”

“I’ll give you three: you’re drunk, you’re barely eighteen, and your father is my best friend.”

You huffed out a noise of annoyance.

“I’m a little tipsy at worst, I’m twenty-one, thank you, and my father doesn’t have to know.”

Joel’s lip twitched. You were very persistent. He didn’t even know why he was arguing with you, he just knew he had to resist whatever fucking temptation this was.

“I’m old enough to be your father, too.” Joel frowned.

“But you’re not.”

“You should want someone your own age.”

“But I don’t.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth, subconsciously nearing your face once more. “This is so wrong.”

“Just once, Joel.” You pleaded, your eyes flooded with need.

“Fuck,” Joel shook his head, his brows furrowed as he once again lost himself in how pretty your lips looked; all puffy and raw. All because of him. “Honey–”

“Just this once.” You whined prettily.

At the sound, Joel unconsciously rocked up into you. Your hands immediately went to grab his shoulders to steady yourself; feeling a little lightheaded from the mere singular action.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightened.

“Fuck.” He said again, breathing slowly.

Being as old as he was, Joel never expected to relive the days of his brazen youth when his only major problem in life was cumming in his pants after a pretty girl had barely touched him.

His dark eyes finally met yours.

You held your breath.

“Just this once?” He said.

“Just this once.” You confirmed.

“You won’t … you won’t try anything again?” Joel’s eyes dropped back down to your mouth and his thumb gently traced your bottom lip. His other hand slipped from your waist to the bare small of your back from underneath your blouse.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, but you shakily nodded your head.

Joel didn’t believe you.

But, fuck it, he captured your mouth in another hungry kiss anyway, closing his eyes and holdiing you against him.

He was definitely going to hell, but he would gladly do so just knowing he had felt heaven against his lips.

And, fuck, was that an unforgettable taste.

Joel gently trailed his chapped lips down your jaw, your neck, and lingered on your pulse point, all while one hand held you by your nape and the other against the skin of your lower back, idly caressing the base of your spine with his thumb.

Instead of the white-hot passion that had initially been the catalyst for this heated night, this moment was charged with an underlying tenderness. And all you could do was throw your head back and accept his tentative indulgence.

Though by the way Joel unintentionally bucked his growing bulge against your clothed mound as he peppered the crook of your neck with open-mouthed kisses, you could tell his delicacy was largely imbued by whatever ounce of restraint he inexplicably retained and was, by no means, a testament to his true nature.

He was holding back.

“Joel?” You whispered, carding your hand through his hair.

“Mmm?” He hummed into your skin, his eyes closed in bliss.

“I want…” You began, the words dying in your throat.

What did you want?

Well, his cock, definitely. More specifically, inside of you, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

“Words, baby.” He pressed a final kiss onto your neck and pulled away the slightest distance to meet your gaze. His eyes were wrecked with lust; half-lidded and almost entirely swallowed by his dilated pupils. He softly took your face in the hand that was formerly resting against your nape. And when he spoke, his voice was low and rich with that sweeter-than-molasses Southern drawl. “Try that again. What do you want, honey?”

“You.”

“And you have me, don't you?” Joel said distractedly, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. His soft, umber eyes momentarily dipped down to your mouth as if he was debating on kissing you again.

And he was. Fuck, those lips of yours.

“No, I…” You breathed, your hand coming down in between your two bodies and palming his rock-hard erection through his denim. Joel hissed. “Can I suck you off?”

Joel’s eyes widened. You certainly held no room for subtlety.

“Fuck, honey.” He huffed. “Really know how to get to the point, don’t you?”

“Can I?”

Joel hummed.

“Can I be perfectly candid, sweetheart?”

“You have my blessing.” You arched a brow.

“If you so much as breathed on my dick right now, I think this night would come to a quick and rather … anticlimactic finish.” Joel sighed, breaking into a small smile. In true dad fashion, he then added, “pun not intended.”

You granted him the reward of a snicker for his antics. Then, you leaned close to his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin.

“If I had known that all I’d get from you was a dry-humping makeout sesh, I’d have stuck with Daniel.” You sighed, as casually as you could.

Without even looking at him, you saw the jealousy morph onto his aged face.

“Get on your fucking back.” He said, his voice measured, yet somehow equally unhinged.

You stilled, not expecting that much of a reaction from him.

“I said,” Joel met your gaze, his eyes holding a dangerous promise. “Get on your fucking back, young lady.”

And that was how you found yourself lying against the arm of a sofa older than the Great Depression with your jeans discarded in a wrinkled pile somewhere and your legs spread around the owner of said ancient sofa.

Joel crouched down in front of you, with one of your legs perched on his shoulder. He pushed your shirt up past your belly button and kissed a path down to the waistband of your panties.

His hand slid up your knee, then your thigh, and then stopped right against a particularly damp spot in your underwear.

“This for me or Daniel?” Joel hummed against your lower stomach, his stare flickering up to your face.

You bit your lower lip.

“You.” You said softly.

And then Joel lowered his head and kissed the patch of arousal. And then he kissed it again and again, basically frenching your cunt through your underwear. You could feel the pressure of his tongue against your swollen clit, sliding, only by a small margin as restricted by your godforsaken panties, in between your folds—

“Say that again for me, honey? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck–” You gasped at the feeling. “You, Joel!”

“That’s what I thought.”

To your displeasure, Joel stopped whatever the fuck he was doing and his eyes found yours once more.

“Need me to eat your pussy now, sweetie?”

Yes, fucking please.

You might’ve said that out loud, judging from the pleased chuckle Joel let out.

Before you knew it, Joel slid your panties off your legs (pocketing them secretly—only to wash them on your behalf, of course, nothing dirty at all on his part) and then consequently salivated at the sight of your bare cunt.

Fucking gorgeous.

“Oh, honey.” Joel sighed, barely hiding his eagerness.

“It hurts…!” You breathed, your eyes flickering down to your pulsating core; dripping wet and throbbing in anticipation of him.

“Aw, it hurts, does it? I’ll kiss it better, hm? Is that what my pretty girl wants?” Joel cooed in a falsely-sweet tone.

He then held you still by the firm grip on your waist and leaned down right in front of your slick seam.

Joel tutted as he took in your desperate scent.

“So wet for me.” He mumbled, more to himself than you.

Without warning, much less another word, Joel dipped his head down to plant a kiss directly on your swollen clit, lapping at the swelling bud.

You gasped and a hand flung down to grasp his salt-and-pepper curls.

Joel smiled against your cunt and moved further down, his tongue lazily sliding through your folds and flicking inside your velvety walls.

In response, your grip on his hair tightened and you whispered something close to his name. Or God’s. Or anyone’s, really, you were teetering on the edge of unconsciousness from the sheer intensity of the situation, you could’ve been reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, for all you knew.

“Mmm... fuck, you taste good, baby.” He mumbled against your heat.

Suddenly, Joel pulled away with a wet ‘pop’ and his eyes met yours. Upon seeing your lust-blown face, he smiled through his scruff—a slight shine evident around his mouth from your slick.

“Good?” Joel mused, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your hips.

You nodded deliriously and pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt—why the fuck was he still fully dressed—to taste yourself on him.

His lips moved hungrily against yours as he licked into your mouth. You were so consumed in the kiss, you barely noticed the sound of his belt unbuckling or his zipper sliding down.

It wasn’t until you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your seam that you noticed you were, very possibly, actually going to fuck your dad’s best friend.

Or rather, he’d fuck you. As long as you were fucked, you were fucking happy.

Your eyes flickered down to his length.

“Shit.” You gasped.

You always knew Joel to be a big guy; from his broad shoulders to his massive hands—no doubt incredibly useful in his line of work as a contractor. But seeing his fucking cock? You were still somehow surprised.

“Joel, I…” You blinked. “You’re so…”

Big. He was so big.

“Oh, c’mon baby, I know you can take it,” Joel said against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll go slow at first. That sound good?”

You nodded.

In hindsight, he should’ve worked you with his fingers first. That would’ve been the first thing he’d done after tasting your delicious fucking pussy, but he got lost in how good you felt against his mouth, he was too excited to feel how you’d stretch around him.

“That’s my good girl.” Joel hummed, satisfied. “I’ve got condoms upstairs, if–”

“I have an IUD.”

The four little magic words which really meant, please Joel, fuck me raw.

Ever the gentleman, Joel planned on doing exactly that.

“Then eyes down, sweetheart. Want you to watch how I fuck you.”

Obediently, your eyes dragged down to the sinful sight of Joel taking his cock and slapping it a few times on your pussy, before just barely sliding inside. His weeping tip easily disappeared inside you, along with an inch or two, aided by the arousal coating your entrance.

He wasn’t even halfway in, but the thickness of his cock was unlike any other you’ve felt before. And, possibly, too much for you to take.

“Too big.” You whined.

Above you, a wicked smile grew on Joel’s face.

“Too big? D’you just say it’s too big? Well, tough luck, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t stoppin’.”

Joel continued to push forward, thrusting shallowly in, retreating, and then feeding you a little more of his length at a relaxed pace.

“My good girl can take it, can’t she?” He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. He mumbled indifferently in between tasting your sweet skin, “after all, you were the one begging me so sweetly to fuck you a little while ago. Would be a damn shame if you couldn’t follow through with your own request…”

“I can.” You affirmed, squeezing your eyes shut from the overbearing sensation of being filled by him.

“Attagirl.”

And then, to test your claim, Joel finally buried himself all the way to the hilt, his balls slapping obscenely against your ass from the movement.

“Daddy–!” You gasped, your nails digging into his back.

Joel’s lip quirked upward in a small, amused smile.

“‘Daddy’, huh? Should’ve figured.” He tutted, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You want daddy to stop?”

“N-No!”

“Then take it—” Joel thrust into you, his tip deliciously kissing your cervix. “—like a good girl.”

And then he began a steady pace. Not too slow, but fuck, did he hit deep.

You could’ve sworn you were seeing little cartoon stars dancing around your vision from the plane of pleasure you found yourself on; otherwise known as being dicked down by Joel Miller, apparently.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Joel winced, his hips stuttering.

He really should’ve stretched you out with his fingers first, but there was no way in fucking hell he was going to pull out now. Not with how perfectly your cunt was wrapping and crying around him.

In fact, you felt so good, Joel was starting to feel a familiar sensation in his lower stomach that alerted him of how close he was to prematurely spilling inside you. Turns out, his unintentional celibacy (circa the fucking creation of MySpace) had a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked.

“Yeah? Do I feel good, daddy?”

Fuck.

Joel’s dick twitched.

If this really was going to happen ‘just once’, Joel was damned set on, firstly, fucking your brains out without coming early, and secondly, making you reach your end before he reached his. Ladies and gentlemen, chivalry was alive and well in the twenty-first century.

Thinking intently about the starting lineup for the Cowboys game that Sunday, Joel began to pick up the pace, reaching places you’ve never been aware of until that precise moment.

Mesmerised by both the slight outline of his dick in your stomach and the sheer sensation of his heavy length, you took it upon yourself to encourage a quicker speed and moved your hips in time with him.

“Mmm,” Joel inhaled sharply, locking eyes with you. “Look at you, prettly little slut. Tryna fuck me back too, huh?”

Your walls clenched around him at his words. Mean as they were, his tone was still as sweet as honey.

“‘S okay. You take what you need, babygirl.” Joel dipped his head down to suck at your pulse point as he continued sawing into your drooling cunt.

“Need more. Please.” You all but whimpered.

“My baby needs more, hm?” Joel muttered against your neck, nipping at a freshly-made hickey. You yelped in response, but Joel only grinned as he muttered to himself, “she’ll get more. Filthy fucking whore.”

And then Joel sped up his thrusts, going in and out, in and out, at a brutal pace. Salacious, wet sounds filled his living room every time he shoved his fat cock inside you. That, combined with the unabashed moans spilling from your mouth, made the whole affair seem borderline pornographic.

Not that Joel was complaining, because you sounded pretty as a peach.

“Joel!”

“Fuck, that’s it, Joel!”

“Oh, Joel, you’re fucking me so well!”

Your moans came in tandem with every stab of his cock, blabbering desperate words of praise as your walls fluttered around him.

Joel sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, scream for me. Let the neighbours hear who’s fucking you so well, hm?” Joel lazily kissed your jaw. “You close, pretty girl?”

Unable to sound anything other than nonsensical syllables or his name or ‘daddy’ upon nearing your climax, you simply shook your head in an eager nod.

So Joel kept on mentally listing the fifty states to keep from joining you, and maintained his rapid pace.

“Go on, sweet girl, come on my cock. Let go, honey, I’ll catch you. ‘M right here.” Joel murmured sweetly, caressing your flushed cheeks. A total juxtaposition to the ruthless pace his hips were setting.

In and out. In and out.

In. And. Out.

And then his hand trailed down your bare stomach, lightly spidering over the faint outline of his dick jutting in and out of you, and settling on your very sensitive swollen bundle of nerves. His hand then began generously swiping at your clit as whispered sweet words of praise into your ear.

You clutched his bicep with an iron grip as you felt your high approach.

“Joel, I’m…!”

“Yeah, come on daddy’s cock. You’re so close, baby, just let go.”

And so you did. With a scream that reached God in the high heavens above, your walls clenched around him and you were nearly knocked out from the overbearing sensation of your intense orgasm.

Joel fucked you through it, unrelenting in his devoted momentum, his tip finding your cervix with every other thrust. And he continued fucking you through it, even after the last waves of your high, letting out low groans of pleasure.

When he saw your eyes refocusing, he slowed down for a moment, as reciting the ABC’s backwards was hardly working to calm his hard length.

“Don’t stop…” You mumbled, a bit sadly.

“Baby, I got no plans of stopping anytime soon, don’t you worry.”

And to prove his point, Joel kissed your right ankle and hitched your other leg over his shoulder, practically splitting you in half as he reached deeper inside you.

If he was gonna come, so were you. If the last thing he’d get to do on this godforsaken planet was send the pretty girl bent in half underneath him into two soul-shattering orgasms, he’d die a satisfied man.

Did he also want to show off and possibly ruin you for all men? Maybe.

Fuck, yes, he did.

He wanted you to be fucking addicted to the way his cock stretched your velvety walls, because he sure as hell was.

Screw the ‘just this once’ bullshit. He was gonna fuck you every damn night from now on, if you’d let him.

“Feels so good, Joel…” You whined pathetically.

Joel hummed in a self-satisfied sort of way and began pushing up your shirt to reveal your bouncing tits and leaned down to take a pebbled nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking at the nub, and nipping at the surrounding sensitive skin.

“Oh!” You gasped, jerking your head back.

Joel took it as a sign to continue, showing the exact same attention to your other nipple and maintaining his deep and rapid thrusts, causing the springs of the couch to whine in protest with every jut of his hips.

You let out a strangled moan.

“Joel—! Joel, it’s so…!” You panted, tears collecting in your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Shh, it’s okay. Almost there. Almost there, baby.” Joel tutted, gently swiping away your tears with his thumb as he continued to fuck you like he was an interior designer from the way he strived to rearrange your guts. “You gonna be good and come around daddy’s cock a second time?”

Your walls tightened in response and you let out a breathy whimper.

“Good girl.” He smashed his mouth against yours and swallowed your moans, his lips moving in time with his hips. “Where do you want me to…?” He mumbled against your lips, his breath mingling with your own.

“Inside.”

“Fuck, babygirl, you sure?”

“Miller, I said, inside.” You made a point to fuck yourself onto him with deep movements of your hips, displaying your intent.

“Yes ma’am.” Joel smirked, absolutely fucking pussydrunk.

With that, Joel caught your lips in another searingly intense kiss, licking into your mouth as his thrusts continued to ram into your cervix while you held onto the couch for dear life.

And if that wasn’t enough sweet torture to your poor body, Joel moved one hand above you, gently laced his fingers with yours, and brought it back down to lay flat against your clit.

“Play with that pretty pussy, baby.” He whispered against your skin, his hand moving yours encouragingly. “Need you to give me another.”

With a shaky nod, you acquiesced, toying with your clit like you had a million nights before.

Except this time, instead of imagining it, you really had Joel fucking Miller in between your legs, sawing into your cunt like he wanted to break it.

“That’s my good girl,” Joel’s mouth twitched into a slightly proud smile against your skin.

It took Joel half a dozen more stabs into your slick mound before his hips began to stutter.

And then it took three more before he buried himself completely inside, and, with a gasp of your name accompanied by an appropriate expletive, painted your walls with hot ropes of his come.

“Fuck, daddy!” You moaned, your back arching off the sofa.

At the same time, for the second time that night, no less, you felt yourself reach another mind-blowing orgasm, your walls greedily sucking him in further and shaking around his thick length.

He continued to fuck his come into you with a few more slow, but deliciously deep rolls of his hips, before he stilled inside you and fell on top of your heaving chest, letting your legs fall back onto the beaten old couch, too.

It took a few moments for both of you to steady your breaths.

“Was that … okay?” Joel breathed, staring at you with furrowed brows, and gently tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I think I blacked out for a second there.” You smiled.

Joel laughed and kissed the corner of your mouth. Smug as ever, he muttered, “I take tips.”

“That’s funny, since I just took yours.”

You almost felt Joel roll his eyes.

Joel slowly sat up, gazing down upon the absolute fucking mess the two of you made; both your arousals leaking out of your mound and coating your thighs in a light sheen.

Tenderly, he began to pull out, wincing from both the feeling of leaving your warmth as well as the sight of your come and his collecting around his cock in a shiny ring.

“Sit tight, baby, I’ll get you something to clean you up.” Joel pressed a kiss to your collarbone, tucked himself haphazardly back in his jeans, and disappeared off into another room.

If he had stayed a second longer, you would’ve said something that testified to how hard he had fucked you, since you weren’t sure you could move anyway.

Joel returned a minute or two later with a damp towel and began to softly wipe away the remnants of your dalliance, delicately caressing your hip with his other hand.

“What a gentleman.” You purred, watching him with a stupid grin on your fucked-out face.

Joel threw the towel aside.

“You think so, sweetheart?” He hummed, leaning down to give you a quick, affectionate kiss.

“Never had this level of aftercare.” You admitted, laughing slightly.

Joel gently manoeuvered the two of you so you laid on your sides facing each other on his surprisingly roomy sofa.

“Still regret not goin’ with that Daniel boy?” He smirked, taking your chin in between his fingers and tilting your face toward his.

You swung your bare leg over his hip and pulled him closer. “Not at all.”

“‘S what I thought.” Joel hummed happily, bumping his nose against yours.

“And … y’know what I said about this being a one-time thing?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re definitely doing this more than once.”

“Thank fucking God.”

[littlcdarlin]

Event Horizon

summary: When you start university to do your master’s in physics, you are more than surprised to meet your professor: Joel Miller, an old friend of your parents' who moved away years ago. word–count: 15k warnings: professor kink, power imbalance due to Joel being reader's professor, illegal relationship (overage & consenting), dbf!Joel, big fat age gap (unspecified but written with early 20s & mid 50s in mind), unprotected piv, just overall daddy issues (no use of the word daddy)

note: Okay, time to tell you I am a big nerd and studied physics in uni. Truth is, I quit to pursue a career in the arts, so my knowledge of masters level physics is...a little rusty. Please be lenient with me if I messed anything up. Also, I know most people hate physics, but I promise Joel makes it hot. Warning: explanation of the Dirac equation as foreplay. Also, I'm European and have no fucking clue how the American education system works but I don't care enough to do research. Enjoy <3333

event horizon noun ASTRONOMY a notional boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. a point of no return.

Uni felt different at eighteen, when everything was about moving out, drinking beer at frat parties, and kissing boys who didn’t grow up in the same town you did. It was an exciting time, the degree itself fading into the background of all sorts of new experiences, but now that you’re doing your masters, you plan on focusing on your your grades more than on partying.

You enrolled in a new university, farther away from home, with a better physics program, and although you’ve grown up considerably, you still feel that tingle of anxiety you did when you first walked to your dorm, fresh out of high school. This time you won’t have to share with another student, spending your saved money on a bit of privacy that is a single dorm room, but still, you wonder if you’ll make friends here, or if you’ll spend your night hauled up alone, watching trash TV and crying because you’re lonely.

The room is small, blank, but functional with a bathroom you share with another student and a small kitchenette, and immediately you dream of all the ways you could decorate it. You didn’t bring much, just a big suitcase and a few boxes your Dad dropped off earlier. You feel slightly guilty for leaving your parents behind, but the relief outweighs the guilt – you won’t have to come home every Sunday for dinner, visits will be scarce. You love you parents, but the distance is much needed.

You get to unpacking your clothes, reveling in the fact that you can listen to music without headphones in your very own space. You could do it in your underwear, or naked, you could sing and dance along, and nobody would be bothered by it. It’s going to be a tough two years, the program you chose more than challenging, but a childish sort of giddiness fills you – no roommate to be considerate of, no parents to visit and take care of every week. This time in your life is about you, and only you – your career, but also your well-being. You promise yourself to do what makes you happy, instead of looking out for everyone else all of the time, and you’ll start by ordering Thai food and watching the trashiest movie with the hottest actors you can find on the little flatscreen you brought with you.

***

Your first lecture is Computational Physics – the one you’re looking forward to the least. The reason you decided to study physics at all was the predictable logic behind each problem, but the more you studied, the more complex the problems got, until they were impossible to solve analytically. Now you get to solve fluid dynamic equations and simulate quantum systems on a Monday morning instead of having a peaceful cup of coffee and taking a walk around campus.

The lecture hall is big, and you pick a seat that is neither too far away to be able to read the professor’s notes, nor close enough to immediately be pinned as an over-eager teacher’s pet. In the end, you plop down next to a girl who’s sitting alone, something about her shaved head and countless earrings making you think she wouldn’t make fun of you even if you didn’t understand a single thing all lecture.

"Okay if I sit here?", you ask somewhat timidly, trying hard not to sound too much like an eleven year old Ron Weasley boarding the train to Hogwarts.

"Please," the girl answers, "I don’t know anybody here."

"Did you move here, too?"

"Yeah, I’m from New York."

"You look it," you say with a smile, eyes drifting over her clothes and jewelry.

"Thanks…I guess?", she answers, her grin revealing a charming gap between her front teeth. "I’m Alva."

You introduce yourself, thankful to have found someone you can stick to already. Throughout the lecture you find out that apart from being much cooler than everyone else in the room, Alva has a biting sense of humor, and a near endless knowledge of computational physics. You make a mental note to ask her to study together, her explanations much easier to understand than the professor’s.

The two of you spend your lunch break together, and you tell her a little bit about yourself, but way too soon it’s time to go already – you have Advanced Quantum Mechanics in a different lecture hall. This you find way more interesting, basic quantum mechanics was one of your favorite lectures during your bachelor’s degree. As Alva and you sit down, you find yourself hoping you’ll be able to help her out this time, or you’d feel like a leech for making her help you with Computational. She doesn’t seem bothered, though, and keeps babbling happily about a band she recently discovered.

"– Britpop, but they only put out two albums. I think they were like a student band or something? They’re wildly underrated, I’ll send you a song, their debut is called The Sun Is Often Out."

Your thoughts start to wander off a little, eyes drifting over the old-fashioned chalkboards, when the door at the front of the lecture hall opens, and a tall man walks in – a man you recognize.

"Holy shit," you whisper, interrupting Alva’s rant about the Longpigs, and she turns her head to look at what you’re staring at.

"Damn," she says with a grin, "if I wasn’t gay, I’d want a piece of that."

"No," you snort, "I know him. He’s my Dad’s friend."

Alva opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Joel Miller steps forward, checking to see if the microphone is working, and introduces himself to the hundreds of students in front of him. His voice is deep, and as warm as you remember it, but that’s where the accuracy of your memories ends – your childish brain failed to register the tanned forearms and rolled up sleeves, the carelessly styled curls, the perfect side-profile. He’s got grey streaks in his hair now, which should send you into a crisis about time passing and your own little life being finite, but instead it makes your stomach swirl with something dangerous. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller, who organized backyard barbecues with your father and bought your favorite vegan sausages when your Dad rolled his eyes at you, who made strawberry lemonade instead of lemon, because he knew you preferred it, who helped you with your physics homework when you were graduating high school and didn’t rat you out when he caught you smoking at seventeen – he’s handsome.

There’s still a familiarity about him, the way he moves and talks, although it’s unsettling to see him in such a different environment. You’re used to band-tee-Joel, beer bottle and tongs in his hands, a breezy smile on his face. He looks different here, in a white button-down, with a stern expression on his face, as he’s reading the names on his list to check attendance. When he calls Alva’s name and she raises her hand, his eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn’t look at you. Still, your stomach lurches. If you listen carefully, you can detect that southern twang in his voice you’re sure most people would miss, and it fills you with satisfaction to know you’re the one who knows him best in this room – you’re sure half the lecture hall must see how attractive he is.

When he reads out your name, there’s a surprised lilt to his tone, and your heart threatens to skip a beat.

"Here."

Your eyes meet, and although his expression doesn’t change, he holds your eyecontact for a second too long. Alva nudges your side and grins.

Your plans about outshining Alva and returning the favor of helping with a lecture are quickly buried by Joel Miller’s beautiful hands – thick fingers holding a piece of chalk almost tenderly, twirling it around when he isn’t writing on the chalkboard. You vaguely register him introducing the Dirac equation, but as interesting as you would normally find it, your thoughts are stuck between memories of barbecues and the realization that you will have to call the man who taught you to drive Professor Miller.

