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littlepadika · 2 days

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Beach Daddy I. Unexpected Encounters

Rich daddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Wordcount: 5,849

Summary: You find yourself on a luxurious yacht, invited by your old roommate Sarah, only to discover that her new boyfriend is none other than your very recent ex. Feeling out of place and overwhelmed, you take solace in the kindness of Reggie, Joel's intern, who helps you navigate the ship and offers a sympathetic ear.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of cheating, reader has hair and wears a dress, you meet Joel, there's a few random oc's thrown in

Notes: Hi, I hope you enjoy 🥰 if you're feeling saucy after comments and reblogs and thoughts are always welcome! Ty @saradika-graphics for the dividers

As soon as the soles of your worn-out converse hit the wood of the dock, you know you're underdressed. Your old roommate, Sarah, has invited you to spend a few weeks on her father's boat. But as you approach the enormous white yacht docked at the end of the pier, you realize this is no ordinary boat. The yacht's sides are lined with three stories of windows, reflecting the ocean's crystal clear water.

From where you're standing, you can make out a double staircase leading to an upper deck with a circular swimming pool large enough to land a helicopter in. Men and women in matching black and white uniforms pace the decks, preparing the ship to leave the marina.

When Sarah invited you, you had no idea the vacation would be so extravagant. If you had known, you would have packed something nicer than your department store shorts and tank tops. Truthfully, you don't own anything that would make you feel undressed on a yacht that likely costs more than a private island.

"Wow," you say to yourself.

"What was that, miss? Is there something I can help you with?" The driver asks you.

"Oh, sorry, no, I’m fine. Thank you, though," you answer sheepishly.

"Don’t worry about your bags, miss. Someone from the ship will be down shortly to get them and take them to your room."

Sarah sent a Cadillac to the airport to bring you to the private dock her father owns. You appreciate the gesture more than she knows because even though you accepted her vacation invitation, you're on a very tight budget. Splurging for a taxi from the airport to the Florida coast would have left you choosing between buying textbooks or food when your next semester starts.

This vacation marks the beginning of a massive change in your life. After graduating with your Master’s Degree from NYU, you got accepted into Harvard Law School. You'll be moving out of New York City at the end of the summer and getting a new start.

You worked at a hole-in-the-wall bar to pay your tuition and barely scraped together rent each month from your tips. You lived in an apartment that you shared with your two roommates, Lin and Aubrey. You're not renewing your lease on that dilapidated and overpriced apartment, and the thought of finally getting to quit your job is a fantastic feeling.

After all of the excitement of opening your acceptance letter from Harvard, you notice a shift in the one person you thought would remain your constant through all of the change. That person is Todd, your boyfriend of two years. He dumped you with no explanation the night before graduation.

So when you receive a text from Sarah inviting you on a vacation, you accept without hesitation. You're still hurting from the breakup and wanting to be anywhere other than New York.

"Miss?" A woman in a white polo and black knee-length skirt asks you.

"Uh, yes."

"If you will follow me. Miss Miller is waiting for you."

"Of course," you say with a small smile. It's typical that Sarah would send someone to get you rather than meet you at the dock herself, but you ignore it. You're on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, and you're going to enjoy every minute of it.

As you reach the deck with the swimming pool, you hear a high-pitched version of your name being yelled and you instantly remember why Sarah and you are friends. She has a way of making you feel special.

Sarah is lounging on a deck chair in a glamorous white bikini with a blue chiffon kimono. As she stands to greet you, you're surprised she's wearing high heels. You thought women only did that on the runway–or maybe in certain kinds of movies....

"Sarah! It is so good to see you. You look amazing, by the way." You're not surprised to see that Sarah already has a pink fruity drink in her hand.

"Oh, thanks. Daddy bought me a new yacht wardrobe while we were in Paris. Isn't this bikini just to die for?" She asks.

"It really is." You smile with your response.

"You look cute too. You’re always dressed like you're in a Gap advertisement."

Your smile almost falters, but you catch it before Sarah notices. You had almost forgotten how Sarah can make you feel special one moment and two feet tall the next.

"The yacht is gorgeous. I had no idea what to expect; I’ve never been on a boat like this before." You admit while brushing off Sarah's previous comment.

"I figured this would be a big treat for you. It’s a shame most of my other friends have a fashion show in London. Anyway, I am glad you could make it."

"I'm glad I could make it too," you say, still trying to maintain your smile.

Sarah snaps her fingers at a young man cleaning the pool while wearing a uniform that indicates he is part of the yacht’s staff. He immediately stops what he's doing, brings over a second pink drink, and hands it to you.

"Thank you so much," you say to him with a sympathetic smile. You take a small sip and are sure you will be having many more of these; it's delicious. The pineapple juice perfectly complements the rum.

"Good, right? It’s a Caribbean rum punch." Sarah says, clearly watching the enjoyment on your face.

"It’s really good. I’ve made these for customers before, but I haven’t had the chance to try one."

"Oh, you still work at that little dive bar?" Sarah asks, but she is clearly uninterested and does not intend to wait for your answer. "You are going to love the yacht," she continues without skipping a beat. "Daddy bought it last year; it is much better than his old one. You and I will be on the second floor, right off this deck, with the pool. Daddy is on the third floor in the main suite. He has a whole deck to himself, but each of our rooms has its own balcony."

You had not had a room to yourself in six years. In your apartment, all three of you shared one bedroom because you couldn’t possibly afford anything bigger. The thought of a room and a balcony all to yourself feels almost too good to be true.

"That sounds amazing, Sarah. I can not begin to thank you enough for inviting me. You have no idea how badly I needed this. I just went through the worst break -"

Sarah cuts you off before you can finish.

"Daddy keeps to himself. He says he has work to do or something like that. So most of the time, we will have the ship to ourselves. It's going to be the biggest party. Daddy even hired a DJ as part of the staff after I begged him."

"Who is us?" You ask wondering how many people she has invited.

"You, me, my boyfriend, and a few other friends. Everyone else will be coming a bit later. They’re taking Megan's private jet, so they'll get in just before we set sail.”

Part of you is nervous to meet the rest of Sarah’s friends. People who have their own private jets are not your usual crowd. However, you feel a bit relieved that there will be other people to entertain Sarah so you can find some time for yourself to relax. Sarah is the type of person who can party for hours on end. She always has to go to one more party, one more bar, or one more club before calling it a night.

“Maybe don’t mention to the others that you could only afford to fly commercial. If you do, at least lie and say you flew first class.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend Sarah,” you say, purposely trying to change the subject. “How long have you been seeing him?” Sarah must have changed more than you realized, because in the past she never would have settled for one man. Sarah knows this and flaunts it. She has a line of guys wanting to date her and she likes it that way.

“We have been seeing each other for four months now. He is absolutely amazing. You are going to love him. Plus he's super hot!” She gushes.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” you say with a bit of a laugh.

“You will soon, he just went to our rooms to get his sunglasses. Oh, here he comes now,” Sarah says with a huge smile lighting up her face.

He walks out onto the deck, wraps an arm around Sarah’s waist, and pulls her in for a kiss. Then he turns to you as though you had never met.

“Hey, I’m Todd.”

“Todd?” you say, completely dumbfounded by the fact that your very recent ex-boyfriend is standing in front of you with his arm around Sarah.

“Yea, I’m Sarah's boyfriend. She told me one of her old roommates would be joining us.”

“Um, yea.” You respond awkwardly. At first, you don’t understand why Todd would act like he doesn’t know you, but then a lump forms in your throat. Sarah says they have been together for four months.

“Hey, you should go get changed, and we can all go up to dinner together. We're eating on the rooftop deck tonight.” Sarah says, completely missing the strangeness of your interaction with Todd. She snaps her fingers again at another member of the yacht staff. “Will you show her to her room?”

“Of course. If you will follow me,” the woman says and starts walking towards the double doors leading into the ship.

You glance back at Todd and Sarah and quickly wish you hadn’t. Todd is kissing her again, and then he winks at you as his hand starts sliding down her back. You turn away quickly before you have to see where his hand lands.

“You are in the first room to the right.”

“Thank you so much-” you pause.

“Molly.”

“Thank you so much, Molly. Also, I'm sorry about the snapping. I work as a bartender and always hate when people snap to get my attention.”

Molly smiles genuinely at you after your comment. “Thank you, but we are all used to Sarah and her ways. There is an intercom in your room. If you need anything, just press the button, and someone downstairs will respond.”

You nod and open the door to your room, but room is an understatement. The size and luxury of the room are unlike anything you have ever experienced. The main room houses a king-size bed covered in a white silk comforter. There is also a lounge area with two modern black leather sofas. And your suitcase is already waiting for you on an ottoman at the foot of the bed.

You sigh and throw yourself onto the bed face down in the comforter. It seems like a bad dream that Todd is here, pretending he doesn’t know you, let alone date you for two years.

You were comfortable, and your relationship was secure, or so you thought. It started with little things, like Todd bailing on plans you'd made and how he stopped inviting you to spend any time at his place.

Aubrey was always suspicious of Todd, but you never questioned him. Because you knew, deep down, he was cheating on you, but you went on pretending because it was easier than losing him. You didn’t have to pretend for very long because he dumped you the day before graduation.

You cried for hours on the living room couch as Lin and Aubrey comforted you and supplied you with all the ice cream you could eat. You picked yourself up the morning of graduation and packed away your pain. You would not let Todd, or anyone else, see you beaten; you thought maybe that would make you a good lawyer one day.

You walked across that stage and accepted your diploma with a giant smile on your face because you truly earned it and right after the ceremony, you let yourself fall into misery again.

And now he's dating Sarah.

Sarah had said that they’d started dating four months ago, which meant that Todd was definitely cheating on you. It was just hard to believe that he cheated on you with one of your friends.

Sure, Sarah and you fell in and out of touch as your lives drifted apart, but it still made the betrayal hurt more.

During college, you were very different people. Sarah attended NYU for the party life and never missed an opportunity to go out and have fun. You spent most of your time studying to ensure you didn’t lose your scholarship. Even though you had your differences, you got along for the most part, and while you were living together, you became close friends.

You allow yourself a few more moments of self-pity before pulling yourself off of the bed. You didn't let Todd see you beat at graduation, and you aren't going to let him see it now.

You make your way to your suitcase and roll it into the connecting ensuite. As you walk through the double doors of the ensuite, you are shocked again by the sheer size of the yacht. You take your time unpacking each item of clothing and hanging it in the closet. You pick out a black knee-length dress, which is the nicest thing you have brought, and change into it.

Just as you finish touching up your makeup, you hear the click of the door latch opening.

“Hey, are you ready? Everyone else is here, and we are all heading up to eat,” Sarah says while she bursts into the room without bothering to knock.

“Yeah. Perfect timing. I just finished.” You walk out of the ensuite and see her standing in a floor-length dress made of silvery fabric. She takes one quick look at you outfit and says nothing, obviously unimpressed by your simple choice. You follow her out into the hallway, where three women and four men in black tie attire talk among themselves.

Sarah makes quick introductions, but the only name you catch is that of the tall brunette woman, Megan, the one with the private jet. Your hands are already starting to sweat, and you're honestly grateful that most of the other guests ignore your presence as waiters bring plate after plate of food and set it in front of each of you.

“Megan, how was the flight here?” Sarah asks.

"Oh, it's the worst. My mom has to take the big jet to Japan for a business conference, so I'm stuck with the little jet. Hudson nearly hit his head on the ceiling because it's so small." Megan throws a seductive look at the tall man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't have the worst flight. She had to fly commercial," Sarah says, gesturing towards you.

"You poor thing. I've never flown commercial, but I hear it's horrible. Do you really have to sit next to strangers?"

"Yeah, you do, but not in first class." You say remembering that Sarah had told you to say you flew first class even though you didn't.

It's typical of Sarah to throw you under scrutiny when you had planned to avoid talking about how you got here or anything else to do with money, for that matter. Luckily, the one dig at you seems to be enough for Sarah because she gets distracted by Todd.

"You are the sexiest woman I have ever met," Todd says as he runs his hand up Sarah's arm.

"You two are the absolute cutest," the woman sitting on your right says.

"Oh, I know, right? It's so fun that we are equally numbered men to women," Megan says, throwing another look at Hudson, who seems completely clueless.

You eat your meal in silence and try your best not to watch Sarah and Todd. However, it's hard to ignore the fact that Todd has abandoned his meal and is instead licking Sarah's neck. She laughs, runs her fingers into his mess of brown curls, and pulls his face to hers.

You make it all the way to dessert before you can't take it anymore and quietly slip away from the table. Of course, no one sees you leave; if they did, no one cares.

As the door closes behind you, a few tears start streaming down your face. You have to get back to your room before anyone finds you crying. You quickly wipe the tears from your cheeks and do your best to keep any more from falling.

The day's events have finally hit you in full force. You're angry and hurt that Todd has been cheating on you the whole time, and now you have to spend your vacation watching him and Sarah together.

You're so distracted in your thoughts that you run straight into a rock-solid chest.

You had hoped you just ran into one of the yacht's staff members, but you quickly realize the man is not wearing the uniform. All you can see is a suit jacket. You pull back and continue to try to hold back your tears.

"I am so sorry; I should have been watching where I was going," you say while trying to plan your escape.

When you look up at who you ran into, you're met with the most beautiful brown eyes you've ever seen.

"Are you okay, Miss?”

—♡—

Joel is walking down the hallway on his way to the upper deck when he hears a loud burst of laughter. He sighs in frustration; this was supposed to be a quiet escape from work, yet his yacht is full of a bunch of twenty-year-olds.

He had invited Sarah, as a way to spend a bit of time together this summer. Then Sarah asked if she could bring her new boyfriend along, and he agreed without much thought.

Joel met Todd earlier in the week over breakfast, and he seemed like a good kid. He works in finance for his father’s financial firm in New York, so they immediately have so much to talk about.

He is very complimentary of Joel's recent purchase of Explore Air, the second airline that he now owns. It truly is a good purchase, and he has big plans for expansion.

Joel is impressed that Sarah has picked someone who is putting down roots, and he seems like a stable choice. Sarah has never introduced him to a boyfriend before, so he is taking their relationship seriously.

Having her boyfriend join them would be an easy way for him to get to know him better and also give Joel a little more time for himself, which is probably a little selfish. It’s not that he doesn’t love his daughter; he finds it difficult spending time with his daughter; they aren’t very close. He had only found out she existed fourteen years ago, and trying to connect with a ten-year-old with whom he has nothing in common has not been easy.

It doesn’t help that he has bought her everything she could possibly ask for–for the last fourteen years. In the beginning, he did it to make up for missing the first ten years of her life, but after that, it just became easier than dealing with her when she didn’t get what she wanted.

Sarah is now a spoiled and entitled twenty-four-year-old with no plans for her life other than partying and spending as much money as possible.

In classic Sarah fashion, his agreement to let her bring her boyfriend along turned into her filling each one of his guest rooms with her rich and arrogant friends. Sarah also hired a DJ against his wishes, but after a hysterical outburst where she accused him of not loving her, she got her way, just like always. So his quiet and relaxing vacation with his daughter quickly turned into him hosting a summer-long party.

Before he heads to his stateroom, he figures he better play the welcoming host and go up to greet Sarah and her friends. As Joel turns a corner, he bumps into someone. The woman has her head down, so all he can see is her hair.

“I am so sorry; I should have been watching where I was going,” the woman says.

When her eyes finally meet Joel’s, he is surprised it looks like she is fighting tears.

“Are you okay, miss?” Joel says in response. He feels dumb as soon as the words are out of his mouth. She, very obviously, is not okay.

“Yes. I’m just heading back to my room, uh, sir,” she says as she straightens up, obviously not wanting to be caught crying.

“Oh right,” Joel replies, suddenly realizing that she called him sir, so she must be one of the maids.

He starts picking through his memories, trying to remember when he’d hired her. Reggie must have been the one to interview her because he surely would have remembered a woman so captivating.

“Before you do that, would you head up to my stateroom and unpack my luggage? I'm afraid it's been delivered later than usual. Had some business I had to attend to before leaving port, and I didn't get here as early as I would have liked.”

“Oh - I am - Uh -” she starts staring at the floor.

Joel stands waiting for her response. He thinks it is cute how flustered she is; perhaps it's because he makes her nervous. That's pretty common with new hires, but oddly, she makes him feel a bit flustered, which is completely uncommon.

“Yes,” she stammers.

“Thank you so much -” he says with a smile, leaving a pause in hopes that she would tell him her name, but she quickly turns and heads in the opposite direction. He can't help but stare as she walks away. As she slips around a corner and out of sight, he sighs, knowing he needs to make an appearance upstairs.

Joel walks out onto the deck, where a large dining table is placed and decorated with an extravagant centerpiece. The stars reflect over the ocean and create a stunning backdrop for his daughter's dinner party. He is really impressed at how well the staff has done at transforming this space, most likely with very particular instructions from Sarah.

“Daddy!” Sarah screams as he makes his way out onto the deck. She screams a lot, but he notices most girls her age do. Thankfully it looks as though their dinner party is just wrapping up; waiters are clearing away everything from the table.

Sarah runs over and hugs him.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says kissing the top of her head. “Is everything goin' alright?”

“Everything has gone perfectly so far. The yacht is so awesome; I think my friends could die out of jealousy.”

Joel remains silent, not knowing how to respond to Sarah's need to be the envy of other people. He would leave figuring that out to her mother, Marnie. They hardly speak other than when she needs money from him, which is more often than he'd like.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller,” Todd says as he makes his way over and shakes Joel's hand.

“S'good to see you again, Todd.”

“Likewise. I’d like to discuss a real estate investment I'm working on for a client when you have the time. I would love to get your opinion.”

“Of course. We can talk about it tomorrow night over some drinks.”

“I look forward to it, Mr. Miller.”

Joel continues to greet Sarah's friends and make small talk for as long as he can manage. He makes his exit by lifting a glass of champagne in the air and toasting, “To an amazing summer.”

Sarah's friends echo his toast, followed by cheering and chatting amongst themselves. Joel slips out and heads over to a hidden elevator, which goes up one more floor where his room and private deck are located. He really hopes that the group makes their way to their rooms soon. He's exhausted and can not wait to slip into sleep.

He opens the double doors to his room and is slightly disappointed that the maid he met earlier was already gone. His suitcase was missing from where he left it, so she must have come and gone while he was greeting my guests.

He immediately makes his way to the bar cart and pours himself a glass of whiskey taking a long sip of his drink, he can't stop his mind from wandering back to the maid he ran into. It’d been a long time since someone had caught his attention as she did. She did seem much younger than him, though. He wasn’t sure that would be a problem.

He walks over to the screen mounted on the wall next to the door, and at the press of a button, the wall of windows at the far end of the room slid open, eliminating the barrier between his living room and private deck. That feature was one of the main reasons he purchased this particular yacht. He thought there would be nothing better than feeling the ocean breeze and hearing the waves even while hiding away in his stateroom.

He steps onto his deck and could see the dinner party continuing without him one deck below. The muffled sounds of conversation and laughing are the only sound drifting up to him.

Joel sips his drink and watches the white foamy waves follow the yacht as they move through the water. It's the only way he can tell they're moving as the sky darkens to a deep blue. He sits back, relaxing, and imagines the woman's eyes staring back at him.

—♡—

“Are you okay, miss?” the attractive man asks after you run directly into him.

“Yes. I’m just heading back to my room, uh, sir,” you respond.

“Oh, right,” he says, lost in thought. He pauses for a few seconds and then continues.

You stumble over your words, mortified that he clearly thinks you are a member of the staff rather than a guest on the yacht. However, you suppose you look nothing like the typical guests.

“Yes,” you finally say, deciding it is easier than trying to explain the mix-up. He thanks you and continues standing there, staring at you, making sure you are actually going to go unpack for him.

You quickly turn and head back down the long hallway. You must be headed in the right direction because the man does not tell you otherwise. Unfortunately, this is leading you in the opposite direction of your room.

You take a few turns, trying not to accidentally run into the man again and have to explain that you don’t work for him. You should have just told him from the start, but he startled you, and you got a bit distracted staring at his face.

He has a very nice face and a very nice body, and you can’t stop thinking about him. It isn’t too long before you are completely turned around; the ship is so outlandishly large.

Exhausted and embarrassed, you find a small alcove off of the main hallway, lean your back against the wall, and slide to the floor. You just need a minute to yourself to get control of your emotions, but a door opens next to you and cuts that time short.

You jump to your feet and smooth your hands over your dress.

“Hello, I don’t think we’ve met,” the man says. He is very clean-cut, with smooth black hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. You guess that he isn’t much older than you are.

“I’m a friend of Sarah’s,” you introduce yourself, not wanting to get mistaken for part of the staff again.

“Oh, wonderful. I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he says with a genuine smile. You feel at ease in his presence, happy to have finally found someone who isn’t already judging you.

“I am, but I may need some help. I ran into someone down the hall, who mistook me for one of the maids and asked me to unpack for him. I don’t want anyone to get into trouble if it doesn’t get done,” you say, slightly embarrassed. “Can you help me?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry that happened to you. Do you know who it was?”

“Uh, it was a man wearing a very nice suit - but that probably doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“Not exactly,” he says with a sympathetic grin.

“He was tall with dark brown hair that perfectly complements his brown eyes. He had a concrete jaw that was peppered with black and silver facial hair. His voice was deep, had a southern accent, and he smelled like sandalwood,” you say, picturing the man in your head.

After a few moments, you realize you’ve said way too much. If you could have jumped off the railing and into the ocean, you would have.

“That is Mr. Miller,” he says quickly, saving you from further embarrassment. “I am his intern, so I can make sure someone goes and takes care of his luggage.”

Did he say… Mr. Miller? As in, Sarah’s dad?

“Thank you so much,” you say. “You will have to forgive me. It’s been a long night, and I’ve been so rude and haven’t asked your name.”

“You can call me Reggie.”

“Well, thank you so much, Reggie. Can I ask you for one more favor?”

“Of course,” Reggie says with his signature smile.

“I got a little turned around after leaving the dinner party upstairs, and I’m not sure how to get back to my room.”

“It would be my pleasure to escort you back to your stateroom, Miss,” he says and offers you his arm.

“Thank you so much,” you say as you take his arm, absolutely delighted by the gesture.

Reggie is leading the way back to your room when he says, “Please don’t hold it against Mr. Miller for mistaking you for part of the staff. He has been under a lot of stress lately and passed the hiring off to me. Since you weren’t at the dinner party, it’s likely he just figured that you were a new hire. He really is a kind person and would have never intentionally offended you.”

“He didn’t offend me. I know I don’t fit with Sarah’s other friends, so it was an easy mistake to make. I could have straightened everything out, but I was a little distracted by some personal issues.”

“Do you need to vent?” Reggie asks innocently.

“It’s just that I went through a really difficult breakup, and I hoped this trip would help me get my mind off of him. It hasn’t worked out that way,” you say, trying to remain as vague as possible.

“I’m very sorry. Was it a long relationship?”

“Two years.”

“Ouch. Well, just give it a bit more time. With what Miss Miller has scheduled, I’m sure you will have plenty of distractions to keep your mind off of things.”

You laugh. “I’m sure you’re right. There is never a dull moment with Sarah around.”

Just as your conversation wraps up, you reach your door. You are so relieved to be back in your room that you could have hugged Reggie. You feel like you could talk to him about anything, and it helps you to feel as though there is at least one person on this ship who has not immediately judged you.

“Thank you so much for all of your help, Reggie. I don’t know what I would have done had I not run into you.”

“I’m here to help anytime. That goes for all of the staff on the yacht. If you need anything at all, just ask.”

You nod as Reggie walks away, and you slip into your room.I You head straight to the bathroom for that giant tub you discovered earlier. You have never been so in need of washing away the events of a day before.

You soak for almost an hour when the water starts getting cold, you reluctantly pull yourself out and wrap yourself in a fluffy bath towel.

You change into your pajamas, a pair of gray shorts, and a Harvard T-shirt. Your grandfather sent you the T-shirt as soon as you told him you’d been accepted; he was so proud.

You pull out your phone to send him a quick text telling him that you are okay. You should have sent it as soon as you arrived, but you forget in the chaos of seeing Todd with his arm around Sarah's waist.

You type out a quick message reading, "Hi Gramps. I made it safe. I will keep you updated. Love you." When you go to hit send, you realize you have no service. So not only would you not be able to contact your grandpa, but you can't update Lin and Aubrey about this horrible situation you are in. You sigh in defeat and toss your phone onto the bed.

Instead of talking with your friends, you use the intercom system in your room to call down for a cup of chamomile tea. You are shocked at how quickly there is a knock at your door. You take the tray and make your way out onto your private balcony.

The balcony is large enough to fit a lounge chair and a small breakfast table. You quickly make plans to put that to use in the morning. It would be amazing to sip your coffee and listen to the sound of the ocean.

