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18 Seasons
A Joel Miller baseball player AU.
Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Joel Miller has only ever known playing baseball for his hometown team, and they’ve just announced they’re not resigning him. He heads to a fancy hotel bar to drink alone and wallow. He doesn’t except to find you, the team owner’s daughter, there.  Warnings: smut, baseball talk, drinking, banter (reader has a smart mouth and Joel’s got that asshole voice), unprotected p in v (but a discussion on testing and reader has an IUD), F receiving oral, Joel’s 42, reader’s in her late 30’s.  Words: 4,900 Playlist A/N: Happy 2024 Baseball Season! I’ve always thought Joel Miller would make a good baseball player, though I’m not sure if I just want to see him in tight baseball pants and that’s why I think that. 🤔 Anyways, this might be a bit of an adventure in me coping with the fact that my current favorite ballplayer is over 40 and only signed a minor league contract to play this season. Also, shout out to said favorite baseball player’s arm for being part of the cover of this, feels very Joel Miller to me. Hope you enjoy! Drop a line and tell me what team/player you’re rooting for this season! 
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"The Austin Capitals thank first baseman Joel Miller for his time and dedication to the team for the past 18 seasons. Miller is a six time All-Star, two time batting champion, and two time Gold Glove winner. He signed with his hometown team in the second round of the draft twenty three years ago and has been a great contribution both on and off the field. The organization will not be able to provide Miller with the proper playing time, with the current roster and plans for the upcoming season. We thank him for his years of service and he will forever be a part of the Capitals family."
Joel knew it was coming, it was inevitable. He had been warned of it multiple times, his agent straight and to the point about his chances, his brother and Maria more analytical and sympathetic, and his sweet Sarah so chipper and hopeful for him. 
For twenty three years he’s only known the Capitals. The only thing he’s ever been good at, baseball… he’s never been so good at anything else really, save maybe for wood working or fishing, but those were hobbies. Baseball was his job, he knows he’s a lucky son of a bitch who got to do this full time, and now it’s all over, he’s unemployed.
Joel needs a drink. The stronger, the better. 
DING. DING.
DING. DING. DING.
DING. DING.
He also needs to turn off his phone.
“What can I get you?”
“Gin martini, dirty please.”
“Should I charge it to your room?”
“Ye–“
“No, you can put it on my tab." You turn towards the deep voice, you’re used to the southern accent, you grew up around it, but this timber is different and yet so familiar. 
“Joel?” What the hell?
He lifts his glass towards you, his dark brown eyes shining at you from across the bar.
You haven’t seen him in quite a few years, ever since you got the hell out of Texas, moving to New York and betraying your home state for packed subway cars and better politics. 
He stands and walks towards you, he looks just as good as you remembered. Broad, strong, and too damn handsome to be alone on what you know might be the worst night of his life.
“Figured you wouldn’t waste your time on any of that fruity drink stuff,” he nods towards your drink as it’s placed in front of you.
“Too much sugar gives me a headache.” 
“Mm,” Joel gulps down the rest of his drink and signals the bartender for another. 
“…How are you holding up? I’m really sor—“
“M’fine. Was expected.” 
He doesn’t want to talk about it. Understood. 
Joel Miller was never one for talking, or the media. He’d give them a nod and a quick answer before moving on to the next nuisance. Talking was never his job, you know this. Your dad would sometimes complain about how his star player couldn’t play nice with the reporters. You always admired Joel’s candidness, it’s one of the things that you found most attractive about him. He was always honest, whether it was a good thing or a bad thing depended on how high the team was in the standings. You’re going to miss him on your team, but you can’t let him know that.
“So, why exactly are you back here in Texas?”
“It’s my Mom’s birthday, she’s tired of visiting me in New York, was guilted back here as part of her present.” 
“Mm. New York, hate playing in New York.”
“Likely thing to hear you say. Guess I should ask you what you’re doing in a fancy hotel bar in the city you live in?”
“S’quiet here, it’s the fanciest hotel ‘round here, nobody who stays here cares about baseball. Not a lot of people recognize me without the hat on.”
“Ouch. I care about baseball.” 
“Yeah, and you don’t belong in a place like this,” Joel pivots to look at you, his arm resting on the bar top.
“Where do I belong, Joel?” You angle your body to look at him and swallow down the last bit of your drink.
“Some place cozier, not as cold and… corporate as this place. Some place… hip.”
Your head tips back in laughter. “Hip?! I have a phone case with ducks on it, I cried at the same part I always cry at during Paddington 2 last night. I’m far from hip, what a funny word.”
“Dunno, always got the idea you’re cooler than me.”
“Okay pro baseball player.”
“Not so pro now,” Joel scours.
“Hey, sorry,” you place your hand on his forearm, a perfunctory touch. You had zero decision on the matter, and yet you feel so much guilt over it. You know what this game meant to him and you know he made it known he wanted to return. 
“S’alright. Just weird to know I’m done for.” He looks down and focuses on his hand rubbing back and forth on the rim of the glass. A nervous tell. Your hand remains on his arm, Joel makes no attempt to move away.
“You’re not done for, I’m sure another team would like you.”
“Don’t want another team. My daughter grew up here. Hell, I grew up here. My brother’s here. Sarah just started college here. I couldn’t move away.”
His daughter. The big story of Joel’s first year was how the star rookie, was also a father to a newborn baby girl. Juggling a .300 average and fatherhood.
“Wow, she’s in college, huh? I remember seeing her at the stadium all of the time, reminded me of how I grew up there too.”
“Time flies,” a wistful smile on his face as Joel signals the bartender for another round of drinks for the two of you. 
Goodness he’s gorgeous. You’ve always found him attractive, ever since he was signed right out of high school. All tall, golden skinned and muscular, now his form is a little more filled out, his muscles less defined but still fully there. His arms and thighs thicker now, a small gut protruding, but still solid and muscular. His speed to round the bases is a lot slower these days but his power and batting eye are stronger from years of playing. He was a school girl crush for you, a stadium give away bobble head of his still sits in your office under the ruse that he was your team’s biggest player. Now you don’t know what to call it, you’re long past school girl crushes. All you know is now, over twenty years later, he’s still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Time sure does fly.
“Are you staying here tonight?” You cut the silence between the two of you, both of you facing the bar and quietly sipping your drinks. Joel’s eyes looking a little heavier, the alcohol taking its effect on him. You feel good, a lot lighter, but happy to sit and allow Joel to ponder.
“Planned on it. Booked a room. Figured I’d get drunk and go pass out, take care of everything I have to tomorrow. Just don’t want to deal with it tonight.” 
“I understand that, just didn’t know if you needed car service home, I could have ordered you one.”
“Dad’s money, right?” Joel bites out condescendingly. 
“Or, my money, you asshole,” you bark back. You know he’s pissed off at the world but there’s no need for his tone to be so mean towards you. 
“Sorry, still kinda pissed off at your family.”
“My family? You mean my dad? I had nothing to do with it, my mother had nothing to do with it. You can be pissed off at him, but you’re also not getting any younger and believe it or not our farm system and minors are stacked with talent waiting to play.” You try to calm your voice as you gulp a drink down from your newly made martini. You don’t want to be pissed off and drunk but goodness the cold gin cools your heated body. “You’re old Joel, and you know it.”
“Of course I know it sweetheart, but I know I’m still better than most of those kids.” 
“Yeah, well, stop getting injured and batting .220 and prove it.”
“Damn, you got a smart mouth,” Joel leers at you.
“Not to mention all the time and effort spent on keeping your body in playing shape. I’m sorry, you’re ancient in sports standards.”
“Real fuckin’ smart mouth, huh?” Joel leans in and whispers, “I like it.”
You fight the urge to moan, to give an audible to the feeling that’s now coursing through your body from those three words snarled into your ear. 
You feel the same feelings you felt those few years ago, while out with the team celebrating their playoff series win. Drinks flowing, cigars puffing plumes of smoke into the air, conversations shouted above music, bodies sweating and glowing different hues under the lights on the dance floor. The Capitals were heading to the World Series for the first time in twenty years, thanks to Joel Miller’s walk-off home run. Teary hugs shared with your family and friends as you watched him round the bases, it may have been the happiest you’d ever seen your dad. Hell, it may have been the happiest you’d ever been. You didn’t think the night could get any better, until Joel backed you into a corner of the club and stuck his tongue in your mouth and his hand up your dress. You don’t know if you’ve still forgiven him for pulling his fingers out of you and wiping the wet of your orgasm on his jeans before slurring out, “Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that,” as he backed away and left, leaving you all weak kneed and blissed out panting for air. 
You did agree though, he really shouldn’t have, the scandal that could’ve been brought on if the owner’s daughter was spotted in that position with the team’s star baseball player. He’s one of the reasons why you moved away, he was off limits and it drove you crazy. You casually dated, you slept with strangers, you spent three years with your ex who you thought you’d settle for and marry, but that night never escaped you. Sometimes you’d reach your hand between your legs and touch yourself while you remembered the look in his eyes as he nodded his head to signal you to follow him into that desolate space. Like he always wanted you as much as you always wanted him and he was seizing the opportunity. 
“I’m just letting you know what we’re all seeing. Trust me, I don’t want to see you in any other colors than the Capitals color. Red suits you.” If you’re being honest, you really prefer him in the olive green button up shirt he’s wearing tonight. The top few buttons of it unbuttoned to relieve the stretched seams around his large shoulders giving you a peek of the gold chain he always wears resting against the bronzed skin of his neck and chest.
“Mm, whatever the color you want to call this is,” Joel grabs the shoulder of your shirt and rubs the fabric between his fingers, “suits you.”
“I call it aquamarine, most would just call it light blue.” 
“S’pretty, s’soft.” You wonder if he can see how rapid your heart is beating or the swallow of air you gulp down as his eyes linger on your chest and neck. “Fits real well.”
“Thanks, bought it at one those real fancy stores they have in New York,” you lift your shoulder causing Joel to pull his hand back. 
“Do the boys in New York like you in this color?” Joel’s words drip with the sarcastic tone he’s famous for. 
“Worked a couple of weeks ago with a guy. HUGE New York fan,” you emphasize huge, two can play that game. “Like, big, real big.” 
“Mm,” Joel’s nostrils flare. “He your last? This… New York fan?” 
“Yep,” you smile through your glass taking a drink and licking your lips.
“Mm,” Joel’s eyes don’t leave your mouth. “And why’s that?”
“Been busy, haven’t found anybody that’s piqued my interest, I guess.” 
“And what was so special about him?” 
“Not sure,” you shrug, “he was good looking and paid for my martinis. I wanted him, he wanted me, the classic hook up.” 
“Talk to him since?”
“Here and there, he seems nice enough." “Mm,” Joel licks his lips as he leans forward placing his arm on the back of your chair and turning it to swivel towards him, his other arm rests on the bar, caging you in between. “You want nice?” You can feel the heat radiating off his body, see the freckles on his skin from years of playing ball in the sun, smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with the soap on his skin. You’re so close you can almost count the gray hairs just beginning to tint his dark hair lighter. You want him.
“Not really. Plus, he was younger than me, I’m pretty sure I like older men.” You challenge him. You can compete with the best of them, and Joel’s one of the best, he’s made millions of dollars over the years just from being competitive. 
“Mm,” Joel moves the hand from the back of your chair to your shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth, his touch igniting your core. 
“How long has it been for… you?” Your words come out a little too nervous than you’d like them to be. 
“Few months, not sure. Don’t like that type of distraction during the season.” 
“A celibate?”
“No, not that, just don’t have the time with deal with all that, between Sarah’s senior year ‘n me having to focus more on my regimen, ya’ know since I’m ancient.” 
“Mm,” you copy Joel’s sound. He smirks. 
“Never been my scene to meet someone, fuck them, and leave the next morning.” Your body tenses at his words. “I prefer to know someone before I touch ‘em. Too many people out there just want to say they slept with a ballplayer and move on. Not for me.”
The hushed tone of Joel’s voice and his proximity to you begins to take its toll on you, you feel so hot and quite flustered. “I understand that.”
“You ever been with a ballplayer? Ya’ know since you’re involved in the business.”
“I haven’t… just what we did in that club after the playoff win,” you blink at him, willing him to tell you he wants more.
“You want to do more than just that with a ballplayer?” Joel’s accent dropping an octave as he whispers the question out. 
“I do,” you just as quietly confess. 
“You want to do more than just that with me?” he leans in closer.
“I do.”
“Alright sweetheart, your room or mine?”
“I have the suite, so mine.” 
“Should’ve charged the drinks to your room then.” Joel turns and gets the bartender’s attention.
It’s becoming real. You calm your nerves as Joel signs the check and moves off the stool, you following him through the bar and lobby before reaching the elevator.
All you expected to do tonight was have a couple of drinks while reading a book in a quiet corner of the bar before ordering room service and watching whatever movie you can find on hotel TV. You’re now headed up to your room with Joel Miller.
The elevator doors ding open, empty with nobody following behind you. It’s just you and him in the mirrored oasis of the lift. You go in first and stand with your back against the wall.
“What number?”
“The P at the top, I have to scan my card,” you lift your key out of your pocket and hand it to him. 
“Of course. You got the suite.” 
“I did, wanted to treat myself on my return home.”
“Mm,” Joel scans the card and tucks it in the back pocket of his jeans. The doors close and your stomach anxiously drops as the lift speeds upward.
The vision of Joel surrounds you, his reflection repeated in every panel, you could stay right in this small room forever, seeing every angle of his handsome face. Aquiline nose, creased eyebrows, dimple tucked between a dark mustache and beard, plush lips, deep brown eyes, wavy hair.
“You’re staring.” You’re shocked out of your concentration by Joel’s whisper. “This whole elevator’s mirrors, I can see you as much as you see me.”
A blush creeps across your face. 
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Joel turns around and steps towards you, standing in front of you. “You look beautiful.” His hand rests against your cheek, his head angles down, his lips resting right in front of yours. “It’s hard to look away from you.” 
You close the gap between the two of you, your lips meeting his. It’s a soft kiss, both of your tongues gently licking into each other’s mouths. You’re both savoring the first taste of each other in years, it feels like he also would think about your last kiss as much as you did. Joel pulls away first, turning his head to look in the mirror, you follow his gaze. His hand on your cheek, your hand resting on his bicep, far too big for you to be able to wrap your hand around it. This reality you’re in right now feels like something out of one of your wildest dreams. The alarm goes off, the elevator dinging your arrival to your floor. Joel turns away and you follow behind him as he unlocks your room door.
“Nice room, pretty big for just you, don’t you think?”
“It is. Maybe I figured I’d be sharing it with someone else. Maybe someone older who needed more space to get around on account of his old knees and hurt shoulder.”
“That mouth is going to get you in trouble one day, sweetheart.”
“I welcome it,” you look up at him as you bend over to untie your shoes. 
“Where’s the bedroom?” Again, you like Joel’s bluntness. You appreciate how he doesn’t mince words, he knows what he wants and he tells you what he thinks. 
You point, he nods, and turns towards it as he begins to unbutton his shirt. 
“What? You got somewhere to go?” You shout still standing in the middle of the living room. 
“No,” Joel peeks his head out of the doorframe, shirt half open, his hands paused on a button. “I just really want to see you naked on your bed.” 
Your knees feel weak, your pussy clenches, you body breaks out in goosebumps. You love his mouth and the way he always sounds like an asshole, even if he’s telling you he wants to see you naked. 
You hurry to the bedroom, taking your shirt off and tossing it behind you. 
Joel stands with his shirt unbuttoned next to the bedside table, the only light source of the room is the lamp he’s turned on next to him. His skin might be your favorite color, sun bronzed with a patina of dark freckles across his chest and neck. His body standing in front of the dark wood paneled wall glowing in the aureate glow of the lamp takes your breath away. Maybe you should come home more often.
“Take your pants off,” Joel turns to you, his eyes lighting when he sees you without your shirt. 
He sheds his shirt before unbuckling his belt and removing his jeans. Your own clothing removal pauses as you stare at the trail from his belly to the black boxer briefs bulging with his erection. This man could never survive without spandex, his thick thighs strain the tight fabric.  “Like I said, take your pants off darlin’,” he chuckles. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him chuckle. 
“Oh, sorry, yes,” stammers out as you remove your jeans. 
You can’t help but not look away from him. You’ll never get over just how handsome and large he is. Other men with his features on their bodies would look ridiculous but Joel is perfectly put together. You can’t get over the fact that he wants you as much as you want him. 
“How’d you know navy blue was my favorite color?” Joel asks as he stares at your panties. You wonder if he can see how soaked they are. 
“Didn’t. Lucky you.” You’re not sure who’s luckier at this point, maybe you’re both ready to share each other’s luck. 
“Very. Get on the bed for me.”
You lay down on the soft sheets, the bed and cover are so plush you sink into it. Your hands by your sides pet the silky sheet and your legs rub against the fabric, it feels so divine and smooth.
“God, you look good like that,” Joel reaches down to palm himself through his briefs. “Might be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Your body lights on fire at his praise, your pulse quickening, your almost naked body feeling overheated. “Spread your legs for me.” 
You follow his instruction, bending your knees and spreading. Joel climbs on the bed to kneel in between, his palms rest atop of your knees, you can feel the calluses on his hands from years of gloves and bats on your smooth skin. 
He runs his hands down your legs before stopping right at the edge of your panties. You moan as he takes a hand and runs it back and forth along your drenched panties. “This all for me?” His cocky smile making his dimple even more apparent. 
“Yes, fuck… yes,” you struggle out. You’re so turned on right now, aching all over. Joel’s barely even touched you and you feel like he’s already devastated your whole body. You’ve never felt this way with anybody else before. 
“Want to see all of you, take your bra off ’n I’ll take these off,” Joel says as he cups your cloth covered pussy. 
You lean up to unsnap your bra, quickly getting naked as Joel takes off your panties. He sits back on his heels, his eyes mapping your body. “Jesus baby, you’re so fucking pretty ’n soft looking.”
His voice, his accent, his praise, it causes a whimper out of you. 
“I know baby,” Joel leans down, his hands grab your ass cheeks and pulls your whole body towards him, easily lifting your ass up. Your pussy rests now right in front of his face, you can feel the heat of his breath against your sensitive folds. He’s supporting your whole lower half in his hands until you lift your legs to rest atop his wide shoulders. He licks a long stripe up from your opening to your clit and back again. 
“Taste so fucking good, so fucking sweet, knew you’d be this good. Can’t believe I didn’t taste you before.” Joel’s words of devotion are spoken straight to your cunt. 
He devours your pussy like it’s never been ate before, fucking into you with his tongue, sucking on your clit, rubbing the bristle of his thin beard against your sensitive folds. Your thighs and legs beginning to shake against Joel as your whole body burns with pleasure. His hands are gripping your ass so tight, his strength and support the only reason why your whole body hasn’t collapsed as your orgasm quickly ripples through you.
Joel moans against you as you spill into him. He doesn’t come up for air as your hips writhe against him. He flicks his tongue against your pulsing clit, a scream escaping your mouth as he begins to press his tongue down on your too sensitive bundle of nerves. 
“Holy fuck,” you struggle out. “Fuck. Joel, Joel. Fuck.” 
“Mm,” Joel lifts his head up out of in between your legs, your wet glistening on the lower half of his face, his eyes resting under his furrowed brows staring right at you. You unwrap your legs from around his head as Joel gently helps your legs drop to the bed. 
Joel rubs your legs and thighs as he stares down at you longingly. His actions are so sweet, actions you never thought you’d see. You don’t think a lot of people get to see this side of him, his features relaxed, mouth slacked open a bit, eyes softened, this isn’t competitive Joel, this is bedroom Joel.
“Let me fuck you baby, don’t think I’m going to last long, wanted to prove to you I can fuck you all night but I’ve waited a long time for this.” 
Your core clenches at his words, you wanted to challenge him tonight too, but you can’t fathom the idea of waiting any longer for Joel’s cock inside you. He gets up off the bed, removing his briefs, his cock springing free. Fuck, he’s big and beautiful, the perfect size and shape to match his broad and athletic body. 
Joel climbs back on the bed, his body resting in between your spread legs again, this time he leans forward, putting his weight on his two arms as he looms above you. You feel his cock resting against your wet cunt. 
“You got a condom or should I have grabbed mine from my wallet?”
“No— can I ask you something?”
“Now?” Joel huffs. "I guess."
“Yes, yeah,” you gather your nerves before you confess. “I want to feel you, all of you. I have an IUD and I always use protection with… others, I just, I want to feel your cum inside of me.” 
Joel's jaw drops at the shock of your blunt words. “Fuck, yes. Of course. Jesus Christ.” His dick twitches against you as he answers. “I’m tested and clean.”
“I’m clean too.”
“Fuck baby, I’m so glad you asked.” Joel plants a kiss to the top of your head as he pushes himself into you. 
“Holy fuck,” you rasp out at the feel of Joel’s cock stretching you. He’s slow to enter, mindful of how tight your cunt is squeezing around him. It stings so good, you’ve never been this stretched before. 
You shut your eyes and focus on taking his length, anchoring yourself in this moment. 
“I can feel you clutching me, fuck you feel so good,” you open your eyes at Joel’s words. The glimmer of Joel’s gold chain catches your eye as he moves inside you. You’re mesmerized by how it moves between the two of you, the pendant swinging back and forth like a metronome of Joel’s cock entering and exiting you. “Look at me baby.”
You move your gaze from Joel’s necklace to his eyes, all big and brown and blown out with lust. He begins to increase his pace, your whole core beginning to build another orgasm. Joel cranes his neck down to kiss you, the way his mouth languidly moves against your mouth contrasts the brutal speed of the way he’s now fucking you. You move your hands up to cradle his head, gripping his messy curled hair, left longer during the offseason.
Years and years of pining over Joel culminating in this one night, a surprise encounter at the bar turning into the shared moans and groans you and Joel trade back and forth as your bodies move together.
He’s simply too beautiful, your eyes watching his heavy eyes disappear behind the crinkles on the side of them as he half smiles at you. Like he also can’t believe the two of you are doing this. 
You move your hips to meet his thrusts, the softness of the bed cradling you as Joel fucks you harder.
“M’close baby,” respires out against your mouth. Your cunt tightening even more around him as you both begin to reach the apex of your orgasms. “You gonna cum with me?”
You can only nod and blink hoping that your whimpers and moans let him know you’re right there with him. 
“Fuck, you’re so pretty and tight, can’t believe how fast you’re gonna make me cum. Fuck baby, just talking about it— gonna fucking cum.” 
You feel Joel’s cock throb as his spend fills you, your orgasm following, pumping Joel’s cock as you pulse around him. 
He drops down to rest on his forearms, his body landing on top of you. You welcome the feeling of his burning hot body smothering yours. He kisses you as he languidly still fucks into your cunt with his softening cock. Your pussy drips a mixture of your intermingled cum out as Joel pulls out and lays next to you on his back. 
You turn and rest your head rests against his chest, his breaths are slow and relaxed. Your hands run up his chest, stopping at the gold chain around his neck.
“Never took you for a necklace man, why do you wear it?”
“My daughter got it for me, when I won that playoff game.”
“Like THAT playoff game you hit the walk-off?” Your question implying it’s the same game you celebrated together, with Joel in the back of the club. 
“Yeah, that one,” Joel wraps his hand around yours. “Sometimes I still think of you and I that night when I see it. Thank you for tonight. You made a bad day into the best night.”
A/N: I adore these two. This stands as a one shot right now, since I'm currently working on my multi-chapter story Elks, but I might revisit them later. Go sports!
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joeloverture · 3 months
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hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader
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masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.
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You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.
Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.
Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 
No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.
So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.
You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.
The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.
Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?
The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 
You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.
Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.
The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.
Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.
You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 
Bingo.
Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.
You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.
You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.
And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.
It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.
His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.
You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.
TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.
A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 
That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.
Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.
He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.
“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”
Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.
Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”
Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.
He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”
You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 
“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”
“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”
Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.
Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.
“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.
Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”
You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.
“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.
He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”
He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 
“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”
There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.
You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”
You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”
“Knew that already,” you mumble.
He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”
You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.
“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”
He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.
The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.
“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.
Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 
When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”
“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.
“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.
He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.
You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”
With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”
“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 
“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.
You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”
The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.
“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”
“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 
“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 
Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”
“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.
You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”
Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.
“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 
Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.
“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.
Then — he stops.
His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 
"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."
You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.
Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”
 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”
You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.
“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.
“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.
You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 
“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.
Oh.
It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.
He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.
“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 
A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”
If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.
“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.
When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.
“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.
“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”
“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 
“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.
“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”
He doesn’t make you wait any longer.
When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 
“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.
“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 
His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.
“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”
“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”
Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 
Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 
“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”
“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.
His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.
“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.
If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.
“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”
With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.
Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”
And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”
Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.
With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.
And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.
“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.
You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”
When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.
Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?
Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”
Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.
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cavillscurls · 1 month
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daddy next door | j. miller (two)
❝ summer lovin’ ❞
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chapter summary: you run into some trouble at the summer fair. joel is there to help.
chapter warnings/tags: MDNI. no-outbreak!joel. neighbor!joel. foul language. food consumption. age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 50s). harassment and attempted coercion (not joel). depictions of anxiety & a brief anxiety attack. reader is a sensitive gal!! readers dad is a cop, other side characters are as well. major daddy issues. absent mother(s). reader is a bit prudish to the idea of smoking, but it’s justified. flirting. mutual pining. sexual tension. fluff. angst. no depictions of race or body type, other than reader being shorter than joel. some outfit descriptions.
word count: 9.6k
a/n: don’t even look at me i know this took so fucking long. but here it is. thank you for waiting. i know, no smut, cry about it (i joke) but i am in my world building era. thank you to @kiwisbell for beta reading and being my cheerleader. truly one of the best highlights of my days these last few months, that gal. enjoy. 🤍
one. | series masterlist.
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You spend most of your days thinking about Joel Miller. 
You convince yourself it’s harmless. What possible threat could your imagination pose? You had otherwise kept your distance from him since the day you greeted him at his doorstep two weeks prior. Friendly exchanges of hello when he would pull in his truck from work and you were riding your bike back home. A nod over the white fence while you would read on the hammock and he would tend to something in his yard. He would chat with your father occasionally down by the mailboxes, normally only when the predicament of being there at the same time forced them to. From the pieces of conversation you had picked up, it was usually in regards to sports or the heat. Regardless, you still couldn’t help but feel on edge seeing your father standing next to him. 
You have no stake in Joel, no claim. But the idea of him becoming another tainted piece in your father's puzzle makes you nauseous. 
He’s not like him, you tell yourself. He couldn’t be. 
And in your mind, he’s not. Your rampant imagination paints him as the picture of perfection. A good person. An idea you have long forgotten as a viable quality in a man. 
You could spend hours fantasizing about what he’s like. You do.
How he might take his coffee, or what late-night talk show he prefers. Boxers or briefs? You take him for the former, though you certainly don’t mind entertaining the idea of the latter. You presume he’s not the type of person to talk through a film. Prefers the mountains to the beach. Dogs over cats. And if you had the opportunity, you would spend hours discovering every minute detail that made him the type of man worth mulling over. 
The type of man worth dreaming about. 
But fantasies don’t last forever. And amidst the approaching weekend, you are quickly snapped back into the realism of your world. More so, your father's world, and the predicament it poses for you:
The county fair. 
The event of the summer, and how lucky your town is to host it. The fairgrounds are never as crowded as they are this weekend of the year, and ‘everyone who is anyone’ in town makes an appearance. Something that, despite your revulsion to the line of thinking, your father takes very seriously. 
He expects you to be in attendance, you know this. To keep a pretty bow wrapped around the family name. The dutiful Chief and his poor, sweet daughter whose mama left her far too young. 
It’s a much more entertaining show than reality.
“Meet ya back here at ten o’clock,” your father beckons as he parks the cruiser in the field already packed with cars. 
You nod at him, the distant sound of children laughing and the scent of sugar inundating you. He would make his rounds, as he always did. Butter up the locals with his practiced charm and make connections with out-of-towners. It doesn’t matter how useless they are—it’s all part of the façade. And you will trudge along, find a quiet spot to read the script you snuck into your purse, or treat yourself to a funnel cake. You will smile and wave at those who greet you, even those you despise. And you’ll do so without any quips or complaints, kind and compliant as ever, as not to disturb the fragile balance. 
It simply isn’t worth the disruption. 
The pink cardigan you had wrapped around your waist seems useless now; even in just a tank top and floral skirt, you can feel the unforgiving heat dripping sweat down your skin. You should’ve found some excuse; pretending to be sick never worked for you as a child, and you doubt it would be any different now. Cramps? Your father is hardly inclined to speak with you, let alone about feminine problems. Too late anyway, you think to yourself as you make your way towards the bustling fairgrounds. It takes all of five minutes before you’re left alone, your father already caught up in the likes of Mrs. Wilkins and the rest of her school board posse. 
Once upon a time, this used to be your favorite place to come. Distant memories of a woman with a smile much like your own, holding hands and darting towards the ferris wheel with freshly squeezed lemonade and some obscene stuffed animal you had won at one of the various carnival games in hand. There’s laughter and the sweet disposition of summer. There’s joy. There’s peace. 
Now, there are only painful reminders. 
You find a decently secluded spot just beyond the various game vendors on the outer perimeter of the grounds, the setting sun shielded by thicker patches of trees. There are no picnic tables, but the concrete ledge around some of the landscaping is suitable enough for you to dwell. Your thighs welcome the coolness of the stone when you sit with a huff, taking a moment to catch your breath. 
It’s too hot. Too crowded. And you haven’t even had to talk to a single person to already feel properly overstimulated. 
You rummage through your bag for the distraction you brought along. A heavily annotated copy of Much Ado About Nothing. Something a bit more lighthearted for such a somber affair, but still, the statements of its profound leading lady speak to you. You run your fingers over the highlighted line on your current page:
I cannot be a man with wishing, she says. Therefore I will die a woman with grieving. 
How you envy Beatrice and her cunning. Merry wit and a thrill for independence, using her words to spar with men and women alike. A moment in the Bard’s work that feels ahead of its time, and yet, still couldn’t be any more relevant. Perhaps it’s less envy and more disappointment with yourself for the lack of choices, initiative in your own life. 
Fiction and fantasies often have a funny way of reminding you of reality, despite how escapist they are. 
You are able to spend a good twenty minutes undisturbed in your thoughts. But just when you think there is a semblance of peace to be found, your name is being shouted across the yard. Once, then twice. Heading jerking up, you have to squint before a sharp shiver shoots down your spine at the realization of who the voice belongs to. 
“Fuck,” you mutter, slamming the pages shut and shoving them quickly back into your bag. 
Blonde curls and devilishly deceiving dimples. He’s got a beer in his hand. Great. He’s waving and heading in your direction, no escape plan in sight. 
Trevor Conrad. The star baseball player of your graduating class, the town's all-American pride and joy who of course went on to be the police academy's top cadet. You suspect he’s absolutely buzzing for your father to mentor him, one reason you assume he wants to be in your favor. 
The other may have to do with the handful of dates you regrettably went on with him a couple of years prior. You didn’t consider them anything remarkably serious, never escalating any further than a few stolen kisses and an admittedly uncomfortable make-out session one afternoon when you watched a film at his house. Some boring action thriller. You had been under the impression his parents would be home, a lie for the first hour and a half that, looking back, you realize was a calculated tactic. 
He’s with a group of familiar faces who all linger behind. Those you were only worthy enough to be to be seen with when you were seen with him. Superficial friendships, if that. A matter of status and convenience. 
You recognize Ashley Becker, former cheerleader, who extends a miffed roll of her eyes, stomping away with the rest of the group when Trevor waves them off. You figure, even after years of less than subtle flirtation, he hasn’t picked up on her interest. Or maybe he doesn’t care, still putting his energy into you. The type of man who thinks because he staked his claim once, he’s entitled to it again. 
You rise to your feet in a bit of a scramble when you hear him tell the group he’ll catch up, only a few yards ahead of you now, and put some distance between yourself and the ledge. The last thing you need is him sitting down and trapping you in conversation. You sling your bag over your shoulder, holding the strap taut, and prepare to exit whenever the easiest opportunity presents itself. 
“Was wondering if I’d catch you here tonight!” He’s all smiles and pride as he approaches you, his voice just as irritating as you recall. Something about its pitch, you think. Too high for a guy of his stature. For the type of guy who carries himself like a god. 
“Well, here I am,” you say with a shrug, forcing a breathy chuckle. Trevor stops just a foot or two in front of you, eyes wide and slightly bloodshot. You wonder what number beer he’s on, the lofty scent detectable and off-putting. 
“What’re you doin’ out here all by yourself?” he asks, and you can only presume the curiosity is linked to some ulterior motive. 
Keep it casual, you remind yourself. Don’t make a scene. 
“Oh, just—just killing time while dad makes his rounds,” you tell him with another shrug, displaying a polite smile. 
“Hardly seen you out at all this summer.” He gives you a bit of a once-over. It makes your skin crawl. “Should come by one of the games. We play every Saturday.” 
Recreational league. Because the high school glory in this town wasn’t enough to satiate him. It takes every ounce of strength inside of you not to roll your eyes. 
“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll try to catch one if I can,” you lie straight through your teeth. “Weekends can be a little busy around the house, though. So…” 
Blame it on your father. Blame it on anything else other than the complete disregard you have for engaging with him and the rest of his group. 
You can’t quite pinpoint his fascination with you, but you do note the sun disappearing, and how secluded your choice of dwelling is from the rest of the crowds. You’re not isolated, but certainly far enough that the attention is off of you, as people have begun to move away from the games and food and towards the rides and live music. You can’t shake the gnawing feeling of panic that settles in your belly. 
He gives you another look over, pursing his lips before taking the finishing swig of his beer. “Should come join us,” he suggests, licking the residue of liquid off his bottom lip. “We’re thinkin’ about heading over to the fields for a bit, you know—” 
He lifts his thumb and pointer finger to his lips to mimic smoking, raising his eyebrows at you. 
What a gloriously law-abiding citizen, you think sneeringly.
It wouldn’t even matter if he did get caught, and you know that. The amount of ludicrous stories you have heard your father talk about sweeping under the rug often a cause for concern. 
Your arms wrap around yourself instinctively, as if to make yourself smaller. “Oh… oh, I don’t know. Don’t really know if it's my thing.” 
“Come on, princess,” he purrs, and you swear you feel the bile rise in your throat when he takes a step closer, towering over you. “Can’t stay locked up in your tower forever.” 
What the fuck do you want from me? You want to scream it, shout it for him and everyone to hear, but you don’t. You don’t move, you hardly even breathe. The feeling of being zeroed in on familiar and frightening. 
“I think—think I’m, uh, probably just better off waiting here for—”
“You know, if I didn’t know any better,” he continues. Like you don’t even exist. Like your words are meaningless to him, and maybe they are. Maybe he’s already deemed his thoughts the right ones. “I would think you were trying to avoid me or something.” 
You try to string something coherent along, anything to settle him. “No! No. Look, Trevor, it’s just that I—”
“I’ve been nothing but good to ya since we met,” he continues. “Now I know it didn’t work out back in the high school days but, come on. Give a guy another chance.” He tilts his head at you as if to plead with you. But there is a falsehood to his innocent expression, one you do not realize until the next words continue to slip past your lips. 
Why this, why now, you can’t decipher.
“I just don’t think it’s such a good idea,” you try to reason, keeping your voice as patient and temperate as possible. 
The less information, the better. But he’s relentless. 
“And why’s that?” he presses, arching a brow up at you, mask beginning to falter. 
“I don’t… I don’t think we’d be a very good match.” 
Wrong answer. You’re certain of that by the way his face falls entirely. 
“Why not?” 
Because you don’t know the first thing about me! 
You really want to scream it now. 
Because you don’t care about a word that I have to say. Because you only seek me out when it’s convenient for you. Because I don’t enjoy your company. In fact, I don’t even find you all that particularly attractive. Because I’d be miserable with you, and I’m already miserable as is! 
You say none of it, of course. 
“We, I mean… we hardly have anything in common, you know?” you stammer, scavenging for an answer acceptable enough to cease him but not to cross him. You have searched for similar words more times than you’d care to admit. “I don’t… I don’t think we’d make good company for each other. I would hate to waste your time.” You’re chewing on your bottom lip as you await his reaction, unprepared. 
Something changes in him. A thread snaps. You think you may register the shift even before he does, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating. That’s when you feel it, cold and rough, his fingers wrapping around your forearm with the hand not occupied around the bottle. Your nervous system is shot, entering a battle for fight or flight, but your body remains frozen, rigid. Your breath catches in your throat, and your wide eyes watch his bitter countenance carefully. 
“Listen, princess,” he spits, leaning down towards you, voice low and dripping with acid. It’s all condescension now. You feel his breath on your face, the stench of alcohol hitting your nose. “I’m not sure where this superiority you seem to have comes from, but let me tell you something since no one else will. This town? They ain’t interested in you. They’re interested in your father, and that’s about it. You had your chance to do something worth noticing, and you fucking lost it. So, I’d suggest you finally take me up on this opportunity I’m giving you.”
Tears burn at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. They emerge from a chasm of places; the inevitable truth, while harsh, his words hold. The current predicament that you feel less and less in control of as the minutes pass. The cowardice in you, searching and screaming for the strength to deny him, but fearing an aftermath so grand, you wonder if compliance would be an easier option. 
He’s more than annoyed at your silence. “I really don’t wanna have to ask you again,” he all but threatens, and you feel a yank on your forearm sending you into his chest. “Now, don’t embarrass me by keeping friends waiting.” He tugs on you again, this time, trying to drag you along with him. 
“Trevor, please,” you croak, using every ounce of viable effort to try and pull your arm from his grasp. It’s starting to hurt, but you know it’s useless. “Maybe another time, I–” 
“What did I just tell you?” he snarls, the sudden lilt in volume making you flinch. “Very least you could do after ignoring me all this time is come by to say hi, now let's go-–”
“M’pretty sure she already said no.” 
It comes from behind you, unexpected. Deep and honey-coated unlike the voice in front of you. It resounds your senses, preventing them from coiling in on themselves. A warm, bright light at the end of a dark tunnel guiding you back to safety. You see Trevor’s heated eyes flicker over your shoulder, brows pulling in dissatisfied confusion. The unyielding pressure on your forearm loosens—slight, but enough for you to regain a sense of the throbbing flesh below his touch. 
“Can we help you?” he seethes. You’re afraid to move despite the screaming void inside of you begging to turn around, follow the voice. Confirm your desperate suspicions of who it belongs to. 
It couldn’t be, could it? 
“You can help me by lettin’ go of her.” It could be. It has to be. You wouldn’t forget the sound of that voice even if your life depended on it. 
“Listen, old man. I don’t know who you think you are, but this is a private conversation—”
“Doesn’t seem all that damn private when you’re makin’ a scene for anyone who walks by to see.” He cuts Trevor off, just as he did to you. A complete disregard for any sort of explanation or excuse. Though, when it happens this time, you’re overcome with a sick sense of satisfaction; watching as Trevor’s face falls further, twisting into disbelief. “Think you oughta let the lady be.” 