If Alva notices your wandering mind, she doesn’t comment on it, which you’re thankful for. You do notice her throwing you a couple of knowing glances, as you copy down what Joel is writing down, mixing up gamma, delta, and the Dirac spinor.

"Alright, so you all know how Schrödinger’s equation works great for quantum mechanics, but it doesn’t play nicely with Einstein’s relativity, right? That’s a problem because electrons move fast, sometimes close to the speed of light, so we need an equation that respects both quantum mechanics and special relativity. That’s where Dirac steps in."

He’s still got that warm way of explaining things your Dad never managed when you needed help in high school, like he enjoys clearing things up for people. He’s a born teacher, patient when you panicked in the car because you confused the clutch and the break, persistent when you wanted to throw your physics book against a wall. Look, kid, think of it this way: Push harder, it moves faster. Make it heavier, it’s harder to move. If you apply a force F to an object with mass m, it will accelerate a. That’s why your Dad’s car takes longer to stop than your bike. Even now, he manages to make a far more complex equation than Newton’s second law tangible.

"Dirac's equation is like the grown-up version of Schrödinger’s equation. It explains how particles with spin-half, like electrons, behave when they move at relativistic speeds. The gamma mu matrices make sure the equation works in four-dimensional spacetime, meaning three space dimensions plus time. The psi is a spinor, which is just a fancy way of saying that an electron isn’t just a simple wave function, it actually has spin built into its nature. Now, can anyone think of a situation where we would need to use this equation instead of the regular Schrödinger equation?"

Nobody raises their hand, most people still busy with writing down Joel’s complicated notes, and as if on cue, his eyes are on yours when you look up from your notebook. He raises an eyebrow, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Then, he calls your last name, a formal Miss dripping off his tongue as if he hasn’t called you kiddo for most of your life. It’s almost like he’s making a joke only the two of you are able to understand, and the thought thrills you to your bone. Two can play this game – you smile back.

"Sure, Professor Miller. You’d use it for studying high-energy particles, like electrons in particle accelerators, because it accounts for relativistic speeds. It’s also needed for situations where particles are created or destroyed, which Schrödinger’s equation doesn’t cover."

Again, his eyes linger on yours, and his slightly amused smile turns into a more genuine one at your answer. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Exactly," Joel answers, his attention on the rest of the class again, "Someone payed attention during Basic Quantum Mechanics. Now, here’s where it gets wild. When Dirac wrote this down, he realized it naturally predicts antiparticles, meaning for every electron, there should be a mirror-image particle with opposite charge, which we now call the positron. That was a huge deal because it wasn’t something people were expecting, it just fell out of the math."

For the rest of the class, Joel doesn’t continue that little game between the two of you, but whenever he asks a question, his gaze flickers over you, and your stomach gives an embarrassing little jump. Alva grins whenever this happens, but for most of the class she’s busy following Joel’s explanations.

"I want you to read up on today’s lecture," Joel says at the end of the lecture, and writes down a few page numbers on the chalkboard, "and solve the problems I mentioned earlier. Attendance isn’t mandatory, we’re all adults here, but I urge you to come if you’re interested in graduating in the next three years. Trust me, it’s easier to just do the work here than in your dorms. Now, enjoy the weather, see you Monday."

You and Alva pack up your things, and before she can ask you which class you have next, you pick up your backpack.

"I’m gonna say hi to him," you tell her, nodding in Joel’s direction, "my Dad and him go way back."

"Sure," Alva says, a cheeky smile on her face, "it’d be rude not to."

"Meet you outside?"

"I’ll be at the vending machine. Go get him," she jokes, and you snort.

Joel is packing up his course materials when you make your way down the steps and to his desk, but he looks up when he hears you coming towards him, and immediately his face splits into a smile. If you were anywhere else and ten years younger, he’d probably ruffle your hair.

"Good lecture," you say, "Dad didn’t tell me you’re teaching again."

Joel puts his piece of chalk into a tin box and nods.

"I don’t think he knows. You know how it is, we never get around to callin’ and I haven’t been home in a while."

So this is a new development, perhaps even Joel’s first semester back at university, too.

"What about the contracting? Don’t you miss the…pipes?"

He chuckles at your lack in basic contracting knowledge, his eyes not moving from yours.

"Ah, that was always Tommy, he just needed a little help. Company’s doin’ well now, though, so he’ll manage without me."

You think you remember Tommy – a man good-naturedly chasing you and the rest of the giggling neighborhood kids with a harden hose – but the memory is too vague to be sure it’s really him.

"You’ve grown up," Joel says, almost accusingly, and you shrug and smile. "Doin’ your master’s already. How come you’re familiar with Dirac?"

His accent is much thicker now that it’s only the two of you, and you notice a hint of pride when he asks about your correct answer to his question during the lecture. The satisfied feeling it gives you is still the same as when he high-fived you after your drivers test, or when he patted your back after you solved a problem for school without his help.

"Summer reading," you admit, trying hard not to sound like a nerd, "Basic Quantum Mechanics was my favorite lecture as an undergrad."

Joel smiles at you, and puts his notes into his leather bag. He slings it across his shoulder, and nods towards the door.

"How would you like to grab a coffee and tell me all about what’s been goin’ on with you and your old man?"

Your eyes flicker briefly over his hand, gripping the strap of his bag, and you raise an eyebrow.

"What’s the policy for staff having coffee with their students, Professor?"

Joel holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I’m actually not sure, Miss, I’ve never had to check before."

He’s playing along, and it feels dangerously blurry – yes, he’s your Dad’s old friend, your childhood neighbor, but it feels like more than just joking around.

"Does that mean I’m your first, then?", you ask, voice sweet and close to flirting now. The smile freezes on Joel’s face, and his gaze becomes almost calculating.

"Am I yours?" he asks you softly, and the double-meaning behind his question isn’t lost on you. You feel a thrilling pang in your stomach – Joel Miller is flirting with you.

***

You do end up getting coffee after you tell Alva you’ll meet her later, Joel reassuring you it won’t get him into trouble, and you’re fascinated to see he still drinks it black. What fascinates you even more is that you remember how he takes his coffee, and you wonder why your brain filed this fact away as important, not to be forgotten.

"So, when did you graduate? Sorry I missed it."

There’s honest regret in his voice, which surprises you. Joel was always a warm person, but you figured he cared for you as much as he would have for any kid living across the street.

"Last June," you tell him, dropping a sugar cube into your cappuccino. "I spent the summer working, and now I’m here."

"How d’you like it so far?"

You give a nervous chuckle, torn between the honest truth and pleasant small talk. You opt for the former – this is Joel, after all, not some stranger.

"To be honest with you, I oscillate between enjoying my freedom away from Mom and Dad, and being scared shitless by starting over somewhere new," you admit, looking at your coffee. You haven’t told people about your fear, and it feels good to finally admit it – the grip your parents have had on you makes your newfound freedom almost uncomfortable.

"What d’you mean, startin’ over?", Joel asks, his voice strikingly gentle. You sigh, and shrug.

"I know the distance is good for me, but it was comfortable, just doing what my parents expected of me. I had good grades, nice friends, and just the right amount of drunken nights for them not to worry about my social life too much," you explain, "and now it’s like…there’s so much room to be someone else, cause they won’t see it anyway."

You look up, embarrassed to have spilt your guts like this, but Joel looks thoughtful, his thumb moving along the handle of his coffee cup.

"Sorry," you mutter, "I know they’re your friends, but they can be…"

"Overbearing?"

You smile at him gratefully and he smiles back.

"Look, I know your parents pretty well. They love you to bits, but as an adult I imagine it must be stiflin’.“

"Yeah," you sigh, grateful for his understanding, "I feel like I don’t know who I am when I’m not…their kid."

Joel nods, and sips his coffee, apparently pondering what you said.

"I promised myself I would only do what makes me happy while I’m here," you tell him sheepishly, as if it’s a secret, and Joel laughs.

"Well, I’m not expectin’ you to hand in any homework, then."

You grin, too, and shake your head. It’s surreal, Joel being your professor, and you wearing your heart on your sleeve for him.

"Don’t worry, Professor Miller, I’m not dropping your class."

"You’d better not, it’d really hurt my feelings," Joel says, eyes trained on yours. Again, that blurriness set in motion by the change of his role in your life: neighbor to professor to – what?

"What about you, though? This your first semester here?"

"Second," he tells you, "but I still don’t feel at home. Once a Texan, always a Texan, I guess."

You cock your head and watch him drain the last of his coffee, the cup tiny in his hands.

"What?" he asks you, curiosity evident in his voice.

"You look so different," you say, and Joel scoffs.

"Well, that’s real nice. Know I’m not thirty anymore, but geez–"

"No," you say with a grin, "it’s not that. I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you teach before. Or dressed this nice – I remember you mowing the lawn in a Fleetwood Mac shirt, not checking attendance in a button down."

Joel’s cheeks go slightly pink, and he scoffs again.

"Well, I can’t show up here in a band tee, can I? Gotta dress the part," he mutters.

"I get it. You suit it," you tell him, if only to see that blush appear on his face again. He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head.

"What were the odds of us meetin’ like this, huh? I gotta call your father and tell him."

Something about that bothers you, you’d prefer for your parents not to know. You like sitting here with Joel, reminiscing the old times, without anybody getting a peek in.

"Or not," he says gently, seeing the expression on your face.

"Sorry," you say, "course you can tell him."

"You apologize a lot," he tells you, and you fight the urge to say sorry once again. "It’s okay, I’m not tellin’ anyone, kid. ’S just you n me."

That pang in your stomach again, and you nod.

"Alright," you answer, "just us."

You get a refill for the two of you, and a blueberry muffin to split, which feels strangely intimate, but Joel pats his stomach and jokes about keeping an eye on his figure, so you grin, and ask the barista to cut it in half. Joel asks you about your friends, and you tell him about Alva.

"Oh yes," he says and swallows a bite of the muffin, "that punky lookin’ kid who sits next to you?"

"Yeah, she’s nice. Haven’t really met anyone else."

"Geez, I’m not keepin’ you from findin’ frat boys to hook up with, am I?"

You laugh, the idea of sitting here with a twenty-something year old kid named Cole or Josh instead of him so absurd, you can’t help it.

"No," you tell him, "I’m honestly enjoying the fact that I don’t have to have someone else in my dorm anymore."

"Well, that’s a relief to hear," Joel says, "they’re all dipshits."

You remember him telling you something similar about the boys in high school, and it makes you smile. He’s still got that protective streak, then.

"To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here," you say quietly, "if I’m not making any friends, I can come crying to you."

Joel watches you for a couple of seconds, not laughing as you intended, but taking your words seriously.

"Course you’ll make friends. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll have forgotten all about physics cause you’ll be skippin’ classes left and right to hang out with people."

You don’t tell him, but you think it’s very unlikely you’ll skip any of his classes. Still, you appreciate his words and how confident he seems to be in your ability to open up to people.

"Well, will you give me the answers to your exams if I skip your class?"

"No way," he says with a cheeky smile, the crinkles around his eyes prominent. "I don’t do preferential treatment. You wanna split another blueberry muffin?"

You grin.

"Thought you were watching your waistline."

"I am, that’s why I’m only eating halves."

***

Your afternoon with Joel leaves you on a high for the rest of the day, feeling much less lonely now that you’ve had a conversation beyond the usual so how many siblings do you have? and where did you do your undergrad?

You start spending your lunch breaks with Alva and some friends she made in another lecture, all of whom are very nice. In the evenings you all go to see a movie or have dinner together in any of your dorm rooms, and although you walk around campus holding out one eye for Joel, you don’t see him for the rest of the week. There is always a nudge of disappointment in your stomach, when you glance in the direction of his office, and the door is closed, but you’re so busy, you don’t dwell on it too much. The days pass in a blur of new lectures, swapping music with Alva, and evenings spent as a group of six, and suddenly it’s Sunday again. You aren’t too sad the weekend is already over, and you know exactly why you’re looking forward to Monday, but you don’t allow yourself to think about Joel any more than you can help.

In the afternoon, while you’re doing Joel’s assignment for the next class, your mother calls, and you answer the phone with a mixture of feelings.

Hi, my darling, how are you doing?

"Hi, Mom. I’m good, just doing my work for tomorrow. How are you?"

Good, good. How was your first week? Did you meet anyone nice?

Hah, if she only knew. It feels deceptive, not telling her about Joel, but you like that for now, he’s just yours.

"Yes, this girl called Alva. We and some guys hang out a lot, there’s a cinema near by, but the lectures are pretty hard, so we only have the evenings off."

Well, I’m glad you found some nice people! Dad says hi, he’s making dinner. Anyway, baby, we miss you terribly. Do you know when you’ll be coming home?

"I just got here, Mom."

You sigh so quietly your mother can’t hear it, guilt already nagging at your heart. Sunday is the day you would usually be coming home for dinner, and you know it’s no coincidence your parents called you now.

Of course, you’re right. It’s just not easy for your Dad and me, you know? You’ve never been this far from home, and you’re our baby.

Yeah, you think, your adult baby. You sigh again.

"I don’t know if I’ll come this month, I’m still sort of settling in. But I’ll let you know if there’s a free weekend next month, alright?"

Sure, that sounds great. Will you send us some pictures of your friends, and your room?

"Sure," you say, but it bugs you that you’re giving in. Already, you’re breaking the promise you made yourself, and letting your parents further into your life here than you’re comfortable with.

"Mom, I gotta go, I’ve still got some problems to solve and I’m meeting Alva for dinner soon."

Okay, darling, enjoy your night! And make yourself heard. I love you!

"Love you, too! Talk soon."

Your kind, clingy mother, whose greatest pain is not knowing if you’re safe. In a way you miss her, and you feel guilty for being annoyed. Still, you know you have to gently nudge her away from you, or she’ll suffocate you one day. It makes you angry with yourself, because you know your Mom would have liked nothing more than to hear all about your week, but as soon as she asked you a question, you felt like your seventeen year old self again, getting yelled at because you stayed up past your curfew, and your parents didn’t know where you were.

Tears of frustration spring to your eyes – the mix of feelings too much for you to handle. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, breathe in shakily, and try to focus on your assignment again, but now you’re riled up, and the tears won’t stop.

It’s hard for you to deal with disappointing your parents, forcing them away when they would like nothing more than to know everything that’s going on in your life. So, instead of preparing for Joel’s lecture, you cry on your bed, feeling lonely and angry with yourself for hurting them. You know your reaction is disproportionate, but everything you kept buried while you lived close to your parents comes bubbling out of you.

You call Alva, tell her you have cramps because of your period and just want to stay in bed. She’s understanding, asks you if there’s anything she can do, even offers to bring you takeout or a hot water bottle, which makes you feel all the worse for lying to her. You decline her offer, tell her you’ll meet her Monday morning. In the evening, you regret not letting her bring over a real meal, eating cold pasta in your underwear, tears still running down your face and making your head pound.

***

On Monday, you feel slightly better, your headache is gone and your face isn’t as puffy as you expected it to be. Still, you’re in a solitary mood, and are glad to find Alva is able to keep up an entire conversation virtually by herself – you just grunt from time to time, or give noncommittal movements of your head in vague agreement. You hope if she notices your bad mood, she just thinks it has to do with your period.

Computational Physics is hell – you dislike it on the best of days, but guilt ridden and tired, you’re barely able to pay attention at all, and the professor’s handwriting is so bad, you end up copying down Alva’s notes instead. She’s kind about it, slides over her notebook at an angle that makes it easy to read, and you make a mental note to thank her for being so kind to you while you’re offering nothing but a scowling expression all day. Maybe you’ll cook for her, or make a mixtape of your favorite songs, just to show her you’re interested in being actual good friends.

Lunch passes easily, as always you sit with Alva and the guys, and there’s enough people for you to stare at your mashed potatoes and repeatedly stab them with your fork instead of eating them. They taste like flour mixed up with water, and you dream up your father’s Sunday dinner instead, but it does little to help with the taste.

"So, you lookin’ forward to flirting with Miller in front of the whole lecture hall again?" Alva asks you, as you’re making your way to said room. You glare at her, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitching.

"Wasn’t flirting with him," you answer, kicking a pebble, "I grew up across the street from him, I’ve known him practically my whole life."

"Whatever you say, grumpy," Alva teases, nudging your shoulder with hers. You’re overcome with a rush of gratitude for the way she treats you, persistently kind and humorous. You chuckle, your mood lifting slightly.

"He’s probably been waiting for you to turn legal," she continues, and you groan.

"Gross, Alva, he’s not a creep."

"I’m just saying, if your little connection gets you the answers to his tests, you could sell them and become rich."

"I already asked him, he said no," you say darkly, thinking of the nights you’ll have to spend studying to pass his exam. This makes Alva laugh her brilliant laugh, and you can’t help but smile, too.

"Damn," she grins, "I’d try if he wasn’t a guy."

You snort.

"You try with Professor Carter, I need the answers to Computational," you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

"You’re joking, but I bet once you get her out of her frumpy cardigans, she’s a real–"

"Okay, stop," you grown, the image of Professor Carter taking off her cardigans worse than her keeping them on – if possible. Alva giggles.

"I’ll help you with Computational," she says, "if you help me with Quantum Mechanics."

"You’re good at both," you argue, and Alva shrugs.

"Not like you, though. I spent like four hours doing Miller’s assignment last night."

You want to tell her you didn’t do it at all, but before you can open your mouth, she spots a friend in the crowd, grabs your arm and drags you over to him.

The three of you sit down together, closer to the front than the week before, which gives you a direct line of sight to Joel’s desk. When he walks in, your stomach jumps – he’s wearing a tie today, a dark burgundy or blue, you aren’t sure from this distance, flecked with specks of white. Again, his hair is styled in that carelessly disheveled look you like so much, and the image of him putting gel in it makes you smile. He gets out his materials for the lecture, and looks up, his eyes finding yours – you smile and he gives a small nod. Again you’re struck by how different he acts in front of the class, how serious he seems. You think of his laid back manner when you had coffee, and struggle to make the images align. Joel clears his throat, and the chatter around you stops.

"Quiet, please, everyone. Thank you. So, last week, we found out that Dirac’s equation predicts the existence of antiparticles. But instead of just accepting that, let’s think deeper—mathematically, what feature of the equation forces this conclusion?"

Joel jumps right into the lecture, and just like last week, nobody raises their hands – you curse the people around you for their lethargy, because sure enough, Joel’s eyes land on you. Before you can shake your head to signal to him not to ask you, he calls your name.

"If I remember correctly, you were already familiar with Dirac’s equation last week. What would you say, what does the existence of negative-energy solutions tell us, and why couldn’t we just ignore them?"

You wish you could answer him, know he asked you because he was sure you’d know the answer, perhaps hoped your enthusiasm for the subject would get the rest of the students to participate more, but you didn’t do the assignment, and you’ve already half forgotten his question. You swallow.

"Um…I…I’m not sure, Sir," you say, watching the way his brows furrow, and looking down at your notes. Alva shoots you a curious look, and when she sees your expression, she raises her hand. You’re thankful to have Joel’s attention diverted, feeling like a fool in front of hundreds of students you’re trying to make friends with.

"Dirac’s equation gives positive and negative energy solutions, and at first, the negative ones didn’t make sense. Dirac suggested they represent antiparticles, like the positron, which he predicted. The idea was that electrons could, like, jump into these negative-energy states, creating a hole that looks like a positron, which was later confirmed experimentally," Alva explains instead of you.

"You're close, but electrons don’t actually 'jump into' negative-energy states. Instead, Dirac proposed that these states are already filled, forming what he called the Dirac Sea. A positron isn’t an electron jumping down, it’s actually a 'hole' left when a negative-energy electron gets excited to a positive-energy state. That distinction is important because it explains why positrons have the opposite charge. Good answer, though, thank you Ms. Bennet."

Joel’s eyes flicker over to you again, but you show no reaction, and he continues with his lecture without asking you another question. Alva glances at you inquiringly, and you sigh.

"I wanted to do the assignment yesterday, but my cramps were really bad," you explain quietly, and she nods sympathetically.

"Call me next time, I’ll send you my answers," she whispers, and you smile gratefully. It seems you really hit the jackpot in friendship when you sat down next to Alva.

***

After Joel’s lecture, you and Alva make your way over to the vending machine, because it has the sour patches she likes, and in her own words she’ll combust if she doesn’t eat some right fucking now.

"Shit," she curses, "they’re stuck."

"Let me," a voice comes from a behind you, and when you turn around, Joel is smiling at the two of you. "Took me a while to figure this thing out, too."

Alva steps aside, and Joel bangs his palm against the side of machine. You jump, but the sour patches make their tumbling way down to the dispenser.

"Great! Thanks, Professor Miller," Alva says, ripping the bag open and offering it to the two of you. To your surprise, Joel takes her up on it, and Alva grins at you.

"You were quiet during today’s lecture," Joel says tentatively, when he’s swallowed his sour patch "everything alright?"

You glance at your shoes.

"Um, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I left your assignment for last, so…I didn’t do it."

Joel’s expression grows worried, and Alva glances between the two of you.

"Hey, I’m meeting Max for coffee," she tells you, "see you later?"

"Yeah," you answer, grateful she’s granting you this time alone with Joel, "see you, Alva."

When she’s gone, Joel is still looking at you with that worried look on his face, and you sigh.

"Sorry about the assignment," you say, "won’t happen again."

"I’m not worried about the assignment," Joel says earnestly, but then he turns his head, and you know he doesn’t want someone listening in. Sure, you can be seen chatting in the university cafe, but this conversation is rapidly blurring the lines between scholarly and – something else.

"I…have some materials in my office that might make it easier for you to catch up with the lectures again," Joel tells you, and you understand the underlying meaning. Let’s talk in my office.

"Thank you," you say, relieved, and Joel nods, eyes still glued to yours, brows still furrowed. You walk to his office making smalltalk about the lecture, which to anyone listening in would seem like a normal conversation between a professor and an interested student.

Joel opens the door to his office for you, and lets you step in first. It’s small, cramped bookshelves on the walls and a sturdy desk in the middle that is littered with notes, pencils, books, and a couple of old coffee mugs. You notice he put part of his books sideways onto the shelves, which you find weirdly endearing. This is the Joel you know – clutter and warmth.

He closes the door behind you, and you turn around to watch him drop his bag and walk over to the kettle in the corner of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," you sigh, "if you don’t have anything stronger."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, just turns on the already filled kettle, and gets two clean cups for the two of you.

"I only have drip coffee," he tells you, "I don’t drink that crap the machines brew up."

"That’s fine, I enjoy the medieval feel of it."

"Watch it," he answers, a smile tugging on his lips, "don’t insult my coffee filter in front of me."

You grin, and walk over to his bookshelf to have a look.

"So, what’s going on?" he asks you while pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee grounds. Again, the Joel you remember – empathetic, but unusually direct. You sigh, turn around and shrug.

"Mom and Dad called yesterday, and I could tell they missed me, but I just…I cut them off after two minutes."

Joel places the cups on his desk, and leans against it. His sleeves are rolled up again, and when he crosses his arms, you feel that familiar pang in your stomach.

"And now I…I don’t know, I feel so guilty, Joel. They’re not even being dicks about it, but I just know they’d prefer for me to check in with them more…and the worst thing is, I know it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it, they’ve got a good life without me constantly in it, so I don’t know why my stupid brain can’t just let this go, you know? One I miss you, darling, and I’m reduced to this pathetic mess, instead of just, I don’t know, getting my shit together."

You shake your head and clench your teeth, once again embarrassed to come crying to Joel about your parental issues, but he’s the only one you can tell. Sure, Alva would probably listen, but you don’t feel like explaining your family to a near stranger. Joel just gets it. Joel knows you.

He’s looking at you, arms still crossed, and for a second you worry he might not want to hear about your little breakdown, but then he sighs.

"You have your shit together all of the fuckin’ time, kid, I think that might be the problem," he tells you quietly. "You’ve always been so hard on yourself."

He’s right, once again he sees what you struggle to show the world, and his words make tears spring to your eyes. You will your eyeballs to suck them back in, but of course, Joel sees.

"Hey now," he says, taking a tentative step towards you. One tear drops from the end of your lashes and down your cheek, and the dam is broken again – they come spilling in floods. Joel crosses the room in a second, and there is a slight moment of hesitation between the two of you, before you bury your face in his chest, and let your restraint fall. You cry quietly, feel him wrap his arms around you, as he rocks you back and forth.

"You’re alright," he tells you, "Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright."

"S-s-sorry about the assignment," you manage, and Joel’s hand starts stroking your back.

"Jesus, kid, stop worryin’ about the fucking assignment," he tells you, voice low and worried. "You don’t gotta be so strict with yourself. You’re doin’ just fine."

He smells so much like home, you think you might never stop crying.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you hiccup, "One week here and I’m a mess already."

You feel Joel rest his chin on your head, and his arms tighten around you.

"There’s nothin’ wrong with you, you hear me? You hold yourself to high standards. Creates pressure, kid."

As always, he’s right of course – you want to excel academically, you don’t want to hurt your parents, you want to stay true to yourself and do what makes you happy, you want to make friends without compromising your grades. It’s impossible.

You breathe in shakily, your eyes closed, face buried in Joel’s chest, and for a second he is all that exists – just Joel, all around you, pulling you to the earth. Slowly, your breathing calms, Joel still rocking you soothingly, holding you close.

"There we go," he mutters, when your chest stops shaking, "that’s good."