You take a seat on the lounge chair and place your tray in front of you. A tiny teapot and matching cup are accompanied by a small plate of macaron cookies. You pour yourself a cup of tea and bite into one of the pink, dainty cookies.

You can't help thinking that this vacation would be perfect if you could spend the whole time in this room. Unfortunately, you would have to come out eventually and face Todd. You could have told Sarah the truth about Todd being your ex, but now that you are sailing, you have no escape.

It would have made the rest of the vacation unbearably awkward if you'd told Sarah. You have to keep this secret, at least until you are all back on land. A flash of shame hits you when you remember the other secret you would have to keep from Sarah.

The fact that you are undeniably attracted to her dad.

#to read

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littlepadika · 2 days

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Fuck Me, Fill Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader | W/C: ~4K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break. You spent years successfully avoiding one. Except things are different now, you're ready for more. Your husband Joel is more than happy to oblige.

Warnings: Joel has one mission in this one -- knock you the fuck up (if that's not your thing, kindly move on). Heavy on the breeding kink. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). So much dirty talk. Fingering. Dry humping/grinding. Praise kink. Size kink. Unprotected P in V. Rough sex. Semi-public sex. Sex in front of a mirror. Multiple creampies. No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: I have no excuses for this one except that I have Joel brain rot and baby fever. Shoutout to the Capital One Lounge at IAD for the idea. Written on a plane.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break.

It’s inevitable, really. A known fact of life. Call it Murphy’s law, bad luck, or just plain stupidity…

You’ve spent the majority of your teens and 20s successfully avoiding an accident.

If it can happen, it will happen your superstitious aunt used to say, and you were a believer.

Lord knows you've had more than enough evidence in your life to back up her words. From the tummy ache after eating way too many cherries, to the conspicuous brown stain that ruined your pristine white blouse. A blister on your heel from shoes that were supposed to be 'broken in' but never quite were, and the painful crack in your skin that followed. Proof was everywhere, and you learned to expect the unexpected.

You hold tight to that belief, while Joel does the same to your hips, fucking you within an inch of your life in the airport lounge bathroom.

But how you both ended up in this position was no accident.

++++

It never seemed like the right time—you had so much more to explore, achieve, and experience. Becoming a mother would complicate everything; at least, that's what you convinced yourself. You were content to rely on that little orange pill each day, despite its own set of side effects, because it kept your options open.

You weren't sure you'd make a good mom anyway. Your own mother certainly wasn't a shining example, and you had no reason to think you'd be any different. You couldn't even keep a cactus alive—how could you possibly care for a child?

But something changed not long after you and Joel got married. Maybe it was maturity slowly finding its way in, like warm honey filling the spaces you once closed off. It softened you to the idea of chubby cheeks and tiny fingers, gentle coos, and quiet lullabies sung in the deep southern drawl that had become so familiar.

Initially, you weren't sure how Joel would take the news, but when you told him you'd reconsidered, his reaction was beyond anything you'd expected. He was over the moon, filled with an urgency you'd never seen in him before. It was like you'd handed him the key to his deepest desires, and he was eager, almost desperate, to turn it and bring new life into your world, yours and his.

He made it clear just how eager he was when he took you in his arms and twirled you around the kitchen in joy. Then, without missing a beat, he bent you over the counter, yanked down your jeans, and made his intentions unmistakably clear. He fucked his cum so deep inside of you that night that you felt the warm dribble of him the next morning.

++++

Good things come to those who wait.

The words seem almost lifeless as they peer back at you, the paper they're printed on showing signs of age and Scotch tape keeping it glued to the break room wall above the microwave. The optimism they once held has faded, leaving behind nothing but cynicism and wear.

Yeah. Right.

The shrill beep of the microwave snaps you back to the present, your shoulders tensing. You shake off your irritation, clutching the warm coffee that’s been reheated three times, its heat barely reaching the chill of your underlying pessimism. It’s a small comfort, but enough to soften the ache of disappointment that nags at you every month when hope fizzles out.

Back at your desk, you bury yourself in work, flipping through emails and juggling various applications. Headphones in, you’re almost lost in your own world when a notification on your phone pulls you back. It's your cycle tracking app, reminding you that you're due to ovulate in a couple of days. But wait—

No, no, no. You quickly count the days in your head, then scramble to open your work calendar. The schedule's a blur until your eyes land on the words "Work Trip: Jackson, Wyoming." They jump off the screen, almost mocking you. Looks like timing won't be on your side this month. Unless —

Would it be too ridiculous to change an entire work trip just so you could make love to your ridiculously hot husband, and let him fill you again and again? You think not, but you know your boss might say otherwise.

You spend the rest of your workday figuring out Plan B. The irony is not lost on you that you’re seeking out an entirely different kind than you used to.

++++

As you settle into the couch, your legs draped across his lap, he begins to massage the soles of your feet in that soothing way that sends a ripple of warmth up your spine. You can't help but glance at his side profile—the elegant slope of his nose, the chiseled cut of his jaw, and the effortless curls of his salt-and-pepper hair that rest at the nape of his neck. He's undeniably handsome, a sight that never gets old.

His touch spreads a slow heat across your skin, your stomach fluttering in response. It's always been this way—the world could be crumbling outside, but with Joel, in your shared cocoon, you feel entirely at ease, wrapped in safety and affection.

“You're really gorgeous, you know,” you murmur, almost too quietly to be heard. You swirl the wine in your glass and meet his gaze as you take a sip.

“Nah, that's you, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink, his touch transitioning to featherlight kitten caresses as his fingers trace a path up your shin. He's not trying to seduce you, not really, but his touch and the intent gaze he holds on you are enough to ignite a slow burn under your skin.

You relax into the cushions, your head sinking back into the pillow, reveling in this moment. When he pauses, even for a second, you squirm, and he chuckles softly. “Such a needy little thing, aren't cha?” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he resumes his gentle strokes. “Mhm, sure am,” you hum, your eyes closing as you melt into the sensation of his skin on yours.

He slowly journeys upward, callused palms gliding along the smooth skin of your thigh, alternating between soft strokes and firm squeezes. Each touch seems to awaken a deeper need within you, and you're all too aware of the growing bulge beneath your calves, a silent but potent reminder of the desire simmering between you. It's enough to make you ache for him, crave his closeness, the kind of closeness only he can provide.

You lift your head, and he's already adjusting, his broad frame looming over you. He locks eyes with you as he takes the wineglass from your hand, placing it on the coffee table with care, then shifts his full attention back to you. You push your hips upward, meeting his, and he presses down just enough to make it clear that he’s in control, his body holding you firmly but without discomfort. You know he’s got you right where he wants you.

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity in his gaze leaves no doubt—this is happening. He props himself up on one forearm, his other hand tangling through your hair, his knuckles brushing against your cheek with a tender touch. He thrusts his hips into you with more urgency, his lips descending to capture yours, drawing out a soft moan from deep within you.

“Fuck sweetheart, feel what you do to me?” he groans, pressing his lips harder against yours. He tastes the wine on you, and your tongues intertwine, each movement slow but deliberate. You work your arms free from your sides and slide your hands into his hair, tugging gently, your nails grazing his scalp. The deep groan that escapes him tells you he's feeling everything—the pull, the scrape, the heat. It rumbles from his chest, reverberating through you, and it's intoxicating.

With your lips pressed firmly to his, he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a teasing bite as he thrusts against you. The rough denim scrapes against your inner thighs, and he slots himself perfectly between your legs. His mouth leaves yours, tracing a path of soft kisses down your jawline, lingering at that sensitive spot just behind your ear before he pulls the lobe into his mouth. You moan, fingers tangled in his hair, while your other hand explores the broad expanse of his back, craving the feel of him, unable to get enough.

“Joel,” you whimper, his name almost a question on your lips.

He doesn't pause, thrusting with just the right pressure, almost ignoring your plea. You move your lips to his shoulder and whisper, “I’m ovulating.”

That makes him stop. He props himself up on one forearm, his free hand on your ribs, his intense gaze locking onto yours. His eyes darken, pupils eclipsing the rich brown you know so well, and he groans deeply. Fuck.

“Yeah, sweetheart? Mmm, big mistake telling me that, now I’m just going to pump you full of my cum all night, gonna fuck you again and again, keep you so full of me that it’ll have no choice but to stick this time.”

You whimper at the thought, and his words go straight to your already wet core, your pussy fluttering around nothing, practically begging to be filled.

You want him so bad, but right now, he wants you more — wants every part of you, wants to change you forever. His head dips back to your neck, and he's practically grinding into you, the pressure so intense it feels like he's already fucking you through your clothes. His beard rasps against your cheek, leaving a trail of red marks as he works his way down to your chest, hastily undoing buttons, uncovering your breasts, and teasing your nipples to hard, eager peaks.

It would almost be embarrassing how turned on you are right now if it were anyone but him, how easily he can fluster you, turn you into a babbling mess.

“Well, not right now, but I am next —” you start to say, but quickly lose your train of thought as his whole hand comes down to cup your sex and the feel of his palm pressing against your dripping center.

“Sorry darlin’, what was that?” He asks, doing little to hide the smug tone behind his voice, obviously pleased with the effect he has on you.

“I am next week, while I’m supposed to be in Jackson for work,” you manage to get out, the words coming out soft, a barely there thought, your attention mostly on the sensation of his thick finger that has now curled its way deep inside of you, your panties pushed to the side as they should never have been there in the first place, not with him in the room.

“Come with me,” you ask, your words a tad breathless as he adds another finger to your dripping center, your slick coating them completely, and when he doesn’t answer, you’re not sure he heard you behind the haze of his arousal, the blood thrumming through his veins. Not that you can blame him, it’s so hard to fucking think, to breathe, to string together a rational thought that isn’t dirty when you’re together like this.

“Gotta feel this pussy first,” he rasps, the words slightly muffled against the tenderness of your breast. His words sober you for a brief second, as you playfully push against him in protest.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," you laugh, and he can't suppress the goofy grin spreading across his face. He loves this—the playful banter, the way you bring out his lighter side, the perfect blend of passion and humor that flows between you. It's always been like this, effortlessly flirty, endlessly fun. You’re the perfect combination of sexy and cute, and better yet, you’re all his.

“Alright baby, I’ll come with you, on one condition,” he says, adding a third finger, and the stench of him is intoxicatingly delicious, perfect, and intense in the best way. You already feel so fucked out, you’re not sure how he’s managing to find the will to set fucking conditions right now, but still, you humor him —

“Conditions, huh?” You moan as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the pads of his fingers grazing at the soft spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

“Yeah, sweetheart, conditions,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and come all over my fingers, and then I’ll make sure that you’re full of me all week, whenever you want it baby, I’m all yours,” he rasps, his breath coming a bit more ragged now at the thought of your proposition and his.

His fingers are still deep inside of you, he positions his wrist just right and brings the pad of his thumb to your clit. Your slick, combined with his filthy fucking mouth, and his thick cock pressed against you, creates the perfect conditions for the inevitable. He’s never not made you come, and you sure as hell know he’s not about to change that narrative now.

If it can happen, it will happen.

“Come on pretty girl, show me how pretty you come on your husband’s fingers,” he says, not really asking, but rather ordering in the tone that lights every nerve in your body on fire with arousal.

The warmth in your lower belly spreads outward, wrapping you in a blanket of pleasure. Your limbs tingle, your vision blurs, and your toes curl as the intensity builds. For a split second, everything goes hazy, and you let go, surrendering to him completely. He takes control, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy, pulling you into a bliss that only he knows how to reach.

“So good for me, sweetheart. You are so perfect.”

He makes you come once more soon after and then fucks you deep and slow. It’s all whispered praises in your ear, a firm grip on your hips, and his cock barely leaving your cunt before he’s slamming back into you, desperate to keep the tip of him as close to your cervix as possible.

Come with me, you moan, and he knows exactly what you mean this time.

“Shit, baby, I can feel you squeezing me, taking me so good —” his words break with a moan as you come for the third time, falling apart on his cock, before he adds “gripping me so goddamn tight.”

His thrusts slow and he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, and paints your insides in thick ropes of cum, holding your gaze as he throbs inside, not daring to move and risk any of his spend coming out before he wants it to.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips and tells you that you’re going to look even more gorgeous with his baby inside of you.

++++

The delayed flight to Jackson was just another reminder of life's unpredictability.

What started as a simple 30-minute delay quickly turned into an hour, then two, and now you're both three hours past your original departure time.

You find yourselves in one of the newer airport lounges, sitting in overly posh chairs. It's surprisingly uncrowded given the chaos that usually comes with airport delays. Your luggage is safely tucked away in the lockers, your bellies are full from the free snacks, and the irritation from earlier is fading thanks to the complimentary drinks. The ambiance is unexpectedly chic. Even the bathrooms feel upscale—private, enormous mirrors, fancy soap, and paper towels so luxurious they might as well be hand towels.

Joel is deep into a well-worn Western novel, its cover frayed and spine cracked from countless readings. You're scrolling through an article about the best positions for conceiving, smirking when you realize you and Joel have tried most of them, and then some. Just as you're in the middle of your read, your cycle tracking app sends a notification—you're at peak fertility, starting now. Have fun! ;)

Shit.

Who knows when you'll actually make it to your hotel room in Jackson tonight? You glance up from your phone, stealing a look at Joel. He's always handsome, but there's something about him in his glasses—the way the frames sit on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on the words in his book. It's endearing how he still reads with such intensity, even though you know he's revisited these same pages countless times.

Your pussy flutters and aches at the sight, giving you a cheeky idea. He did say you could have him whenever you wanted.

You clear your throat, hoping to pull Joel's focus from his book, but he doesn't seem to notice. You try again, this time a bit louder, and all you get is a distracted, "You okay, sweetheart?" without him even glancing up.

You know you’ll need to be more direct to capture his attention.

"I'm going to use the restroom," you say, and he nods, eyes still on the page. Once inside, you leave the door unlocked and hike up your dress, exposing your bare breasts. You pinch your nipples between your thumb and forefinger until they harden, then push out your chest, angling your smartphone for the perfect shot. The result is a provocative selfie that you know will make him put that book down.

You attach it to a message for Joel and quickly type out your request — come knock me up in the bathroom, Cowboy.

He’s joining you in the bathroom faster than you thought he would, careful to avoid any curious eyes or draw attention to the fact that he’s about to absolutely wreck his wife.

Once inside, he locks the door behind him and grabs your waist, guiding you back until your hips hit the counter's edge. His hands roam over your body, lifting the hem of your dress until it's bunched around your waist. He kisses you with a desperate hunger, as if he hasn't had you in years.

"You sure you want to do this here, sweetheart?" he groans against your lips, shifting between playful nips, gentle kisses on your cheeks, and heated sucks at your jawline. The anticipation in his touch is palpable, but he's still checking to make sure this is what you want.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life except for the day I married you. Please fuck me, Joel, need to feel you stretch me out” you say, your words crossed between a whimper and a plea.

God, just when he thought you couldn’t get any more perfect.

“Yeah? My girl wants me to fill up her tight little hole,” he teases, already knowing the answer. He moves his hand to your dripping core and lets out a deep groan when he discovers you’ve already removed the barrier of your underwear for him.

“Fuck baby, I’d do anything to taste you right now, wanna hear all those pretty noises you make and the way my name sounds when you moan it for me,” and you soften more under the heat of his words, letting your mind drift to thoughts of how good it feels when his head is between your legs, gently wringing orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s his fucking job.

“Gotta make this one quick, though. Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?” He asks, and all you can do is nod.

"Good girl—c'mere, turn around," he instructs, guiding you with his hands until you've spun around, your hips pressing into the sink. His hand travels down your spine, making you arch toward him slightly, and he bends you over even more. In the mirror, you see him behind you, his eyes locked on yours as he quickly unbuckles his belt and lowers his jeans to mid-thigh. The anticipation is electric as you watch him in the reflection, knowing exactly what's coming next.

He spits into his hand and jerks himself, all the while holding your gaze, admiring the way your breasts are pressed up against the counter, perky and perfect. His cock twitches at the thought of what they’ll look like all swollen and full of milk.

He lines himself up against your wet and waiting hole, holds your hips steady with one hand, and gathers your hair in his fist with the other. He gently tugs it so your chin is angled up, eyes even straighter looking into the mirror. He loves watching you take it.

“You’re gonna watch as I fuck you, sweetheart,” He rasps as he presses himself into you in one stroke. You’re so fucking wet, your greedy cunt accepts him easily, despite his size. Like it knows what it wants, and what it needs. There’s a dull delicious sting at the intrusion.

“Oh my god, Joel, you’re so bi—” You break off in a moan as he pulls out and then slams himself into you deep and hard.

“God damn, look at you, my perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, like this cock was made for you, huh baby?” His voice is firm, but quiet, just above a whisper. He’s not wasting time, he sets a punishing pace, and all you can do is let him use you.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fill me, fill me” you cry out, and he brings his hand to cover your mouth.

“What’d I say about being quiet, baby?” He holds you like that. You slip your hand between your thighs and rub your clit, a dangerous combination when he’s fucking you in this position. You come so fast that you think it might be a record. The tightening of your cunt has him on the precipice of his release.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growls, fucking his cum into you over and over, using every drop of him to give you what you want.

It might not stick this time, hell, it might not stick next time, but one thing is for certain — Joel will keep you full and fucked either way.

END

Reblog + Support Writers + Comment

A/N Continued: Thank you so much for reading! On a side note, my engagement here has been really low lately. :( As much as I'd love to say I don't care about the notes, I won't lie and tell you I don't need them for validation. If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I'll love you forever.

Tagging some moots for visibility (lmk if you want to be removed if the subject matter isn't your thing. No hard feelings!) @endlessthxxghts @syd-djarin @auteurdelabre @morning-star-joy@theoasisofthings @chulopascal @morallyinept @sweetercalypso @xdaddysprincessxx @burntheedges @punkshort @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @morgaussy

#to read

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littlepadika · 3 days

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Nicest Thing – A Joel Miller Story Masterlist

Neighbour!Joel x f!reader

Rating: Over 18’s only please

Summary: As Kate Nash sang: All I know is that you're the nicest thing I've ever seen, and I wish we could see if we could be something (OR let’s fall madly in love with neighbour!Joel Miller)

Series content: Rom-com style fluff and eventual smut, tiny bit of angst due to who I am as a person, Joel Miller AU, no ages mentioned (everyone is over 18 but they can be whatever you would wish), alcohol reference, big swears, gratuitous Jane Austen references, bad boyfriend mentioned (so… infidelity?), minimal descriptions of reader but just so you know, she is of course wearing A SUNDRESS even if I don't mention it. Always Fleabag coded.

Listen to: Kate Nash Nicest Thing

A/N: Did I write what was supposed to be a one shot (part one Kindness of Strangers is already up and ready to read) and then it turned into a little mini series, again? Yeah...yeah, maybe I did. Sorry not sorry? Look at least I didn’t write the ending first and then have to backtrack madly… If I’d realised what sluts you all were for the Joel Miller x Jane Austen references I would have done this series much sooner to be honest!

So, what’s this all about then Al? Well, you’re spending the summer at your Uncle’s house in Austin, Texas and when you meet his unreasonably hot neighbour!Joel Miller. Yeah, you’re going to catch some feelings real quick. Just the small issue of a long-term boyfriend waiting at home, holding you back.

Thank you to @katareyoudrilling for being my original Austen inspiration, and to @pascalssbabyy @luxurychristmaspudding and @toomanytookas for being such wonderful pals.

The plan is (but it will probably change, so if you see me fucking about with this, no you didn’t):

✨Part 1: Kindness of Strangers

✨Part 2: Our feelings prey upon us

✨Part 3: coming soon

✨Part 4: coming soon

✨Part 5: coming soon

I hope you all enjoy!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics all images from Pinterest

Tagging in peeps who enjoyed Kindness & some lovely moots, but let me know if you'd like to be added/removed:

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @yxtkiwiyxt @rizzraa @bitchwitch1981

@axshadows @holacia3 @ghotifishreads @wannab-urs @burntheedges

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @undercoverpena @5oh5 @bitchesuntitled @futuraa-free

@sawymredfox @sin-djarin @survivingandenduring @indiegirlunited @janaispunk

@tuquoquebrute @danaispunk @mothandpidgeon @morallyinept @freelancearsonist

@chronically-ghosted @sp00kymulderr @secretelephanttattoo @fhatbhabie @beskarandblasters

#series rec!!!

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littlepadika · 4 days

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In my mind.

#joelyyyy #joely bear

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littlepadika · 4 days

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ttpd thoughts... 🤍

The concept of a post mortem, at first, seemed to suggest we were conducting an autopsy on a relationship, or a man, but in fact it is a post mortem of Taylor, herself. She says she presents herself before us for judgement.

And after listening to the album this feels completely the right take. There's mention of emotional infidelity, sin, violence, anger, revenge. It was unsettling at times even. She is much less of a victim than some would like to believe. And it's crazy to imagine writing an album about your flaws like you're collecting evidence for your own trial!

Her humor has developed as well through her self analysis. "Narcotics in all my songs" was a cheeky line. The way she says "you should see your faces" because she knew people would react strongly to that line in "but daddy I love him". "Vipers dressed in empaths clothing seems particularly pointed at certain people". "I cry a lot, but I am so productive, it's an art" Are we ready to sit with that? She is telling jokes both at her own expense (we've seen that before) but now at our, the fans, expense. I laughed :) It is hilarious. Yes please call us out!

Even topics she has written about before, like the constant threat of being replaced as a female musician, are explored in new ways. She touched the topic in Nothing new, Lucky One, Anti Hero, but in Clara Bow and Who's Afraid of Little Old Me it becomes more tragic because it's no longer hypothetical. It has already happened.

The concept of emotional infidelity has been written about before, but in this album (and maybe because we think it was 🐀 heely) it isn't as exciting as Glitch or Gorgeous. But is it ever really fun?

She applied every lesson from Midnights. Longer songs. More Aaron Dessner and evermore vibes. More real instruments.

I hope that when the initial fever dies down we can enjoy these songs as an evaluation of Taylor and not the men she's dated. I think people, including myself, wondered if this album would be like a long gossip session. Full of marvel esque fan service. But it isn't that easy. And maybe if we know her business we think we would feel closer to her but in fact, in her metaphors and imagery she offers something much more intimate.

I'm looking forward to digging in and sitting in all the feelings. So exciting!!!

Some hot takes ☕️ :

I like the Jack Antanoff production on this album for the most part (more than midnights).

Some of those 2am songs should have been on the original run, in lieu of certain *cough cough* songs. the alchemy was a little too close to that tik tok parody, but we won't talk about that

She chose the wrong single. Should be I can do it with a broken heart.

This was the most Fearless, Speak Now, Red album we've gotten in years! 2am picked up right where Evermore left off.

#ttpd #taylor swift #taylor nation #the tortured poets department #now back to our regular programming #i'm not going to tell you how to enjoy things but some of you aren't enjoying it and i think i know why...

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littlepadika · 7 days

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Eek so cute!!!!!

What am I gonna do with you? Idk keep me!!!!! Ahhh that was such a clever line 😫

✨Can You Please Be Mine? Part 2: Slip Into Me✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so so excited to share this little piece I’ve been writing! I really love this story, the chemistry Joel and reader have, and how flirty and fun this chapter ended up being. I want to hear all your thoughts on this one 🥰 Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, I want to converse with you guys 🩷

Chapter Summary: Joel takes you on a date to the fair

Word Count: 11.2k (I had a lot to say! I couldn’t stop writing their cute little love story unfolding)

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Chapter Tags: So much flirting, teasing, Joel takes reader on a date to the fair, kissing, chemistry, more flirting, holding hands, heavy making out, grinding on Joel’s lap, switching POV, reader has hair and is tan, allusions to smut, cute nicknames

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Joel Miller is a complete mess the rest of the day at the fair. He can’t think straight, not with the way the folded piece of paper is scorching his fingertips that sit in the pit of his pocket, calling out to him like a damn temptress that purrs his name to slip the digits into his phone.

He bites the inside of his cheek, furrowing his eyebrows every single time he thinks of those fucking long, tan legs. Those gorgeous eyes that seem to burn holes in the back of his eyes, and those short denim shorts that he wants so badly to rip off your thick thighs that scream his name. He thinks you’d look so fucking perfect completely naked, splayed across the soft sheets of his bed. Long, tan legs, the perfect curves, probably glistening with sticky slick waiting for him to lick clean. Fuck.

He can’t help the way he scans his eyes over the thick crowd of people that floods the fair, hoping he’ll snag a peek of your sweet smile that he wants so badly to sink his lips against. He thinks you’d taste so good, maybe cherry flavored lip gloss, a soft tongue that he’ll let lap against his own, sucking him dry as you take the soul right out of him. He thinks he wants to take you on a date so he can see that pretty face, that soft, flirtatious enigma he wants to twist his mind around as he wraps you completely around his index finger. He has to have you, he just has to.