Trevor stands up straighter now, releasing you swiftly in the process as if you’re an afterthought in the face of his challenged ego. You feel the air enter back into your lungs, using the opportunity to take a small, cautionary step back. 
“Don’t think you speak for her,” Trevor quips, and you eye the way his hands tighten into fists, one still firm around the neck of his beer bottle. You take another step back. 
“No more than you do, boy.” It’s a sharp, calculated choice of words, combating the way Trevor attempted to demean him. The emphasis on the final syllable sends a shiver up your arms. 
You think you may be reaching the precipice of composure with how your body trembles in anxiety, dizzied, and overwhelmed. But suddenly, the shadow behind you is no longer figmented. It’s tangible and real. You can’t recall if your body continued to carry you backward on its own accord, or if he stepped forward, seeking you. Nonetheless, ever faint, your back is met with the steadying warmth of a solid chest. Trevor hardly notices, too lost in his silent, heated battle of eyes exchanged with the man behind you. Doesn’t notice the distance that separates you, nor the subtle trail of knuckles that brush along the small of your back. An anchor, grounding you back to earth. Blooming you back to life. 
Trevor doesn’t like to be challenged, you know that much. The mere realization that his current opponent is not as malleable as others throwing a wrench in the usual, uncivilized manner he enjoyed handling things. He would cause a commotion with you, sure. But not with another man. What would that say about his own masculinity? His strength?
It’s frightening and cynical how quickly he changes. He looks behind you, up and down, and then to you in the same fashion. His eyes still unsettle you regardless of the way his lips begin to upturn into a lax grin, as if he hadn’t just bared his teeth and threatened to eat you alive. 
“Listen, man. I think you got the wrong idea,” Trevor coaxes, charm returning to the forefront of his demeanor, and you think you may be sick to your stomach. “Total misunderstanding, we were just… catching up.” You know he’s looking at you, eyes of daggers waiting for their next slice, but you refuse to meet them. Eyes firmly planted on the grass below you, you can make out the tips of black boots at your rear. Despite your defiance, you don’t miss his final remarks before he walks away, knowing the underlying poison embedded in them is only for you: “We can finish catching up some other time.” 
You’ve forgotten how to breathe. Ice-cold liquid runs through your veins, yet does nothing to stop your skin from burning in the heat. The familiar sensation of panic burrows into your limbs, and you worry you won’t be able to stop it from ruining you entirely. 
But when you finally muster the strength to turn around, long after Trevor’s shadow has disappeared into the vast field, buried back in the crowds, he’s there. 
The very masterpiece of your mind, an image your imagination has conjured endless times. 
Joel. 
He looks different, more relaxed. Lost are the pressed slacks and sleek button-ups; they’re replaced with a pair of dark wash jeans and an olive flannel atop a black t-shirt. His hair is slicked over, damp as if he’s just washed it. His glasses are gone, too. The roundness of his eyes is a bit more prominent without them, lined with age and a furrowed brow as they search you with blatant concern. 
“You okay?” 
His voice is so soft, so gentle, that you don’t think twice before lurching forward, body acting before brain. You wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face into his sturdy chest. You hear a quiet sound of surprise followed by a beat of hesitation. But then, a strong arm wraps around your waist pulling you flush against him. The other snakes up to the nape of your neck, fingers weaving in between locks of hair to delicately cradle your head into his chest. 
“Hey,” he breathes, and you do your very best to only let the first stream of tears stain his shirt. Body beginning to tremble as you try to keep the others at bay. “Hey, s’alright, darlin’. You’re alright. He’s gone.” 
Darlin’. Darlin’. Darlin’. 
He smells so fucking good. Like rich mahogany and dark coffee; a hint of something fresh from his soap or shampoo. You fill your lungs with it, allowing it to linger and permeate into your bloodstream.
Comfort. Safety. 
He beckons your name. Once. Hushed. Not in a manner of rushing you, but checking to see if you’re still with him. Like he knows you need this. And you do. 
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you mumble into his shirt. 
You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. For crying, maybe. For inconveniencing him, taking up his time with a situation you should have been able to handle yourself. 
He lets you cling to him a while longer before the hand in your hair descends for your jaw, pulling your face out of the comfort of his chest and forcing you to look up at him. The churning in your stomach settles. The pass of his thumb across your cheek sends a new type of coolness over your skin, satiating the heat. 
“There you go again, apologizin’ when you don’t needa be,” he mumbles, low and rich, you feel it vibrate through his chest into yours. Only for you to hear, and you’re blinking up at him in awe, disbelief that the image before you is even real.  “Are you okay?” he repeats, and you swallow hard, fearful your throat has gone too dry just at the sight of him. 
He’s here. He is real. He’s right in front of you. Touching you. 
“Yeah… yeah, I’ll be okay.” You nod your head, clearing your throat, embarrassed at the hoarseness. You don’t know which one of you you’re trying to convince. 
You realize that you’re still clinging to him, fingers bunched at the back of his flannel, neck beginning to cramp at how far back you’ve tilted it to accommodate his height. Another wave of embarrassment, and slowly, you release him, slinking your arms from around him and hugging them across your chest instead. His hand falls from your face in tandem, and there’s an unmistakable wave of disappointment. Something gone missing. 
“Thank you,” you add, remembering your manners. As if there are any right words to convey the relief you feel at his presence, which, you realize, in and of itself surprises you. You furrow your brows at him. “What… what are you doing here?” you ask. Curiosity. An attempt to move the subject off of your undesirable encounter. 
Joel huffs a breath, not quite a laugh, but you note the way the corners of his mouth twitch.  “Good to see you, too,” he says, a hint of amusement. You open your mouth to speak, rebuttal. Tell him he has no idea how good it is to see him. Especially here, especially now. But you figure he can sense that now is not the time to joke, rattled emotions still clear in your countenance. “Thought it’d be good to make an appearance. Don’t needa be known as the town hermit,” he explains matter-of-fact, and then his eyes are looking after the direction Trevor disappeared in, brows lowering. “Who was that?” 
You stare at him, uncertain. 
Who was that? You’re confident that if he had asked anyone else in this town that question, they would have entirely different answers. Perhaps far kinder and polished representations. 
“Guy I used to go to school with,” you settle on, unable to conjure anything else of substance. “We went on a couple of dates senior year, but… nothing special.” Nothing at all. 
“Hm.” He appears to mull over your answer, eyeing you in the way that makes your chest flourish with heat, the spot between his brows twitches as he comes to his own astute conclusion. “He been botherin’ you?” 
“That was the first time in a while,” you tell him honestly. “I knew I’d run into him eventually. One of many reasons I don’t like coming here anymore.” The last bit is a careless slip of the tongue. 
Again, he takes you in. Processing. There is an intensity behind the way he thinks, gears seemingly turning in his head right before your eyes, both frightening and exhilarating. You can’t anticipate what he’ll say next, something that—on any other occasion, would have your stomach bubbling over with anxiety, but like most things involving Joel Miller, doesn’t—excites you. 
“I reckon you came with your pops?” 
“Yup.” You pop the p, less than enthused. 
“Hm.” Think, think, think. You want to peer inside his brain, know everything about him. The fear of your previous encounter dissipates into nothingness under the presence of Joel. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I think the time would fly by a little faster with some company.” 
And there it is, served up right under your nose on a silver platter. Opportunity. To know him, ask him how he takes his coffee, or what late-night talk show he prefers, or if he would choose the mountains over the sea, or if he knew how difficult it was to not think about him every waking moment—
You’re gawking again. You know it by the way his lips move, the indent of teeth in his cheeks while he tries to bite back the amusement. So silly, he must think you are so unbearably silly for the way you behave around him. If only he knew. 
“Oh, I—I don't know. I really don’t want to take up any more of your time, I—” 
“Got all the time in the world, darlin’,” he shrugs, hands shoved in his pockets. You envy his nonchalance. “Besides,” he steps forward, leans in, a secret, and you hold your breath. “I’ve got quite the sweet tooth, and that ice cream stand’s been callin’ my name. You even know how quickly I finished off those muffins you gave me?” 
It’s your turn to laugh, soft and bashful, the rest of the feeling your run with Trevor had sucked out of you returning with vigor. He’s teasing you, he wants to make you feel better, and the realization coats your muscles in honey and light and something so sweet, you simply have to taste it. He’s smiling down at you when you tilt your head at him, this time, flashing his pearly teeth, divulging you in a gut-wrenching glimpse of his dimple. 
“You wouldn’t let me go eat it all by my lonesome now, would ya?” Cheeky, unrelenting man. He doesn’t even recognize that the decision has already been made. Giving into him a task that takes very little coaxing. 
You do, for a brief moment, feel a sense of worry. It doesn’t stem from him but from those around you; would it be proper to be seen alone with him? The vast nature of the occasion would make it a rare sighting from those you know, but feasible nonetheless. Even worse, what if your father saw? Innocent as it is, you cannot shake the looming fear of a reprimanding. He would find something wrong with it, something to scold you for, tell you you’re selfish or bothersome. 
But Joel’s here. He saved you once already. And beneath the worry, you discover something stronger, something uncharacteristic, something you convinced yourself didn’t exist. 
You don’t care. 
Not what anyone else thinks. Not what your father may say about the matter. You don’t care. Not when there is the bright reassurance of the man looking down at you, and the warmth in your chest, and the need to know, to know him. 
You take a deep breath. “We can’t have that, can we?” You give him the same, open-mouthed smile, and he is so clearly pleased, you can hardly handle the warmth now. It’s spread from your chest to your cheeks, your stomach, between your thighs. And you think, if this is what being selfish feels like, you never want it to end. 
“Well c’mon then,” he beckons, cocking his head for you to follow as he turns towards the crowds. 
You don’t hesitate.
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You learn all about Joel Miller on your walk through the fairgrounds. 
He tells you about the move from Austin, deciding it was time once he realized he was one man in a house built for two. He has a daughter, Sarah, who moved to New York after college to pursue a career in fashion. You note the instantaneous shift when he begins to talk about her, a perpetual smile plastered on his face. City life was proving to move too fast for him, and with no one around to take care of anymore, he decided to start taking care of himself. He makes it a point to tell you he’s not married, that Sarah’s mother isn’t in the picture. Something about the mentioning of it makes your stomach flip, that he considers it important you know. He doesn’t go into the details, and you don’t ask. 
He owns his own company. A contracting firm that he shares the load of with his younger brother, Tommy. He tells you that neither of them finished school, he being a young, single father, and Tommy being quite the “delinquent.” That they got lucky with the hand they were dealt, and nowadays on his end, it’s mostly paperwork and phone calls. 
You like the way he talks. Calm, collective, perhaps even a bit serious at times, but you don’t take offense to it. And when it comes to your turn to share, he is an attentive listener. He asks questions only without interruption, keeping the smooth flow of the conversation rolling. You tell him, although rather dreadfully, about community college, and how you have been taking a couple of general courses the last few semesters while you figure out what you want to do. It’s a partial truth. 
You wonder if he notices your unease surrounding the topic, as most of his questions end up steering in the direction of your hobbies. You tell him of your love of theatre, particularly classical works, film, music. You share the last one in common, as he admits to playing a bit of guitar himself. 
“Well, I don’t know a ton ‘bout that Shakespeare fella, but I think Sarah was in one of his plays once,” he says. 
“Oh, yeah?” You eye him through your peripheral, raising a brow in inquisition. “You remember which one?”
He blows a stream of air through his lips like you’ve caught him thoroughly off guard, and you try not to laugh because fuck, is he so handsome. Every peek from the corner of your eye is a perfect little gift, and yet, you’re still selfish for more. 
“Twelve somethin’? All I know is she played a boy, and I had no idea what she was sayin’.” 
Now, you really do laugh. “Twelfth Night,” you correct gently. “It’s a good one.” 
He shoots you a knowing look. “Woulda been better if I could understand half of it.” 
“It’s not all that bad once you find the rhythm of the language,” you explain. “It seems a lot scarier at first glance. Or first listen.” 
He’s quiet for a moment, pondering over your words. Think, think, think. Taking strides a bit slower. “Well, maybe you’ll just hafta teach me more about it sometime.” 
You nearly stop in your tracks, looking over and tilting your head up at him. He’s smiling down at you, closed lip, but prominent enough that the godforsaken dimple pops out at you again. He seems genuine. You realize very quickly it’s something you’re not used to. 
“I would love to,” you tell him honestly, voice failing you in a whisper. 
But before your emotions can take any more reign over you, you’re both coming to a stop before the brightly lit ice cream stand. The crowds are thicker at the center of the fair, elated screams of children and laughter, music that rattles your ear drums from every direction. But now, you find it all easier to tune out. No longer do you feel the all-encompassing thread of anxiety weaving through you, and perhaps it’s because most of your focus is on Joel; in all his glory, standing with his hands on his hips as he peers up at the menu, different hues of pink and yellow and blue flashing over his face in sync with the lights around him. 
“Well, shouldn’t be too hard of a decision,” he’s saying, but you’re hardly listening. Your eyes are trained on his neck, the tan skin that peeks out of the collar of his flannel, a thick vein running down its length. There’s a film of sweat glistening over his jugular, and you wonder just how delightful it would feel, taste, to run your tongue across it. Silly, silly girl. 
Now, he’s looking down at you, one arm leaning against the stand’s counter, and you try with great difficulty to blink the haze out of your lust-blown eyes. “Chocolate or vanilla?” he asks. 
You have a taste for something you believe is far sweeter. “Chocolate,” you say, despite yourself. 
He hums in approval. “The correct choice,” and then, he’s fishing into his back pocket for his wallet, and you’re snapping out of your fantasies and back to attention. 
“Oh, I can cover mine,” you tell him, fumbling with the zipper of your purse as the worker approaches the windowsill, asking Joel what he can get for him. 
You look up after retrieving the wrinkled five-dollar bill to meet Joel’s unamused gaze, shaking his head. He’s already handing his card over. “Two cups of chocolate, please,” he says to the man at the counter, but his scolding eyes are still on you. 
You frown. “Joel—”
“Would ya knock it off? I’m buyin’ you the damn ice cream.” He’s stern, serious with his words. But the smirk that lingers at the corner of his lips keeps everything in earnest jest. He wants to buy it for you, and that’s that—final decision. You’re almost embarrassed at how eagerly the small gesture makes your heart swell. How easy it is to give in to him without fear as a playable factor. 
You can’t remember the last time someone bought something for you just because they wanted to, because they felt like it.  
“Thank you,” you mutter, arguing no further. 
Once you retrieve your cups, you find a vacant picnic table nearby to dwell on while you eat. Joel chooses to sit beside you, both of you facing away from the tabletop and towards the bustling crowds, the limited space of the bench forcing the firm flesh of his outer thigh to press up, ever slight, against yours. You try to focus your energy on the sweet, soothing cold taste of your treat, taking tiny spoonfuls as slowly as possible, a subconscious tactic to keep him here, next to you, longer. Even if just to watch the nameless bodies pass by, the pleasure of mere company a rarity. 
“Can I ask you somethin’?” Joel’s the one to break the silence, and you’re grateful. You nod at him, and he eyes his spoon as he fiddles it mindlessly around his cup, brows pulled in focus. 
“Earlier… you said seein’ that boy was one of the many reasons you didn’t like comin’ to the fair anymore.” He places his emphasis right where you had. Attentive. Thinking and listening. “Why else don’t ya like it?” 
Oh. 
It’s not what you were expecting. You stop eating altogether, cradling the cup delicately in your lap and losing your eyes to the passing patrons. You wonder if he can sense your trepidation because he doesn’t repeat the question even after your silence has long extended its warranted amount. Memories bombard you, and there’s that momentary feeling of fight or flight again; you don’t fear him as much as do yourself, and what may become of you, and him, if you are to spill the thoughts that now swirl ceaselessly in your brain, replacing pleasant fantasies with their stain. 
You had never recounted the story yourself; it has always been told for you. More opportunity. The chance to reshape tragedy into the tale of your choosing. But no matter how long you sit there, silent, thinking, anything but truth seems like a waste. An opportunity to be honest, brave. 
“Um...” You try to form the words, but they’re stuck. Be brave, be brave. You clear your throat, swallowing hard. “Well, my uh… my mother used to bring me here every summer.” Bile rises in your esophagus, the acidic taste a punishment after such a treat. “She left us when I was six,” you explain plainly. “No idea where she is.” 
A waiting game. For pity, or sorrow, or some overly dramatized display of grief as a means to be sympathetic. You wait for it, brace yourself for it and the robotic actions that you once trained yourself to follow in response. 
But it never comes. 
Silence, and then, you find it in yourself to peer shyly at him and discover he’s already looking at you. No pity, or sorrow, or grief. Tenderness. Understanding, even. He turns himself a quarter, setting his half-eaten cup down and leaning his elbow against the table, facing you. You watch his jaw roll side to side, contemplation, before: 
“Sarah’s mom… she left, too. Couple weeks before her first birthday.” 
Yes, understanding. You feel it all, a tsunami, washing you away from your lonesome shore and back into the vast waters. Anger, sadness, resentment, and understanding. Your heart aches in your chest. For Joel, for his daughter, for yourself, a version then and now. Being brave pays off. 
You set your cup down, turning to face him similarly. “I’m so sorry, Joel,” you whisper, sincerity. 
He nods slowly. “Yeah, me too.” And he means it. You know he does. “Listen, m’not… pretendin’ to understand your situation, but if there’s anythin’ I took from mine s’that… who we are? It ain’t based on other people’s poor decisions. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean there’s somethin’ wrong with us.” 
Words you have waited a lifetime for, and he gifts them to you effortlessly. 
The sting of tears is second nature, though you hardly notice them at first with the way he’s looking at you—so much understanding. Only when a drop of liquid slips off your lashes, tainting your cheek, do you attempt to compose yourself. 
You blink rapidly. “I’m sorry, I—”
He’s touching you, and suddenly, the weight of the world seems less daunting. Two careful palms cradling your cheeks, a sea of copper boring into you. “Hey, no. No. Don’t be.” He’s shaking his head, eyes pained, but honest. “Not about this. Never about this, okay?” A rogue thumb swipes away the proof of your despair, and you want to loosen the floodgates, sob into his arms, and relinquish yourself to him with the budding trust that he would take care of you. 
But you also want to be strong, be strong for him. Harness the strength he’s giving you. So you nod, a promise that you hear what he’s saying and accept it at face value. You let him wipe the few following tears that slip, let him hand you back your ice cream cup and tell you to eat it, it’s good for the soul, which makes you blow out a shaky laugh. You let the silence wash over you again, less fearful of its presence, while you eat and watch the crowds. You let yourself be brave again, scooting an inch over, and laying your head on the curve of his shoulder. You let him rest his cheek against the crown of your head in return, a subtle intimacy, necessary and calm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so calm. 
You stay like this for some time—you could stay like this forever—until he tells you, rather dismally, that he has a work conference call tomorrow morning that he’s dreading. 
“On a Saturday?” you question, lifting your head and flashing him a twisted expression. 
He smiles tiredly. “Bein’ the boss doesn’t always allow alotta down time.” 
You purse your lips, attempting to hide your disappointment. It’s his much too kind way of telling you it’s time to call it a night. 
“Well, then we oughta get you home,” you say, forcing yourself to your feet, empty cup in hand. 
Joel studies your face for a moment—you still can’t decipher what he’s thinking, a mystery you’re growing impatient to crack—before following suit. He takes the cup out of your hands, stacking it atop his, and nodding his head for you to follow towards the garbage bins. 
It’s on your short stroll across the yard that you take a moment to dig into your purse, finding your phone to check the time, only to discover something far worse: two missed calls and three texts from your father. 
“Shit,” you curse under your breath, coming to a stop. You’d left it on silent. With shaky fingers, you open messages. 
9:57 pm – Heading towards car. 
10:04 pm – Where are you? Let’s go!!! 
10:11 pm – Leaving. Call a cab. 
The last one was fifteen minutes ago. 
Joel slows his steps once he realizes you’re no longer beside him. “Everythin’ okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes. I just—my dad had to um…  he had to leave, and I’ve gotta find another way home.”
Because of course, he couldn’t possibly give you some grace. Couldn’t make the effort to at least look for you before taking off. The bare minimum had never been an expectation from him before. You’re rapidly tapping away at your phone, hoping your nearby option isn’t outrageously expensive, when Joel’s frame steps in front of you. 
“Well, here. Let me give ya a ride back.” You hear him say it, but only for a moment do your eyes flicker up to acknowledge him. 
It’s a nice offer. Generous. Too generous. If you weren’t so accustomed to self-sabotage, and less panicked, you may have even taken him up on it. 
You shake your head. “Oh, no. It’s okay, I don’t wanna—” 
He’s touching you again. A swift hand loosely coming up to take one of your wrists between his fingers, any ability to focus on the task at hand lost to his allure. You look up at him properly, the sight of a sympathetic smile and sincere eyes causing your breath to hitch. 
“What, put me out of my way?” he muses. His thumb draws a pattern over your pulse point, your ride awaiting confirmation suddenly a tedious afterthought. He has your full attention with a single touch. 
You open your mouth to rebuttal but nothing comes. It’s nothing if not sensible. Your neighbor offering you a ride home, inevitably heading in the same direction. Although it isn’t just your neighbor, it’s Joel, and for some reason, the two haven’t solidified in your head as equals yet. Just how attainable he really is. 
You realize you would be a fool to turn him down. 
You lower your phone, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Are you sure?” you ask quietly, but your stomach churns with excitement at the prospect of your perfect evening not quite having to reach its end. 
Joel smiles. 
“Positive.” 
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He’s witty. It’s something you didn’t expect. You laugh more on the drive home in Joel’s truck than you think you’ve laughed all year. Granted, most of his jabs stem from the ridiculous interactions he’s had with those in town—those you know, have known, their mind-boggling antics less surprising to you now—but you find solace in how honest he is with you. How he confides in you. 
He looks good. Meaty thighs spread open in the driver's seat, one hand occupying the wheel while the other arm leans casually against the center console. He takes up the whole seat, a vision, the kind of man who can occupy space without consuming all of it, the inside of the vehicle appearing crammed with his broad body. The front windows are rolled down, a steady breeze whistling through his curls, and you’re grateful for the cardigan now as it’s wrapped around your shoulders, shielding you from the goosebumps growing on your arms. Whether they’re from the wind, or him, you don’t know. You attempt not to stare too long or too often, regardless of how your eyes hunger to follow the veins across his thick forearm or the strong build of his jaw. Try to maintain some semblance of composure, despite the proximity of him, his scent, his being, intoxicating. And no matter how many times you clench your thighs together below your skirt, you cannot ignore the growing ache that lingers there just upon the sight of him. 
You think, however naive, how easy it would be for him to become the end of you. In every fantastic way imaginable. 
Still, in those moments of silence, there’s comfort. You find solace in how mindless his presence feels; no worries, no regrets. You can just be. A pleasantry long forgotten, perhaps never fully discovered. 
You’re looking wistfully out the window, elbow propped up on the sill, resting your cheek against your palm and admiring the clarity of the stars, when a familiar percussive intro coming from his stereo perks your attention. 
“Oh, I love this song,” you tell him, eagerly reaching for the volume knob on the dash and dialing it up a couple notches. 
I've been roamin' around, always lookin' down at all I see.
“Whole album’s a good one,” Joel remarks, and you tilt your head at him with faint surprise. 
“You know it?” 
Painted faces fill the places I can't reach.
You catch him rolling his eyes. “M’not that old.” 
“Yeah? Well, you never told me just how old,” you tease. 
You don’t expect it to land so unsteady, but there’s a pause, a shift in the air palpable enough that it frightens you briefly. “Fifty-two,” he tells you, less conviction in his tone. 
You know that I could use somebody.
Only three years younger than your father. 
It should make you uneasy, yet somehow, it only causes your sick fascination with him to blossom. 
You only hum in response, nodding. Scared to display your interest too eagerly, but you catch the way he eyes you out of his peripheral at the revelation. Seeming to search for your reaction, he waits until the truck is pulled still at the approaching red light, cocking his head fully over his shoulder to take you in. You return the glance, eyes timid—timid, but not unsure, nor displeased, nor appalled, nor any other reaction you assume he anticipates—and you’re studying one another, seeking common ground in the heavy silence, and you think he must find his reassurance in your eyes for his own soften if only a bit, and you note the way the corner of his lips threaten to upturn, your own mirroring. 
Someone like you and all you know and how you speak; countless lovers under cover of the street.
And then there’s the summer night breeze, mischievous and unruly, wafting through the open windows and taking the hem of your skirt carelessly in its path. The fabric flounders mere inches, revealing the tops of your thighs, and his eyes, just as untamed now, falter to catch a glimpse. 
You know that I could use somebody.
You suck in a breath, fingers twitching in your lap with the instinct to reach for the fabric, pull it back down to your knees, and allow yourself some semblance of decency. You fight a war with the warmth in your belly, and it wins, too enamored at the way he unabashedly takes in your body. As if he had been holding back before, and only now does he allow himself the indulgence. Fantasy and reality become one. And when he trails his wandering eyes back to your face, your lips part; not for words, nor air, nor sounds, but some hope that he’ll give you a taste of everything you have ever wanted. 
Someone like you.
Green flashes across his face. He clears his throat, and then, his eyes abandon you for the road as the engine roars back to life. The loss is agonizing. 
No more than five minutes later, he’s pulling into the driveway adjacent to yours. You see your father's cruiser parked in the driveway and your stomach sinks, every muscle in your body returned to its usual tension-coated stasis. Joel cuts the engine, and with it, the music, the breeze, the serenity, all disappear. You’re both silent, still, eyes plastered forward for a while. Lost in thought. Wonder what he’s thinking, 
Joel gets out first, wordless, but stalks around the front hood to the passenger side to open the door for you. You flash him your wide eyes, his own as chasmic as the sky in the low light, muttering a soft thank you as you scoot off the high bed of his truck. 
He walks you over to your side of the yard. You’re aware it's essentially useless, but neither of you complains. When you reach your side of the fence, you stop before the gate, turning on your heels to face him. He comes to a halt a few feet ahead of you, hands in his pockets, the glow of the moon casting shadows across his face. You take a deep breath, clutching the strap of your purse taut, and finding the courage to speak first. 
“I had a really good time tonight,” you tell him, sheepish, peering up with caution. “Thank you.” 
He’s looking down at you, expression neutrally unreadable. “No need to thank me, darlin’,” he speaks lowly, as if not to jar the night sky, quiet and intimate around you. “It was real good for me, too.” And you know again that he means it, and you’re certain you won’t be able to sleep tonight with such rampant thoughts. 
Don’t just stand here like a freak, the moment’s over. 
You clear your throat, eyes falling to your feet. “Well, I should… I should get inside.” Let me stay out here forever, please. “Goodnight.” 
“Yeah, me too.” When you look up again, he’s nodding to himself. His expression has changed, brows back to their perpetual knot and stiffness in his jaw. “G’night.” 
And it’s so hard to look away, even harder to move. Something that lingers between your exchange of glances is heavy, palpable, real.
“Goodnight,” you whisper, once more for good measure. 
And with great difficulty, you peel your eyes off of him and turn toward the gate. Your feet feel like weights trying to depart from him, but you only make it about three paces before— 
“Wait.” 
Calloused skin grazes you, careful fingers wrapping around your wrist, a bit more firm than before, and halting you in your tracks. The touch is unlike Trevor’s. Considerate, soft. Awaiting permission to go any further. And when you finally muster the courage to turn and face him, you find a dire look in his eyes. 
Pained, desperate. Restraining himself from something unspoken. 
The gap between you feels vast, only his outstretched arm occupying the space. It’s vibrating, begging to be explored. Uncharted terrain. And maybe it’s the rescue, or the conversation, or the sweet treat, or the ride home, or just Joel and your unyielding fantasies. But you cannot deny what feels like a culmination of every blip in time leading up to this moment, and you’re striding forward, a split second of doubt before trembling fingers reach for the collar of his flannel. 
You think he descends towards you in unison, for when you touch lips, there’s urgency. Clambering hands and uneven breath, there is no space to find where you end and he begins. His hands steady themselves at your waist, pulling you flush against his warm body, and if it weren’t for the taste of him enticing you—coffee, mint, and chocolate so sweet—you may have collapsed. But he would catch you. You know this by the way his fingertips dig into you, bits of skin meeting skin where the hem of your cardigan and tank top rise, and you’re on fire. A light you did not even know existed inside of your flourishing, whirling, wild flames. 
Your fingers find the skin of his neck, thick and warm, before your arms wrap snug around it. Close, you need to keep him close. His hands, steady and seasoned, explore the slopes and panes of your back, bunching up the fabric of your cardigan between your shoulder blades, a means of restraint.  
Don’t, you want to beg him. Don’t hold back. 
That’s when you feel it—wet and sweltering and fucking delicious, his tongue prodding at your lower lip, and you waste no time in granting him his desires. Your lips part in a gasp, a deep groan rumbling through Joel’s chest that leaves you lightheaded, as he licks eagerly into your mouth; tongues dancing, lips sheen with saliva and growing swollen from the sheer intensity of it, and your throat releases a faint, uninhibited moan between breaths. He loses a bit of himself then; you hear that same, low sound, this time sending a wave of warmth to your thighs, before he wraps you in his wingspan, pulling you to your toes, as close as he can have you. 
And this is it, you think. Everything you’ve ever wanted. Even when he’s pulling away from you to catch his breath, forehead to forehead, breathing each other in. Even when you find the courage to open your eyes and look into his, instantly lost in the allure. More, more, you want more. You would take anything he gave you. Peaceful. Perfect. And nothing could take it away from you. It’s yours now. Nothing, nothing, nothing—something. 
You almost miss it. Just out of the corner of your eye, distant and flickering, the light turns on in your father's window from behind the curtains. The bubble pops. 
“Oh my god!” you gasp, planting your hands on his chest and pushing firmly, creating distance. You hardly notice the sudden concern on his face, vision gone white, hands sweating, breathing no longer labored by desire, but panic. “I—I can’t—I’m—” You’re unable to find the words, and maybe they don’t exist. 
He’s saying something, but you don’t register it. His cheeks are flushed, brows lowered in despair, disappointment, but he doesn't know. He doesn’t know why you can’t be here, why you can’t do this, why you have to break away. And that version inside of you, the one that had always pleaded and cried to be let out, crawls her way up your throat. She pushes tears into your eyes, and like always, just before you can let her out, a greater force shoves her back down, wires your lips shut, and forces you to remain as you are. 
You hardly even notice that you’re moving, running. Stumbling your way through the gate and dashing across the backyard. You don’t dare look back, and the sound of Joel calling your name is the last thing you hear before you unlatch the back door, slipping out of fantasy, and drowning back into the den of harsh reality. 
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Ao3 | KOFI
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frannyzooey · 1 year
Text
One Bed
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Joel Miller x f!reader
Rating: Explicit
A/N: Just shameless "there is only one bed" filth for the amazing beauty who is @jollyrancher87. Thank you for sending me your ask, my lovely - I hope you like it! ❤️
--
“Goddamn it.”
He sighs, his fingers curled around the straps of his backpack as he shifts his weight to one foot and you step around him to see what he is looking at. 
Oh. 
“I mean,” you start carefully, “At least there’s one?”
You both look at the set of beds in front of you: one perfectly fine, if not a bit worn and dusty, and the other one covered in a pool of water from a crack in the ceiling above. It’s been dripping on it awhile, long enough for silt and plaster to form a sort of sludge on the top of the comforter and you only imagine how thick the mold is underneath. 
“Just take it,” he says, shrugging his pack off and you frown, shaking your head. 
“You’re the one with the bad back, you take it. I’ll make do on the floor.”
Impatience and exhaustion flares bright in his reply, his expression one of frustration. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fuckin’ floor while I get the bed. Just take it. I’ll be fine.”
He places his pack on the floor, kneeling down to join it. Resting his head on the rough, dirty canvas and folding his tight arms across his chest, he looks so comically uncomfortable that you fight the urge to laugh. 
“Jesus, Joel, get up.” You tap the toe of your boot against the heel of his and he looks up at you with a frown. “Look, it’s not huge or anything, but we should both be able to fit. Get up here.”
His eyes narrow, and you roll your eyes, turning away from him. You feel his gaze on you as you set your pack down and toe your boots off, placing them both at the end of the bed. Pulling back the covers, you lay down and tug them up and over you, laying still. 
“You coming?”
There is a beat, and then you hear another deep sigh escape him from the floor. 
“Fine.”
Practically asleep before his head hit the pillow, he wakes in the middle of the night. Not the sort of sudden jolt that he’s used to, but rather a slow, hazy pull from the depths that he’s often not afforded. He’s been sleeping deeply, and what wakes him is that he’s hot – too hot, uncomfortably hot. He moves to push away the covers when he touches something else instead - you.
You’ve wound around each other in your sleep: your face buried in the crook of his neck, your arms curled against the width of his chest, his leg tucked in between your own with his arm slung protectively over the curve of your side. He can tell you’re still asleep from your slow, steady breaths and he tries to carefully extract himself, but for every inch he moves back, you unconsciously press closer. 
He tries to rouse you instead, his hand gently shaking your shoulder. 
“Hey,” he whispers softly, in the dark. “Hey. Wake up.”
Expecting you to wake with a start, he tries not to think about how the only reason you’re probably so deeply asleep is his close proximity. How he himself slept just as deeply for the same reason. 
He shakes you again. “Hey.”
Your eyes still closed, a small frown pulls between your brows. You tilt your face up, still half asleep and when your mouth brushes his, he freezes. He doesn’t move, abandoning the attempt to wake you and he thinks you’ve fallen back asleep when your arm unfurls from his chest, reaching up to cup his cheek. He lets you touch it for a moment, his eyes taking in your face in the dark. 
Your mouth is so close to his he can feel warm puffs of your breath skimming over his lips, your face so close that he can see the fan of your thick lashes and your nose brushes against his in a sleepy nuzzle, seeking out his warmth. Your hand slides up into his hair, fingers threading into the thick strands. 
He should pull back and stop this, but he doesn’t. 
“Joel,” you whisper slowly, your mouth full and soft with sleep.
His eyes drop to it for a moment and it looks so plush and inviting that he can’t help himself.
When his mouth meets yours in a chaste press, you kiss him back with an unconscious purse of your lips, opening them just enough to fit his lower lip neatly between your own. He breathes you in, letting them rest together in a full, lush fit and then you’re giving him another one; a firmer, more conscious pressure. Another one yet, his hand cradling the soft curve of your cheek to keep you in place. 
You fit yourself closer to him, your thighs tightening around his own and your nails drag over his scalp, his fingers pressing into the hinge of your jaw in a silent request to open yourself wider for him. You taste sweeter than he thought you would, your sleep-thick mouth warm and inviting and hungry and when he shifts to lean over you, you tug him on top of you instead. 
You might have been sleeping before, but he knows you’re fully awake now even if you won’t open your eyes. Your movements are intentional, the width of his body heavy and solid between your legs, comforting in its weight and your head tips back into the pillow, pulling away from the kiss for some air. He doesn’t seem to need any, his mouth molding around the curve of your jaw before sliding down the length of your neck and he gives the sweet skin there open mouthed kisses, a slight suck to them. His teeth catch, and you quietly moan. 
Bringing his mouth back to yours, his beard brushes against your skin, your tongue chasing his as you deepen the kiss and when he lets out a low groan into your mouth, you swallow it down, savoring it. 
He sounds just like he does in your dreams, just like the way this feels. Slick and needy between your legs, you roll your hips up to meet his in a wordless invitation and he presses his down into you, making room for himself. Soon you’re grinding against each other in desperation: your achingly empty core seeking out the solid heft that you can feel pressed against you, his own need evident. 
“Joel, I –,” you whisper into his mouth in between kisses, a pleading creeping into the word and he nods, knowing what you need. 
His hand reaches down and fumbles with his belt, another groan pouring into your mouth when he feels the heat of you against the back of his hand and then he’s working on the button of your jeans, trying to work it open. You try to help, but it’s not fast enough for him and with your thumbs still hooked under the waistband to slide them down, he shoves his hand underneath everything to find your slick seam, filling you swiftly with two thick fingers. 
“Fuck,” you whine, abandoning your plan and arching your hips into his hand. He curls his fingers and begins a grinding stroke, the digits a snug fit in their slick slide.
“Goddamn,” he groans, muscle memory making him reach for a spot inside. He finds it, rubbing the pads of his fingers against it and is rewarded with your breathless cry, and a tight clench. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. So wet. Gonna feel so good around my cock. Gonna make me come, with this sweet little pussy.” 
His fingers work, work, work underneath your jeans and you can’t even answer him with how good it feels. You let your thighs drop open wider, your hands reaching down to splay over the curve of his ass and you meet every one of his strokes with your hips, forcing his fingers deeper. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his mouth parted as he watches you take. 
“I want a taste,” he breathes, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go, down to the base of his bruised knuckles. “I want –” he kisses you greedily, panting into your mouth. “I want to taste it, but I –”
You want him to taste it too - Christ, you do – but you need him to fuck you right now more than you need air to breathe, so you wrap your hand around his wrist with a tug and he slips it out from your pants, your hands already working on shoving your jeans down. He understands, his weight abruptly leaving you to sit up and back on his heels and when he helps you strip them off along with your underwear, his body bows immediately to taste, but you stop him, pulling him back up to cover you. 
He reaches between you to pull himself out, aching and thick and stiff in the calloused palm of his hand and since that is the sensation that he is used to, he groans loudly when he finds the dip of your entrance and fills you with a smooth, slick stroke. 
You hastily shove the loose band of this jeans down further, needing to feel every inch of skin he’ll afford you and when his hips are a neat, flush fit against your own just like his mouth was earlier, you rock up to encourage him to move. 
“You okay?” he asks, knowing just how much he is to take and you nod, your teeth biting into your plush lower lip. 
“Yea, just – just move.” You raise your head off the pillow to kiss him, and when he dips his own to reach your mouth, he slides even deeper, his body relaxing on top of yours. The action steals the breath from your lungs, a soft sound catching in the back of your throat and he pulls his hips back just enough to feel the friction of you before sliding home again. Again, again. 
Your thighs hitch higher around his waist, your hands slipping under his thick flannel, splaying over his muscles flexing under your hold. His hand curls around the crown of your head, keeping you in place as he feels you shift up the mattress underneath him with every thrust and between the skill of his mouth and his hips, you can’t think of anything but him. 
You wish you could feel him wholly: feel his firm, bare body against yours, feel the sparse hair that covers his thighs and trails low over his belly, feel sweat collect where your body is joined as he moves above you - but you’ll take what you can get, in this room in the middle of nowhere, in this bed you were forced to share. 
“I knew you would feel this good,” he says lowly, his eyes closing with a frown. “I knew it.”
He’s been thinking about it for ages, waking up hard night after night, finding relief in his hand when he gets a moment alone and now that he has you, he can’t stop himself from going harder, deeper. The damp heat of your mouth rests just under his jaw, your gasps reaching his ears like the sweetest sound he’s ever heard and it makes him swell even more inside you; a bright flare of heat gathering at the base of his spine.  