When you pull away from him, he puts his hands on your shoulders to really look at you, and although you’re embarrassed by your outburst, you’re glad he doesn’t shy away from you.

"I want you to start being a little more lenient with yourself, alright? You don’t need to worry about an assignment on top of everything."

His hands are rubbing your shoulders, his eyes are kind and warm.

"Maybe not about yours, but I have like five other lectures –"

"Okay, so try to stop worrying about my assignments, just mine. Won’t bite your head off if you don’t do them, and I’ll only ask you questions when you raise your hand, alright? In fact, for the rest of the term, I want you to hand them in late."

Despite yourself, your lips pull up in a small smile.

"That’s silly, Joel," you say softly, but he shakes his head.

"It’s not silly, it’s practice to get you out of your comfort zone."

You consider his words for a moment. You do keep a pretty tight reign on yourself, and just the thought of doing every assignment late makes your skin crawl with anxiety. But when will you get another chance to step out of your comfort zone as safely as now, with Joel? He’s offering you a way to try it without actually risking your grades. And who knows, perhaps it actually will take a little bit of pressure off of you.

"Okay," you answer, staring up at Joel with puffy cheeks and teary eyes. "Alright."

He smiles at you, but he still looks worried and you wish he’d pull you close to him again. It’s such a relief to have this sort of human contact with someone who really knows you.

"Feel better?"

You sigh, and nod.

"It’s just a lot, you know, uni and my parents, and every social interaction feels like such a chore, cause I don’t know people yet. I feel like I’m not even relaxed when I’m asleep."

Joel hesitates for a moment, before he speaks, but when he does, he sounds determined.

"Come over tonight, I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, and you don’t have to worry about talkin’ to anyone. We’ll watch whatever you’d like. You still enjoy those crappy horror movies?"

You smile at the shared memory – Joel letting you use his living room to watch slashers your parents didn’t want you to see. One summer, when the heat was so stifling you barely went outside, you practically lived at his place, and when you’d seen all the DVDs he owned, he got you more from the video store.

"I do," you say quietly, the fact that Joel remembers more important to you than his proposal to spend the evening together. You feel significantly less alone, all of a sudden.

"Alright, then. Be over at seven,“ Joel tells you, and you nod, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, and hug him again, because you don’t know how to tell him in words what you’re feeling, and his big, warm body against yours feels more than soothing.

"Course, kid. Just don’t tell Alva, or they’ll fire me."

You smile, your arms still wrapped around his neck, as he holds you.

"But I don’t wanna get you in trouble, what if–"

"No," Joel interrupts you, "no what ifs. No worryin’. I forbid it."

And you accept it, leave it to Joel, because he tells you to – because you don’t have any room in your head for more worries, and because you trust Joel not to do anything reckless. You trust him, period.

***

You text Alva you’re having dinner alone, that your cramps are still acting up, and you do feel slightly bad for lying, but you would never risk Joel’s job. The idea of having dinner with him at his place should make you nervous after your change in feelings about him, but you’re just looking forward to having a meal with someone who knows you, and lets you be yourself.

Joel asked you to be there at seven, so you spend the rest of the afternoon in your dorm room, wondering if you should change your outfit or if it would seem desperate – in the end, you keep the jeans but change into a blouse instead of a sweater. The part of you that stares at Joel’s forearms during class now wants to look pretty for him, so that he’ll ask you over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop you from putting on your nicest perfume.

You’re ten minutes early, so you sit in your little second hand car and try not to panic. You know Joel is merely trying to be a good…friend? Ex-neighbor, Dad’s best friend turned professor? There’s no real etiquette to cling to in this situation, for either of you, and although you’re positive Joel doesn’t have any ulterior motives with you despite his flirting, you know he could lose his job if someone finds out you went to his house. Even if you just watch slashers together the way you did ten years ago. It makes you anxious to know he’d risk something clearly important to him for just that – he moved to a different state, quit his old job, started over completely, and is now willing to endanger that new life just because you’re stressed. At the same time it seems ridiculous anyone could forbid the two of you to spend time together after having known each other your entire life. The thought is absurd, and still, you need to be careful.

You get out of the car before you start to hyperventilate, and ring Joel’s doorbell – it feels strange for him to live in a new house. He opens the door with a smile, and absurd relief floods your veins when you realize he’s wearing an old Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of worn jeans. This is your Joel.

"I come bearing gifts," you announce, stepping into the house.

“Christ, where did you get this?”, Joel asks, taking the six pack of beer from you, so you can take off your jacket. “I didn’t know they sold Shiner Bock outside of Texas, I’ve been survivin’ on Bud”.

“Brought it with me,” you explain, “figured it’d help if I got homesick, you know, in multiple ways.”

You grin, and Joel shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Old enough to drink, well I’ll be damned. I remember when you begged your Dad to let you have a coke and he asked me if I thought the caffeine would stunt your growth.”

“Did it?”

“It might’ve,” Joel says with a chuckle, “but he didn’t let you have it.”

“Well, he isn’t here now, so let’s put those in the fridge.”

“No," Joel mutters, “no, he ain’t.”

While Joel puts the beer away, you take a look around his living room – despite your reservations about the new house, it reminds you of his old place. It’s got the same masculine and warm feel to it, dark wood, books all over the place, no bells and whistles. Joel is a practical man, and it’s charmingly etched into every part of his life – except for his new work-look. The room isn’t as cluttered as you remember Joel’s old house back in Texas, but you assume he hasn’t had time to accumulate clutter yet. No old newspapers are lying around, no birthday cards stacking up. You wonder if he’s lonely here, teaching all by himself, hundreds of miles away from the place he last grew roots in.

“Do you miss home?” you ask him, when he comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands. He looks at ease, much more himself than back at university. His jeans are faded, his shirt a little too big on his already broad frame, and his hair is clean and curly the way you like it – no gel twisting it into all sorts of un-Joel-like styles. Warmth floods your chest at the sight of him taking a swig of his beer. His crowfeet are a little more pronounced, and his hair has more grey strands than it did back home, but he’s still got that distinctly warm, no-nonsense feel to him.

“Sometimes,” he answers, offering you the second bottle. Your hand brushes his when you take it from him. “But I’m pretty busy here, you know, got a whole lotta lectures to plan, papers to grade and that sort of stuff.”

You nod, and sip at your beer.

“Have you…you know, met people? Made friends here?”

Joel plops down on the couch, and smiles up at you.

“You worried about my social life?”

You shrug, and smile almost timidly.

“You know me, kid, I like bein’ by myself.”

That’s true, for as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been alone. You know he has nieces and nephews who adore him, and your Dad mentioned a woman once, but it must have been at least twenty years since they were together. You wonder why Joel doesn’t seem to want that sort of a domestic life, surely many women would be happy to let him put a ring on them.

You walk over to the window, and watch a blackbird tug at a writhing worm.

“Have you met someone at uni you wanna be by yourself with?” you ask with a small grin, turning back to find Joel already watching you. “I heard Professor Carter’s still single.”

“She’s very intelligent,” Joel says earnestly. You give him credit for not laughing about his colleague, and suddenly you feel bad for calling her frumpy with Alva. “But I think I’ll leave her to her simulations. Why am I bein’ interrogated?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, and glance out of the window again, “just making conversation.”

“Your turn, then,” Joel answers, and takes another swig of beer. “Any frat boys catch your eye? Or frat girls?”

You glance at him, a smile on your lips, and raise your eyebrows.

“Hey, I don’t discriminate. I thought, maybe Alva…”

“No,” you answer, feeling fond of him for considering the possibility. “Alva’s a friend. The guys are…well, they’re frat boys.”

 Your voice carries enough disgust for Joel to laugh.

“Right,” he says, and his eyes are warm when they meet yours again. “Just us two loners, then."

“Cheers,” you say with a smile.

“Cheers.”

***

Joel’s cooking is a mystery to you – he loves to eat, and when he does cook, it’s always delicious, but he only ever makes one of five dishes. Again, that practicality shining through. Why try something new if you’ve perfected your routine? He made pasta for you, wasn’t sure if you’re still vegetarian and makin’ your Dad’s hair fall out, and you smile into the neck of your beer bottle, when you watch him drizzle dressing onto a carefully arranged side-salad. Throughout dinner, you tell him how much you love it at least five times, because you can tell he put effort into the meal. You know it’s not technically a date, but having a dinner he made just for you, in his home – it feels like one.

You steer the conversation away from heavy topics like your parents. Although Joel offered you this evening to make you feel better, you want to spend it with him rather than in your head, so you ask him about books and music, about his lectures, about Tommy and the kids. You like watching how his face lights up whenever he talks about something he particularly loves. Joel is a quiet man, but you found out years ago it isn’t shyness, but a disinterest in most mundane topics – he doesn’t like gossip or superficial small talk. When he tells you Tommy made him godfather of all of his children, the pride is evident in his voice, and you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm, although it amuses you, too – Tommy loving his big brother enough not to consider anyone else.

"She calls me uncle Joe," he tells you with a chuckle, "Can’t pronounce her Ls yet, but I’ve considered legally changing my name."

When you’re done eating, you help him clear the table, but when you reach for the sponge to do the dishes, Joel shakes his head.

"Let me do that later, kid. You wanna watch a movie?"

So the two of you plop down on the couch with a bag of M&Ms and another round of beer, and Joel hands you the remote.

"Go wild," he says, chuckling when you excitedly turn on he TV to open Netflix.

"Wow, a streaming service? I thought you’d just hoard DVDs for the rest of your life."

Joel huffs, and instead of answering, he leans forward, and reaches for something under his couch table. When he turns his head, he’s got glasses on his face, thick-rimmed and black, and so startlingly sexy, you almost drop the remote.

"You…you’ve got glasses?"

"Yeah," he answers, his eyes meeting yours, and you swallow. "When your eyesight deteriorates, that’s when you know you’re gettin’ old."

You hum but don’t answer, just hold his gaze for a second and look back to the screen. You try to ignore the familiar pang in your stomach at the sight of Joel in his new glasses, and skip through movie after movie, mumbling seen it, seen it, that one sucks, seen it, until Joel reaches over and snatches the remote from you.

"Hey–"

"I can’t read anything if you skip through them that quickly."

"You’re not supposed to read, you’re supposed to go with the vibe of the cover."

He glances at you with furrowed brows.

"Okay, sorry, didn’t know you’re a filmbro," you grumble, but it’s almost entirely fake – you couldn’t be annoyed with him, not when he pushes his glasses up his nose, and carefully considers which button to press on the remote.

"I don’t know what that means," he answers, and starts reading the description of a romantic comedy about Christmas.

"I’m not watching that."

"You don’t even know what it’s about."

"It’s September, Joel."

He huffs again, but finally reaches the horror movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the two of you long to pick one, and the thought of two hours of brainless, scary entertainment on a couch with Joel makes you practically melt into his couch.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you during the opening credits, so you glance over and he smiles.

"Comfy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from relaxation.

"Yeah," you answer, and smile when hands you a blanket. He’s not exactly close to you, but it still feels a little intimate when you spread the blanket out and offer him the other end. He moves over a little, so that the blanket covers his legs, and when you concentrate you can feel his body heat next to you, so you try hard not to – and instead get lost in the movie.

It’s not particularly good, but the story does get under your skin a little, and when there’s an unexpected shriek, you violently jump and instinctively move closer to Joel. He chuckles, but doesn’t give any reaction to your arm suddenly pressing against his. He doesn’t move away, either, so you don’t, fear suddenly not being the only thing bubbling up in your stomach.

"Jesus," you mumble, the creeping music making you anticipate another jumpscare. You’re right, it does come, but prepared though you are, you still wince, and turn away from the screen slightly. Out of sight, out of mind. Joel turns around, too, and when he sees your widened eyes, he grins.

"How’s that Christmas movie lookin’ now?"

"I’m not scared," you say, and there is some truth to it, "I’m just not good with jumpscares."

When the next one comes, you can’t help it, you clutch his arm next to you, your nails digging into his firm muscle, and Joel glances at you again.

"Sorry," you say quickly, letting go of his forearm now marked with five tiny crescent shapes. "Jesus, Joel, sorry."

"It’s fine," he says, and the amusement is evident in his voice, "you sure you’re into this? There might be some cartoons–"

He stops talking when you glare at him, but his mouth is twitching under his beard. You’re determined to watch the entire movie, and you try not to let any reaction show, wanting to prove Joel wrong.

There is one particularly scary scene – it’s not necessarily violent, but the music and shaky camera movements make your pulse race, and you turn your head slightly, so as to look at something else. Joel glances at you again, but he doesn’t laugh this time, just puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. It’s grounding, the warmth of it, how his thumb digs into your muscle and his fingers spread out over your back and neck.

"You don’t gotta force yourself to watch this, kid," Joel says gently, all teasing humor gone.

"No," you say stubbornly, but move even closer to him. His touch is a welcome distraction from the movie, and although you know it’s stupid and reckless, you lean into him, and Joel puts his arm around you. It’s closer than you’ve been to him except for hugging, and your heartbeat starts to quicken for all the wrong, non-horror reasons. When you flinch, Joel tugs you against his side, and it feels natural to hide your face in his shoulder.

He was never touchy with you, or anyone for that matter, so something must have changed. You wonder if he’s trying to comfort you, or if you might not be the only one who can feel that strange pull between the two of you.

When the movie ends, Joel regrettably removes his arm from around your shoulders to switch off the TV, and although you’re slightly disappointed, you scold yourself for expecting something else.

"Not bad," Joel says with a small smile, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Very brave."

You scoff, but feel the corners of your mouth twitching, too.

"I used to be less of a wimp, but I guess you soften with age."

"You’re twenty-three," Joel argues, "that’s young."

Yeah, too young. Too young to lean over and kiss him, or climb into his lap, or expect anything other than paternal care when he’s got his arm around you. You look at your lap, all of a sudden feeling stupid and silly for having dreamed up an absurd fantasy about the man in front of you.

"Hey," Joel says gently, "what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, "nothing, I had a really great evening. Thanks, Joel."

You can tell you’ve confused him, but he nods, doesn’t question your sudden change of mood, and stands when you get up from the couch.

"Anytime, kid. You call me if you’re havin’ a bad time, alright? My door’s always open."

He’s so kind, so recklessly, stupidly, lovingly kind, and all of it is directed at you. You curse yourself for it, but again you feel that familiar burn in your eyes. Joel reaches out and easily pulls you towards his big body, hugging you the way he did in his office just this afternoon. He doesn’t ask you what brought on your tears, just lets you cry into his Led Zeppelin shirt that smells so much like home, like a childhood you won’t get back to. You remember whiffs of that smell when you were watching movies on his couch while he was at work, too pissed off at your parents to spend the summer at home. This scent was there when you attended a neighborhood barbecue after fighting with your father and Joel grilled some vegan sausages for you without comment or question. He’s always looked out for you like this, quietly, without demanding an explanation, just a solid, comforting presence in your life.

Your tears stop after a couple of minutes, and you take a step away from Joel, wiping your face. He looks so worried again, brows all furrowed and arms hanging limply at his side. Didn’t he flirt with you, though? Didn’t he prepare dinner for you the way a date would, ask you about your dating life, ask you to coffee? You don’t think you would be able to handle another evening like this one not knowing what Joel really thinks, so in a moment of hazy recklessness, you lean up.

His eyes meet yours, all warm and strangely unguarded, but before your lips brush his, a hand on your shoulder stops you. Without saying something, you move away from him, and nod to yourself, his reaction all the information you needed.

"Sorry," you say very quietly, not managing much else now that you’ve humiliated yourself in front of the only person you really know in a six hundred mile radius. Joel runs a hand through his soft hair, and inhales deeply.

"No," he says, his voice a little strained, "no, don’t be. I just…Jesus, kid."

He rubs his palm over his beard in such a familiar way, your chest aches a little. It’s ridiculous how much you want to touch his face, to feel him again, skin on skin. So you don’t turn and run the way your embarrassed heart is telling you to, just watch him collect his thoughts, standing in front of him like a wet and beaten dog.

"Look," he begins, "I won’t say I’m not flattered, but that’s…it’s a bad fuckin’ idea. It’s…it’s chaos, and on top of that most people would argue it’s wrong."

You swallow. You know all of this, have turned it over in your head ever since you stared at Joel’s rolled up sleeves for two hours on that first Monday, but hearing him say it makes your stomach churn.

"Yeah," you mutter, and trace Joel’s shadow with the very tip of your foot, "yeah, of course. Sorry I put you in that position, wasn’t right."

Your face still feels puffy, and you know you’re probably all red and pathetic looking, begging Joel for scraps of his attention, but all of a sudden, he lifts his hand up to your face, and cups it in his broad palm. His thumb strokes your cheek, and when you meet his eye, the expression on his face is tender.

"It’s alright," he tells you softly, "I can see you worryin’ at the speed of light in that pretty head of yours."

Something in your chest flutters at his words, at the rough and warm cadence of his voice. He reads you so easily, one turn of your head and he knows you’re lost to your thoughts.

"I shouldn’t have let myself toy with this idea," he continues, and your stomach flips. "I should’ve realized you’d pick up on it. It’s on me, alright? It’s on me not to start anythin’."

You can hear the implication – I’m the adult here. It’s not what you want to hear, but just the mention of Joel toying with this idea, as he put it, is enough to lift your spirits. So you weren’t crazy.

"I’m an adult," you say weakly, never having felt more like a child. Joel nods.

"You are, but I’m still in a position of power here. Be wrong, to abuse that."

His thumb is still moving over your cheek slowly, making it hard to think straight.

"So dinner and a movie doesn’t abuse it?"

You don’t want to argue, you don’t know why you keep disagreeing with him, and the way his face falls, you wish you hadn’t said it.

"No, it…it does, you’re right. Jesus, of course it does. I don’t blame ya for bein’ ang-"

"I’m not angry," you say softly, and tentatively turn your head in Joel’s hand. You press a kiss to his palm, his warm skin pressed right against your mouth. "I’m not your student, Joel. I mean, of course I am, but I know you. It’s different."

Joel’s eyes are glued to your face, and he looks so conflicted you wish he’d just throw you out of his house, if only to solve his dilemma.

"It’s still wrong," Joel mutters, his eyes glued to your lips since they brushed his skin "even if you take away the fact that I’m your fuckin’ professor. Your Dad…"

"My Dad is half a continent away and finds a way to be unhappy with whatever choices I make, so I might as well make the ones I want to."

The very first day, before you even met Joel, you decided to do what makes you happy while in university, and although this certainly wasn’t what you had in mind, you know it’s what you want. The only thing you want, in fact.

Joel sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Joel, I’m not trying to…look, if I’m wrong about this, just tell me, but I feel…I just wanna be close to you all of the fucking time," you say quietly, "and it’s okay if you don’t, really. I just…I want you to know it’s not nothing to me."

Saying I don’t just want to hook up with you would feel too straight forward or crass, but you think Joel gets the gist of what you’re trying to say, and he closes his eyes briefly. You study his face behind his glasses, the wrinkles and freckles from years in the sun. You do feel anxious about his answer, but whatever it is, you’re glad you told him. It’s out in the world now, the way you feel when he holds you, and he can do with it what he pleases – you’ve handed him the reigns.

"I…I know what you mean. Me too," he says very quietly after a beat, his eyes open and looking directly into yours again.

A triumphant pang of affection pulses through you, and you put your hand over Joel’s, which is still resting on your cheek. He looks conflicted, but his other hand holds your waist now, and tugs your smaller body closer to his again. He’s solid as a brick wall in front of you, and you figure you’re allowed to touch, so you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Joel mutters, and strokes your lower lip with his thumb. If you had more guts, you’d let it slip into your mouth, but you’re still afraid he’ll pull back if you make a wrong move, so you just let him caress your mouth tenderly.

"Whatever you’d like," you answer just as quietly, and you know it sounds sexual, but you mean it in every way – if Joel wants to be nothing but your professor, you’d take it, and if he wants to keep you here in his house indefinitely, you’d let him. Joel keeps looking at you, taking you in as if he’s considering whether the risks outweigh whatever magnetic or gravitational pull the two of you have between you.

"Stay," he say after a while, and although his face looks slightly regretful, his voice is determined, "just…sleep here tonight. I like havin’ you here."

You want him to kiss you, to pull you onto his lap on the couch, to take you upstairs right now, but Joel seems to be restraining himself, so you just nod.

"Me too," you whisper, echoing his words back to him, and for just a second, his thumb digs into your lip a little harder, but then he pulls away.

"Testin’ my goddamn restraint," he mutters, and takes a step away from you. "I’ll get you something to sleep in."

***

Joel gets you one of his band tees you love so dearly, and just the idea of being enveloped by something that smells like him all night makes it a little easier when Joel tells you he’ll take the couch instead of inviting you to sleep with him in his bed.

"No," you say softly, "it’s fine, you just sleep in your bed, Joel. I’ll take the couch."

He looks critical, so you offer him a soft smile.

"I don’t know if your back could take it," you tease, and he seems torn up between laughing and frowning. In the end, he just shakes his head, mutters something that sounds a lot like bad fuckin’ idea, and gets you a blanket and pillow.

He brings you a clean toothbrush and towel, let’s you use his bathroom (you look at the shower the entire time you’re brushing your teeth, trying hard not to think about what Joel looks like using it in the mornings), and when you’re done changing, you unlock the door again.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing over your form in his much too big shirt. It’s long as a dress on you, coming down to your naked thighs. Joel visibly swallows and gets up from the bed.

"You got everythin’ you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Joel."

There’s a beat of silence and you almost think Joel’s about to cross the room, but he just runs his palm over his beard the way he always does, and nods.

"Alright. Just shout if there’s…well, you know. I’ll be here."

"I will."

"Alright. Okay…goodnight, kid."

"Night," you almost whisper, voice soft, and right before you reach the door, Joel clears his throat.

"I…you were right about dinner and the movie. I wasn’t just tryin’ to be friendly," he says quietly, and your stomach swirls. Before you can walk over to Joel and do something about it, he sighs.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

***

You wake to the sound of something dripping, and when your eyes flutter open, you can see Joel’s back from the kitchen. He’s wearing his work outfit again, a white button down and dark pants, sleeves rolled up. It smells like coffee, and with a smile you realize he must be brewing his beloved coffee – no machine, just a filter. He looks broad, even from your spot on the couch, and you enjoy peeking in on him. You study his movements, the way he reaches for a cup, how his fingers absentmindedly drum on the kitchen counter while he waits.

When he turns around, his eyes find yours, and he smiles.

"Mornin’. Did I wake ya?"

"’S fine," you yawn, pulling the blanket up to your chin, not yet ready to get up. "I have classes at ten anyway."

"’S eight," Joel tells you, "Coffee?"

"Yes please," you answer, and stretch your limbs under the blanket.

Joel brings you a cup, complete with a little bit of milk and sugar, and you move your feet so he can sit down on the couch.

"Sleep well?"

You sip your coffee, let it burn your tongue and close your eyes at the taste. When you open them, Joel’s gaze lingers on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, "thank you for…you know."

He nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks at his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s very quiet, and you feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

"Joel, do you want me to leave? It’s fine if you do," you ask him softly, not wanting to make things awkward for him. It would be rational of him to ask you to leave, the smart and ethical thing to do.

"No," he answers quietly, still not looking at you, "I want you to stay."

Stay? On a Tuesday morning, after you almost kissed him and he told you he couldn’t do that, after you spent the night on his couch? When you have classes in two hours, haven’t showered yet, are half naked and wearing his clothes, on his couch under his blanket? When you’ve got friends wondering where you are and probably ten unanswered messages from Alva?

"Alright," you say, agreeing as easy as breathing.

Finally, he looks up, and his expression is so conflicted you reach out for him. Your hand finds his and you squeeze it. He keeps looking at you, his hand limp in your grasp, as if any movement of his muscles would incriminate him.

"You shouldn’t," he tells you earnestly. "Stay, I mean. You shouldn’t stay."

"I know."

You don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t move his away.

"It’s a really, really bad idea," he adds, and you’re not sure who he is trying to talk out of whatever this is. "It’s risky. Could blow up both our lives."

"Yeah," you say, and watch him sip his coffee, "okay."

Then, a tentative flex of his fingers against yours, and finally, he’s squeezing your hand just as tightly, and before you can process what that means, Joel is leaning over you, dangerously close. Your breathing quickens, you register how soft his hair looks, how strong his hand is. He leans in further and you sit up a little, still cocooned in his blanket. His face is close to yours, his eyes fiery with something you can’t pinpoint, and you sigh, when he closes the gap between you.

He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, and you wish you’d gotten the chance to shower, but the thought disappears almost immediately when you hear Joel groan. His kisses you languidly, deeply, and your fingers come up to his beautiful arm, barely wrapping around half of his biceps. He cradles the side of your face, pulls you closer, makes your stomach clench with need. It feels inevitable, the way he touches you, like you only exist in a physical form to be touched by him.

His free hand peels the blanket off your body, lets it slide to the floor without ever stopping his the kiss, and you moan softly, when his hand touches your waist. The sound makes him break away, stare down at you, pupils blown wide.

"Fuck, you look good in my clothes," he mutters, nudging your jaw with his nose, and pressing a kiss there. "You should really, really go home."

Your head falls back slightly to give him better access to your neck, and he brushes his lips over your pulse point. Your heart skips a beat.