He should be enjoying the fair with his daughter, should be paying attention to her as she picks at the stack of French fries he just bought her as she rambles on about upcoming volleyball summer camp and her friend’s pool party, but he can’t. He just can’t. His mind is focused solely on you. The prettiest flower in the crowd he ever did see. And you’d be his. At least he hoped.

“Dad?”

The word comes out in a fog, he almost misses it as he mindlessly searches through the bustling crowd. He needs to see your face, that gorgeous, radiant, perfect…

“Dad, are you even listening to me?” Sarah asks as she chews on the end of a golden French fry and stares up at her distracted father.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, kid. I heard ya,” he murmurs as his brown eyes become focused on his daughter as her long curls blow gently through the hot Texas breeze.

“You just seem a little distracted is all,” she mumbles as she rolls her eyes and finishes off the French fry in her hand.

Joel rakes a hand through his dark scruff and sighs in frustration. “I’m fine, Sarah. Ain’t distracted ‘bout nothin’,” he huffs. But he knows it’s a lie, a damn good lie. Because he is distracted. Distracted by the beautiful girl with the vanilla ice cream cone that teased him till he about came completely undone in line. He was in for the ride of his life.

After he gets home that night, he stares hard at the creased piece of paper as he reads your name over and over and over again. He memorizes it, studies the jumble of numbers until he can repeat them with his eyes closed. He grips the paper so tight that he thinks he’ll tear it in half, his mind caving in just like that of a mad man who’s lovesick from a stupid crush.

He finally comes to his senses and pulls his phone out of his pocket as he types out your name and number into his contacts list. After pressing save, he stares at the screen, his eyes burning into your name as he hovers over the call button. His mind starts racing a million miles an hour as his eyes go cross eyed from looking so hard at your name on the screen.

What if you don’t answer? What if you’re not really interested? What if it was all a game as a way to tease him? Surely not. No. Not with the way you were looking at him, your eyes burning into his like sparkling fireworks as you smirked his way, lapping up ice cream as you teased your tongue around the cold edges as he nearly collapsed to the ground. You were a feisty little firecracker, and he knew it. He wanted to taste those sparks, see just how far he could push you.

Without waiting another minute, he presses the call button as sweat pools on his forehead, tousled curls sticking to his tanned skin as he paces mindlessly in his room just waiting for you to answer. He’s about to give up after five repeated rings until he hears you pick up the phone on the next ring.

“Hello?”

His eyes go wide as his pupils expand, fingers digging deep into the denim of his jean pockets as his throat runs dry. That voice. That melodious, sweet lilt of your voice. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard in his entire life.

You hear some rustling on the end of the line and then finally a voice comes through the end of the speaker. “Ummm, hi.”

A deep, baritone voice seeps through the phone. Slow, a slurred Southern drawl, charming, and so sexy. It makes you gulp down nerves as slick automatically pools in your lace. It’s him. The man you couldn’t keep your eyes off at the fair. He called.

“Is this… ahh. You’re the one from the fair, aren’t you?” you ask smiling, a stupid grin spreading wide across your face as you bite your lower lip, your free hand gripping the pink sheets tightly as you grasp anything that’ll stop the excitement from taking you on a ride.

“Mhm. How’d you guess?” he asks as you hear a deep chuckle come alive on the other end of the phone.

God his laugh sounds like complete music to your ears. A bravado sound you could put on repeat like a favorite song you’d never get tired of. You already had it bad.

“Oh, I don’t know. A number I didn’t know and no text? Funny. Why didn’t you just text me? Most people just text nowadays,” you laugh as you tease him through the phone.

Another deep chuckle and his smooth voice is carrying through the line. “Guess I’m jus’ old fashioned, darlin’. Maybe I jus’ wanted to hear what you sounded like. Kinda like this better than a text.”

“Oh, I see,” you blush as you curl your fingers through the pink silk, feet pressing against one another as you repeat the word he just called you over the phone. Darlin’. You loved the sound of that.

“So, what’s your name, cowboy?” you giggle as you feel heat course through your chest.

“Cowboy, huh? That my new nickname or somethin’?” he asks with a laugh as you hear that sweet Southern drawl drag through the phone. Oh, this one already has you on a tight string, and you’re ready to never let go.

“Mmm, it fits you well, I think,” you giggle as you twirl a piece of hair around your finger nervously.

“Whatever you say, darlin’,” he laughs as you imagine him raking a hand through those gorgeous curls of his. Something you want to do. You bet it’s so soft, lush, velvet-like…

“Joel,” he says through the phone, bringing you out of your lovesick daydream of running your fingers through his soft hair.

“Hmm?” you ask confused, your mind focusing back on that deep baritone voice that you just can’t get enough of.

“The name’s Joel. Joel Miller.”

“Joel Miller…” you repeat, your smile widening on your face as you stare up at the ceiling filled with hanging fairy lights that make the room sparkle.

“That’s right, darlin’.”

“I like it,” you answer as you twist in the sheets, your soft skin rolling over silk as you see yourself through the long mirror that hangs on the wall. Your cheeks bright red, a Cheshire cat grin splayed wide on your face as you nearly pant out with glee. You look like a puppy. A stupid lovesick puppy.

“Glad ya do,” he chuckles as he takes a couple more seconds before he says anything else. “So, ummm. I was wonderin’ if maybe you’re not busy tomorrow night, would you maybe wanna go to the fair with me?”

Your jaw drops open, your mind dizzy with possibilities as you push yourself to the edge of the bed and clench your thighs together. “Like a date?” you ask wide-eyed, your heart pounding impossibly fast in your chest as you hope it is a date.

“Mhm. A date. If that’s what you want, that is.” His voice is low, fluctuating as you can picture his hand deep in his pocket, his fingers flexing with nerves as he waits for your answer. He has it as bad as you do, you think.

“A date…” you repeat steadily, your words lingering as you smile into the phone. “Okay, cowboy. It’s a date.”

“Alright,” he chuckles as his laugh echoes through the glowing room. “How does six o’clock sound? I could pick you up. Jus’ text me your address.”

“Six sounds perfect,” you purr, your eyes lighting up like a damn sparkler as you kick your legs in a frenzy underneath you.

“Six it is. Well, guess I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.” Darlin’. His words drip down you like sweet honey, a taste you want to devour down. You bet he tastes so sweet.

“Mkay. See ya tomorrow, Joel. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

The call clicks to an end, the line going dead as you fall back into the silky sheets and scream into your hands. You’re going on a date tomorrow with the hottest Southern gentleman alive. You have to find something to wear!

You stand in the glow of the bathroom mirror and twirl around in your light green summer dress that grazes just a little above the middle of your thighs. The perfect length to tease Joel just a little and show off your tanned legs. You brush out your soft curls and dab some shiny lip gloss over your pink lips as you take one more good look at yourself. You’re more than ready. You spray a spritz of vanilla perfume on your neck and call it good as you sit the glass bottle back down on the edge of the sink.

When you turn around, you hear a couple of loud knocks echo across the hall from the front door. Joel. He’s here. You grab your light blue over the shoulder purse and wrap it around yourself as you pad toward the door in your white slip-on Vans. Your heart is galloping in your chest like a thousand race horses colliding their heavy hooves against a racetrack, your cheeks burning from nerves as you make your way to the front solid wooden door. Please like me, please like me, please like me.

When you twist the doorknob and open the door, your eyes go wide as you take in the sight that stands in front of you. Joel stands with his large arms crossed over his broad chest, his rolled up dark green flannel clinging to the thick muscles of his arms as he smirks flirtatiously down at you. His tousled curls are slicked back, and he smells like fresh cologne and mahogany. A kind of scent that could pull you in just by the way he smells. Intoxicating.

“Hi,” you say nervously as you shut the door closed behind you, your fingers behind your back digging into the soft material of your dress as you fight off nerves that pull at your insides.

“Hi,” he repeats softly as his eyes drag down your summer dress and your tanned legs slowly. He gulps as he looks back up into your eyes and smiles, making his eyes crinkle at the sides as your heart flutters in your chest.

He’s so handsome.

“My, don’t you look pretty,” he says with the warmth of his deep voice which seems to surround you, encase you in nothing but comfort. You could listen to him talk all day long if he sounded like that. Warm, deep baritone voice, slow, syrupy, exactly how you pictured it. Perfection.

You feel your cheeks burn bright red as you giggle like a little school girl and flutter your eyelashes up at him. “Thanks,” you say nervously.

“You ready to go?” he asks as he pushes off the brick wall.

“Mhm.”

“Well, c’mon then,” he laughs as he leads you to his red Chevy truck. He opens the passenger door for you and helps you up. His calloused hand seems to burn inside yours, a wildfire that simmers all the way down to your core the longer his fingers are on your skin. When he releases, he slams the door shut and makes his way over to the driver’s side.

When he hops in and starts the truck up, the engine rumbles to life exactly like your nerves do. You feel like a livewire that’s ready to explode. You’re in his truck, going on a date with him. You still can’t believe this is happening.

When the radio springs to life, you hear “Cherry Waves” by Deftones play softly against the hum of the speakers. Your eyes widen as a smile creeps up against your shiny lips. “Deftones, huh?”

Joel looks over at you as he furrows his eyebrows together. “You know Deftones?” he asks surprised, his grip on the leather steering wheel tightening as he takes you in.

“Yeah! Doesn’t everyone?” you laugh as you buckle your seatbelt and look back up at him. He’s still looking at you in awe as if he’s just now seeing you for the first time. The sight makes your stomach flip circles as he continues to look at you, the orbs of his honey eyes seeming to glow as you stare into those pits of pure warmth.

“Not exactly,” he chuckles as he pulls out of the quiet apartment complex and into the busy streets of Austin. “You like rock music?”

“What do you think?” you giggle as you turn the volume up one notch and lean your head back against the soft brown seat.

Joel turns his head toward you and cocks up a thick eyebrow as he smirks over at you. “Okay, smart alec. What’s your favorite song by them then?”

“Hmm, let me think,” you hum as you pick apart your brain, “probably Change.”

“Mmm. Guess you are a fan,” he smiles as he drives down the busy street full of speeding cars and hovering beam lights.

“And yours?” you ask with the hint of a smirk on your face.

“Rosemary.”

“Ahh. A classic. One of my favorites.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum as you look out the glass window. You can see his reflection vaguely as he looks wondrously at you, and it makes butterflies flit through your stomach.

After a minute of silence, with only the hum of the radio playing, Joel clears his throat as you turn back to him. “So, slippin’ me your number in line, huh? Ain’t you a bold girl.”

You raise your eyebrow at him and lean a little closer as you inhale his mahogany scent as it makes your head a little dizzy. “I mean, I was just trying to get your attention.”

He chuckles as he shakes his head. “Sweetheart, you had my attention the moment I saw you up on that carousel. You didn’t even have to try.”

You feel your cheeks flush pink as you twist your fingers in your lap, your skirt barely covering your thighs as you find Joel’s eyes flit down to them. You pull nervously at your cotton dress and look back up at him shyly. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”

“Well, darlin’, I’m glad you slipped me your number or I wouldn’t have got to take out the prettiest girl in Austin.”

You bite your lip and slide back into the seat, your nerves buzzing through your body as you try to relax and enjoy the ride. “Prettiest girl in Austin?”

“That’s right, darlin’. Prettiest girl.”

You turn your head to look at the sun slowly slipping under fluffy clouds as sunset draws close. You let the music flow through your eardrums as you bask in the large presence of the man that was made of dreams. Joel Miller.

In just a few short minutes, Joel’s parking the truck in the parking lot and walking you up to the shiny entry gates to the fair. He pulls his leather wallet out and purchases two tickets and then leads you through the metal gates. When you get inside, the glow of spinning rides and lit up food stands cover the entirety of the fair, the thick crowd sprawled every which way as you walk through the bustling crowd of people.

“You must like the fair,” you say as you pass a little girl with a clump of blue cotton candy in her hands.

“Why do you say that?” Joel asks as he walks side by side with you.

“Well, you were just here yesterday,” you laugh as you look up at him. He looks nervous as he rakes a hand through his salt-and-pepper scruff and nonchalantly shakes his slicked back curls. “So, why’d you come back?”

“Because,” he starts as he turns his body to you, “I wanted to take ya out. And I figured dinner would be nice and all, but thought maybe this would be more fun. A better way to get to know you. Maybe make you feel more comfortable,” he shrugs as he laughs nervously next to you.

“Oh.” He’s so… thoughtful. He really took the time to think that through to do what he thought would make you more comfortable. He was so… good.

“Hope that’s alright. You didn’t have to come back if you didn’t want to…”

“No.” You cut him off and put your hand around his wrist as you turn to stand in front of him. “I wanted to come with you. This is perfect.”

“You sure? You’re not just pullin’ my leg?” he asks with knit together eyebrows, his jaw tense as you see his eyes burn like fire into yours.

You step closer to him and nod your head up and down, flexing your fingers around his soft flannel shirt as you respond just loud enough for only him to hear over the buzz of the crowd. “Joel, I wouldn’t be here if I was just pulling your leg. Why’d you think I slipped you my number, hmm? I thought you were the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life. Didn’t want to miss the opportunity to pass me by to not get a chance to make a move on you,” you gush as you watch him relax against your touch.

“Darlin’, I’m gonna have to ask you to stop sweet talkin’ me or you’re gonna have me turnin’ this whole damn fair red,” he chuckles low as he slips his fingers behind your back, just above your hip as you feel warm heat slide down your spine.

“You mean I can make a big, strong, handsome man blush?” you giggle as he shakes his head again.

“You’re a little firecracker, ain’t ya?”

“Guess so. Wanna see how many colors I can paint your face?” you laugh flirtatiously as he rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, trouble. Such a little flirt.” He smirks and pulls you along the row of lit up games and lets his hand linger over your dress as you feel the tinge of red fill your cheeks.

“So, umm. How old are ya, sweetheart?” he asks nervously as you walk past a group of teenagers gathering around a basketball game.

“Twenty-six,” you say cautiously as you look up under your long eyelashes, blinking away any doubts you have that he’ll think you’re too young.

“Twenty-six, yeah? Wow,” he laughs as he scratches the back of his head, making his bicep cling tight to the green flannel shirt, “I can remember when I was that young. Was a long time ago.”

You scrunch your nose up at him and look curiously at him. “You’re making yourself sound like you’re ancient or something,” you laugh as you pass a little boy playing a ring toss game.

“I am ancient,” he responds as he looks the other way, shying away from you.

You pull on his flannel until his face is turned back toward you, making sure his brown eyes snap back down to you. “How old are you?” you ask with a raised brow.

“Too old to be with a pretty young thing like you,” he scoffs as he tries to look away again.

You pull a little on the fabric of his collar until he has no choice but to look straight at you. “How old?” You don’t give him a chance to shy away again, he’s locked in, he has to answer you.

“Forty-seven,” he mumbles as you see a flash of panic through those big doe eyes of his. You smile up at him, and he just looks at you with his mouth parted open, like he can’t believe you’re smiling at him. “What? Why are you smilin’?”

“Because,” you laugh as you drop your hand from his soft collar, “you’re not old, Joel. You’re just right.”

His features soften up, and you swear you see him sigh as relief seems to wash over him. He thought he was too old for you? “Jus’ right, huh?” he smirks as the corners of his mouth tilt up to be the most gorgeous smile you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s so pretty. Especially in the colorful swirling lights of the fair.

“Just right,” you confirm as you walk by a booth of various shapes of balloons.

“Hey, mister! Why don’t you come play a round of darts and win your girl a prize?” The game worker shouts across the way as Joel turns his head and furrows his eyebrows as he looks back and forth between you and the game stand awkwardly.

When he takes another glance at you, he gives you a soft smile as the glow of his eyes turn lighter. “Wanna play a round?” he asks as he nods his head to the game stand.

You turn your head and take in the row of balloons that paint the wall purple, red, yellow, green, and pink. All shapes and sizes of stuffed animals sit against the back wall, and you smirk up his way. “Think you can take out more balloons than me?” you ask playfully as you flick your hair behind your shoulder.

“Only one way to find out, darlin’.” He narrows his eyes mischievously and grabs your wrist as he pulls you to the edge of the stand.

Joel hands five dollars to the worker, and he gives him ten black pointed darts. He hands you five of them and holds his arm toward the board filled with balloons. “Ladies first.”

You smile and walk up to the line of white tape and carefully assess your movements. You decide to go for the middle row first. That should be safest. You line up your first dart and shoot. The pointy end barely grazes the edge of a yellow balloon and falls with a bang to the ground.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. You try again, but you miss again. Why can’t you just get one fucking balloon?

You huff out and purse your lips together as you feel your thighs rub together in the heat of the warm summer’s night. You see Joel out of the corner of your eye, maybe a hint of empathy on his face as he takes in your pouting lips. You feel the weight of his eyes on you, and you try your best not to look too upset as you twirl the smooth dart in your hand.

“Well, keep going!” The worker practically screams at you as you almost jump out of your skin. As you look down at the dart and weigh your options, something happens that you didn’t expect to. Joel slides up behind you and puts one hand on your waist as he angles you perpendicular to the board of balloons while his hand wraps around yours with the dart between your fingers.

You gasp as he guides your arm. “Let me help ya, sweetheart,” he smiles as his lips graze the shell of your ear, making a bead of sweat stick to the side of your forehead as nerves course through your veins.

“You wanna keep your eyes right on the center of the balloon. Imagine it has a big target in the middle that you want to reach. You wanna close one eye, aim right for the center, and throw hard.” The words whisk through you at an impossibly fast rate as his hot breath breathes down your neck. You think you might pass out at how hot your skin feels with him this close, with him touching you. It’s like he’s branding you as his own.

“Like this?” you whisper out hoarsely as you bring your arm up as his hand never leaves yours.

“Yeah, there ya go. Right for the middle of the yellow one. Go on now,” he encourages as he takes you through the motions, his gravelly voice breathing down the side of your neck as his broad body hovers over yours.

You hold your breath and throw the dart, keeping one eye closed as you focus solely on the blown up balloon and not on the gorgeous man that’s clinging to your skin. The dart soars through the air and lands right in the center of the yellow balloon as you hear a loud pop and see scattered shreds fall to the ground.

“Yes! I got it,” you say excitedly as Joel chuckles lightly and nods his head.

“Attagirl.”

The word makes you gulp as you feel your skin flush from the praise. He was basically calling you a good girl, and that was the hottest thing a man has ever said to you. Attagirl. Something so sexy about the way he said it to you in a deep, Southern drawl. Attagirl.

He steps back and lets you take your turn for your last two darts. You go over every step he told you to do and follow what he instructed you to do. You did exactly that and popped two more balloons as they fell broken to the floor.

“Nice shot,” he winks as he takes your place and steps up to the white line.

“Alright, cowboy. Let’s see what you got,” you say playfully as you see his lips curl up into a huge grin.

It’s almost too easy for him. He takes down two at a time with only one dart, his aim impeccable as he takes down balloon after balloon. When his five darts are gone, he dusts off his hands on his dark jeans and smiles your way. “So, how’d I do?”

“You’re too good, Joel. A master of balloons,” you tease as you playfully push at his solid chest.

“Master of balloons, not master of puppets?” he smirks as you roll your eyes at him.

“Metallica fan I see,” you say with a raised brow as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Good guess.”

Before you walk away, the game worker tells Joel he can pick out any stuffed animal he wants. Joel looks over at you with a wandering gaze as he reaches out his hand and pulls you over to the edge of the stand.

“What do ya want?” Joel asks as your eyes scan the wall. There’s a variety of stuffed animals. Monkeys, teddy bears, all the way to jellyfish. Your eyes wander the wall until they land on a light blue dolphin. That’s the one.

“That one.” You point to the dolphin, and the worker gets it down for you.

“Here you go,” the worker nods as you take the plush dolphin and smile down at it, “I’m sure your girl is happy now.”

Joel looks down at the stuffed dolphin in your hand and smiles as his warm brown eyes meet yours. “Yeah, think she is.” You blush and walk down the row of busy games as Joel walks next to you with his hand hovering over the small of your back.

“Thanks for that back there,” you murmur as you set your pace a little slower.

“For what?” he asks as his hand presses deeper into the fabric of your dress.

“For showing me how to throw the darts probably and winning me this dolphin,” you say as you hold the plushie stuffed animal up and poke him playfully in the bicep with it.

“Anytime, darlin’. Anytime,” he chuckles as he walks along the flurries of crowds.

You walk along the outside of the crowd as you pass an area full of a variety of food trucks. “So. Was that your daughter yesterday with you in line?”

“Oh, yeah. That was Sarah. My little girl. Well, not so little anymore. She’ll be eighteen next year, and she’s about to start her senior year of high school, but she’ll always be my little girl.”

You watch the gleam in his chocolate eyes as you take in his expression. A little sadness but also so very proud. He looks like he loves her a lot, and that makes your heart beat for him even more. “Is that your only one?”

“My only kid?” he asks as he turns his head toward you, “yeah, she’s my only one.”

You ask the next question carefully, walking on thin ice. You didn’t see a ring, so you assume he isn’t taken. “And there’s no Mrs. Miller in the picture?”

He scratches the bottom of his scruff as he stretches his neck, assessing the question before he answers. “No. It’s jus’ me, darlin’. No one else in the picture.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you turn to face him, your head cocking to the side as you look him up and down carefully. “You mean to tell me that a man like you is single?”

He just shrugs his shoulders and blatantly answers. “What’s so hard to understand ‘bout that?”

You put one hand on each hip and roll your eyes sarcastically. “I mean, hello? You’re ridiculously hot and nice and I don’t know, sweet?”

Joel chuckles and raises one eyebrow up. “Got me blushin’ again, darlin’,” he responds as he rakes a hand slowly down his jawline while his cheeks turn a deep red.

You laugh and admire how absolutely beautiful the man looks when he’s full of embarrassment. He’s so freaking cute that you could just squish him. Soft, the man is so soft. You might just fall head over heels for him.

“And that’s you, sweetheart. Sweet, flirty, adorable, absolutely drop dead gorgeous,” he gushes as he looks at you with glittering honey eyes. Now it’s you that’s the one blushing. “Can’t believe you’re at the fair with me. Of all the men you could be with, you went with me. What ever made you do that?” he asks unbelievably as he shakes his head.

“Because I saw more than a handsome face in that crowd when I saw you standing in line. I saw a man I wanted to get to know, wondered if you felt the same way. You looked like magic, and I wanted to taste it,” you smirk as his cheeks turn bright red again.

“Christ,” he chuckles as he grabs your arm and pulls you through the blinding crowd, “c’mon you sweet talker. Magic, huh? You’re the one that looks like magic.” You just giggle silently as you let him take you on the ride of your life.

The sun slowly dips beneath the clouds as the last clashes of mixed shades of purple and orange colors turn to darkness. The fair lights up every which way as glowing lights from the amusement rides and food trucks light the way on the warm pavement. You pass a stand with blowing bubbles and light up toys and look over to see Joel eyeing you, a curious glint in his chocolate eyes as he assesses you closely.

Before you wait to see what he’s about to ask you, you chime in first. “So, cowboy, what do you do for work?”

You hear him chuckle and mutter something about cowboy under his breath as he runs calloused fingers smoothly through his slicked back curls. “I’m a contractor. Me and my brother, Tommy, run a business together.”

You lift an eyebrow and smirk his way. “A contractor, huh?”

Joel just chuckles and nods his head. “S’right, sweetheart. We keep pretty busy, that’s for sure.”

You eye his green flannel, dark denim jeans, and leather boots and nod. Of course he was a contractor. He definitely looked the part. “So you’re strong and handsome? And you know how to build things? My, my, Mr. Miller. You’re quite the package, aren’t you?” You tease as you push him playfully in the arm and flash him a ridiculously huge grin that you can barely keep to yourself.

“A package, huh? Can’t say that anyone’s ever called me quite a package before,” he responds as his hand grazes yours carefully. You taste the flames as they lick against your skin, you want to dance in them as they burn you alive.

“Well, I called you one so there’s that if that means anything.” You shrug your shoulders absentmindedly and look back ahead as you hear Joel laugh under his breath.

“Mmm definitely means somethin’, darlin’.” You look back to see he’s giving you this crooked smile, and his chocolate eyes are scorching into yours as you see just how soft he is. He’s like a little puppy dog with those big eyes of his, and you just want to take him home and make him yours forever.

You almost reach out to lace your arm in his until he asks you a question. “What about you, sweetheart? What do you do?”

You smile warmly up at him and answer. “I’m actually studying to get my master’s in art at the University of Texas. And I work at this little art shop off Hollow’s Drive. It’s called Autumn’s Art Gallery.”

