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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 4 months

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good to me, part two | joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates for fic notifs

pairing: gynecologist!joel miller x female!reader rating: 18+ explicit word count: 3.7k

summary: when the results of your pap turn up inconclusive, you once again find yourself in dr. miller's office. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] doctor/patient shenanigans, smut for real, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), medical kink, reader has anxiety, literally just getting a pap smear (again) and all that entails, dirty talk, pet names, sexual tension, competency kink, praise kink, panty kink, squirting, glove kink, one (1) pov swap, reader is described as wearing a dress. no use of y/n. disclaimer: obviously i am not a gynecologist ya'll so i make no guarantees that the language used here will be one hundred per cent accurate. this is wish fulfillment, not medical school. anyway this is just supposed to be a bit of silly, horny fun so pls just take it for what it is or scroll on by if it's not your thing thank you love you bye

a/n: thank you to everyone who showed part one so much love. you're all too good to me.

special thanks to @knopes-waffles for mining the depths of pinterest to find some pictures for this instalment. i love you!

part one | part three

You cannot believe you're here again.

Cowering under doctor's office lighting barely a week after your mortifying appointment with Dr. Miller. An appointment you can't seem to forget - no matter how hard you try.

His hands, his lips, his delicate touch, the feel of his hard cock pressing into your stomach...you can't shake him. Even if his hasty departure had left you humiliated and worse, unsatisfied.

When you'd touched yourself that night, you'd thought of paper sheets beneath you, gloved fingers opening you up, a low drawl telling you, good job, darlin', doin' so good...

And you know, you know that when that damned receptionist had called to tell you, "Dear, we're so sorry, your results were inconclusive. There's no need to panic, but we'll need to have you back," you should have just said no, found another doctor so you never had to show your face in that office again. Only then she'd said, "Dr. Miller is still in, are you okay to see him again?"

And despite your better judgment, you'd found yourself agreeing, a little too enthusiastic at the prospect of seeing him again. Maybe your...outburst hadn't scared him as much as you'd thought. Surely if he hadn't put you on a medical no-fly list, what you'd done couldn't have been...that bad. Right?

No, it was bad. It was very bad. You know that. But it occurs to you, the longer you sit nervously in the same examination room where you'd kissed him last week, that maybe that's exactly what you'd liked about it.

You're more daring this time, or perhaps just more practical, donning a simple sundress and a flouncy pair of lace underwear - mostly for confidence. You know he won't see them.

Your foot taps anxiously against the tiled floor until a light knock finally comes at the door, and Dr. Miller is stepping through, clipboard in hand.

You audibly gasp at the sight of him. He wears no white coat today, just an ivory button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, thick, tanned forearms glowing even in fluorescent overhead lighting. His salt-and-pepper curls are loosely combed back out of his face, and whereas last week he'd entered the room with a sweet half-smile, today his features are hard, eyes cast downward at the files in his hand until the door is firmly shut behind him.

You watch with nervous exhilaration as he locks it.

Neither of you says a word as he places the clipboard on the desk beside you, turning his back to you to prepare his tools before going perfectly still, broad shoulders rising and falling as he sucks in a long breath.

Maybe the scolding is finally coming. You know you deserve it.

But then at last he turns to face you, striding towards you with slow, deliberate steps until he's close enough to touch, towering over you. You watch with bated breath as he extends a hand and gently cups your face.

You straighten at his touch, electricity coursing through you.

"On the bed, please," he whispers.

You want nothing more than to obey his command but -

"I'm still wearing my underwear," you protest, already breathless.

Dr. Miller just shakes his head, dropping his hand to step away from you and gesture towards the examination table.

He waits until you stand before nodding and turning away again, this time to take his place on the wheeled stool and rummage through a drawer by the foot of the bed. You warily perch yourself on the edge of the table, watching as Dr. Miller slowly slips a pair of blue latex gloves on. You swallow tightly at the familiar elastic snap, swinging your legs up on the bed in front of you and folding your hands in your lap.

"I'm sorry to make you do this all again," he says, his back still to you. "It was my fault your specimen was damaged. Got distracted and - "

"That's okay," you assure him honestly.

Dr. Miller chuckles, putting you at ease and taking you right back to last week, arousal sparking in your core in an instant.

"It's not," he contends, swivelling to face you with a soft smile. "But thank you for comin' back."

He places a hand on your ankle and you jolt at the touch, latex dragging across your flesh as he slowly glides his palm up your leg to your knee.

"Lie down," he breathes.

Your breath stutters and you do as he says, unfolding your spine down onto the paper sheet beneath you. Dr. Miller taps your shin gently.

"Little closer, darlin', you know the drill."

Fuck. You shimmy further down the bed, your knees curling upwards until you feel your toes hit the edge of the mattress.

"There ya go," Dr. Miller hums.

"I'm also sorry..." he continues, both hands now languidly sliding up the outsides of your legs till his fingers find the lace edge of your panties. "For how I left things last time - lift up for me, sweetheart."

Your heartbeat hammers in your ears, unflinchingly lifting your hips up off the table to let Dr. Miller pull your underwear down your thighs, up and over your knees to your ankles, past your feet where he finally lets them fall into a heap on the floor.

"Just caught me off guard, is all," he says, coaxing your knees apart with no resistance from you this time. Your sundress pools at your waistline, leaving your already wet pussy on full display for him once more.