"I – I know," you breathe, fingers digging into his arm. His beard scratches your skin deliciously, and it takes everything in you not to whimper or beg. Joel’s hand slips under your shirt – his shirt – and instead of finding your waist again, he digs his thumb into your hip, stroking the fabric of your cotton panties. The fire in your stomach burns brighter, and you almost buck up into him. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller who until recently had a key to your childhood home, who lent it to you whenever you forgot yours inside – he’s sucking bruises into your skin, and toying with your panties. It’s dizzying, his familiar voice when he hums in satisfaction, even rougher than usually.

His fingers trace the waistband of your panties towards the front, until they find a small, silky bow, and Joel groans. He doesn’t take your underwear off, doesn’t even touch you where you need him the most, just keeps playing with the little bow, until your hips twitch without your permission. A little lower, and he would be able to feel how wet you are, how wet you have been all night. You didn’t do anything about it, not while you were a guest in his house. It would have felt wrong. You can’t imagine anything feeling more right than Joel’s mouth and hands on you, though.

"Jesus," Joel curses, "I should stop bef–"

"No," you whine, all dignity turned to hot air by Joel’s fingers, "please, Joel, please don’t stop."

He curses again, and moves his big body so that he’s not just hovering above you, but actually on top of you, your thighs falling open for him easily. At the movement, his shirt hikes up your thighs, and you know you’re basically on display for him, your soaked underwear leaving little to the imagination. He’s still fully clothed, his perfect button down all wrinkled now.

"Look at you," Joel breathes, lightheaded with desire, "this all for me?"

So he saw, when you moved to accommodate his broad form, saw how soaked you are, knows you ruined your panties just because he kissed you.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please–"

Before you can beg further, his finger presses down on your clit, and he watches your face contort in pleasure, as it shoots up your spine. You whimper, staring into his eyes, and he stares right back, as you start to grind your hips against his palm.

Your head feels blissfully empty, all worries about this relationship, uni, your parents, gone from you with a simple, practiced movement of his hand. The whimpers keep falling from your lips, and Joel curses.

"So beautiful," he mutters, "tell me what you need, angel."

It’s not a question, it’s an order.

"I – fuck, I need you i–inside," you groan, and Joel’s lips find yours again.

"Yeah? Need me to fuck you good, even though they’ll throw us both out?"

It shouldn’t turn you on. You’re jeopardizing both your own and Joel’s career, and he’s turning it into dirty talk. Still, your pussy doesn’t lie, and the way it throbs for him, aching to get him inside, makes all doubts disappear from your mind.

"Yes," you answer, unable to say much more as Joel keeps drawing tight circles into your clit.

Your hands drift from his arms towards his front, and Joel curses, when you paw at his belt buckle. It takes you a second, but then it’s open, the sound of the metal exciting you – it sounds like a promise.

Joel finally tugs your panties down, and for a second you’re self–conscious about not being clean shaven, but the second he sees you bare and glistening for him, his fingers dip into your folds, gathering your wetness with no hesitation.

"Fuck me," he groans, bringing his hand up to his face and tasting you, holding eye–contact the entire time, "prettiest pussy I’ve seen in my life."

You twitch under him, dragging your gaze away from his eyes and to his fingers. A moan escapes you, your hands have gone slack on his waistband, and Joel smiles down at you. Then, he does the same motion again, drags the tips of his thick fingers through your sticky arousal, but instead of sucking them clean himself, he holds them up to your mouth. His eyes burn, when you wrap your lips around them without a moments hesitation, and he feeds you your own slick.

"Taste so sweet, huh?"

You don’t answer, just swirl your tongue around his fingers, and suck on them. Joel watches your mouth intently, lets you take your time.

"Good girl," he praises you, and you clench around nothing, "so fuckin’ needy for me."

He drags his fingers from your mouth, and finally pushes into you, the stretch much tighter than with two of your own. Your head falls backwards, and Joel curls his fingers.

"No, baby, look down here," he orders, and immediately you lift your head again, and watch him pump two thick digits in and out of you. It’s dizzying to think it’s the same hand that waved to you from over his fence for years and years. You feel a coil building in your stomach, and you moan.

"Fuck, Joel," you moan, his name leaving a delicious aftertaste in your mouth. His beautiful forearm flexes with every movement, your slick is dripping down his fingers, and those damn sleeves are still perfectly rolled up.

With a few more curls of his fingers, you gush around him, barely having time to warn him, and he praises you, calls you his good girl, drags his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you until you see stars.

When he slips his fingers out of you and holds them up to your face again, you clean them up with your mouth as Joel watches with bright eyes. To think that he’s the same man who taught you Dirac not twenty-four hours ago – already, you want him inside again. When you’re done, he fumbles with his own clothes, and you watch him this time instead of helping.

"You look so good like this," you mumble, eyes raking over his broad form, "Professor."

His eyes snap up to yours, and you grin.

"Fuckin’ Christ, kid," he mutters, popping open the buttons on his shirt, "you can’t say shit like that."

"You don’t like it? You know, I watched you during your lectures and dreamed about…well, about this."

His expression is unreadable, but if you’re not mistaken, his hands move even faster now, and then he shrugs out of his shirt. You almost moan at the sight of his naked torso, so broad and solid.

"You need to pay attention in class," Joel answers, as he opens his pants. Your breathing grows a little shallow when he reveals his boxers underneath, his bulge huge.

"Can’t," you mumble, "not with you looking like this."

He chuckles at that, at the honesty and need in your answer.

"Don’t worry," he says softly, "I’ll fuck it outta you. Won’t be needing’ me in class, not if I’m still leakin’ out of you."

Your lips part, your pussy clenches – a smile tugs on the corners of Joel’s mouth at your reaction. He drags down his boxer shorts, and your eyes snap towards his cock, so thick and dripping in precum. You whimper, you can’t help it, and Joel’s smile widens.

"We’ll make it fit, baby," he says, reading your mind, and then bends down and kisses you again. You try to tug your shirt upwards, but Joel’s hands find your wrists and he holds them tight.

"No, want to fuck you in it," he breathes against your lips, and you press your hips upwards until he groans. He pumps his fist over his cock a couple of times, and aligns it with your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby," he mutters, and you obey, staring up at him as he starts pressing into you. It’s tight, much tighter than his two fingers, and your eyes glass over with pain, but Joel goes slow. His hand strokes your tummy, helps you relax, while he pushes on consistently. You feel like he’s punching the air from your lungs, eyes wide with the stretch of him, as he nips at your jaw and neck to distract you.

"Know it’s a lot, but you can take it, angel."

"Y-yes," you moan, and screw your eyes shut, "please don’t stop, Joel."

 Joel’s breathing is ragged with restraint, and suddenly his hips snap forwards – and he’s fully buried inside of your tight body, nestled right against your cervix.

"Back to Joel, are we?" he teases, and gives you a couple of seconds to get used to him. You whimper and claw at his arm.

"I – ah – I’ll call you Professor Miller ’f you want," you slur, as he starts dragging his cock out of you again. You tremble under him, the feeling almost more intense than when he pushed inside of you.

"Yeah? That get you off? Or – fuck–  is it the fact that I’m friends with your parents?"

It really, really should be a turn off, to be talking about your parents right now, but the way Joel says it, the way he points out just how debauched it is what you’re doing – you can’t help but moan. You blush, too, can feel the heat in your face, but you’re tired of being ashamed of wanting him the way you do.

"Both," you answer, and this time Joel groans, his hips snapping into you at a rougher pace. The head of his cock hits your spot every time, and you let out little sounds of pleasure with every drag of his cock, unable to form a coherent sentence. Joel’s hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles as his other one pressing down on your stomach.

"Feel that?" he asks you, and you do, you feel him all up in your guts, "you take it so well baby, take all ’f me."

"Yes," you answer, eyes glassy with pleasure, "want all of you, Joel."

He bites your shoulder, keeps rutting into you, and soon you feel another orgasm building.

"Close – ah – so close," you whimper, and Joel speeds up his thrusts just slightly. You clench around him, right on the edge.

"Come for me, angel, give it to me."

You do, your hips bucking, back arching.

"Ah – fuck, Joel, Prof–"

"Say it," Joel orders, fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Professor."

He comes, too, twitching deep inside of you and spilling rope after rope of come. It feels right, like you’re his. His groan is rough, his thrusts sloppy, and you feel your pussy spasm around him in a third, weaker orgasm, or maybe it’s just aftershocks from your second. You’re limp underneath him, letting him use your body how he needs to.

"Fuck," he curses, "did so good for me."

He slips out of you, and you can feel his spend drip out of you. You’re weak, soft like jelly, sweaty and entirely satisfied.

"Jesus," you breathe, when he falls down next to you, his couch mercifully being big enough.

"Yeah," he answers, "Jesus."

***

Turns out, Joel Miller is a dirty talking bastard during sex, and a big softie afterwards. He makes you tea, strokes your hair while you sip it, then carries you up to his shower and gently washes your body his his sponge. Throughout, he’s quiet, and you wonder if it was too much, the mention of him being your professor, of your parents, but you’re too afraid to ask. He brushes your forehead with his lips when he dries you off, and pulls another of his shirts over you head. Your panties are entirely ruined, it’s all you’re wearing.

When you’re clean again, and relaxed, Joel pulls you onto his bed, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Did you…was that too much?" he asks you softly fingertips tracing over your thigh lazily.

"It was just right," you answer quietly, and he hums.

"You didn’t feel like you…I mean when you called me Professor, you wanted to do that, right?"

You look up at him, and press a soft kiss against his jaw.

"Of course, Joel. Wanted everything we did, I promise."

He nods, but you can tell there’s still something bothering him.

"You know that’s not what you are to me, though, right?" Your voice is soft. "You’re just Joel."

He brushes the top of your head with his lips.

"I mean it," you press on when he doesn’t answer, "it’s like a costume, Joel. I know it’s your job, but it’s…I don’t think of you as like, an authority figure or something. I just thought you looked hot in that slutty shirt."

"Slutty–?" he sputters and you laugh.

"Sure, you know, with your sleeves rolled up, and that first button popped open."

"’S not slutty."

"You showed your forearms. Half the lecture hall felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

Joel makes an exasperated sound, half amused and half offended.

"I mean it," you say again after beat, humor gone from your tone, "and it’s not just sex to me. You know that."

"Yeah," Joel answers slowly. "’S more to me, too."

It’s a hell of an admission.

"What are we gonna do?", you ask quietly, and Joel sighs.

"You’re gonna go to class," he says, voice dark, "and I’ll try very, very hard not to call your father and tell him I’m fallin’ for his daughter."

You bury your face in his chest. With anyone else, it would be too much, too fast, too intense. But this is Joel. It’s not fast if you’ve known him your whole life, is it? You kiss his chest, and he seems to understand.

"We’ll figure it out," Joel says quietly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For a second you do want your parents to know, want them to see that someone does treat you like an adult, want to look them in the eye and say I’m with Joel now and there’s nothing you can do about it. I have my own life now and it includes this kind man. It’s childish, you know it is. You lean up, catch Joel’s mouth in a kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, “We’ll figure it out, Professor.”

[joeldarling]

this grandpa could bend me over the kitchen table and i would be grateful

[millersdoll]

need me this specific older man to send me selfies like this

[pedgito]

ORBIT YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆ CHAPTER ONE: MOON

↝ series masterlist | joel miller masterlist | full masterlist

summary — back in austin for an impromptu camping trip with your father and his best friend, you find that so much has changed, and not just in your relationship with your father, but with joel, too.

author's note — i've been missing my main dbf man and this started out as mainly smut but gained some plot. this man is exceptionally freaky and i love him

content warning — 18+ MDNI, dbf!joel, virgin!reader, age gap (20s/40s), camping trips, established dynamics, voyeurism, sexual activities in public, dry humping, inappropriate use of a sleeping bag, tent sharing, tension/angst, mutual masturbation, joel having copious inappropriate thoughts, this man loves eye contact

word count — 9.6k

It was as if speaking plainly was impossible.

“You know, the chickens have fled the roost so to speak,” Your father explains, slapping his sandwich together with an audible squelch as the mustard oozed out the side, “I ain’t dealing with your mother’s shit anymore either, there’s somethin’ for both of us to celebrate.”

“The girls moved out, just say that,” You translate, eyes rolling in tired amusement as you pick at your own sandwich and munch on the salty but mostly unflavoured chips, “ and it sounds like I’ll be intruding.”

“Couldn’t possibly, sweetheart,” He assures with a warm smile before taking a hefty bite out of the sandwich, sighing in delight.

He was laying it on thick right now.

“Don’t you ever think about how Joel is the catalyst to you and mom separating?” You ask curiously, “Or how you refused to believe me when I told you the first time?”

“I wasn’t being the best husband to your ma,” He admits, amongst other things, “I was tryin’ to make up for my own shortcomings, but with Joel—he was just wrong place, wrong time,”

“Or right time,” You counter, shrugging.

You hadn’t spoken to your mother since you left for college two years ago, making it through your entire freshman and sophomore year of school without a word and still, nothing. From one family to the next, the eventual expectancy that she would tire of the next one, but that wasn’t your business.

“I’m trying to make up for things,” He continues, ignoring your quip, “and I’m not wasting a week of nice weather inside.”

Things, you think with a flippant retort you bite your tongue over.

The countless days you had no one to rely on but yourself—but more obviously, Joel.

You watched Sarah and Ellie for months while he worked long hours, odd hours. It was like a sleepover, really. But, it lessened some of the burden knowing he had someone keeping a watchful eye on his girls and in turn, he picked up the slack where your dad had disappeared.

That was all it was—a genuine care for the well-being of one another and then when the situation between your parents grew more and more complicated, you disappeared.

He hadn’t spoken to you since you were seventeen, other than the few odd glimpses when he would catch you throwing out the trash while he was coming home from a long shift and an obvious absence of words or glances on your end.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s so rhythmic and firm that you recognize it instantly.

“Joel,” You already knew, but your father confirms it.

You can hear the heavy step of his boots before you see him and your chest tightens, suddenly feeling claustrophobic as you pick at the flakes of bread on the napkin and listen to the quiet chatter of the two men before his voice creeps into the kitchen.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says softly. "Look who's back in town."

You force yourself to look up, meeting his weathered face and piercing eyes. 

He looks older than you remember, more lines etched into his features and his hair more grey than the last time you saw him and extending toward the edges of his beard, but still unmistakably Joel. 

He’s tanned from the kiss of sun, a slight sunburn to his nose from working outside as the grey fabric of his shirt stretches over his thick biceps, even thicker thighs filling out his jeans. And you realize as time drags on that you’ve never spent so much time examining so much of him, your gaze was lingering just as much as his own before your father tears the fleeting moment to shreds, clearing your throat to break the tension.

“I already packed my stuff in the car,” You tell your dad, before offering a dismissive, “Hey,” at Joel to mask how cornered you felt at the moment, avoiding his eyeline at all costs.

“Great,” He cheers, clapping his hands together once, “Joel, you ready?”

“Yeah ‘m all packed up in my truck and I’ll follow behind.”

“Oh, honey—did you wanna ride down in Joel’s truck? I know that little Nissan drives you crazy since you can’t sit still—”

“Well—he—he didn’t offer,”

He didn’t need to—you’d always been welcome. It had become a second home for a while. 

“I don’t mind,” He shrugs, arms crossing over his chest as he shifts to lean against the open frame of the kitchen, “and I got the good music, no silly ass showtunes.”

Sweetening the deal, isn’t he?

Fine, since he was dangling the line so enticingly.

You’ll bite.

–

The summer heat hits you like a wall as you step outside. Joel's truck sits in the driveway, a hulking beast of metal and chrome that breathes an air of familiarity into your chest. 

Late nights home from practices, missed buses on mornings when you were running late and Joel was on his way out the door for work and the many supplied meals when your parents were too busy arguing to cook dinner. 

He opens the passenger door for you, and you climb in, the leather seat hot against your thighs.

Joel never forgot to be a gentleman. It was a stark difference from the empty-headed frat boys you’ve become used to, all honk and no help. You had one good date the entire year you were at college and it was with a professor in a diner out of town with the reality that you could both be spotted and reported to the dean, but he’d been careful. He cared.

But, it was once. No more.

Though, it has cemented your taste in men.

Unfortunately for Joel, he was a perfect match for you now.

You ignore the way the gesture makes your heart flutter against your ribcage.

As Joel settles into the driver's seat, you're acutely aware of his presence beside you. The cab of the truck feels smaller than it should, and you press yourself against the door, trying to put as much space between you as possible.

Wordlessly, he grabs the box of old cassettes and presses them into your lap as he starts the truck and it coughs and sputters to life, pulling slowly out of the driveway as he follows behind your dad, watching as you filter through the old tapes like you used to, picking your particular flavor of tune for the drive.

“So,” Joel beings after a long growing silence and a chunk of time on the road as your cross one leg over the other and stare quietly out the window, feeling lost on how to approach the situation as you’ve clearly grown and changed, a similar pinched expression that both his daughter’s carried when they were bothered or annoyed, all in the brow and drawn together, your fingers scratching absently where you were gripping your bicep, “how’s college been treatin’ you?”

Your last conversation had been the weekend before senior year of high school, something nonsensical and forgettable, but it was amongst your life imploding and Joel was tied up with work more often that he liked.

He had only tried to remind you that his house was home too, even if it was just for an hour or a night.

“Fine. I’m not gonna sit here and bore you to death with astrophysics so don’t ask,” You quip with a subtle smile, “If my dad can’t keep up I know you sure as hell can’t.”

“Is that an age joke?” Joel asks genuinely.

“I dunno, gramps,” You shrug, “is the moon round?”

It was rhetorical, right? Joel chuckles at how easily you fall back into your old banter.

“It’s not,” You tell him, “just so you know.”

Joel's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "The moon's not round? Since when?"

You can't help but laugh at his bewildered expression.

 "It's actually slightly egg-shaped. Technically, it's an oblate spheroid."

"Well, I'll be damned," Joel mutters, shaking his head. "Learn something new every day. Guess they're teaching you all sorts of fancy things at that college of yours."

The tension in the truck eases a bit as you fall into a comfortable silence. 

You can’t ignore how his rugged features entice like no other, facial hair freshly trimmed and his hair slightly longer than what you’re used to, noticing the natural curl to his ends, beautiful hues of brown mixed in with an aged grey. 

You chew at your cheek and ignore how quickly things could go sideways if he caught you staring, forcing you to suffer through a weekend of awkwardness.

You fiddle with the cassettes, finally selecting one and popping it into the ancient tape deck. The opening chords of Mary Jane’s Last Dance fill the cab, and Joel taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. Tom Petty was a staple of late night drives with Joel and it easily transports you back to moments souring down empty roads singing your lungs out alongside a man who had become like a second father to you back then.

Though, that was clearly not the case anymore. Still vehemently aware of the strain of his neck as he looked out the rearview mirror or the way his hand stretched over his denim-clad thigh when the ache in his fingers returned from gripping the steering wheel for too long.

“You know he’s only been camping once, right?” You ask Joel, his nod almost instantly.

“S’probably why he asked me to come along, that and he loves to remind me how lonely I am.”

“Are you?” Your eyes are wide and curious when you peer over, making him do a double-take.

Get your fuckin’ mind right, Joel. 

He shrugs and turns away, eyeing the road again.

“It has to be weird, not having Ellie and Sarah around, those two are—”

“Handfuls,” He finishes for you, “It’s a different feelin’, I guess. I ain’t lonely, but it feels more like…”

“No purpose?”

You’d hit the nail on the head.

“Yeah, kiddo.”

The somberness of it is a shift you don’t like, staring down at the fabric of your dress resting midway between your thighs, running your fingers along the stitched edge before you hit him with a question that has been bothering you for a long, long time.

There was no better opportunity than now, cornered.

“How did you end up in the house that night anyways?” You ask, “My dad won’t tell me shit.”

Joel knows exactly what you’re talking about.

The comeuppance of your mother.

“I was grabbin’ some parts to work on that piece of shit mower I still got,” He explains, rolling with the punches of your hard hitting questions, “Ain’t much about it, found ‘em in the kitchen and your mom had a big meltdown, she clocked me pretty good, too.”

“She thought dad set her up, didn’t she?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, “Made me feel like shit for a while—”

“Why?” You interact before he can finish, though most of it was a blur now.

“You got real quiet—I didn’t see you much after that and I’ll be honest, thought you hated me for a good while and then some,” He explains, the song nearing its end as the truck fades to silence.

“It’s not like you were fucking my mom or something,” You respond crudely and it was a strange way to hear you speak for a brief moment before Joel realizes he’s not sitting next to a young girl anymore—you were all grown-up and sure of yourself, confident in the way you spoke to him now that the initial awkwardness had fled, “were you?”

Joel balks at your question and shakes his head in amusement.

“‘Course fuckin’ not—the lady was a whole mess of issues I wouldn’t touch with a fifty foot pole.”

It took three years for them to fully finalize the divorce. 

It brought you to now. Twenty and living on your own, crippled by abandonment issues and desperate attention seeking problems that even you wouldn’t address.

And Joel was always good at giving you his undivided attention.

At least, he used to be.

You nod, a wry smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, I figured. Just had to ask, you know?"

“She did try, long…long time ago,” Joel slips in as the campsite comes into view after a long stretch of silence, “but I very politely declined and shut my mouth about it.”

The admission makes you grimace and Joel can only chuckle.

–

“I’m sorry,” You stress for the tenth time as your father rifles through his trunk, tossing his tent to the floor but yours was blatantly absent.

You could have sworn…

“I brought my double for more room,” Joel interrupts the very awkward stand-off between you and your father, unspoken and unresolved tension that he wasn’t trying to insert himself in, “I can take that one and you both are more than welcome to—”

“No,” You respond, a sudden decisiveness to your voice, “I’ll share with you.”

“I think it’d be easier if you and your dad—”

The idea of sharing a tent with your father and his insistent snoring. 

Absolutely the fuck not.

“Or I’m sleeping in the truck,” You decide.

“I’m sorry ‘bout her,” Your dad apologizes as he drops another box into the dirt.

“Oh, she’s alright,” Joel assures, “I guess I don’t mind sharin’.”

“Perfect, problem fucking solved.” You gripe before plucking your swimsuit from your bag and disappearing into the outhouse building a couple minutes down the path and Joel watches you storm off.

"She's always been headstrong," your dad mutters, more to himself than to Joel. "Gets it from her mother, I reckon."

Joel nods, unsure of how to respond. 

He busies himself with setting up the tent, stealing glances down the path where you disappeared. The tension in the air is palpable, and he can't help but feel caught in the middle of something he doesn't fully understand.

As he hammers the last stake into the ground, he hears your footsteps approaching. You've changed into your swimsuit, a towel draped over your shoulder. His throat swells at the sight as easily as his cock in his jeans, sweating worse than a sinner in church even under the sticky, summer sun. 

It’s just a two-piece bikini, charcoal in color and clinging to your skin, the threads of string digging into your hips where they were tied in tight bows and Joel has to force his gaze away.

Your eyes are red-rimmed from crying, but your chin is lifted defiantly. 

Joel fears he may have been the reason.

That and a mix of your father.

“I’m going for a swim,” You announce, slipping off your sandals and tossing your discarded clothes on the dirt floor next to the freshly constructed tent, a wordless and dry-mouthed Joel licking desperately at his lips as he realizes you aren’t talking to him, but your father, his eyes trailing now dangerously to your backside as the fabric digs into the plumpness of your ass and makes it crease, the subtle curve of your cheeks pinching as you lean to one hip, awaiting any type of response from your father.

It’s revealing, provocative, and nothing he’s seen you in before and if he was your father—

But, he’s not. 

He’s not.

All you get is a huff of acknowledgement from your father as he’s buried himself into the trunk of the car again.

It was clear that even with your mother out of the picture that things wouldn’t change. Always talking through you, never at you, never concerned with school or your interests. It felt stupid, emotional over something so feeble and otherwise meaningless to most. 

You glance over your shoulder and catch Joel’s quickly averting gaze, the heavy weight of his stare crawling up your spine and lingering on your ass a few seconds, his face reddens over you catching him in the act but brushes it off as him being nosey, like watching the exchange between you and your father for too long.

Joel watches you float for an hour, tearing through a few beers in the process alongside your father before he comendeers the grill for dinner, bothering Joel for a favor as your father nods toward you in the water.

It was peaceful, too. The soft hum of birds flying north for the summer and the smell of slowly cooking meat, suddenly disturbed by water being splashed at your face and your head snapping to the side out of annoyance, peeking through one eye under the sunset.

The culprit? 

A foot, eyes dragging up toward the owner. 

Joel stands there, ankle-deep in the cool water, his jeans rolled up halfway to his shins. He looks sheepish, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "Your dad asked me to come get you. Dinner's almost ready."

You consider splashing him back but decide against it. Instead, you start wading toward the shore with a sigh, water dripping from your skin. Joel's eyes widen slightly as he takes in your form, backlit by the setting sun. He quickly averts his gaze, clearing his throat.

"Here," he says, offering you a towel he'd brought down. You try to maintain your aloof demeanor, but your body betrays you with a shiver that has nothing to do with the cool water.

"I was enjoying the peace and quiet," you reply, attempting to sound annoyed.

“We’re fishin’ tomorrow, that’ll be plenty of quiet for you,” Joel supplies, nodding toward the growing pile of food on the picnic table, “I’m not gonna pry, s’not my business.”