You watch the way he shifts his honey eyes over to you as he gives you a once over. “An artist, you say? Impressive. You draw or paint?”

“Both, actually. I find myself with a charcoal pencil in my hand more than a paint brush. But I love them both equally,” you shrug as your shoes scuff against the cement.

“You draw people?” he asks thoughtfully as you meet his simmering gaze.

“All the time. Why?”

He laughs as you see the crow’s feet pull at the corners of his eyes. “You gonna draw me like one of your French girls?”

“Joel Miller throwing Titanic quotes at me?” you laugh as you shake your head at him in disbelief.

“Couldn’t resist that joke, darlin’. Was the perfect opportunity,” he chuckles as you roll your eyes at him.

“Sure, just let me go conjure up a butterfly robe and an old parlor couch while I find you a red wig.”

You watch him crinkle his eyes up as he holds his stomach and chuckles loudly as he throws his head back. You join in on his laughter and almost burst into tears from how hard the two of you are laughing. When he finally catches a breath after a few moments, he wipes his eyes and places a firm hand on your shoulder. “Sweetheart, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. You’ve got a gift,” he smiles as you see nothing but warm brown eyes swarm your vision.

“Glad I could make you laugh,” you giggle.

“So, art. What got ya interested in art?” he asks with a cocked up brow as he presses his palm into the middle of your shoulder blades. His hand burns like fire, but you love it.

“Well, I’ve always had a love for painting. I told my mom when I was in kindergarten that I was going to grow up to be an artist and look at me now! I made it,” you beam as the glow of the Ferris wheel lights your way forward.

“I’d love to see your work sometime,” Joel responds as his fingers slide down to right above your hips, right at that dangerous level of being too close but not close enough.

“Really?” you ask surprised as you see him nod his head.

“Really.”

You bite your lower lip and cross your arms as you turn to look at him, your eyes sliding along his beautiful face. “Would you… do you think you’d let me draw you sometime?” you ask shyly as you play with the skirt of your green dress, your cheeks flushing pink as you flutter your eyelashes at him.

He laughs out loud as his eyes widen. “Sweetheart, what would you wanna draw me for? Ain’t nothin’ worth drawin’,” he says amused as he adjusts the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

You shrug your shoulders and sway your hips as you respond. “I dunno. I think you’ve got such a handsome face. It’d be worth it to me.”

His lips part open as his eyes stare intimately down into yours as he takes in what you just told him. He looks conflicted, surprised even that you’d say that. But his eyes soften and a crooked smile splays across his mouth, and you think he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

“Darlin’, if you’re gonna sweet talk me like that then ‘course you can draw me. Jus’ don’t let me look bad.”

“I could never make you look bad, Joel.” He smiles and cups his hand underneath your chin and grazes it affectionately before he takes your hand and pulls you along the street.

He slowly slips his hand into yours as he entwines his fingers around yours, the callouses grazing along your skin as you feel warmth cover your insides as he takes a hold of you. It feels so right, makes you a little dizzy if you’re being honest. How can you like a man so much that you only just met? You don’t know what it is, but he feels like complete magic. The perfect man that’ll indulge all your fantasies.

He pulls you along the busy crowd, hand in hand as he looks back every few seconds and flashes you with the most dreamy smile you’ve ever seen, ending with a flirty wink that almost makes you choke on your own saliva. He grasps your fingers tighter as he slides his calloused thumb gently over the top of your hand. Right before he passes the Ferris wheel that’s spinning slowly in the mix of all the different fair rides, Joel stops just a few feet from the entrance and looks back at you, one eyebrow cocking up as he takes in your curious expression.

“What?” you ask with a small laugh as you take in his coffee colored eyes that narrow just a tad, the look of a man with an agenda up his sleeve.

“Wanna go for a ride?” he asks as he nods his head toward the lit up Ferris wheel, his eyes never leaving yours.

You flick your eyes carefully over the spinning ride and then look back at him as you turn your hips closer to him. “A ride?” you ask flirtatiously as you smirk up at him, “Joel Miller wants to take me for a ride?”

His eyes slightly darken, his nail beds scratching along your skin as he leans in closer so you can hear that deep Southern drawl that clings to your insides. “Promise to take it slow,” he whispers menacingly. You gulp at his double meaning, his wicked smirk clawing at your insides as you feel the sweat bead down your skin.

Promise to take it slow. The words are harmless yet heated. He means the ride will be slow, but there’s also that other meaning. The one where it involves his lap, his cock, his slow motions as you gently slide up and down on his slick covered cock. That’s what those words really mean to you, and fuck do you want that. Badly.

“Okay,” you breathe out slowly as he smiles and leads you to the small ticket booth ahead. He pulls out his leather wallet and hands the attendant three dollars in exchange for two small pink tickets. Joel leads you to the front of the line and hands the tickets off as he lets you climb into one of the carts first. You sit down on the white plastic seat and get situated, fanning your green skirt across your thighs as Joel takes his place across from you.

After a few seconds, the ride starts up and you slowly ascend into the summer night’s air. The fair looks so different up in the sky, glowing lights encased in a blur as you see different shades of pinks, blues, reds, and yellows paint the fair. Soft bubbles float in the background, and bright stars twinkle in the night sky. It’s all so very whimsical.

“Wow. It’s really beautiful up here,” you say in awe as you take in all the colorful scenery of the fair.

“Yeah, it sure is,” Joel says quietly across from you. When you turn to look at him, he’s not looking at the loud crowds or the different colored bumper cars across the way. No. He’s looking at you.

Oh.

Your knees brush against his jeans, and his hand grazes gently against your inner thigh, his rough fingertips resting just behind your kneecap as his thumb brushes back and forth gently. Slow, meticulous, heated. His eyes bore into yours, chocolate irises that simmer warmly into yours. He just sits there staring, lips halfway parted as he’s mesmerized in place, his eyes only on you.

Another brush of his fingertips and suddenly the air is too hot, too much as you fight every bone in your body to jump right off your seat and straddle his lap. His lips look so inviting, plush, big. Lips that were made just for you to kiss. His eyes trail down to your lips, dark eyes smoldering as he gulps and takes another breath.

The tension is heavy, weighing down on your insides that scream for you to move. Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him. You bet he’s a great kisser, bet he has an experienced tongue, bet he can swallow you down and devour you whole when he licks into your mouth. Warm, inviting, blissful.

Suddenly your body is leaning forward, slowly reaching out as your right hand comes down on his denim clad knee. He does the same, cautiously bending forward, eyes locked with yours as he reaches, reaches, reaches until his calloused fingers are brushing against your jawline, eyes swallowing you whole as he leans forward more, almost to your lips, almost…

The Ferris wheel abruptly starts again and jolts both of you back in your seats, interrupting the almost kiss that could’ve happened. You internally grunt inside. Why the fuck did that have to happen? You just sigh as Joel reaches behind his head to scratch his neck, eyebrows furrowed as he blows out a breath and then looks back up at you with an amused expression on his face. Then the two of you burst out laughing, a harmonious melody that reaches through the dim night sky and catches on the bright lights of the fair. You keep laughing until both of you are gasping for breath, a silly moment that turned into a mutual joke.

“So much for a slow ride,” Joel chuckles as he runs a hand through his thick locks of curls, sighing again as you see the crow’s feet wrinkling at the edges of his golden eyes. And my oh my does he look pretty.

“So much for that,” you laugh and stare off into the blurring crowd on the ground.

After a couple more spins on the Ferris wheel, the ride comes to a halt at the bottom and Joel takes your hand and helps you out of the little cart. “You hungry?” he asks as he keeps your hand locked tightly in his.

“Mmm what’d you have in mind? Something sweet, maybe?” you smile with one eyebrow raised in question.

Joel shakes his head and laughs, warm and deep. “Figured you’d have a sweet tooth.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“‘Cause you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” he smiles, eyes lit up like Christmas lights as you stare back at him in awe. He called you sweet. He thinks you’re sweet. You don’t say anything, you just smile and follow him down the row of lit up food trucks that are swarmed with lines. You think you’d follow him anywhere. As long as he’d keep you locked in his arms.

He pulls you into a short line of one of the funnel cake stands as you look at the decorative funnel cakes on display. That’s not all there is. There’s also blue and pink bags of cotton candy, Caramel apples, cinnamon rolls, and pink lemonade.

“You want a funnel cake?” Joel asks as your eyes scan the powdered sugar treats.

“Mhm,” you nod as his hand squeezes gently around yours.

“You want one of those fancy ones or just a plain one?”

“Just a plain one is good with me.”

“Anythin’ else?” he asks as he looks over his shoulder and down at you. Your eyes keep going back to the pink colored cotton candy, your mouth watering as you can almost taste the fluffy goodness melt in your mouth. He seems to notice as he speaks again. “I see you keep lookin’ at that cotton candy. Wanna get some?”

“Please,” you respond eagerly as you almost bounce at the mention of cotton candy. Joel chuckles to himself when he sees your eyes light up. He thinks you’re just the sweetest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

When it’s your turn at the window, Joel orders the funnel cake and cotton candy and hands the worker some cash as she takes it from him. “Give us a few minutes with the funnel cake. We’ll have it out in about five minutes,” the worker says as she hands Joel a large bag of fluffy cotton candy.

“Here ya go, darlin’,” he drawls as he hands you the clear bag of cotton candy and grazes his fingers lightly over yours.

“Thanks, Joel.” You open the twisted bag carefully and tear off a piece of pink cotton candy with your thumb and index finger. When you pop a fluffy piece into your mouth, you swallow the cherry flavor and groan from the delicious cotton candy as you lick your glossy lips clean. “So good,” you sigh as you take another bite and lick your thumb clean of the sticky mess.

“Yeah? Let me have a bite then.” He reaches for the open bag of cotton candy, but you snatch it from him before he can grab a piece and hold it high in the air.

“Only if you can catch me,” you tease as you smirk over at him, snickering under your breath as his eyebrows knit together.

“Now, sweetheart. Jus’ what do ya think you’re doin’, hmm?” he asks as he extends his fingers and stares your way.

“Having some fun,” you giggle as he reaches once more for the bag, but you take another step back.

“You’re walking on mighty thin ice, darlin’,” he murmurs as his eyes darken slightly, almost like he wants to chase you.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it then? You gonna just stand there or are you gonna come get me?” you taunt as you rustle the bag and toss it back and forth in your hands.

“Oh, I’m gonna come get you, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he smirks as he takes one step forward.

You lick your bottom lip and place one hand on your hip as you taunt him. “Come get me then, cowboy.”

He twitches his jaw and narrows his eyes playfully as a smug smirk covers his plush lips. Before you know it, he’s lunging at you as you squeak and try to run from him. You don’t make it far until you feel his thick arms wrap around your waist, and then he’s picking you up as you squeal while he spins you around.

“C’mere you little tease,” he chuckles as he places you back on the ground and leans forward, biting off a piece of cotton candy as almond eyes stare straight into yours. “Delicious,” he smiles as he grabs another handful and pops it into his mouth, smirking down at you as you stare wide-eyed at him.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he chuckles as he shakes his head slowly at you.

“I dunno,” you smile bashfully and sway your hips as your green summer dress blows in the gentle breeze of the night. “Guess you could keep me,” you say shyly, fluttering your eyelashes at him as you look carefully at his calm features.

“Keep you, huh?” he asks with a crooked smile splayed on his face.

“Mhm,” you hum shyly.

“Maybe I will, darlin’. Maybe I will.” He reaches out and cups your chin as he tilts it up so he can have a better look into your shimmering eyes. Just when you think he might kiss you, they call your order from the side window of the food truck. Joel grabs the paper plate of the powdered dessert and grabs up two forks and napkins as he leads you over to an empty picnic style table. You take a seat on the old, rickety seat, and Joel slides in next to you, the side of his thigh pressed firmly against your bare leg. And it burns, hot.

As the two of you pick at the savory funnel cake, you and Joel bond over interests and likes. You learn his favorite color is blue, the same as yours, he plays guitar, he likes fishing, camping, building and making things, but mostly he loves spending precious time with his daughter, Sarah. And you love that, love that he’s a good father. He’s not just a good father, he’s the perfect father. The way he talks about her is, well, wonderful. You could sit and listen to him talk all night long if you could. And you also wonder who the hell would be so stupid as to leave him? He’s literally perfect. Sweet, funny, handsome, a menace. But that just leaves more for you.

“How’s the funnel cake, darlin’? Sweet enough?” Joel laughs as he takes another bite out of the fried goodness.

“Definitely sweet enough, it’s just right.” You swallow another mouthful of powdered sugar and just when you’re about to reach for another forkful, Joel nods to the side of your face.

“You got a little somethin’ on your face, sweetheart.”

Grabbing up a clean napkin, you dab at your face embarrassed and find there’s nothing there. “Where? I don’t feel anything.”

“Oh, you missed. Right here.” He swipes his finger in a pile of powdered sugar and wipes it clear across the side of your face as you feel powdered sugar stick to your shiny skin.

Your eyes grow wide as you push him playfully against his strong chest. “Joel!”

He erupts into a fit of laughter as he throws back his head and holds a firm hand across his chest. “Sorry, darlin’. Couldn’t resist,” he chuckles as he plants his thick fingers against the denim of his broad thighs.

You lean forward, challenging him and smirk. “Okay then. If you think it’s so funny then why don’t you clean up the mess you made. Hmm?”

He eyes you carefully, his thick eyebrows knitting together as he studies you, flicking his eyes between your mouth and your playfully narrowed eyes. He runs a hand nervously down the side of his jaw, right through the greying scruff as he waits and waits and waits. Then he’s moving, leaning forward, brushing his calloused fingers against the edge of your thigh until his tongue is flat against the corner of your mouth.

His tongue is warm, long, wet as he laps up the powdered sugar. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you, a meer tinge of bravery slipping through your nerves. After he’s done lapping up the mess he made, just as he’s starting to pull back, you feel that spark of bravery shoot through you again at the speed of lightning, so you move, fast. Before he can turn his face away, you lean forward and plant your lips firmly over his, giving him a quick kiss on the lips as warmth runs like honey down your insides.

You break the kiss fast, your cheeks burning red as you feel sort of dizzy from the quick actions. Just when you almost apologize for diving in, Joel cups your chin and brings you back in. His lips are on you in a second. Hot, burning, electric, he seems to be everywhere. Crowding your space, slipping through your lips, burning you from the inside out. The kiss deepens as he cradles the side of your face, fingers brushing through thick locks of your wind blown hair. You seem to get lost in time as you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him closer to your body, until he’s flush against your chest.

You part your lips and allow his tongue to enter your vicinity, feeling it collide with your own as it dances around yours in a slow, steady rhythm. He tastes like powdered sugar, coffee, warm summer nights as his tongue glides against yours. It’s like all the busy movements and loud noises in the fair stop, it’s only you and Joel, just two people getting lost in a first kiss. It’s almost like you’re in a movie, camera slowly spinning around the two of you as you get tangled up together in a slow, romantic kiss. And it’s like fireworks go off in the sky, colorful swirls painting the way each time your lips move in sync. It’s unlike any other kiss you’ve ever had before. It’s slow, easy, just right, perfect. And you know then you’re a goner. You’ve fallen for the man with dreamy brown eyes and a Southern drawl you could hear for hours on end. You truly had it bad for the sweet cowboy that swept you off your feet.

After a couple of minutes go by, Joel pushes himself back, but keeps one hand lingering on your jaw, his thumb trailing gently against your flushed cheek. “I knew it,” he smiles, a warm, honey-like tone slipping off his tongue as he looks at you with warm, brown eyes.

“Knew what?” you whisper out, still catching your breath from that amazing first kiss.

“I knew you were sweeter than pie,” he smiles as you catch a gleam in those pretty honey colored eyes.

“Sweeter than pie?”

“Darlin’, you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Your lips part open, a stupid grin spreading across your glossy mouth as you stare incredulously at the sweetest man that took your breath away.

You spend the next couple hours locked hand in hand, exploring every square inch of the fair, sharing cherry lemonade with each other, bonding over movies and shared interests, just spending the night getting to know one another. It was the best date of your life, the best night. You never would have imagined it to be quite like this, but here you were, completely entranced with some handsome man you fell for on the carousel.

The drive back home is quiet as the breeze from the open window blows softly through your hair. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, the way he keeps smiling and staring every few seconds just watching you enjoy the long summer’s night. The radio hums low in your ear, but all you can hear is your own breath, the shift of Joel in the driver’s seat, the soft tapping noise of his thumb on the leather steering wheel, and the low rumble of the truck’s engine. You love summer nights, love getting lost in the night, but most of all you love being in this truck, in this seat, next to Joel.

You feel Joel’s calloused fingers slowly graze against the outside of your thigh, so you shift in your seat and look over at him all dreamily, getting lost in those honey flecked eyes you find so mesmerizing. He’s got you twisted around the black military watch that sits clasped against his wrist, and there’s no way in hell he’s letting you go.

After a few more minutes of driving on the dark, dimly lit road back to your apartment, he’s pulling up to your front door. The one with overflowing white lilies in pots and the crystal wind chime you can’t seem to let go of. He puts the truck in park and looks over at you, an expression of gentleness as he relaxes his brows and pulls some out of place locks behind your ear.

“I had a great time with you tonight, darlin’.” You watch the crooked smile appear on the side of his mouth, his eyes seeming to twinkle like the bright stars in the night sky.

“I did, too, Joel. Thank you, for the perfect date.”

“Anytime, darlin’. Anytime.”

You sit there a moment, hovering in the silence as you chew on your bottom lip and taste the hint of cherry lip gloss. You twist your fingers in your lap, thighs pressing together as you look up at him through your long eyelashes. He’s just sitting there, his jaw clenched as he stares at you perplexed with the engine humming faintly in the background.

Just as you think of slowly making your way out the passenger door, Joel clears his throat and dwindles his hand on the steering wheel. “Would you… would you maybe wanna go on another date with me next Friday? Sarah’s gonna be outta town for volleyball camp, and I have the weekend free. Maybe you’d wanna come over for dinner or watch a movie or…”

You interrupt his offer as you quickly nod your head yes. “I’d really like that.”

“Is that a yes then?” he asks, brown eyes full of hope as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, awaiting your final answer.

“That’s definitely a yes, cowboy,” you smile as he smirks back at you in response.

“Friday it is then,” he confirms as his eyes never wander from yours.

“Friday it is.” You let your hand meander on the side of the door handle and tug gently as you start to slide over in the seat. “Well, goodnight. Thank you again for the perfect evening.”

Just as you about make it out of the door, Joel shoots his hand out and grabs your wrist tightly, his voice straining with an ounce of restraint as he holds you there, locked in his embrace. “Wait.”

You slowly turn, eyes locking with his as they seem to widen, his plush lips parted open as he stares transfixed, his chest rising and falling in deep breaths as he tries to hold back. He really needs to, doesn’t need to rush anything, but any self restraint comes crashing down when your eyes trail down to his warm lips.

“C’mere.” A gasp falls out of your mouth as he pulls you into his lap, your thighs straddling his as he pulls you flush to his broad chest. “Wanna kiss you one more time, sweetheart.”

With no hesitation, he tugs your head down to his and crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is heated, desperate, burning as you melt your lips against his and get lost in the radiant glow of the moment. You part your lips, and he slots his tongue inside your mouth, desperately licking at the cotton candy flavor as he collides with your tongue. He twists around, pulling you closer to his body as you feel the hard erection that bulges at his zipper line.

You deepen the kiss, tasting the powdered sugar and cherry lemonade against your lips, letting your body grind down on him as you hear him moan through your glossy lips. You feel his hands slowly slide your dress up, feel his meaty palms dig into your thighs as you feel slick start to coat your lace.

You rake your fingers through his messy curls, start to grind against the thickness of his cock through his tight denim jeans as you picture how ruined he must be underneath that zipper. You moan into his mouth the second one of his hands slides up higher, teasing the inside of your thigh as you desperately want to ride him right here, right now. You want to taste him, want to feel him slide in and out of your dripping core, want him to make you come until you see nothing but him in your vision.

His swollen lips drop to the side of your neck, teeth grazing against your skin as he starts to suck slowly, finding just the right spot that makes you moan and pant against the shell of his ear as your face rubs against his coarse salt-and-pepper scruff. Your fingers cling to his dark green flannel, curling around the edges as you lick the side of his ear, just as he makes you moan again from his teasing tongue low on your collarbone.

Your other hand grips the back of his sweaty hair, holding on for dear life as you feel you can orgasm right here at any moment. He hasn’t even touched you where you need him most, and he already has you unraveling from the seams. Just when he’s about to slide his hand under your soaked panties, his phone rings loudly, blaring as you almost jump out from beneath your sticky skin.

You hear Joel swear under his breath as he digs his phone out from deep within the pocket of his jeans. When he retrieves it, he looks at the lit up screen and sighs. “It’s Sarah, I gotta answer this,” he murmurs as you sit still and let him take the call. “Hello?”

You watch him talk, eyes blown out as his breathing is still shallow, beads of sweat staining his forehead as his curls stick to the edges of his face. His eyes are on yours, unmoving, even when he’s talking to his daughter on the phone.

“You alright? You call Tommy first?” he asks as his free hand stills on your exposed thigh, his thumb gently circling your burning skin as his chocolate eyes stare back into yours, that same heated gaze locked on you. You hear a small voice on the end of the line, but it’s just quiet enough to where you can’t make out what she says.

“Ahh, shit. Alright, jus’ hang tight. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Jus’ wait there with Ellie and tell her not to touch anything. See ya in a few.” He clicks end on the phone and shoves it back into his pocket, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes tight for just a few seconds.

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, still out of breath from the heated kiss.

“Yeah, Sarah jus’ got a flat tire near the house. Tommy’s daughter, Ellie, is tryin’ to fix it, and I just know she’s gonna make a mess and hurt herself if I don’t get there quick. Damn kid likes to cause trouble,” he chuckles as he sighs again and pulls you close, resting his forehead on your own as he breathes out slowly.

He pushes some damp locks behind your ear, and you sit there glued to his flannel, your nose gently brushing against his. He shifts in his seat and sighs before he speaks. “Look, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to take it so far. If I didn’t get that call, I might’ve not been able to stop myself. You’re just so… so… beautiful and hard to resist and fuck. We don’t have to take it fast, we can go slow, as slow as you want, darlin’. I jus’ like you a lot and wanna keep you around and…”

You cut him off as you press your thumb against his bottom lip and gently hush him. “Joel, it’s okay,” you giggle out as you look straight into flecks of warm honey eyes. “What if I don’t want to take it slow?”

His eyes widen, a speck of sweat sliding down his forehead as he eyes you carefully, his heart hammering in his chest as he watches you closely. “Are you sure?”

You nod in response. “I’m sure, Joel. I want this, want you. I’m all in. I’m not going anywhere.”

A small smile creeps up against his lips, and then all you can see is warmth in his face, his cheeks tinged red as he blushes. “Alright, sweetheart. If that’s what you want. What do you say, Friday we pick this up where we left off?”

“Friday it is, cowboy.”

Another chuckle reverberates off his lips as he brings you down once more against him and crashes his lips into yours. This time it’s just one kiss, but it’s as heated and intense as the others, but there’s also something else in the kiss. Need, desire, want. He wants you, just as bad as you want him.

When he breaks the kiss, he helps you off his lap and ghosts his fingers over the back of your hand as you make your way out of the truck. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep tight.”

Before you close the door, you smile warmly at him and wave flirtatiously. “Night, cowboy. You sure do know how to light a girl up inside.” Before he can say anything back as his cheeks burn bright crimson, you slam the door closed and saunter up to your small porch. You feel his eyes on you, watching until you make it in safely, then he’s driving off into the thick of the night.

When you close the door, you slide down the back of the wood and end up on the floor in a heap, giggling to yourself as you rest your head against the back of the door and hug the stuffed dolphin to your chest. You can’t stop kicking your feet, can’t stop the feeling of warmth and nerves pulling at your insides. You have it so bad for Joel Miller. You can’t wait to see him again. Your new favorite cowboy.

Tags: @laurrrra @sawymredfox @amyispxnk @princesatracionera @vivian-pascal

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#padika fave fics

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littlepadika · 9 days

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the last of us (2023) | 1.01

#the third gif #that little hump 😩#joelyyyy

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littlepadika · 10 days

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This was sooooo good! I love this position and Joel. Amazing 🥰😻

Good Morning

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

Mornings with Joel are wonderful.

part 1

tw: smut!, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, crying, sex with feelings, not proofread, soft Joel.

word count: 4.7k

MDNI!

masterlist

–

Mornings with Joel were quickly becoming your favorite despite their rarity.

After the night of your mother’s wedding you’d never expected to actually have anything come from it. Maybe another hookup for either one of you to blow off steam, but nothing that actually was meaningful. So when Joel had called you and sounded so nervous to ask you on a date six months ago, your heart melted and you excitedly agreed.