You hook your ankles higher on his back, your hands bracing themselves on the mattress to help you force the angle just right and his hips are a rhythmic pound against the inside of your thighs, his jaw clenching with effort. He switches into a grind the wetter you get, his hand coming up to cup your chin and force your mouth to meet his, and your fingers dig into the meat of his forearm, holding on. 
Black skates around the edges of your vision, his scent and his sounds and his weight and strokes and thickness consuming you, and you just like in the shadowed blur of your dreams, you can’t say anything. Instead your body matches his need: your fingers gripping him in their desperate hold, your heels digging into the back of his thighs to push him deeper, your mouth memorizing his taste. 
He was never a man of words to begin with, but they have all left him now, and he chases the flutter he feels around him, stoking it until you’re all but gasping underneath him in your breathless warning. He wants to hear you say it just like you do in his dreams and as if you can read his mind, you do. 
“Joel,” you cry out, your lips brushing against his. “I’m – you feel too good, I –”
His hand drifts down to hold your hip, and he picks up his pace. 
Your fingers twist in his flannel, hanging on as he tips you right over the edge and the frozen, taut lock of your body underneath him makes him spill his own release; some inside, some along the curve of your ass when he tries to pull out. He twitches against you, his cock a wet smear along your skin and even though you can feel him try to immediately pull back, you hang on tight to him, forcing him to stay close. 
He’s breathing heavily and so are you, your eyes locked on each other. 
He doesn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged it, shouldn’t have taken advantage of your sleep muddled need and just when he’s about to open his mouth, you beat him to speaking. 
A smile curls at the edge of your lips and his eyes drop to watch; he can never look away from your mouth. 
“Thank god for one bed.”
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noisynaia · 1 year
Text
𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑰𝑺 𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮
summary: The good old 'oh no, there's only one bed' trope.
pairing: Joel Miller x afab!reader 
word count: 3.8k 
note: Explicit (18+). Vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V, creampie. No use of (y/n). Nightmares. This has not been beta nor proof read and English is not my native language.
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“Can you cut it out?” You sigh at the man who is currently and stubbornly laying on the hard floor next to the bed.    
It had been raining heavily for the entire day, the downpour so heavy that you couldn’t see more than a foot or two in front of you. All three of you were soaked to the bone and freezing. Spirit had been very low in your little travel group. Ellie had not come with her usual jokes and Joel had been even grumpier than usual so stumbling upon the little cabin had been a real stroke of luck. There had even been a dresser with enough dry clothes for all three of you to change into. 
You had given Ellie the couch in the living room since that was with the fireplace, leaving the single bedroom for you and Joel. 
“Just get up here. There’s plenty of space for the both of us.” You continue, cursing him and his damn stubbornness. The bed is not huge, but it will fit two people finely. 
“I’m fine down here. Trust me, I’ve had worse.” He just grumbles.  
You sigh, peeking your head over the edge of the mattress to look down at him. “I know you have a bad back and I need you to be well rested and alert, okay.” He tilts his head to look at you. “We both do…” You add, using Ellie to guilt trip him is maybe a little low, but you know it’s going to work and it is not like what you’re saying isn’t true. 
“Fine.” He finally sighs, as he gets up from the dusty floor, his knees creaking slightly before laying down next to you, but he doesn't get under the cover, instead laying straight on his back on top of the comforter with his arms crossed over his chest and eyes staring straight up at the ceiling.        
You want to tell him to just relax and get under the covers, but you don’t want to push your luck, so you just settle for the small victory of getting him into the bed, and who knows as sad as it makes you, maybe he really finds sleeping next to you more uncomfortable than the floor. 
You try not to dwell on that possibility too much, ashamed of how much that would affect you, so you just get comfortable under the covers instead. Turning to lay on your side, facing away from him as you close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come to you.    
“Can I ask you something?” You whisper into the silent room, somehow knowing that he hasn’t fallen asleep yet. 
“Sure.” 
“It will never get easier will it? Living in this world… I tell myself that it will, that it is going to hurt less with time but… I’m just kidding myself, aren’t I?”
He doesn’t answer for a long time and you start to think that he may have fallen asleep before he finally breaks the silence. “No, I don’t think it will ever get easier.” A short beat of silence before he continues. “But I guess we can hope.” 
You sigh at his words. You really do hope so. The two of you are quiet again and you think he might have fallen asleep when he finally speaks again.  
 “Thank you.” Joel whispers into the darkness.
“For what?” You turn your head slightly towards him.  
“For tolerating my bullshit I guess.” 
It is the last words exchanged between you before sleep finally creeps up on the both of you. 
You wake up only a few hours into the night by the feeling of Joel’s frantic movements. He is tossing and turning uneasily and uttering incomprehensible muttered words. You turn around to face him, barely capable of making him out in the darkness of the room.
“Joel” You whisper, propping yourself up on your elbow, making you hover over him slightly. 
You watch the distressed look on his face, his eyes shut tight and his brows furrowed. Whispers of some terror make it out of his mouth. Your hand is hovering over his arm, unsure if he would be okay with your touch. But his nightmare seemingly continues. You frown and gently place your hand over his arm, softly rubbing the spot with your thumb.
“Joel.” You speak softly. “Wake up.”
You can feel how his whole body is shaking. He finally opens his eyes, letting out a gasp. His eyes wide and unfocused, clearly terrified of whatever he’d dreamed about, before they lock with yours and his gaze relaxes a little. 
“I’m sorry.” He mutters, his rapid breathing is slowly coming under control. 
“Don’t apologize.” You frown at him, your eyes are now better accustomed to the darkness and you can see his face more clearly. “I get them too.” You confess dropping your head back on the pillow.
“Do you need anything?” You ask, feeling him move slightly on the mattress.
“No.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
Silence falls over you, the two of you just laying and listening to your own quiet heartbeats. 
“Why don’t you get under the covers?” You finally say, almost a little pleading.
And to your happy surprise he actually does. Joining you under the covers, even though he lays stiff as a board and way closer to the edge of the bed than he needs to. You can live with that, you are just happy that he at least can be a little more comfortable and warm. 
“Joel?”
“Yes?”
“You can talk to me, you know? If you ever need it”
A beat of silence. 
“Yeah… I know darling.” 
Darling. You think your heart skips a beat by the endearing name and you let out a sigh as you finally close your eyes again. “Goodnight Joel” 
“Goodnight.” 
You wake again in the early hours of the morning. It’s a slow ease into consciousness, a much gentler awakening than you normally get to have. Your eyes are still closed, and the only thing you currently perceive is the warm safe feeling of complete comfort, still half asleep, you haven’t registered what contributes to this feeling, how Joel is embracing you in his sleep. 
Comfortably wrapped in a blanket in a soft bed and feeling the heat of someone’s body against you is a luxury you haven't felt in a long time. The comforting feeling of soft human touch makes you melt into it, and crave it from the very marrow of your bones. You stir slightly, letting out a content sigh as you slowly get pulled out of your sleepy daze, and that is when you realize the position you are in.    
Your back is pressed up against Joel’s chest and his strong arm is wrapped around your waist. Your legs are entangled under the covers and his steady warm breath fans over the back of your neck. The two of you must have instinctively reached for each other in your sleep, the presence of a warm comforting body too irresistible, nuzzling you against himself in his sleep.
Your heart skips a beat at the gentle touch, feeling like you are going to cry from the overload of human touch. There is no way you’re gonna be able to part from his embrace without waking him, but maybe you should? Even though you really don’t want to. You feel slightly guilty as you lie and listen to his steady heartbeat
You want to be selfish for a little longer, savoring the warm comfort of Joel’s presence beside you, enjoying how it makes you feel. It feels too damn good after all the years of loneliness and fear. You can’t deny that you are feeling things for Joel. He is an attractive man, there is no doubt there, but there is more to it. The glimpses you have gotten of who he is behind the gruff facade, the man he must once have been, has made you yearn to get to know more of that side of him. The way he always makes sure you and Ellie are feeling safe. The way he over time has softened up a bit. How he sometimes will go along with Ellie’s shenanigans. How he will tell you that he will take the first night shift, but then never wake you so you get to sleep the whole night. You have scolded him for this numerous times, but he still does it whenever he senses that you are just a little more tired than usual. 
You try to ease out of his embrace without waking him, but it only results in him hugging you tighter, pressing you closer towards him as he lets out a dissatisfied grunt like his subconscious wants you close. And it is now, as you are being pressed tighter up against him that you feel it, the press of his hard cock against the curve of  your ass. You let out a little gasp, as a hot shiver travels from your abdomen down to your now throbbing cunt.
You know that it’s just a physical reaction to have a body this close, he didn’t even want to share the bed with you in the first place, but you had insisted on it. As much as you dread having to face him in this position, you really should wake him.   
“Joel.” You whisper, moving your hand over the arm he has around you, gently brushing your fingers over the warm skin, waiting for him to wake. He stirs a little against your touch, but he does not loosen his grip on you. You hold your breath, feeling your pulse throb in your ears as you wait for a reaction. You just hope this won’t make him go back to being as closed off with you as he was in the beginning. You take a deep breath to brace yourself before you turn around in his grip so the two of you are laying face to face. Your movement seems to finally have pulled him out of his sleep. His eyes start to blink slowly as he is pulled out of his slumber, he murmurs your name, voice rough and raspy from sleep and it makes your heart skip a beat. 
His eyes are finally opening to look into yours, the warm umber of his irises is so beautiful, you have never seen them this near. His face is so close. You can see every detail, every crease and he is so damn gorgeous. Your mouth is so close to his, it would be so easy to just lean in and connect your lips in a kiss. You feel Joel’s body stiffening as he realizes the position the two of you are in, and you are scared that he will bolt out of the bed and leave you cold and alone, but he doesn’t. The two of  you are simply laying in silence for a long moment, looking at each other in the dim room, both of you engulfed by the other, but you finally collect enough composure to break the silence between you.
“Good morning.” You whisper into the quiet bedroom. 
“Morning.” His voice is so deep and still rough from sleep. It makes your stomach do a flip. Maybe it is just wishful thinking but you swear that his eyes swift down to your lips for a second. Maybe it’s just time to be brave? You reach your hand up toward his cheek, letting your palm hover about half an inch from his skin. You want him to decide for himself if he is comfortable with your touch. Fortunately, after only a short moment of hesitation, he leans into your hand, exhaling as your palm cups his cheek. You kind of expect him to pull away any minute, but he doesn’t. 
“I haven’t slept this well in a long time.” You confess.  
“Me neither.” You have never heard his voice this soft before and that is when it dawns on you. This is Joel Miller. Not the man that has had to survive in a world with no hope, or the man that has lost everything that made him whole. Right now you are looking into the eyes of the man he once must have been. And maybe right now you’re the woman you were meant to be, the woman you would have been if your future hadn’t been torn away from you by the collapse of the world. There is something magnetic about it. Like the two of you are being pulled together by an invisible force, drawn together in the early morning bliss, both of you learning into earth other. Your lips brush, a ghost of a touch. He shivers but he is  still not pulling away. 
“Can I?” He whispers, his soft breath fanning over your lips. 
“Please.” You manage to croak out, your entire body buzzing with anticipation.  
It is all he needs to hear before he crashes into you, his chapped lips colliding with yours. It has been too long since you have felt the firm pressure of a man’s mouth on yours. You kiss until your lungs start to burn, and you have to pull away to catch your breath. His hand moves down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers ghosting over the warm skin beneath it.    
“Is this okay?” He asks, sounding a little unsure. 
“Yes, Joel.” You assure him. “Kiss me.” You add and he does, sliding his hand under the cotton of your shirt palming the soft skin of your side. You moan into his mouth as his tongue meets yours. You kiss until you no longer know where he starts and you end and you are almost convinced that the two of you have melded into one being.  
“You’re driving me crazy.” He pants out as he finally breaks the kiss. All you can manage is to whimper in response as he moves his lips to your throat, licking and kissing a trail to the side of your neck. His hand slowly slides down from your side to the hem of your pants. 
“Do you want me to stop?” He murmurs into the skin just below your ear, before sitting up just slightly to look into your eyes. 
“No.” You shake your head slightly. “Please don’t stop, Joel.” 
You roll your hips a little, grinding against his strong thigh, needing him to understand how badly you want this. Something flickers in his eyes and he lets out a filthy guttural groan, flipping you over so you're laying under him.    
Your entire body is aflame by his touch, a feral urge for more. More skin, more contact. So you move onto his shirt. The material slightly withered and moth-eaten from the years of being tucked away in a drawer. You pull it off him, revealing his broad upper body. You pause, captivated by the look of him hovering over you. The scars across his skin, the sparse hairs trailing down from his navel to his pants.    
You wonder if he shaking because he’s cold or if he’s really just that eager for your touch. But it doesn’t really matter, either way, you’ll warm him up.
He slides his calloused fingers over the sensitive skin of your thighs, hooking them in the waistband of your panties, looking into your eyes. You nod at him, mouthing a ‘please’, spreading your legs a bit further. It is all he needs, an expression of filthy desire flickers over his face as he pulls your underwear down. Letting out a gasp as your soaked pussy gets exposed in front of him. His fingers slide along the insides of your wet lips. 
“Shit, you’re so wet. All this just for me?” He almost coo.
“Yeah. All for you, Joel.” 
“Wanna feel you come on my fingers.”   
“Fuck, want that too.” You whimper.                
He gives you a smile, dipping his head down to your shoulder, nuzzling his nose against the crook of your neck before kissing the soft skin under your ear. He makes sure to coat his fingers in your wetness before he begins to tease your clit. You let out a little gasp as he starts to draw slow light circles, but it doesn’t take long for him to pick up his pace and add a bit of pressure.
He teases your entrance, making sure to coat his fingers in your slickless before he slips one of his thick fingers into you. Another is soon added and you sigh at the sensation. He slowly pumps into you at first, giving you time to adjust to his digits, but he is soon picking up the pace.  
“That’s right darling.” He mutters against your neck. “Taking my fingers so well.”
He is going fast now, using his middle and index finger to fuck you while the ruff pad of his thumb is pressing on your clit and you can’t help but let out a few pathetic whines. He is hitting a perfect spot, so deep inside of you, and you feel your orgasm approaching, finally falling over the edge when he curls his fingers. 
“That’s right, just like that.” Joel groans as you clench around his fingers, slowing his pace slightly but still  pumping you through your orgasm in a steady rhythm. “Just like that, darling, doing so well.”
He lets you ride out your climax on his fingers until he finally pulls out of you, popping them into his mouth, sucking off your juices with a pleasant moan.    
“Fuck, Joel.” You pant out as you finally come down from your amazing high. 
“Good?” He asks, a sly smile on his lips. 
“Really good.” You ensure him, cupping his cheek with a gentle hand. “Want to make you feel good too.” You whisper, looking deeply into his eyes.
“Fuck, darling. I want to feel you so bad.” He confesses.  
“Want that too. Fuck, want that so bad” You pant, letting your thumb slide over his cheek as you admire his handsome face. And you do want him, but more than that, you need him.
He lifts himself from you to strip off his pants and underwear. Your eyes widen at the view of him. His hard cock springs free, throbbing and thick, laying heavy in his palm as he takes himself in his hand. It still looks huge, even in his big hand, so you can’t even imagine how enormous it will look in your smaller one. He pumps himself a few times before leaning down over you again. He guides his cock to your entrance, looking at you for permission, which you give with an eager nod, before slowly pushing inside you, stretching your pussy to its limits the deeper he goes. You feel so full, like he is splitting you open with his thick girth. You whimper as you take more and more of his cock until he is all the way in. 
“Fuck darling, you’re so warm, so fucking tight around me.” He groans before leaving a firm kiss on your lips. The two of you are laying like this for a little while, letting you adjust to his size until you can’t take it anymore. 
“Move.” Your voice is low and rasped. “Please.”   
With that, he lifts your legs, making you cross them around his lower torso as he pulls out of you, achingly slow until only the head of his cock is still inside of you before inserting all of it again in one fluid motion. You let out a gasp of pleasure. 
He starts out with a slow rhythmical pace. He is giving you sweet praise at first, then progressively dirtier, more lustful comments as he loses himself more and more, his thrusts getting faster and more desperate. He lets out a throaty groan as your hands grab his hair. The way he is now pounding his cock into you, deep and purposefully, makes you cry out in pleasure, your ears filling with his growls and moans. 
“Feeling so so good…” He says his eyes clenched tightly shut as he keeps thrusting into you with a savage speed. “I knew you would feel good, but damn.” He groans through gritted teeth. Joel is now moving with an urgency that has you seeing stars and you let out a cry of pleasure. 
“Shhh.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips to quiet you.  Ellie is, unlike you and Joel, a deep sleeper, but you would both be mortified if she heard the two of you, not wanting to traumatize the poor girl. 
“You are taking me so well.” He encourages. “So fucking good.” 
Your arms are desperately clinging to his back. His balls are hitting your skin and his cock is pounding into your soaked pussy, making a filthy squelching noise hit your ears. 
The pressure is beginning to build up in your lower stomach, the feeling is making your head go dizzy. He is bringing you closer and closer with every strong thrust of his cock.
“I-fuck… I'm close.” You babble. 
The knot in your stomach tightens and tightens until it all explodes inside you. Your walls clench down around him, sucking him in. You desperately cling to him as your climax washes over you, hands on his neck as you guide his mouth down to yours, you need him to kiss you through this. Your breasts are being squeezed against his chest, the feeling of his skin against your sensitive nipples makes you moan into his mouth.  
You whine out as you feel the warmth of his release filling you up. 
“Shit, shit, shit.” He detaches from your mouth. The panic from cumming inside you is clear on his face. He pulls out, some of his load landing on your stomach, but most of it still inside of you, the sudden empty feeling makes you let out a little whine. 
“Shit, I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 
You know that he is right, he really shouldn’t have done it, but you can’t get mad at him you had been just as caught up in the feeling of him as he had been in you. You finished your cycle only a couple of days ago so you should hopefully be okay. 
You cup his cheek, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “I think we should be okay, just don’t make a habit of it.” You grin at him. 
He visibly relaxes at your words “I’ll make sure to pull out next time.” He assures you and your stomach flutters. Next time. You smile at his words.   
“How do you feel?” He asks. 
“Good.” You laugh lightly, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I liked seeing this side of you.”
He sighs as he pulls you close. His chest vibrates against you as he speaks. “You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” 
5K notes · View notes
netherfeildren · 6 months
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Pink : Part II: I See Your Father as My Father
Series Masterlist : Part I
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Inappropriate relationships; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Ass play lite; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Praise kink; Aftercare; Size kink; Spitting; Come eating; Thigh fucking; Oral sex
A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!
Word Count: 12.3K
Rating: Explicit 18+
Read on AO3
Ko-fi
2. I See Your Father as My Father
When he swings the door open, he’s still half pulling a t-shirt over his curl messed head, faded gray, rust orange longhorn across the front, a flash of hair sprinkled belly. All man, man, man. It stretches over his broad shoulders so the holes strewn there stretch and gape wide making your face heat unbearably. And he’s struck silent for a second, realizing it’s you taking up space on his front porch, trying to hide against the shadow of the wooden beam at your back, ringing his bell in the middle of the night like the Devil’s on your heels. Brow pulled low, he steps out onto the porch, into the shadows with you, his gaze flashing back and forth between your eyes. He says your name, and you hate it. “Did somethin’ happen? Are you alright?” And you want to say no, that nothing is alright. That you know you shouldn’t be here, but you’re here anyways now, and so he needs to tell you what’s going to happen next because this is as far as you’d planned. The sound of his voice, the sight of him, that’s as far as you’d planned. The rest is up to him now, even if he doesn’t know it. Your eyes fall down the long, broad length of him. Rumpled jeans, hastily pulled on, and his bare feet, oddly erotic. They’re paler than the rest of him, sun deprived, and briefly, ridiculously, you wonder if he has that funny sock tan men get around their ankles. The skin stretched over strong tendon and bone, beautifully arched. You give a tiny shake of your head, something like a whimper slipping up your throat. And you think he must realize or understand because he sighs, long and drawn out, dragging his palm over his mouth as he watches you struggle. You think that’s his tell, that dragging hand; he does it when he’s thinking, confused, worried, upset which leads you to worry that maybe he’s upset you’re here now, but it’s done, you’ve come. There’s nothing either of you can do to undo it now. Your eyes move back up to his face, and he’s taking stock of you now also. The soft, loose jersey shorts, too big pullover almost covering them entirely, the sleeves twisted around your clenched fingers. “You gotta tell me what you’re doin’ here, sweetheart. You gotta say it out loud.” You let out a rough, frustrated sound through your clenched teeth, looking away from him for a second. 
“We never talked about it,” you say instead because you want to hear him acknowledge it, you want that to be said out loud. 
He understands immediately, “You never gave me a chance to.”
You look back at him, he’s taken a step closer, and you wrap your arms back behind the beam, trying to meld yourself to the wood, keep yourself away from him.
“What else was I supposed to do? If we talked about it, it would’ve happened again.”
“Well, then that’s why – that’s why we never talked about it.”
“But did you want to?” And your voice breaks a little at the end, “Did you want to talk about it?”
He sighs again, a muttered curse under his breath. He isn’t going to give you the easy way out. “Tell me why he left you,” and you flinch. He, his son. It’s the truth, no reason to cower. You were left. You have to look away again, unable to confess this when looking into the kinder version of eyes that never loved you. 
“I think you know. I think you could tell from the very first moment you saw us together.” He hums his agreement, and the sound fucking hurts. “He never loved me. He never even really liked me, I don’t think. But that became okay after a while.” A tear falls, and you listen to the sound of him suck in a sharp breath; it makes you smile just a little, that small sound. You look back at his face, “I don’t want you to think I’m not okay with that now because I really am. It made me realize that he’d never been what I wanted or needed either. That he couldn’t ever give me what I wanted either.”
“And what’s that?” His voice sounds gentle, but you know that it’s put on. You know there isn’t going to be anything gentle about this. 
You choose to ignore that, “You know he said once, that I’d lied to him about who I was. But I didn’t– I really didn’t, Joel,” and you say it with such panic, or fervor, or something that’s desperate to ensure that he doesn’t think the same of you. That he doesn’t take you for a liar also. “He just couldn’t understand that this is the only way I know how to be. Being scared all the time makes you a liar. It makes you what the moment needs you to be no matter what that is. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” he nods, “I know what you mean,” but he looks nervous, the truth of him too close to the surface, and it soothes you. The two of you are the same, you knew it. 
You peek down at your twisted fingers, nails gnawed raw and bloody and disgusting. “I don’t think he ever loved me and that made me sad. But now, I don't think I ever loved him either, and that makes me sadder. It was all for nothing, I let him turn me into that thing for nothing, and I was always waiting for him to treat me better, different. But a person who can treat you badly once usually finds it quite easy to do it again.” You look back up at him, shocked for a moment at your sharp honesty. “I’m sorry. He’s your son. I shouldn’t say these things to you,” even thought it sounds like hypocrisy, for look at where you’re standing in the middle of the night.
“And you’re you.”
And the sober way he says it sobers you, recenters you. “Yes. I’ve always been only myself.” And it’s the truth, the most difficult one. That despite Sam’s claims that you’d made him believe you to be someone you weren’t, despite the sick desire for complacency, to please all those around you, you have always been only you. Even when they’d tried to force you to be something you weren’t, you were still always only yourself. You say it again, just to hear the sound of the words. 
“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here then. You want to talk about that? About what happened that night? Is that it?”
“Yes.”
He sighs, that telling gesture over his stern mouth again. “If we do this, there’s no goin’ back, and I–”
“There already is no going back for me. I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering.”
“It would be different– if we– if I take you, it’ll be different. You get me? I won’t be able to stop. I know myself well enough to know that. I won’t be able to stay away from you after.”
“I don’t care.”
“So that’s what you want?” But you can’t say the words out loud, you can’t, you can’t. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated by your own desire, small and slanted. Despite all your progress, and as much as you want it, you still know you shouldn’t. “I gotta fuckin’ hear it, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” You shake your head a little, another tear, wrapping your arms around yourself. You can see the fight in his eyes, trying to hold you off from the inside out. I don’t know, another tear. He makes a frustrated noise, turning to pace to the opposite end of the porch, hand fisted in his hair. When he turns back he seems to deflate, eyes going cool and steady and then, suddenly, like a ricochet, bright and light, a flash fire. Once more: “What do you want?” To be wanted. To be good. “You want me to kiss you? You want me to fuck you?”
And your eyes flutter closed in relief, there it is, finally, the hard part’s over. It’s been said out loud. “Yes, that’s what I want.” He’s on you in three ground eating strides, big hand wrapping around the contours of your jaw, the other fisting in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on the tips of your toes. Your eyes fall shut, mouth parting embarrassingly ready for him to kiss you, but he gives your head a little shake between his palms. “You’re supposed to belong to my son, goddamnit. I’m not supposed to want you like this. This is wrong.”
“I never belonged to him,” and then bitter truth, honesty laminated in humiliation, “And I don’t care if it’s wrong.” Followed by a thought, a wash of shyness, held in his hands as you are, large strong hands: there is a part of me that feels very innocent still, naive, experienced hands that will finally teach you how to be good. You watch the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the sun roughened skin of his throat, and when you look back up at his eyes, there is nothing like innocence, nothing like naivety in them, only the reflection of something complex, something more. He goes very still, almost vibrational with restraint, his fingers clench around you once, and then, with unbearable control, his hands flex open, releasing you. 
“Get in the house,” he says very, very quietly. You cup your own palm around the space of your chin where he’d gripped you and turn on your toes, scampering inside, into the home of the man who would have remained your father-in-law for the rest of your life had his son ever decided to love you. The door slams shut behind him. 
-
He steps into the dark restroom with a staying hand out and ready, as if approaching a wounded, rabid animal. 
His son, his son is a cruel and small man. Joel is coming to realize this with something like horror running in currents beneath his skin. Quick to anger, quick to aggression. And you, his daughter-in-law, no one knows this better than you do. He’d naively thought, when his fully grown son had appeared at his door steps all those months ago, that the question Joel had carried on the tip of his tongue for half of his adult life had finally been answered. Alone but never necessarily lonely, something like a film of boredom and monotony over his life. He was content with the place he’d made for himself; he had his business and his brother and friends, and Joel was fine. But a child of his own, he’d never expected it, never even considered it a possibility. And what he’d come to discover: his son, who shouldn’t still be a child, but in many ways, was. 
He licks at the groove of his molar as he watches the tremble of your back, trying to hide your weeping face in the shadows of the bathroom wall. A small, anxious thing that had been, out of everything, perhaps the biggest shock of all. To learn that he had a son, an entire life lost to time, and that there was someone in the world that his son should have loved enough to tie himself to – it was shocking. To discover that his son was married when Joel was not, disorienting. 
He says your name softly and watches the jerk of your frame, that vein of anxiety he’d sensed in you from the get go that he was fairly certain Sam had a large part in sowing. You’d shown up with your hair picked up today, only the second time you’ve ever worn it so. Piled messy at the top of your head, a few strands laying against the nape of your neck, the vulnerable slope of your shoulder. He feels strangely afraid of you, afraid for you. Unsure of what to say, heart beating out of his chest, rebounding against his ribcage so hard he’s sure you can hear it. “I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it. He–”
“Please, don’t apologize for him.” A tiny sniffle. “Don’t apologize for him,” you say again, and there’s a hum of exhaustion in your voice, brokenness, it makes Joel go from afraid to entirely terrified, but then angry too… angry too. He takes a step forward, another, he’s an arms length away from you now. He could touch you if he was brave enough. If the intent behind it wasn’t as wrong as it is. Angry because he’s looking at that vulnerable nape, imagining the fit of his palm molded over the delicate column, and you’re something to be taken care of. Something like a gift. Even though he doesn’t know you well enough to say such a thing yet, even though he shouldn’t be thinking such a thing about his daughter-in-law. Even though you hold yourself with a hard rigidness most of the time, quiet dignity and cold vulnerability that seem almost impossible to get through. And yet he suspects that with enough care and patience you could become immediately soft, easily penetrated. He should see his son as a gift, and he does, he does, he does, he swears he does. If Joel repeats it enough times in his mind surely he’ll come to believe it with his whole heart, but what he sees more than the gift of a child that was kept from him, is nothing but a boy beating down a creature that was not taught to defend itself. And that makes him angry beyond belief. 
Joel can be a hard man. He is a hard man. Perhaps, a large part of the reason why he’s still alone, why nothing more than a quick fuck ever seems to work out for him. Women like him, they enjoy his company, they come to bed with him easily. But Joel is hard and cold, and he’s never much minded his aloneness, a difficult thing to sell to a woman, the reality that he doesn’t really care to need anyone else. And so perhaps, this is his son’s inherited vice, that coldness, but despite Joel’s preference for solitude, for the fact that he doesn’t care about making a person stick around, he tries to never be cruel, and he is sure to never hurt those that are more easily hurt than himself. He doesn’t think there’s any worse sort of sin, and so he knows that this cruelty he’s witnessing didn’t come from him. But then he thinks that if it didn’t come from him, then it surely came as a consequence of him, of his absence, and so he is just as responsible for it. So he can’t help himself when, instead of more platitudes in favor of his gift of a son, he says: “You should leave him.” You let out a bitter sound of a laugh, something that pokes at that wound of fear of his. 
“Should I? I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.”
“Isn’t it? It’s the truth. It’s what you need to hear right now,” The sweetheart he adds at the end has a tiny shiver moving down the length of your spine that his own vertebrae can’t help but imitate. You hang your head, bearing more of that lovely nape, head seemingly bowed in supplication for something gentler than what his son can offer you, and he can’t help himself again. He wants to sink his teeth into that soft expanse of skin. You’re too pretty, pretty in all the ways a perfect thing can be, and Joel is a hard man, not a weak one, but he feels weak now. He feels brought to his knees, heavy stone of guilt weighing in his gut as he lays his palm on the back of your bared neck. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, this doesn’t belong to you. He tightens his hand, grips the column, presses the calluses of his palm to the soft skin. “Look at me–” he gruffs, turns you by the pressure of his hand, a kitten gripped by the scruff and made to listen. “You deserve more than that shit.” That shit being his son, his blood. Joel is two feet tall and so ashamed he’s nauseous. But your eyes, they look up at him, tear filled and so lost, and he wants to show you how it should be. “You deserve more,” he says again. Later, he’ll tell himself he surely must have said the words out loud, asked for it with teeth and tongue. The blame can only be his, he provoked it, he soothed the wound, incited it, because you’re surging up and against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders and throat and pressing your mouth to his, clumsy and tear stained and open so that the first thing he tastes is your breath on his tongue, then your tongue on his tongue, and then absolution tinged with shame, gross desire like desperation. He groans like a dying man, clutching at you immediately, unthinking, pulling you into himself, soft, full tits against hard chest so that he feels like he’s burning and dying and coming back to life all with the taste of your spit and tears in his mouth. He holds you steady, hand still clamped to the back of your neck and thinks that if he’s going to commit a sin he might as well take his fill. He eats at you. Head held in place, knees bent and arm banded around your waist to bring you level with each other, he pulls your head back, mouth open and tries to swallow you whole. And Joel doesn’t think of his son, not for a single second, while he kisses his daughter-in-law.
His lips slide to your throat, hunting for your pulse, tasting the tiny flutter, going weak at the knees at the whimpered sound you make, cock harder than it’s been in years, a noise like begging, like more. He sucks hard at that thrum, but your noises shift to frightened, protesting, fingers digging into his shoulders to warn him. He can’t leave marks, he can’t leave marks on something that belongs to another. His erection is an iron band down the leg of his jeans, and he has to force himself not to thrust the aching cock into the soft apex of your thighs, feel your warmth there. He has to stop, he has to– to what? To let you go back to a boy that mistreats you? Even if that boy is his son, it’s wrong, it goes against everything Joel is as a man. He presses his face into the blistering heat of your throat, a muttered fuck under the ledge of your little chin. A rattling shiver has started up in you, teeth chattering with the force of it, and he bands his arms around you tightly, pressing the air out of your lungs, hand smoothing up to twist in the back of your hair and force you entirely still. “Don’t,” his voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it coming out of his own mouth, “Don’t be afraid.” The sound of his popping knees as he unbends to his full height, your weight still in his arms. He lets you go in increments, slowly so as not to jar you further, hands holding tight until the last moment when he forces them to unclench, let you go. “Don’t be afraid,” he says again. “You did nothing wrong. This was all me.” Your eyes are huge, but you’re not crying anymore, and that feels like victory to Joel, despite the rest, the only thing that matters.
You run from him after that, because of course you do. What’s the other option? That he’d keep you there in that dark restroom, from his son and your marriage and the world, forever? He clutches at his chest and is swallowed whole by his shame and his guilt, the terrible fear that he isn’t the sort of parent that can blindly see past their child’s faults, love them despite everything else, not the type of man who can keep himself from wanting something he shouldn’t, he hadn’t felt so when he’d kissed you with that sick desperation on his tongue. And once he hears the sound of a slamming car door, and Sam’s truck peeling out of the drive and speeding away, he takes out his hard cock and fucks his fist until the heat of his semen is sliding over his skin, a handful of pathetic strokes and the sound of your name almost like a sob in the dark.
-
You listen to the sound of his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and your head feels like it’s breaking water, seeing clearly for the first time in years. It’s a rich parquet, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamp glow. You wonder if he installed it himself, like the wallpaper, proof of the care and attention to detail in his home. You think you would like to be cared for as such also. There’s a soft green throw draped over the back of the chocolate leather couch, and you dig your fingers into it, twisting amidst the knitted weave as you turn to face him, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one from before. The one like too much, too much, the one like fear and want. Stopping just in front of you, the tips of his bare toes meet the front of your shoes, and he reaches to drag the pad of his thumb over the high slope of your cheekbone, the fine skin catching beneath his calluses. “You’re too beautiful,” he says, and you wish it sounded like an accusation, but it doesn't, and you want to tell him you don’t believe him, just to be difficult, just to be contrary, but you know he’s not the sort of man that lies. It only sounds like praise. His eyes are so dark in the shadow of the house, the green and brown and caramel striations gone away in the night, and he’s shifting his jaw, chewing on a thought before he spits it out. His other hand comes up to gently, so gently cup the other side of your face, and he holds you there, just so, angling you this way and that, appraising you, chewing, chewing slowly. “Too beautiful – I never even stood a chance,” he says more to himself than to you. This is a man that does things with intention. This is a man that sees you as a complexity, as something more. This is a man. “He told me something – last time we saw each other.” Your heart beats painfully in your chest, you can feel it in your eyes and ears and the backs of your knees.
“What’s that?”
“That the two of you were havin’ problems. In– in the bedroom. That–”
You try and jerk away, but he holds you trapped. “Stop. Please. Don’t–”
“Is that all this is? Older man – want me to teach you somethin’?”
Cradled as you are, you close your eyes, brow folding in a frown, unable to refute him with a shake for the way he’s captured you. You bring your own hand up to circle his thick wrist, fingers not meeting around it. He has hair here, your palm slides further down, hair here too. All man, man, man. No longer in the hands of a boy, and you’re touching him. Now you’re touching him too. “That very first time I met you– I wondered what you’d taste like. How heavy you’d be inside of me. If you’d be rough, leave marks, or gentle. You know I– I wanted– If he hadn’t been there, if–” Now he’s the one that begs you to stop. 
His hands on you are tighter now, almost strangling, squeezing a moan out of you. “Are you going to tell him?” His grip goes loose again, caressing. “ If we do this– are you going to use this against him? It’s yours to do with as you will, I just want to know beforehand. It won't change the way I have you tonight.”
“Only tonight?” Your voice sounding strange, hungry. 
His eyes move entirely around your face, taking you in, held as you are. His gaze is manic, fevered, but his words are slow, stacked one on top of the other for you. “No. No, I don’t think it’ll only be tonight.”
“I’m not going to use this against him.” For the first time in two years, what you’re doing, the decisions you’re making, have nothing to do with your ex-husband. This is only for you. Joel is only for you. 
“Tell me what you want,” he asks for the last time. 
“To be good,” you finally say, and the rough sound he makes, the flush you can faintly see crawling up the column of his throat, it has a painful knot of want tightening your cunt, the wet drip of slick pooling in your panties, all hot and bruised feeling on the inside. 
He lets his hands slide slowly from your face to hang loosely by his sides, and you take it as your invitation to touch him as you like now. He’s so much taller than you, your neck craning back to look up at his face. You start there, the crest of his cheek, the strong, curved nose, plush mouth that looks specifically made for kissing a cunt until it cries. He makes your thoughts feel savage, he makes you feel like something you’ve never been before. “You’re just a little girl, aren’t you?” He says softly. Your hands move down to his thick neck, and you try and cage him there, hands too small to circle him entirely, the insinuation of a strangling. Too small, too small, too small. You shake your head, mesmerized by the contradiction of your small fragility trying to capture all that strength held inside of him. You look up at his eyes, holding him around the throat as you are, and shake your head. You’re not. “Then what are you?”
“I don’t know. I want you to show me.” And that does something to him. You see the change come over him in that very moment, something chimeral in the change your words provoke. He’s made of nothing but vibrational restraint, giving you your moment of peace to explore him as you need to before he takes you for himself. You’re almost certain you can hear the sound of him grinding his molars to dust inside his mouth. And you want him to show you, it’s the truth. As wrong or whatever it is that it may be, it’s your truth. You’d always felt like you’d done being a woman the wrong way, a grating way, an unappealing way, but you didn’t want to be unappealing or wrong. You only wanted to be yourself. And worst of all, you’d been made to feel like that, over and over again, by the man who should have done nothing but the opposite. And you know it might be bad now, to want to be shown or that there was no right way, but still, but still, you want it. You would still like for someone, for Joel, to teach you how to be better, how to be good. Was that really so bad?
Your hands slide down to the thick muscles of his chest, thumbs dipping into the dents of his collarbones, lower to the soft of his belly, the edge of his jeans. The both of you are trembling now, you in lust, desperation, him in restraint maybe. There are beads of sweat dampening the curls at his temples. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“Do you think so?”
He nods, but he’s cupping your elbows in his big hands anyway, pulling you towards him so that your breasts graze the top of his belly. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.” You go up on your tiptoes, hand cupping the sharp edge of his jaw to pull him down towards you, and he’s like a leashed wolf; heavy, hot breaths fanning across your face, and he slowly does as you bid, mint, mixed with something sharp like whiskey. He’s watching you so intently, watching to see what you’ll do with him, but your eyes are only on that soft wet mouth. You want his tongue inside of you, and that first press is so, so soft, barely there. A sound like dying, you can’t tell who it comes from, another soft brush, and you’re taking his top lip between both of yours, sucking on it lightly, hands snaking over his thick shoulders to bring yourself up closer so that he’s finally wrapping his arms around you, pressing you tightly to himself, belly to belly. He still hasn’t closed his eyes, he’s still watching you, and your heart is beating so fast and so hard and you want this so much that you’re sure he can feel it reverberating into his own chest cavity, spurring his own beating muscle on. You press another tiny kiss to his full, open mouth. “I’m scared,” you whisper onto his tongue, and he smoothes a staying hand down your spine, settling over the curve of your ass and squeezing there, holding you in his snare. He’s barely even touched you, and yet, you already know that no one else has ever been like this. 