“I’m not asking you to,” You defend, snatching the towel with your fingertips rubbing against his palm in the process, stretching the towel over your shoulders as it pushes your breasts out, silently amused as you careful examine the way Joel’s eyes squint under the summer sun and avert.

"You're not subtle either, Joel," you tease, a smugness playing at the corners of your mouth while you try to keep a straight face. 

Joel's cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, though he tries to play it cool.

"Don't know what you're talkin' about," he mumbles, taking a long swig of his beer.

You step closer, invading his personal space. The scent of his cologne mingles with the crisp lake air. "Oh, I think you do," you whisper, “it’s alright, you know—I don’t mind.”

You were nothing like that young girl he used to know.

Joel swallows hard.

For a moment, you think he might admit that he’s noticed the differences about you; confrontational, confident, but still seeking something you couldn’t attain on your own.

Then your father's voice booms across the beach, shattering the moment.

"Food's gettin' cold! You two comin’?"

Assuredly, one of you would.

–

He’s thanking his lucky stars he picked a roomier tent, not out of benefit to you and the fact you were sleeping soundly beside him, but that he had enough room to keep a safe distance from your inability to stay still, wiggling and shifting in your sleep like a restless little weasel.

He can hear the rolling sounds of your father’s snores from the other tent as he leans up on his hand, attempting to shift the blanket back over your frame where it had slipped down before he’s carefully shoving the extra pillow he’d brought between you and him, punching the fabric into submission and molding his hand around it to shape before he feels the incidental touch of your ass against his knuckles.

Right, so much for space.

Even in the poor moonlight he can spot the shorts clinging so tightly to your skin that the side have shifted high enough up your hips that if he wanted to—and lord, he could—slip his fingers between your legs and along the fabric, assuring himself an immediate trip to the gates of hell.

Joel’s not sure where he lost his mind, whether it was the moment he spotted you back home or as you spoke to him so boldly earlier and called him out, or now, actively watching your legs separate as you rolled to your stomach and hiked your knee up slightly, shifting the blanket away again. 

He's drawing the line here.

–

Though, he’s even more distracted as you’re perched on your knees in front of him the following morning, picking through the bait as you trade off between him and your father, forcing yourself to participate despite your distaste for the activity and the flashing NO SIGNAL on your phone every time you glanced at it.

You lean forward off the dock and rinse the dirt from your fingers and into the lake. Joel can't help but notice how your shirt rides up as you lean forward, exposing a sliver of skin at your lower back. His eyes trace the curve of your spine, lingering a moment too long before he forces himself to look away. Fearful that your father might catch his eyeline and see him ogling his daughter, but he pays neither of you any attention, eyes fixed on a spot out in the lake as you attempt to hand Joel another wriggling worm when the fish snaps the other off the line for the fifth time.

“Are you sure you’re putting it on there correctly?” You ask out of concern, watching him reel in the line with a frustrated grimace, glancing over at your absent-minded father once more.

“You wanna try?” He snips, quickly realizing how his voice came across and the way your shoulders sink, then he softens his tone, “Do you—wanna…”

“I don’t know how,” You admit, watching the worm wiggle in Joel’s palm.

“Your daddy never taught you?” He asks aloud, loud enough that it snags your father’s attention and he chuckles dismissively.

“Kid hates the outdoors,” You father adds insubstantially, your eyes dragging to his back as he leans forward in the creaky chair as he gets a bite, “it’s a wonder she said yes to any of this.”

It didn’t matter that he was wrong, because he was always wrong.

Joel knew how much you loved being outside, how often he would find you laying in the grass with Sarah and Ellie, staring up at the stars and pointing out the different constellations, a never-ending faucet of information that had bled into your interests at college,

“I gotcha,” Joel quips, attempting to pull your attention back to him.

You're focused intently on the task at hand, your nose scrunched up in slight disgust as you handle the slimy bait. He finds it oddly endearing, the way you're pushing through your discomfort to be part of this bonding activity that you could clearly give less of a shit about.

You were trying and your father didn’t care, but Joel noticed.

"Here," he says, reaching out to guide your hands. "If you hook it like this, it'll stay on better."

You grimace at the squelch as it slices through the worm, “Alright—I think I’m good for the day.”

Joel chuckles at your face, his hands lingering against your own despite their descent, rested gently in the palm that was settled against his knee, wholly inappropriate given the situation.

You turn your hand on his thigh, using the leverage to push yourself up and squeeze down at the same time, earning a quiet grunt and a look of pure annoyance from Joel as you smile all fresh-faced and innocent.

Your father chuckles from his chair, not bothering to turn around. "Giving up already? Figures."

You bite back a retort, reminding yourself it's not worth the argument. Your father waves dismissively, attention fixed on the water. Your eyes land on Joel again, who seems to be collecting just how detached you were from your father, but doesn’t find it the right time to play savior or make the trip any more insufferable than it was becoming.

When Joel finds you later, you’re half naked and sunbathing beside your shared tent, far enough out of view that he can’t see your father’s tent as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair and shakes the nylon wall beside your head, your bare back on display as you make a noise of acknowledgment but don’t turn.

“We’re done,” He says plainly, squinting and averting his eyes as you raise up slightly, arm conveniently blocking the full view of your naked chest as you nod toward your swim top tangled by your feet.

Joel’s beginning to think you’re doing it on purpose.

He pulls at his jeans while he kneels, right at his thighs, picking up the fabric and passing it into your waiting hand as you finally turn on your backside, arm tucked over your chest as you slip the tied part of your top over you head, shifting the fabric over your breasts in one fluid motion before you peer up at Joel who’s decidedly avoiding all interaction suddenly. 

“Catch anything good?”

“Yup,” He tells you, sounding forced.

You both move at the same time, rising to your feet but holding your hand out expectantly, Joel’s hand slipping into your own without a word, like a trained gesture.

“Ask it,” You tell him, subtly shifting the top more firmly into place as you exchange a brief look with Joel.

“I’m curious why you came - ‘cause your daddy or if it was for me, if you got some type of my plan I’m not privy to?”

“No plan,” You admit truthfully, “not for him—or you, actually. But, it’s sweet that you think I’m trying to trick you or something. I figured you knew me better.”

“I know you jus’ fine,” Joel grumbles, pulling his hand from your grip as you step away.

“Do you?” You challenge, “I mean, how well do you actually know me, Joel?”

“This ain’t the time for—“

“No, I mean—you’re obviously trying to give me the attention my dad won’t, right? It’s what you’ve always done. Is it guilt? Do you think you owe me?”

“You ain’t my kid,” He says decisively, “but I’ve known your dad a real long time, longer than you’ve been on this earth and you’re lookin’ at him like you wished he didn’t exist, I’ve seen those looks too, from my girls—“

And he notices the look appearing on your face now, that similar distaste that makes him feel helpless.

“He’s helpless, kiddo. You won’t even set that time aside to have a talk with him, all the animosity towards him about your mother, but you’re expecting his attention, seeking it out like this, from me—it ain’t right,”

“Neither is staring at me like you wanna split me over your lap,” You retort, “but you know he’s too preoccupied to notice, so you do it. And you’ll do it again, and again,”

“Watch yourself,” He warns, an authoritative warmth wrapping around his vocal cords that is the complete opposite of what he wants.

“You don’t get to play the victim here,” you fire back, the heat rising in your cheeks, not just from the sun.

The warm air around you feels suddenly suffocating, thick with unsaid words and unresolved issues, “You were there when it mattered, and now you’re acting like I’m the problem? I didn’t ask you to be that person for me, you did it yourself—”

Your accusation hangs heavy in the air between you.

Joel shifts his weight, grounding himself against the sudden intensity of your gaze. The way you stand, defiant and angry, claws at his insides.

 He can feel the swell of frustration rising, a tide threatening to crash over both of you and consume you whole.

“I never said anything about you bein’ a problem,” he says quietly, but his voice carries an edge you’re not familiar with, “I was giving you what I thought was right in the moment, someone to talk to—you always did right by my girls, you’re a good kid—”

You nod at the utterance of those words, lips pulling into a tight line as you make a sound of disapproval and stare at him with a gaze that could make any man shrink with fear.

“You keep calling me a kid,” you call him out, “but, I don’t think you see it that way anymore.”

Joel doesn’t even know what to say, feeling cornered. You’ve always been able to read him so clearly, like you knew him better than he did. His heart races, nostrils flaring as he steadies his emotions and his face goes stoic, caught between the urge to defend himself and the undeniable truth that hangs in the space between you.

“Things change, alright?” Joel finally responds, his voice low but firm, waving his hand around casually between you and him, “I know you’re not a kid anymore. You’ve grown into—”

“Into what?” you cut him off, a bite to your tone that sets the tension even higher as you cross your arms, shifting on your hip as you step closer, eyebrows raised expectantly.

You feel it bubbling up inside you, a mix of anger and pent-up frustration that has been simmering for too long, laced with a dangerous edge of desire now that you had him so close, that things had undeniably changed.

“I think we both know my dad is just going through the motions, doing the absolute bare minimum. He’d be much happier with a son, but he got me—a spitting image of my fucking mother. He cares enough to keep me around, but he’s never been someone to give a shit about anything I have going on in my life, now or before,”

It spills out without trying, unexpectedly choked up as you utter the last few words.

You wouldn’t cry in front of Joel, you refused.

You sniff once, hard, and quickly blink away the burn of tears.

The silence stretches uncomfortably.

Joel runs a hand over his face, fingers threading through his hair in frustration. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. You were supposed to just enjoy the weekend together, catch up, and with some hope, go your separate ways on a positive note.

Instead, he was clueless.

He steps back, forcing distance between you, though it feels more like a pit. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admits finally, his voice low and rough, “You’ve grown up, sure. But I still see that girl who used to come to me in the middle of the night sobbin’—

“Stop it,” you snap, your chin lifting defiantly. “Stop doing that—”

The silence lingered again, but it was tangible.

“I don’t need a lecture right now,” you continue, biting back as your blood rushes hot at the way his words twist in your gut to remind you of all the indecipherable emotions of your past, your heart pounding against your ribcage wildly. “Not from you.”

“Whattya lookin’ for then?” Joel challenges, the words undoing you completely, “Because you’ve toeing a line, real fuckin’ thin—”

He feels your hands first, curling around his neck.

His own hands are set at his hips, blinking once, twice, watching the way your eyes linger on his lips before you make the decision in your mind and push forward, pressing your lips against his own without thinking.

His mouth is soft but firm against yours, and more importantly, moving.

A hesitant exploration that quickly deepens as you angle your head to fit him better. 

He releases a soft grunt at the force of the kiss, trading the angle of your head swiftly, lips parting briefly before you’re consuming him once more, your eagerness shifting you further behind the tent, into the large stump that your bags were resting against.

“I want you to fuck me,” you tell him boldly, breathless against his mouth, “Right—right here,”

It was like a bucket of ice water over him, ripping away with the sound of your voice.

He’d forgotten where he was, who he was, who you were—he’d slipped, misjudged, and completely underestimated you. 

“I’m not,” He replies disjointed, his mind elsewhere, “we’re not doin’ this—”

Joel doesn’t give you time to argue, hand clasping over his mouth with a deep regret as he squeezed at his cheeks with his fingers, a self-inflicting pain to drag him back to reality, hands throwing back over his head as they ran through his hair.

He’s gone before you can speak, trailing away from the camp with an unknown end in sight.

–

When your dad asks where Joel was, you shrug.

You didn’t have a clue, it was the truth.

Eventually, he does return, but he won’t look at you.

You peel apart the peach in your hand quietly, face scrunching as the juices spray upwards and Joel takes the beer your father offers in silence, sitting in the only space of the picnic table that was open, across from you.

The two men carry on a meaningless conversation that you tune out, focusing on the fruit in your hand, aware of his eyes that lingered when you weren’t focused on them.

You can feel his gaze on you, watching the way your tongue catches the sticky sweetness that spreads down your palm, chewing quietly at the fruit.

The juice dribbles down your chin, your eyes dart toward him over the table, purely accidental. 

Joel is trying to focus on your father, but his muscles are tense and neither of you ignore that force of the string that had you two bound together, though clearly at odds.

Your tongue dips out of your mouth to clean your face, hearing the conversation continue but focused on him, the clear strain in his throat as he swallows and brings his beer to his mouth.

“I’m gonna shower,” you speak suddenly, abrasively, as you toss the discarded fruit aside, not to any particular man, rather a blatant announcement that you were leaving.

When you’re gone, your father speaks, “She’s just like her mother,” he says candidly to Joel, your words ringing in his ears, “I’m sorry if she’s bein’ rude to you,”

“She’s always been a good kid,” Joel responds dismissively, eyes trailing toward your fading figure, “ain’t nothing I can’t handle or haven’t before,”

Your father nods like he knows, but even Joel sees right through it.

When you returned the fire at camp was already out, lights dimmed to nothing, and Joel’s tent door hung open enough that you could slip through quietly, like he’d prepared it that way.

You were halfway convinced sleeping in his truck was a better alternative.

The faint outline of Joel’s form is silhouetted against the small sliver of moonlight sneaking through the fabric—he wasn’t lying down just yet, rather resting, his foot planted into the ground while the other lay stretched out, his eyes only briefly acknowledging you as you step inside the tent.

“Jeez, you’re worse than the boys at school,” you complain, adjusting your shorts as you kneel your sleeping bag and Joel notices the distinct lack of fabric underneath, the material scrunching high up on your hip as you turn away from him on your stomach, annoyed, “you kissed me back, you know? I didn’t imagine that.”

“It’s inappropriate,” Joel says and you snort at his decision to take the moral high road over the situation, wiping your head to look at him suddenly, “should be worryin’ about boys your own age.”

“I do,” you retort, “they suck.”

“You’ve barely lived,” Joel retorts, “dated what—a couple of ‘em? You’ve always been careful, I dunno why you’re bein’ so reckless all the sudden, specially with your dad around and thinkin’ that I was—”

“Was what?” You inquire, pushing up suddenly to your knees, resting back on your calves

“Was gonna fuck you right here,” Joel cuts you off, his voice low and tight, eyes averting outside.

You don’t back down, your chin lifting defiantly. “I think you’re too pussy anyways.”

His gaze narrows on you, the suppressed desire in his eyes flickering like a flame. “You don’t know what I’d do,” he shoots back, his voice gravelly with restraint, “fix your fuckin’ tone.”

“You know, there was this guy,” you begin with a fond smile, but your eyes are speaking something different, “it was dangerous and stupid, but he was honest about how he was feeling.”

Joel speaks your name, stresses it, but you ignore him.

“He was my professor, actually,” You giggle softly, “and we both knew it was a terrible idea, but fuck—I just couldn’t say no and well, niether could he—he took me out, he treated me right,”

“What are you tryin’ to prove?” Joel asks suddenly.

“He didn’t fuck me, though—no one has,” you admit, “but I know what I want and who deserves me, it, and,” you scoff, “god, you can’t even look at me now,”

“That ain’t what this is,” Joel argues, staring you down with a challenge.

You scoff again, ducking your head to hide a smirk.

 “Then what is it, Joel? Was that you bein’ there for me?” You tease the thickness of his southern drawl and pout for good measure.

His silence is enough of an answer and you shake your head in amusement, finally giving up.

You move with urgency, rolling up your sleeping bag out of frustration to flee toward his truck, snatching the keys at his side before he can grab them, but in your effort to run, his hand wraps around your ankle, the lantern at his side flicking on with the use of his other hand.

“Now, hold on,” Joel demands, releasing your ankle to wrap around the string of the sleeping bag holding the fabric where it was rolled together and tugs you back inside, zipping the tent closed in the process.

“Make it good,” you argue and he growls softly, the tone gruff and demanding. 

Your heart races at the authority in his grip, the way he moves you so close there's barely any space left between your bodies. There’s a taste of fear, mixed with excitement, only our tongue.

Joel’s gaze darkens, his expression shifting as he studies you, “I’m not fuckin’ you—m’not,”

“I thought we already established that,” you reply monotone and bored, tugging back against the sleeping bag, “so, we’re done here?”

“You forget those on purpose?” Joel asks suddenly, unsure what he was referring to until his hand is guiding between your legs and beyond, to the clean pile of what used to be the clothes you were currently wearing, a distinct article left behind.

He’s got the fabric bunched in his grip, an opaque white cotton with faded blue flowers sprinkled in a distinct pattern.

“Is this how you want to play?” he asks, your gaze slowly dropping to the panties held between his fingers, presented to you like a prize, “Because I guarantee you can’t handle whatever you’re askin’ for, kiddo,”

Your lips part like you want to answer, but you can’t.

Joel seems beyond his resolve now, for the time being, at least.

He’s annoyed, irritated, mad, even.

It was a situation that desperately needed to be rectified, but instead, he gives in.

“Take your shorts off,” he leaves no room for argument, not that you would.

You nod hastily and comply as he pulls the sleeping bag from your grip briefly as you slid the nylon fabric down your hips, his eyes clearly avoidant as they focus on your face, the stuttering breath you release as you slid the fabric down your leg and off, feeling them pulled from your hands as he shoves the sleeping back back, but further, between your thighs.

“You’re all talk, sweetheart,”

He uses the endearment in a pointed manner, never demeaning until now.

“I’ll prove you wrong,” you argue back, meeting his eyes with a hunger you had no idea you could feel for another person until now.

“Use it,” Joel responds casually, “get off on it,”

It was the equivalent to a pillow, embarrassing that he was stripping you down to such a vulnerable state, arms balanced on his knees now with a look so fierce in his eyes that you had no choice but to listen, slowly rocking your hips against the rolled fabric as your hands fumbled to meet the floor in front of you, forcing you far enough forward that you’re only a handful of inches from Joel’s face.

Joel's gaze sharpens, eyes darkened with something primal that sends shivers down your spine. As you begin to rock against the sleeping bag, a wave of heat washes over you, bordering embarrassment, but there’s something lingering behind his eyes, empowering you.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, eyebrow twitching slightly, easily missed if you weren’t so close to his face, but your lips part and he can feel your shaky breath against his face, his voice wrapping around you like a serpent, “don’t even need me touchin’ you, do you? Is it that easy?”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, struggling to maintain eye contact as the fabric rolls against you, the pressure building in delicious waves, hips canting in desperation. You let out a soft whimper, feeling the way your body responds instinctively to the friction, each movement like a shock to your core.

“I think you can do better,” Joel offers, “that right?”

You nod eagerly, bound by his words, you shift your weight more firmly against the fabric until it feels different, stronger, more enticing. Your breath hitches at the sudden friction, the pressure heavy against your clit as you drag your hips back and forth hurriedly.

Joel’s gaze seems to wander then, from your face to the shake of your breasts under your shirt, to your bare hips and down to your thighs where they hugged the fabric, the smallest peek of your bare ass as your head finally falls, moaning softly with how fucking good it feels to get yourself off in front of him, even it was equally humiliating. 

With the slightest bit of courage, your hand wanders forward in his obvious distraction.

It wasn’t hard to believe that he was enjoying this, but the physical reaction beneath the denim of his jeans is still surprising, your hand curling over the tent of denim, his cock hot and heavy underneath your palm.

His eyes snap to your face and your react immediately, half-expecting him to shove your hand away and snap himself back to reality, but he doesn’t.

“Can I see it?” you ask with a raw innocence, pure curiosity.

“This ain’t ‘bout me,” it was an excuse, but you weren’t buying it.

When you curl your fingers tighter around the bulge in his jeans—it’s a risk.

The way his breath hitches almost makes you chuckle with delight, “What’s wrong? Are you scared of me?” you tease him.

You moan again, softer, but through a laugh, head tilting to the side as your other hand presses against your thigh, angling your body so Joel can get a clear view of the way your cunt hugs the sleeping bag, slick smearing against the water-proof fabric, the feeling it creates in him is animalistic.

“Ain’t never been scared of you,” Joel admits, but the flicker of hesitation in his face tells a different story, still, he gives in. Again.

He’s leisurely about it, too.

He shifts, resting back on his palm as he makes slow work of his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping as he watches your trading gaze, eyes fluttering shut occasionally.

When you catch the first glimpse of him, it was through his underwear, fabric straining against the thickness—it was the only part of the process Joel didn’t waste time with, pulling the fabric down far enough that he can scoop his balls up in his grip, every part of him larger than the next.

“Fuck,” you exhale, your hips stilling momentarily as you stare before resuming the frantic pace, “You’re so—”

“Big?” he finishes, with a cocky smirk that makes you roll your eyes—you’ve heard it countless times before, always feigning the truth for the benefit of the other, but with Joel, you couldn’t even lie.

You nod openly, tongue wetting your bottom lip as your eyes pull to his hand as it grips his cock.

His grip on his dick tightens, tugging at the base as you pick up the pace, your hips rocking faster against the fabric that turns slick with your arousal.

“This what you want?” Joel growls, voice much deeper than before and thick with arousal, “Can’t help but wanna be watched, huh?”

You nod again, frantically, staring between the way his dick swells and how he spreads his legs, tugging his cock firmly, eyes locked on the urgency of your movement and the devastating look on your face.

 “Fuck!” you gasp quietly, aware that you two were never quite alone, back arching as you feel the muscles in your core clench around nothing, eyes closing as your orgasm washes over, gasping at the sudden loss of friction where Joel has seemingly pulled it away, cock tucked back in his jeans but still unfastened.

“What—what was that for?” you ask, panting.

“For thinkin’ you know everything,” he replies calmly, he tosses the sleeping bag aside, the fabric unrolling with the force and you try desperately to ignore how easily he had encourage you to deface yourself in front of him, “get some damn sleep,”

You dress quietly, watching as he relaxed on his back, blindly reaching over his head to dim the light inside the tent before tossing you your blanket it had strewn across the length of the tent, ignoring the way his hands follow up to cover your thighs with soft fabric, a similar gesture he had done before in your sleep but unbeknownst to you, almost like a reflex.

“You’re too fuckin’ reckless,” He tells you eventually, the quiet having lingered, “that shit you told me, coulda got you kicked out of college, what’s it all for?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, tucking your pillow up under your head as you turn to him, ignoring the lingering ache between your legs and how Joel absentmindedly palmed his cock, visible even within the darkness, the soft rustle of fabric, “he was nice—seemed it, anyways.”

“Lotta kindness don’t come without a price,” Joel tells you, “you ever end up makin’ a decision like that again, you call me first—then I can talk some damn sense into you seein’ as I’m the only fuckin’ person you’ll listen to,”

Joel huffs out a bitter laugh, quieter than his words.

“Don’t know why,” He mutters, barely above a whisper.

“I can help,” you tell him, turning his head to look at you and where your eyes lingered, watching his hand shuffle underneath the blanket and up, flattening against his chest, “seems fair since—”

“No—no, kiddo,” He shakes his head, “you don’t owe me shit,”

He was wrong, astronomically.

But, you couldn't find the energy to argue.

–

You spent the next couple days switching between sunbathing, occasional dips into the lake, and tagging along for fishing trips that are some of the least exciting ways you’ve spent your life, but you were stuck here regardless of how much you wanted to flee now.

You’ve barely spoken to Joel or your father, though Joel can’t help but look over his shoulder every thirty seconds, just to make sure you aren’t going to disappear. 

It feels like a collosal fuck-up, trying to prove yourself to Joel.

He’s never seen you as anything more than a surrogate daughter, whining about situations out of your control, and seeking approval from him in a way that could never be answered.

There had always been that underlying attraction, an innocent school yard crush—Joel was attractive, devastatingly so, but you had made the mistake of acting on a dream, a desire that should have remained just that—not…whatever your situation with him had turned into.

Your father was already several feet ahead on your nightwalk back from fishing on the dock, cooler in your grip as Joel walked ahead but stayed near, fishing poles locked in his grip.

Your silence unsettles him, knowing he had crossed a line himself, too.

Joel was never good with emotion or feeling, repressing everything for the benefit of everyone around him, but he would be lying if said he didn’t feel the same thing you had.

It was fleeting, a spark, but it was strong.

It lingered.

“We’ll pack everything up to head out earlier,” Joel says suddenly, grabbing your attention as you look up, calling out to your father, “go on ahead,”

Your father waves in response over his shoulder as he disappears into his tent and you walk straight past Joel, tossing the cooler into the dirt carelessly, annoyed that Joel had signed you up for something you didn’t really care to do when all you wanted to do was curl up in your sleeping bag and count the hours until you would be out of here.

Joel packs most of the truck and car up on his own, watching as you tuck away your own belongings in silence and eventually, he can’t handle it anymore.

He tugs you away without a word, a small noise of protest that he ignores until you’re a decent distance from the campsite, the back of your thighs hitting the empty picnic table, the area dead silent and empty and Joel’s gaze is the only thing you have to focus on.

“I don’t need another lecture,” you interrupt him before he can speak, but Joel smirks slightly, shaking his head.

Suddenly, he’s in your space, hands curling around the back of your thighs until you’re scooting back against the surface of the table, crowding in by his broad shoulders, eyes widening at his forwardness but not adverse to it.

Silently, he pulls at his belt, the metal clanging together deafeningly before his hands press down against the table on either side of you, nodding pointedly.

You can’t help but stare at the nonchalant twitch of his lips, leaning back slightly at his proximity as your heart hammers wildly against your ribs, fingers wrapped tightly around the edge of the table.

“What’s the catch?” you ask cautiously, though your tension eases with his laugh.

“It’s all you,” he explains, “you’re off-limits, kiddo,”

You pause at his words, brow furrowing.

“But, if you want it that bad, you can have it,” Joel explains.