The date was precious, Joel had chosen a place that was fancy enough to make him put on a navy blue sport coat and use gel to style the wonderful mess of his curls. He had been awkward in all the cutest ways, blushing and bashful as though the two of you hadn’t already slept together

He was so crestfallen when you’d suggested that you get the check instead of ordering one of the flouncy, expensive desserts, his dark eyes had dropped to the tablecloth as he quietly mumbled his agreement. Of course, you’d suggested that you have the delicious and, more importantly, free pint of cookie dough ice cream that you kept in your freezer, some part of you intent on the fact that you knew you were taking Joel home at the end of the date.

Six months later, you were waking up luxuriously in his bed.

He only shared the morning with you when Sarah was gone, sleeping over at a friend’s house or staying with his brother, Tommy, for the night. You’d only stayed over a handful of times, each time feeling just as giddy and special as the first. More than once you had imagined getting to stay longer than just one night, the night turning into the weekend and the weekend turning into the week and the week turning into you just making a home with Joel and the teenager you’d seen photos of all over his house.

In time, you hoped.

But this morning, waking up was a wonderful thing. It was still relatively cool in the mornings in Austin, the sunlight painting your eyelids orange as you stretched. His mattress was so soft, your body sinking into the fluffed topper. The sun-warmed sheets were wrapped around you, keeping off the chill of the morning as you finally opened your eyes.

You could see the dust motes floating in the shaft of light through the parted curtains, the brightness of it making you blink slowly as you rolled onto your back. Joel’s room was surprisingly cozy, the walls painted a deep blue with a few paintings of southwestern landscapes hung up. There were framed posters from concerts he’d been to as well, mostly acoustic guitar gigs in open-air parks. He’d taken you to one as your second date, the poster proudly framed and hung up next to the large window.

Joel was still asleep, snoring softly as he lay partially sprawled on his stomach. You’d forced Joel to see a musical with you the night before, plying him with drinks and a steak dinner that he begrudgingly let you buy for him. The musical was fine, Joel distracting you through most of it by just having his thick arm curled around your shoulders as it rested on top of the seatback.

The night ended in your favorite way: the two of you tangled up in Joel’s truck because you just couldn’t wait until you made it back to his house. He practically begged you to stay the night, his huge hands pulling you over the threshold and sweet kisses stamped to your lips and cheeks.

How could you say no to this man?

He mumbled something in his sleep, reaching out and curling an arm around your waist. You were yanked close to him, his skin hot even through the stolen Pearl Jam shirt you were wearing. A quiet hum echoed from your throat as you snuggled into him. It was a sign for you to relax, to attempt to reverse your early bird ways as you burrowed into his warmth.

You drifted in and out of a light sleep, his snores just barely quiet enough that they felt more like background noise. Every time you opened your eyes another thirty minutes had passed, Joel’s hand slowly creeping from your hip to rest against your stomach beneath the tee shirt. He held you close, spooning with his right arm acting as your pillow.

It was the feeling of Joel’s aquiline nose pressed against the side of your neck and a loose, open-mouthed kiss against your skin that finally woke you up fully. His wide hand clutched at your waist beneath your shirt, pressing your back close to his chest.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, reaching up to comb your fingers through his dark curls as you blinked in the bright sunlight. You rolled back toward him, your shoulder blade pressed against his chest as you laid partially on your back. As soon as Joel heard your voice he chuckled, grinding his clothed cock against your ass as you came to.

“Mornin’ baby,” Joel murmured against your cheek, his voice raspy from sleep. The feeling of his lips on your skin sent a shiver down your spine. His hand left your waist, the shirt you wore bunching up on his forearm as he cupped the swell of your left breast in his palm.

Your head turned toward his, you hand in his hair tightening as you arched into his touch. “Joel.” You already sound wrecked just from him thumbing at your nipple, rolling it beneath the calloused pad of his finger before squeezing your entire breast under the stretch of his grip. It was always the best way to get your plush thighs squeezing together.

The press of his smile felt intimate as his beard tickled the curve of your jaw. His right arm bent, the scoop of his palm cradling your left shoulder in the loose form of a headlock. You loved when he held you like this, the column of your neck in the curve of his elbow as your bodies pressed closer and closer.

Joel’s hand moved from your breast to trace down the soft skin of your stomach, snapping the waistband of your panties playfully. You giggled, your hand wrapping around the forearm pressed against your collarbone as he groped a handful of your ass.

“This is nice,” you whispered as you lifted your top leg and curled it back around his hip, giving Joel better access to your already wet cunt. He grabbed at your parted inner thighs, making you whimper.

“Thought I deserved a morning treat for going to that musical last night,” Joel said, making you huff and roll your eyes.

You turned your head just enough to catch his mouth in a needy kiss, whining against him as he continued to grope at you. The curve of his hand from the tip of his thumb to the pad of his forefinger slotted into the crease where your thigh met your hip. His fingertips just barely brushed under the lace trim of your panties, just enough contact to tease you.

Joel loved to take his time in the mornings. Every touch was slow and calculated despite your hips impatiently rolling in the grip of his hand. He was so stubborn, smiling as he squeezed and kept you steady. You locked your lips with his, noisily smacking together as your noses pressed into each other’s cheeks.

Ever the benevolent god, he finally inched his fingers beneath the soaked gusset of your panties. A stuttered whimper pulled from your throat just to be absorbed by Joel’s mouth.

There was a sightless exploration under your fingertips, your hand leaving the thick curls of his hair to snake beneath his arm. You could feel the practical, working-man muscles beneath his tanned skin as you traced the cap of his shoulder.

He already looked smug as you pulled away, your lips parted and shiny with his saliva. You let out a soft, punched moan as his fingers smeared wetness up and down the slick seam of your sex, your head spinning. Your fingers dug into his shoulder, your other hand tightening around his forearm. Joel was smirking at your reaction, his dark eyes watching you fall apart at the simplest of touches.

“You are sensitive this morning,” Joel murmured, the deep rasp of his voice wrapping around you like a warm coat. You didn’t bother denying it, just nodding with another whimper as he trapped your clit between the pads of his pointer and middle fingers, rubbing tight circles against it.

You nodded dizzily, not quite trusting yourself to form a response as you spread your knees further apart. Joel chuckled against the hinge of your jaw, his hips still languidly pressing his erection against the side of your ass.

Your hand slid from his shoulder in a path that snaked down Joel’s side, feeling every ridge of his ribcage and the softness of the pudge on his belly. The smattering of wiry hair beneath his navel served as a guide as you reached behind your back, your thumb hooking into the boxers he wore to sleep and pulling them down just enough that one half of the waistband caught around his wide, hairy thigh.

Joel was already hard when you wrapped your hand around the base of him, a choked groan resonating from him against your hairline as your pointer finger fit into the valley on the underside of his already leaking head.

With a clumsiness from your hopelessly tangled limbs, you brought your hand to your mouth and spat in the scoop of your fingers before returning them to slick his cock with your warm saliva. “Baby, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Joel sighed, his bicep flexing against your neck and his hand tightening on your shoulder.

The two of you were a panting mess as you touched one another, the slick sounds of his dick in your hand and his fingers on your cunt filling the room. The pace he set was a lazy one, his thick fingers circling your clit before dipping down to your dripping cunt to gather more slick. You followed his lead, slowly pumping your closed fist from base to tip. You could feel the thick veins bulging beneath your fingers.

His brown eyes were so warm, half-lidded and staring at you with an affection that knew no bounds. The intimacy of his gaze made you lurch forward to kiss him, your nose bumping against his as lips met teeth.

Joel pressed two fingers into you, the stretch was divine as you moaned against his mouth. You matched each thrust of his fingers with a roll of your wrist, the two of you leaning into one another as you shared your breaths.

You knew you were leaking like a faucet, soaking Joel’s hand down to his wrist. His slow pace was getting you worked up beyond the point of still having dignity. You were whimpering pathetically, your hips rocking against the motion of his hand with desperation. The squelch of your cunt was loud, overshadowing your moans and Joel’s grunts and the soft rustling of sheets.

The movement of your hand started to get clumsy and uncoordinated, your focus splintering between jerking Joel off and the way he was making you feel. He chuckled, turning his head to whisper in your ear. “That’s it baby,” Joel mumbled in his deep gravel tone. “Can feel you squeezing my fucking fingers.”

His thumb moved forward to press against your swollen clit, your spine arching off the bed as the pleasure ricocheted up your body. You couldn’t help the way your eyes squeezed shut, your deep, syrupy breaths turning into shallow gasps. The gasp of your voice came out too loud and shrill, your free hand clenching in the pillows about your head. “Joel, oh my–!”

A groan left him, the pad of his thumb firmly strumming over your clit as his fingers crooked inside you.

Everything was becoming too much. You were merely holding the base of his cock, too overwhelmed by the euphoria coming from Joel’s hand to divide your attention. Solace was sought in the curve of his neck and shoulder, your body canting to one side so you could bury your face against him. Your muscles braced around him, everything becoming tighter and tighter as you huffed small whimpers against the delicate skin of his clavicle.

“Joel!” The tension became too much, your muscles convulsing and your back breaking on you repeating his name like a broken record. You rode the jolts of your orgasm snugly against Joel’s fingers, intimately grinding your clit against the joint where his thumb met his palm.

You sank down from your high, bonelessness seeping into your limbs from head to toe. It was still hard to breathe properly, Joel’s fingers smearing messily up and down your cunt in an effort to soothe the aftershocks as he pressed kisses against your jaw. Clarity returned with slow breaths, attentive eyes met over your shoulder.

He looked pleased.

“Love making you scream like that, baby,” Joel murmured as your hand resumed jerking him off. Your own wetness smeared against your thigh as he manipulated your legs so he could take your panties off, tossing them over the side of his bed. “You always sound so desperate.”

You rolled your eyes, a tired smile stretching across your lips. “I think you’re getting too cocky for your own good, old man,” you said with a grin, gently kissing him. He pulled your leg back to where it was, spreading you apart so your calf was pressed against the small of his back while the outside of your other thigh was snug against the sheets.

Joel chuckled good naturedly, his free hand pushing his briefs down enough to kick them off with his feet. The whole motion was uncoordinated, jostling the two of you together as he settled back next to you. Another set of kisses were stamped against your cheek and throat.

“So now I’m an old man?” Joel asked, a dark eyebrow arching as he waited for your response. He moved your hand away from his cock, stroking himself from base to tip as his forearm squished into the fat of your thigh.

“Definitely,” you said with a soft smirk, your nose bumping against his as you placed a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He snorted softly, shaking his head. “I’ll show you just what this old man can do,” Joel said, his southern drawl low as he threatened you. His other hand moved from your shoulder to palm at your breast through the worn fabric of the shirt you wore, kneading it in the wide stretch of his fingers.

Your bratty response died in your throat, killed by the drag of the blunt head of Joel’s cock against your cunt. He snickered, mercilessly nudging your oversensitive clit with it.

“Please,” you gasped, the plea slipping from your mouth before you even realized it had gathered there. The hot slide of his cock between your thighs almost made your eyes roll back, your cunt fluttering around nothing as he teased you. His hand pressed just below your belly button, making it hard for you to angle your hips just right.

“Please what, baby?” Joel asked, the wiry hair of his mustache tickling the shell of your ear. He was driving you nuts, your nerves starting to fray as you struggled against the iron hold of his hand. You knew he wanted you to beg.

You tried to be stubborn, whining pathetically as he continued to fuck your thighs. Arousal was pouring out of you like you’d sprung a leak, making your inner thighs slick as his thick cock sawed in the hinge between your thigh and your sex. You were all kinds of worked up before, but the almost stimulation combined with Joel’s grunts in your ear felt like sick torture.

It only takes you a few more thrusts for your resolve to crack. “Joel, fuck, please fuck me,” you gasped, too blinded by your horniness to keep your composure as you strained your hips against the prison of his hand.

The laugh he let out was condescending. “There she is,” he purred against you, the smile clear in his tone. His hand moved from below your navel to adjust his cock so the blunt head pressed against your cunt. “You want this?” he asked, still not pressing his hips to yours hard enough to actually push inside.

“Yeah, yes,” you sighed plaintively, your eyelashes fluttering as you almost started to cry. It was humiliating how desperate you were, but you were too far gone to care.

Joel rooted himself deep in you with a solid thrust, the stretch and the sudden feeling of finally being full making your chin drop to your sternum. The sound that ripped from you was animal, your hips shoving back against Joel’s as his chest curved around your shoulders.

He fell into rhythm immediately, making your bedhead even worse as you rocked against the mattress and his pillows. The arm curled beneath your throat pinned your shoulder blades to his chest, the two of you plastered together like sardines despite the size of the bed. His other hand reached forward to curl around your belly, fingertips pressing into your skin.

It felt like his cock was in your sternum has he steadily fucked into you, coaxing gasps from your throat as you clutched desperately at his strong arms. His nose nudged beneath the hinge of your jaw, his breath cooling the sweat accumulating there.

It was only when he was inside of you that you realized how badly you needed it. Fucking Joel made you feel complete, the aching emptiness being chased away as he gathered up all the loose and ragged pieces of you and put you back together with every drag of his cock against each slippery ridge inside of you.

You didn’t know if it was gratitude or reverence that made your breath nearly stop.

“Feels like this pussy of yours was fucking made for me,” Joel groaned into your ear, drawing back and rolling his pelvis against you. The clap of his hips and your ass was getting impossibly louder, accompanied by the wet squelch of his cock pushing deeper and deeper into you.

He dug his teeth into your neck, sucking a sloppy hickey against the delicate skin as you started to fuck your hips back onto him. The head of his cock kept smashing into that spot that made you feel like mush, satisfied groans muffled in the back of your neck as your toes curled. You were seeing stars, one of your hands bracing against the headboard in a pathetic attempt to get some stability to anchor yourself to.

Joel’s big hand left your belly, dipping down to spread the messy lips of your sex. The firm roll of your clit between his fingers made tension knit in your abdomen again. Your lungs expanded, the breath stuck in your throat on instinct, sharp gasps pushing out of you. The spiral of heat forming in your stomach tightened, almost so tight you could hardly see.

Your cunt fluttered and tightened around him desperately, your body preparing for a crash. Joel moaned in anticipation, his thrusts took on an eager purpose as he kissed sloppily at your neck.

“Love you,” you gasped, your nails digging into the thick muscle of his forearms as you tried to stay afloat.

The fat, tight plunge of Joel’s cock in you was maddening. Dizzying. You could feel yourself almost start to drool against the sheets. You were hazy and out of your mind as he rut into you again and again and again.

“I love you too,” he muttered in your ear, raspy and deep. You felt his forehead press against your clothed shoulder, sweat absorbing into the fabric. A loud moan echoed from him, making your pussy clench as he watched your ass ripple with each slam of his hips. He always told you it was one of his favorite parts of you, stretchmarks and dimples and all.

He mercilessly ground into your g-spot as he circled your clit with the pads of his middle and pointer fingers, making the ache in your abdomen more pronounced. You were clenched so tight around his cock, the need to orgasm almost making you feel like you were going to cry. The tightness in your core foretold you that it would be a big one, one of the orgasms that you needed Joel to talk you through as you came back down to earth.

You tipped your head back, fitting it neatly between Joel’s ear and the mattress as you whined through clenched teeth. The coarse, wiry hair of his beard scratched your cheek with each thrust, but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about it. It was like you were a bow drawn too tight, ready to snap at any moment.

There was a startling moment of clarity as your toes curled, a deep part of you realizing how safe you felt like this. Pinned to the length of Joel’s sturdy frame, sweat pooling in the few areas where your skin connected. You were wanted and protected and needed and craved, it was the same feeling you had on the first night when you and Joel had hooked up at the wedding. You felt it every time since.

Your throat was tightening with a feeling deeper than pleasure as your field of focus narrowed down to solely Joel. His thrusts were calculated and methodical, you could feel the cords of muscle bunching in his abdomen with every deep press of his huge cock.

It was almost too much, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice as Joel refused to leave you an inch of space. Your hips twitched against his forearm, part of you trying to get away from the blinding feeling of his cock. It was impossible, the length of him staggering as he stretched you over it. You’d think that you’d get more used to it, but it still felt like the first time every time.

Something in your mind broke, tears starting to leak out of your eyes as he bullied your swollen clit and relentlessly pounded into you. “Joel, oh, oh… Joel, please–” you gasped on an exhale, your voice catching on the edge of a sob. “Ohmygod, Joel. Love you, I love you, Joel–”

Joel responded by doubling his efforts, pulling your hips back to meet his frantic thrusts. You clung to whatever parts of him you could hold, one hand reaching back to squeeze his hip as you dug your nails into the forearm pressed into your collarbone.

“That’s it. That’s my fucking good, perfect girl,” he hissed into your ear, the praise making your head spin. There was a hitch to his tone that told you he was just as close as you, running his mouth like a madman. “Christ, don’t know how I ever went without this sweet little pussy in my life. She’s sucking me in and fucking creaming all over me.”

It’s the nonsense that finally pushes you over the edge, a cry that sounded more wounded than pleasured rocking out of you. You rocked your hips back against his, your cunt seizing around his cock as tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes and soaked into the sheets. Joel held you tighter, abandoning your clit to curl an arm around your waist and keep you steady as your legs shook against him.

“So fucking good for me,” Joel said through grit teeth, voice like honey. You could hardly hear him over the pounding of your heart, listening to him like you were both underwater. He kept talking, mumbling things against your skin that you couldn’t understand as he kept going.

He was taking what he needed from you now, your body going mostly limp as he bounced you up and down his cock and grunted in your ear. Your nerves were frayed beyond belief, your breaths shallow as the remnants of your orgasm fizzed in your peripheral vision. His fingers dug into your flesh, probably leaving bruises beneath them as he fucked into you like an animal.

It was too much, your hands weakly reaching back to push at Joel’s thick torso as you protested. “S’too much, fuck–” you sobbed, your voice hoarse and breathless and broken. He fucked you stupid, the weight of thinking all the time finally leaving you as every thought left your head.

Joel shattered, the rhythmic pulse of your drooling pussy finally enough to coax him over the edge as his cock jerked inside of you. He groaned, pressing his open mouth against your throat and scraping his blunt teeth against it as you felt him inside you. The cage of his arms was tight around you through it, his hips slowing down without ever stopping as he leisurely ground into you.

You were still wrapped in your own pleasure, your body tightening and shivering with the aftershocks. He shivered behind you, panting as he came down with you. The ringing in your ears was loud, color slowly bleeding back into the room as Joel finally stopped moving.

He stayed there for some time, holding you to his chest as his other hand ran up and down the long line of the thigh that was still slung over his hip.

“Good morning,” he mumbled as though you hadn’t already gone through the song and dance, pressing sweet kisses to your throat and shoulder as you caught your breath.

You sighed, feeling red hot come ooze around Joel’s cock and down his balls as you started to relax. It took you a moment to formulate a thought, your mind having gone slack with the rest of you. “M’leaking,” you blurted stupidly, your voice a slur as your grip on Joel started to loosen.

Joel snorted, the sound feeling loud and harsh compared to everything that just happened. He made no move to pull out, nuzzling at your shoulder lovingly. You made no effort to move away, twisting your shoulders so you could look at Joel better.

He was smiley, his dimples showing just over his patchy beard as his eyes met yours. They were half-lidded and so warm, making you reach out to stroke your thumb over his cheek.

“I wish we could do this every morning,” you said without thinking, not considering the implications.

Before you could close up and apologize, Joel nodded. “We’d never get anything done, though,” he said playfully, slipping out of you so he could mash you against him. You felt a little sorry for the loss, come and slick dripping down your thighs. “But it would be worth it to stay like this.”

Joel’s sappy, soppy moments were rare. You tried to cover the hitch of your breath by squirming your way closer to him, pressing idle kisses to his sternum as you did.

“Maybe you could meet her,” he mumbled against the crown of your head after a little while. Your eyes widened as you pulled back to properly look at him, assessing the sincerity in his expression. He meant it, a soft smile curling his lips upward as he waited for your reaction.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” you breathed, your own grin breaking out on your face. “I can’t wait to meet Sarah.”

He pulled you against him, not moving fast enough for you to miss the spark of pure joy in his expression. “She’s gonna love you.” He squeezed you lovingly, stamping another kiss to your head as he took a deep breath against your hair.

You nodded, curling impossibly closer to Joel as you let the rest of the morning soaked around you. “M’gonna love her,” you sighed, the words sounding muffled as your cheek squished against his chest.

Someone’s stomach rumbled, you couldn’t tell whether it was yours or Joel’s. With your other needs sated, hunger began to crop up in the two of you.

Joel spoke first, his deep voice thick. “How about we discuss it over breakfast?”

It only took you a second to agree, yanking him out of bed with you and dragging him to the attached bathroom to clean up. He laughed at your eagerness, bracing a hand against the wall before leaning down to capture you in a kiss. It was passionate, his tongue licking between your parted lips. Your shoulder blades pressed against the tiled wall of the bathroom, your hands finding his cheeks and holding him closer.

“Only if we get pancakes,” you countered as you parted, your breaths heavy.

“You’ve got a deal, baby.”

#padika fave fics

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littlepadika · 10 days

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Hey friends! Best news ever! I finally have a job! I start on the 18th! Obviously, this is great, no more selling what little I have anyway. But, I'm in need of some groceries to at least get me by, as I won't be getting paid right away.😔. But, that's where I need some assistance. Just some stuff to sustain my belly for a bit. I've been eating a half pack of ramen a day(thankfully it lasts). If you can help, that would be amazing. The biggest help would be reblogs just to get it out there. My PayPal is below.

Thank you lovelies!

PayPal- @JenniferBartscht

#signal boost #reblogs are free #yay I’m so proud of you princess!#you are strong!

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littlepadika · 11 days

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Oh my goddd that was so toe-curling delicious and I feel just as frusterated as the reader that he didn’t fuck my pussy but at least I got one hole 😩😩😩😩 💦

make a move on me

➔ pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader - 5.5k

➔ You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodeling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

➔ Rated MA for baby’s first anal fic protected p in a and anal fingering (r receiving), age gap (reader is early 20’s, joel is 36), m masturbation/pillowhumping, daddy kink, size kink, praise kink, gentle-turned-rough sex, pet names (baby, darling, honey, good girl, baby girl, little lady), slight degradation and condescension but only in a sexy way, one use of “slut”, pussy pronouns, one (1) pussy slap, gratuitous dickscription, heavy dom/sub dynamics i mean seriously these power dynamics are out of control, tommy is a little bit of a shit (affectionate) [pls let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ This reader insert character: has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, no name/no use of y/n, is generally able-bodied, fits in joel’s shirt and is implied to be shorter/smaller than him, is on summer break from college but no major/year is mentioned.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. Keep his hands to himself and his mind on the job. Don’t fret over the pretty little thing who’s been draping herself all over the house ever since he started demo, practically begging to be fucked.

If he had any sense, he would pack his shit and drop the job–or, at the very least, tell your parents to put you on a leash. But there’s a little part of him that might be a glutton for punishment–that savors the teasing.

The most infuriating part of the whole thing is that he can’t blame you for this whole mess. He shouldn’t be so quick to temptation. You should be able to walk around your own home in whatever you want and not have to worry about the creepy contractor getting flustered every time he looks in your general direction.

But god, you make it hard–double entendre intended. You walk around like you haven’t a care in the world because you don’t; you’re home for summer break after a grueling year at college, and you intend to savor every languid second of it. Your preferred method of savoring just happens to be wearing tight little bikinis that barely hold anything in place as you lounge out by the pool in the Texas heat, or tight leggings that hug your ass so perfectly it almost makes him jealous of the material as you curl up with a book on your couch.

Joel’s a grown man. He can keep it in his pants, no matter how badly he wants you. But you’re not exactly making it easy on him.

Really, it’s Tommy’s fault when the levee breaks. If he could keep his big mouth shut, Joel might’ve been able to maintain the thin control he had over himself. But Tommy goes and makes an off-handed comment about you one night, and that’s the beginning of the downward spiral.

The brothers are both lounging on Joel’s couch after a particularly taxing day of demolition work, beers cradled in hands and the TV droning uselessly with some movie that they’re more staring at than actually watching. It’s late, yet weary muscles are melted so comfortably into the couch that neither of them try to move even after Sarah’s gone off to bed.

Tommy’s eyes flicker over to Joel, then back to the TV. “That girl’s gon’ be trouble for us, brother.”

There’s a question mark in the grunt Joel emits, leaning forward with interest because he knows Tommy’s talking about you without any specification.

Tommy hums in confirmation and takes a sip of his Corona. “She’s always wearin’ those skimpy little outfits a’hers, and she ain’t coy. Must catch that pretty little thing starin’ at your ass even more than I catch you starin’ at hers.”