“That’s alright. Got nothin’ to be scared of – I’m gonna be so gentle with you, baby.”
“I’m not your baby,” hint of an obstinate, provoking whine in your voice.
“But that’s what you are.” He changes the angle of his descent, and now he’s the one moving in for another tiny kiss. “Just a little baby.”
“And I don’t want it gentle.”
“You’ll take it how I say. How ‘bout that?” Another kiss, and now the taste of his tongue. You’d never forgotten it, the slick, hot slide of it, from that other time. He licks into you, takes away your ability to talk. In a single blink of an eye, less than a second’s thought, he’s taken all control from you, made the game his own, and now you’ve finally gotten what you’d come here for. Now you can finally say it out loud. He wraps a massive fist around the length of your hair and eats at your mouth, makes it his more than it’s ever been yours. All tongue and teeth and wet spit, the sound of his pleasure for you vibrating in your ears, and there is it, the pressure of his hard cock as he slides his hand lower, between your legs to feel the heat and damp of the pussy that’s wet only for him, pulls you further into himself. The heft of the bulge has you whining and squirming in his hold, clawing at his shoulders and the skin of his neck to climb up the length of him, get closer, get more. You want that cock, you want it inside of you, filling you with its weight and its come. You’ve wanted it from the first time you’d met him as his daughter-in-law, standing beside his son in the place of his wife. You’d wanted his cock more than you’d ever wanted his sons, and you’re only ashamed that you’re not ashamed at all. And he tastes that desperation on you, nips at your lip with a gruff settle, a little yank of your hair to tug your head back and unlatch his mouth from yours, sliding in a wet trail to your neck, settle, settle. He bites at the line of your throat, hard. Sucks even harder, leaves a mark, leaves a claim he wasn’t able to last time. The deeply rumbled sound that comes from him attests to his intention and your answering, whimpered mewl is nothing but a cry for more; I know, baby, I know, he whispers into your ear. His mouth moves down your chest, pulling the already stretched neck of your pullover wider to nuzzle at the deep groove of your cleavage. You want to ask him if he’s worried, guilty, if he’s wanted you for as long as you wanted him, if he was hard when you kissed him that night in his little wallpapered restroom, but then the heat of his mouth is clamping around your nipple and sucking, wetting the fabric of your top with his tongue, biting down at your breast, the sharp of his teeth clamping down around your sensitive flesh, nothing but your soft sleep bra beneath to protect you. You yank hard at his messy curls, trying to pull his punishing teeth away and pull yourself closer, all at the same time. His eyes flash up to yours, mouth latched at your breast, cheeks hollowing as he takes a hard, wet pull and there’s laughter in his gaze, hot and bright and infectious. “I’ll be gentle, but I’m not gonna be nice, baby.” He nuzzles into the wet spot left behind, presses another kiss, soft and conciliatory now over your throbbing nipple. “You want me to be nice? Want me to be nice to this little pussy?” He rubs the flat of his fingers over that desperate place between your legs as he turns to walk the two of you back towards the front of the sofa. There’s no response to be given, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He turns to sit, pulling you to remain standing between his spread thighs, hands wrapped around your hips. “Gotta use your words, pretty baby. I wanna hear what you want.”
“I want whatever you want. I want it however you want it,” you say through your flush and your shyness. You want to be honest, not a liar here in this moment with him. 
He lets his head fall forward to rest against your lower belly, nuzzles there, and you hear his whispered, Jesus, fuck, before he pulls back to look up at you, drags his palms down the back of your legs all the way to your ankles, nudging your shoes and socks off, and then sliding all the way back up, scratchy calluses making you shiver until he reaches the edge of your shorts and tucks the tips of his fingers there. “Take your shirt off,” he says gently, and you only pause for a second of timidity before you’re pulling it over your head, left only in your soft pink sleep bra not intended for the eyes of ex-father-in-law’s you’ve come to seduce. Your shyness flushes higher, burning your face, sprouting beads of embarrassed sweat at the nape of your neck. He untucks his fingers from the waistband of your shorts, smoothing his palms up the slopes of your curves, thumbs dragging up the plane of your belly, dipping into the dent of your navel to reach up and squeeze your breasts tight in his big hands, then pulls the straps down over your shoulders, the bra down over the curves of your breasts to leave them bare and heavy. And his eyes never leave yours as he gets you naked for himself, fingers sliding down your sides now to pull your shorts and panties and the scrunched bra down, the flush in his face deepening, heightening even though he’s yet to look at you. Don’t be scared, he whispers again, shaking his head a little when you wrap your arms around your breasts, trying to hide yourself away from him. When he’s taken your shorts from you, gripping each ankle to help you step out of their circle, he finally looks at you, takes in the entire bare expanse of your naked body, gently prying your arms from your breasts. “Lemme see, lemme see, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” He runs his hands all over you, the slope of your belly, lifts the weights of your tits in his palms to let them fall and sway heavily, down the outsides of your thighs and back up and around to squeeze the lush of your ass. He pulls you further towards him with that clutch on you and presses his nose into the apex of your thighs, nuzzles at the soft thatch of curls there, brings his thumb up to pet at it and breathes deep. “I like this – so pretty,” he tells you again. If it was possible for a person to die of shyness you surely would in this moment, but this was what you’d come here for, this was what you hadn’t been able to say out loud. He presses his nose there again, takes another deep breath, and then starts to mouth wetly, pressing soft kisses and then the wet of his tongue, licking and parting at your slick seam. He groans so deep it sends you to shivering, hands coming up to cover your face, to hide away from that sound of lust, the feral look in his eyes when he looks up at you with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. He starts to lap at you in earnest, closing his eyes in sheer enjoyment as he pets at your clit with his tongue, shifting his angle this way and that to get at you more deeply. He pulls one of your feet up onto the edge of the sofa to open you, and you’re jostled forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulder as he spreads and eats you. His hand on your ass shifts lower, searching for your opening from behind and starts to pet at you there too so that he’s coming at you from the front and the back, and it’s too much, his sucking mouth and probing fingers. Your standing leg buckles, and he’s forced to pull his mouth from you, steady you. You let your knees give out slowly, coming to a folded kneel between his legs. He leans forward, mouth glossy with your slick and pulls your face to his, chin pinched between his fingers to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue sets something off within you.
Suddenly, your shy insecurity doesn't really matter as much with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. You surge up on your knees, pressing closer to him, pulling him to you with your arms twisted around his neck, moaning into his mouth as you taste the sweet muskiness on his tongue. Like kindling catching fire in your veins you start to claw at him, pulling at his clothes, his hair, scratching at his skin. He half pulls you up and on top of him, your steaming hot form, entirely bare and naked on top of his clothed one. You can feel the heft of his cock against your belly, grinding there, trying to find whatever friction possible, and he makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, pushing you back down onto the floor and pulling back to open his jeans. He’s panting and sweating, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a bright red. He wants you just as much as you want him. And it’s bad, it’s bad and wrong to compare, God knows, but when he finally pulls his cock out, he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, you know that this is a man unlike your husband ever was; long and thick, fucking big, swollen, flushed tip peaking out from soft surrounding skin, leaking a clear slick of drool. He takes it out and sits back, pushing his hips forward to settle into his seat and stretches his long legs on either side of you. You listen to the sound of the scooting coffee table as he shoves it back with his foot. His cock arches obscenely from his open jeans, and you reach up slowly, a little intimidated, to circle it with your fingers delicately. “You’re so hard,” you whisper. 
He drags a gentle hand over the crown of your head, pulling the hair tie from your ponytail as he goes. “This is how much I want you. This is all you.” He circles his big hand around your much smaller one, squeezes his big cock tighter with both of your hands, and you flush with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. You can make a man hard, the proof is right here in front of you. 
He’s uncut, and that’s doubly intimidating. “I’ve never seen one like that,” he pulls your hand up slowly with his, squeezes and twists hard at the sticky wet tip. 
“It’s okay, baby,” he croons, looking down at you with a maniacal sort of glint in his eyes. “Just open your mouth,” he wraps his other hand around your jaw, “You don’t need to see it if it’s inside you,” wedges his fingers between your molars over the skin of your cheeks, prying your mouth open. You bend your head forward, tongue hanging out, and he taps the heavy weight of his cock there, jostles the wet tip slightly from side to side, the wet sticky sound of it has your pussy clenching around terrible emptiness. He slides his hand up your cheek, twists his fingers through your hair and directs you how he wants you, slides his cock further back on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him, give him your first real suck, tongue swirling gently around the fat head. Pulling back with a sharp hollowing of your cheeks, he squeezes his fist around yours almost painfully, and you press an open mouthed kiss at the spongey tip, gently tonguing the slit, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue like a little kitten. The sight of you licking his dick has him groaning, bearing the white line of his teeth at you. 
“You taste so good,” you say up at him with big wet eyes, “Like I always imagined you would.”
“Fuck–” he snarls, “Killin’ me,” and he’s jerking you up off the floor roughly, pulling your knees apart to settle you in a straddle on his lap, pressing you close with a hand on your ass so that the wet heat of your cunt is meeting the heat of his cock. The both of you groan like it hurts, like you’ve been waiting for this for longer than is right, and he pulls your mouth back to his, wet and messy, sucking on your tongue, gripping your hair so tightly, your eyes smart and water. You claw at his shirt, pulling it up, trying to get at his skin, and he pulls back suddenly, frustratedly ripping it over his head, and then coming back to your mouth, single minded in his dedication to having the taste of you on his tongue. You try and grind down on him, but he hitches you up higher so your breasts are level with his face. “This’ll be over ‘fore it’s even begun if we’re not careful,” he laughs as he settles you, cunt leaking against his stomach and turning the hair there sticky sweet with your slick, and slots his hand between your thighs, gives you something to rub yourself against while he kisses you. “Oh, baby, you’ve got the wettest little cunt,” he says between kisses, lips sliding down to suck at your neck, lifting your breast to his mouth to lick and bite at your swollen nipple. 
And past sense, past restraint, you beg: “I want your cock, please, I want it so badly.” 
“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Not yet. You’re not ready.”
You whine and beg that you are, you promise you are, but he only sucks at your tits harder, presses his hand harder between your thighs, and you can literally hear the wet squelch of your pussy as you ride his palm, your clit grinding against his belly on the forward slide as you work yourself up into a frenzy, wet whimpers and a pathetic little tear or two slipping out in your frustration to come. Need you nice and soft to take me, sweetheart, he murmurs into the tender skin beneath your chin, but he decides to be kind, crooking his finger just so that it brushes up against your clit, setting off a shivery little orgasm fluttering through your belly. He laughs softly, humoring the silly little thing wiggling around in his lap that’s so desperate to come, decides to be kinder halfway through your orgasm and starts to slowly press a single thick finger into your hungry, clenching hole. Shit, you hear his curse, while you moan and cry into his shoulder, mouthing and biting at the sun freckled golden skin there, gnawing on him like some rabid thing. And then he says, a little teasing: “Just from this, huh? Just from a little wiggling around on daddy’s lap?” sending a wash of agonized relief through you as he wedges a second one of those thick, thick fingers inside to stretch you further. It’s what you’d wanted to call him from the first moment. Just one more thing said out loud. You nod your head against his shoulder, a whine and a breath and daddy, daddy, daddy, as he stretches you; make that sound again, he begs and pets and coos at you, yes, yes, I could come from that sound alone, gives you all the patience you’d always needed. “Look at all this slick you’ve made to take my big cock in your little cunt, baby. What a good girl you are.” He twists his wrist, fucks space into you with his fingers, “You’re so fuckin’ tiny – how’re you gonna take me in this little thing, huh?” He bites down on your soft breast, encourages the sway of your hips with his fingers hooked inside of you. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” presses a kiss to your forehead, scratchy beard against the sensitive skin there, gently stroking you into another orgasm around his fingers, petting at something raw and bruised feeling inside of you, sending you to tears. 
He pulls his fingers from you slowly once you’re done, leaving your body to tighten and gape around terrible emptiness, and you feel the wet smear of your come on your asscheek where he grips you, searches and pets your asshole to slick it with your wet. “You want daddy to fix you?” He says then, “Want me to make you all better? S’what you want, right?”
You nod slowly, sniffle, “Make me good,” you mumble into his neck. 
“But you’re already good,” and he takes away all your choices, the ability to argue or refute, “You’re already so good. A perfect, gorgeous girl.” Kindling in your veins, madness, something more desperate than anything else you’ve ever felt in your entire life, true hunger. Worse than your desire for your father to understand you, to love you, to not be angry, your fight to keep a husband that would have never stayed. You reach for his cock, trying to impale yourself on it blindly, shifting to press the hot, blunt head at your wet opening. He moans like a dying man, “Wait– wait, lemme get a condom.” He sounds like he’s begging. 
“No, please, now.”
“Fuck– fuck, you’re so eager to jump on my bare cock without a rubber or anything.” But it’s only because no one has ever touched you like this, and when he grips the thick root of his cock and notches it as your cunt, pushes inside slowly, you realize he’s doing it in a way that makes you understand the difference between the man and the boy. 
“I need to feel your skin,” you sound like you’re begging now too. Sighing in relief when he starts to stretch you, when it starts to hurt. It’s slow going, fitting the largeness of his body into your much smaller one. But his hands are steady and soothing as he works you down another inch, another, let’s you fuck yourself on his cock. Murmured praises and all of his desire for you and yeah, just like that, take daddy’s cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, holds you down, presses and grinds there, thick tip made fatter by his foreskin kissing your cervix. Finally, he pulls you back by the hair, and your father-in-law’s cock is inside of you. “Want you to look at me while I teach you how to fuck– how to take a cock,” because he knows, because he’s always known, had the gross ability to read you exactly as you are. He shifts his hips back, presses up, up, up, inside of you, and his eyes are so beautiful, and he teaches you how to take a cock, not a little girl now, only a woman. You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss his face, lick his tongue, nibble on his ears, feel him all over, he’s all over and everywhere, and it should maybe be humiliating, riding the cock that made the man that was your husband, it should feel wrong or something like a sin, but it only feels, instead, like it was made for you. Like this is where you should have been all along. Once you’ve adjusted, he grips your hips tight and harsh, makes your skin smart enough you know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers and pounds up into you, the slick slide of your cunt sucking him deeper, taking him as hard as he wants to give it to you, swollen and sensitive, squeezes your ass and grunts and moans and says, yeah, baby, bounce on this fat cock, like it’s the only thing you’d ever have to do for the rest of your life. You wish it was. And the sounds he makes, that’s what really makes you come again, what sets off your orgasm while you’re riding him – the desperate, rough sounds of a man fucking up into a tight, hot cunt that’s wet only for him. It coils in you so tight it hurts, it hurts, and then goes loose and fluttery, pussy flooding around his thrusting length. You can’t even moan, mouth hanging open, proably drooling a little, probably crying a little, nothing but hot air and wet and not a little girl anymore, only a woman, and he doesn’t gentle, fucks you harder, rougher, squeezes your ass and chases his own orgasm. His thrusts going sloppy and uneven, his moans turning to cracked whimpers. 
“I’m not on birth control… but– but my period’s soon,” you whisper into his ear, and he makes a noise not wholly human, going still for a moment, throbbing inside you, thinking, thinking of the risk, decides he doesn’t give a fuck by the murmured,  fuck it, I have to, and starts to move again, harder, hurting on every punch up against the mouth of your womb. I have to, is what he says, and that settles something inside of you. “Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt. Gonna make it all mine.” You decide you don’t really give a fuck either. “Make daddy come. Squeeze down on daddy’s cock – yeah, just like that. You wanted to play at being the big girl? Now m’gonna treat you like one – gonna fuck you full, baby.” And you’re nothing but want and yes and please and thank you, daddy. And that first spurt, that hurts too, burns you, changes something inside of you that you know will never go back to the way it was before. You’ll want that hurt for the rest of your life, and you won’t ever be able to forget it, and it might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but the heat of it spurs on another small orgasm of your own, jars you with the swell and throb of his cock, fills you till the come from your cunt is leaking down onto his slick balls and the leather beneath. And he holds you through the whole thing, stroking and squeezing and tasting, taking sips of your mouth, pressing his breath back into you, breathing life into you. No longer a ghoul in the night either. You feel him go soft and yet still heavy inside, a muted bruise against your womb, sighing frequently as you settle, little kittenish sounds that have his spent cock stirring lazily inside of you while you leak and leak and leak and go drowsy and then just on this side of fully asleep. 
“Are you okay?” You remember to ask in a small voice while his fingers play gently in the wet where you’re connected.��
He makes a soft sound, like he’s humoring you, like you’ve surprised him. “Course I’m okay,” presses a kiss to your forehead. 
When he shifts you off of him to stand, a protesting whine at the back of your throat, he shucks his jeans off with a soft grunt, finally as naked as you’ve been the whole time, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with your cunt as you stare up at him while he looks down at you. Afraid for a brief uncertain second before he’s lifting you in his arms, and when he carries you to his bed after, you feel terribly like a child. Again that naivety, that hope, but it isn't a bad thing, here and now with him. Not something to be used against you, not a bruise or a wound or a lost limb, and you haven’t failed at being good because he’s already made you so. 
-
You’re pressed right up beneath his chin when he wakes up. Your soft, warm form all along his side, lush tits and the vulnerable slope of your belly against his skin, and it feels so intimate, entirely twined around him as you are. He brings his palm up to cup the small bowl of your skull, and in the hushed morning light, your mistake breathes life into the world. Joel has always been a hard man. Joel has always been a hard man, but never weak, and certainly, not good, per se, but never cruel. But there’s something like weakness, there’s something that should be like cruelty here, waking up with you bare, still leaking his spend in his bed, and Joel can’t tell if that weakness, that cruelty is his, born of him or of his own making, he only knows that it should be here, probably is here. It’s difficult to gauge the moral acumen of what he should or should not be feeling when he has you like this beside him. And most confusing of all, that it actually feels nothing like a mistake. Only like it was always meant to happen, and now it finally has. 
He’d come inside of you, worst of all, sense gone away in the night, couldn’t claim exemption from weakness now, filled you until you’d leaked down his balls, the woman who’d been the wife of his son, and he should feel guilty, he should feel disgusted with himself. A betrayer of his own child. But all he feels is that he needs it again. That he needs you again. That if he could, he’d keep you. 
Joel had never wanted children. The thought or desire had never really crossed his mind… and yet– You make a sweet little keening sound in your throat right before you open your eyes, and he feels the stretch and wiggle of your little toes against his shins, the flutter of your long lashes against the tip of his chin. “Good morning.” Soft hand coming up to cover his mouth, hold him in place while you wiggle and slither all over him. 
“How do you feel?” He’d expected you to be shy, regretful, nervous waking up, and to find you entirely not, to get to wake up to you like this, soft and warm and lovely in his bed smelling of his come and his sweat, smiling that pretty little smile; it’s the mightiest sort of victory. You drape yourself on top of him, all soft limbs and softer tits, and the heat of your cunt pressed against his belly as you nuzzle into his chest hair. You’re different now, compared to before, that exhaustion he’d sensed is closer to the surface now, more easily visible, as if your body’s been collecting it, pulling it from the depths of you, getting ready to finally expel it. But there’s a clarity about you now too, you’re tired, but you’re also more yourself. Or on your way there. So lovely it hurts, vulnerable and fragile but entirely yourself. Afraid too, he can tell, because it’s your right to be afraid, because it’s normal, because we’re all afraid sometimes. “Sore?” Another nuzzle, and then, settling on your cheek to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes that’d damned him from the very first moment. 
“Just a little.”
“You did so well last night,” he pets your hair slowly. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you.” And oh, you like that. Blooming, the temperature in your body seeming to spike suddenly, suffusing all your limbs, radiating from your belly. Shifting and squirming on top of him. His half hard erection, trapped between the two of you, aching already, and you try and rub yourself all along its length, hitching a knee up by his hip to open yourself. He gives you a rough sound to settle, but you want something from him now, trying to rub your wet pussy all over him. If he was younger, a man of less control, he’d be fucking into you already and without thought. “It’s time for listening now, little girl.” He grips your hair tightly, tilting your face up to look at him, uncurls his fingers to cup the small bowl of your skull and hold you in place. “Sometimes people need time, sometimes they need us to be patient with them, wait for them. That’s what you needed, and there ain’t anything wrong with that. And you’re not gonna feel bad or less for getting there a little more slowly than others. Everything comes in its due time, and that’s okay.” You’re staring up at him, wide eyed, something like fear or panic, but you’re going to listen to him if it’s the last thing he does. He fists your hair again, gently forces your head into a nod. “Agree with me now. Say yes.”
“Yes, daddy,” you whisper very softly, pressing up to peck him lightly on the mouth. He catches you by the nape, a kitten picked up by the scruff, and holds you there, immediately turns the kiss wet and savage. You feel, so much, like you’re his, and this terrifies Joel. You aren’t his to keep, he knows this. He is not unaware of what’s happening here, of the consequences. He is not delusional about how this will end. But still, but still, you feel like his. 
You’re back to you’re squirming now, whines and pleading moans as you try and rub yourself against his cock, and he reaches down to cup you, gently fingering at your folds, feeling the havoc he’d wrought on your pussy last night. “You’re so swollen, baby. Can’t fuck you again so soon.”
“Please, daddy, please, please. I can take it, I promise.”
“Not gonna hurt my soft little cunt.” The start of another whine, but he cuts you off, gives you a staying look, cranes his neck to lick into your mouth. “I’m not.”
“I want you so badly. I want you to make me come.” Tiny kisses and kitten licks to his jaw and throat. There’s fire in his belly, cock throbbing something fierce. He grips beneath your knee, opens your leg and pulls back to slot his cock between your thighs, up against your slick, swollen cunt, then presses your thighs closed back together tightly. 
“Just like this – how ‘bout that?” He says as he starts to thrust up slowly against your pussy, trying to keep his movements gentle, careful not to hurt you. He runs his palms along the length of you, squeezes your tits and pinches and plucks at your swollen, sucked dark nipples. The signs of him are all over your body, and it makes him something like wild, infuses him with something like madness. Joel has never felt like this about any woman, ever. And to have it be you – to have this happen to him with you, there is something like weakness and like cruelty here. He needs to keep his head on straight. Remember what can and cannot be. He squeezes your ass tightly, digs his short-shorn fingernails into your soft cheeks, brings one hand up to get his fingertips spit slick, and then pulls your cheeks apart again to pet at your asshole. His gut goes tight and fire hot, he wants to fuck you here too. He wants all of you to be only his, his, fucking his. You hitch your hips in a desperate little arc as he presses gently on the tight ring of muscle, teasing you. “You like that?” He gruffs. “Want me to fill your little ass too, sweet girl?”
Yes, daddy, and he’s sure those must be the greatest words ever uttered to any man in all history. 
“You make the prettiest sounds,” he says while you sing and moan for him. “When I touch you like this,” he moves down to the wet mouth of your cunt, taps on it gently, “And like this,” further, a flutter at your clit while he fucks between your thighs, “And the way you cry when you come for me,” back up to press at your asshole again. “Will you do it for me again?” Christ, he’s going to end up taking you if he doesn’t stop, and he will not hurt you. With a rough sound of frustration, he flips the two of you over suddenly, laying you flat, kneeing your thighs open wide and spread for him. He shakes his head down at you, squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of your bare tits and messy hair and swollen lips, cock hungry blurry eyes, isn’t helping his restraint. “Gotta stop provokin’ me.”
“But it’s so fun, daddy,” you whine, arching to brush your breasts up against his chest. He lets his head fall, opens his mouth wide and takes the whole, heavy weight of your tit into his mouth, sucks hard, bites soft, switches to the other one, gives it the opposite. He pulls back then, going to his knees between your spread thighs and holds you open for inspection. Cunt all red and swollen and shiny with slick just for him. He’s sure if he pressed his fingers inside he’d be able to feel the slippery slide of his semen still. Another shake of his head, and he runs his palms down the soft of your thighs, cups the round of your knees in his palms. You jerk the right one back when he squeezes you there, and he fingers the sore spot, “What’s this from?” bends forward to press a soft kiss to the small hurt. 
“I was in a rush last night,” you say shyly. 
“Rush for what, silly girl? I was right here waitin’ for ya.” Your face does a little spasm at that, confused and vulnerable and then maybe even a little hurt, brow crumpling, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When they spring open again, they’re feverish, “Please, please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t–”
“Quit.” He pinches the inner slope of your thigh. “Not gonna convince me to hurt you.” You moan, frustrated and wanton, on the verge of tears, petulant and trying to twist away from him, but he traps you in place, stretches himself over you, propped up by one thick arm, and you drag your palms all down the length of his chest and belly. He squeezes your jaw with his other hand, pries you wide, “Open, lemme see.” He tilts your face this way and that, inspecting the wet gleam of your mouth, your little tongue and shiny, white teeth. 
“Wha’re y’lookin’ for?” You mumble with your jaw wedged open, eyes comically large. 
“Hmm, wonderin’ what it’d look like filled with my come,” he says with a laugh. He feels like a teenage boy, all the excitement of discovering sex with a woman for the first time. And it makes his stomach hurt a little bit, his heart pinch in fear. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, widening the angle, “You think my cock’ll fit in that little throat?” And you moan, eyes fluttering shut, writhing beneath him, begging for it, a garbled groan that sounds something like please, let’s find out. “Dunno… should we?” He let’s go of your face, goes back to his kneeling position between your legs, and finally gives his aching cock the relief of his fist squeezing tightly around it. He could come just from the sight of you, he’s sure, is just there on the edge already. He squeezes hard, almost painful at the root, sliding up dry, scratchy calluses catching at the soft skin around his head to make it hurt and sting, strangling the heat he feels pooling at the base of his spine and in his balls. He smiles at the memory of your wide, comically shocked eyes when you’d realized he was uncircumcised. I’ve never seen one like that before, and all he’d stupidly wanted to say was that you’d never see any other ever again. Ridiculous. 
He drags his thumb over the head of his cock, through the sticky drool of precum there, then reaches to pet through your slick soaked folds, parting you down the middle. You watch him with wide, wet eyes, as he pops his thumb into his mouth, humming around your combined tastes. “You wanna taste how good we are?” All you’re able to manage is an open mouthed nod. He leans forward and over you again, “Open,” he orders, and spits onto your waiting tongue, hand clamped around her jaw. “Close now – swallow. How’s that taste?” He asks when you obey so nicely. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw shifting from side to side as you savor the taste of your shared want for each other. 
“S’good. Want more.” You look back up at him, mouth open, and nothing in his whole life has been scarier than this. Not even a twenty something year old son, who should have been a man, but was still nothing but a child in such desperate need of his father, showing up on his doorstep one day out of the blue. There should be guilt in that Sam-shaped spot inside his chest, he’s sure of it, and maybe there is, maybe there’s a bitter ribbon of guilt threaded all the way through him, but it’s also entirely overpowered, overshadowed by the desire he feels for the little girl splayed out beneath him. He pulls back again, tries to temper the rising heat in his core, takes hold of his cock again and starts to slowly jack himself. “Finger that little pussy, lemme see. Be gentle with her.” But he grips your hand right as your fingertips are about to make contact with your glossy folds and brings them to his mouth, spit slicking them, there you go, before giving them back. You play in your wet, watching mesmerized as he slowly jerks himself off to the sight of you, circling your swollen clit, thrumming at it gentle, gentle, be soft with her, petting at the leaking mouth, winking at him, begging to be filled. He shifts closer, squeezing and twisting at his tip, pulling the skin back to make the bulbous dark head bulge. He wants it to hurt, he deserves for it to hurt. You watch the rough handling of himself like you’ve never seen anything like it before, head tilted on your neck so your cheek is squished against your shoulder to get a clear view of what he’s doing to himself. “You want it so bad,” he teases, and you nod, looking back up at his eyes. He shifts forward a little closer so that the backs of his knuckles are brushing up against your sex now, wet and sticky, and you let your fingers trail up his wrist, his forearm, while he quickens his pace, moves against you, over himself. You spread yourself a little wider, bringing your knees up higher to your chest, opening yourself for him, and he pulls his hips back a little, you want to come, he can see it in your eyes, you’re almost there, presses the tip to your wet clit, slides down the to the hungry mouth, circles, circles there, presses just a tiny bit. You’re nodding your head up at him, goading him on, please, please, just do it, please. “Not gonna,” he gruffs. “Not gonna convince me.”
“You’re so mean,” you cry, arching your hips, writhing, trying to find firmer pressure. 
“Didn’t I tell ya last night I wasn’t gonna be nice?” But he takes pity on you, presses the fat head just a little harder, gives you just the tip, grinding breathlessly against it, popping it in and out of your hot little cunt. “Better?” His whole body feels like one boiling vat of hot blood, sweaty and desperate, grunting, more animal than a man. “Gotta come just like this.” He quickens the jerk of his fist, bumping it into your clit on the slide forward, watches the stretch of your cunt taking just the first inch of him. He feels unhinged, thinks for one second of just fucking all the way in, hearing the sound of your cry as you take the hurt. He has to be able to do this all again, entirely, have you again the whole way “God, baby,” he groans, “You’re gonna let me fuck this tiny little pussy again, right? Tell me you’re going to let me fill it with my cock again?”
Please, please, daddy. Please. “Just do it now.” Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like the sound of you begging for his cock, anything as pretty, ever. “I– I need to–”
“I know what you need, baby. Just let daddy put his come in you, and then I’ll take care of you.” He’s just there, one last harsh squeeze and twist, and there’s warmth flooding his cock and balls as he starts to come for you, covering the entirety of your sex with his white milky spend, groaning like he’s dying. He pulls his hand from his spent cock, smearing his semen into your skin, little begging whimpers of his name and daddy, please from your mouth, and he spreads your legs and lowers his mouth to your swollen sex, eats his own come out of your cunt, pressing two fingers inside, slow and gentle as he can, to give you something to bear down on. He laps softly at your clit, soothing the ache, eats you until you’re going tight as a fist, cunt sucking his fingers as deep as it can and gushing all over his face, slick pooling in his palm where he laps and slurps at it when he’s unlatched his mouth from your pulsing clit. 
“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he tells you later, while he dresses you slowly, sits you on the bathroom counter and brushes your teeth for you with his own toothbrush and combs the knots and gnarls out of your hair. Holds your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand as he drags a warm washcloth over your sweaty face. 
“Don’t want you to stay away,” you say in a small voice as you paw at his chest, twisting his t-shirt in little grabby fingers, pulling him into the cradle of your hips with sharp heels at the small of his back; needy, needy, needy thing. And worst of all, a sick part of him, something bitter sitting heavily on his tongue, wants to be the thing you need, the thing you’re desperate for, the thing you cry those pretty tears for. He’s weak now, he is. Joel finds in himself that he does have the capacity to be a weak man when the moment demands it of him. He shucks the washcloth into the sink, cups your face in his hands like something precious. He’d said once you were a gift, he’s sure of this now more than ever. 
And he tells you, because he knows he must: “We can fuck, but we’re not allowed to fall in love,” and tells himself that he only imagines the glint of defiance in your eyes when he says it. 
- That meeting in the dark had stayed with you, the sound of his voice telling you to leave his son, that you deserved better. The sound of his kindness, you’d stretched toward it like a flower seeking the light, the singular attention of a man like that. You’d gone over the memory of it over and over again in your mind, worn the edges of it until it was faded and worn. And when Sam had served you the divorce papers, and you’d all but gotten on your knees and begged him to please, please, stay, please, don’t leave me alone, that sound of kindness had been what you’d clung to through all the rest. That terrible clamor of failure and abandonment and not good enough, his kindness had remained, and you’re sure now, that it had brought you here too, to his home, to his bed, into his arms. This was where you’d always been meant to end up, perhaps, even from that first moment you’d met Sam all those years ago on the college green, in the arms of his father. Nothing could feel wrong after kismet like that, even if you weren’t allowed to fall in love.
Part III
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velvetmud · 5 months
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Little Rabbit
warning(s): explicit 18+, daddy kink, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cum play, dirty talk, nicknames, riding, squirting, creampie, filth
a/n: random nasty nasty vulgar porn with no plot. nothing besides thirst inspired this
-
“Yeah, fucking right. Keep on bouncing like that. M’gonna tear this pussy right up,” Joel grins, triumphant smirk as he watches your pussy cream and convulse all because of him. His thick, condomless smooth member just making you lose it, ravaging your micro sensitive spots with every pump. “Gonna mold you to take this cock. Mm, feels delicious on me, baby.”
Your ass doesn’t seem to ever lose momentum, rising all the way up off his lap until just his tip is inside—teasing, wiggling all over it before slamming your pussy right back down. Loud squelching comes from both your pelvis’ joining together, the stringy wet spurts making a mess all over. Joel’s fingers are covered in it, your thighs combined are fucking smeared in it. He could close his eyes for the rest of this fuck and just listen to every thrust inside, could cum so hard so easily from the noises alone. The sound of your breath, the way you pant on top. Don’t even get him started on the movement of those hips on him, your pussy, that heavenly grip swallowing his girth.
“Daddy’s having so much fun, honey girl. Ffffuck, oh keep clenchin’ down on this thick cock. Yeah, take it—take what you need. My greedy, slutty little rabbit.”
You whine and speed up, aggressive hips sliding and zig-zagging to claim every inch. He gasps when your legs start to shake and pussy drooling out another beautiful gush, splashing his dick and staining his curly hairs.
“Mmmm, I feel that pussy losing control. C’mere, daddy’s gonna take over n’ finish us off.”
His grippy long legs worm around your thighs, trapping you down to the bed and onto his cock. Thrusts everything he can inside you, taking over to control the tempo. Those hands find your hair and gently give it a good yank, watching your slick build up on his base.
“My pretty little flesh light, always on this dick making a mess.”
You can’t turn around, but you feel him drag a finger from your labia to your ass, gathering up a trail of the cream. Hear his gruff hums while he pops the finger in his mouth. Drives his cock to sheath all the way inside, feeling both snug against your ass and smooshed into your guts.
“Close, close, daddy’s gonna—gonna make me—“
“Mmhm. Cum on your fucktoy, c’mon. Squeeze all over daddy.”
His pumps become sloppy, wet thrusts getting deeper and lazier as he feels your helpless tight walls soaking him with every push in. You answer his prayers, jolting back while your pussy lips drooled around him like a geyser, explosive shockwaves interrupting.
Joel chuckles and shushes your outlandish cries, grippy pussy unleashing the tension around him.
“Yeahhhh, I know little rabbit. Just ride it out on me. Love how happy I make this beautiful pussy.”
He feels lost when he spares another good look down. Taking the sight in. Connecting himself to you over and over.
The warning he spews is half assed, barely on time before ripping himself out. His cock slaps against his belly button, throbbing with every ripple of cum painting your ass and your lower back. He deliriously watches on as you wiggle back and forth some more on him, catching every glob. He knows how much you love his loads, how somehow it didn’t matter if he hadn’t cum in an hour or a day or a week—he could cum buckets.
By the time he’s finally emptied and all done, catching his breath and groaning his voice hoarse—his spend is slathered all over your backside, a lewd shot of the claim he’s stuck on you. As if your body was an uncharted discovery, something to nail his flag into.
“Milked me dry, baby.”
You sinfully peak back to eye him behind you before grabbing the base and sinking down onto him one last time, marinating in the sticky fullness.
“Oh fuck,” he utters, choking as he stops you with a forceful hand on a cheek.
“Can’t do that little rabbit. That’s how babies are made.” he rasps. Like it pains him to say.
Gently sliding back out, he pulls your body up on his stomach, uncaring of the sticky remanents getting everywhere as he slips in two of his fingers as a substitute. Pacifying you. Lets you glide yourself smoothly down his digits, still craving the closeness and stimulation from him. As he’s spreading more of your combined mess around, he scissors them deeper down as you slide further down nudging his knuckles.
“Shh, I know. Feels good having it inside, don’t it?” he murmurs. Licks his lips and continues studying you, your little facial expressions melting. “Someday baby, we’ll make love bare again, and I’ll pump you so full then plug it all up. We won’t leave the bed ‘til we know every last load that goes in gets you nice and full with my baby, or two.”
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covetyou · 6 months
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the best of the world in the palm of our hands
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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), pussy spanking, unprotected PIV, fingering, oral (f receiving), cumplay, anal play (blink and you'll miss it), derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap, joel miller is a massive slut word count: 4.9k chapter summary: You find a way to pay your fathers debts
A/N: pussy spanking! lets go! you know the old saying, open mind open legs.
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song: damage gets done by Hozier
Your dad had been rationing his pain meds for months, barely taking one every two days now that the world had gone to shit and they were so much harder to come by - and so much more expensive as a result. Lean times were made leaner still by missed shifts and slow work, which meant for even fewer pills to ration out.
Eventually, you would listen, night after night, as he groaned and writhed in pain, meds long gone. Nights like that meant another missed shift, fewer ration cards, and the ever looming threat of debtors coming to collect on what was theirs.
That was the situation that had brought you here, to his door. Desperation, and a debt needing to be paid.
Your knock on the door sounds sharp in the silence of the hallway. You're in a "nicer" part of the QZ - the apartment block cleaner and less crammed full of bodies than others. Here there are fewer people to care, fewer people to see. Fewer people to hear you scream.
The door in front of you suddenly flies open and you wretch you head around, straightening your back. You'd told yourself you'd play it cool, but already you were failing.
Joel Miller, self appointed pharmacist, medication supplier, drug dealer, stands before you. He's tall and broad, taking up almost the entire doorway as he rests one hand on top of the frame. He ticks one hip to the side and tucks his fingers through his belt loops.
You'd seen him from a distance, people pointing with whispers of "that's him", but never up close. Flecks of gray dance around the scruff on his jaw, his dark brown eyes wrinkling as he assesses you. The firm expanse of him so much more intimidating from this distance, you square yourself before you speak.
"I -" you begin, but he immediately cuts you off.
"I don't do business in the hallway," he drawls. "This is business, right?" he quirks a dark eyebrow at you.
You nod, all words snatched from your brain. You'd never heard him before - his southern drawl sounding cocky as he sizes you up, standing meek and mild in the corridor.
"S'always business. Come in then, sweetheart," he says, barely moving his body from blocking the doorway for you to squeeze past him. You push yourself against the door frame as much as possible so you don't drag your body along his.
The living room of his apartment is bigger than the entire place you share with your father. As far as you can tell, Joel lives here alone.
The door slams shut behind you, and heavy footsteps walk past you. Joel picks up a bottle and a single glass, pouring himself two fingers of whisky before setting the bottle back down and taking a sip. You knew you would be vulnerable, coming here alone, but you hadn't taken into account feeling trapped.
"So, what y'here for?"