You stare him down for a moment, attempting to read his expression, but you can’t.

“I’m not touchin’ you,” he elaborates further, “ain’t because I don’t want—I fuckin’....it’s just how it is, alright?”

You tilt your head, looking at him for a long, lingering moment before your hands drift toward his face, feeling how easy he melts into your touch, even if he tries to ignore it.

“I guess that is the only way to keep you from feeling guilty about fucking around with me,” you tell him plainly, “you can face my dad after watching me the other night, but touching me is where you draw the line? Okay,” there’s a tone of finality with it, like he was about to be checkmated.

You work open the button on his jeans, feeling his stomach flex against the brush of your knuckles, wasting little time as you unzip his jeans and quickly fit your hand under the waistband of his boxers, welcomed by the soft, velvety warmth of his cock, hardening instantly under your touch.

He exhales at your touch, using your other hand to pull his clothing down enough that it doesn’t hinder your actions, his fingers curling around the wood at either side of you until it creaks.

“Yup,” he relents, taking a shaky breath as your grip becomes firmer around him, tugging his cock at a devastatingly slow place, “fuck—you always were a quick learner,” he couldn’t help but add, followed by your soft laughter.

You stroke him from base to tip, your thumb rubbing over the bit of precum that had collected at the slit, watching the way his muscles tense in his neck, knowing there was plenty of time to admire his cock but right now, you were focused on him. 

Joel had never been one to rush things, so you took your time with him.

His eyes never leave yours, either.

It was an intimate dance, a silent battle.

He swallows hard, glancing briefly at the distant tents before he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin but not touching. Never touching.

You can feel the pulse of his cock as he grows closer, your opposite hands rolling his balls gently under your touch, his pathetic moan disguised by a poor attempt at a grunt.

“Don’t look over there,” you tell him, “look at me,”

Joel listens, surprisingly. 

“Ain’t no way you’ve never—”

“Had sex?” you inquire, “Oh, I swear. Completely un-deflowered, I promise.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he swears, an empty threat that makes you giggle.

His lips are parted, close enough to your own that you feel the faint tickle of touch every so often, but completely of your own doing, although the rock of his hips into your tight fist are all him.

You can see the battle waging within him, his resolve waning with every glide of your hand against his cock, the heat radiating off him making you ache for him.

“Relax,” you whisper, your voice like honey as you lean in a fraction closer, teasingly brushing your lips against his. “Just let it happen.”

His eyes darken, a mix of lust and longing that only spurs you on.

You tighten your grip, stroking him slowly, relishing the way his brows knit together in pleasure while he fights to maintain control.

“Oh, you’re right there,” you tease playfully, voice soft, “you gonna come?”

Joel clears his throat and nods jerkily, “Ye—fuck, yeah.”

“Yeah,” you twist your wrist in a way that steals the air from his chest, “you gonna come for me, Joel?”

He nods, eyes set on your own, almost pleading.

You’d never seen him so vulnerable, yet there he was—caught in a moment of pure need.

When he does, it happens over a strung out “Fuuuuuuck,” that tumbles from his lips as he spills over your fist, grinning triumphantly at the way he falls apart without fear, his hips jerking forward into your hand.

Without thinking, you bring your hand to your mouth, licking around the mess he had left.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he groans, tucking his flagging erection back into his jeans with a modicum of guilt at how greedily you lick up every last drop, “ain’t a damn thing innocent about you, is there?”

“Yeah, I’m sure there is…maybe,” you answer honestly, “you know—just because I haven’t had sex doesn’t mean I’m inexperienced, jus’....means I’m waiting for the right time…right person,”

Your words linger and Joel looks away in an instant, checking out toward the tents as he fastens his jeans, watching you wipe your damn hand against your own jeans.

“Fix your face,” you warn him, smile full of amusement, “you look like you just blew your load.”

“I did,” he retorts, “jesus—you never stopped being a little shit, did ‘ya?”

No, you hadn’t. And Joel knows it.

–

No one has to convince or coerce you into Joel’s truck the following morning.

Joel huffs out a chuckle of disbelief when he finds you more than chipper and bright-eyed about the fact you were finally leaving—he had already pre-negotiated about dropping you off back at college before bringing back your father’s supplies, since you had left your car back at your dorms and Joel wasn’t willing to let you cab ride there or force you to endure the ride back with your father, he was your only option.

You really didn’t mind. Not anymore.

“Seatbelt,” he orders, snapping his fingers as you continue to stare, arm resting against the top of the seat as you hold out your hand expectantly while he pulls onto the main road, “go on.”

“Phone,” you order in the same snapping tone, “you said I should call you if I feel like makin’ anymore stupid decision,”

He’d hoped you just…wouldn’t.

Joel sighs, taking one hand off the wheel to fish into his pocket for his phone before handing it over.

There’s a picture of him with Sarah and Ellie on his lockscreen, both girls squished into frame below him, his hand on either side of their heads as if forcing them together, their laughter clear and loud through the photo.

Joel notices you looking, the memory of it making him smile.

“They miss you,” he tells you, “should come down and visit ‘em during your next break, when they’re in town—your daddy told me you don’t come down for stuff like that but…you know Tommy and I don’t mind,”

“Tommy still lives with you?”

“Loosely,” Joel offers, “he’s in and out—works for me, he helps pay for shit so I’m not complaining.”

You hum in response as you watch him blindly put in his passcode, six zeros in rapid succession. Somehow, you’re not surprised. You input your number quietly and call your phone, doing the same with your own phone before handing it back to him.

“Don’t abuse it,” Joel warns you, placing the phone between his thighs,

“Me?” you feign innocence, “Never.”

Joel taps his thumb quietly against the steering wheel, deciding carefully on his next words but unable to keep them in, feeling the boil over.

“That stuff—it doesn’t leave there,” Joel says pointedly, “whatever it was, it happened, but that—that can’t happen anymore, understood?”

Your gaze flicks down to your lap, tongue swirling over your teeth as you nod, unable to look at him as he glares over at you, awaiting a verbal response.

“I gotta hear it, kiddo,” he presses.

“Already forgotten,” you promise, though your voice is hollow, “can we listen to something?”

Joel shoves the box of cassettes into your lap, knowing that this was a tactic to switch subjects, but he didn’t have it in him to argue.

The damage between you had already been done.

-

next chapter

-

divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

[dilf-docs]

Okay, so I saw a similar fanfic of Pedro as a Boxer on wattpad, but there isn't more of it. I'd love to see what you could do with Pedro as a boxer, but his stage nane is The Viper. Pedro is your dads best friend, but your dad asks you to accompany Pedro in the gym to repair for his big match in his hometown of Chile. You're both another hour early. What could the Viper do within an hour... P.s. My god, I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense, I just really want another fic of Pedro as a boxer 🤭💜😁💜💕🫠🔥🤗

HI sorry for the late almost a month later reply BUT ITS OUT NOW

also sorry i modified the request a bit. instead of an hour, you have a whole ass night lol

[irb-pascalito-99]

Father Figure: Like a Virgin

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (no outbreak AU)

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3k

Content Warnings: smut, dbf!Joel, lap sitting, soft!Joel, praise kink

Summary: When your college boyfriend breaks up with you a month after you graduate who is there to comfort you but your dad’s best friend, Joel Miller.

A/N: Writing is how I’m coping with the new season of TLOU. This one might be a one off, or maybe more I haven’t decided yet.

P2 | P3

Read on AO3

Dividers thanks to @saradika-graphics

The small gravel stones of your dad’s driveway dig into your feet as you run barefoot out the front door in a desperate attempt to follow after your boyfriend. Three years you’ve been together. Three years, most of your college life, just for him to show up at your childhood home a month after you graduate to break your heart.

“So that’s just it? You’re fucking leaving?” You yell after him as he gets in his car. He doesn’t respond, or even look at you, while he hurriedly starts the engine. He nearly peels out of the driveway in an attempt to speed away, but not before you hurl one more insult in his direction. “Fuck you and your fuck ass car!”

You throw a rock at the car, but given the tiny size of the object it does nothing more than cling against the metal of his vehicle. He disappears into the night, leaving you standing in your driveway crying your eyes out.

Your whole body shakes as you sob. You allow your body to crumple to the ground. The rocks that were digging into your feet now scrape against your legs and hands. You aren’t sure how long you are out there before a familiar southern drawl calls your name. You glance in the direction of the voice to find none other than your father’s next door neighbor Joel Miller, watching you from the edge of his front porch.

Joel and his daughter Sarah moved into the house next to your dad the summer before you left for college. Both of them were single dads, your mother having left when you were too little to remember, and shared similar interests. It didn’t take long for Joel to become your father’s new best friend, even though Joel was nearly 15 years younger than him. Especially considering how lonely he’d been after you moved away to school.

Whenever you came back to visit it was inevitable you’d be spending time with Joel and Sarah. The two were invited to holiday dinners, barbecues, football games, pool parties. You didn’t mind though, you were glad to see your dad had someone to spend time with when you weren’t around. Sarah was a sweet kid, and looked up to you so much, and her father was always kind. It helped that he wasn’t bad to look at, but now he was looking down upon your pathetic state.

You considered what you must look like right now. It must be concerning, if not purely insane. You can feel the way the tears soak your cheeks, little droplets dripping off the edge of your jaw. Chunks of your hair came loose from the bun you had thrown it in earlier and now flew around your face, sticking out every which way. You’re sitting on the ground wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and sleep shorts, which are doing nothing to protect your skin from the cold winter air. How long have you been out here?

Joel is standing next to you now. He crouches down to your level and takes your face in his hands, his warm calloused hands. His eyes survey your face, his thumbs rubbing circles over your cheeks.

“You okay sweetheart?” Joel asks, even though he can see you very much are not okay.

You try to catch your breath. You take your trembling lip between your teeth in an attempt to pull yourself together. You nod, but you aren’t even able to finish the action before another sob wracks your body.

“Oh darlin’, come here.” You let Joel wrap you in his arms while you continue to sob into his chest. His t-shirt is balled up between your fists and you’re certain your tears are soaking into the material, but Joel just holds you while you cry. One of his hands rubs circles between your shoulder blades while the other rubs along your arm. His fingers brush the goosebumps that have begun to form there. “You’re freezing. C’mon why don’t you come inside. I’ll get you something warm to drink.”

You allow Joel to pull you to your feet. He directs you over to his house, and you numbly follow. The inside of his house is warm. Joel has you sit at one of the chairs surrounding his kitchen table while he puts some water on to boil.

“Sarah?” You ask.

“At a friend’s house for the night.” Joel says in explanation. You nod, though his back is still to you, and start to take in your surroundings.

You’ve been in Joel’s house a couple of times now, but you haven’t spent much time looking around. Pictures of Joel and Sarah are positioned all around the house. The fridge in the kitchen holds up several drawings you’re assuming Sarah did. Your eyes are focused on a picture of Joel, Sarah, and another man with curly black hair. He looks similar to Joel, so you would probably guess that they’re related somehow though you haven’t seen the man from the picture around.

“That’s my brother, Tommy.” Joel says, following your gaze to the picture on the wall. He sits down in a chair next to you as he places a mug on the table in front of you. “He lives in Wyoming now with his wife and son.”

You grab the mug he set down, and hiss a breath through your gritted teeth when your palms sting under the heat of the ceramic. Joel quickly grabs the mug out of your hands and places it back on the table. He turns your hand in his to look at your palm.

“Jesus,” Embedded in the heels of your hands are several small pieces of gravel, some of them deep enough to actually draw blood. Upon further inspection your knees and chins are even worse for the wear. How hard did you fall to the ground to cause such injury? “Give me a second.”

Joel hurries away up the stairs. You attempt to pick some of the gravel out of your hands yourself, the embarrassment of it all finally washing over you.

You are not this girl. You are not a girl who cries in her driveway over a boy. Did you even love him? You thought you did. You told him so at least. You spent three years of your life with him. You planned on moving in together when he graduated in the spring. But now that he left you can’t help but wonder if you’re sad about losing him or just angry about what he had said to you.

Joel returns with antiseptic, bandages, and a pair of tweezers. He arranges the items on the table before he sits down across from you again and begins carefully picking the gravel out of your skin. He does his best to be gentle but it still stings a bit.

“You fighting with your boyfriend?” Joel asks while he starts working on your knees. His thumbs splay across the bare skin of your thighs.

You realize you’ve never been this close to him. You don’t think you’ve ever even touched him aside from shaking his hand before tonight. Now you can feel the warmth of his skin against yours. You soak in the scent of him— the combination of cedar, whiskey, and something soft. There’s a stirring in your stomach when you feel the strength of his hands on your thighs, a fluttering of nerves but something more intense as well. He says your name, snapping you out of your thoughts and causing a blush to creep across your cheeks.

“You okay?” He asks. You bite your lip and nod, doing your best to pretend you weren’t just thinking about the way his hands would feel on other parts of your body.

“Yeah I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” You say, faking a smile. Joel raises his eyebrow at you, silently communicating to you that he doesn’t buy it. You sigh and let the smile fall from your face. You’re too exhausted to keep up the act anyway. “We broke up. He broke up with me.”

You feel the tears trying to force their way back up again and aren’t able to say anything else. Joel simply shakes his head in return.

“Idiot.” He mutters as he cleans your knees with the antiseptic. You let out a half hearted chuckle at his reaction. “I’m serious, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

You shrug. The truth is your boyfriend, or rather ex-boyfriend now, had a point when he told you earlier it seemed like you didn’t have any ambitions. You were never really passionate about your degree in business. It just seemed like a good option to make decent money later, but now that you graduated what do you have to show for it? You’re living at home with your dad. You have no idea what you’re going to do next. All of your friends are still up at school finishing their degrees. Soon they will be moving across the country to start internships, and here you are floating through life aimlessly.

“Hey,” Joel whispers. His thumb brushes along your jaw. You fight the urge to shiver as his eyes stare deep into your own. “I mean it. You’re a beautiful girl, you’re smart, you were way out of his league. You’ll land on your feet.”

You smile back at him, and this time it’s genuine. His fingers squeeze your jaw lightly before moving back to putting bandages on your knees.

“What about you?” You ask when he finally sits back down across from you.

“Pretty sure you’re out of my league too,” Joel jokes. He finally takes a sip from the mug of coffee he brought for himself, which is certainly cold by now.

“No,” you laugh. “I mean you’re attractive. You’re smart. You’re kind. You’re good with your hands. Why don’t you have someone?”

“Just haven’t found the right person I guess.” Joel shrugs, though he seems more tense than before. ”I haven’t really dated anyone since Sarah’s mom.”

You vaguely remember your dad telling you about Sarah’s mom. She left when Sarah was little, much like your mom did with you. Unlike your dad, who has no concerns about sharing how much he despises the woman who left you, Joel doesn’t ever really talk about his ex. Sarah hasn’t really mentioned her either, though you’re not sure how much she would really have to talk about anyway. You certainly don’t have any memories of your own mother.

“What, you’ve never been interested in anyone? Sarah’s what, eleven now?” You chide.

“She’s nearly thirteen, and no. I never said I wasn’t interested in anyone, just that I haven’t acted on it.” Joel stares down at the table

You might be imagining it, but it feels as though there’s a tension in the air. The stirring in your stomach grows. You know it’s a stupid idea. It’s been a long night. Joel is double your age, and your father’s best friend, but you’re feeling vulnerable and something about the way he’s refusing to make eye contact with you after the conversation you were having lowers your inhibitions.

Without thinking about what you’re doing, or the repercussions you could face, you get out of your chair and stand in front of Joel’s. He drops his hands to his sides and looks up at your figure, his lips pursed in a question before you lower yourself onto his lap.

“What’re you-“ Joel’s hand quickly grabs the small of your back as you slowly move your hips forward until your chest presses against his. His bulge is aligned with your center now. Any concerns you had about reading the situation wrong instantly leave your mind when you feel his length start to harden beneath you. “Your dad…”

“Is working late.” Your breath fans against his lips. ”It’s just us.”

Joel’s eyes are wide and focused on yours as he attempts to find an argument for why this can’t happen. There are so many reasons, but he can’t seem to mention one or think at all for that matter. He only murmurs your name in warning.

“Please Joel,” you whisper. “Help me forget.”

You circle your hips slowly over his again. His entire body jolts when you do. He shakes his head and moves further back on his chair, but you follow his body with your own.

“We can’t,” he says quietly, but his eyes are fixed on the way your body moves against his.

He could easily stop this. He could push you off. He could stand up and walk away, but he doesn’t. He seems transfixed on the way your body molds into his.

“Nobody has to know Joel.” You feel yourself leaking all over him as you press yourself into him again. His hands move from your back to your hips while he watches your wetness seep into the fabric of his sweatpants. “Please, I want you.”

“Darlin’,” Joel rasps beneath you. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as you continue to grind your clothed core against him. “Darlin’, this isn’t- Fuck- It isn’t right.”

Despite his words Joel doesn’t do anything to stop your actions. He simply drops his forehead to your collarbone and lets out a long groan. You whimper at the sound of his desperation and the feeling of his breath fanning across the top of your breasts.

You need him. All of him. You know the situation is precarious. He’d stop you immediately if you took it any further than this. You fear even lowering your shirt may snap him out of the pleasure filled haze you find yourselves in, but you need more, so you speed up your movements and bear down on him harder which seems to snap any remaining resolve he had.

“Fuck, fuck it. God fuckin’,” Joel groans. His hands dip lower until his fingers dig into your ass. You grip his shoulders as if they are the only thing grounding you to the earth, and you think maybe they might be. “God damnit baby, that’s good.”

You shudder under his touch, allowing him to push and pull your body against his. Your hands leave his shoulders to travel up his neck. You plant your fingers in the greying curls in the back of his head.

He lifts his head from your collarbone to press his lips delicately on the side of your neck. You cry out when you feel him suck your skin into his mouth and then gently nip at it with his teeth.

“C’mon baby,” Joel moans against your skin. “That’s it, be a good girl for me.”

Your cunt throbs at the words. Be a good girl for me. Yes please, anything he wanted. Anything he ever wants is his.

Your climax builds quickly while he continues to guide you across his lap. You don’t think you’ve ever had it this good, certainly not with your loser boyfriend. Most nights he couldn’t make you come at all and now here you were, in the lap of your father’s best friend on the brink of orgasm without even taking off one piece of clothing. You’re starting to think that asshole breaking up with you might be the best thing that ever happened to you.

Joel must sense how close you are because he grips you tighter and bucks his hips up into you, rutting his clothed cock against your pulsating clit.

“Joel,” you whimper. “Joel please.”

“I got you baby. I got you.” He breathes into your ear. You shake uncontrollably in his grasp as he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. “Come for me sweet girl. Come all over my lap. Show me how good I make you feel.”

His encouragement is the last thing you need to push you over the edge. You scream out as your walls clench around nothing and pull at his hair. Your body twitches in his grasp but he continues to push and pull you against his throbbing cock. He keeps the motion steady, extending your climax for as long as possible until you collapse into his arms.

“Good fucking girl,” he hums against the top of your head. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face with one hand while the other rubs soothing circles on your lower back. “Did so good for me sweetheart. So good.”

When you finally return to your body you can feel the insistent pressure of Joel’s hard on pressing into you. You reach your hand down to grip his length and slowly lower yourself to the floor. Joel gulps while he watches with dark eyes. You run your finger along the outline of his dick, licking your lips at the sight of his impressive size.

There’s a dark spot soaked into the material of his sweatpants where you just came on top of him, evidence of how good he just made you feel. Now you’re going to get to make him feel just as good. You reach your hand up to the waistband of his sweats, ready to pull them down his thighs when you’re interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up to your abandoned house.

“Fuck, your dad is home. Get up!” Joel says through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine,” you whisper. “He’ll probably just think I’m asleep.”

Joel pulls you to your feet despite the way you whine his name. Joel stands up and puts distance between the two of you.

“You should go home.” He says.

You want to tell him no. You want to pull him back into the chair and feel him inside your mouth. You want to hear his groans as he releases on your tongue, but you know it’s no use. Joel stands behind the kitchen island now, putting a whole room between the two of you. Just as quickly as it started, the moment is over. The exhaustion from earlier crashes over you again.

“Yeah, okay.” You mutter. “Goodnight.”

You hear him lock the door behind you as you walk back across the grass to your house.

[littledes1re]

Hii love. Can you write something about Joel getting you pregnant.

Maybe at first he didn't want kids (but because of his age, he thought he wasn't gonna be the best dad for them). He always knew you wanted, and one day he saw how good you are with them, and desire in your eyes. Maybe some smut thaanks

Makin’ you a mama

Pairing: Old!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, BREEDING KINK, praise, pet names, soft!joel, talking about pregnancy, pinv, unprotected sex (obviously), age gap! (62 x 26), one time joel calling himself ‚daddy‘

A/N: thank you anon for making me write this. I‘ve always wanted to write something like this but never had the balls lmao

It‘s been two years since you and Joel came to Jackson. And you couldn’t believe how well everything was going. After surviving hordes and hordes of clickers, runners and raiders, having to put up with the temperature that keeps on changing, searching for a place to rest and the fear of losing Joel even tho at that time, you two weren‘t even together. He was a grumpy, mad, annoyed man who never let his feelings out. Surviving with him meant also surviving him.

In all kinds that was just the past and a story to tell whenever you were invited to gatherings. Joel and your relationship was strong, you were scared that people would get shy away from the age gap, but apparently they have seen worse in the apocalypse. Whenever you two were together, people looked at you with admiration, asking themselves why their relationship wasn‘t going that well. Joel was overprotective, always made sure you were well taken care of, always listened to you, never argued. Other men had none of that in them. You were happy, content but there was one thing swimming around in the back of your head that you—no matter what, couldn‘t forget.

„You really think I would fit into the father role with my 62 years once again, baby?“ his eyes were gentle, looking at you, searching for enclosure in your expressions.

„Yea, why not? You make me feel taken care of, you are a great man, I know that you would very well fit into that role.“ your voice was just above a whisper. There was a sigh leaving his lips and then he took his glasses of, running trough his hair at the same time.

„I—I don‘t think I can do that. Just give me some time to think about that okey?“

Yet, the answer never came. And you never wanted to push him. So you let it rest. He lost his child once, he once had all of that and went trough a traumatic event, you knew that he was still scared.

And if you were honest with yourself, did you really want to have a baby in this god forsaken place? You really want to have that baby go trough the same traumatic things you two went trough? It wasn‘t easy living here. It wasn‘t easy living else where.

Maybe it was the end of the world. You didn‘t know that.

So you forgot that idea. Out of your mind.

You concentrated on your job. Daycare. Not really the best way to let that thought out of your mind, huh? But you loved it, you loved the kids, the pretty toys that were scattered everywhere, the colourful rooms and the sweet parents that came in and picked their kids up. It was a great way to forget the outside world, to really come close with the humanity that was forgotten for some many years.

Joel was going to pick you up, like he always does after doing his construction work around Jackson. When he came to your workplace tho, he had to stop and was completely lost in his thoughts.

It was you. Having a toddler on your hip, while swinging from left to right, singing to him. Your eyes were full of love, the toddler was laughing with you. His small hands gripping your shirt, tangled in your hair, feeling comfortable with you. Joel subconsciously started to smile, standing there and really thinking about how you would look like as a mother. There was something so effortless about the way you moved, how you instinctively cradled that child with your warmth and certainty. As if motherhood always lived within you, waiting to be embraced.

What if it was your kid in your arms? What if your house was filled with the laughter of having a child. Joel stood there and pictured you, soft glow in your cheeks, carrying the baby beneath your heart. How perfect you would look with a belly, how perfect you would fit into that role.

Joel longed for that feeling. He would do everything in this world to make you happy, to make you comfortable. He would not let you work, he would be there and raise that child with you. He would love you two unconditionally. And suddenly— there it was. The longing to become a father and make you a mother.

„J-joel—what the hell has gotten into you.“ you muttered out, out of breath as joel abruptly pulled you to him, kissing you, just seconds after going inside the house. He didn‘t answer, too hungry to think straight. You yelped as he threw you into the coach, going on top of you and spreading your legs.

„Joel.“ you whined, his hands quickly unbuttoning your shirt, then your bra, his fingers landing on your nipples, gently pinching the nub. You whimpered, too lost in the sudden pleasure, your hips starting to move up against his crotch.

„Pretty breasts are gonna filled with milk.“ he groaned out, your eyes widening. What was he talking about?

„Joel, what the hell are you even talking about?“ his hands stopped on your tits, gently moving to your belly, stroking around, smiling to himself.

„gonna make you a mama, baby.“

„Wait, really?“ you weren‘t sure if you heard that right. The man who was just scared of being a father again, was telling you that he was going to make you a mother. Joel chuckled at your reaction, unzipping his pants, taking his cock out. It was all red, his tip pulsing as he started to jerk off, squeezing it and releasing a moan from his lips.

„Mhm. Ain‘t that what you wanted? C‘mon now, open up.“

„Joel, are you sure? Look I don‘t want to pressure you—”

„I‘m sure. Now don‘t make me wait or I ain‘t giving you anything.“ he teased, your face lighting up as you giggled. Quickly, unbuttoning your jeans, while joel focused on pumping his cock and kissing and biting down your neck line. You spread your legs further, pulling your soaked panties down and running your hands trough your mans hair.