Joel plays it off as best as he can until Tommy goes home for the night with a half-assed promise to actually be on time in the morning for once. Then he goes up to his room, locks the door, and wraps himself around the spare pillow that lays against his headboard.

He tries so desperately hard not to think about the plump round curve of your ass, or the enticing way you lick your lips, or those damned little bikinis you favor. He grinds his aching cock into the soft pillowcase and tries to think about anything that isn’t you.

But he comes with a muffled growl of your name anyway, face pushed deep into the pillow and hips jerking arrhythmically.

There’s not much he can do now besides clean himself up and try not to think about how thoroughly fucked he is.

The next day is torture because he can feel your gaze lingering. He catches you checking him out on more than one occasion, and you’re brazen about it now. You can tell something has shifted, so you shift with it. Where you once would’ve flushed with heat and hurried away to your room, you now meet his heated eye contact and hold it.

Joel’s jaw hurts that night from the way it’s been hard-set and clenched all day long. He rubs over his sore temporomandibular joints with his long, thick fingers and wills himself to siphon you out from beneath his skin.

It doesn’t work.

The work helps. Laying tile is something he normally considers tedious, but it’s a welcome reprieve in your home because he can get down on his hands and knees and focus on something that isn’t you.

You see the labor he’s going through, and you appreciate it. And really, what kind of host would you be if you didn’t reward his efforts?

It starts with a pitcher of iced tea. It’s made just the way Joel likes it, with light ice and a few slices of lemon. He doesn’t know how you could possibly guess that, but it makes him want you that much more.

And then it’s cookies. Pain-stakingly handmade oatmeal raisin cookies, to be exact. You’re like something out of his most shameful domestic dreams in your cute floral-patterned apron and oven mitts as you pull the tray of cookies out of the oven, and an image of you in nothing but those mitts and that apron flickers through his mind before he can stop it.

All the while you traipse around the house like a mirage–humming along to the yacht rock that drifts from Joel’s stereo, swaying your hips in the kitchen as you put together the most delicious bologna sandwich Joel’s ever eaten, toweling off your soaking wet body after an afternoon in the pool. You’re the worst temptation Joel’s ever had to face.

It becomes his mantra. Be respectful, be respectful, be respectful.

But there’s no respect in your eyes. There’s nothing honorable about the way you bite your lip and smirk when he catches your gaze lingering on him.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. But why should he have to play nice if you don’t?

And really, the whole thing is Tommy’s fault. He started it with that first comment about you, and then he goes and calls out sick (read: horribly hungover) this morning. He leaves Joel all alone with you–gives you the perfect opening to pounce.

Or, more accurately, entice Joel into pouncing on you.

He’s just setting his tool bag down, about to decide where he wants to start today, when your beautiful face pops in through the door.

“Good morning, Joel,” you say with that gorgeous smile of yours that makes his knees go a little weak. “No Tommy today?”

He nearly chokes on his own tongue when you step further into the room wearing a plaid button-up he left here earlier in the week and booty shorts so small he has to do a doubletake to make sure you’re actually wearing anything on your lower half. You look fucking good in his shirt, and suddenly all he can think about is pulling you in and bending you over the half-finished vanity–

“N-no. He’s sick,” Joel manages to choke out. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then, “that’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

You look down and rub the time-worn fabric between your fingers like you have to think about it, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

“Oh, it must’ve gotten mixed in with our laundry!” The little giggle you let out is so innocent that he almost believes you. Almost. “Here–”

You start to lift the fabric up your torso in the most tantalizingly slow fashion, and he just sits there and watches it happen. He sees the first peek of skin above the waistband of your shorts, and then your beautiful stomach, then the delicious curve of a breast–

He quickly jolts out a hand to stop you in the midst of mentally willing every single molecule in his dick to control itself. “S’alright, darlin’. You keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce and let the fabric drop back down into its rightful place. “Can I get you anything? Water maybe?”

He certainly could use it. His neck and face are flushed red, and there’s sweat starting to form at his temples despite the relatively cool temperature within the house.

He realizes, with startling clarity, that he’s at a precipice right now. This might be the only chance he gets to really do something about this burgeoning tension that’s spread thicker than butter between you and him. He’s got a choice to make, and it’s not going to be an easy choice.

“Sure.” It comes out a bit too high-pitched, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Sure, sweetheart. That’d be great.”

“Alright,” you say with that damned giggle again. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you leave the room, Joel feels like he can breathe again. It’s so much easier to think straight when you’re not standing there, smiling up at him and looking so damn gorgeous.

He’s got two options, when it boils down to it: fuck you or leave you alone. And he really, really wants to take you. Make you scream his name while he pounds himself into you, fill you so full that you never completely wash him out. And you want it too, he knows you do, you’re practically begging for it.

But he promised himself he would be respectful. That he would keep his hands away from the girl that’s definitely too young and too pure for someone like him–because he knows that if has you, he’ll never be able to get enough.

There’s a very clear and obvious loophole that comes to mind now; a way he could have you without ruining you, a way you could both come out of this satisfied yet mostly intact. Joel’s never been opposed to doing the hard jobs, after all.

He’s got a condom in his wallet and KY jelly in his bag–mostly used for plumbing fittings, but it’ll do the job for this kind of pipework, too.

You come back with a glass of ice water, and his resolve slips. How the hell is he supposed to initiate this? What if you say no and think he’s disgusting? What if you tell your parents? He can’t do this, this was such a horrible idea, he–

Your touch on his back is like a gentle breeze, just a flutter of your fingers to alert him to your return. He flinches a bit at the sudden contact, but when he turns you’re still so achingly close. He can smell the agonizingly sweet aroma of your conditioner and the lotion you slather on your body after showering, and all he wants is more. He wants to wrap you around him, to inhale that scent straight from the source. His resolve is back, just like that.

He doesn’t give himself another opportunity to hesitate. He places one big, meaty palm on your cheek and wraps the other around your hand that holds the glass of ice water to steady you; and then he kisses you with such bruising force it almost knocks the wind out of you.

You moan. You actually moan the second his lips meet yours, and he knows just like that–with a startling moment of clarity–that this isn’t going to be enough. He’s going to take, and take, and take–gorge himself on you until you have nothing left to give. And the strangest thing of the whole matter is that he thinks you’ll actually enjoy his greed.

“Joel–”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmurs as his lips break away from yours–so low and soft in your ear it can’t be anything but a growl. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop right now.”

“I want it,” you affirm.

He searches your eyes, but he finds only earnest honesty and lust. That darkness, that pure and unadulterated want is enough to make his pants tighten. “Fuck.”

He’s so big underneath your roaming hands as he crowds you back against the long bathroom vanity. He lifts you like you’re nothing and sets you on the counter top; he slots himself between your legs and there’s an actual stretch in your muscles to accommodate the width of his hips. One of his wide palms slips behind your head and his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging a little bit to angle your head just the way he wants it. It’s messy and frenzied and desperate–your hands gliding over tee shirt-covered muscle, his tugging your (his) shirt up over your stomach.

“Was starting to think you weren’t interested.” Your voice is heavy and breathy as he breaks away to tug the shirt over your head, casting it aside to lie forgotten on the floor.

“I’ve been tryna convince myself m’not,” he kisses into your neck. “Didn’t work.”

With a sudden roll of his hips, he has you gasping into his neck. He can’t be more than half-hard, but that bulge is formidable. Thick and straining and… suddenly you can’t focus on anything except getting him out of those tight jeans to see what you’re working with.

Your hand just barely fits around him. He’s thick and flushed, getting harder with each passing second as he scatters feather-light kisses over your neck and shoulders. He muffles a groan into your neck as you slowly pump his length–you think he’s seven, maybe eight inches at best guess. The tip of him is flushed red once you get his uncut skin out of the way, and it makes your mouth water. There’s a slight upward curve to him and a long, prominent vein that runs down the left side. It’s porn star material–you didn’t know real people had dicks like this.

“Joel… Jesus, that’s gonna be a tight fit.”

“Oh, don’t worry darlin’,” he hums, thumb ghosting over your clit in a way that makes your entire body jolt. “It ain’t goin’ in there.”

There’s nothing but pure excitement in your voice, despite the anxious gulp that tracks down your throat. “Where…”

“Flip over f’me.”

You follow his instruction with a sort of morbid curiosity, hopping down from the counter before folding yourself over it.

You can feel his eyes on you, as he takes in your willingness. It’s like you’re on display for him, for his appraisal. You’ve still got shorts and a bra on, yet you’ve never felt more exposed.

It’s almost like he can sense your mind swirling–maybe it’s because his is prone to do the same. He sets a gentle hand on your back and smooths it down your spine as he crowds up against you–you can feel the press of his exposed cock against the curve of your ass, and it makes you shiver.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs as he folds over you, caging you in with the delicious weight of his body. His lips trace along the curve of your jaw and down your neck as he speaks. “But I made myself this little promise that I wouldn’t fuck you. You got me actin’ so unprofessional, honey.”

You whine at the sincerity in his voice–all you’ve wanted since the day he started was for him to have you folded over and at his mercy like this.

“You can fuck me,” you whine earnestly. “It’s okay, I promise. Won’t tell.”

“Mmm, I know. You’re too good a girl to go gettin’ me in trouble over somethin’ like this,” he hums–you can hear the condescension in his voice even as he praises you, and it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “But with all the teasin’ you been doin’... don’t rightly know that you deserve to be fucked.”

“Please–”

“However,” he continues, landing a light smack to your ass in retaliation for your interruption, “might be willin’ to take you anyway, with some conditions. Out of the goodness of my heart.”

He pauses to let you ask, “What conditions?”

And then he pauses again, asking his own question this time. Is he really going to go through with this? But he’s spent the better part of two weeks staring at your ass, and you’ve spent the better part of two weeks putting it on display for him. It’s like you’ve been silently asking him all this time to take it.

His hand slides down from where it rests on your spine, over your tailbone to where he’s been thinking about all this time. He feels the way your muscles tense up even through your shorts, and it sends a thrill he can’t describe coursing through his veins.

“You ever taken someone here before?”

“N-no.” He feels it again as his other hand comes to soothingly rub your hip–that excited-yet-nervous flutter of muscle. You haven’t run away screaming yet, and that’s the biggest motivator he could have to keep going.

“I think you ought to let me. As a thank you, for puttin’ up with all your play,” he growls into your ear.

It’s fucking dirty, the idea of letting a man you hardly know take you in such a taboo way. It’s even dirtier how fucking excited the idea has you.

“You say no right now and I’ll drop it,” he murmurs so sweetly. “Don’t ever have to talk about this again.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished talking–a sly smirk spreading over your lips as you grind back against him hard enough to make him choke on a moan.

“It’s only right,” you affirm. “Gotta make it up to you for how naughty I’ve been.’

His eyes flash dangerously as he grinds his cock against you again, smearing precome against the flimsy fabric of your shorts. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He has your bottoms and panties down around your ankles in a flash, and he actually groans at the sight of your sticky cunt all puffy and wet and on display for him.

He can’t resist the urge to swipe a finger through your folds, delighting in the string of shiny arousal that connects his finger to your core when he pulls away. “She wants it so bad, hmm? Such a shame she ain’t gettin’ any.”

It tugs a moan from your throat, especially when he drags as much slick as he can up to circle your tightest hole. He feels the way you flutter with apprehension, and he leans back down to kiss the corner of your jaw.

“Gonna get you nice and ready, I promise. M’not gonna hurt you, baby girl.”

“Thank you, da–” You almost lost yourself there for a second–almost laid your whole hand of cards out on the table for him to see. You try not to get flustered over the slip–you simply clear your throat and try again. “Thank you, Joel.” But you aren’t nearly as smooth as you hope to be.

In a flash Joel’s free hand is lifting your head, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. They’re so much darker than normal, and it only serves to make you wetter.

“What’d you call me?”

“J-Joel.”

His hand slips down to your throat and gives it a warning squeeze–his jaw is set, you know he isn’t playing. “Try again, and tell the truth this time.”

“D… daddy.”

You try to hide your face, to cower in shame, but he won’t let you. He smashes his lips to yours at the exact second his first finger probes that tight, waiting entrance.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly breaches you, using your own slick to guide the way. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can’t do anything but gasp, hands clutching for dear life to the edge of the counter. This feels different, and not in the way you were expecting it to. It’s tight, sure, and it feels foreign, but it also feels so much better than you ever could’ve expected it to. The subtle stretch around his thick finger is addicting.

Joel’s jaw drops at the expression on your face; you already look so thoroughly fucked-out, and he’s barely even started. “Fuck.You like this, hmm? Like feelin’ daddy’s fingers gettin’ you ready for his big cock?”

The only response he gets is a wrecked little whimper, and he props your chin up again to meet his heated gaze. “Talk to me. Gotta talk to me, tell me how you’re feelin’, or I’m gonna stop.”

“Fuck!” It’s shriller than you want it to be and you would feel pathetic if you weren’t so thoroughly overwhelmed with this new sensation. “Don’t stop daddy!”

“Feels good, yeah? How long has daddy’s little slut wanted to try this?”

But there’s no way you can be expected to answer, not when he’s adding another finger to the onslaught. Not when your legs are already shaking and you’re thinking about just how many fingers he’s going to have to use to get you ready for the massive cock you can feel throbbing against your thigh.

He retracts just as suddenly as he started, and a needy little whine escapes from your throat involuntarily.

He can’t help chuckling as he reaches for the bottle of KY jelly he’d dug out of his bag while you were getting him water. It feels like it’s been years since you left the room on that little errand for him–definitely not the barely ten minutes it’s actually been.

“Relax, baby girl. I’m comin’ right back.”

You feel the cool drizzle of the water-based substance over your hole and it forces another whine from your throat. It’s met with his thick fingers again, spreading the jelly over your hole before plunging two in knuckle-deep.

“Atta girl.” His voice is thick and sweet as honey as he slowly works his fingers, thrusting and scissoring at an achingly slow pace. “Doin’ so good f’me.”

“Daddy–”

“I know,” he coos. “I know, it’s so much, isn’it?”

All you can manage to do is nod your head, arms shaking under the strain of holding yourself upright. He sees the way your limbs tremble and he adds a third finger just to be extra cruel–although he steadies you by grabbing your hip firmly with his free hand, keeping you in place as he fucks you open with his fingers.

Everything is so hot. There’s a sticky sheen of sweat covering your forehead and your chest; you can feel your own slick dripping down your thighs.

And then his free hand drops down to thumb at your clit, and everything twists in your gut so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.

Within seconds you’re coming–no pretense, no warning. It explodes white-hot from your belly and sweeps through you to the tips of your fingers and toes with flash flood speed. One second there’s nothing more than pleasant anticipation–the next, you’re shaking and convulsing and sobbing Joel’s name as you fight with every cell in your body to remain upright.

He does his part to work you through it, thumb swiping even circles on your sensitive clit, pulling his fingers from you to pin you in place on the counter so he can continue working you through it.

“I know, I know,” he coos so sweetly in your ear over the sound of your moans and cries. “You’re doin’ so good baby, let yourself have it.”

It’s minutes before you’re breathing normally again–your legs are cramping from trying so desperately to support your shaky weight. Joel’s hands are soothing you the whole time once he lets up the onslaught on your clit; it’s like he’s mapping you, tracing over every dip and curve so tenderly you could almost forget what this encounter really is.

“Doin’ okay?” He husks into your ear–and then he’s folding himself over you again, and you can feel the insistent press of his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

For some reason, that’s what really makes it sink in. That’s the moment you realize that this is actually going to happen–that you want it to happen. Joel’s about to take something from you that no one has ever taken before, and you want him to. You’re offering it willingly, even.

You hum in response and buck your hips back, giving him a delicious taste of friction that pulls a ground from his throat. “Mhm. I’m ready, daddy.”

“Fuck, that’s my girl.” He gives your hip a light pat before pulling away for a moment, and you somehow have the presence of mind to jump up on the deep countertop because you know your legs won’t be able to support you through what’s about to happen.

There’s a smile on his handsome face when he turns back towards you, lube and condom in hand. “That how you want it, baby?”

Despite everything that’s already happened, you feel so much more exposed like this. You’re completely naked, and he’s fully clothed with his pants shoved down just enough to free his dick. Even as you spread your legs to admit him between your thighs, you feel shy. And he senses it, the slight apprehension in your gaze, because his smile softens even further; he sets the lube and condom down on the counter next to you so he can grasp the collar of his worn t-shirt and tug it up over his head.

He’s beautiful for a nearly forty-year-old man, you think. He’s firm and toned, but there’s a softness about him that you can’t help admiring, especially around his belly. Your eyes eagerly lap up the soft curve of his tummy, following the tantalizing promise of his treasure trail to his cock, hard and aching for you. The ruddy, flushed tip is weeping for you; you don’t know that you’ve ever seen someone so turned on before, and it’s a heady rush of power.

He chuckles as he sees your hungry eyes taking him in–he raises one big hand to cup your chin and pull your gaze up to meet his. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so good spread out f’me like this. You sure you’re ready f’this?”

“Fuck yes,” you say with an alluring little wiggle of your hips, and that’s more than enough for him.

He pulls his bottom lip between even rows of shiny white teeth as he rolls the condom down over his length, and it’s actually intimidating like this. He’s so big and imposing and it makes your legs want to close, but–

“M’gonna go slow, okay?” He vows, voice gentle as his big, brown eyes look into yours. His fingers wrap tightly around the half-used tube of KY jelly, and he leans down to kiss you when he sees the nervous gulp that bobs your throat. “Gonna be real gentle, I promise. You tap out at any time and we’re done, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you affirm, and you feel a lot better. As out of the blue as this is, as little as you really know Joel, you can tell he’s being sincere. You trust him; you know he won’t hurt you.

The first press of his aching tip against your hole is enough to make you choke on a gasp. He’s big, and even with all of his attentive prep work to get you ready for him it’s a tight fit. You can tell it’s affecting him, too. His eyes flutter shut and he bites down hard on his bottom lip, and you can tell that he’s fighting with all his strength not to just shove himself deep inside you. You appreciate his restraint more than words can convey, so you don’t even try; you hook your arms around his neck and pull him in for a deep, messy, desperate kiss instead. His tongue licks eagerly into your mouth as he eases his hips further and further towards yours, and it’s a nice distraction from the nearly overwhelming stretch of your muscle trying to accommodate his girth.

He shudders when his hips finally meet yours, cock stuffed to the hilt into your ass. “God damn baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You doin’ okay?”

You whine at the first roll of his hips, nodding your head rapidly because words won’t come. It’s such a foreign sensation, being stretched and breached like this. Not unpleasant necessarily, but so brain-scramblingly different that all you can do is dig your nails into his strong, broad shoulders and hold on for dear life as he actually starts to fuck into you.

It’s nasty, and you’ve never been so wet in your life. You hear the sticky squelch of lube as he thrusts his hips, shoving his cock deeper than you imagined possible. Your own wetness seeps from your neglected cunt and drenches him, dripping down around his cock and wetting the dense curls at the apex of his sex.

“Shit baby, you’re takin’ daddy’s cock so well,” he whines breathlessly; one arm hooks under your knee so he can spread you open a bit wider for him, and then the other hand returns to your puffy, arousal swollen clit.

You make what has to be the most high-pitched sound you’ve ever made as his index and middle fingers start a torturously slow pace on the little bud. “Fuck daddy!”

“I know,” he coos–you think that soft, breathy, Southern twang is going to actually put you in your grave. “I know, you wanna come, dontcha? It’s okay baby, daddy’s gonna make you come all over his cock just the way you need.”

His hips pick up the pace in time with his fingers, and all you can do is lay there limply like a ragdoll. The pleasure is so much different than what you’re used to, but it’s good. It’s amazing, the feeling of him balls deep in your guts in tandem with his ministrations on your clit, in a way you never imagined it could be.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me,” he growls, hitching your leg a bit higher over his hip so he can thrust even deeper. “Fuck, m’not gonna last long like this. You’re gonna make daddy come so hard in this tight little ass.”

His words are accentuated with a little smack to the side of your ass, and it makes you moan louder still. Your head rolls back as he picks up the pace of his fingers, swirling hard and messy circles with reckless abandon. He’s not trying to prolong it anymore–he’s going for the kill.

“Fuck daddy!” Your hands scrabble for purchase on his smooth, freckled skin as he pounds harder into you. “W-want it, please, want you to come in my ass–”

“Gonna give it to you, impatient girl,” he growls deep in his chest. “You gimme one first.”

Your entire body jolts when he brings his hand down on your sensitive cunt before groaning at the way your arousal sticks to his hand and makes his fingers shine.

“She wants t’be stuffed so full, doesn’t she?” He purrs, fingers dancing so fucking teasingly around your fluttering cunt that it makes your eyes water. “Bet she’d love to be chock full’a cock right now.”

“Joel–”

“Now, now, baby, no whinin’. It’s unbecomin’ for such a sweet little lady,” he grunts, and the condescension dripping from his tone is almost enough to make you come on its own. “You’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful for it, aintcha?”

“Yesyesyesplease–”

His fingers have barely returned to your clit before you’re coming again. This one is even more powerful than before–a hurricane instead of a flash flood. Your entire body trembles with the ebbing flow of pleasurable waves–the words you’re panting aren’t even discernible English anymore.

The way you clench and flutter around him in your own pleasure pulls him over the edge faster than anything ever has before. He comes hard, chest clenching hard around his breath, cock twitching more violently than anything you’ve ever felt before as he spills his load into the condom.

It’s a long, breathless moment before he pulls himself from the vice-like grip you have around his dick. He pulls out with a deep, long groan–it makes you giggle, because it’s the most over-dramatic sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

There’s a beat, and then he starts laughing, too. At the sweet sound of your laugh, at the way he feels like he just ran a marathon, at the absolute absurdity of this whole thing. His laughter is so sweet and gut-deep and infectious, and it only serves to make you laugh harder. For a good few moments it’s just you and Joel, half naked, panting and sweaty, doubled over in laughter.

And then the bathroom door swings open and Tommy barges in.

“I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better after sleepin’ in, what’s so funny–” He stops dead in his tracks; he sees you naked and spread out on the counter and Joel disheveled and sweating. Neither of you are laughing very much anymore as you both scramble to cover yourselves up.

Tommy quirks a brow, a smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Joel. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

You don’t know how to answer when you’re so mortified, so you do the only thing you can think of–you dart out of the room and down the hall to the safety of your bedroom as fast as your shaky legs can carry you.

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littlepadika · 12 days

Text

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them.

-OR-

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy.

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end.

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win.

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger.

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now.

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be.

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her.

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop.

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream.

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going.

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them.

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid.

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now.

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria.

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide.

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns.

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply.

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot.

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face.

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her.

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you.

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial.

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too.

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to.

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically.

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively.

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long.

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–”

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him.

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself.

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better.

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed.

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles.

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him.

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back.

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off.

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give.

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into.

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was.

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well.

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his.

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy.

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly.

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man.

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone.

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him.

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool.

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high.

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him.

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly.

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh.

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously.

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?”

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere.

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones.

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now.

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it. There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail.

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you.

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking.

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm.

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut.

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp.

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps.

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin.

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant.

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–”

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix.

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him.

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you.

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin.

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again.

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning.

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper.

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic.

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another.

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy.

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life.

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littlepadika · 12 days

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the old man and the sea- a joel miller x reader fic

summary: grief is a sacred thing, a nasty thing, a sensual thing. it grips you from the inside until there's nothing left but a void of darkness- a void that can never be filled. joel miller knows this fact very well, and all he wants to do is save you.

warnings: girthed up age gap (college age!reader x 50’s age joel), i’m exploring a new type of writing ok let me COOK!!!! idk i am delusional, reader has hair that at least reaches her neck, cigarette use, this whole thing is basically an allegory for grief and growing but there also a lot of sexy smut soooo yeah. (mentions of death and two brief mentions of suicide, but nothing too detailed.) that being said, smut (f receiving oral sex, soft kissy missionary sex, unprotected piv sex, some 'dirty' talk, etc.)

note: this has NOT been proofread or edited. any mistakes are mine. i just hate going back and editing lmao. enjoy! xx

In the august days of your youth, when the rocky line of the coast line glimmered beneath the flame of the sun, when the foamy waves would pool by your sandy feet, you could remember the towering lighthouse just south of the beach, the way it stood tall and proud, like the statues of Roman soldiers you knew from your school encyclopedias. It was vibrant and alive, no more dead than the clams bubbling beneath the surface of the ocean, no more dead than the bellowing of the whales far off the shore.

You remember how it would speak to you, late at night when you would walk alone, hoping to catch the light reflecting off the tail of a pretty mermaid, hoping that the local legends of talking fish would come poke their heads above the water, speaking to you in riddles from days gone by.