"M-my dad, he's -"
"I know who your dad is, sweetheart. Seen you together. He owes me. Ain't heard from him in a few weeks. I asked what you're here for, not about your dad."
"Yeah," you nod, trying to feign confidence, "Yeah well, that's why I'm here. He needs more medicine."
"What I gave him weren't medicine, it ain't fixin' shit. I gave him pain relief. That's it."
"Well, he needs more. He's out, and he's hurting, and he can't work - " you ramble, but he cuts you off again.
"Now, sweetheart," he raises a finger to stop you. "I don't see why I should be giving you, or him, anythin'. I owe you nothin', and from where I'm standing, you're the one who owes me. Two weeks worth, right?"
Your eyes go wide. You were hoping he'd make it easier than this - go easy on you because you were a girl and you were here alone. You were hoping to play on his heartstrings, but you were starting to realise that maybe he didn't have one.
His glass thunks down on the table.
He circles you like a predator circles its prey, looking you up and down, assessing for weakness. You stare straight ahead, unwavering as possible.
He stops in front of you, tall and foreboding, before tilting your chin up with a single finger.
"You got the cards for that?"
You shake your head no.
He clicks his tongue, smiles, and says, "That's a damn shame". You have a feeling he doesn't think that at all.
"Dad's been hurting too much, he can't work, we haven't been able to get the cards, I've been trying I - "
"Looks like you'll have to do then," he shrugs, crossing his arms across his broad chest as he leans back against his dining table. "Show me what you can pay me with."
You'd never done this before - well, that was a bit of a lie. You'd done something like this, once, before, with someone else, someone different, someone who probably couldn't hurt you in the ways the massive figure of Joel Miller could hurt you.
You take two small steps toward him, and move to lower to your knees - you'd heard men like him accepted this mode of "payment" all the time - but he grabs your arm in one giant hand before you can make your descent.
You balk at him, "Wha - "
"I don't want a half-hearted blow job, sweetheart," he licks his lips and his thick fingers tug at the hem of your too big t-shirt. "Why don't you take this off. Show me what you can pay me with."
The implication was clear - he didn't want anything you could give him, but you had plenty he could take. Your breath hitches, but you don't let yourself hesitate for long.
Swallowing thickly, you yank your t-shirt over your head and dump it on the floor beside you in one swift action. You're painfully aware that your bra is the least flattering thing you could possibly be wearing - it's soft and old and entirely shapeless, but you weren't expecting to be stripping off for him. You shouldn't even care what he thinks of you but it'd been so long since anyone had seen your bare skin that even this twisted exchange felt like you should've made more of an effort.
You stare directly ahead, not daring to meet his eyes as heat flares in your cheeks. He stalks back to the table and picks up his whisky. You watch him raise it to his lips before he notices you looking. You haven't moved.
He's on you in an instant, grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks with force as he directs your eyes to his. The heat still burns through your face, but you feel it start to snake traitorously down your spine.
"I said, show me or do you want me to fuckin' rip the rest off you."
Nodding, you scramble to remove the rest of your clothing. It's not sexy, why fucking would it be, and you fumble with the buttons on your pants longer than you'd like, but eventually you're stood entirely nude for him in his apartment.
A puff of air huffs out if his nose and his face twitches as he appraises you like some kind of show cattle. You don't know if he likes what he sees, but that traitorous drip of warmth down your spine hopes that he does. You can trick yourself into thinking it's because he might go easier on you if he likes you, but the longer you stand there under his gaze the more you don't want him to go easy on you.
"You are a pretty thing," he says, rubbing the scruff of his beard. "I think you got just the thing I need to let your dad off the hook, don't you? Might even throw something else in to sweeten the deal if you're extra good." He strokes your hair, and you try to hold back a shudder of arousal. Maybe he'll think it's fear, and maybe it is. Maybe it's both.
"How's that sound?" he prompts as he laces his fingers through your hair and tugs.
You look at his face, his eyes are dark, darker than before, the way he's looking at you makes that traitorous drip into a flood. "Okay."
He wordlessly grunts as he tugs your hair some more and pushes you toward a door on the otherside of the room, making you walk ahead of him.
Even with his hand in your hair, guiding you, your feet move of their own accord. You want to object, refuse, but you can't. You want this. You want a man like Joel - big, protective, in control - to pay you any attention. Whatever the cost.
One final nudge of your head and you stumble into the room as he releases you.
His bedroom is sparse, as expected. Interior decor went to shit with the end of the world, and Joel didn't seem like the kind of man who would've cared about that before anyway.
You stand at the foot of his bed looking down at your toes as they bunch and un-bunch in the carpet. You hear him come in and close the door. If you weren't trapped before you definitely are now. You don't look up at him, you can't, so your eyes remain fixed at your feet when his step into view.
"You ready to get on the bed for me, sweetheart?" His hand strokes gently across the swell of your breast as he talks to you. It's the first time he's really touched you and the flood down your spine has now gathered into a slick pool between your legs.
You do as you're asked sitting on the edge of his bed, feeling even smaller now as he towers over you. You could have been 8 feet tall and still felt small and vulnerable in this moment, Joel Miller cascading above you fully clothed.
A large hand rests on your shoulder, a gentle pressure pushing you to fall back to the mattress below.
"You lay back now. Relax."
You try not to scoff but you can't help it.
"Ain't goin' to hurt you. What good would that do me. I like my customers alive."
You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself with your back flush to the mattress, looking at him as he still hulks above you. You can do this. He'll just... take what he wants. And you'll let him. Then you'll be on your way.
He's still standing above you as he directs you. "Good girl. Now open your legs for me. Lemme see."
You take another deep breathe, hold, and exhale, opening your legs for him just a fraction.
"I'm a patient man, sweetheart, but when I tell you to do something, you fuckin' do it," he growls as he kicks your legs open further. You spread them even wider, wanting to keep on his good side. You're completely exposed and bare for him now. Everything is on display and he still towers over you, looking down at your naked form on his bed.
"Fuckin' beautiful," you think you hear him mutter as he moves to a crouch between your spread thighs. You hold your breath, tensing and try not to clamp your legs shut at his inspection.
"I'm just lookin', sweetheart," Fingers rub calming circles over the softness of your thighs and your legs twitch.
"Keep your fuckin' legs spread," he says with a sharp slap to your thigh. Gasping at the shock, you push your legs to spread as wide as they can. You feel obscene, so open for him and his hand strokes the spot he'd just struck, soothing it.
You were beginning to see how this would go - do exactly as he said and he'd be gentle. Disobey, or be slow on the uptake (patient man my ass) and you'd soon feel the sting of punishment. The thought of that makes you clench around nothing, and you curse under your breath as it's surely now drawn attention to just how wet you are.
You stare up at his yellowed ceiling and hear a chuckle from between your legs - he definitely fucking knows. You don't dare to look down, you just want him to get on with it, until suddenly fingers come dangerously close to your sex and pull you apart, spreading your bare cunt even more for him.
"Well, you're a pretty little thing," he says to your pussy.
The fingers, his thumbs you realise, massage up and down the sides of you, avoiding any direct touch to your folds, but massaging the flesh in such a delicious way that you can't help but feel it right where you need it most.
Joel hums as he moves to his knees, getting closer to your spread cunt, still rubbing his thumbs up and down the sides of you, gradually moving closer and closer to the center of your sex until he's dragging the tips of both thumbs through your wetness and up to the sides of your clit.
You take another deep breath and try to muffle your whimpers with pursed lips, trying to hold back a moan.
"She's likin' that," you hear the amusement in his voice, "I wonder if she'll like this." He moves one of his slicked thumbs directly above your clit and begins to gently stroke. Your hips jerk, unsure if it's toward or away from the pressure of his thumb.
"Oh, she does," and he applies more pressure, circling torturously around your nub as his other hand continues to explore your folds in gentle strokes, parting your opening with two fingers occasionally to see the wetness gathering there, to see how ready for him you are.
"You ever touch yourself like this?" he's talking to you again now, not your cunt.
"N-no," you stutter, as his thumb keeps its languid pace on your clit.
"You don't touch yourself? Y'look well old enough to have done this before."
"No, I-I do, just... not. Not like this."
Joel hesitates for just a moment, fingers stilling, before continuing on. "You like it though." It's not a question. "Tell me how you touch yourself." That wasn't either.
"I don't - I. Fuck," you hiss. You try to relax your grip on the sheets, but his rough thumb on your clit is distractingly good. "I - rub," you pant out.
"With fingers?"
"No," you squeeze your eyes shut. You can't say you expected much from this visit, but telling a stranger how you get yourself off in the dark of the night definitely was not on your list.
"Againstapillow," you mumble, a soft moan being pulled from shortly after as he increases the frequency of his circles on your clit.
"So you're a sweet girl whose sweet pussy only knows soft things?" he hums in thought. "Anything ever been in here?" his index finger circles around your opening, slick now dribbling out of you and being spread around by his thick finger. You must glisten.
You gulp down a sigh. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're getting at."
"That's good," he chuckles. "Can't imagine you'd want your first to be like this. Of course a pretty little slut like you has had somethin' in here before." His finger circles more around your hole, barley dipping inside as his well practiced thumb swipes firmly over your swollen clit.
Two thick fingers suddenly plunge into your dripping cunt with ease, stretching you. You pull back with the shock, trying to shuffle up the bed and away at the sudden intrusion, pulling his fingers from you. His hands grip your thighs, anchoring you down and pulling you back toward him.
"Did I say you could fuckin' move?" You shake your head. You didn't even mean to move. It felt good, it shouldn't feel fucking good, you were just surprised.
slap
You hear it before you feel it - a wide hand colliding bluntly with your exposed cunt, sending a sharp stinging, buzzing sensation straight back up your spine. You think your brain shuts off entirely for a second before you gasp for air.
"I know you wanna be good for me. You wanna do right by your sick old dad, right? Help him out of a tough spot?"
His entire palm engulfs your mound with ease, covering you completely as he massages his fingers side to side, easing the sting and jerking your clit in a way that has you rolling your hips and biting back a moan.
"Try getting away again and I'll give your worse than that," you push your pelvis toward him at his words. You really try not to be obvious in your disappointment, you want to be good, but you want it. You want worse. And you know he knows. "But be a good girl and I'll give you exactly what you want. That's why you're here, ain't it?"
Before you can answer he delivers several quick light smacks to your bare pussy. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough send the vibrations through you and straight to your struck clit. He removes his hand to look at your quickly reddening pussy before returning to smack you some more. You gasp, trying desperately to keep still and not moan at the building sensation he's pulling from you - you shouldn't be enjoying any of it at all, let alone this, but fuck you are. There's nothing violent about the way his hand is striking your naked cunt, the light slaps against you turning you on, zinging through you like a tuning fork being tapped on a hard edge.
You hear another laugh from between your legs.
"You've only been givin' it to her soft, sweetheart, when she's just crying out to have it rough."
He spanks your pussy again, this time you can't help the moan that escapes you, your back arching into his quick slap slap slap against your cunt. The speed of his palm slows, but the force increases, drawing obscene noises from you with each blow.
"Uh," the breath huffs out of you with each firm smack to your swollen cunt.
His hand pulls off of you and he spreads you wide again before a warm wet sensation draws up from your fluttering hole to your tender clit in a broad stroke. He's soothing your pussy with soft licks when he latches onto your clit and suckles gently before pulling back to look up at you.
"I like 'em pink like this," he mumbles around your clit, "You're bein' so good takin' it for me."
He's holding your thighs obscenely wide as his tongue lathes your clit, wrenching you open as you wiggle beneath him. You are so close, on the absolute precipice and moments from tipping over the edge, when he pulls from you completely, spreading your cunt open with an his thumbs for inspection once more. The man fucking loves looking at you.
"Look at her twitchin'. I think she likes being spread wide for me, look how wet she is." He dives in for another broad lick, slurping as he goes.
"It's just dripping outa you," he breathes. You feel the warm trickle of wetness drip its well worn path from your pussy and down between the cleft of your cheeks. His finger trails it, and you take in a sharp pull of air when the pad of his finger strokes your tight asshole, spreading your slick across it and causing your legs to twitch closed a fraction once again.
slap. You feel the sting and its aftershocks buzz through you before you hear it. "Keep 'em," slap, "fuckin'," slap, "open!" He soothes your pussy with his full hand again and you moan into him, fisting the sheets at your sides.
"Won't go there today. But don't think I'll be feelin' so generous next time." Next time. He rubs and squeezes your pussy, and you rock your hips into his palm, desperate for more anything.
"You likin' this?" he murmurs, his words almost sounds tender -
- Until another slap rings against your bare sodden skin.
"Answer me."
"Y-Yes!" you gasp out with the next spank to your oversensitive cunt. "Yes, please - I - fuck - please I need to -" slap slap slap slap
Your mind goes blank as a series of slaps are delivered straight to your pussy. A groan is pulled deep from your chest and you spread your legs more for him, pushing into his palm as it rains its gentle smacks down onto you.
"You're goin' to come, ain't you?" he growls out, his smacks getting quicker.
You nod frantically, so fucking close, you shouldn't be so close from this but you are. You're just about to beg for something more, anything more, when the smacks against your pussy get even quicker, and quicker, until he's rubbing frantically at your clit, so swollen from his attention that you practically scream at the sensitivity.
Your orgasm tears through you, drawing a deep guttural sound right from your belly. Your back arches, your dripping hole so neglected as it grips around nothing.
"Fuck," he grinds out from below you, stuffing two fingers quickly into your pussy to feel you grip around them as you rock through your orgasm. You can't see him do it, white blaring across your vision, but you hear the hiss of his breath as he pulls his cock out from his pants.
You whine when he pulls his fingers from your cunt, stroking himself with the slickness of you. He stands and presses himself between your legs, hot and heavy.
"You want it here?" he says, grinding the heft of his cock against your spent cunt. "'Cause you're making a mess, drippin' all over my sheets without me to plug you up." You're in a daze as you nod, still floating from the intensity of your orgasm as you stare dumbstruck at his rock hard length for the first time. It's so big.
It's too big.
"W-wait, it's too bi- "
"Fuckin' look. Watch as I fuck this into you sweetheart," he growls as he feeds the tip of his cock into you anyway, the solid width of him stretching more than you have ever been before, but your wetness letting him slide right in. He fucks the tip in and out, and you watch him do it.
In previous years you'd had nothing more than clumsy fumbles with men, some drunken, but most just uncaring one night stands with promises of more. There was never more. One way or another you were being used, but this time, and for the first time, you could call it what it was. There was no illusion of care here as Joel took what he wanted and made you watch.
And you liked that. You liked being used by him. You liked letting him do anything he wanted to you.
"I want you to watch her swallow me darlin'. Keep your eyes right there," he pushes his hips forward, the pressure of him filling you immense, and he groans as your cunt gives way to him and swallows him whole. "There she goes. Such a good little pussy for me."
"Keep lookin'," he groans again as he retreats from you only to fuck his full length back inside of you in one swift movement, "You look or I send you out of here jus' like this. See how the locals treat a naked slut in broad daylight."
Your cunt pulses with the threat, and Joel notices. He cocks his brows at you, still relentlessly fucking into you. "Oh, she likes that. You like bein' a slut, huh?"
Fuck yes, you want to scream, but instead you nod meekly, still watching him fuck you, obsessed with the sight of his cock disappearing into you over and over again.
"Good fuckin' girl."
Never once does he lean down to steal a kiss, or swipe his tongue across your bare nipple. You're naked for him but he does nothing with it except pound into your flesh, using your cunt to get himself off. His eyes flit between where he's disappearing into you and your eyes, watching with a sneer as they roll back into your head with each knock to your cervix.
"Fuu-uuck." He's hammering into you now, hips smoothly pounding your pelvis, when he grabs one of your arms and flips you onto your side, pushing your knee up so high it's practically by your ear. He slams back into the hilt again, rocking you back as you moan out wantonly around his cock.
From this angle his cock drags across you in ways you've never felt. You'd seen trees being felled as a kid, a wedge being hammered into a cut far too small to fit. You felt like you were being split, just like those trees.
"Ah - uh, I, Joel, please, I -" tears are in your eyes from how good it feels, the dull throb of the impact into your cervix melting your insides.
Joel brings one of his legs up beside you on the bed, the other planted firmly on the floor, giving himself leverage to fuck so deep and hard into you that the air is knocked out of you for a moment. When you can finally take another breath, you're screaming for him, your pussy creaming around him from the endless pounding.
The sloppy wet sounds of your cunt accepting his battering over and over are eventually taken overby moans being ripped from your throat. His belt rattles about his waist with each smack of his hips into yours, you can feel the metal of his buckle, bitingly cold against your skin.
"That's it - fuck - you just fuckin' take - it. You take this cock." You can feel his balls draw up and his cock twitch inside you as he gets close to bursting. He fucks you relentlessly anyway, desperately holding back as long as he can, until he can hold no more.
He drags his cock sharply from your used cunt, throwing you back onto your back on his mattress. His large hand grips his cock and he jerks it over you.
"Oh fuck yeah, fuck yeah," he's practically chanting as he jerks himself, letting out a deep stuttery groan when he finally comes, spurting hot cum all over your soft thighs, belly, chest.
He doesn't aim, he doesn't care where he gets it, the action more akin to a dog pissing on a tree to mark its territory than anything else.
The only noise in the room when Joel's shoulders finally relax are your twin heavy breaths, punctuated by light whines that you just can't help. You're so overstimulated that when his hand comes down to your thigh, you don't realize that he's smearing his cum into you until he's rubbing it into your belly, spreading it across the peaks of your tits, up your neck and across your cheek.
He gives you a light tap on the face. "Look at me," he says, swiping a come coated finger across your lips. You're entirely fucked out, all you can do is look dumbly at him, totally cockdrunk.
"What do you say?"
"I... wha-..." you know what he means when he raises his eyebrows threateningly once again. "Th-thank you."
"That's right."
Suddenly he's yanking you up into a seated position and the blood rushes to your head. Another tug, the world spins, and you're on your feet, but you can barely trust your legs. He drags you from the room and before you know it your own clothes are in your arms, the remains of his come dribbling down your body.
"Get dressed," he stands with his arms crossed, looking at you, expectant.
You stare for a moment, totally lost in his dark eyes, before moving to get your clothes back on. You are still covered in his come, your pussy still buzzing from his spanking. At some point, he tucked his cock back into his pants. You didn't even notice, and you try to push down the disappointment of not getting to see it one last time.
Pulling your clothes back on with skin sticky from sweat and come isn't easy, but you eventually manage. When you stuff your feet into your shoes, he grabs you by the arm and drags you toward the door, unlatching it and pushing you toward the exit.
"I'll consider your debt paid," he murmurs into your hair from behind, pushing you out of his apartment a second later.
"Oh and, catch," he throws something to you but you miss, barely even turning in time at his words. It rattles as it hits the ground. Pills.
"Told you I'd give you something if you were good." Confirmation that you were good for him is all you need to feel another gush of wetness between your thighs. You feel like you could come again from his words and the rough feeling of your panties against your abused cunt.
"What do you say?" he asks again.
"Thank you."
He smirks before closing the door in your face.
You lick your lips as you walk away down the empty corridor tasting Joel Miller for the first time, pills in hand and debt paid.
He never even kissed you.
next part
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1K notes · View notes
motherjoel · 1 year
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arms tonite (joel miller/reader)
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summary: basically its YOU who gets stabbed by the baseball bat. joel isnt good with feelings. david does not exist david cant hurt anybody. a bit of angst and a bit of fluff. also LOOSELY based on arms tonite by mother mother
a/n: yawlllllll it has been a MINUTE but i am back for some tlou cause i just really wanted to write for these characters i love so very much. i apologize if the timing of their travel is fucked, i truly have no concept of geography so we can ignore that.
wc: 3.5k
warnings: just general tlou gore, nothin too bad
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You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Joel Miller. But as you lay here, Joel's hands soaked in your blood as he attempted to stop it from pulsating out of your abdomen, you knew it was love that you were feeling. It was supposed to be simple. After your brief stay in Jackson, the two of you were supposed to take Ellie to the fireflies. Yet, nothing seemed to be simple these days, especially not around this girl.
In the amount of time the three of you had spent together, you developed an unbreakable bond. Ellie became a sort of surrogate sister to you- you’d lost your family when you were just a kid during the outbreak and you never had the chance to become a big sister. At least not for long. And then there was Joel. You weren’t quite sure what he meant to you yet, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t die for him. For both of them, really- a life without them wasn’t worth living. Of course, you never planned on telling them that.
The day started fairly nice- with Joel allowing Ellie to make her own decision about who would be taking her to the fireflies. Sure, you and Ellie would be fine with Tommy, but Joel had failed to consider the bond the three of you shared when making this decision. He was thinking of only himself and his fear- this is what you had told him last night after his fight with Ellie.
“What the hell was that?” you asked him after he stormed out of Ellie’s temporary room. 
“It was nothin’. Doesn’t concern you,” he replied, brushing past you as he made his way to the couch where he decided to set up camp for the night. 
“Um, it sure as hell does concern me, Joel. Are you seriously going to abandon us? After everything we’ve been through, after how much that girl trusts you, Joel!” you raised your voice a bit, trying to keep yourself from alerting Ellie upstairs. Those words stung him a bit. He didn’t see it as abandonment- he saw it as protection. After everything you went through together, he never once put himself first.
“She doesn’t know a thing about what this means,” Joel turned to you. “She- she’s just a kid, she-” he stopped himself, trying to gather himself. “I can’t bring her. I’m not capable, I’m slowin’ down and I just can’t. Do. It,” he exhaled, dropping himself onto the couch. 
“Wow,” you replied, softly sitting next to him. “You’re really underestimating yourself,” you sighed, Joel, lifting his face to look at you. “I mean, not only yourself but me, Joel. In case you’d forgotten, I’ve gotten myself through some tough shit. And Ellie? Man, she's the toughest kid I’ve ever met. Hell, she's one of the toughest people I’ve ever met,” you said, observing Joel’s worn face. “I mean… don't you think she at least deserves a choice?” you asked, hoping to convince Joel to come to his senses and realize who he was.
“I’ll take the couch. Bedrooms down the hall,” he grumbled before turning his back to you and lying down. There was nothing left you could say at this point, so you decided to spare yourself and make your way to the bedroom. The bed was pretty big. It could’ve fit two people.
The moment you saw Joel in the stables the next morning, you could feel your heart soar. Before he said a word, you knew he had made the right decision. The three of you squeezed onto the horse, Ellie sandwiched in the middle, and you were off. You and Joel sat in peaceful silence for a while, occasionally responding to Ellie’s rambling to show you were listening. Before you knew it, you were arriving at the so-called firefly base. 
“What the fu-” you started.
“Holy shit! Are those monkeys?” Ellie exclaimed, pointing at the crowd of animals before you.
“Must be from the old labs,” Joel muttered, a hint of interest in his voice
“Look at them go!” you giggled.
“First time seein’ a monkey?” Joel asked the two of you. 
“First time seein' a monkey,” you replied in unison, both awestruck. A smile crept onto Joel's face at this- the togetherness he felt in rare moments like this is what kept him going. 
You soon came across the fireflies symbol painted on a couple of signs, but no guards appeared nearby. You all dismounted the horse before making your way inside, guns drawn. You in the back, Joel in the front, and Ellie sandwiched between yet again. The building you came across was abandoned from the looks of it, with papers scattered about. 
“They just left,” Joel said, coming across a packing list among the scattered supplies. You suddenly heard a clang from another room, drawing your attention.
“Maybe not all of them,” you replied as the three of you carefully moved towards the sound. Your heart picked up its pace- whatever was in that room couldn’t be a firefly. Maybe a raider, you thought, which didn’t help your anxieties. Joel put a finger to his lips before opening the door, signaling for your silence. Relief rushed through you as you saw the source of the noise was just a few stray monkeys. It was only moments later that you heard voices- voices that certainly didn’t come from an animal. Peering out the window, the three of you saw a group of men, presumably raiders.
“Shit,” you murmured, instinctively grabbing Ellie’s arm.
“Out the back,” said Joel, leading the way for the three of you to make your escape. You ducked behind some sandbags for a moment before making your break to the horse. As Joel untied the horse, you heard footsteps quickly making their way over to you.
“Joel!” Ellie screamed as the man swung his bat at his head, hitting it on a tree and breaking it in two. While Joel dodged his attack you jumped on the man and banged him into the tree behind him before he knocked you back on your ass, banging your head on the ground. You’ve had your fair share of concussions, and you knew that's exactly what just happened to you. Joel quickly recovered from the first attack before grabbing the man, a wave of anger in his eyes as you’ve never seen before. His arm tightened around the man's throat, unrelenting in its strength. Struggle as he may, it wasn’t long before his neck was snapped. You remain on the ground, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you look at Ellie, shakily holding her gun. Her eyes darken as they shift down to your stomach. Your eyes follow hers and you finally see what she’s looking at. When the man hit the bat into the tree, it must've snapped in half. One half was on the ground a few feet away from you, while, unfortunately, the other half was buried in your stomach.
“Shit,” Ellie said, lowering her gun and walking over to you. Your hand reached down, adrenaline still pumping through your body, and you instinctively pulled the wooden piece out of your abdomen. You barely even felt it. Joel was silent the entire time, and you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. You threw it aside before noticing three more men coming your way. As fast as possible, Joel hiked himself up onto the horse and grabbed you while Ellie pushed from the ground before pulling herself up, you now sitting between the two. Joel didn’t let himself focus on the anxiety in his chest that blurred his vision- he needed to get you both to safety.
“Fuck,” you sighed, adrenaline wearing off a bit and pain seeping in. 
“Go!” Ellie yelled to Joel as you began to move. She grabbed her gun and shot backward at the men- she didn’t have the best aim, but it certainly deterred them from advancing anymore. Ellie kept peering over her shoulder, on high alert. If you weren’t putting all of your focus on staying conscious, you’d have noticed her slight tremble. You would have noticed Joel's body tense when your breathing slowed, his occasional glance over his shoulder. His erratic heartbeat as he tried to keep you talking.
“We’re gonna get back to Jackson and we’re gonna get some help,” Joel said over his shoulder. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in his voice- he was excellent at hiding how he truly feels. 
“No,” you uttered, using all of your strength.
“Sorry, no?” Joel questioned.
“Get her to the fireflies,” you whispered before your vision began to blur. Your lifeless body crumpled off the horse, Ellie attempted to hold on but it all happened too fast. The cold snow was stained red, the warm blood leaving your body melting the snow directly beneath you. Joel and Ellie quickly hopped down, one on each side of you. 
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Ellie panicked, hands shakily reaching towards your abdomen. 
“Ellie,” Joel said, voice laced with panic. He motioned for her to grab his pack while he placed his hands onto the wound, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. He had never felt so helpless in his life- at least, not since Sarah. That same shuddered breathing coming from a person he loves- he couldn’t bear it.
“Joel, what the fuck do we do,” she asked. Joel continued to silently work on packing your wound with an extra flannel he had in his bag.
“It’s ok,” you croaked. They immediately turned to you on the ground, almost stopping in their tracks. “Just help me to that house,” you said, motioning towards a house about 50 yards away. You were struggling to breathe under the pressure of Joel’s hands on your wound- it almost seemed useless, you were still losing blood like crazy. Joel tied the flannel around your waist to try to keep the blood from seeping out. Once he decided you were situated, he picked you up bridal style and led you to the house. When you arrived, they gently placed you at the entrance, Ellie staying with you while Joel made sure the house was clear. He returned to help you inside, lying you on an old mattress. You let out a small laugh as you got situated.
“What?” Joel asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. How could you be laughing right now?
“Don’tcha think it's kinda cute?” you asked as he fussed with your bandages.
“What’s that?” he asked gruffly, not exactly in the mood for your attitude.
“Oh, just that I might be dying in your arms tonight. I dunno, feels like a movie,” you said, your pale lips curling into a smile. He gave you a look, pausing briefly to peer into your eyes. You wordlessly pleaded with him to lighten the mood a bit, for Ellie’s sake. He didn't say a word.
“Joel, what the fuck do we do?” Ellie repeated herself in her panic.
“It’s ok. You guys go. Now,” you said. Joel's eyebrows furrowed at this. “You leave, go north. Go to Tommy.”
“Um, the fuck?” Ellie asked. “I don’t know what you think this is but we're not leaving,” Ellie said, frustration creeping into her voice. She looked hurt by this, and it broke your heart. Were you doing the same thing Joel had done just last night?
“The kids right,” Joel said as you turned to look at him. “You’re either comin' with us or we're all campin’ here for the night. No in-between” Joel finished. You pleaded to him with your eyes again, begging him to just give up on you. The two of them would be fine, you knew it. But you didn’t know the emotional toll it would have taken on the stubborn man in front of you. He was stubborn, but so were you. Only you didn’t get a chance to prove just how stubborn you could be before you couldn’t fight the darkness that crept into your vision. 
-
You woke with a start the next morning. You often woke in a panic these days, but the feeling was only further cemented when you realized you didn’t quite recognize your surroundings. The only thing you could recognize was Joel’s eyes on you, which brought you some semblance of comfort. When he noticed you awake, he rushed to your side. As much as you could imagine Joel to “rush.”
“Hey, you uh, awake. You’re awake,” he said softly, trying not to wake Ellie asleep in the corner of the same dilapidated room you’d been in for a while now. 
“It would appear so,” you replied, attempting to sit up a bit.
“Hey, hey, relax,” he put his hand on your shoulder, urging you to lay back down. “Your infections bad. We managed to trade for some penicillin but it's not gonna be enough. We gotta figure out how to get you back to Jackson,” Joel said, lightly lifting your shirt to look at the wound.
 You cursed the heat rising to your face as Joel's fingers brushed your bare skin. You’d never been intimate like this before, though this was barely intimacy. He hadn’t ever touched your skin like this- with such delicacy. You were fragile to him at this moment, and you needed to be handled with care. You hated being a burden, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice to be taken care of for once.
You were too busy focusing on your own reaction to this gesture to notice Joels. His hands shook as he cared for your wound, wincing as he saw that it really wasn’t getting any better. He didn’t know what this meant- he wasn’t a doctor by any means, but he knew this wasn’t good. 
You were in and out of sleep throughout the next day or two, letting the dull, throbbing pain lull you into sleep. It hurt to watch Joel and Ellie worry about you, especially because there was nothing you could do to help. Your days felt numbered- the amount of penicillin was scarce and you weren’t feeling any better. You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open, much less speak. 
“Joel,” you managed to croak- you couldn’t even spare the energy to seethe at the pain pulsating throughout your body.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replied, kneeling next to you. He only called you sweetheart when he needed something- what did he need from you now? To live? “Whatcha need?”
“You’re special, you know that?” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.
“And why is that?” he asked, wiping the tear.
“You really know how to make a girl fall in love,” you smiled- this isn’t something you ever planned on telling him, but as you lie there, vision blurring around the edges as the darkness caved in on you, there was nothing else you wanted to say.
Joel felt panic consume him when your eyes closed.
“Hey, hey darlin’, wake up for me, okay?” he pleaded. Ellie stalked over, panic heating her chest. “Ellie, grab her legs,” Joel said. It was like he was kicked into a new gear- he was going to do whatever it took to keep you with him.
-
You didn’t know where you were. The walls were unfamiliar and white- stark and sterile. The first thing you noticed was the couch in the corner of the room, occupied by your two favorite people. Joel sat upright, arms crossed and eyes closed. His brows were furrowed like he was having some sort of nightmare. Ellie’s expression mirrored his, as she lay on her side with her head resting on his leg, arms curled into her chest. Your heart warmed at the sight- he was becoming a father figure to her, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. You tried to sit up, failing immediately as pain shot through your body. You winced, perhaps a little too loud, as Joel’s eyes shot open. Ellie remained in a deep sleep on his lap.
“You’re up,” he acknowledged, almost like it was too good to be true. He carefully shifted his body so he could move Ellie from his lap and onto the couch before he stood to walk towards you. “She hasn’t gotten much sleep, be best not to wake her,” he said, leaning down to brush a hair from her face. Seeing him be this gentle with her melted your heart. 
“How, um, how long was I out?” you asked, lifting the sheets to see your wound. It was covered and clean, but you knew it was there from the way it throbbed.
“About a week. Scared the shit out of… the kid,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed. He bit back what he truly wanted to say- you scared the shit out of him. But he wasn’t going to admit that you had that much of an impact on him. The second he lets others affect his life is the second he gets weak. There wasn’t a place for vulnerability in this world. “It was, a, uh, miracle that you lived.”
“Oh yeah?” your eyebrows raised. “Shit. I’m sorry for worrying… her,” you glanced at Ellie again as she snuggled into the couch. “How did I, um how did you guys get me here?” you asked. Your voice was hoarse from lack of use, but you tried to remain strong.
“We, uh, we gotcha back on the horse. Ellie led the way, I made sure you were safe, I mean, I just made sure you didn’t fall,” he replied, looking at his feet. “Took us awhile to get back, I… I didn't think you were gonna make it,” he replied, coughing to cover up the break in his voice. He was still in disbelief that you even woke up.
“Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” you laughed weakly. Then it was silent for a few moments, the two of you stewing in your thoughts. “You know, I think if it had been anybody else with me, I would’ve just died,” you remarked. Joel shook his head.
“Well, that’s not true. You’re strong” he said quietly.
“Well, yeah, sure I’m strong. But I can choose not to be. I honestly would’ve been fine to die if it was in your arms. But I couldn’t do that to you. Not… not again,” you paused, gathering your thoughts. “It’s just… you’re it for me, Joel. You and Ellie- you guys are it. And if I can’t have you guys, well, let's just say I wouldn’t mind staying asleep,” you confessed, avoiding eye contact.
“Ahem…” you heard Ellie clear her throat from her position on the couch. “Sorry, I have a habit of snooping, but holy shit you’re awake!” she squealed, bouncing over to you and plopping herself onto you in a hug. She knocked the wind out of you, and you may have cared if you weren’t so happy to see her.
“Hey, hey, easy on her now,” Joel said, pulling Ellie back from you a bit. He was still quiet, processing what you had just said to him.
“Ahhh, my sweet Ellie girl, how I missed you so,” you smiled, pinching her cheeks.
“Bullshit, you were definitely just dreaming about Joel the whole time. Must’ve been nice, sleeping that long,” she laughed. You ignore the first part of her sentence.
“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty well rested,” you smiled, ruffling her hair and pulling her into another hug.
“I’m gonna go get someone, a nurse,” Ellie excused herself from the room, leaving you with Joel yet again.
“I’m sorry if that was too mu-” you started before Joel cut you off.
“No, no, don’t apologize, sweetheart,” he said softly. It wasn’t a whisper- it was just soft. He’d been so soft with you. “I… I can’t say I don’t feel the same,” he looked down at his shoes.
“Oh, uh, you do?” you blushed. You felt so childish, like you were admitting you had a crush on him, but it was more than that. It was a partnership, a dependency- a loyalty to one another that didn’t need a label. Only, you couldn’t hide the way you felt anymore.
“Gosh, I can’t even tell you how it felt to see you like that. It should’ve been me, you know,” he said, disappointment evident on his features.
“Um, no, it shouldn’t have. Besides, how would we have gotten your big ass back to Jackson?” you giggled, grabbing his hand. His expression changed then as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Joel, what does this mean?” you asked.
He chose not to respond with words- they were never his strong suit. Without a word, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. It was soft and it was sweet and it was like nothing you had ever experienced before- not from someone you loved. You reciprocated, weaving a hand into his hair to pull him closer.
“Yeah, they’re just in here-woahhhhhhh!” Ellie yelled, giggling and running out of the room. Joel quickly pulled back and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
“That little shit,” he sighed.
“Well, she was gonna have to find out somehow,” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles.
3K notes · View notes
toxicanonymity · 11 months
Note
Best friends dad Joel x innocent reader
Reader is sleeping over at her best friends house. Best friend ditches her for a party/bf which leaves her alone with Joel. Joel makes fun of her innocence and pressures her into drinking/having sex with him
Night Talks
2.8k words / best friend's dad!Joel x innocent!f!reader
NSFW 18+ / joel master list
Tumblr media
gif from @serenaxpedroo , ask from @subby-bottom
WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ big girthy legal age gap, it's 2008 so 41-19 lmao, first time marijuana use, light drinking, pressure, dubious consent, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, loss of virginity, depraved praise. reader can sit in joel's lap. haphazard editing.
-
"I know your parents are strict as hell, but you’re an adult." 
You feel uncool enough without Mr. Miller acting like you're such a square.  He takes “Cool Dad”  to the extreme.  Yeah, you're an adult, but you don't really party and you didn't feel like going. Yeah, your parents are strict. That's why you regret going to a commuter college. It's also why you didn't go home when Sarah left.  You didn't realize her hot dad was awake when you came down in your skimpy pajamas to get a drink of water.  Now your eyes are drifting to his biceps as you have this weird talk in the kitchen. But if you're looking at his biceps, at least you're not looking at his PJ pants. 
You feel defensive even though everything he's saying is true.  "I just don't like to party," you say. "Plus, they smoke weed."
He squints at you judgmentally.  "So? . . . What, you’ve never tried it?" 
You're not sure how to respond to that.  Mr. Miller is older and hot.  His judgment carries a lot of weight because of it.  You've seen him after a construction job before, sweating, arms bulging.  
"Damn, you're brainwashed as hell. . . ." He looks like he feels sorry for you.  "C'mon, let's have a beer. I've at least seen you with one of those before." It's flattering that he would notice, even though you probably didn’t finish it.
"I should probably go home"
He rolls his eyes and tilts his head as though to say "really?” Then he gets two beers out of the fridge and starts to open them.  “Let’s skip to the part where you take a sip and relax."
"Mr. Mill-"
"Oh. . ." he waves his hand dismissively. "Mr. Miller sounds creepy.  You can just call me daddy."  Your heart jumps to your throat.  Mr. Miller is creepy. 
Then he laughs. "Damn, the look on your face.  Nah, call me Joel.  Look," he hands you a Coors Light.  “Practically water."
You accept the beer. He takes a sip of his IPA, then teases, "We can watch somethin’ pg-13 if ya want.”
-
You watch Saturday Night Fever on DVD.  You think it's just gonna be dancing, but it's far saucier. He glances at you, watching your reaction to the most intense scenes.  You're embarrassed but try to ignore him.  After Joel goes to get a second beer, you’re startled when he sits down next to you on the sofa instead of back in the recliner where he was.  Your skittishness must show.  
“Relax,” he says and squeezes your knee.  His demeanor has changed. He has a whole different voice.    “I don’t bite. . .‘less you’re into it.  Can’t imagine a good girl like you though . . . Fuckin’ Miss America over here.”
Your cheeks burn.  “I’m not that good,” you protest. You're not sure why. 
“Yeah? Prove it,” he says and begins lightly stroking circles around your knee.  The challenge quickens your heart rate and sends a rush of blood to your loins before he continues, “let’s get high.” 
You're unsure if you're relieved or disappointed that's what he meant.  You resist, but he offers, “you don’t even have to smoke it.”
“What, brownies?”