„That‘s right. Look at you, already so soaked. Gonna let me give you a baby, hm?“

His cock rubbed along your slit, your breath coming to a stop as you looked into his lust filled eyes. He slowly fed his cock into your cunt, your mouth falling open at the stretch and fullness you were feeling. His thumb coming at your little clit, slowly rubbing, making you whimper into the silent room.

„shh, I know, I know. That‘s it. Look at you letting me in. Little cunt needs this, baby. Needs me to fill her.“

And you can do nothing but moan and whimper around him as joel sets a rhythm with his thrusts. His cock going in and out of your pussy, the squelching sounds filling the room. Your tits moving up and down, his thumb never letting up on rubbing your clit. His gaze never left you. Concentrated on your fucked out expression, while also focusing on the hard but gentle thrusts he was giving you. Your knees trembling, thighs quivering—he was fucking you with all he had.

Your heels dug into the couch under you, your hips going closer to him, wanting to feel him just a little bit deeper. His cock meets your spot this way, making you cry out.

„That‘s the spot, yea?“ he groans out.

„Mhm.“ you whimper as an answer, too lost in the pleasure to even look into his eyes. You squeezed them, putting your hands on your tits playing with them.

„Gonna be a gorgeous mother, I know it, angel.“

Joel knows you are close as he sees your tummy clenching, your thighs shaking. He feels himself coming closer too, so he pulls you just closer into him, his thrusts concentrating on that spot in you, his hands holding your back so he stays as deep as possible in you.

„Daddy‘s gonna fill you up, but I want you to cum with me. C‘mon.“

He whispers into your ear, your toes curling as you feel the orgasm coming closer to you in your tummy.

„Doing so so well f‘me aren‘t you?“

His thrusts were growing sloppy as he breathlessly whispered praises into your ear.

„Belly gonna swell, tits gonna be full of milk. Letting that old man fill her up to the brim. Yea, my good girl, baby.“ And that what it all took for you to snap. You cried out, gripping his shoulder, feeling his cock twitch in your cunt, releasing rope after rope of cum into you. You clench, squeezing him for all of his worth, while biting into his shoulder and coming down from your orgasm.

While catching his breath, he gently lays you down again, caressing your tummy but doesn‘t pull out. Without a word he suddenly grabs you, his cock still in you, he carries you to the bedroom.

„Need it to take, baby.“

And you know that it‘s going to be a long night.

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner

[zevrra]

𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 ⋆˚꩜｡

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩: out of all the days for your car to have broken down, leaving you stranded on the side of the road, it had to be the day your dad had just left for a sudden business trip—he was hours away by now and you were just here; stuck. you could call a tow truck but the bill for that was…way out of the budget. so the only other thing you could think of to do was to call your dad’s best friend; joel miller.

a.k.a joel (the sexiest man alive) comes to your rescue and you want to repay him for it.

𝐟𝐭.dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

𝐰𝐜: 7k

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: mdni, no-outbreak!joel, straight smut, no real plot, implied forbidden romance, significant AGE GAP, reader is in their 20s, joel is in his 50s, mention of sarah(30s + no ellie), no use of y/n, joel likes pet names, sexual tension, joel tries to remain morally ‘right’, joel’s a lil insecure if you squint, thigh riding if you squint, dirty talk, handjob (both m and f receiving), unprotected p in v (just the tip!), coming onto/between v too.

𝐚/𝐧: FIND PART 2 HERE

You’ve heard more stories about Joel Miller than you had actually seen him in real life; only meeting him one other time in the entirety of the six years he’s been your dad’s best friend. But with no other family and no extra cash to pay for a tow…you prayed that maybe he’d find it in the kindness of his heart to come rescue little ole you. 

Thankfully, your dad had given you his number in a “just in case”, if you ever needed it. Strange how for once your dad was right about something you had swore up and down would never happen. It almost made you smile— and you would if not given the predicament you were in right now.

For a moment, as you sit in your car, with your thumb slightly trembling as it hovers over Joel’s contact name, you silently pray that he’d pick up when a stranger was calling. 

No more time to talk yourself out of it, you press on his name, watching your phone begin to ring at your request. You quickly tap the speaker button, hands clammy as you listen to the dial ring. Your heart is pounding in your chest for some odd reason as the line continues to ring and ring.

You’re just about to give up hope and hang up, so his voicemail doesn’t pick up for you instead, but suddenly you hear the line click and a deep southern voice echoes in from the otherside; “Yeah?” 

You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until you suddenly exhale a deep sigh upon hearing his voice. “Hey!” You blurt out. “You probably don’t have my number saved or anything like that but I’m the daughter of your friend!” 

“Oh,” Joel starts and you can hear him rustling around, as if he’s putting down something he had been working on. “I remember ya. Somethin’ I can help you with sweetheart?” His voice drips with honey and confusion and you can’t blame him. But the tender way he mutters sweetheart has your fingers trembling just that much more. 

“Yes, actually! I’m a little stranded at the moment. See my dad’s outta town for a business trip and my car has broken down so yeah…” You trail off, fiddling with the edge of your phone case while the words ‘I could use some help’ stick to the back of your throat. 

“You need me to come get ya?” Joel’s warm voice breaks the silence, knowing exactly what you couldn’t say seconds before.  

“I mean, that would be awesome if you could! But like, don’t worry about it if you’re busy! I could call a tow truck or something.” You ramble on. And for a second you think maybe you’ve lost service as he doesn’t say anything right away but as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking; he answers you. 

“What road ya on?” Joel asks all soft like, while you can hear some more rustling in the background. 

You glance at the maps on your phone before telling him the road you were on, fingers returning to fiddle with your phone case. “But like again, if you’re too far or busy I can just call a tow!” You mutter as the pit of your stomach does backflips. You’d really hate to inconvenience him but at the same time…with your father gone…and being in seemingly the middle of nowhere…you’d take your chances of annoying him just a little. 

Joel laughs on the other end and it sends a warmth that rivals the summer heat through your entire body. You catch the faint sound of keys jingling on his end before he responds. “No worries hun. I’ll be there in twenty minutes or so.” 

And with that, Joel says his goodbye and the call ends. 

“That went…surprisingly well.” You mutter to yourself as you stretch out along your driver seat. Might as well get comfy while you wait. 

Just as promised, Joel shows up about twenty-five minutes later. He parks an older farm truck right behind you that squeaks as the door opens with his exit. You get out of your own car to greet him and you hate how your stomach returns to doing flips but for an entirely different reason.

Why couldn’t you remember him being so fucking handsome before? His tan skin, the salt and pepper of his hair, the stubble of his jaw. He was broad to say the least; his shoulders and chest wide, and he carried himself like a man in charge. You expect a man as toned and well muscled to be a little mean…but then he smiles upon seeing you and all your fears melt away.

“Howdy,” Joel calls, nice and easy like the breeze, making his way to you. 

You simply nod your head in response, unable to find the words to speak, as he stops in front of you. Your eyes lift just ever so slightly to look up into his eyes and fuck, they had no right to be so pretty shining in the sun like that. 

“Pop the hood for me? Let me see if these old hands can’t figure out what’s gotcha parked here.” Joel light heartedly says. And for some odd reason…you knew that if he asked you for anything in that sweet drawl of his, you’d do it in a heartbeat. 

You ease back into the driver seat of your car, reaching for the little latch that would pop the hood open. At the click, Joel moves to the front of your car while you debate sitting there, waiting to be told what to do. In the end your curiosity gets the better of you as you exit your car again. You move to the front end alongside him, staring at a mass of smooth and twisted metal underneath…not understanding a single thing as you look down at it. 

Joel must see the confusion in your gaze and it makes him laugh just a little. “S’aright hun. You ain’t gotta worry about tryin’ to figure it out.” He hums as his hand reaches forward, twisting off a cap you don’t know the name of. “Unless you wanna?” He teases as he retrieves a long, metal like wand from the depths of the engine. 

You laugh along with him, shaking your head at his question. “No thank you. Maybe next time.” You respond in a light tune, continuing to watch him as he works. 

But you can’t help staring at something other than the engine he works on.

Your eyes graze over the strength of his tan forearms. Noticing right away the scars that linger along his weathered skin. But what you really wanted to see was the muscle of his bicep— hidden underneath that damn teasing denim shirt of his. Wanted so desperately to watch him stretch and his muscles flex as he moved about while working on your car.

Your eyes trail down the rest of his body, where your attention is immediately drawn to his back. Your eyes fixate directly at the point of where his shirt meets his jeans, watching as his shirt lifts with every stretch he makes across the engine. It lifts just enough away from his jeans to allow you to see a little bit of exposed skin underneath it. His sun-kissed skin trailed all the way down his back and the idea of touching his warm body made your fingers twitch. 

“Well your oil is fine but it seems like your radiator cap is split.” Joel says. His words immediately pull you from your thoughts and you jump a little; startled as if maybe Joel could hear exactly what you were thinking…thankfully, he couldn’t. 

“Not good, I’m assuming?” You ask with a clear of your throat, desperately hoping your thoughts would return to normal with it. 

Joel chuckles a little and shakes his head as he leans back and away from your engine. He wipes his hands across his jeans and you've never thought about how sexy a man could look dirty and disheveled like Joel does right then and there.

“No good ‘til ya get it fixed at least.” Joel hums and gestures for you to step back just a little, before he lets your car hood slam shut to lock it. “It’ll keep overheating like it is now but…” Joel trails off until he comes to stand in front of you— and you swear he’s close enough that he can hear how hard your heart is beating inside your ribcage. “If you keep it slow, ya could follow me back home. I might be able to fix it long enough for ya to get back to your place.” 

You swallow a lump in your throat and nod to his solution, you weren’t coming up with anything better anyway. Plus, it got you a little more time with him. Little weird that you wanted to spend more time with a ‘stranger’ twice your age— who you just thought about touching in a…not so friendly way— but you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know him just a little better. 

“Yeah, that sounds fine. Thank you so much.” You respond with a smile. 

Joel smiles right back at you before one of his large hands reaches out and grabs your shoulder, giving you a squeeze. “Don’t worry ‘bout it sweetheart.” He says in a light tone, hand sliding just a little inwards along your skin; where he gently rubs a circle into the back of your neck, ever so slightly, before he snatches his hand away. Moving on like nothing happened. As if…his intrusive thoughts had won him over for a split second, before he turns on his heel to open the driver door for you.

Your entire body hums with a newfound feeling you’re not quite sure what to call yet. You float into the driver’s seat, putting your seatbelt on, while Joel motions for you to roll your windows down and you do; rolling all four of them down in somewhat of a panic after misclicking the first time in your jittery state. 

Joel settles onto the ledge of your window, up close and personal enough that you could see the scars on his face. 

Oh how you wished his eyes would look at your lips and give you a reason to kiss him, right then and there. And god did he look good leaning over to you like that too; like he wanted it just as badly as you suddenly did. 

“‘Member, slow and steady,” He breathes and you can almost feel the flutter of his breath across your cheek. “If you see this needle get close or even above this red line right here, pull over and turn the car off a'ight?” He adds, pointing to a needle on your dash.

You nod slightly, fingers twitching at the thought of breaking down in an even worse spot than you already were. And Joel sees that little flicker of worry cross your face before you can hide it and he chuckles. 

“Don’t worry yer’little head off, darlin’. I’ll lead. Be just right in front of ya, and all ya gotta do is follow me, okay?” He hums, tapping the edge of your window with every word, before he pushes himself upright and makes his way back to his truck. 

You watch as he leaves you, getting up into the driver seat of his own truck without another word. And suddenly you’re gripping the steering wheel for dear life. 

What were you doing? What were you thinking? Nothing appropriate to say the least. Images of him muttering that sweet nickname against your lips plays in the back of your mind like a damn movie. You definitely were reading too much into his body language and the way he rolled that darling off his tongue….he was just being nice and helping out a friend's daughter…that was it. You needed to focus. 

You let out a shaky breath, you once again had no idea you were holding, gaze shifting to watch his truck pull off into the road and you pull your car into follow suit behind him. Traveling slowly like he had told you to do so, eyes darting between the back of his pickup truck and your dashboard; watching that little needle he had pointed out to you for any kind of changes. 

After all of this, you’d definitely have to repay him somehow. Would have to ask him what you could do to return the favor of him coming to the rescue of a stranger. Could buy him dinner? That wouldn’t be too much money outside of your budget. Or buy him some beer or whiskey as thanks; he definitely looked like he enjoyed a good alcohol here and there. 

Then a terrible, terrible, idea pops into your head. It was certainly a gamble; he was older, a friend of your dad’s, and probably did not see you in that light at all…but…it was a risk worth taking.

Besides, you could always flee Texas and never come back if things went really badly. 

When the two of you managed to finally arrive at his home, without your car breaking down again along the way, thankfully, you half expected him to live in something…strange to say the least. He was a man you didn’t know, a stranger to you as much as you were to him, and showing up to his house was more than a little odd.

But as you pull up into the long driveway behind him, you realize exactly why your dad was friends with him. He lived relatively secluded, no neighbors, in a gorgeous two-story farmhouse. A large barn sits at the edge of a fence line and beyond is just a beautiful field accompanied by a handful of animals; cows, sheep, and a couple of horses lazing about. You sit in awe for just a moment, taking in the scenery before you, until the brake lights of Joel’s truck flash you back to reality and you come to a full stop behind him. 

Such a big house for one man…or so you had hoped for. Suddenly you remember your father mentioning Joel’s daughter…would she be here too? What kind of person would you be contemplating…”payment” for Joel around his daughter? Shame settles in your stomach but you smother the feeling as you watch Joel slide out of his truck once more. He motions for you to pull around him and into his garage at the side of the house and do as he says. 

As soon as you shut the car off and go to open your door, Joel is already there at your side. A small, welcoming smile is settled on his face as he holds your driver side door open for you. 

You utter a small thanks before stepping out of your car. You don’t have a moment to really look at everything inside his garage before Joel is heading towards a door you assume leads to the inside of his house. 

“Let’s go inside for a moment. Grab a drink and cool off and then figure out what’s goin’ on.” He hums as his hand settles on the doorknob. 

You nod, quickly catching up to him. Your heart pounds inside your ribcage again but you swear it’s going to explode when Joel swings the door inwards, allowing you into his home, but it’s the hover of his hand along your back that causes your heart to pump three times as hard. Tingles seep into every inch of your body but his hand is warm and strong as it just barely touches your back.

Like he’s just trying to be helpful, that’s what he’s telling himself, but he’s tempted by other thoughts— where he wants to lay the full weight of his hand along your back and guide you to wherever he may want you. 

But just as quickly as it comes, it goes. Like an afterthought that never happened. 

You move into his home, gaze shifting over the layout of the kitchen you step into. From just a brief glance, you can tell the inside of his house was just as gorgeous as the outside was. Simple, a little vintage, but definitely something you could see a man like Joel living in. 

“Can I get’cha a drink?” Joel asks as he walks up to his fridge, opening it with an easy throw. “There’s some juice. Or if you prefer, I have diet soda. Sarah says it’s better for my health.” He jokes as he rummages inside the cool fridge. You could practically hear his eyes rolling and it settles the tension in your shoulders. 

“Some water will be fine,” You hum in response, standing awkwardly beside the kitchen island, your fingers running along the counter. “How is Sarah, by the way?” You ask as your eyes settle onto a nearby picture frame of Joel and his daughter. “I’ve only heard about her in passing from my dad…when he was talking about you.” 

“Oh?” Joel chuckles somewhere behind you. “I hope only the good things are told.” 

You smile at his words, stopping at the edge of the kitchen island. 

Not prepared in the slightest as the tips of his fingers press into the back of your arm; causing you to jump at his touch and swivel on your heel to face him. And he’s close…closer than before. If you moved in anyway, you’re sure your chest would run right into his own. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you drag your gaze up into his. You freeze in the spot, waiting for something…anything to happen. Waiting for him to make a move, either away from you or to sweep you into his embrace but he does neither; he freezes just as much as you do. Tension swirls around the room like a hot summer’s wind, brewing up a storm, making everything just a little too sticky and your palms sweaty.

But just like a tornado, the tension comes and goes, leaving everything in place except for the feeling of ‘holy shit’. 

“Your water, sweetheart.” Joel finally mutters, taking his slight step back and offering you up the water he had fetched out, breaking the tension that had built up seconds ago. 

You take the glass of water out of his hand with a slight tremble to your fingers but you hold it nonetheless, continuing to stand still as he pulls away. He clears his throat as he retreats, putting space between the two of you once more. 

“But yeah, um, Sarah’s good. Married, no kids yet but maybe one day.” Joel says through another clear of his throat, trying to will away whatever that feeling of “holy shit” was from before. He turns away from you once more, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

And from your position, you can see the tips of his ears flushed a soft red. It makes you shudder at the thought of him blushing around you like some lovesick man. 

You take a sip of your water and it tastes stale compared to the want you have for the older man. You clear your own throat to try and refocus, nodding to his statement about his daughter.

At least it was somewhat comforting to know that, after what just happened, his daughter wasn’t going to come racing through the front door and watch her dad hit on someone younger or the same age as her. 

“And no Mrs. Miller?” You blurt out before you can even think about what you’re saying. Certainly pushing the boundaries now. Your dad had never spoken about Joel having a wife before but it never hurt to ask…especially after what just happened. “Sorry that’s inappropriate, right?” You embarrassingly mutter, even if it was the right thing to ask after the two of you just got done dry humping each other with your eyes.  

Joel chuckles slightly at your question, shaking his head as he eases back into ‘mr. calm and collected’. “S’alright. But yes, once. A long time ago. I’ve been divorced ever since.” He responds but says nothing more as he sets down his own preferred drink on the counter. “It’s just lil ole me and Sarah.” Joel adds; letting you in on his quiet life just a little more. 

You want to tell him how much you’re glad it’s just him. How you’ve been wanting just him since he stepped out of his truck back on the road. 

“And you? No partner waitin’ at home for ya?” Joel asks quietly, as if he’s unsure if he really should be asking the question or not; but curiosity is getting the better of the old man. 

You laugh a little at his question, an easy smile sitting on your lips. “Nope. Suppose I wouldn’t be here if I did.” 

“Hmm,” Joel ponders. “Suppose not. But I doubt you’d wanna be stuck here with an old man like me if ya didn’t have to.” 

“Good thing you don’t know me too well then,” You chime, tucking a few strands of loose hair behind your ear, glancing away from him as you ramble on about how much you are actually happy to be there, with him.

When you lift your eyes back to him, you stare right into his warm gaze. “I’m…enjoying this.” You admit finally with a shaky exhale. And if this wasn’t the moment that would set the nail into the head of: “do I need to flee the state or is this okay?” then you weren’t sure when it would happen. 

Joel’s eyes crinkle just ever so slightly and so quickly, that for a second you think you've almost imagined it. And you can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He nods just a little, as if he’s almost speechless, clearing his throat to once again shake off the tension that has built up.

Returning back to reality, he takes a sip off his drink and settles against one of the many kitchen cabinets, swirling the liquid around in his glass. “So, your dad didn’t teach you anything about cars?” 

You laugh, shaking your head as you join him in leaning against the island counter. “You’re surprised? He doesn’t know a damn thing about them either.” You huff softly. 

“Mmm, true. I had to show him how to change a tire once.” Joel responds playfully, glancing in your direction.

“See!” You chuckle again, fiddling with the cup between your fingers. “Guess that’s why he told me to call you if I ever needed anything.” 

That warm, fuzzy feeling floats over your entire body again; weighs on you like a thick blanket while Joel falls silent for a second. 

God, how you wished you could hear what was going on in that head of his.

Before he answers, he shoots back all of the dark liquor in his glass, needing it for whatever else may go on that day. “He was right. Call me for anything, ya may need sweetheart.” Joel whispers, low and slow, sending a cool spike down your spine.

You suck in a quiet breath while his words stick to you— like your thighs would stick to a leather seat after sitting down for too long. Your pulse throbs in your throat. Was he just confirming what your dad had told you to do; to call him whenever you may need it? Or were you reading too much into it all…just because your feelings for him were running a little too wild? 

“So, thought ya didn’t live in Texas any more? Some fancy school or job, your dad mentioned one time or ‘nother.” Joel breaks through the silence you had left in the open, bringing you back to the moment with him.

You take another sip off your water before giving him a small nod. “Yep. Just came back to visit him. Bein’ a good daughter and all.”

“Hmm, a good daughter…” Joel mutters to himself and if you two weren’t so close, you probably wouldn’t have heard him. You can’t help but think what he could mean by that but you’re not going to bring it up…yet. 

“Anyway, I’m only here for a few weeks, and of course on my vacation my car decides to break down. Just my luck huh,” You sigh. “And my budget doesn’t allow for car troubles so I’m really hoping you can fix it.” 

“Budget?” Joel hums, glancing down at his empty glass, most likely debating to get another drink or not. “And you were gonna call a tow truck on a budget?” Joel says with that teasing tone of his. 

“Well…yeah, I guess if I had to.” You respond with a shrug, smiling over at him. 

Joel chuckles, his gaze casted into the depths of his glass as he fiddles with the cup while he speaks. “No doubt you could swindle your way outta some trouble if ya had to.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You tease right back, taking the chance to inch closer to him. 

Joel clears his throat, as if he hadn’t expected to say what he said in the first place and just got caught. Now he was struggling to come up with the words to justify exactly why he said what he said. “Uh, well ya know,” Joel starts, stopping in his search at the bottom of his glass, his summer gaze returning to look over at you. His eyes tenderly move along your body; following every curve and dip as if it were his fingers trailing your skin instead. It feels like an eternity, him just looking at you, but in reality it probably only lasts for a second too long. “Lookin’ all pretty like that. Just sayin’ you could get away with anything if ya wanted to hun.” He says, all hushed and soft. 

A storm was absolutely brewing now and suddenly you’re glad to have worn that summer floral dress you had bought ages ago. 

You wait for a heartbeat, his gaze still licking flames across your body, before you reach out to him with a gentle but firm hand. You press your fingers into his exposed forearm, making a little circle against his tan skin to mimic him from earlier. 

And for some reason, you were far bolder than you had ever been in your life as you took another step closer to the older man, skimming your fingers further along his skin, batting pretty eyelashes in his direction. 

“Anything?” You whisper, just loud enough for him and only him to hear. Didn’t matter if no one else was home, you wanted to make sure it was for him. 

It was a good sign when he didn’t immediately jerk away or start yelling for you to get out. His breath catches in his throat this time and you watch as his chest begins to rise and fall as you stand dangerously close to him. Standing in the shadow of his frame, being almost swallowed up as he towers over you. 

“Darlin’” Joel finally utters, glancing down his nose at you, his fingers twitching at his sides; as if he’s trying to hold himself back from embracing you. “You know that’s not a good idea.” 

You shrug a little, pushing your fingers just underneath the curl of his shirt sleeve, touching the very beginning to the thick of his bicep. “Why not? It’s just us.” 

“You know why,” Joel protests softly. “I’m twice your age. And I’m your father’s friend.” 

“And yet…you’re not moving away,” You whisper, making it a point to squeeze his bicep. Your eyes trail from his gaze to the plump of his lips, lingering just long enough for him to notice, before you glance all the way back up to his eyes. “Let me repay you for coming to my rescue.” 

He doesn’t speak, having been caught and now his argument was quickly crumbling into almost nothing. 

To give him a little encouragement, your fingers trail back down to his wrist and you guide his hand to the edge of your skirt, pushing his fingers just slightly under your dress and against the thick of your thigh. “C’mon…Joel.” You hum his name all sweet like honey and it finally breaks him. 

“Fuck,” Joel curses under his breath as he sweeps you up. The hand on your thigh opens up and curls around you, dragging you into the front of his chest. His other hand settles against the curve of your neck as he comes crashing down onto you like a wave. 

He presses his lips into yours in a hot and heavy kiss. His tongue is already darting along the thick of your bottom lip– desperate and needy— just like you’ve been since the second you saw him bent over your car. 

“Dammit, you…” Joel pants against your lips. “I was tryin’ so hard…” He groans, lifting your hips into his own with his single hand. “You and that damn dress and the way you stare at me, Christ.” Joel fumbles, shifting his hand along your body. His hand grabbing your ass in a tight grip, his calm and collected self long, long gone now. He squeezes your ass, eating up the moan that tumbles from your lips into his. “Wanna hear that pretty little voice callin’ my damn name s’more.” 

“Joel.” You breathe his name and it makes him groan again. It’s deep and raspy, sends a vibration to the very tips of your fingers.

His knee bumps into yours, knocking your legs to part to allow him space between your thighs. The flat of his thigh presses right into the spot where you’re quickly coming to yearn for him. You grind into the thick of his thigh, mewling into the softness of his mouth. You were already far too needy, dripping through your underwear and smearing against his jeans.

Joel groans at the increasing wetness slicking his thigh and his fingers grip just a little harder along your skin. His teeth grab hold of your bottom lip, gently pulling on the plumpness, before his tongue is replacing his teeth with a wet swipe.  

“Taste s’good sweetheart.” He whispers with a chuckle. “Been wantin’ this all damn day.” 

You shudder at his words— at least it was comforting to know that since he showed up in the middle of nowhere to save you; you weren’t the only one looking at him in a new light. 

You needed more than just a little dry humping and hot make out session to be satisfied though— especially concerning the risk of…everything. Your fingers once gripping onto the thick of his biceps trail down to the front of his pants, fiddling with his belt. 

But his own hand quickly grabs your wrist the second you attempt to undo his belt.