You remember the words of the light which shone strong from above, circling above your head , like the passing lights of a traveling carnival, your eyes caught like a moth roaming towards the flames, lost in the eternal beauty of its golden light.

Come to me, child. Let the lighthouse unburden your pain.

But back then, when you were quick to scare despite your steadfast stubbornness, you never garnered enough courage to explore behind its walls.

Now college had passed, and you moved back home to your parent's rickety beach house, alone behind her comforting wooden exterior. This home. This home that was once so full of life. This home that held warm laughter and late night board games. This home that housed your closest friends and their secrets of crushes and undeciphered dreams. This home where you grew into a young woman full of life and beauty, clever and brilliant.

This home that was now empty.

You had got the call the week after finals.

We're so sorry, they went out fishing and a storm came. We never found them.

Oh, yes.

Adventure pumped through your veins, the taste for freedom like salty water on your tongue. You knew where you got it from, you always had. Your sweet family, your loving parents. Full of life like that lighthouse, full of of love like the sun.

Now they were nothing, and this house was nothing. Those years of laughter and secrets and adventure were nothing.

Nothing.

Your favorite word these days.

Going through belongings and shuffling through old books had taken almost a weeks worth of tears. Hot, tepid, angry tears.

How dare they leave you alone? How dare they forsake you like this?

The thought of crashing water and striking lightning was almost too much to bare.

When the storm had rolled in that morning, you had been tucked away in the alcove of your kitchen, nursing a steaming mug that was more cream than coffee. You watched the droplets of rain paint pictures on the window, you watched nature wring her tears across the fluttering branches of trees, cracking soft splashes across the pavement with each gust of air. Your chest felt heavy with thoughts of them.

Mom and dad.

Mamma and papa.

Perhaps it was in hopes you would feel some comfort, perhaps it was in hopes you would feel whole. If you could just stare out at the ocean that took them, maybe they would speak to you. Maybe those fairytale fish would poke their heads up from the water and exclaim to you how happy your parents were, how they were fitting right in, how they had invited Mrs. Dolphin over for tea last Saturday, and how they were finally warming up to the funny shark that always lurked in the seaweed.

You stood barefoot on the cragged rock, staring out at the roaring waves, with nothing but the lull of distant seagulls and the song of incoming thunder.

No fish. No parents. No Mrs. Dolphin. Just another season of storms and a crater in your heart.

Your throat was raw from all the screaming. You danced to your fight song as you let the rain take you, your clothes felt like skin from how soaked through they were. Heavy drapes of fabric that cemented you in place on that cragged rock. That cragged rock that dripped with the blood of your raw heels, your toes scraped and ruined from the sandy surface.

It was dark by the time the storm rolled out, dark by the time your back found the safety of the sand, dark by the time your hair clung to your neck and became tangled up with the seashells.

There was a glowing orb of light far off in the distance that you could just make out through the hazy fog of your eyelashes, and you realized it was growing closer, the old handle of a lantern creaking through the night.

"Hello?" The voice was rough and unknown to your ears, yet held a certain warmth despite the weariness.

"Yes?" You asked softly, refusing to open your eyes. If you opened your eyes, all of this was real, all of this was raw, all of this was right there.

"Are you.... okay?"

"Yes."

The lantern creaked once more, and you heard the shuffle of fabric as the man leaned forward, pressing his knuckles to your cheek. "You're colder than a reindeer's antlers, girl." His touch was warm, his hand a welcome solace from the rain. "You live around here?"

You didn't want to go back to that house. You didn't want to smell their detergent or see their old clothes. You didn't want to waltz through that kitchen or hear the creak of those old stairs.

Perhaps it was from the way your lip quivered, from the rain or from the cold, perhaps it was from the defeat in your voice, or the weightlessness of your soul, but the man before you knew he had to do something about it. How could he not? You were laying there like a pile of unfolded laundry, and no one else was around to fold it all.

You felt an arm slip behind your back.

"C'mon, stand up with me. On three."

You groaned softly, using a thick arm as leverage as the mystery man helped you stand off the ground. When you opened your eyes, you saw a pair of umber orbs staring at you, tracing over your face, every line, scar, freckle, dent, he was soaking you in like a sponge, as though he wanted to know your face just from memory.

"I'm Joel."

Joel.

He was handsome, that was the first thing you noticed about him. You felt your stomach churn at the feeling, angry you could find him so beautiful, despite the darkness which shrouded over you. Joel was broad and rugged, no doubt rough around the edges. He was adorned with various scars and random freckles, with thick eyebrows and broad shoulders, plush lips and kind eyes- hardened by time, no doubt, but beautiful all the same.

You know you mumbled your name out somewhere along the walk, eyes cloudy with tears. It was a miracle you managed to speak anything at all.

As you neared the lighthouse, you realized just how foreboding it truly was. Its paint was cracking, yet its foundation remained firm, and it towered up into the clouds like a Medieval castle. Behind it's white structure you saw a small cabin, warm light seeping through the misty windows, painting the green grass with splatters of sunshine.

When Joel opened the door, an old dog sitting in front of the fireplace lifted his head, the soft thump of a tail beating against the wooden floors. His fur was gray and his eyes were old, his long fur a mixture of brown, black, and white patches. Like a makeshift quilt.

Quilts. Your mother used to make those.

"That's Moby." Joel explained, setting a kettle on the old gas stove. "Sit down. You're trailing blood." You felt embarrassment creep up your neck, and he must have noticed the way your eyes darted with shame. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Let me fix up your cuts. I-.... I wasn't trying to be a dick." He spoke like this was his first time having human interaction in a decade, and by the way he moved, you might have been right.

He fumbled through drawers and cabinets, eventually finding a metal first aid kit that had begun resting at the edges years ago. Joel pulled up a dining room chair in front of you with a loud screech, peering up at you as he shuffled through the remnants of the kit.

"What were you doing out there?" He asked, gently grabbing your ankle. He guided it to his lap, inspecting the raw flesh of your soles.

"Exploring."

"Exploring what?"

"Myself."

You felt his shoulders jerk with a bit of a laugh. Normally, you would not have gone home with a stranger. Normally, you would not have let a random man place your legs on his lap or nurse you up.

But then again, nothing was normal anymore. Normal was home. Normal was family. Normal was homecooked meals and late night board games and sleepovers and secrets and.... well, none of this.

The hot stream of tears threatened the dam that rest just above your waterline. Joel noticed, but he didn't say anything.

His calloused thumb rested on the side of your foot, the sting of alcohol soaked pads causing you to wince.

"I know." He muttered through an unlit cigarette which dangled from his mouth, the lines of his forehead prominent with each movement he made. "There we go. Right one's done. Let me see the left."

You obeyed wordlessly, gently propping it up onto his thigh. He repeated his previous work until that foot was cleaned and patched.

Joel stared at you. The tea kettle behind him was whistling for attention, its top sputtering from the roaring boil of water.

"Earl gray or green?" He asked as he rummaged for two cups, blowing the dust off of one. You watched Joel stare at one of the cups for a beat too long.

"Earl gray." You croaked, blinking hard. You felt wetness by your hand. When you looked down, the black nose of a dog was pressing into your palm. Your fingers found his fur, rubbing that spot right behind his ear that made his back leg go crazy. Who couldn't smile at that?

Moby laid down, his fur a puddle at the base of your chair as he rested his snout atop your foot. You stared at him, welcoming the softness of his body against yours.

"Moby is a sweet dog. He's old. Rarely gets up from that bed." Joel explained, handing you a cup. The words World's Best Dad were fading at the sides. This cup must have been older than you.

"I like him." You let the liquid glide down your throat with each sip, savoring the warmth it provided you. At the first sign of a shiver, Joel had wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.

"Why are you being so kind to me? You don't even know me."

Joel sat back down across from you with a soft groan, the ache in his bones creaking like an old, rusting elevator shaft. "I do know you."

"Have we met before?" Your eyebrow raised with interest, and you looked at him wearily, trying to deduce what he was up to.

"No. But I know what grieving looks like." There was a long pause before Joel decided to speak again. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

"What? No!" You guffawed, neck snapping up to shoot him a scowl. "Of course not."

"Look. If you walked up on a half dead, soaking wet person on the shore, during the aftermath of a storm, you'd be thinking the same thing." He defended himself sternly, setting his cup down.

There was a thick moment of quietness.

"Those were your parents, weren't they?" His voice was barely a whisper. It floated through the air like smoke off a candle, hitting you in the face.

"Yes."

"It was all over the news. Loads of us went out there, tried to find them."

"They're out there somewhere. Fish food." Your voice was bitter.

Joel didn't say anything. He just sat and stared. You stared back.

It became a ritual after that night. You were over there every evening, usually with a paper bag full of groceries and treats for Moby. You taught Joel how to make Paprikash and Japchae, you taught Moby how to fist bump with his nose (old dogs can learn new tricks), and you taught yourself how to laugh again.

Laughing. Such an odd thing to do in the aftermath of grief. Such a weird feeling to allow ones self to feel after weeks of chaos.

And Joel, he had his uses too.

Joel taught you how to do a fishtail braid, he taught you how to use a fly rod, and what the inside of a lighthouse looks like. Joel taught you how to smile again, he taught you what the feeling of freedom felt like once more.

Summer faded into autumn, and the orange and yellow trees began to paint the prettiest of pictures on the canvas of the coast. It held a certain nostalgia that summer had always failed to do for you, and the promise of apple cider and pumpkin scented candles floated through with every passing day.

It had taken some convincing, but Joel had swayed in to your demands, and you both sat at a tiny table in a tiny cafe, the steaming pumpkin latte swirling between his hands.

"So?"

He stared at it for a moment before meeting your gaze. "It's.... not half bad."

"Well, well, well. Looks like I was right. I knew you'd like it." You smiled through your victory, drinking your own iced coffee.

"I haven't been here in years." Joel explained, looking around at the decorations. Local art, framed photographs, and signed albums adorned the exposed brick walls, the glowing salt lamps on each table bathing the air with warm, orange light.

"You've been here before?" This coffee shop was old, you knew that much, but even when you were younger and frequented its counter with your high school friends, you can't remember ever seeing him here. And this was a small town- you knew you would have remembered his face, despite the wrinkles and grays. He still would have been Joel.

"Over two decades ago. Sarah loved this place."

"Sarah?"

His upper lip twitched at the sound of her name. Joel looked at you with heavy eyes, glossed over with the mark of grief. The kind of grief that settles in to your body as though it's its home, the kind of grief that sits beside you on the couch and never leaves. The kind of grief you were learning to grow beside.

"My daughter."

The air hung above your heads like a rainy cloud, thick and desultory. It fell across your shoulders like a fur coat, and you struggled to shake it all away.

"I didn't know that you..." Words were useless. They always were when it came to matters like this.

Joel drank his coffee in silence, tracing the ridges of the wooden table out with his eyes. "Don't like talking about her."

"We don't have to."

"Yes, we do." His voice was stern as he looked up at you, your gaze connecting. Joel's eyes were far away, searching for something in the recesses of his memory, or perhaps gaining the courage to speak to you.

"I've been alone for over twenty years." His voice was softer than you had ever remembered it being. "And then.... you were there. Just there. Laid out on the shore like a beached mermaid, shivering in the moonlight. I didn't know you... but I knew you. You were me in that moment. I had been you."

Your lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, and you watched as he spoke. There was a subtle shake to Joel's hands as he picked at his thumb nail, a tick you had picked up on the first week you had known him. The bouncing of his knee vibrated through the table.

"I know what grief is. I know the stain it leaves on someone's face. It was all over you.. just-just dripping."

You hadn't noticed the tears welling in your eyes.

Joel reached over, his palm engulfing your cold hand like a blanket, warming your skin up with his touch. He laced your fingers tight in to his own, cradling your palms close between his two hands.

"I know what all this does to a person. How it rots, how.... how it erodes. I knew I needed to help you."

"What's why you took me back to your house."

"Yes. That's why I bandaged you up, that why I made you tea, that's why I let you keep coming back. Because I wanted to help you, because I lov-"

"Are we doing okay over here?" A barista walked up with a smile, a tray in hand. "I'm just going to take these empty cups away! It's such a beautiful day outside."

You managed to shoot her a smile.

As she walked away, Joel continued staring at you, and there was a sense of something..... else in his eyes.

"Lets go back home? To- well, uh, to my home."

You nodded silently, letting go of his hands as you both walked out the door.

There was something unspoken between Joel and you, and it had settled between the two of you over the months. You knew that he knew, and Joel knew that you knew, yet it was never brought up, it was never allowed to spoken out loud. If it was spoken out loud, then it became real, and if it became real, then it would end up being a burden. Or a promise. Or a nightmare. Or a dream. Or a beautiful, welcoming, loving thing that lasted until the day you died.

How terrifying was that?

You don't know when you had started holding Joel's hand, but the walk back to the lighthouse was quiet and chilly.

Because I lo-

His words echoed through your skull with every single step you took along the cobbled path.

Lo, lo, lo, lo. Love? Loathe? Long? Look?

Your chest compressed against itself as your thoughts wandered. You must have been squeezing Joel's hand too hard, or your nails must have been digging into his skin too deeply, because he stopped and looked at you.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly.

"I- um. Huh?"

"You're practically making me bleed with those nails of yours. Are you okay? Thinking about something?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." You muttered sheepishly, gently recoiling your hand away. Joel stopped you, placing it back in the grasp of his own. "I just... what were you going to say to me?"

"Hmm? Say to you?"

"Back at the coffee shop?"

"Oh." Joel shuffled his weight between both of his feet, his eyes shifting to meet yours. His warm, gentle, dark eyes. Those honeyed orbs of warmth that you had grown to love so deeply. Love? Oh, yes. You were certain it was love.

What part of Joel Miller didn't you love? He had rescued you from much more than that shore on that fateful night. Fate. Hell of a thing, that.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut. It was like ripping off a band-aid. When he spoke, he opened them once more, allowing his words to drip off his tongue. They were soft, gentle, they swayed through the tresses of your hair like a breeze through a field of flowers.

"I love you."

And there it was.

Time must have stopped. Your ears rang with silence, the weight of the universe funneling and funneling, closer and closer to your head until there was nothing. No noise. No air. No nothing.

Joel stared at you with a blank expression on his face, as though he couldn't believe what he had just said.

"I shouldn't have... that was- I'm sorry."

You took a step towards him, his hand was still wrapped around your own. You felt the subtle sheen of sweat on his palm, you tasted the tang of metal on your tongue from biting your cheek too hard, too deep, too long.

You knew it as sure as the sun rose in the east, you knew it with every vein in your body, with every hair on your head. You loved him, too.

Oh you did, didn't you? What a fool you were for him. If he told you to jump, you would jump. If he told you to run away with him, you would ask where. Joel Miller had bewitched you, every ounce of you, and you couldn't bare the thought of leaving him, or forgetting him, or even worse- never meeting him.

Some brave rush of courage overtook you, and before you could think you had grabbed his face in your hands and pressed your mouth into his own, nearly knocking him off his feet with the force of your movement. Joel's hands instinctively grabbed your waist, and his back found the support of a stop sign. The tips of his fingers gently dug into your waist, and he held you close and tight to his chest. You could feel the beating of his heart against his torso, pumping and pumping and pumping its vibrations into your own chest, ricocheting through your body as you tasted him on your tongue.

You pulled away only when your cheeks ached, burying your face in to his chest, allowing the smell of Joel to overcome you. He always smelled like the sea air and cotton, sweet and nostalgic against your nose.

"Lets get home." He whispered in your ear.

Home. He hadn't corrected himself. Home.

Joel's fingers refused to leave yours, locked tight as you made it to his house. Moby greeted you with a kiss to the knee, waddling back to his bed with a heavy huff of air. You gave him the bone you always picked up for him on the way there, before turning around to see Joel in the kitchen, a cigarette in his mouth.

"Want one?" He asked as he brought the lighter to his mouth. You walked towards him, nodding. He took the item out of his mouth, before placing it between your own two lips.

Joel watched the way you took the cigarette, the way your glossy lips looked against the white sheen of paper.

"You're so damn beautiful. God, I just..." Joel shook his head as he kept his thoughts to himself, lighting another smoke before tossing the half empty pack on to the table.

"You just what?" Your voice echoed through the bellow of smoke, and you leaned against the counter, challenging him with your words.

"I just... got so many things I want to do to you."

You smiled, alluring eyes beaming up at him as you puffed and exhaled, slowly putting out the embers on the clay ashtray you had bought him months ago. "Like what?" Your words were teasing.

Joel watched you step towards him, and his chest rose and fell underneath the unlit kitchen light. He took in a deep breath of tobacco before flicking it in to the metal sink.

He'd deal with that later.

"How 'bout I just show you, baby?"

Your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded.

Joel had never moved so fast in his life, whisking you off to his room with a loud bang of his door. He had you nearly naked and on his bed in record time, his knee resting between your legs as he kissed you, the hair of his moustache tickling your nose.

He allowed you to grind yourself down on his leg, soft moans flooding in to his mouth as his tongue explored your own, tangling and dancing with one another as his fingers worked the back of your bra. Joel threw the material across the room, your breasts pressing in to his chest, nipples hard and tantalizing.

That was the first time Joel had pulled away. He left a trail of wet kisses down to your nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff bud. You watched him suckle at your flesh, shivers causing the hair on your arms to stand up. His curls became tangled with your fingers, a leg resting on his shoulder as he adjusted himself, sucking and licking at your tits as though he were starved.

Your sweet melody of arousal was like music to Joel, who finally gathered the strength to pull away from your chest and move down between your legs, his mouth planting a flurry of pecks to your stomach. He hooked your panties in his fingers and tugged them off, large hands resting on your thigh as he spread them.

Joel stared at your pussy, now open and bare for his eyes. It glistened with arousal, the soft pink of your flesh causing his mouth to water.

"Jesus." He breathed out slowly, eyes darting up to your gaze. "You were made just for me, weren't you?"

You felt your cheeks heat up. You were. Oh, God, you were!

His free hand snaked up to yours, and you held it tightly, nervously. His hand was your anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor of his bedroom.

Joel leaned forward, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. You whimpered out once. He sucked it in between his lips. You whimpered out twice. He worked your aching bud until you were singing a song composed just for him, pants of hot, heavy air swirling through the four walls of his room.

He was devouring you. You were his Eucharist and your pussy was his prayer. Joel worked you in ways you had never been worked before, licking and sucking your pussy with the fervor that could only ever be found in a religion. You were his religion. His idol. His worship. His solace.

Oh, solace. What a sweet, sweet thing when it was found in you.

Joel's chin was quickly soaked in your sweet wetness. He would have drowned in you if you had let him.

His tongue pushed deep in to your folds, exploring your most precious pf places, tasting every inch of you like a starved man, like a frenzied man, like a mad man.

You were his. He was yours.

Your hips were bucking, your body like a wild animal caught in a trap. Except you weren't in a trap. You were in his arms. His strong, thick, heavy arms, and ecstasy was overtaking you. His tongue was coaxing you towards an explosive orgasm, the likes of which had never been known to you. Not one so intense. Not one at the hands of a man who loved you.

Joel's grip tightened around your own, his lips sucking at your clit, tongue tapping and swirling, licking and lapping.

You could barely get any warning out before your orgasm rushed through you, thighs shaking with earthquakes of pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, holding his head tight in place. Joel licked you through the height of your euphoria, sucking softly at your bud before you could barely take it anymore, before you had to gently push his head away.

"Joel." You whispered, staring at the ceiling as the white hot heat of your climax rushed over you. "Joel." You spoke it like a mantra. His name was a promise to you.

"Baby?" He climbed over you, weight supported by his elbows, and allowed the tip of his nose to gently brush over yours.

"Take me." You whispered, the palms of your hand moving to his cheeks. They were warm, and you could smell your pussy on his facial hair. You leaned forwards, kissing him, tasting your cum and his spit. A moan tumbled out of your mouth, straight through your teeth.

"Make me yours. Fuck me." You begged, although Joel didn't need any begging.

"Anything for you."

His boxers were off in the blink of an eye, and you glanced down at his cock. Tanned, slightly curved, hanging low and heavy, the mushroom tip gleaming with pre-cum. Your mouth was watering at the site, but his grasp on your chin moved your line of sight to his face.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and a soft gasp escaped you at the feeling of the tip of his cock pressing against your folds. He grinded against you, his shaft rubbing up and down the folds of your pussy, jolts of electricity causing you to shiver each time he brushed your clit.

Joel was teasing you. He was making you in to a mess. A mess all for him.

His eyes never left yours. Joel watched you lovingly, noses pressed tight, lips brushing past the others. You were as close as two people could possibly be, and you were unsure where his skin ended and yours began. Stray curls of his hair tickled your forehead, and your chests rose and fell in unison.

"I love you." His breath was hot against your face.

"I love you too-" He pushed his length in as you spoke, stretching out the lips of your pussy, hitting deeper than anything had before. You moaned out a wanton noise you had never heard before, nails gently digging in to his shoulders.

Joel sat there for a moment, heavy eyelids half closed. He was soaking you in, literally, allowing himself to relish in the feeling of being inside of you. Of being one with you.

He had not afforded himself many of life's pleasures. Not after Sarah had died. Not after he had let himself go. He had paced the same shore as you many moons ago, gun in hand, trying to urge himself to just put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. It sounded so easy.

But something had stopped him. Something hadn't let him.

He had wondered, many years after that, why he hadn't done it. He had wondered what could possibly be worth living.

And then he saw you.

In that very same spot, rotting beneath the silver light of the moon.

It was you. Everything had been for you, hadn't it?

And now there you were, beneath him, as pretty as a picture, the embodiment of everything he had ever yearned for, everything he had ever dreamed for. You were everything to Joel, and he was everything to you.

And now there he was, deep inside of you. You were all he could feel, all he could smell, all he could see. You, you, you. The most beautiful thing he had ever saw, the most wonderful thing he could have ever waited for.

The shiver of your body brought him back down to reality. He kissed you deeply, and all you could do was smile against his mouth.

Lucky. That is what you were. That is what you both were.

"You feel so good." You whispered softly, hands gently running down the back of his head, finding a resting spot on the broad stretch of his freckled back.

Joel rubbed his cheek against yours, slowly moving his hips, grinding down against you, eliciting a sweet moan out of you. "Yeah?"

You both giggled in unison, and he watched your eyes shut as he began to pump deep inside of you. The feeling of your nails pinched at his skin.

Joel glanced down, watching his cock disappear into the depths of your cunt, sloppy noises of your arousal filling the air. Your pussy lips looked so pretty wrapped around his length, your wetness looked so pretty glistening off his cock.

You were made for him, and he for you.

"Take me, Joel." You begged, and his movement increased, growing slightly rougher as his forehead met yours, lips pressing together once more.

"God, you're so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. So fucking pretty. You feel so fucking good. This pussy.... fuck. Fuck, I never want to leave it." He was rambling through his thrusts, hand reaching down to rub at your swelling clit.

"Fuck me, Joel. Fuck me." You whined out, bucking up against the touch of his fingers as he fucked you harder in to the mattress.

"You're my girl. You're my beautiful fucking girl. God, you're everything to me. You're my world." His breath was hot against your face as he kissed you, coaxing you towards another orgasm with each rub of his middle finger across your clit.

"That's a good girl. I can feel you getting closer. I can feel that pussy tightening against me."

Your back arched off the mattress as you cried out his name, moaning as his praises filled your ears. Joel rested his face in the crook of your neck, hips slapping in to your thighs as he filled you up with every inch of his length.

"That's my girl, that's it, baby. Cum for me."

You did as he said. There was no use in holding back. As your orgasm rushed through, his own was approaching. Your name tumbled off his lips, the only word he could remember, as he came deep inside your walls. His hot cum filled you to the brim with a warmth you had never experienced, and Joel kept slowly pumping as his high rushed off, as his orgasm died down.

You shivered beneath him, another kiss being planted on your mouth. Then you cheeks. Then your nose. Then anywhere else Joel could get to.

A moan tumbled off Joel's tongue as he slowly slipped out of you, falling beside you before grabbing you and pressing you in to his chest.

"Stay with me."

"I always do." You whispered in to his chest.

"No, stay with me. Permanently. This can be our home."

"Our home." You whispered quietly, nuzzling closer into his body.

"Our home." He established firmly, resting his palm on the crown of your head.

The world would always spin, and sorrow would always lurk. That was how the world worked. That was the way of the universe. When you both awoke in the morning, the pain of yesteryears would still be there. The horrible, nasty tug of old memories and distant lives would always be somewhere deep within you.

The cosmos, however, were full of possibilities. You could have stayed in your parents home and succumb to a darkness greater than yourself. Joel could have drank himself to death or tasted the metal of a bullet. Those waves could have taken you, and he could have never decided to take a walk down to that beach.

There were many what if's.

But right now you were alive with passion, eyes wide and awake with a newfound love. The bitterness had gone, and something much brighter and better was waiting for you in the future.