“No, baby.”  The pet name makes you tingle. He reaches into the end table drawer and retrieves a small glass pipe and a lighter.  
“C’mere, I'll show ya.”  His free hand grabs yours and he leads you to the tiny bathroom.  You can't help but notice the way his soft pants hug his ass.  
-
He shuts the door behind you, then closes the toilet lid and sits down while you awkwardly stand there with your arms crossed.  You lean against the 6” of available wall space.  It’s a very, very small bathroom.   
His biceps stretch his t-shirt as he holds the pipe to his mouth and flicks the lighter on.  He moves the lighter around the weed in small circles and the glow spreads as he sucks the air through the pipe.  He closes his eyes and a sensual expression loads on his face as he inhales.  It’s a face of pleasure. His brow furrows and his eyes open.  He slowly exhales, politely pouting and pointing his lips away from you, but keeping his eyes in your direction,  shamelessly scanning your body. 
As the stench of the weed creeps into your nostrils, you reflexively reach for the exhaust fan switch on the wall and he says, “Nope. Can’t hotbox with the fan on.  That’s the whole point."
-
When the second-hand smoke starts to hit you, you feel a little woozy.  Good, but woozy.  You start to sit on the counter and he stops you.  “Sink’s not braced yet.”  
He pats his lap.  There’s nowhere else to sit unless you leave the bathroom, and you don’t want to.  So you sit on Mr. Miller's lap.  His pants are soft and his legs are warm.  You’re hesitant to put all your weight on him until he says, “Relax, I can handle it,” and he does have meaty thighs.  He strokes your bare thigh, making you wet and self conscious that you hadn’t shaved in a week.  
He looks around at the smoke in the bathroom.  “How’s it feel?” 
“Um, good,” you say.  He looks back and forth between your eyes and smiles.  
"Good, good. . ." 
You look at each other for what feels like a few minutes, playing chicken about who will finally talk next.  Then he asks, "ready for the next step?”
“Nah. . . I don't wanna smoke.”
“Don’t have to.  Just breathe out when I squeeze once."  He squeezes your thigh once to demonstrate.  "And breathe in when I squeeze twice."  He demonstrates again.  "And keep your mouth open."
You don't say anything, trying to envision what he's going to do. 
"You’re gonna love it.”
“Okay,” you say.  Why not? You’re feeling pretty relaxed. 
“Gotta face me though,” he says.  He nudges you to stand up, then he urges you back into his lap, but straddling him.  
You hesitate and resist a little. 
“Only live once baby”
-
You go ahead and straddle him, but you're very aware of how short, loose, and flowy your shorts are. You can feel the air between your legs. He takes a deep, horny breath as you settle in and his eyes darken.  
"God, you're hot," he mutters.  That's the moment you're certain he wants to fuck you.  You shyly look down and away.  
"I'm serious," he says.  
Then he spares you the need to respond, leaning back to make room between you for his muscular arms before he brings the pipe to his mouth.  He sucks in and holds the air in his mouth then turns and puts the pipe on the back of the toilet behind him.  When he faces you again, his large hands slide up both your thighs.  His chest expands as he inhales the smoke in his mouth, then he holds it in and squeezes your thighs once.  
You breathe out. He leans in, cradles your head  with one hand and opens his mouth, not exhaling yet, smoke curling between his lips, then squeezes your thigh twice.  As you begin to inhale, he blows the smoke right into your mouth. And he keeps his face close to yours as he watches you turn your head and exhale. 
“Attagirl,” he says and your heart flutters. 
Every part of you wants to kiss him right now, and it looks like he wants that, too.  He leans in a little.  
But the smoke burns, and you turn your head and cough. Joel pats then rubs your back.  "Damn, I shoulda gone slower."   When you stop coughing, your watery eyes meet his, and he cracks a smirk.  You're super high and very wet. He looks entranced by you. 
"Guess you're right," he murmurs.
"Hmm?"
"You're not that good a girl. . ." You feel conflicted hearing these words, until his hands return to your legs and he says, "Only one thing I like more than a bad girl." His hands slide all the way up your thighs and his eyes follow his hand.   His thumb easily nudges its way inside the inseam of your shorts - it happens so fast - and before you know it he lightly strokes the apex of your folds.  Your hips tilt into his touch and he strokes lower, feeling how wet you are.  With his other thumb he pulls the shorts to the side to see your pussy.  He inhales deeply through the nose, looking you in the eyes.  "Only thing better than a bad girl?  A good girl gone bad." 
His hands find your ass and pull you into his crotch where the stiffness of his warm length takes your breath away, and you softly gasp. 
“Yeahhh,” he says.  “You like that?”  
Yeah, you do, and he clearly knows you do.  But you’re super high and too embarrassed to say it.  
“Bet you're a virgin, too.”  
“I-"
“You don’t have to say it,” he whispers, to your relief.  Then he leans forward and his facial hair brushes your cheek as he brings his mouth to your ear and says, "Cause I know you don't wanna be." 
He leans back, pulling you into him harder and his arousal swells into you, making your walls twitch and your clit throb.
He wets his lips then wraps one arm around you and cradles your head with the other hand.  His lips press into yours and a wave of arousal ripples through your body.  Your nipples harden.  His tongue brushes yours and he grinds into you with a soft grunt into your mouth. You've never been more turned on. 
Your lips tear away from his as you literally swoon. He easily catches you as you slump to the side. 
"Whooaa, okay."  He holds you in one arm and reaches to open the door.  "Let's get you some fresh air."
-
He puts a hoodie of his on you and you go outside for a few minutes.  You're embarrassed.
"Sorry," you say, unsure what you're sorry for. 
"No, no, don't be sorry baby.  That was all me." He puts his arms loosely around you and you rest your head on him.  "Couldn't think straight cause you're so goddamn hot." 
You smile shyly into his shirt.  "I think I'm okay now."
"Good." He strokes the crown of your head with his whole palm. 
You ask, "Think Sarah will be back soon?"
"Doubt it.  Usually sneaks back in around dawn. Wanna watch another movie?"
"Um, sure."
"We can do whatever we want." 
-
It’s not long into the movie before things heat up again.  You’re at the end of the sofa and he has his arm around you.  He caresses you with that hand, starting with your arm, then your shoulder, then your collar bone.  Out of the corner of your eye, he adjusts himself.  “Lord almighty,” he says under his breath.  
“Why dontcha bring those pretty legs up here?”
“I haven’t shaved in-”
“Think I care?"  he urges your legs into his lap, pulls them all the way into his crotch, and presses them down on his solid wood with a soft grunt.  Your eyes go wide and you take a deep breath.  He stops pretending to watch the movie and eases your legs down flat on the sofa, scooting himself out from under them, getting on his side. 
"C'mere," he growls. He watches his fingers trail up your leg all the way to your breast as he lays down facing you, slightly on top of you.  His gaze remains fixed there as he slides his hand up your thin pajama shirt and palms a breast.  Your mouth falls open and he grinds his hard package against your hip.  Then he lifts your top up to see both your tits. "God damn," he says.  
He slides his hand into your shorts, brings his face to yours, and starts kissing you again, hard and slow, his tongue claiming your mouth, your lips softly accepting every movement of his while he gropes your dripping seam desperately and moans into your mouth.  His movements intensify, becoming more urgent as he gets between your legs.  Sweat is blotching his shirt.  He slides an arm under yours and a whiff of his armpit opens your legs. 
“Fuck yeah,” he breathes as your hips tilt for him.  He urgently tugs down your shorts, breathing heavily.  He expertly fingers you, making your toes curl.  He inserts one, then two thick digits.  Three is a stretch but not too bad.  “perfect,” he murmurs.  He fingers you for a minute, both of you getting hornier. 
-
Then he frees himself from his waistband and his thick arousal falls heavily against your slickened clit, sending a bolt of need to your chest. He drags it down and nestles his tip at your entrance, then his large hand lifts your thigh and you wrap your leg around him. He looks up at your face, reads your eyes and says in a low rumble, "yeah, you're ready for it. . . couldn't be more ready, could ya?" Maybe he’s right.  Maybe. 
He grunts as he begins to push into your tight, wet hole and you gasp at the stretch of his tip.  "C'mon now, you can do it baby."  He inhales deeply, then pushes further.  "Yeahh." It hurts, but the pain is nothing compared to the incredible feeling of being filled. He's pretty slow and gentle, but never asks if you're okay.  He pushes harder until about half his shaft is sheathed by your warmth.  "Perfect fuckin' pussy" he breathes. "Tight as hell. Wet 'n ready for this cock."
"C'mon, baby."  He retreats halfway before plunging to the hilt, parting your insides and bottoming out with a shudder.  There's an unfamiliar, primal look on his face that stirs something deep inside you.  He stays there, all the way inside for a moment as though trying not to come instantly at the feeling of you wrapped around him.  He pulls back again, all but the tip, then pushes forward, a little smoother but still a squeeze.  He does it again and groans "Yeeahh," he bottoms out.  His face makes him look like he's in pain.  
-
He lowers his chest over yours and the way he looks at you makes you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.  He slowly backs out and fills you up again, saying "Good, that's it baby" as you tilt your hips.  He kisses you and his cock slowly recedes then pushes in again.  Your ample slick allows him to slowly pump in and out of you even with you being so tight.  
He kisses you aggressively, then plants his lips on your neck as he buries his length in you again and again.
Slower, then at a moderate pace. He kisses you.  He looks at you. "Hot as hell, baby." He gropes a breast.  Then his lips graze your throat as he fucks you. 
You’re looking over his shoulder with his face in your neck.  Never imagined this would happen tonight.  Or here, or with him, but he feels incredible.     He fills you up harder, then a little faster.  The way his back stretches his tight t-shirt is a vision.
“God damn." Your whole body is rocking with this power of his cock slamming into you.  "You’re a natural, baby." He thrusts hard with a grunt.  "Already takin’ my cock this good?” He brings his filthy mouth back to yours and keeps filling you with his thick cock. "Ohh yeah. . . " His breathing changes.  "wanna come in this tight pussy so fuckin bad" 
"You can't, I don't-"
It looks like it kills him. He mutters, "fuck," holds his breath,  then pulls out, "Ahhh," he releases the breath with a loud sigh and spills his cum on your bare stomach.  His anguished face, his cock in his hand, his cum shooting out onto your stomach, it’s the hottest scene.  You feel it searing into your mind.  
-
He tucks himself away, lies down at your side again, and starts fingering you, circling your clit.  “Look even hotter with my cum all over ya.” He’s making you feel things you thought only a toy could do, not even your own hand.   “C’mon, baby, come for me.”  It doesn’t take long before your back arches and you’re seeing stars, jolting into his big, veiny hand, his dark eyes watching you in a trance.  
As your orgasm fades, a smirk spreads across his face.  “Damn, didn’t think it’d be that easy.” 
The blood drains from your face. 
“No, no, makin’ you come, baby.  Makin’ you come.”
He cups your face reassuringly.  “You’re real damn hot, you know that? Fuck.”
-
Thank you so much for reading and interacting 🖤
This Joel evolves into the menace that is night walks!Joel.
I have a NEW dads' best friend!Joel x virgin!Reader series Left in Lincoln.
Night Walks : @tehweeana @blackvelveteen1339 @cutesyscreenname @ele-meno-p
All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda
please lmk if i missed you!
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Paper Rings - A Joel Miller Drabble
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 750 Summary: Signs of you are all over Joel's bedroom in Jackson. Warnings: Smut, slight somnophilia, drinking.
Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge, I picked Lover because I've been listening to a lot more of it as the weather begins to get warmer. "Paper Rings" is definitely not my favorite Taylor song, but oh my god I LOVED writing this about Joel, it fits perfectly for him.
If you want more Joel. My works are here, here, and here.
***
The story of your romance with Joel Miller could be told with just one look around his bedroom. 
The picture frame on his dresser with a picture that you painted of the two of you the night you met.
It was quite a meeting, a quick slip on the ice as you stepped off the curb on your way to the Tipsy Bison to celebrate Tommy’s birthday, Joel jumping towards you to catch you. His hand grabbing your blue jacket’s shoulder before you fell into the large pool of water leftover from the melting snow. You both making your way to the Bison together, his handsome face taking your breath away once you saw him in the light of the high moon. You became fast friends, urged on by Tommy and Maria’s matchmaking. Your friendship accidentally turning into something more after a night of drinking and dancing together in Joel’s kitchen. The two of you sharing your first kiss as you slowly swayed along to a Neil Young record. The kiss turning heated, turning into Joel taking you from behind as you gripped his kitchen countertop.  
The books you’ve read stacked up on the table beside your side of the bed. Your favorite chapters marked with the bookmarks you made.
He’d always try to bring you home a book to make up for how early he’d have to leave for patrol on Monday mornings, the day always being more sad and dreary due to his absence. He’d always succeed at not waking you up until he’d kiss you goodbye. He found it hard to control himself when he’d hear you let out a small sleep drunk moan as his lips touched yours. Some mornings he could manage it and walk away, and others he’d be late to the stables, leaving you satiated and smiling after gently fucking you in the light of dawn. 
The comforter rumpled on the floor in the corner, left there from when Joel threw it off the bed last night before he made love to you.
Your glass is still sitting on the coffee table half full of wine, the thought of finishing it out of your mind once Joel began kissing your neck. You were teasing each other all day, playing a game of cat and mouse. Biding your time until both of you couldn’t take it, Joel stalking behind you up the steps as he threw his shirt off and started unbuttoning his jeans. 
The t-shirt of Joel’s you wear to bed with the large blue paint stain on it from the time you helped him paint Tommy’s house. 
He loves to see you in it, your body filling it out in places he loves to touch. He loves how you smell of him whenever you wear it, how it sits against your smooth skin. He loves it when you ride him while wearing it, seeing his clothes on his girl as you grind your hips.
The sheets on the bed always on your side, Joel sleeps warm, he never needs a blanket.
You like to watch him sleep, his face more at peace, his breathing relaxed and slow. A small grunt usually escaping his mouth when he turns away from you, followed by a hum of contentment when you wrap your arm around him. Sometimes you’ll wake up before him just to watch the rise and fall of his chest quicken as you take his cock into your mouth. Joel always waking up thinking he was having a dirty dream until he looks down and meets your eyes staring up at him. A small half smile as he realizes what comes next, his tired eyes growing larger with lust. 
The jewelry hung from the hooks surrounding the mirror above his dresser. 
The mirror that Joel loves to watch himself kiss you in. Sometimes because you had a long night. Sometimes because it’s the best way he knows to tell you it’s gonna be alright. Sometimes because he waited his whole life for you. He loves to stand behind you and watch his reflection touch you, he loves watching you gasp as he sticks his hand down your pants. 
The paper rings on each of your nightstands. 
Joel secretly teaching himself how to fold them as a way to surprise you until he could find a ring that would fit you. He just couldn’t wait to make you his wife.
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joeloverture · 8 days
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snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader
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masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n] word count: 12.3k a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.
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“Looking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight – measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. It’s hard to get snow here in central Texas – if only, huh? We’re seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerous–”
The radio in Keith’s Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. It’s one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keith’s in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if it’s just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenter’s wet dream of a store. Right now, though, it’s neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.
You’d known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and it’s real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.
For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. You’d sworn you’d seen a splotch of sun when you’d tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.
Now, though? It’s fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as you’d told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldn’t handle it, he’d insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.
Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.
Joel Miller, your dad’s buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie you’ve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct – and you like to think they are – what’s between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isn’t bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out —
Liz hops up on the check-out counter where you’re counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldn’t expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which you’re thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keith’s, you finally have someone to talk shit with.
“Those heart eyes aren’t for fuckin’ Alexander Hamilton,” Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. “Although I wouldn’t be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.”
“Joel isn’t that old,” you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. “He’s just an… acquired taste.”
“Sure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era booze–”
“What the fuck,” you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.
Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, “You’ll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heart’s giving out.”
“It is not,” you say, voice still strained with the laughs that won’t stop punching out of you.
She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Hey, it’s not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.”
“Liz!” You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. “You’re nasty. Fucking nasty.”
She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. “You know you love me.” She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, “Any particular reason you’re fantasizing on the clock?”
“Not fantasizing,” you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. “My dad talked him into picking me up today so I don’t drive into a snowbank.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.”
“Don’t give me hope.”
“I’m just saying,” she grins. “You can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.”
“You have such little faith in me.”
She purses her lips. “Mkay…. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.”
“Liiiiiiiz,” you say. You’re about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. “Shit, speak of the Devil.” You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. “Can you finish closing tonight? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“No problem, no favors necessary.” She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. “Use protection!” she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.
A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joel’s passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.
You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. “Are you tryin’ to catch your fuckin’ death, girl?”
“No death to catch. It’s not that cold.” The way you’re shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.
Before you know what he’s doing, he’s groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin – or maybe it’s just being next to Joel that’s heating you up. “Thanks,” you grumble.
When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.
“Tax deductions,” he shrugs. “Gotta eat on the job.”
“And a…” You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. “$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?”
Joel grunts, “Tommy’s order.”
You smirk. “Sure it is.”
“Quit shit stirrin’ and put on your fuckin’ seatbelt.”
You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldn’t make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.
Now that you’re all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that he’s only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that you’ve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.
He’s slowly peeling out of Keith’s parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. You’re starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streets–
“What the hell are those?”
Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which you’re used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing… fur-lined crocs.
“These here? Yeah, got ‘em recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me they’re ‘all the rage’ with the youth–”
You can’t help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joel’s coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. “‘All the rage’? Oh my fucking God– Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.”
“Hey, now–” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isn’t dangling over the wheel. “Zip it, I don’t needa justify my shoe choices to ya.”
“Does she do anything other than give you shit these days?”
“You’re one to talk about givin’ shit, y’know,” Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesn’t matter where – loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while he’s picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.
He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, “She’s picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team can’t match her collapse dive.”
“Of course they can’t,” you say. “She’s got better reflexes than a house fly.”
Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe they’d do the same between your legs—
“So how’s work?” you blurt out.
Joel mumbles something that you can’t quite make out.
“Huh?”
“Fuckin’ ‘big shot’ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.” He shakes his head, his lips thinned. “I tell ‘em terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell ‘em that orderin’ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberin’ all ‘bout how long it’s takin’. And it’s fuckin’... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ain’t had so much trouble buildin’ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doin’ lines.”
You think you’ve seen Sarah’s dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like it’d been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know he’s too sentimental to leave it on the curb.
“How bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?”
“With a five year old yellin’ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.”
You pout at him, “Wah wah, I’ll bet you loved it.”
“Was a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlin’ with some ‘a the dolls I’d gotten her. Don’t think she knew I was watchin’, had gone to put ‘er to bed ‘cause it was a school night. She was readin’ this book I always read to her. Something about… a stuffed bear with a missin’ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I don’t fuckin’ know–” “Corduroy?”
“Yeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usin’ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I don’t think I loved it until then.” There’s a glistening in his eyes at the memory.
You smirk, “Sentimental bastard–”
The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. It’s a long stretch, and you can’t even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when you’re looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.
“Shiiit,” Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.
“Tell me you’re not going to drive through that shit.”
“I’m not,” he says.
“Then how the fuck are we getting home?”
“Chill it–” “That’s the last thing I need to do,” you huff.
“I’m takin’ the detour.”
With that, he jerks the wheel — a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion – and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.
You’re not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. You’re looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. “You usually have that many lights on?”
“Ain’t your truck, ain’t your business.”
“I’m ridin’ in it, ain’t I?” you mock his accent. 
Joel sighs heavily. “Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall.” His hands clench briefly around the wheel. “Auto repair shop’s been price gouging, I’m tryin’ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Anton–”
“Won’t be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.”
Joel’s voice is dry as bone. “Ha ha. You get off on bein’ a smartass?”
It’s three words – that’s all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t even realize he said. If it were anything more, you’d know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. You’re about to make another quip that’ll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.
His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.
Eight to six.
Six to four.
“Motherfuckin’.... shit,” Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while they’re still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.
It’s the loudest silence you’ve ever been in.
“...So do you get off on letting your truck break down or–”
Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. “Thin ice, missy.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give Tommy a call.” He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.
“No service?” you ask.
“No service.”
“Let me try mine,” you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it won’t work, you press your dad’s contact. It goes straight to voicemail. “Well, shit.”
“Shit,” Joel echoes.
It’s unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and… no heater.
“Hang tight,” Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truck’s interior.
You can’t really see what he’s doing – the snow’s too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truck’s viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it won’t be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.
Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat. 
You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. “What’s wrong with it?” You ask. 
He lets out a frigid breath. “Don’t fuckin’ know, snowin’ too damn hard to tell.”
“Ten bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,” you say.
Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.
“Got some… hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.”
You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and –
“When’s the last time these saw daylight?” you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms. 
Turns out, snow isn’t the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. It’s the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.
He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Jesus. Forgot those were in there.”
You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. “August 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?”
“Put ‘em back,” he grumbles. “Pain in my ass.”
You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. They’re unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joel’s keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. “Happy?” you toss them over your shoulder.
“No.” He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.
“Dick,” you grumble.
More tearing. “Brat.” Another warmer lands in your lap.
“Oughta get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while,” Joel says.
“And whose fault is that?” You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.
“Pipe down. First thing in the mornin’ I’ll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ain’t ever roughed it before?”
You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. “Never had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?”
Joel shrugs. “Tough.”
The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldn’t be complete without his signature scowl, so you’re sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.
“Didn’t know you were an artist,” Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. “Looks nothin’ like me, by the way.”
You smirk, “But you knew it was you.”
Because there’s nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind — hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.
Reality only settles in when you’re done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. You’re stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer would’ve loved during his heyday. With your dad’s best friend that you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on.
And it’d be impossible to forget that it’s freezing fucking balls.
“Joel?” you say into the dark truck.
“Hm?”
Always one to speak your mind, you say, “It’s freezing fucking balls.”
A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. “Here,” Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him – like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline. 
You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but they’re full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesn’t work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but it’s cold enough to give you a brain freeze. 
“Jesus Christ,” Joel snorts. “Get over ‘ere, you wuss.” He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before you’re crushed against Joel’s side. “Can’t have ya gettin’ hypothermia,” he jests.
You don’t know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.
Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all you’ve got.
Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesn’t help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isn’t producing more of it.
Joel sort of… flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.
“Who’s the wuss now, old man?”
Joel tenses up behind you. “Funny,” he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. “This is the best you’re gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.”
It should be a joke. But the way he says it… doesn’t sound like a joke.
You go still, lifeless, not even sure if you’re shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, too…. Your clit twitches at the thought.
You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. “So what, we’re gonna fuckin’ huddle for warmth?”
As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping — and that’s just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than you’ve ever been before. With no panties in the way, it’s not a stretch to say you’d be dripping down his thighs. You’d hate to have that conversation.
“Would you rather freeze to death?” Joel asks. You look up at him from where you’re curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isn’t just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.
“I’d rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!”
“It works,” he says, nose flaring. “They do it in those fuckin’... action movies all ‘a the time.”
“I didn’t know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervs–”
“God, you’re a piece ‘a work, ya know that?” His eyes flick down to you, and maybe it’s just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. “Listen, I ain’t tryna perv on ya. I also ain’t tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missin’ from frostbite.”
There’s no way you’re actually seriously considering this. You’ve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dad’ll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. You’re certain Joel won’t try anything – he’s not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, he’d never take advantage of you. What you aren’t certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.
This is practical. It’s only supposed to be practical. He wouldn’t be suggesting something this drastic if you both weren’t shaking like a rattlesnake’s rattler.
“Fine,” you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, “No peeping, Miller.”
Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keith’s uniform – a blue polo and jeans. Joel’s eyes are respectfully trained on the truck’s floor mats, which you’re only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it. 
Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that it’s hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.
Fuck it.
You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel you’re decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained,  “All good.”
“Alright,” Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.
He doesn’t tell you to look away, but since it’s implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesn’t notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.
Just an hour ago, you’d been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, he’d call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night. 
The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.
“I’m ready when you are,” Joel says.
Since you’re already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joel’s side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.
Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.
And, fuck him, he’d been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.
The silence is cruel – it’s much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when you’re naked. Only the wind’s sibilance keeps you company.
You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joel’s shoulder and hope that you don’t drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.
But then, as if you’re the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, you’re shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, “C–cold, Jesus fucking… Christ that’s cold.”
Joel pouts down at you, but you don’t miss the way his lip quivers. “Should I call the wambulance?”
“Should I call the r–r–r–retirement home to pi…pick up a ru–runaway resident?” It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.
“Drama queen,” Joel mutters into your ear. “Can’t do anythin’ more about it. Sorry–”
“Can I sit on your lap?” you blurt out so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.
Joel’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
You’re already half doomed. Why not go all the way? “Listen, it’s just fucking… fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.”
“That bad?” he chokes out.
“You’d be warmer than the seats,” you defend. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.”
Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where you’re furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. “Alright.” You nod in return, heart in your throat. “–But you better mean it when you say best behavior. Can’t have any ‘a this shit gettin’ back to your dad.”
Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joel’s lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though he’s as flaccid as can be, he’s big. Apparently your imagination isn’t too far off. Joel’s sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when you’re warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.
Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers you’ll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anything–
You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joel’s cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.
You whine.
Your body immediately locks up once you realize what you’ve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadn’t noticed how wet you’d gotten, and you have no idea how. It’s smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joel’s dick had dragged through it all.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit–
Chancing a look over your shoulder, you’re surprised to find the tips of Joel’s ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adam’s apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.
You’ve flustered him.
For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. There’s no such thing as a bad accident, right?
Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you ‘accidentally’ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, you’ve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.
“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.
“I didn’t mean to,” you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you he’s going to say no to your next suggestion. “Maybe you should put the coat between us, instea–”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, girl?” Joel’s voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. “And take away the whole point of stayin’ warm? Now quit it. Ain’t that hard to sit still.”
You try your hand at listening – for all of two seconds.
You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care — you’re both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.
“What, you got rocks rattlin’ around in your brain?” Joel scowls. “You’re real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.”
Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. It’s enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. “I’m not,” you say.
“Not a cocktease, huh? Not even when you’re rubbin’ all over my lap?”
You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joel’s, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.
“Not happenin’,” Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like you’re nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. “Jesus, girl. Poor thing, gettin’ all hot and bothered. Don’t blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushin’ like a sprinkler.”
“S–sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry,” you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.
“Nahhh,” he says. “I don’t think you are, baby.” Maybe it’s the condescension he’s purring in your ear, maybe it’s the pet name; most likely, it’s a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. It’s like he’s found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier. 
His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what he’s doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t gonna be, though.” He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.
“Joel, what the fuck are you up to?”
“Teachin’ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlin’. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindin’ on me like I’m some kinda… frat boy.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Pullin’ that shit with your pops’ friend. Real fuckin’ classy.”
“Like you’re so different. Who’s the one that’s tying me up? Huh, Mil–”
You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joel’s chest. His forearms hold you there. 
“Guess I’ll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lil’ head ‘a yours is havin’ some trouble. My truck, my rules. You’re ridin’ in it, ain’t you?” You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. “That was a warnin’, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty ‘fuck me’ eyes an’ get away with murder.” He fucking tsks at you.
He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and you’re both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers. 
“Got a whole goddamn slip ‘n slide down here…” murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. “Oughta just…” he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. “Stop ya from ruinin’ my seats. Cork you right up.” You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, you’re certain he’s already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.
“But that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it? Givin’ ya what ya want so early on…” Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.
And then he does it again.
And again.
And agai–
“Joooooel,” you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.
He backs his hips up “What? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettin’ at it earlier.”
You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.
“So you can deal, but you can’t play?”
“I think you’re just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,” you grit out, knowing damn well he’s stiffer than titanium behind you.
Joel hums. “Ah, she’s got jokes.” His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and you’re almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.
With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like he’s just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joel’s scarce ministrations.
When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. “See this?” he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesn’t even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. You’re mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.
Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you can’t hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. “Need a bib, baby?”
He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, you’re faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.
He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.
You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. “Joel!” you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.
“Really, oughta give standup a go one ‘a these days. Be a real hotshot.”
“Oh yeah?” you pant, light headed and woozy.
“Mhm. If the whole crowd’s drunk.” His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.
“Assh–”
Right as you’re about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. It’s harder than the others – makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest. 
“Ain’t what you should be sayin’ if you’re plannin’ on gettin’ what you want, sugar,” Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. “Don’t wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.”
You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesn’t last long. Joel’s hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. “You’re pushin’ it.” He loosens his grip.
“As if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, you’ve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesn’t matter how much lip I give you, you aren’t gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.” Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.
Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you can’t tell if you’re crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him – the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.
“How many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?” Joel’s palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. “See, the thing about havin’ ‘pre-Cold War condoms’ is that I’ve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Don’t matter if you’re waterfallin’ down my seats or not, pretty girl. I’m giving you exactly what ya deserve.”
You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joel’s unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You can’t stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.
At a snail’s pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And that’s just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.
You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldn’t have agreed to your dad’s ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldn’t have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldn’t have gotten naked on his lap, shouldn’t be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building he’d been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds out–
“Joel, please, please – plea…” you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. You’re running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then you’ve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. It’s just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.
Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body can’t even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. “Shhh, shhh, quit runnin’ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.”
You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.
“See? All nice ‘n quiet when she’s gettin’ what she wants.” You wouldn’t even dream of mouthing off to him now.
“I want – I need…” you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything you’d pretended not to want.
“Go on,” he coos. “Tell daddy what you need.”
You don’t even hear him say that word. You’re too hooked on begging, begging, begging. “Please – Joel, oh god, please – I need… I need… please please please, fuck, it hurts–”
Joel clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox ‘cept for when I need ya to be.”
“Wha…?” you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that you’ve come to crave more of.
“Tell daddy what you need,” he repeats, words molasses slow.
You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.
“D–D… D-” you start stammering out, but you’ve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. “Da– Da… pl–”
“Any day now,” he scoffs.
“Daddy!” you spit out all at once. “Please, please, daddy, fuck – fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts… please, ngh– daddy!” Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place. 
“M’kay, baby,” he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. “Daddy’s got ya.”
At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. It’s a lot compared to what he’s been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesn’t have to do much work to stretch you out — you’ve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. He’s all too quick thrusting them in and out of you – the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.
“I know you ain’t a virgin, but you’re soakin’ like one. Too damn cocksure to ain’t have had a cock in ya before. Prancin’ around like a glorified dick trap.” You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joel’s condescension. 
He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. “Gonna get you all sore baby, make you regret beggin’ for this dick like a horny ‘lil bitch that ain’t ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard you’ll be cryin’ for daddy’s cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.” He’s too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.
The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. “Daddy–” you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt. 
“Ever been fucked here before baby?” He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. “Don’t get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Still, he replaces his tip with his free hand’s thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything he’s willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. “Would love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight ‘lil pussy’s anything to go by… Christ. You’d look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, baby–”
“Daddy!” You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joel’s hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.
All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.
“Didn’t tell ya you could cum, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.
“‘M sorry, daddy,” you pant. His hands go up to 
“‘S okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldn’t help it when I was talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ your ass, huh?” His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.
You hum into his bicep, “Mmmm.”
“That’s alright. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ away with a slap on the wrist though. C’mon, up,” he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.
You moan as he presses against your entrance, and it’s not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but – Joel’s size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. “You’re on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.”
Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you don’t want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as he’d promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morning’s frost on the shingles outside.
Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. “Attagirl,” he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. It’s a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. You’re brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, he’s still and solid inside of you.
“Go on,” Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. “Gotta prove you deserve to cum again.” He taps your thigh as if he’s telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.
You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. You’re still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. “Daddy… I can’t…” 
“Ain’t no different than fuckin’ y’self on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuck’s in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy ‘lil fucktoy somewhere.” His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. “Oughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.” At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.
Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that you’re both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joel’s smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you. 
Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. “C’mon,” Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. “You can do it. Make daddy proud. I’ll even give you a boost.” Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.
You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joel’s cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.
He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. It’s pleasure like you’ve never had it before – too much, not enough, painful, so good. “Please, Joel – I can’t… can’t handle it.”
“I’ll decide what you can handle,” he says.
“You’re– you’re so fucking mean,” you rasp.
“Gets you this soaked, baby. Don’t see your pussy complainin’. You love bein’ treated like a piece ‘a meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.”
You clench, tight. “Ah!” Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.
Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joel’s cock. And, shit, it’s a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? That’s an entirely different animal, one that you hadn’t expected to have to handle.
You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.
“Mmmm, yeah, that’s it. Daddy’s ‘lil wannabe pocket pussy. Doin’ a ‘lil better baby. Keep doin’ that. Jus’ keep doin’ that.”
You’re shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. “Daaaddy.” Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and he’s quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like he’d wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.
His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. You’re letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that you’re talking.
“I fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ain’t ever had much of a knack for listenin’. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.” He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.
The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. “Feel good?”
“So… so fu–fucking goo… good daddy,” you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.
“Swallowin’ daddy’s dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundin’ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.”
You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joel’s wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, it’s the beginning of a punishing pace.
You don’t even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. “Droolin’ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddy’s pretty cockslut.” You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn. 
Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. You’re boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. “Damn lucky we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Joel growls on another thrust. “Someone woulda been knockin’ on the window long time ago with how loud you’re bein’.”
“Mmph,” you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.
“Daddy please please please plea–” you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again. 
Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. “Ain’t gonna make ya beg this time. Can’t wait to feel ya creamin’ ‘round me… maybe I’ll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.”
“Joooel, oh fuck, please…” you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.
The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. There’s nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach – all you can do is take it and whine for him. “Takin’ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittin’ your whore cunt in two, jus’ like you were askin’ for.”
He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, “Mhm, daddy!”
Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell he’s chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. You’re burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, “Come on, baby, know you’re close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezin’ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?”
“No, daddy,” you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. He’s rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. “P-please daddy, can I come?” You practically scream it out.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Come for daddy’s, come allll over daddy’s cock.”
The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like there’s fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. “Thank you daddy!” you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore – it’s just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.
And fuck into you he does – roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. “That’s my girl,” he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. “Lettin’ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.” He can’t hold back his moans, that’s how you know he’s close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. “Daddy’s close, where do ya want me, baby?”
“Tits,” you whine. It’s a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. “Come on my tits, daddy.”
“Fuck!” Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.
You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each other’s jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. You’re both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dad’s proclaimed bestie’s cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.
You’re the first to speak up, still winded. “That was… that was good.”
Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.
You don’t notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.
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There’s better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isn’t the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joel’s behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him – his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.
You’re stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. “Shit!” you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like ‘what?’. 
You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. “Get dressed!” you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.
“What the hell’s gotten into ya–” he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. “Motherfucker,” he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.
“Joel?” Tommy shouts outside. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty!” He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.
“Fuckin’... dumbass,” Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. “How’d you find us?”
Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. “What happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is ‘thank you’.”
“Thank you,” you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing you’re feeling is grateful.
“Her daddy threw a hissy fit, y’know? Told him you were fine and we’d go lookin’ for ya in the mornin’. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. ‘Course my dumbass brother would take this route… hey, you’re truck’s a fuckin’ mess.” Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if you’ve been scalded with boiling hot water.
Joel starts, “Tommy–”
“What the fuck is this shit?” The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when he’s peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like they’re a thousand pounds. You can’t even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. “Joel. You dirty dog!” He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like it’s the most impossible thing in the world.
Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get outta here, you little shit.”
Tommy’s hands go up. “Hey now, I ain’t doin’ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.” He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. “So, uh, truck break down?” Joel grunts in affirmation.
“Been tellin’ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop… C’mon, I’ll get y'all home,” Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. “Call a tow on the way.”
Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommy’s passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.
“I hope you didn’t let ‘im stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. You’re smarter ‘n that.”
“God, no,” you huff out.
“I dunno what’s stupider, lettin’ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettin’ a UTI–”
“Okay!” you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommy’s truck. “Conversation over.” You’re still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.
Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.
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cavillscurls · 9 months
Text
Soft & Sweet | Joel Miller x Reader
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Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: You share your first kiss with the last man you ever expected: your older, grouchy, overly protective patrol partner, Joel Miller.
Warnings/tags: Jackson era. So much tension. Fluff. Some angst. Foul language. Suggestive material. Grumpy Joel. Anxious reader. Soft Joel. Insecure Joel. Somewhat innocent reader; not clueless, just inexperienced. Implied age gap, but numbers are not specified. No mentions of body type or race.
Word Count: 4.2k
SEQUEL. | soft!joel collection masterlist.
a/n: honest to god this started as one thing, and turned into something completely different but i’m not…upset about it? also, thank you to @cupofjoel who literally listened to me talk about this so much for some reason ?? & for reading bits and giving me feed back ?? such a wonderful human
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Joel Miller was easily your least preferred choice of a patrol partner.
There was no doubting the feeling was mutual, either, but the fact of the matter was that you two were a perfect match. You were shorter, faster, and easier to hide; he was stronger, wiser, and knew the patterns of raiders and infected alike. A constant push and pull that gave the quaint city of Jackson a semblance of peace.
In the beginning of your time together, that was what you had to remind yourself. That your time beyond the gates was a representation of how deeply you felt for the people of Jackson, and how important it was for you to keep them and yourself safe.
Regardless of how annoyingly grumpy and disengaging your partner was.
At first, it offended you. How could a man cut from the same cloth as the warm hearted Tommy Miller be such an ass? You had been promised he was like that with everyone, and that you were no special target of his distaste. Over the first few weeks he had occupied Jackson, you observed this, and were pleased to find out he was, in fact, like that with everyone. Well, everyone except the foul mouthed girl he arrived with who you took a liking to.
Ellie was fun. Ellie knew how to relax. You often thought what a good team you two would make if she wasn't a kid, strictly forbade from participating in patrol.
So, you got stuck with Joel.
What once felt offensive turned into pure annoyance at his unwillingness to entertain you. The first few times you two rode together passed the walls of Jackson, you thought he may actually strangle you for your nonstop questions and chatter.
"You really do have a stick up your ass, old man." You had told him when he ignored every attempt you made at getting to know him.
Eventually, your annoyance turned into understanding. He had no obligation to you, other than watching your back and keeping you both safe, both of which were promises - despite his sour attitude - you never doubted he would maintain. And with that understanding, you found opportunity.
Just because Joel didn't want to talk didn't mean you couldn't. And whether he liked it or not, he had no choice but to listen.
That was how it started. Utilizing the stoic man as your very own personal diary. Your rides were underwhelming for the most part, and the tellings of your personal life and worries seemed far more entertaining than feeding into his brooding silence.
You told him about anything and everything. Your distaste for the messy habits of your housemate, who despite being a few years older than you, did not keep the space as neat as you would have liked. Your discontent for the choice of dinner options. How excited you were for the new movie screenings, as some of the other patrolmen had found new tapes during their scavenging.
How much you missed your parents.
How hard of a time you were having making real friends.