Startled, Joel breaks the kiss, panting roughly while his gaze settles onto your flushed face. “We shouldn’t.” Joel mumbles, shaking his head just a little. Trying to talk the both of you out of doing something that could potentially ruin a lot of things. Kissing could be excused but anything else after was not so easily explained or forgiven. “I shouldn’t. You shouldn’t…not with an old man like me.” Joel counters through clenched teeth. 

“Joel,” You softly utter his name like a prayer. “I want you so fucking bad right now, I don’t care. And I know it’s not just me.”

“This is a bad idea…” Joel groans as he stares down at you; his composure slowly coming undone once again as his grip around your wrist is slowly loosening up.

Funny how you had told yourself that exact same thing too. But now you really didn’t care; no obstacle could get in your way when your cunt was throbbing his name. “Slow and steady…” You whisper his earlier words back to him. “You lead, remember? I’ll do what you say Joel…” 

Joel hesitates, clearly battling his inner thoughts. He could have you, right then and there– in all his desperation, need, and desire pent up for you. But he was your dad’s friend and if he ever found out…it would end far too many good relationships. 

“Just…a little more.” Joel finally huffs, crumbling like sand as his lips return back to yours in a last-ditch effort to calm all of his worrying thoughts. And it helps when you melt right back into the kiss.

Your fingers return to fidgeting with his belt buckle, trying to strip him as quickly as you possibly could just in case he changed his mind. Your hips moving faster, grinding heavier against his thigh. His name tastes sweet as it rolls off your tongue as you manage to undo that damned buckle. Your fingers work wonder’s undoing the rest of his jeans. Fingers flicking the button open and the zipper comes down with just a small tug of his jeans. But your fingers don’t stop in the slightest as they seek out what you’re really after. 

Joel helps ever so slightly, shimming his jeans down to his thighs, giving you the room to shove his underwear down and finally set him free. 

You immediately wrap a hand around his hardened shaft. Fingers brushing up along to the very tip and you tremble at how wet he is. Leaking across the flat of your thumb with just a single touch. 

Joel deeply groans, breaking the kiss again and glancing down to watch your hand stroke him. Cursing himself inside his mind for being so pathetic and hard with just a little bit of touching and a few kisses— acting as if he was a fresh twenty year old about to get laid for the first time, all over again. 

“Just a little…” Joel whispers, mostly to himself, continuing to try and convince himself that it was all going to be alright if it was just a little at a time. 

Your hand continues to sweep across the entire curve of his throbbing cock, squirming a little under his watchful gaze. 

“Joel,” You whine his name, grinding harshly into his thigh again. You were soaking now; smearing across his jeans, leaving behind a desperate trail of need. 

“S’alright baby, I gotcha,” Joel responds softly, picking up your needy little tone. His fingers slip from beneath your dress, just to grab the hem of the fabric, yanking the skirt up high. You scramble with your free hand to grab your dress, keeping it up high for him so his own fingers can work on pleasing you. 

Thick digits slide down against the seam of your soaked panties and above the pleasure ringing in your ears, you can hear Joel chuckle at your apparent neediness. 

“Fuckin’ soaked baby,” Joel hums, swiping his fingers against your core once more. “This wet for an old man like me?” He adds before he yanks your underwear to the side. 

Calloused fingers travel through your slick folds, his fingers circling around the sensitive nub. Joel chuckles again at the whine that you try to hold back before he’s pressing a thick digit inside your velvet walls. 

You gasp his name, quick and harsh as he begins to thrust into the slickness of your cunt. Your hand moves faster along his shaft, trying to keep up with his pace as he fingers you. Your legs open just a little wider on instinct, allowing him more space between.

His fingers plummet into the seam of your cunt, rapid and a little sloppy but it gets the job done more than effectively. The lewd noises echoing inside the room from the slick of his fingers pumping in and out of you, normally would leave you an embarrassed mess but with a single curl of his finger, those thoughts immediately are swept away. 

His pace quickens and before you have time to react, he’s adding a second finger into the depths of your pussy; stretching you out, guiding you to a close, burning ledge. 

“Shit, Joel!” You sob, open mouth, tears flicking to the corners of your eyes. Your hand stutters but Joel doesn’t mind, his hips thrust forward, grinding the full weight of himself into your grasp.

Even in your haze you manage to shift your hand to point him directly where his fingers disappear inside your seam. “Want you right here, Joel, please. Please, I need it.” You cry, nudging the tip of his cock into your clit. 

Joel growls, deep from within his chest, like a wild animal claiming its prey. His hips stutter just a little, pressing heavier into your clit. But he shakes his head, gritting his teeth. 

“No. No, that’s…off limits,” He groans even as he continues to nudge his head into your cunt. 

“Joel,” You whine but Joel shakes his head, curling his fingers inside to send a strike of lightning along your spine. 

“No. Not this time baby,” Joel coos in a soft, luring voice. Trying to tell himself more than he was warning you.

“Just, ah, the tip then please, please.” You whine, clenching around his fingers still stuffing inside your core. “Please. Just wanna feel you, just enough.” You pathetically beg. His fingers weren’t enough, even just a little bit of his thick head pressing inside you would solve all your problems. 

It’s Joel’s turn to softly whimper after you speak. “The tip,” He repeats, tasting your words on his tongue. “Just the tip.” He says again, finally deciding that just a little bit more was enough. His thick fingers slip out from your inner walls and you feel empty without him. As if your body had been made to fit just him and him alone; and with how fast your head was spinning, you didn’t doubt it for a second. 

You nod frantically as he accepts just using the tip of his head. You grab hold of his shoulder and squeeze it tight, preparing for what comes next. 

Joel takes his hand covered in your slick and wraps it around the base of his shaft. His fingers tangle and nudge against yours; and together you move over his entire cock, coating all of him in the remaining wetness on his fingers. 

He takes a smaller step into you, close enough to smother you entirely. He slots himself right into the slit of your cunt, dragging every inch of his shaft through your soaking wet folds. 

You shiver as he drags himself against you, gripping his shoulder just a little tighter as a mind numbing wave of pleasure races through you. You angle your head ever so slightly to kiss up along his neck, panting against his skin with every kiss you try to place. 

“Fuck…you’re droolin’ all over me sweetheart.” Joel groans, thrusting his hips forward again. He stares where the two of you connect, pupils blown and mouth slightly agape as he watches with awe how he disappears between you. The hand not guiding his cock against you hooks around the crook of your knee, bringing your hips into his. Joel opens your legs and in one fell swoop he slips inside your sloppy seam; and as promised, just the tip.��

When he presses the tip finally inside of you, it knocks the breath out of your lungs. You gasp for air, digging your nails into the thick of his shoulder. His name bubbles up into your throat but it never leaves your lips. Your thighs tremble just as much as your bottom lip does with his entrance into your aching cunt. 

Joel’s grip on your knee is sure to leave bruises but god if he asked, you’d tattoo them on your body. To remind him, and only him, that you belonged to him. 

His entire body shakes as he forces himself to remain totally still. He grunts through clenched teeth as he wills himself not to move further inside you; no matter how badly he wants to slam his hips forward with the way you suck so eagerly on just his tip— he refuses to do so. And it takes every ounce of his willpower not to thrust forward.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath. “‘S tight. You’re so tight, baby.” He adds with a slight whimper to his voice, eyes still heavily staring where the two of you connect. Hips sliding back, dragging the length of his cock out, before digging forward again.

You don’t answer, can’t answer; all you can think of is how fucking good he’s making you feel, even with just the tip.

When he finally sets a good pace, his thrusts are sharp but shallow and not near enough to truly satisfy every inch of your needy core but you’ll take it…until next time. Next time, he’s fucking you into the goddamn mattress until you pass out. 

You try your best to move your hips in sync with his shallow thrusts but Joel quickly shuts that down with his hand moving to grip your hip. When you manage to look up at him, he just weakly shakes his head a little. 

“No.” He mutters, sweat dripping off the high of his eyebrow. “If you move like that I’ll want more than this…” He admits with a flutter to his eyes. 

You groan but nod nonetheless. “Next time.” You huff with a hoarse voice. 

Joel chuckles a little and nods right back at you, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Next time.” He mimics before returning to dig into your core. Your dress bunches under his grasp and he uses it just a little bit to keep himself grounded and you from moving. 

Your body is raging like a storm beneath your skin with how quick your orgasm is rising to greet you. And you’re almost sure if he fully pressed his cock into every inch of your sensitive pussy right then and there, you’d make the worst mess. You’d soak your dress and every inch of his jeans and boots. And while you want him so badly all the way, deep inside, kissing your womb– you’re a little thankful he wasn’t. Didn’t want to embarrass yourself too badly, this time anyway. 

“Joel,” You utter, stars blossoming across your vision with your impending orgasm burning inside your lower tummy. 

“Shh, I know darlin’.” Joel hums back. He doesn’t have to say anything about his own orgasm with the way his cockhead is beginning to swell inside of you. 

For a split second you almost want to beg him to cum inside, wanting to feel him warm and deep inside every inch of your trembling walls but you could already guess what the answer to that was going to be, so you keep your lips sealed. 

Your mind turns fuzzy as his shallow thrust turns chaotic and ruthless, stretching you with every drag. Your knees feel like they’re about to buckle and break but his strong hands hold you up anyway. He wanted you to finish, wanted to feel you clench and flutter around his tip while he considered turning you around, bending you over and really getting the chance to stretch you out. 

“Baby girl,” Joel drawls, low and slow, pressing kiss after kiss into the crown of your head. His chest rises and falls with every rapid breath he sucks between his teeth. “Drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy…not gonna last. Want you to come for darlin’, all over my cock, can you do that baby?” 

He doesn’t even have to ask twice. You can no longer find your voice to form any other word besides “please” as the heat of your womb blossoms. The warmth explodes through every inch of your body. Your back arches with your orgasm, hips stuttering and if it wasn’t for Joel’s big hand on your hip, you might have swallowed him entirely by accident. Your chest presses directly up into his and you can taste the tip of his name coating your tongue as you come all across his cockhead. 

He waits until you’re entirely spent before he allows himself to come as well. He lets go of your hip, grabbing the thick of his base once more, and drags himself out of your tight cunt at the last second before he smears his mark across you.

White, hot spurts of cum splash against your cunt with every stroke of his hand. With a deep groan, he presses his tip into your clit, leaving his mark right up against the curve of your pussy. His hand quickly moves along his entire shaft, pushing out every last drop of his cum into the slit of your quivering pussy. Your name is whispered so softly in time with every jerk of his hand, it leaves you lightheaded and whimpering for Joel.

When he’s finished, his own damn head is spinning. He’s out of breath, staring at the mess he’s made with half lidded eyes. He swipes his thumb through the stain he’s made, chuckling quietly at how much sticks to your skin. 

“Damn sweetheart,” Joel hums in approval, shivering at the sight of you covered in his mark. “You got so much outta me darlin’, like I’m fuckin’ in my twenties again.” 

You’re slowly coming down from your high when he speaks but his words make you laugh alongside him. You were no better than he was; that was one of the best orgasms you’d ever had in your life. The pleasure still pounding inside your ears like a second heartbeat. 

“Yeah? Imagine what it’ll be like next time.” You whisper, letting your full body weight fall back onto the kitchen counter he had previously backed you up into.  

Joel quiets then, letting silence stretch between the two of you like a dry, humid summer. You can’t read his gaze and with the silence accompanying him, you’re not sure you want to read it anyway. But it’s gone quickly and he returns to that softness you’ve seen all day long. 

“Next time?” Joel hums, threading his fingers through your sticky cunt. “Next time, you’re not even gonna be able to fuckin’ walk, sweetheart.”

@ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐙𝐄𝐕𝐑𝐑𝐀 | 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖/𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

@lowrisemiller

[layaispunk]

still here with me

my masterlist | taking requests! <3

pairing: jackson!joel x female!reader

summary: you save Joel.

warnings: spoilers for episode 2. canon typical violence, jackson's hoard, angst, lil bit of fluff. Ellie isnt mentioned.

a/n: i love abby but NOT ON MY WATCH. anyway .... how are we feeling ....? 🫂

The sounds of gunfire crackled through the cold. 

The blizzard felt like an entity - roaring, kicking up like ash as the hoard was running toward Jackson’s gates - hundreds of them, more than you'd ever seen. Clickers, stalkers, runners. Screeching. Crawling. Dying in waves, but still coming.

You stood on the wall beside Tommy, breath steaming in the cold as your rifle jerked back with each shot. “There’s too many, Tommy. We need the barrels."

“Fuck!” Tommy yelled, loading another round. “Keep your aim steady!” Tommy barked.

But you weren't hearing him anymore. Your ears were ringing. Joel.

You blinked hard, fired another round. “Tommy,” you muttered, voice tight.

He didn’t turn. “What?”

“I have to go.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I need to find him. I need to find Joel. Amy said he's at the ski lodge."

Tommy finally looked at her, eyes wide. “Are you crazy?"

 “Something’s wrong, Tommy. I can feel it.”

Tommy grabbed your arm. “You run out now, you’ll die. Its a death trap.”

“Then I'll die trying.” you muttered, his hand still on yours.

He hesitated—just a breath—then nodded toward the watchtower behind them. “Back gate. It’s clearer that way. Take a horse and ride fast. You hear me? Be fuckin safe. Go."

You sprinted to the stables, saddled a horse with shaky hands, and rode like hell—snow blurring your vision, heart screaming louder than the wind, outrunning the hoard. Toward the lodge. 

Every fiber of you wanted to scream Joel and Dina's names to look for them. To cry out. But you had enough experience to know that you couldn’t.

If they were in trouble, if they're hurt —you yelling would only paint a target on your back. Or theirs. It wasn't an option. 

So you rode low in the saddle, head ducked beneath the howling wind, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

When you finally reached the edge of the lodge, you dismounted, boots hitting the ground heavy and wet. Snow clung to your coat and lashes. The horse huffed, nervous.

You crept forward, one foot after the other. Fingers clenched around your rifle. No footprints leading away from the door. No sign of anyone leaving in a hurry. Just quiet.

The sky above you was darkening fast, blizzard now in full force. 

You walked in, slowly. . It felt like your body knew something before your mind did, like it was bracing for impact. Weathered wood, furniture covered in plastic. Then, you saw a door. You placed your gloved hand on the knob, the other pressing your body flush to the wall beside it. Then you leaned in, ear to the wood.

Voices.

Muffled.

A woman’s voice.

"where was the last place you saw the fireflies?,” she was saying, her tone sharp but almost distant, like she was trying to keep steady.

Think. Think, think, think.

You didn’t know for certain—It could be anyone. But something in your chest twisted so violently, it was like your body already knew Joel and Dina were in that room, and they were running out of time.

How many voices? Two? Three? More? Your blood roared in your ears. You couldn’t make out words—just tones. Angry. Confident. Like they weren’t worried about being caught. 

You stepped back from the door, trying to breathe past the knot in your chest and move as quietly as possible. You had to distract them. Get them away from him. Make them come to you.

You crept down the hall, eyes sweeping the room. Old furniture, untouched for years. You spotted a rusted kettle on the stove and stealthily, you knocked it off with your rifle. You usually do this tactic with glass bottles, but you needed to think fast. 

It hit the ground hard—clang—echoing through the lodge.

Shouts followed. Heavy footsteps. “What the hell was that?”

You dropped behind furniture just as two came around the corner, both unarmed. 

There was a high-pitched ring in your ears, drowning out everything but your own pulse.

Your hands moved before your mind caught up and you stealthily walked behind them and plunged the knife into the side of their throat, a trail of bodies behind you now. 

You crept back toward that door, heart slamming against your ribs. You kicked it open hard, rifle raised—ready to die if it meant he lived.

Joel. On his knees, arms up, breathing heavily. Dina passed out on the floor. And in front of Joel —a woman. Armed. Blonde. Braid hanging down her back. Gun aimed at his head.

You didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. Bang.

She dropped before she even turned fully.

The other two put their hands up, trying to save themselves. You fired again. And again. You needed to move fast. 

You ran to him. You dropped your rifle, crossed the room in seconds, and crashed into him like you were afraid he might disappear if you let another second pass.

Joel caught you with both arms, pulling you in so tight it felt like your ribs would snap. His eyes were red and teary, his body was shaking. You could feel his heart hammering through his chest, loud and frantic, like it was trying to fight its way into yours. 

Neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing—sharp, broken. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand tangled in the back of your jacket like he couldn’t let go.

By the time you made it back to Jackson, the blizzard had quieted, but the damage was done.

The wall was down. Dead clickers littered the snow, half-buried in blood and snow. Smoke curled from where fires had been. Guards moved slowly through the wreckage, dragging corpses, calling out names.

You rode in with Joel just behind you, Dina slumped between your arms on the saddle. She hadn’t woken up yet, still drugged, still breathing.

Tommy met you at the gate - or what was left of it. His face was pale with ash and blood, eyes going wide when he saw the three of you.

Joel slid off the horse first, then reached up to take Dina from your arms.

You followed, boots hitting the red-streaked snow, gaze locked on the chaos around you.

Jackson had survived, but just barely.

You and Joel sat in the quiet of the house, the kind of silence that only comes after something  that violent. Your jacket was still damp from the snow, but your hands were warm now—held out toward the fireplace in your home. 

Joel hadn’t said much since you got back.

You’d stayed behind, helped with the wreckage. But Tommy had grabbed your arm, eyes heavy, voice low. “You’ve done enough. Take him home. Take care of him.”

So now here you were. Home. With the love of your life. 

He sat in the armchair beside you, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was still catching his breath from hours ago. The firelight danced across his face, cutting soft gold into the bruises blooming along his jaw. Gosh, he looks so beautiful. 

You walked over slowly, knees brushing his as you knelt in front of him. He looked up—eyes tired, but still Joel. Still your Joel.

“You okay?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached forward, pulling you into his lap like he’d been waiting all night to feel you close.

You curled into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands threaded into his hair. He let out a shaky breath against your neck, like he’d been holding it in for hours.

You pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him.

Then you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Slow. Careful. Like you were afraid he might break if you weren’t gentle.

“I’m so happy you’re still here with me,” you whispered, voice thick with everything you didn’t say out loud.

Joel didn’t answer—not with words. But the way he held you tighter, like he’d never let go again… that was enough.

For now, it was enough.

[bweeeb]

HAWAII SOLUTIONS

Dbf Joel Miller × Reader

Summary: If your dad can fuck someone younger, so can you, maybe his hot best friend?

warnings: dirt, sex in public but without public, age gap, smut, I'm not fluent in English so I apologize for mistakes,

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

Vacation. My dad said I needed a vacation when I decided to drop out of business school. That’s how I ended up here. In Hawaii.

The beach was stunning, the food was amazing, and nothing beats sleeping in hotel beds—but then there was them. My dad, his girlfriend—Addison, who was disgustingly just two years older than me—and, of course, his best friend, Joel. Fucking Joel Miller.

He was a problem, but not the kind that made me want to rip my hair out—or his.

Addison, now she was a problem. Everywhere. At home—loud, at college—loud, on the plane—loud. That bitch is loud everywhere, trust me. I was always sure she was with my dad for the money, the Gucci bags, and the tuition he paid for. Which was ridiculous. And yet, here she was in Hawaii.

‘You’re too tense.’

Joel said it as he lay back on the lounge chair next to mine on the beach.

He’d been my problem since I was fifteen. Seven years later, I was still here, looking at him like he was some Greek god. Well, I’d be damned if he wasn’t, lounging there while I sat stiffly, watching the way-too-happy couple by the water.

‘I’m not,’

I mumbled.

‘You should hate her less. And him too—he’s trying.’

‘Come on, Joel. Don’t do this.’

‘Do what?’

‘Say that crap. He’s a hypocrite. I could never be with someone the way he’s with her.’

I huffed and rolled my eyes.

‘She makes him happy.’

He said, and I just stayed quiet. ‘Why’d you drop out of college?’

I shrugged without looking at him. That bastard reached over, his thick fingers pressing into my cheeks, forcing me to look at him.

‘Look at me and stop acting like a child.’

‘I’m not,’ I hissed through gritted teeth. He was shirtless under an open blue dress shirt, chest hair trailing down into those red swim trunks, and god, I could ride that nose for hours.

‘There she is, looking at me,’

he teased, and my cheeks flushed. He smiled.

‘Now tell me.’

‘She distracts me.’

I kept it short, especially since his hand was now grazing my collarbone and neck, back and forth in the sweetest little touch.

‘How does she distract you? I thought you liked men ’

' Shut up old man ' I teased him and saw his jaw tighten

' I'm fucking 45 you brat '

' Oh, so you can still get an erection to fuck me?'

' Continue where you were'

‘Everyone knows about him. They talk. She flaunts being with one of us and spending all our money. It bothers me.’

‘You should tell him.’

‘Like he’d believe me. You know him, you know exactly what he’d say.’

‘Unfortunately, I do, sweetheart.’

Joel looked down for a second, then back at me. ‘But you know… you could flip the script.’

‘What do you mean?’

Now it was him who shrugged. I laughed.

‘I mean, you’re 22. Want revenge? Take it. You’re in Hawaii.’

‘He’d kill me if I slept with someone.’

‘ Put the blame on daddy issues,’ Joel said playfully, and I laughed louder.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Watch your mouth, young lady.’

He scolded me, and I stuck out my tongue. He smiled at me.

Oh, I was seeing something all right—or maybe just fantasizing about him naked again.

‘Hey, you two! Come back to the room, let’s reserve dinner. You joining us?’

My dad called out as he walked toward us with his way-too-young girlfriend.

‘Sure,’ Joel answered, removing his hands from me and sitting up.

As they left the beach, I smiled at Joel and stood up, squinting down at him.

‘What?’

‘You shouldn’t wear a shirt at the beach.’ I put my hands on my hips.

‘I do what I want, I’m a grown man, doll.’

‘Well, so am I—grown, I mean.’

With that, I walked over and sat on his lap like I had no damn filter. Joel grunted, not touching me until I rolled my eyes and pulled his hands to my body.

‘You shouldn’t wear a dress to the beach either.’

‘It’s a cover-up,’ I muttered, but smiled right after. ‘But since you insist…’

I pulled it over my head, silently thanking myself for choosing my smallest bikini today. Joel’s eyes dropped to my chest, and I slowly unbuttoned his shirt until he was bare-chested.

‘We should go for a swim’

I suggested.

‘It’s getting dark.’

‘Even better.’

I stood, swaying my hips as I headed toward the water and the setting sun. I heard Joel mutter a fuck’s sake before he ran after me, grabbing me by the waist and tossing me over his shoulder.

‘Joel! Don’t you dare throw me, are you listening—'

‘Too late, sweetheart.’

The cold water shocked my skin, and I screamed. Then screamed again when strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

‘I think I want my revenge,’

I whispered, as Joel pressed wet kisses to my salty skin.His tongue circled my neck like I was some kind of delicious ice cream. As my body warmed up, I turned to face him, wrapping my legs around his waist and feeling his hard-on through my bikini.

‘I can’t fuck you. Fuck,’

he groaned, running his hands along my body.

‘Then why’d you say that?’

I whined, clinging to him.

‘Baby girl…’

‘Let’s just… do something. I just want to feel you.’

I pulled his cock out of his shorts, stroked him a few times, and then sank down on him.

‘What are you doing?’

His voice was low, breathless.

‘Mmm.’

I moaned with my eyes closed, clenching around him.

‘I just wanted to feel you inside me.’

‘Ah, baby. We can’t do this here.’

He shifted slightly, which made his cock slide deeper into my slick pussy. Fuck, I wanted him to wreck me right there.

‘Fuck, you’re so tight. Your sweet little pussy. Fuck my life.’

He groaned, eyes closed. Then a shout broke the spell.

‘Hey! What are you two still doing out there?’

My dad’s voice from the shore.

‘Why are you clinging to him?’

Because your best friend’s cock is buried in your little girl’s pussy.

‘I think there are crabs out here!’ I yelled.

‘She got scared,’ Joel added. And just then, a small wave hit us, and his hips bucked forward, driving his cock deeper inside me. The first wave of the night.

‘Alright, better come back, it’s getting dark.’

My dad called again. Joel thrust one more time, stealing my breath with a quiet moan.

‘Ahh…’

I moaned softly, and Joel smiled.

‘Add and I will be up on the deck!’

My dad pointed to the wooden deck overlooking the beach.

‘We’ll be right up!’ Joel shouted, and pulled out, hiding himself quickly. He dragged us out of the water before Dad could see. The cave-like spot beneath the deck was perfect—no view, just the sound of waves.Joel grabbed my ass again and slid inside me as he sat down. I bounced on his dick while he sucked on my nipples.

‘Riding my dick so good, baby.’

‘Oh Joel, I love your dick. Thank you,’

I whimpered, and he laughed in bliss.

‘Yeah, baby, you’re such a filthy little thing, always craving my dick.’

‘I am. Fuck me, Joel. I’m yours.’

He flipped me over, and I arched my ass up for him. Joel slammed back inside me. fucking my ass hard, the sound of his balls slapping against my skin made me shiver with the hard feeling of him.

‘Fuck, you feel so good.’ His hands pulled me to the air to rest my back against his chest and his hand massaged my swollen clitoris, rubbing my wet pussy for it.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

I moaned as my climax hit, and three more deep thrusts had his balls smacking my ass before he emptied himself inside me.

‘You think he heard us?’

‘Probably,’

Joel said, breathless.

‘Good.’

If this was what vacation meant, I had zero complaints.

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[joeldarling]

the things i would for peepaw joel