Beside you, Joel Miller sat puffing on a cigarette, smiling at you through dreamy eyes. The sheen of sweat was still glistening across his chest, and the gentle smirk on his lips reflected the tales of a lovesick fool.

"Ready to go again?" He asked cheekily, handing you the smoke.

You took it with a smile.

For now, grief would have to wait.

#to read

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littlepadika · 13 days

Text

Summary: It's the FBI 4th of July party and Agent Pike comes to your rescue.

Word count: 2.7

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, Reader wears a dress and wedges but is otherwise a blank state, self-deprecating thoughts and feelings of inadequacy (on Reader's part), no use of y/n, this is my first time writing Marcus I have never watched The Mentalist

A/N: Written for @iamasaddie 's writing challenge 2.0. My genre was pining and my prompt was "You're so full of shit" (I just yeeted this one in the story, I don't know, man). Like I said, I've never written for Marcus but I wanted to do something different than Frankie so here it is, thanks for giving me inspiration to do it! I'm not a native speaker, this is unbeta'd. I hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear what you think of it!

It seemed like a good idea at the time. To buy a dress with pockets. A cute, flowery summer outfit. Also practical. You should probably have tested the depth and width of said pockets beforehand.

Because right now, it’s a struggle to pull your phone out of it, stuck at the seams.

Desperately trying not to rip it open, in the middle of the 4th of July party with the entire Bureau there, or almost. The first time you even put the dress on. The bottle of soda in your other hand is close to spilling on it and let’s not talk about the plate you precariously balance, two fingers holding on to it for dear life.

What a stupid idea it was, to find the flower blooms on the edge of the lawn so breathtaking that you just had to go take a picture of them.

You tug on your phone again, thumb stuck between it and the dress. A sharp tug and you feel and hear the food tumbling down to the grass. And you curse. Tug again.

“Here! Wait! Hold on. Let me help you.”

Your savior. Making a quick jog to your side. Not in shining armor but in a crisp white tee-shirt and some shorts. The most casual you’ve ever seen him dress. Sometimes after work, when you go out for drinks with your colleagues, he’ll loosen his tie and forego the jacket and that’s already a pretty sight. And that’s without including the evening he even popped the top buttons of his shirt open and rolled up the sleeves for a game of pool and you’d lost track of your conversation with the girls.

Today is different, muscles flexing as he takes the soda from you, a helpful smile on his face, those same sunglasses that always drive you insane and you feel your face heat up, blood pumping underneath the skin. And not just from embarrassment.

Somehow you’d have preferred it if he’d chosen to help tug on your phone. Those hands, those fingers, so close to your skin, flimsy dress that would have let you feel his touch as if it had been on your naked skin.

That would have been better.

Still your savior, clicking his tongue at the food at your feet.

“Can’t do much about that, though.”

“Dead on impact?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Feast for the ants.”

He chuckles at the quip, at the triumphant “ahah” as finally, finally, your phone is free.

“Thanks, Marcus.”

“No problem.”

They do touch you, his fingers, when they brush yours, taking your drink back from him. Sparks through your veins, up your spine to the small hair on the nape of your neck. Beads of sweat in the hot summer afternoon and he’s so close still. Smells like fresh laundry and the barbecue he was helping with, swirls of the scents surrounding you as he stays there, watches you snap your pictures.

“I’ve always wished I could have a garden like that.” Your boss has a fantastic one. And a house. And the pool where the children are having their best life. “Instead I have a windowsill and try as I might, I’ll never have room for that many,” you sigh.

Too small, not enough pots and not enough space, and real estate doesn’t care if you’d like tulips and dahlias and daffodils on end, prices are still through the roof.

“I had a plant,” Marcus supplies, hands in the pockets of his shorts, “and it just….didn’t survive my last mission.”

Months away without really being able to check back home, if he can even call it home, and also he’d forgotten to leave a window open and perhaps he should have invested in the cleaning service the bulletin board had advertised. Perhaps then it wouldn’t have been left in the dark. It could have been watered.

“Ouchie,” you sympathize but he only shrugs.

“But we got the bad guys so I suppose I can live with its sacrifice.”

“Yeah, congrats on that by the way. I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet.”

“I know. It’s been crazy busy.”

Marcus sighs, rubs a hand down his face. So much paperwork after the arrests and it’s been a couple of weeks and yet, he’s still getting his footing back, trying to keep his head above water and not drown in all the files on his desk.

The long weekend, it’s more than welcome then. The breeze under the shade of the tree, the pink and orange and yellow and purple sprawled at his feet and the beer in his hand.

Not having to pretend anymore.

He scratches at his beard.

“I haven’t even had time to shave.”

You almost swallow wrong, sputter. What a shame it would be if he did. And you almost blurt that out. Before your brain catches up on your tongue.

“I think it suits you,” you squeak instead.

“Yeah?”

He rubs at his chin, takes a swig of his beer and it’s hypnotizing, the way his throat bobs and the facial hair on his jaw. Around his mouth when he wipes a runaway drop and what you wouldn’t give to do the same. How soft his lips must feel and how coarse his cheek would be against yours. It wouldn’t sting, though, you don’t think. And if it did, he’d soothe it all, Special Agent Pike. He’s sweet like that.

Always the highlight of your day when he drops by your desk. Sweet and nice with everyone, you’re no one special, just a colleague, which makes it even more inappropriate, how you’ve been feeling about him. Almost from the moment you were introduced.

But it’ll be a shit show, when you let him know and he’ll be polite and kind when he lets you down. Except you won’t ever be able to talk to him again so you’d rather swallow it all down, bury it deep, if it means you can still see him on a regular basis.

“Maybe I’ll keep it then,” Marcus ponders, thumbing at his beard. “If you like it.”

“It’s nice.”

“But I may—”

“Shut up! Jeez, you’re so full of shit, Denvers! Yo, Pike! Get your ass over here!”

Perfect synchronization in how you both turn towards the barbecue and your colleagues in charge of the food there. The men who have so rudely interrupted you and the white cotton, it stretches on Marcus’s shoulders when he sighs, gives you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, duty calls.”

“I didn’t know you were an expert at barbecuing.”

“I’m full of secrets like that. Can I get you another hot dog while I’m at it?”

You barely got a bite or two of yours before dropping it and your stomach is starting to rebel at the lack of food. Butterflies at talking to him can’t sustain you forever.

“Oh, no, I can get it my—”

“Ah, my pleasure. Anything for my favorite analyst. Hang on tight, enjoy your flowers.”

The crinkles around his eyes, peeking at the edge of his sunglasses, they stretch with his wide smile and his wink. They leave you flustered, staring at his back, eyes daring to dart lower to admire how he walks back to argue about cooking and charcoal and seasoning.

Flustered and enthralled and you hardly notice someone has taken Marcus’s spot by your side until they bump their shoulder against yours and grabby fingers tug at your sleeve.

“So, do you think today might be the day?”

“Uh?”

“When you finally ask Agent Handsome out?”

“And have to quit my job? I’d rather not. Hi, love, how was your nap?”

The baby in her arms smiles big at you, tug a bit more on your dress and refuses to let go until his mother distracts him with the shiny rings on her fingers.

“Always so dramatic, I’d forgotten about that.”

“Is there something you haven’t forgotten? Like, do you even remember your password?”

“Nope. And I couldn’t be happier about it.”

“Not coming back anytime soon then?”

Your work buddy who’s spent the last year or so having a baby and caring for it and hasn’t set foot in the office ever since. But you forgive her, the little boy is extra cute and claps as she lowers him and herself so he can look at all the bright flowers and the colors and then she groans, sits down in the grass.

Soft and warm and weight off your legs and your wedges when you join them and you could probably lie down and fall asleep, the lull of conversations everywhere a lullaby. Somewhat. Like the chirping of birds in the branches. Hidden.

“Not if I can help it. But don’t change the subject. Pike?”

“He’s very nice.”

“He’s hot.”

“Aren’t you married?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” She shrugs. “He’s still hot.”

“He is,” you agree dreamily, fighting the urge to steal a glance at him. “But it’s—it wouldn’t work. He doesn’t like me like that.”

“Has he told you that?”

No. Because you’d die of shame before admitting your feelings. It’s only a crush. A silly crush you’ve harbored for months and the stings of envy you’ve felt when you caught him talking to another woman at the bar, weeks ago, they were so real that you went to bed crying at how pathetic you were. A silly crush you wish could pass and yet here you are.

No way Marcus Pike could ever be interested in you. Not when he can have anyone he likes. He’s so gorgeous, way out of your league.

You tut instead of a proper answer, because he doesn’t need to tell you for you to know he can do better. You tut and play with blades of grass instead. Your soda gone and that’s a good thing, with how she shoves your shoulder again. Roughly.

“Ouch!”

“For a behavior analyst, you’re really shit at it when you’re off duty, aren’t you? Look at him!”

A quick glance towards the end of the backyard, your eyes directly finding his, already gazing at you. Not dropping when they meet. Sunglasses dangling from the collar of his tee-shirt and paper plates in his hands. He holds one up to you, inquiring silently and you nod so fast, something cracks in your neck. Dizzying.

“I’m telling you. He’s into you. I’m sure if you ask him to show you his hot dog, he will.”

She wiggles her eyebrows, giggling at how you scrunch up your nose, annoyed that you can’t retaliate with a shove of your own, that would upset the baby. Instead, you dramatically cover his little ears, glass bottle tipping in the sunshine, the last drops spilling in the grass. Refreshment for the ants.

“Don’t listen to your mom, she says the grossest things.”

“That doesn’t make them any less true,” she whispers hastily, already scrambling back up, white petals in her son’s little fist. “Hi, Marcus!”

“Hi, Cora! I—do you want this one? I’ll go get another one.” He offers her his plate and could he be more attentive, you’re melting. And not from the bright sun.

“I’m okay, thanks. This one’s in need of a diaper change. I’ll see you later? Enjoy your hot dogs!”

You throw her a dark look as she scampers off, children a wonderful excuse. A dark look that Marcus can’t see while he’s kneeling and sitting by your side. A groan at how low the ground is but then a contented noise at kicking his shoes off and feeling the grass against the soles of his feet and you think he may actually be trying to kill you.

Blissed out and carefree and so attentive, you don’t even have to pretend he didn’t get your hot dog right because amazingly, he did.

You hold the plate out, gaping. At it. At him. Astonished, not touching any of it.

“Did I forget something?”

There’s the mustard and the ketchup spilling from the bun. Onions and pickles on two little piles by it, not touching. And the bun is wholegrain. Where did he find it? It wasn’t an option when you first went to get some food or you would have hoarded a couple.

“It’s perfect, Marcus. How—how did you know?”

“That’s how you take it when you go to the food truck by the water, isn’t it?”

Lunch break in the city, when the trees are blossoming, when it’s sunny enough to eat outside. The ripples of calm on the river, how refreshing it is. Away from phones ringing and artificial lights and the clink clink clink of typing on keyboards. What you most look forward to after winter.

“Have you been spying on me, Agent Pike?”

You dip your head, a teasing edge to your smile and the way he adverts his gaze from your mouth to your eyes, maybe Cora isn’t that wrong. Or maybe the sun is in his face. How he squints and clears his throat.

“It’s a peaceful spot, isn’t it? I go there, too, sometimes. For coffee. Saw you a couple of times. Always on the same bench.”

“Far enough away from the geese.”

“I figured. But I—for the record, I wasn’t spying. Just happened to see you there and well, you’re—you’re pretty to look at.”

He mumbles it really, around a mouthful of hot dog, the pink of his tongue darting out to lick the mustard and the salt and the grease at the corner of his mouth, eyes never leaving yours, boring into your very heart. How it beats wild against your rib cage and you can’t seem to be able to break the spell.

The deep tone of his flirting, you think, at least you hope it’s what it is and not delusions that Cora has planted in your head. You can’t quite hold your plate steady, fingers sweaty.

“You’re just saying that,” you reply eventually and as you cast your eyes down you miss how Marcus frowns. You hear his confusion, though.

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, because you’re you and I’m...I’m just me.”

“Yes, you’re pretty. The first time I saw you there, by yourself, I meant to ask if you wanted company but you were reading and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Adding some beauty to the marvelous scenery. Making it more serene in how unbothered you were by your surroundings, how captivated you were by the story on the pages and it’d have been a crime, to interrupt that.

“Oh.”

They’re heavy, your eyelids, scared to bat open and up to catch him looking at you. A weight on your shoulders that hold them down, because what if he’s making fun of you. But it’s Agent Pike and Agent Pike doesn’t do that. You don’t think. He’s never let his hand wander so close to you either. Fingertips hovering by the hem of your dress, the soft skin of your thigh and it’s almost like an electric shock, the barely there brush of a nail. Enough to make you snap your head up.

Blood pumping under your cheeks and in your ears and hot dogs completely forgotten.

“You’re real pretty,” Marcus says again, lips parted and sincerity pouring out of his eyes, whispered into the world by velvet lips.

“Thanks. You too.”

A stupid thing to say, you can do so much better, there are so many things you like about him and yet, your brain is frozen. Not that it upsets him, judging by how his face lights up and how it emboldens him, the simple words. How his fingers creep closer to you again, toying with the hem of the dress again. A longer brush of his skin on yours and that’s certainly not going to help you find better vocabulary.

“Do you think next time I see you on that bench, I could come keep you company? I can’t promise I’ll be as good as your book but—”

“You will be.” Not doubt about it.

“Good. Monday?”

You’ve always loved Marcus’s dimples, how they shine when he laughs or genuinely smiles and right now, they’re all you can see. And they’re here because of you and it almost seems too good to be true.

Except it is. True. How warm his hand is when you cover it with your hand. Greasy and clammy.

“Yeah, Monday.”

I'd love to hear what you think!!

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Main Masterlist

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littlepadika · 13 days

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PEDRO PASCAL spotted leaving the gym April 10th, 2024 | Los Angeles, California

#ohhhh my god #pedped

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littlepadika · 16 days

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yes!!! more of this!!! realisitic sex!!!!

Stiff (no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader - age gap)

Moth's Masterlist // Add yourself to the tag list

pairing: no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E!!! 18+MDNI

summary: As Joel's getting older, his body isn't working the way it used to. Luckily, you're happy to help him out.

contents: erectile dysfunction, age gap, anxiety, Joel is old (affectionate), m masturbation, oral sex, p in v sex, reader is able bodied but not described, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 2k

a/n: There was a post going around a couple weeks ago about Joel taking a long time to finish as he gets older. Well, I made it worse for him. Sorry to this man. Thanks @ezrasbirdie for betaing and being a slut for Joel even if his dick doesn't work.

...

Joel’s nervous in a way he can only remember from his youth. Back when girls’ bodies were a mystery to him. It’s his own that’s the real conundrum these days.

He’s been seeing you for over a month now and he likes you. A lot. He wasnt sure he would considering Tommy set the two of you up and there were more than a few years between you. Joel hasn’t dated for a while but he’s glad he took a chance on you.

You’re a great girl. Knock out looks. Funny, smart. The kind of woman he wouldn’t mind introducing to Sarah.

Only problem is, one day he’s going to have to fuck you.

Not that he doesn’t want to. He’d love to. He’s thought about it more than he should.

He imagines how warm and tight you’d feel around him as he tugs at himself in the shower. Pictures your pussy swallowing him whole. Sometimes he thinks about what your mouth would feel like, those beautiful lips wrapped around him.

But he’s too chicken shit to do it.

He’s getting up there. 56 years old and his dick doesn’t work the way it used to. It happens every once in a while, no matter how horny he is. Things just go soft.

He’s already self conscious about seeing a younger woman. He’s caught himself examining the grey hairs at his temple before a few dates. Maybe it’s time for some Just For Men. Silver hairs are one thing. He doesn’t think he can withstand the humiliation he’d feel if he couldn't make it to the finish line with you.

The worst part is, you want it. There’s no playing coy with you. You don’t hesitate to invite him back to your place after drinks. You initiate deep, lurid kisses in his truck. You wear slinky lace panties that beg to be seen.

You must think he’s some kind of saint the way he’s insisted on going down on you with no reciprocation. Each time you reach for the fly on his jeans, he demurs.

“That’s alright, darlin’. Just want you to feel good.”

His cock throbs, balls ache.

He wants to do it, to plunge into that pussy he’s made all messy and wet. But he’s terrified he’ll start and find himself dying inside of you, shriveling up like a raisin. Thirty years ago, he wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. Now, he’s afraid he can’t keep it up. He’ll never hear from you again when you realize he’s an old man with a limp dick.

Tonight you asked him over to watch a movie. He knew exactly what that meant. It’s been playing in the background for thirty minutes as you climbed into his lap to kiss him. You slide yourself rhythmically across the growing lump in his pants, slow, steady strokes. He can feel the heat of your pussy through the fabric and, fuck, he wants you.

He holds your hips against him so you can get more friction and you moan. You can use him to get yourself off and maybe that’ll be enough.

“Joel, I want you to fuck me,” you breathe against his ear.

“Yeah?” he asks. He’s buying time, trying to think of an excuse.

“Please don’t make me beg,” you whine.

He looks at you, all disheveled and needy. You’ve stripped off your shirt and your bra strap hangs off of one shoulder. Your body feels so soft on his. It’s too much to take. He swallows hard.

“Let’s go to your room,” he says.

There’s more time for preamble once the two of you have changed locations. More kissing to get back into the swing of it, clothes coming off piece by piece.

Joel makes one more last ditch effort to snake between your legs mumbling something about getting you ready. You stop him.

“I’m already soaking for you,” you whine.

He gives up.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. Maybe you won’t and he can pretend the one in his wallet doesn’t exist.

“You don’t have to. I’m on the pill,” you say.

Joel hates himself. You’ve practically gift wrapped your pussy and put it on a silver platter for him. He should be elated for this.

You sense his hesitation and your brows knit together.

“I’ve been tested. But we can use a condom if you want,” offer like you’re trying to save him the embarrassment of admitting he has a venereal disease.

You look like you’re about to ask him why he’s acting so squirrelly and he’d rather drive off a cliff than say it out loud.

“Nuh uh. I wanna feel all of you,” he says.

Despite his anxiety, it’s true. He’s fantasized about this moment as much as he’s dreaded it.

You recover quickly, giggling with anticipation as Joel settles between your thighs.

In the soft clutch of your cunt, Joel has no regrets. It’s absolute bliss. He’s not sure he’s capable of being anything other than hard inside of you.

“That feel good?” you coo.

“Fuck,” is the only answer he’s capable of.

You clench around him, egging him on, and he lets out a groan. He rolls his hips back and plunges his cock deeper. The heady feeling of being surrounded by you is perfection.

He’s ravenous for you. He buries his face in your tits, grips onto the bend in your knee, bites at your jawline. Each time he denied himself this pleasure has made him exponentially aroused.

The sounds that come from you drive him crazy. Little moans and whines with each thrust. You weave your fingers into his hair and dig your fingernails into his shoulder.

“Take it so good,” he grunts. “Pretty little thing.”

He shouldn’t have waited for this. He should have fucked you every time you opened your legs to him. He should have gotten those pills so he could go on fucking you until you had tears in your eyes.

And then it happens. He keeps driving his hips into you but he can’t reach as deep, isn’t being hugged with that snug fit. First frustration fills him. Then utter humiliation.

You can tell. He knows you can. You’re not making as much noise and when he dares to look at your face, he sees the slightest hint of concern.

He’s sweating from his exertion but a chill runs down his spine. Shame and fear, despair. It feels like the rug has been pulled out from his feet.

“Shit. Need a break,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you respond.

He’s breathless when he rolls off of you. He fists his cock, willing it to spring to attention.

“It ain’t you he insists. You’re— fuck, you’re incredible. Gorgeous.” His head falls back against the pillow as he tries to regain his breath.

He can imagine you having cosmos with your girlfriends, telling them all about the old geezer that couldn’t fuck you porperly.

“I ain’t a young man anymore.”

It feels like another nail being driven into his coffin. He notices his age more and more. His back hurts, knees complain. Tommy ribs him when he sits on palettes of tile with a groan.

Just as Joel feels like he’s got one foot in the grave, you speak up.

“I’m glad you’re not,” you say. You’re trying to catch your breath too. “Joel, I've never come with a guy my age. Most of them won’t even eat pussy.”

That only adds to his self loathing.

“I was just— I was trying to avoid this,” he admits.

It doesn’t feel right to accept your praise when he had ulterior motives. You sit up on your elbow, you other hand gliding across the plane of his chest.

“So you wouldn’t have gone down on me?” you say.

“No. Course I woulda,” he says.

“Even though it took me, like, 45 minutes to finish?”

“That’s alright,” Joel says. He’d loved every second of it, his cock begging for relief as you writhed under this tongue. “I don’t care how long it takes you.”

“Well, me either,” you assure him.

You’re circling his damp skin with a soothing touch and your hand inches down his belly.

“You still want to come, right?” you whisper.

He nods. The need is still there, just as it has been from the very first time he kissed you. He’s touched himself to the thought of you but it’s never been enough. He’s desperate for it now.

You kiss him and bring his hand to cup your breasts. He’s not sure he deserves this— your compassion, your patience. But weeks of fear and embarrassment begin to melt away as Joel focuses on the taste of your tongue, the warmth of your skin under his touch.

“I bet I can get you hard,” you purr. The fine edges of your teeth rake against his earlobe before you get up.

You swing your leg over to straddle his middle, your back facing him. He runs his palm up your bare skin, from your hip as far as he can reach to your shoulder blade. A beautiful expanse of delicate skin, coated with a sheen of perspiration. You look at him over your shoulder with a seductive look, eyes hooded, bottom lip caught in your teeth.

He groans and grips a handful of your ass. You respond by arching your back.

“Can I tell you something?” you ask.

“Uh huh,” is all that he can manage.

“I was so excited to see you, to do this, last night I was touching myself,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

The thought of it increases the arousal that’s already coursing through him. You, twisting in your sheets, fingers coated in that sweet slick. Or maybe you used a toy— a smooth little purple thing or maybe one of those big wands that could jackhammer the knots out of his back. Filthy images fly through his mind.

“Not the first time,” you say. “But it’s not as good as the real thing.”

You lean down and through your legs, Joel can see the heavy swell of your breasts. Your peaked nipples sway against his lower belly. As your legs spread wider, he can see your pussy throbbing, convulsing.

Everything is revealed like this. It’s obscene. The curve of your ass is presented, open so he can see your hole. Your lips shine, swollen and slick with release. Dripping for him.

If this doesn’t get him hard, he ought to give up and become a monk.

You moan against him. It’s a little much, pornographic and almost silly but he needs it. Joel focuses everything on the sounds, the feel of your weight on him.

“Put your fingers in me,” you command.

Two digits slide easily into your cunt and you press your hips back towards him. Your breath catches with each rock of your ass. His senses are overwhelmed by you. Soon. Soon he’ll be back inside you, fucking you properly.

And then you put your mouth around his half-hard cock. Hot and unbelievably wet, your tongue coaxes him on. Sloppy noises come from your lips as he begins to twitch back to life.

It’s exquisite torture. The strain in his belly courses lower and he grits his teeth. All of this for him. An old man that ought to be taking those blue pills. You’ve become a little vixen to make him feel young again.

By now his cock has awoken, harder even than before. Probably hardest it’s ever been.

“Okay. Okay, darlin,” he pants. “I’ve got to fuck you right now.”

You lose no time, pulling off of him and scooting down over his thighs, still facing away. You line his stiff cock up to your entrance and sink down over it. This new angle grips him even tighter and he hisses as you draw him in deeper. It’s an obscene view. Joel looks down his chest to see his cock disappearing within you as you ride him. He watches himself fuck you, holding onto your hips so hard he’s afraid he might hurt you.

“Turn around, darlin’,” he manages. “Want to see you.”

You pull off and quickly flip around, your hand tracing his cheek once he’s back inside of you.

“So good for me,” you say.

The sight of you— radiant and triumphant— inspires him to press his feet against the mattress and fuck up into you. He’ll probably regret the strain on his back tomorrow but now, he needs to bury himself deep inside of your cunt before he loses it again.

“Can’t believe I waited so long to fuck this pretty pussy,” he says. “You wanted it so bad. Filthy girl.” He’s babbling senselessly, lost in his own pleasure.

The delicious tension and heat wind in his belly. Each thrust brings him closer to the edge.

His orgasm hits him so hard he practically roars as he spills into you. His hips stutter, every muscle in his body goes taught. Just as quickly it unspools and he nearly collapses under you.

You lay your head on his shoulder, your palm pressing to where his heart beats erratically. You both struggle to catch your breath.

“Not bad for an old man,” you tease.

He lets out a tired laugh before hauling you in for another kiss.

Comments and reblogs always appreciated! My asks are always open!

#padika fave fics #joelyyyy

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