Some days, you had even forgotten he was there. Always trotting a few paces behind you, silent, observing. Eventually, you got the impression he wasn't retaining anything you even said, but you didn't stop. The routine was too engrained in you. You met at the stables, he asked the same three questions - Did'ya pick up your gun? Did'ya double check the post assignment? Do you have your flashlight? (you forgot it once, and he wouldn't let you live it down) - then you mounted your horses, said goodbye to the men at the gate, and once you were a good mile away from Jackson, you released the flood gates.
What you didn't know, however, was that you couldn't have been more wrong. Joel was listening. Retaining every word, in fact. Calculating everything to memory, even deducing his own conclusions and opinions about the matters you held near and dear to your heart. He had gotten use to the one sided therapy sessions you had every week, and perhaps a small part of him, as subconscious as it may have been, even enjoyed it.
So when you showed up to this mornings patrol quieter than the dead, Joel knew something was off.
He was watching you. You rode ahead of him, as you always did, shoulders slightly slumped and eyes forward, a large contrast from the way they usually flitted about to take in the sights around you. Your animated nature reduced to tame compliance to the silence he had once begged for between the two of you.
Now, he couldn't help the gnawing sensation of missing the sound of your voice, a pain in his gut telling him this wasn't just any old fluke.
About forty-five minutes into your ride towards he nearest rest stop, you heard him expel a great sigh before the sound of his stallions hooves picked up, and suddenly, he was riding beside you. When you didn't acknowledge him, Joel rolled his eyes.
"Alright, what's wrong?" he grumbled. That earned him a side eye, noting the unusual droop to your normally bright features.
You furrowed your brows. "What do you mean what's wrong?
"Somethin's wrong," he pressed.
"Why do you say that?" you challenged, a lilt of annoyance in your voice as you shot him a scowl.
He tried to bite back the edge in his voice, but it came unprompted. "Because you ain't said a damn word in almost an hour, and I'm pretty sure that's an all time record."
You huffed out an incredulous laugh, your breath painting soft patterns of smoke in the cold air, shaking your head rapidly. "You know," you started, returning your bleak gaze to the path ahead of you. "For someone who bitched about how much I talk, you gotta weird way of appreciating me shutting up for once."
He was quiet, then, and you were instantly filled with a wave of regret at how quickly your sharp tongue attacked him.
Joel wasn't too offended. He had been ripped on a lot worse by people who were substantially nastier than you. He was, however, concerned. He knew what it was liked to feel cornered in a moment of uncertainty, so instead of pressing you further in the moment, he took a calculated breath, tearing his eyes off of of you and nodding his head towards the structure approaching in the distance.
"Let's rest for a bit, yeah? Winds pickin' up more than I'd like to be dealin' with."
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The safe house was cozy, quaint. Quiet. A one story studio format, likely an old vacation home. They had gotten the fire place cleared a few months prior, making it the perfect place to dwell during long patrols. Joel crouched in front of it now, lighting the wood while you went through the procedure of barricading the door. You had yet to have any issues this far out from the perimeter, but you didn’t like taking any chances. That was something you and Joel agreed on.
Better safe than sorry.
As soon as the flames were lit, warmth instantly overcame the small room, and you felt a weight lifted off you in more ways than one when you shimmied out of your bulky winter coat and boots. Your toes cracked against the hardwood floors as you padded over to the fireplace, settling down criss cross beside Joel as he prodded at the wood.
You could feel him eyeing you, and it took every bit of willpower you had to keep your gaze focused on the flames, hands outstretched slightly to soothe your chilled fingertips.
He cleared his throat, setting the prong back into its holder. “I never said I wanted’ya to shut up,” he grumbled, and your stomach instantly fell at the sadness laced in his tone.
You sighed, finally allowing yourself to look over at him. His features remained hard as they always were, but his eyes spoke a different story. Soft. Apologetic. He may have driven you absolutely crazy, but you knew Joel Miller was a decent man. Decent enough for you to confide in, and certainly decent enough to at least give some sort of shit about you.
“I know,” you said quietly, swallowing the unexpected lump in your throat. You were clearly feeling sensitive today. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
Joel shook his head, settling down to sit beside you. You both looked into the flames, seemingly lost in their allure. This was usually how stopping at the safe house went; dawdling around the fireplace, taking turns napping, the occasional reluctance on Joel’s end when you begged and thoroughly convinced him to join you in one of the few board games or puzzles scattered about.
But the energy was different today. You both knew that.
“I got asked on a date,” you blurted out, immediately regretting the words as soon as they passed your lips.
Joel’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. That certainly was not what he had expected you to say. In all your time as partners, relationships had never come up as a topic of conversation. Friendships, sure. But Joel was more than confident that there was an unspoken rule about anything beyond that: you didn’t pry into his love life - as so many others in his small circle thought they had the right to do - therefore, he had no right asking about yours.
He waited a moment, carefully collecting his thoughts. “That…sounds like it should be a good thing, ain’t it?” he asked, cocking his head over his shoulder to study you. You still had your eyes on the flames, arms wrapped around your knees that were cradled against your chest.
You shrugged, nodding a few times. He couldn’t help but blow a soft chuckle through his nose. “Then why d’ya look like it’s the worst news you’ve gotten all year?”
You covered your face with your hands, groaning. “Because-!” you heaved, the frustration you had worked tirelessly to shove down that morning returning instantly upon his questioning. You felt helpless. You felt ridiculous. Being able to shake off boughs of otherwise meaningless emotions was a strength of yours. It was one of the very few reasons you thought Joel may have put up with you: you didn’t take any shit, and neither did he.
To be dancing with the idea of letting those walls fall too far down…it was a vulnerability you didn’t like entertaining.
You took a slow breath in through your nose, out through your mouth, gradually bringing your hands down from your face. Joel watched the way your jaw tightened as you appeared to wrestle your thoughts into words. Your lips parted once, but you shut them instantly. Rolling your eyes to yourself, you began picking at the edges of your nails. Maybe that would distract you from the embarrassment that was to follow.
“Because I’ve never really…done that before,” you mumbled, and when he didn’t speak at first, you thought he may have not heard you.
Cautiously, you dragged your eyes towards Joel. He was still looking at you, but now, there was a soft sort of inquisition to his eyes.
“What do’ya mean never done that before?” he questioned, an arch to his brow.
You felt your cheeks filling with heat, chewing on the inside of your lip to keep yourself from becoming a blabbering mess. An anxiety filled the pit of your stomach, one that suggested you weren’t all too thrilled to be having this conversation.
Having this conversation with Joel.
You knew he wouldn’t make fun of you, he never had in any of your endless ramblings. But that didn’t stop you from feeling the affects of the intimate nature of the topic.
You shrugged again, slower this time. “I don’t know…dated. Gone on a date. Been that close to a guy, I mean, hell, I haven’t even had my first kiss yet-”
“Wait,” Joel cut you off, a deep crease forming between his brows. “You ain’t even had your first kiss?”
When you looked at him then, he could have crumbled under the weight of your somber eyes. Filled with a disappointment and shame he knew all too well.
Fuck.
“Didn’t have much time, what with the world ending and all,” you muttered. It reminded Joel just how young you were. How much you had missed. How much you had yet to see, learn, experience. He would never pity you — he respected you far too much for that. He did, however, feel for you. He knew you. Knew what you had to offer the world, and you were given no chance to do so. Something so basic, so pure, robbed from you.
He sighed softly, returning his eyes back to the flames. How desperately he wished he could burn away his worries in them. He was sure you felt the same way, too. “S’not somethin’ you should overthink. If it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen.” Never did Joel Miller think he would be giving relationship advice. At least not to someone other than Ellie, and even then, he hoped it was a good long while before he even had to entertain the idea. He certainly didn’t feel qualified.
“But what if—” you stopped yourself again, the same discomfort invading your stomach at the thought of revealing such sensitive insight. Maybe it was the warmth of the fire, or the security of the safe house. Or maybe it was just Joel, but you realized then that there was no other time, place, or person you would rather let your guard down for.
“What if I’m no good at it?” It was hardly a whisper.
“That ain’t possible.” He said it so quickly. Too quickly. So much so that you were both exchanging looks at each other at the same time, the panic seizing his features in a faint blush, the heat rising in your own cheeks at…what? You couldn’t pinpoint at first the reason why his assurance made you react in such a way, until the heat of his eyes on you was more intense than the fire.
There was no denying that Joel Miller was one of the most handsome men in Jackson. You had acknowledged that, realized the idea was far too preposterous to entertain, and stored it away the moment you met him. And now here the thought was, rushing back in and invading your brain with a sick sense of desire.
Joel cleared his throat heartily, immediately reverting his gaze back to the fire. “Maybe you could–”
Again, the words came before you knew what you wanted to say. How much you wanted to say. This was not your usual dynamic. You were use to a free tongue around him, and now, you were second guessing every word you spoke. This was why you didn’t foster those ideas. This was why you treaded carefully with every man in Jackson: your sense of self slowly started to feel stripped from you the moment you caught whiff of being roped in, and that terrified you.
Of course he had thought about it. How could he have not? You were beautiful, spritely, and confident. Not in a pompous fashion, but in a way that demanded you were sure of yourself. It was a rare trait for most of the women he had met thus far in Jackson.
And yet, he had never seen you more indecisive than in this very moment.
Your lingering words penetrated him with an unforeseen force, and he held his breath, suddenly vividly aware of the topic of conversation and what you may have been insinuating.
Beautiful, spritely, confident. And way too young for him.
“Listen, I don’t-” He tried to start, wondering if he was working towards talking you out of your line of thought or talking himself out of considering it. But you were already sitting up onto your knees, facing him with a dire look in your eyes.
“No one would know.” Your voice was a rushed whisper, contradicting the very words it spoke, as if you were shielding the idea from the universe. That way, it couldn’t get its grasp on it, chew it up and spit it out before it even had the chance to breathe into life.
You couldn’t believe yourself, a new sort of desperation you hadn’t experienced bubbling to the surface. You blinked at him rapidly while you spoke. “I mean I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t tell, it would only be one time. You’d be doing me a favor, it’s not like it actually means — I mean it’s not that it doesn’t mean anything, I just—”
Joel reached out for you then, his hand coming up to grip you by the cheeks, squishing your lips into a pout and shushing your terribly embarrassing ramble. The first time he was able to shut you up. This was the chatter he was use to.
You felt your stomach drop. You weren’t sure if it was due to the impending rejection, or because the burn of his hand on your skin left you in a daze. Either way, you were silent. Wide eyes on him, attempting to read his ever indecipherable expression.
“Listen darlin’,” he said, his even tone giving you equal parts comfort and unease. You thought you could swim in the darkness of his eyes, save for the flames that glossed off of them. Intentional, focused. “Don’t think for a moment that the thought of kissin’ you is somethin’ I wouldn’t enjoy, I just…I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He released your cheeks then. You shouldn’t be offended. Rationally, you knew that. But you couldn’t ignore the festering anger. You pushed up to your feet, staring down at him with furrowed brows and crossed arms.
“Why not?” you challenged, the bite to your tone making no effort to cover up your flustered offense to his denial.
Joel looked up at you with a tilted head and frown, not expecting such an outburst. You had always had a bit of a temper, sure. But perhaps he had gotten so use to it directed towards other people and things he had no relation to that its presence now was unsettling.
He let out a heavy sigh before groaning to his feet, both of you facing each other in a stand off of ambivalence, desire, and caution.
“Because,” he started, raising his brows at you. “You’re – we aren’t—” he struggled with his words, displaying a frustrated countenance at the inability to find them. You waited, your nails digging into your biceps where they were crossed. He looked around, his hands waving reflexively in the air as he explained. “We’re all’lone out here, and you’re…you’re clearly feelin’ upset. Tommy trusted me to look out for’ya. Last thing I need is to go on disrespectin’ or - or takin’ advantage of you like that while you’re on my watch.”
You sneered a chuckle, shaking your head at him. “Take advantage of me? I asked you to do it! Do you really think I’m that fucking naive?” There was a foreign agitation to your voice. “Besides, it’s just a stupid little kiss!”
“If it’s so goddamn stupid, why’re you askin’ me to do it?” he snapped back, a flustered blush rushing up through his neck and into his cheeks.
“Because you’re the only one I trust with this kinda stuff, you jerk!”
Heat. Heat was rising and flowing through the room, through both of you.
“Fine!” he shouted, running out of words to combat you with.
“Fine!”
How you came to be where you were, standing chest to chest, the tension morphing the space between you, heaving frantic breaths into each others faces, neither of you knew. Neither of you seemed to mind, either.
Your hands fell to your sides then, craning your neck up to look at Joel. His nostrils were flared wide, the familiar etch between his brows prominent. A shiver ran down your spine then when he damped his lips, slowly. The emotion that had built over the minutes slowly dissipated just by the sight of his eyes on you. Your own lips parted in a soft breath, and you caught him glance down at them.
He swallowed hard. “Fine.” This time, when he spoke the word, it was soft. Definitive. Expression slowly shifting back to the unreadable neutrality. He didn’t keep you guessing long, though. His hands reached out then, taking a final step to close the distance fully between you two, carefully lifting his palms to cradle either side of your face. You were frozen, eyes permanently glued to him, fingers twitching at your sides.
His hands were rough, calloused, but delicate in the way they held you. You felt an overwhelming warmth begin in your stomach and spread out over the rest of you while he studied you like this, searching your eyes for something.
Uncertainty, regret. Anything that would stop him from moving forward with what he was about to do. But there was none, just wide eyes and plush, parted lips that peered up at him with anticipation. And he just couldn’t help himself.
Slowly, one of his thumbs dragged across your bottom lip, watching as it bobbed in place before he was leaning forward, and you were washed in the scent of him. His nose nudged yours, eyes falling half shut, but yours were still gawking, waiting. The anticipation almost too much to bare that your hands abandoned your sides, coming up to grip him at the elbows. It must have been all he needed, as the next moment was consumed by the feeling of his lips molding against yours.
For the second time that day, Joel Miller discovered a way to shut you up.
He was hesitant at first; barely there, the coarse hair that coated his upper lip tickling your skin. Hardly grazing the supple petals against you. Instinctively, your fingers dug into the bend of his arms when he applied pressure, fully allowing the weight of himself to kiss you. Your eyes finally fell shut, the loss of sense permitting you to be fully encapsulated by him.
Him. Joel. His strong hands that held you, the familiar scent of him, wood and earth mixed with something sweet, his broad body that pressed into yours, claiming the moment for just the two of you. You’re not sure how it happened, between a breath, a brief moment for you two to recollect yourselves, before you dove back in head first. His hands abandoned your face, finding their way to wrap around your waist, bringing you to your toes and flushed against his chest. Your own reacted on instinct and weaved around his neck, and your fingers found refuge in his silver dusted curls.
Nerves were nonexistent. You just felt him, shocked by how easily it was to bend into his will. How much time you had spent over analyzing this moment for it to be reduced to such simplicity. Whether that was because it really was this simple, or because Joel made it so, you didn’t know.
The tip of his tongue just barely grazed your bottom lip, but never pushed for access. The contact alone ignited you, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that lodged in the back of your throat, a flutter traveling below your stomach. Joel’s hands squeezed your hips in response to the sound, and just as quickly as it started, it ended.
He compelled himself to let go, pulling you away from him, the space between you uncomfortably vast. You didn’t even have the chance to think before he reached up for your hands around his neck and gradually pulled them away, too. He stepped back from you, leaving you in a concrete daze of exasperation, newfound lust, and worst of all, a residue of heartbreak from how short the moment was cut.
“We oughta get goin’,” he grumbled, already turning to retrieve his backpack and put the fire out.
You didn’t move a muscle, frozen in the spot where Joel Miller kissed you. Where he changed everything you ever felt inside in an instant. You could see his skin still painted in pink, cheeks flushed, and lips glistening. The emotional whiplash his sudden change incited made you feel like you wanted to disappear, a lump forming in your throat. One you refused to give in to, swallowing it down as you slowly willed yourself to breathe again.
“Yeah. Y-yeah, okay.” And then, you were grabbing your own pack, silently helping him tear down the barricade you had built, and mounting the horses.
The entire rest of the patrol was silent. A rarity. And while words were never spoke aloud, there was an unspoken energy in the air that wailed for attention. You would acknowledge it, if only in your mind for the time being. You would spend the rest of the ride thinking about Joel’s lips, the alluring look in his eyes right before he kissed you. You would recount the tender nature of his touch, and how it gifted your skin with such delicacy. You would think of his breath, the way it quickened and hitched, desperate in between each touch of your lips. You would think about him.
And as soon as you got back into Jackson, you would be finding any and every excuse to cancel your date.
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tag list: @casa-boiardi @dinsdjrn @scarletsloveletter @subconsciouscollapse @thetriumphantpanda @mommasnakesss @cupofjoel @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers @morning-star-joy @whichwitchwanda @prettyangelsthings @nostalxgic @aphterthoughtt @drewharrisonwriter (if you asked to be on the tag list, and aren’t on here, it’s because tumblr will not allow me to tag you for some reason! pls feel free to comment about it so I can double check if you’re on the list or if it’s a tagging issue).
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frannyzooey · 5 months
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Short Days, Long Nights: 15
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Joel Miller x f!reader
Rating: Explicit, teeny tiny lactation kink, Joel being real cute with a baby is it's own warning
A/N: ❤ thank you one million times over to @the-scandalorian who always give the best feedback and advice, to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who is always the most supportive and a special shout out to @mrsquill whose advice and perspective was much needed, being the big beautiful brain she is.
--
Joel picks his way through the woods, brushing aside the sprawling branches that reach out to catch his shirt. A small bundle tucked against his chest in a makeshift carrier, he’s got one hand splayed across it, protectively shielding it. His boots crunch over fallen twigs, and from within the folds of fabric, June’s dark eyes look up.
Flitting between staring at him and the contrast of the treetops as she takes in the surroundings, dapples of sunlight shift and play across her small face, light catching the swirls of her dark brown curls. When she starts squirming, Joel looks down and smiles at her. 
“You ready to get up, baby girl?”
Shifting her in the wrapped sling to face his chest instead of lying down, he makes sure she’s secure before he continues, giving her his thumb to hold onto. Her tiny, chubby hand wraps halfway around it and letting her squeeze it, he strokes the soft skin on the back of her hand. 
Carefully placed steps to avoid tripping on anything, his boots follow his normal hunting path, only this time he’s not hunting: he’s taking her for their daily walk. 
Starting as something he’d hoped would calm her down during her early days, he’s taken to walking all over the place with her while you nap in the afternoons. Never far enough that he couldn’t get back quickly if he needed to, they’ve explored every inch of the woods surrounding the cabin. Sometimes she’s fussy, sometimes she’s still, and sometimes - like today - she’s alert and awake, lifting her head off his chest to peek at the world around her. 
“You hear that, baby girl? You hear that bird singin’ to you?”
He talks to her without even realizing it, a constant, soothing murmur. 
His lips brush the downy crown of her hair, dragging back and forth just to feel the tickle of softness and he presses a kiss there, turning back towards home. 
Home. 
He’d begun calling it that while talking out loud to her and then kept saying it, because it was true. This was his home, and hers, and yours. One that, even though summer had begun and she was now here, had become impossible to leave. 
He had agreed to stay until she was born, but with every day that passed, he couldn’t bring himself to move forward with the plan. Days had slid together, weeks blurring as he helped care for her while you healed and he knew you wouldn’t be able to make the trek then, so he said nothing. Another month passed after that, and he thought about it - he really did - but couldn’t quite reconcile the concept of a potential threat with the present sense of safety. The danger that had seemed so immediate and imminent and threatening had faded into the background, giving way to the quiet routine of life, and the three of you continued on. 
The map was still in the cabin, as a reminder of what was waiting out there, but so were other things:
Her, in her cradle in the corner of the room along with the pillowcase that she’s taken to sleeping with, in lieu of a baby blanket. 
You, on the living room floor, your smile blinding as you stretched out next to her wriggling body in the afternoons. 
Her basket on the edge of your garden: you working, her small fists stretching and flexing towards the sky, visible just over the wicker rim. 
For someone who had little to no experience with it, you’d taken to motherhood like you’d done it all before. The birth, nursing, adjusting to a new sleep schedule, learning what every one of her cries meant and just how to soothe it. A seemingly deep reserve of patience held within you, your constant resourcefulness when it came to everything you had both on hand and inside yourself, he finds he loves you even more than he did before. 
Constantly impressed and humbled by this new version of you emerging right in front of him, he tries to let you both know how he feels in his own, wordless ways: referring to and respecting your knowledge and guidance when it comes to planting, delicate brushes of his hand on the small of your back while you talk with him in the kitchen, stopping you while you do chores to guide your mouth to his in a kiss of appreciation. Rocking June to sleep when she wakes, washing her clothes in the river, taking her for walks. 
So accustomed to thinking of his own body as a weapon, spending years using it as a means of protecting those he loves, he’s found an entirely new use for it right alongside yours: familiar, tender motions he thought were lost coming to the surface. 
Emerging from the woods, the familiar slope of your land comes into view and he makes his way down to the edge of the water. His boots sink into the soft give of the sand, a trail of impressions left behind him, and he drops down to a crouch before fully sitting down. Unwinding the fabric tied around his shoulder, he gently eases June out of the carrier. 
Delicate yet steady in his hold on her, he props his forearms on his knees and lifts her so they are face to face. 
“How much did you sleep last night?” he asks, a deep frown settling between his brows. Dark bags show under his eyes, and she wriggles in his grip, her legs kicking. 
“Felt like you didn’t sleep at all. Keepin’ us up all night with your fussin’.” 
She pays no mind to the stern look on his face, the gentle tone of his words in contrast with their scolding, and his lips brush against her cheek, her mouth opening to chase his with a babbling, wet sound. 
“You’re cute, baby girl, but you ain’t that cute. You gotta let us sleep.”
She lets out a soft cry, and he chuckles. 
“Okay, I take it back. You are that cute.”
They look at each other for a moment, her small, dark eyes studying his larger ones and a familiar glint of hazel captures his breath for a moment, his heart seizing. 
Identical to Sarah’s color, the likeness flits through them almost faster than he can catch it, though it doesn’t stop him from staring intently at June in hopes of it coming back. She blinks and looks away, her body flexing in a stretch.
“I saw you,” he says quietly, to himself.
June’s eyes come back to him at the sound of his voice, and the corner of his mouth lifts. 
“I think your big sister was just sayin’ hi, pretty girl.”
Impossible to ignore since the moment she came into the world and he caught her in his hands, he saw Sarah in June all the time. Every day: sometimes in her eyes, in her expressions, in her movements. He knew June was her own being, a mixture of himself and you that he loved. His eyes, the shape of your face. His dark hair, your smile. But when he caught glimpses of Sarah in her, he immediately chased the fleeting image before he could think about how much it would hurt to see it. Another chance to see her again, at any cost. 
Introducing the memory of Sarah to June as her “big sister,” a burden was lifted from his chest the day he started speaking about her. With nothing but the solitude of the woods around them and her tiny ears to hear his words, once he started, he couldn’t stop. 
Years of buried memories, of guilt, of confessions and apologies as his heart ached recounting the things he’d done. All of them laid bare to June, who absorbed them with quiet fascination at the low, rumbling voice of her father. The words meaningless to her and received without the judgment of someone who would actually understand what he was saying, everything came pouring out. 
Everything he’d done, everything he regretted, everything he missed. 
Once those were let out into the world, he focused on the good: Sarah’s love for soccer, for animals, her stubborn streak that matched his own. Her sense of humor, her girliness, vacations they took and their time spent together. 
Emerging from the depths he’d buried it under long ago, Sarah’s memory grew stronger every day and he was surprised to find that it hurt… less than it used to. Something he used to avoid due to the sheer pain that would come alongside the memories, he now seeks them out, to relive them in a new light. Basking in this second chance with her, he looks forward to seeing her in any way she appears in this life. 
“You think your momma’s up yet?” he asks. “Or should we give her a little bit more time?”
He waits for an answer he knows isn’t coming, but he studies June’s face like it is, eventually answering himself with a nod.
“More time, I think. You’re right.” 
Turning her to face the water, he places her in his lap and with sunlight flooding the bank, they sit and look at the water together. 
You feel as though you could sleep forever. 
Your heavy eyes blinking open, you stay in place and listen. Silence, which means they must still be out and rolling onto your side, you sink deeper under the thin quilt. Exhaustion blankets you, pulling your eyes shut. 
Tired. So tired, more tired than you’ve ever been in your life. He catches naps whenever he can, seemingly able to fall asleep for a moment whenever and wherever in the way older men do, but not you. Your mind is a constant whirring machine of what needs to be done next and it takes forever to turn off, but last night she was up for ages, and so when he told you to take a nap, you crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow. 
Your face brushing the cool cotton of his pillowcase, you bury your nose into it, inhaling. A need flickers to life inside you, slowly unfurling under the heaviness of your limbs and you wish he was lying in bed with you right now. 
In the morning sometimes when she’s in her cradle, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, letting your lips catch the edge of his whiskers. When you seek out his skin, he rolls to face you with still closed eyes but finds you just the same. 
Still, they are kisses that only awaken, never slake. Early morning sleep soft kisses. Warm skin under wandering hands, until she cries. Never any time to linger in the morning, you can still taste the firm press of his mouth against yours if you try hard enough and the memory of yesterday slips into your sleep-hazed mind, the edges fuzzy and soft. 
“What’s this for?”, you hummed, leaning back into him. 
His mouth rested on your neck, his lips molding to the slope of it. One kiss, another and his tongue slipped out, tasting your skin.
“Jus’ missed you. Thinkin’ about you.”
“Oh yea? What were you thinking about?”
He kissed your neck again, letting his mouth rest just under your ear. “ ‘Bout the other night.”
The other night: when he held his hand over your mouth and worked you with his fingers over your soaked panties until you came with a broken cry, right before kneeling next to you on the bed to watch you jerk him to completion onto your stomach. Afterwards, he smeared it around and you licked the spend from his fingers. 
“That was nice,” you smiled, turning to face him. Threading your fingers through his curls, you offered your mouth to him and he took it, his own need apparent in the way it moved against yours—telling and deep. 
Just the two of you for so long before June came along, it felt good to be reminded that he still wanted you like that: as a woman, instead of just a mother. The new role unfamiliar and flooded with a constant rollercoaster of shifting emotions, it was hard to navigate this version of yourself, and even harder to articulate those emotions into words. Joy like you’ve never known blended with bone weary exhaustion and pain. A fierce need to prove to yourself that you could do this, while still wanting him to take the lead. A new found self-pride laced with frustration and sadness and an ache for the way your relationship used to be. 
All of these emotions, fading away to be replaced by a happiness you never thought possible whenever you looked at June. 
He’s helped you navigate it all, just like he’s always helped you navigate: the group when you had one, dangerous routes when you used to take them, this new life when you made the suggestion. Jackson, should he ever bring it up again. The possibility of leaving was something you hoped every day that he’d forgotten about, but you didn’t dare bring up the subject in case he hadn’t. You weren’t ready. Not yet. 
With the idea of sleeping on the hard ground making the comforting cloud of your bed hard to leave, you eventually rise and peek out the window in search of them. The broad expanse of his back sits down by the water, and you see him lift her to face him, murmuring words you can’t hear. 
A delicacy to his touch and another side to his competence that you’d never have seen without her, Joel Miller the dad was someone you felt lucky to witness, but the thought of Joel Miller the man was the one that had your eyes lingering on his shoulders and the flex of his biceps under the material of his shirt.
Recalling his kiss from earlier that morning, you walk out of the room to go greet them.  
“How old are you going to be when she’s ten?”
He groans, closing his eyes. “Christ, don’ ask me that.”
You giggle, and he peeks an eye open at you. 
“Your daddy is gonna be wearin’ diapers soon,” you coo down at June, and he’s quick with his reply. 
“Who says I don’t already?”
Your playful giggle turns into a full laugh. 
“Smart-ass,” he grumbles, a good natured grin at the edge of his lips. 
He leans back into the worn couch, letting his head tilt to the side as he watches the two of you on the floor in front of him. The days getting longer with the time of year, evening sunlight streams in through the windows you washed earlier that day and its rays fill the room with enough light to see. The windows open, a breeze flows through. 
Rolling from your side onto your stomach, his gaze drifts from the curve of your cheek to the small round of your shoulder, to the wide open expression of pure contentment and love on your face as you coo a soothing murmur of nonsense down at June. She eats it up, her limbs kicking in jerky, excited movements in her splay on her back and she is transfixed by your face, alert and focused.
Filled with gratitude, he’s silent for a moment as he just…watches. 
Your finger dangles over June’s grasping hand until she takes it and wiggling it with a smile and a tease, you take it from her and dance your fingers down her belly, tickling. Her tiny body kicks in response, never ceasing in its movement. 
An overlay of his shitty QZ apartment blankets the room, and he immediately rejects the image, knowing you don’t belong there. The concrete he's slept on and the endless things he’s done to survive flood his mind and a simultaneous reaction wars within him: guilt, at the idea he doesn’t deserve this life after everything he’s done, and the answering fierce urge to defend it, making sure no one ever takes it away from him. 
“You thinking about it?”
Your question drags him to the present, and he frowns. 
“Leaving,” you clarify. You look down, your expression turning solemn. “You were quiet for a while,” you say quietly. “I thought maybe you finally remembered.”
Reading the tone in which you deliver your hesitant statement as dreading something inevitable, he’s honest in his reply in hopes to soothe you.  
“No,” he says. “I actually haven’t thought about it in awhile. Not seriously, anyway.”
Your eyes lift to meet his and the hope you’re trying to conceal in your expression almost breaks him. 
“You were right,” he continues. “We got the garden up and runnin’, got everything all setup like we like. Got a safe place for her.” His chin tilts towards June, her fists flailing in exploration until you catch one in your hold. 
“And if someone comes?” you broach hesitantly.
His jaw shifts, his eyes drifting down to June. “If someone comes, I’ll deal with ‘em.”
He will.
There is a finality in his tone, even if he isn’t sure it’s a promise he can make, but it feels right saying out loud. You belong here, she belongs here and he can’t let anyone take that away, not even himself. 
You say nothing, searching for the truth on his face and when you find it, the edge of your mouth lifts in disbelief. 
“Joel Miller, the optimist,” you tease. 
Because of you, he immediately thinks. Instead, he teases right back. 
“What, you think I can’t?” 
You huff a laugh, rolling your eyes. Your playful expression faltering after a moment, your attention shifts to June and a telltale trembling of your lip catches his eye as you avoid his gaze. Knowing you’re purposefully not looking at him because you’re self conscious about how easy it is to make you cry after June’s birth, he leans forward and drops down to join you on the floor. 
“Hey,” he says softly, crawling over and reaching out over her body to grasp your chin. “Hey now.”
You let him guide your face to his, and he sees he's right. A tear rolls smoothly down your cheek and his frown softens with his voice. 
“I would never let anything happen to you, honey. Either of you.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” you start, your breath shuddering. You swallow and then surprise him with a watery laugh. “I’m not – I’m not scared of that. I’m just –” you sniffle again, blinking free another tear. “I’m just so happy.”
A sob breaks free on the last word and the contrast of your statement with your reaction makes him laugh, which in turn makes you laugh through another sob. Then, a new sound blends into it from beneath the two of you, one that makes you both stop. 
“Did she just –” your breathing hitches, and you look from her to him. “Did she just laugh?”
The first time it’s ever happened, she does it again when you laugh in astonished, watery joy and it only makes you sob harder, tucking your face into the crook of your elbow. 
“She’s laughin’ at you,” he chuckles, splaying his hand wide over her belly, grinning down at her with deep dimples.
Taking a deep breath and wiping your eyes on your sleeve, you smile down at June. 
“Your daddy is gonna let us stay,” you say to her, your voice thick with tears and joy as you sniff again.
“Only ‘cause your momma has made us such a good home.”
Teasing words covering true, deep emotions, he looks at you and with tears still clinging to your wet lashes, he thinks you might be one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. So much love shines through your gaze that the intensity of it is almost overwhelming, but he doesn’t look away. He meets it, unwavering.
“Joel,” you start, slipping your hand over his where it still rests on her belly, covering it with a squeeze. “If you ever want to go, I’ll go. I’d follow you wherever. Here, Jackson, somewhere else. Anywhere else. I trust you.”
Not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking, he just lifts the corner of his mouth and nods before bending his head to press a kiss to the back of your hand. 
A silent devotional action, to the one who has given him everything. 
Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, you go back to trying to make June laugh and he watches the two of you from his place on the floor, stretched out alongside you. 
How could he leave? 
Attempting to summon the courage while tugging at the silken fabric to make sure it covers all the parts of yourself that you are unsure of, you stare at your reflection in the mirror; his low singing voice coming from June’s room. 
All day, you’ve secretly ached for him. 
A fire ignited every time you saw him with her: holding her, cradling her, one hand across her chest as she slept next to him on the couch while he read. And without: the short, dark strands of hair at the nape of his tanned neck, the little slice of skin above the waistband of his jeans that peeked out when he crouched. His thick forearms, his firm thighs. 
An ache that had been present since you woke up this morning, you’ve missed the man he is: his body, his skillful touch, his masculine, solid form moving against yours. A while since she’s gone down this early, you want to take advantage of the gift of time and show him how much you’ve missed him…but there is still a slight insecurity about this changed body of yours. 
Smoothing your hands over the lace that rests over your cleavage as you look some more, the soft scuff of his boots across the floor as he enters the bedroom has you immediately second guessing, quickly turning for your robe. 
“She went down okay,“ he says tiredly, scrubbing his hand down his face. He tugs his shirt off with a one handed hold behind his back, kicking off his boots while unbuckling his jeans. Shucking them off to drape them over the chair in the corner, he looks up at your silence. 
Frozen in front of him, your hands clutch the robe together. 
“You okay?” he asks, his tired expression knit with concern.
“That was quicker than I thought.”
He huffs, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not complain’.”
“Neither am I, I just –” your hands fiddle with the thick material, your teeth tugging on your bottom lip. “I just wasn’t ready for you.”
Studying your face, he tilts his head up, lifting an eyebrow. “Ready for me?” His eyes drop down your body, his posture straightening with interest. “You got somethin’ under there?”
You hesitate for a moment. “Turn out the light first?”
His eyes darken at your answer and he slowly leans to the side, reaching to turn the lantern down. The room descends into a shadowed version of itself, everything bathed in dim warmth and he settles back into position, waiting. 
Taking a deep breath and feeling braver in the darkness of the room, you open the robe and let it fall to the floor. 
“What’s all this?” he asks, his husky drawl low and slow.
Stepping between his thighs, you take his larger hand in your smaller one and place it over your side, encouraging him to touch. He splays his fingers, searching for the heat of your skin through the thin material and gliding his hold up until his thumb drags lightly across your nipple, his eyes watch as it pebbles under the silk. Arching slightly into his touch, he takes your lead and tenderly palms the weight of your breast. 
Hooded, his eyes stay fixed on his hand. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it months ago,” you reply, your tone breathy and warm from the delicate brush of his fingertips over the fabric. 
He hums, letting his hand drag down your sternum with weighted exploration, curling firmly around your hip to pull you closer. 
“Do you like it?”
“Do I like it?” he asks in disbelief, immediately looking up at you. He bunches the silk in his fists, pulling it tight against your body. His throat bobs, his tongue dragging across his bottom lip as his eyes make a circuit down the length of you and back up.
“My pretty girl, all dressed up for me. How could I not?”
Bending down for a kiss, you place your hands on his shoulders and the hunger in the way he presses his mouth against yours betrays every thought running through his mind. Suddenly more awake than he seemed, he can’t stop shifting his hold on you: his mouth taking and taking, while his hands touch everything he can reach. 
When they get to the hem of the nighty and pull it up over your ass, he groans into your mouth when he finds nothing but bare skin underneath. 
“Nothin’ underneath? You’re such a good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes against your mouth, right before capturing it again in a devouring kiss. Leaving you breathless, he follows the column of your throat with a whiskery scrape of his beard against your skin, and works his way down, his humid breath ghosting over the tops of your breasts as he gives every inch of skin he finds an open mouthed kiss. 
Slipping the shoulder strap down, the fabric falls away and he takes your nipple into his mouth immediately.  Letting out a low moan with a pinched frown of pleasure, his eyes close and he draws from you: his hand coming up to cradle the underside of your breast, pushing more into his mouth as he swirls his tongue over the sensitive peak. His other hand digs into the curve of your hip, keeping you in place. Holding on, like you’re the anchor. 
Your fingers bury themselves in his soft curls, and he groans. Pulling back, a glimmer of something white is smeared on his lower lip, and his tongue darts out to taste the drop of liquid. 
“Takin’ care of my baby, with this perfect fuckin’ body.”
Soaked in worship, his words have you climbing onto his lap as he guides you in place and gathering you into his arms, he tugs your knee up to force you into a straddle over his thighs. Deepening his kiss with an inviting, slick slide of his tongue against yours, a low hum pours out of your throat and you grind against him, seeking the warm heft between his thighs until he shifts and rolls you onto your back, laying you out underneath him. 
His humid breath consumes you, the scent of his skin filling your senses. The firm rounds of his shoulders bunch under your touch, his biceps flexing in their strain as he moves above you and his solid torso presses against yours, forcing you into the mattress. His mouth never ceases and neither does yours, every part of your bodies seeking the other out to move in a mimic of the act itself and winding your legs around his waist, he grinds himself against you until you’re whiny and restless underneath him, your cunt slick and soaked against his cotton briefs. When you start to shove them down his hips, he helps. 
Tugging them down and kicking them off, his cock drags along the inside of your thigh when he lowers himself back over you. 
“I need you inside me,” you moan, reaching for him. “I want it.”
“Yea? You want my cock?”
“I’ve wanted it all day. All day while I’ve watched you.”
His hand joins yours to guide him to your aching entrance, and when the thick, rounded tip of his cock starts to make room for itself, you let out simultaneous groans of relief when he slides in. A singular smooth, filling and fluid stroke, all the way to the base. 
“God yes, just like that,’ you plead, and he’s quick to soothe. 
“Shhhh, it’s okay, my girl. I got you. I got you.”
Your mind already lost in a haze of need, the whole-body relief you feel is intoxicating, and yet his fullness inside you is only half of what you want. You want to feel desired, like he wants you just as bad as you’ve wanted him and to feel it, you know you need his roughness. The harder edges of his lust, the ones he’s been holding back from you since you gave birth. 
You want to taste desperation in his kisses, to feel it in his hold, to have him force it into the slick fist of your cunt because he just can’t help it - and you get what you want the second he starts moving. 
“I can’t believe you wore this for me,” he breathes above you, his hand catching the edge of the silk to pull it down and expose both your breasts. He watches them bounce for a moment, moving with every thrust of his hips and then he bends to latch his mouth onto one, the hard suction of it making you moan. Cradling the back of his head, you push yourself into the sensation. 
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, and all mine. All for me. Ain’t that right?”
His hips rock against yours, the tip of his cock sliding against that deep spot that’s been aching for him all day and you push your head back into the pillow, forcing your hips up to meet every one of his downward strokes.   
“God yes,” you pant. “All yours. Only yours.”
“S’fuckin right. My girl. Lookin’ this pretty just for me.”
He brings his mouth down next to your ear as his hips keep moving. “Pussy this wet, just for me.”
You nod, and fitting his face into your neck, he rewards you an open mouthed kiss laced with a groan. He sucks at your skin, his teeth dragging over your pulse and then his mouth finds yours, forcing it open just like he’s forcing you open to take everything he’s giving. Every weighted stroke, every full push inside. 
You like his words, but you like this just as much: when he’s so focused on how you feel around him and underneath him that he can’t speak, and you get to swallow his harsh pants and low grunts instead. 
Your thighs hitch higher around his torso, your ankles resting on his back and you can feel his muscles shift and flex under your heels, working, working, working. The intensity of your release builds, a fire that’s been banked all day finally being stoked brighter and hotter and he picks up his pace, his arm pushing underneath your back to hook his hand around your shoulder, keeping you in place beneath him. Buried under the weight of his body, you relish being used. 
Still just as sensitive as when you were pregnant, fast - so fast - you feel the first ripple of your oncoming release wash over your skin. 
“You’re gonna make me come,” you plead, trying to keep quiet. 
“Come on, honey,” he encourages it, pressing a thick kiss just under your ear. “Lemme feel it.”
Everything tightening between your hips, a syrupy warmth fills the bowl of your pelvis until it’s too intense and overwhelming and filling — and then it bursts bright and wet, your thighs squeezing his torso as he grunts through every rough stroke that sees you through it.
“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he groans before kissing you. He pushes in harder, faster, pounding into the slick fist of your sated cunt.
“You want another one?” he asks, breathless and panting, the curl of a smug smile at the edge of his mouth. “Think you can do it again?”
You can’t speak, your mouth parted in a fixed shape as you focus on how he feels inside you right now and when he slips a hand underneath your tailbone to angle you just right, he focuses his strokes downward, causing you to cry out. 
“Shhhh, honey. S’okay. You can take it. Gimme another one.”
His voice is lost in the fuzzy edges of your mind, the only thing coming through the soothing tone as he makes you take what he’s giving and when you start to lock up underneath him again, the smile on his face this time is more apparent than the first one. When you start to come, he looks almost proud.
Your nails dig into the meat of his ass, forcing him deeper and he bends and bites the underside of your breast as he picks up his pace. His hands bunching in the sheets, he fucks you harder, faster, and when his hips begin to stutter in their rhythm, you know he’s close. 
“Goddamnit,” he groans when you come around him, never stilling in his movement above you. 
Frantically needing him to feel as good as he just made you feel, you dig your hold into the meat along his ribs and hold him in place above you, your hips pushing up to work against his. Matching his every stroke down with your own, his eyes shut tight against the sensation he tries not to give into. 
“I’m gonna come inside you if you don’t stop,” he warns, the words a tortured groan.
Knowing you can’t do that, you move quickly underneath him, pushing your hands against his chest until he lifts just enough for you to frantically slide down the bed. His slick, stiff cock drags up your belly and along the plane of your chest, brushing against your chin right before you take it into your mouth and when you wrap your lips around it with a firm suck, the groan he lets out is loud and involuntary, his hips bucking forward. 
His hand buries itself into your hair, his fist pulling painfully at the roots when he pushes himself in down to the base and you feel his belly jerk with a tremble right before he pours hot and sticky along the back of your tongue. His release is endless, filling your mouth as he stretches out rigid next to you and you swallow every single drop, your throat working as you hold him close. 
Working the dregs of it out with a slow roll of his hips into your face, you finally pull off when he relaxes into the mattress with a soft groan. Peppering kisses along the tops of his thighs, you slowly ascend the body you’ve been aching for all day and his hands run lazily over your skin, making room for you to crawl into bed beside him. 
“That was…somethin’,” he sighs, a slow spreading smile gracing his face when he turns his head to look at you and you prop yourself up on your elbow, running your fingers through the hair just under his navel. 
Catching your hand, he brings it to his mouth with a kiss. 
Laying in silence together, the sounds of the night filter in through the open window on the soft breeze that tickles your sweat damp skin. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent you’d been dreaming about all day straight from the source and your bodies slowly relax together, entwined. 
When you feel his breathing even out into a slow rise and fall, you peek up at his face. Taking a moment to admire the profile of his nose, his long dark lashes, the gray gathered at his temples, you run the pad of your thumb across his bottom lip in a feather light touch. In his sleep, his lips purse as they chase the sensation and you smile, the movement so like June when you do the same thing to her. 
Leaning forward to give him one last kiss, you reach over him and turn out the light.
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wheresarizona · 8 months
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Bluebonnet
summary: Is Joel Miller your friend? No. You’re not even sure if he actually likes you or just puts up with you because of his kid. Then he kicks some guy's ass in a bar for getting handsy with you, and you’re starting to think maybe he might like you a little…
rating: E (18+!! No y/n, Grumpy Joel Miller, Protective Joel Miller, Soft Joel Miller, age gap (unspecified but reader was born before the outbreak), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral sex (f + m receiving), 69 position, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, spit mention, slight breeding kink, Joel has a big dick, Joel being kinda a dick, a random guy harassing you then getting beat up by Joel, canon typical violence, icing Joel’s knuckles, feelings confessions, Ellie being Ellie and the star of the show, AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and their relationship is still good)
pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader
word count: 5.5k+
a/n: Literally, a scene in this woke me up from dead sleep at five in the goddamn morning, and I spent thirty minutes plotting the whole one shot while barely awake. This fic was very spur of the moment that I wrote in less than two days, so it’s unbeta’d. All mistakes are my own. Please be horny about Joel protecting you with me.
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
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Is Joel Miller your friend? 
No. 
Are you on friendly terms?
You thought so. 
Joel isn’t the most social of fellas—he’s basically a feral cat that wants to be left alone.
If you aren’t friends with him, then how did you become the regular occupant of the seat across from his in the Jackson mess hall every breakfast and dinner? 
The answer is simple: Ellie. 
It all started months ago when you first got to Jackson and met the teen after being assigned to a job rotation with her. She was so excited about finding out you lived in Texas for many years before the world went to hell she invited you to eat dinner with her so you could meet someone, and that’s how you were introduced to Austin-native Joel Miller. 
He’s a bit older than you, never smiles, and isn’t much of a talker but still polite enough to answer a question if you ask it, even if it’s more of a grumble at the start of the day. With Ellie, though, it was different. He talked to her, and his voice was like coming home after a long day and settling in on the couch—that familiar Texan accent making you feel all warm and comfy, his words wrapping around you like a tight blanket and taking you back to a time when things were good and safe. 
The morning after the first dinner, Ellie had called you over to sit with them for breakfast, and again that evening, little bits of conversation happening between bites as you got a grasp on what the relationship was between this young girl and man—it was clearly father-daughter in nature even if she didn’t call him ‘dad,’ and you savored every word she wheedled out of him. 
It got to the point where the teenager didn’t have to beckon you over, and you just knew to set your food down in the seat in front of Joel to eat with them, always smiling at Ellie giving him so much shit, chatting with them or more the young girl, with Joel occasionally offering clipped anecdotes, and you trying not to acknowledge his handsomeness—you weren’t sure if he even liked you or if he was just putting up with you for the sake of his kid.  
He does have a lovely voice and is very attractive with those expressive chocolate-colored eyes that sometimes soften when he looks at his daughter; you could imagine his grey hair would be soft to the touch, and it’s obvious those full lips of his are kissable. Honestly, it’s surprising he’s not seeing anyone that you know of or Ellie is aware of, with how damn pretty he is.
His broad shoulders and how his flannels stretch over his chest. 
His neck. 
God, he’s sure nice to look at. 
And Ellie is a great kid who trusted you, coming to you anytime she needed advice or wanted to talk about something, and you were happy to be there for her. 
The breakfast and dinner routine had been going on for so long that even though Joel didn’t talk at length to you, you’d managed to learn quite a bit about him from questions he’d answer or conversations he had with his kid or brother in front of you. He definitely knew a lot about you, too. 
Now, back to why you’re not sure if he likes you. 
That morning when you went to breakfast, you were running on autopilot—piled your plate with food, grabbed your cup of shitty coffee that made you want to cry with how much you missed Starbucks, and set it all down in your usual spot, where you started to eat. 
When your brain finally began working, that’s when you realized it was abnormally quiet at your table, and you looked up to realize Ellie wasn’t there—it was just Joel. He must have seen some kind of look on your face since he grumbled out she was with a friend. Then when you asked if he wanted you to sit somewhere else, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he told you no before going back to eating in silence.
That put a point in the maybe he wasn’t just putting up with you for the sake of his daughter column and made you smile a little the rest of the meal.  
She wasn’t at dinner either.
This had you standing near your seat, chewing on your lip, debating on sitting elsewhere until Joel sighed loudly, setting down his fork to tell you in a tone that brokered no room for argument to sit, so you did. 
After a few bites, you almost choked to death when he asked how your day was. 
There was actual back and forth between just the two of you, and you were in heaven at how much he was speaking, another point going toward he might like you. 
Those interactions had you feeling really hopeful, and you were excited for breakfast the next day, wondering if he’d try to talk to you more. 
It’s been over half a year since you arrived in town, and you have managed to make some friends, who you knew for sure were your friends, and also closer to your age. When a couple of them asked if you wanted to get a drink that night and play some pool, you happily agreed. 
The place is practically empty when you arrive. 
Standing at the bar, chatting with your friend Mathias as you wait for the bartender to make your drinks, you can feel someone staring at you. Doing a quick glance of the room has your stomach dropping and is the reason you’re pretty fucking sure Joel doesn’t care for you; he’s sitting across the room at a table in the corner, glaring at you—not just glaring, if looks could kill you’d be deader than dead he looks so pissed off, and you’re about to go find out what his problem is when two things happen:
Mathias excuses himself to the restroom, and some man you’ve never seen, let alone spoken to, gets your attention on your other side. 
“Hey.” The interloper squeezes your arm, which makes your head turn toward him, shaking him off.
“Don’t touch me,” you reply. 
There’s nothing special about the guy—he’s probably younger than you, has floppy blonde hair, and a clean-shaven face, but something in his eyes made you feel uneasy. 
“My apologies,” he says, putting up his hands placatingly. “This is my first night here, and I’m just trying to make a new friend. Have a drink with me.” 
“Welcome to Jackson, and no, thank you, I’m here with friends.” 
“I’m sure they won’t mind if you have one drink with me.” His voice goes lower, “We could have some real fun together.” He has the audacity to grab your ass, and you step out of his reach. 
“I said don’t fucking touch me.” 
The bartender has gone into the back, Mathias is nowhere in sight, and your other friend is in another room where the pool table is with the jukebox playing. 
Something flashes in his eyes, and it has your heart pounding. 
“Don’t be like that. Just one drink,” he says, coming closer. 
You are readying to fight the bastard when all of a sudden, someone is grabbing his collar, and you see a fist connect with his face in a sickening crunch that makes you gasp. 
Joel yanks the guy in front of him. 
“She said not to fuckin’ touch her,” he grits through his teeth. “And that she didn’t wanna have a drink with you.” 
“I’m sorry,” the other man wheezes, blood oozing from his clearly broken nose. “I’ll leave.” 
“Yes, you fuckin’ will—after I teach you some fuckin’ manners.” 
With that, he punches him again and again and again.
You’re no damsel in distress—you’ve survived the fucking apocalypse for the last twenty years practically alone and could easily fight your way out of dangerous situations. But having someone stand up for you and protect you? It’s really doing it for you, except you’re genuinely worried Joel will murder this man, so you move toward him. 
“Stop, Joel!” you shout, pushing on his shoulder, and he does immediately, his eyes meeting yours. “He’ll leave; toss him out. Please, Joel. Don’t kill him.” 
His chest rises and falls as he pants, nodding his head once before hauling the groaning man to the door and throwing him out. The bartender chose that moment to come back, as well as your friend. 
There was a worried expression on Mathias’ face. “Is everything okay?” he asks. 
“Yeah,” you answer. The drinks are sitting on the bartop, and you gesture toward them. “I’ve got something to do, so take those for me, okay?” 
Confusion is etched on his brow. “Okay…?” He strategically picks up the three glasses and heads for the other room with the pool table. 
Your attention moves to the man behind the bar. “Hey, can I get some ice in a rag?” 
“Sure thing,” he replies, going to the block and using the ice pick. 
Joel didn’t return to you. Instead, he went back to his table like the last however many minutes didn’t happen, and it makes you sigh. 
His mixed signals have you so confused you’re ready to just get it all out in the open. 
The bartender hands you some ice wrapped in a towel, and you walk over to Joel, having to drag the seat across from his around so you’re next to him, seeing his right hand shaking around his glass with bloodied knuckles. 
He won’t even look at you. 
“Give me your hand,” you order him. 
“I’m fine.” 
“No, you’re not. Give me your fucking hand.” 
“No.” 
“Stop being a stubborn asshole, and let me ice your fucking knuckles.”
“I said I’m fine.” 
He won’t give you his hand, so you do the next best thing and press the ice against them while they hold his drink, Joel hissing at the coldness. 
His head turns to glare at you. 
“Don’t give me that look.” You glare right back. “I’m helping you.” 
“I don’t need your help,” he practically spits out. 
Taking a deep breath, you ready yourself for what you’re going to say. 
“We had a nice dinner,” you tell him. 
His eyebrows furrow. 
“What?” 
“We had a nice dinner with just the two of us where we talked—you didn’t smile, but it was the most you’ve ever said to me, and this morning, you let me eat with you. You’re not a people person, and I wasn’t sure if you liked me all that much, but our meals today made me think you might. Then tonight you were glaring at me—”
“When was I glarin’ at you?” he interrupts. 
“Before that creep started getting handsy.” 
“Oh, I wasn’t lookin’ at you…” His eyes dart away. 
You’re confused. 
“There’s like no one here. Who were you looking at?” 
He sighs loudly. “Your boyfriend,” he mumbles. 
“Huh?” 
“Your boyfriend—the guy you’re here with.” 
“Oh, Mathias? I’m not his type, and he’s already in a relationship. I don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, or a partner—I’m not seeing anyone. You should know this.” 
“Oh.” 
“Okay, so you weren’t glaring at me, you were glaring at my non-existent boyfriend, and then you came in hot like some knight in shining armor and beat the shit out of that asshole for doing me wrong. Sooo, you maybe like me?” 
He looked at you with a squinted gaze, like the answer was obvious. 
“I more than maybe like you,” he replies. 
That has your eyes widening. 
“Wait, in the romantic or platonic sense?” 
“There’s no point in talkin’ about this,” he sighs, looking down at the amber liquid in his cup. 
“Um, yes, there is because if I have a shot at breaking off a piece of this Kit Kat bar, I’d like to take it.” 
His gaze met yours, and you could see the hope swirling in the dark pools. 
“In the, uh, romantic or platonic sense?” 
Smiling, you answer, “Romantic—I’ve basically been crushing on you since I met you. We’ve known each other for months, almost a year. You’re such a good father to Ellie, a hard worker around town, and you let some random person sit with you during your meals—”
It takes your breath away when he smiles softly and talks when you pause, “You’re not some random person, and I would’ve been stupid to turn away such a beautiful woman.” 
“Oh, god, you’re hot and charming.” He chuckles, and your heart picks up in pace. “How are you making me like you more?” 
“I don’t know, Blue.” 
“Blue?” 
“As in Bluebonnet.” 
Which was Texas’ state flower and makes you feel so soft at how sweet the nickname is. 
“I love it.” 
The smile falls from his face. 
“You, uh, don’t mind my age?” He scratches at his mustache. 
Ellie had made you very aware of how old Joel was. 
“No? I think you’re extremely attractive. Does the age difference bother you?” 
“No.” He shakes his head. 
“What now?” you ask. 
“Jesus, it’s been so fuckin’ long,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I guess I’ll court you—take you on a proper date.” 
“Second option, that’s more immediate, and we can go with your plan tomorrow.” 
He looks at you. 
“Yeah?” 
“Is Ellie home tonight?” 
His eyebrows dip together. 
“Yeah?” 
Smirking, you say, “Okay, so why don’t we go back to my place, and I properly thank you for what you did tonight.” 
You see his throat bob as he swallows, his voice going deeper when he asks, “How do you wanna thank me?” 
A smile pulls up on your lips, moving forward to whisper in his good ear, “I was thinking I’d suck your dick.” His breath stutters. “Then have you fuck me however you want.” That makes him groan, and you grin. 
His hand moves out from under the ice and up to cradle your face, along with the other, when his body turns, making you look him in the eyes.
“I was stupid for leavin’ you alone ‘cause I assumed you wouldn’t want anythin’ to do with someone as old as me.” 
You snort. “Uh, yeah. You went a little hard with the leaving me alone, but I’ll forgive you if you kiss me right now.” 
No other words are said. His mouth crushes against yours, swallowing your surprised sound as he kisses you hard. Your fingers end up tangling in his grey waves of hair, your heart hammering in your chest and pulsing at the apex of your thighs. It’s obvious he hasn’t kissed in a while, and you’re in the same boat, both of you figuring things out until there’s a rhythm, and things are heating up with a slip of your tongue into his mouth to slide along his. The need inside you builds and builds until your lungs start to ache for oxygen, and you break apart, his nose nuzzling yours as you both pant with a smile on your lips. 
“Let’s go,” he says, and you don’t have to be told twice.  
He washed his hands before you left the bar, so it wasn’t obvious he’d just been in a fight. 
Having Joel lead you through town is like having a big, scary dog on a leash with how people get out of his way. It’s a little surprising he even knows where you live when you find yourself walking through your front gate. 
“How—”
“Ellie,” he answers before you even ask the question, his feet stomping up the two porch steps and you following. “She’s free to hang out with whoever and go wherever. I just ask she tells me where she’ll be.” 
“That’s very ‘cool dad’ of you.” 
You’re standing at the front door, him out of your way. 
“She’s not allowed to leave Jackson without me. If I tell her to stay away from someone, she stays away from them. I expect her to be a model citizen and do the jobs she’s required to do. Unless we talked beforehand, she must be home in time for breakfast and dinner.” 
“So, today, you knew it’d just be the two of us?” 
“She asked last night to stay at Cat’s house.” That’s Ellie’s best friend. “They’re staying over at our place tonight.” 
“Probably won’t even notice you’re missing then,” you say with a smile. The door’s unlocked, and you push it open before turning to grab Joel by the collar, pulling him in for a kiss as he walks you backward into the house with his arms wrapping around your back. 
It’s a tangle of tongues, a clash of teeth, one of Joel’s hands moving to massage your breast while your fingers worked open the buttons on his shirt, him shrugging it off by the time you make it to your bedroom door you led him to. Once inside, he strips you first, spending quite a bit of time licking and sucking on your tits when they’re bared and stopping you when you try to work open his pants, learning he’s really fucking strong when he easily tosses you onto the middle of the bed. 
Quickly, you’re sitting up on your knees, and you get a good look at the sizable bulge at the front of his jeans; Joel standing there with his hands on his hips, staring at your body with a hungry gaze, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. Scars are littering the golden expanse of skin on his front and arms of varying sizes, a newer one you spot on his lower torso, all of them telling you he’s fought like hell to make it to this point. 
Shuffling forward, you’re tired of waiting, your hands going to the button on the front of his pants. Joel’s palm engulfs yours to stop you, his head tilting down to meet your confused eyes. 
“You don’t need to suck my dick for what I did,” he says. 
“Okay. What if I just want to suck your dick for the hell of it?”
His lips tip up in a crooked smile, and you’re enjoying seeing his different smiles. 
“Then have at it, but I wanna lick your pussy until you come on my tongue.” 
You suck in a breath, your cunt clenching hard around nothing. 
“If you can get me off with your mouth, you’re not gonna be able to get rid of me.” 
His eyebrow arches. “Is that so?” 
“Yeah. You’ll be stuck with me.” 
There’d been enough talking, so you deftly popped open the button and pulled down the zipper, grabbing the waistband to tug his jeans down his thighs. You’re pleasantly surprised he goes commando, and then you get a good look at his hard cock, and it’s glorious. 
He’s thick, long, with a nice curve upwards, and you’re wondering if you’ll be able to fit him in your mouth—you’re definitely up for the challenge, licking your lips at the thought. Your fingers don’t even wrap all the way around him when you take him in hand, giving him a few quick strokes. 
“Wait,” he says, stopping your movements. 
“What?” you ask, looking up at him. 
“Hold on,” is all he replies, getting his pants the rest of the way down, kicking them off, and removing his socks. Walking around the side of your queen size bed, you’re turning in place to follow his movements as he gets on the mattress with a groan and the springs squeaking as he moves to the middle, his legs on either side of you, grabbing one of your pillows to put under his head that he lifts to look at you. “Sit on my face.” It’s an order, and he pats his chest to show you he means it. 
“I thought I was giving you a blow job…?” You point at his dick resting against his stomach. 
“You are,” he replies. “We’re doin’ both. Now, get up here,” he orders again, his face grumpy, patting his chest once more. 
“Sheesh,” you say, moving over his leg and up the bed, thankful you showered before you went out. “You’re really bossy when you’re horny.” 
When you’re within reach, he replies, “I’ll show you fuckin’ bossy,” and he puts his strength to work again, grunting while hauling you onto him with your back to his head and legs along his sides. His hand lands on the side of your ass in a sharp slap that makes you gasp, feeling the wetness between your legs, coating your inner thighs. “I’m eatin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he says, positioning you over his face, his hand giving your asscheek another hard spank causing you to clench. “And you’re gonna wrap that gorgeous fuckin’ mouth around my cock.”
You can’t respond because all train of thought leaves your brain when his mouth latches onto your cunt, feeling him groan into your sensitive skin, the sensations making your toes curl, and fire erupt in your center. 
“Oh my god, Joel,” you moan. “It’s so good. It’s so fucking good.” 
It takes a deep breath for you to focus on your task, spitting on your hand before grasping his hard dick in your palm, the tip red and shiny with his arousal, lowering your face to take him into your mouth. He’s salty on your tongue, your jaw open as wide as it will go as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head, stroking the considerable amount that won’t fit. 
His hands have a firm grip on your hips, pulling you farther down on his face, and you’re really worried he’s going to suffocate while he eats you out like a man starving. Pleasure in winding in your belly, tighter and tighter, with how he’s licking at your folds, your eyes rolling back in your head when he sucks your sensitive little clit between his lips.
He’s really going to make you come, and it feels so fucking good you’re having a hard time sucking his cock, so lost in what he’s doing to you—saliva is dripping out of your mouth and down his shaft, making your hand slide easily along him while you have half a mind to suckle on the head of him. 
You hit your breaking point suddenly, the coil inside you snapping, your body tensing up as you come with a loud moan, euphoria spreading out from your core. Joel groans into your cunt, his tongue pushing inside your sopping entrance to taste your release straight from the source, his hands grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing hard.  
He must get his fill because he moves you off his face, hearing him take a deep breath. 
“My good fuckin’ girl,” he says through panted breaths, rubbing your hips, his words causing a shiver to move down your spine. “Am I stuck with you?” 
You’d given up on blowing him, your forehead resting against his thigh. 
“Yeah,” you slur, sounding drunk. “How are you single?” It’s been a while since you’ve had that good of an orgasm. 
He sighs and taps your hip. “Turn around, baby.” 
Doing your best to turn, Joel helps you, getting you to straddle over his lower torso, your hands finding their place on his warm, flushed chest, seeing the grey hairs of his beard shining with your arousal and his lips frowning. 
“Like you said earlier,” he says. “I’m not a people person.” 
Your eyebrows knit together. 
“I’m people…” 
“No, you’re not. You’re my Texas Bluebonnet—my Blue.” His large palm comes up to stroke your cheek. 
You’re wondering something. “Why did you talk to me at dinner?” 
A sheepish look comes over his face. “‘Cause we were alone, and I didn’t have to worry about Ellie teasin’ me in front of you about my crush.” 
“She knows?”
He grimaces. “Suspects. Since there’s only three people on this godforsaken planet I like, and you’re one of them.” 
“And I’m the only one who’s not family—oh, that’s obvious.” 
“Yeah…” 
“Well, how do you want me?” 
He looks confused. “Huh?” 
“I said you can fuck me however you want,” you answer, sliding your hands up his pecs. “How do you want me, babe?” 
When he smiles this time, you get a glimpse of his teeth. “Ride me.”
His answer has you grinning. “Cowgirl, like a true Texan.” 
“I just love your tits,” he says, his big hands palming them. 
“Good to know,” you reply with a wink. 
Sitting up on your knees, you scoot back to get over his hips. His dick is still wet with your spit when you grab it and slide it through your folds before positioning him at your entrance. 
There are nerves swirling in your belly, your eyes landing on his dark ones as you slowly start to drop down, seeing his mouth fall open with a gasp, his hands grabbing onto your thighs. You knew there’d be a stretch, but he’s bordering on uncomfortable in how your walls have to expand for his size, feeling the slight burn. When you finally bottom out, you’re beyond full—you’ve never felt fuller, and it takes your breath away. 
“Jesus Christ,” his words are said through his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t move.”
His hard cock is throbbing inside you. 
“Been a while?” 
“Yeah.”
“Same. You’re so fucking big I’m gonna be sore after this.”
His dick jerks as he groans, “Don’t say that.”  
“Damn, you’re that close?” you ask, soothingly stroking your hands over his chest. 
You watch as his eyes blink open, the grumpy expression you’re used to appearing on his face. 
“Don’t make fun of me.” He slaps your ass. “I haven’t fucked in a long time, and now I’m inside the perfect pussy—you’d be strugglin’ too if you were me.”
“I’m not making fun of you, Joel.” You lean forward to cup his cheek, feeling prickling stubble under your palm. “I think it’s hot. Like, you have no idea how flattered I’d be if I made you come right away—talk about an ego boost.”
He doesn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing.  
“Are you just sayin’ that to make me feel better?”
“Nope.” To prove your point, you sit up, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest as you start circling your hips. 
His mouth goes slack, his eyes widening, a choked noise pulling from his throat that makes you smirk. “Fuck,” he pants. There’s sweat beading on his forehead, his cheeks a rosy pink. “You fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” 
You’re slowly building into an up-and-down motion, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock rubbing against spots you didn’t know existed, sparks of pleasure igniting in your center as you throw your head back. 
He must get a hold of himself because both of his hands come down on each of your asscheeks in loud, resounding smacks before he’s gripping them to help you move. 
Looking down at him, there’s concentration on his brow. 
“Your tight little pussy is takin’ me so fuckin’ well,” he says, hearing the wet sounds where you’re joined. “You love how I stretch you open?” 
“Yes,” you moan. 
You’re moving a little faster, moving up, and falling down a little harder, making the fire in your belly get hotter and hotter. 
“Lean down.” 
Doing as he says, your hands are on either side of his head while he continues helping you ride him. He lifts his face to pull a pebbled nipple between his lips, and the pleasure shoots straight to your pussy, making you gasp and more arousal spill around his length. 
He laves at one bud, then the other as you work yourself up, the new angle allowing the coarse hairs at the base of his cock to rub deliciously against your clit, and you know you’re close.
Joel is groaning loudly, clearly in heaven, with his dick inside you and his mouth on your tits. 
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he says around your hard nipple. “You gonna let me feel you squeeze my dick? Let me fuckin’ have it. Be a good fuckin’ girl and give it to me.” 
It’s all too much, everything coming to a head as you fall over the edge with a cry of his name, clenching so hard around him, you’ve stopped moving with his cock buried to the root, pleasure radiating through your body. 
Joel’s breathing hard under you, and you don’t sound any better while you come down from your high. 
His arms suddenly hug you close to him, and you squeak in surprise when he flips you onto your back with his dick still inside you and his hips nestled in the cradle of your thighs. Lips find yours in a searing kiss, moaning as you taste yourself, welcoming his tongue when it slips into your mouth to tangle with your own. 
He starts moving to chase his high, his thrusts hard and fast. 
The bedsprings are squeaking loudly, the headboard banging into the wall, hearing the wet suck of your pussy taking his cock and your muffled moans paired with his muffled groans. There’s no mistaking what’s happening in this bedroom, and you just hope your neighbors don’t complain in the morning. 
Your fingers have threaded into his hair, your bodies sweaty, his lips leave yours, opening your eyes to see his face screwed up like he’s in pain. 
“Where do you want it?” he grits out. 
If he’s asking, then he knows the risk. 
“Inside.” 
He opens his eyes wide. “Are you sure?” 
It is a rare thing to want these days. 
“Yes.” 
His pace speeds up, grunting as he pistons into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck, feeling his hot breaths. 
“You can fuckin’ have it,” he grunts. “Fuck you full of me—milk me fuckin’ dry. Fuck, you’re perfect.” 
You know he’s close when his thrusts get jerky, then he’s pushing in hard one last time with a guttural groan, feeling the hot spurts of his come filling you, his hips continuing to roll until they finally come to a complete stop. It’s obvious he’s wrung out with how he practically collapses on top of you, but you welcome the weight, pushing your fingers into his hair and scratching at his scalp, which receives appreciative hums. 
Minutes pass that neither of you speaks. 
“‘M sorry,” the words are murmured into your neck. 
“For what?” you softly ask.
“Makin’ you think I didn’t like you.” 
“It’s kinda my fault, too. I mean, I am aware you don’t like people but you’ve eaten two meals a day with me for almost a year, so obviously you must like me somewhat.” 
His head comes up with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips frowning. 
“I like you more than somewhat.” 
You smile. His hair is a mess, and you go about combing your fingers through it as you say, “Yes, I know that now. You like me.” 
“I do.” 
“And I like you.” 
“Good.” 
“I said you’re stuck with me, so can this be more than a one-time thing?” 
His eyes squint in that same way where he thinks something is obvious. 
“What?" he says. "I’m not lettin’ you go anywhere. You’re mine—my Blue.” 
“Good. ‘Cause you’re mine, too.” 
He kisses you passionately, and you lose yourself in it for a second until a thought has your eyes flying open and you pushing his face away. 
“What?” he asks, bewildered. 
“How are you going to tell Ellie?” 
“Shit. Uh, we can sit her down tomorrow night—”
“No, this is a conversation you need to have with her alone.” 
He winces. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow night after dinner...” 
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Is Joel Miller your boyfriend? 
He absolutely hates you giving him that label, grumbling he prefers partner, but yes, he is your boyfriend. 
Did Joel sneak out of your house in the early morning hours to his own so Ellie wouldn’t know he was gone all night?
Also, yes. 
It’s the morning after, and you’re trying to act normal, ignoring how nervous you feel and the soreness between your legs as you sit down in your usual spot in front of Joel with your plate of breakfast. He’s changed into clean clothes and looks like he hasn’t slept, sipping on one of the two cups of shitty coffee in front of him, Ellie next to him already digging into some oatmeal with her spoon, which makes you realize—
“Ah, fuck,” you say, both of them looking at you. “I forgot to grab a fork.” 
“I’ll get you one, baby,” Joel says as he sets his coffee down and starts to get up.
The three of you go completely still. Your eyes are wide, Joel’s close in regret, his cheeks turning pink, and Ellie looks like she’s going to explode with excitement until—
“You guys FUCKED!” she shouts. 
People around the mess hall turn to stare. 
“Ellie,” Joel hisses, his head whipping toward her. 
“Sorry, sorry,” she says in a quieter voice, the rest of the room returning to eating. “I knew it! It’s about fucking time! So when are you getting married?” She’s looking between the two of you. “You know, I’ve always wanted a mom! And a brother! I’ll settle for a sister, though. Is she moving in with us, Joel?” She’s staring at him expectantly with a grin. 
Joel’s face is bright red. “I’m gettin’ the fuckin’ fork,” he grumbles as he gets up from his seat. 
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Masterlist
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romana-after-dark · 3 months
Text
Cry Harder
Dark!Joel Miller x fem!reader
Masterlist : Taglist (NEW TAG LIST)
A follow up to Keep Cry'n, but you don't need to read it to read this. But you do need to read the warnings lol.
For my event, Dead Dove December which is still open until January 1st, and there's no sign up! Plenty of time to join <3
Summery: While keeping you captive, Joel's sex drive is insatiable, and the sex seemed to be never ending. You tried to warm him you needed to use the bathroom... he didn't listen.
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Non con. Piss kink. Dacryphilia. PIV sex, oral f!recieving. Smoothing via pillow. Threat of murder, threat of necrophilia (Joel's just trying to scare her.) little smacking. Degredation, daddy kink.
Immersabilty: Reader is fem.
1k works
A/N: I'M BACK!!! I'll chat a lil more in the notes at the bottom and be sure to read the housekeeping but thanks for sticking around <3
You don't have to like piss kink but don't make fun of me okay lol
Support writers! Reblog and comment
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“That’s it baby, cry harder”
As if you had much of a choice. Joel had you here for 2 days by this point, and the man was fucking insatiable. He had explained to you, not that you asked, that he goes in and out of “shifts”, essentially. For a few weeks, he raids and stocks up on all he needs. Then, if he’s got somewhere decent to stay, he’ll take a pretty girl for a week or so and just go insane on sex, food, and any drugs or booze he could get. You were well fed at least, and sometimes Joel let you take a few hits of weed or sips of alcohol to numb you, but other than that he wasn’t giving many mercies.
It had been hours at this point, no refractory period except sometimes to go have a smoke, but 5 minutes later he came back hard and thrusting into your swollen lips.
You were exhausted, spread out naked on your back as Joel knelt before you, thrusting. You just wanted it to be over, sobbing into the pillow you pulled over your face.
“Awwww, little babies embarrassed? Wassamatter, little baby, don’t want me to hear you moaning again?” Joel taunted you with a laugh. He liked laughing at you. He did make you moan, that was the embarrassing part. Joel wasn’t necessarily trying to make you cum, but he did get giddy and gleeful when the stretch of his cock was enough to make you orgasm.
You weren’t entirely sure that’s what was happening right now, but something was off. “Joel…” You whine into your pillow. “My stomach hurts…”
“Why -thrust- the fuck -thrust- do I care?”
“It feels funny…” You hoped maybe he’d stop if you were sick. Not that he cared about your well being, but rather he wouldn’t want you getting sick all over him. Or maybe he was into that. 
“Just shut the fuck up and -mmmph- just fuck’n take it. Always fuck’n whining like you got a hard job.” Joel smacked a tit, making you whimper and clench down.
Then you realized what the feeling was. “Joel, I gotta- MPH!”
Joel shoved the pillow into your face. “Tired of your fucking voice. ‘Joel I need this, Joel I need that!’” He mocked you in a high pitched voice. “Just shut the fuck up before I smoother you and use your cold pussy instead. Bet the rigor would tight’n you up a bit.”
Fresh tears wet your pillow as you wriggle, trying to keep quiet. You needed to pee. Or maybe you were going to cum. Joel had gotten you pretty drunk this time and his dick jamming into your cervix made everything a little hazy, but you needed to pee, and you needed to pee BAD. Still, the struggle to breath was the first concern. It wasn't cutting off all your hair, but it was getting difficult.
You tried to warn him, but Joel simply kept the pillow over your mouth and he filled you up again and again, thick cock stretching you so far you weren’t sure how you were supposed to be any tighter, but men were never satisfied. The pressure continued to build and suddenly you were very confused; was this an orgasm, pee, or both?
Joel was growing erratic above you, and you wondered if he got off, if this would be it for today. You tried to hold it back, never wanting Joel to have the satisfaction, but the combination of the feeling and Joel in your stomach were too much. Unconsciously, you let go.
Joel stops, not pulling back enough to pull out but enough to see you and you release the warm liquid onto him as you cum. “Oh shit” He chuckles. “Did you squirt?” You remove the pillow the your face to catch him looking at your sore cunt as the liquid isn’t stopping and he realizes what was happening. “Ohhhh fuck!” He says gleefully, thrusting into you with renewed vigor.
“That’s it baby, piss on my cock, ooooooh yes, fuck yes, pee on daddy’s fuck’n cock, mmmmm god, gonna- fuuuuck, gonna cum, gonna cum in daddy’s little piss baby.”
You cover your face with your arms as you cry, sensitive as all hell from cumming hard as you relieve yourself, humiliated but knowing he’s close. Just gotta power through.
Huffing, Joel pressed his hand down on your lower stomach, pushing out more pee as you yelped.
“Goooood DAYUM!” Joel shouts loud in your ear as he cums inside you, filling your tired pussy with his cum.
Joel falls on top of you, laughing, his heavy weight nearly as suffocating as the pillow was. A light chuckle turned louder as he laughed harder and pulled away. As Joel pulled his cock out of your soaked folds, he was all but cackling, derangement in his eyes as he looked at the disaster that was the shitty bed you slept on.
“Such a messy girl…” He eyed your cunt, and you whimper. Joel didn’t go down on you. This was for him to get his dick wet, nothing else…
But soon, his mouth was between your legs, lapping at the mix of cum and piss and sweat between you two, his beard a rubbing irritant against your puffy skin. “Such a pathetic little girl” He muttered between breaths, rutting himself against the bed, and you knew he was hard again. “Fuck’n weird, can’t even keep from making a mess of yourself” He growls, licking you clean. “Fuck’n- ohmygod- fucking disgusting little piss Wh-who-oooooremmmm.” Joel came against the bed, just as you were about to come again, and pulled away.
You can’t help the way your body wriggles as the “Nooo” You whine, ever so quiet. You hated how much he made you want him sometimes. 
Joel giggles, awfully pleased with himself. “Nah, baby, I’m done with you for now. Maybe next time you’ll learn to appreciate when I give you this cock.” 
Butt naked, Joel exited the room, telling you to clean yourself up. “You smell.”
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TW depression, skip to the bold for romana housekeeping
I havn't posted much outside an occasional Blessed Be the Fruit and if you follow my main, you kno why. This semester has been incredibly hard on me, a genuine deep depression i han't experienced in a long, long time. It was awful. I nearly hospitalized myself a few times and I should have but I am american and not insured. I was not safe, and was a danger to myself.
Yet, somehow, I managed to get my course work done and I finished the semmester on friday ;-; now i have 2 weeks approximately off from work which isnt ideal but hey, traveling and shit. Then for about a month I'll be working back at day care again before coming back for second semmester soooooo im hoping this free time will allow me to catch up on writing and reading
Housekeeping
As linked above, this is for my event dead dove December! It's for the Oscar Isaac/ Pedro Pascal fandom, and we got so many fun entries including lots of Joel, some triple frontier (santi AND frankie) William tell, and soon some Jack from mojave, rydall keener and more!! Would love for you to join me! if you dont wanna write but like dead dove, search #deaddovedecember2023 I didn't realize at the time there was a similar event for the bucky barnes fandom but they have the same hastag, so if you like bucky, check them out too!
Also, i'm gonna be working on a new series once Blessed be the Fruit and a few on my main end, a dark!triple frontier. Check out the coming soon info, and comment if you'd like a tag!
Be sure to join the new tag list, as i changed my tag options just a little!
@m0nster-fvcker @miraclesabound @fandxmslxt69
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