"Fuck," he sighs, a sound almost pained.

You crane your neck to watch him staring openly at you, feeling yourself warm at his ravenous gaze.

"So you...you weren't mad at me?"

He tears his eyes from your pussy to shoot you a small half-smile. "Not at all. Couldn't stop thinkin' about you, actually."

"Me neither," you admit, returning his smile.

"Lie your head back," he tells you then.

It's nearly impossible to look away from him, but you work to obey his orders, letting your head fall into the mattress beneath you, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Gonna touch you now," he whispers, the same gentle warning he'd offered you last week.

"Please," you softly croak.

You hear his low chuckle and then you feel his hand trail up your inner thigh, taking his time as he inches towards your cunt.

"You know I have to ask..." he says, just as his fingers make contact with your folds, making you gasp, too loud. Whereas last time, he'd swiftly spread your lips apart and carried on with his work, this time he is slow, gently raking his digits from your hole to your clit, up and down, arousal squelching lewdly under his touch. "Have you been sexually active since your last visit?"

He's still absently running his fingers over your sex, so your responding, "No," escapes you in the form of a choked squeak.

"Didn't think so," Dr. Miller chuckles and now two fingers do spread you open, tracing wet patterns over your sensitive lips, setting your skin on fire as he touches everywhere but your clit. "Still just as wet for me."

"Mhm," you agree, not even bothering to deny it.

"Should make this easy, then," he murmurs, retracting his fingers to retrieve the speculum beside him. "Deep breath, now. Need ya nice and relaxed, darlin'."

Your chest rises and falls in a shaky breath as Dr. Miller nears your entrance with the shiny, metallic tool. Your eyes squeeze shut out of habit.

"Still with me?" he checks in.

"Yes."

He touches the end of the speculum to your hole, the cold making you flinch just as it had last time.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," Dr. Miller coos. "Just a little pressure now, okay?"

"Okay," you say through gritted teeth.

"I got you, I got you," he softly soothes, pushing the speculum into you in a practiced, careful motion. It aches, the discomfort unavoidable, and your muscles tighten instinctively at the intrusion.

"There..." he's humming as he adjusts the arms, opening you up for him and locking the nasty thing in place. "Y'alright?"

"Yes - yes, Dr. Miller."

He groans at that, a sound that goes straight to your cunt, your walls fluttering around the sharp, uninviting edges of the speculum.

"Goddamn," he whispers to himself as he turns to gather the spatula. You peek up at him, watch as he deftly preps the tiny tool and swivels back around to hunch between your open legs.

"This perfect fuckin' pussy..." he marvels, leaning in close to rest the fingers of his free hand at the hinge of your hip, nearing your opening with the spatula. You shiver with anticipation, your head once again falling back behind you.

"You must...see a lot of them," you muse breathily.

"I do," Dr. Miller confesses with a grin, his voice low. "Couldn't get yours outta my head, though."

At that, wetness pools around metal and your core aches with emptiness. Dr. Miller seems to notice.

"So needy," he hums. "Just beggin' for some attention, huh? Someone to make her feel good?"

"Dr. Miller - please - "

"Shh," he cuts you off and it's just as well, you suppose; you're not even sure what you're asking for anymore. "Gonna feel a little pinch, okay?"

"Okay - okay."

He moves quickly now, but no less gently, slipping the spatula inside you and scraping at your inner walls with a feather light touch, pulling back just as fast to stash away the sample.

"Alright, all done," he announces. "Stay still, now, baby."

Baby has your fucking head spinning but you do as he says, frozen where you lay as he makes quick work of loosening the arms of the speculum and carefully easing it out of your dripping hole, setting it aside along with your sample.

He's back on you in a flash, gloved hands finding your thighs and holding them open so you couldn't even move if you wanted to.

"Stay still," he repeats. "Wanna do somethin' for you."

"Please."

Tell me to stop, he thinks. Tell me to stop and I will.

Maybe part of him wishes you would put a stop to this before he crosses yet another line. Because he really shouldn't be doing this here, not when you're still so powerless on the bed before him, not a lover but a patient. Hell, he's got another appointment lined up in just ten short minutes - though, admittedly, he's certain it won't take him that long to give you what he's hoping to give you.

Of course, if he were a stronger man, he'd stop himself. But he's not, so he doesn't.

Instead, he leans into the apex of your thighs, your soaking cunt calling out to him like a siren, pulsing expectantly right before his eyes. God, you need this.

He knows better than to jump right in with the obvious. How much more there is to work with. He's spent his whole goddamn life studying this part of the human body, the keys to making it feel good no exception.

And you need to feel good.

So he starts with a tease, pressing his lips into your inner thigh, hearing your quiet gasp above him, the sweet sound egging him on as he drags his mouth along your skin towards your core, licking his lips before planting a tender kiss against your folds.

"Oh," you whimper quietly, a breathy little noise, laced with desire.

Perfect.

He moves his hands closer, thumbs spreading you open so can see your tight, leaking hole and your aching, puffy clit. He breathes you in for a moment, lips hovering over your heat before his tongue darts out to lightly trace your entrance. His eyes slip closed at the taste of you, salty-sweet and warm against his tongue as he begins to lap at you in wide, sweeping strokes. You're squirming now, slick gathering on his tongue - just as he'd expected.

It's all about the build-up. He knows this.

"Taste so good, baby," he tells you earnestly, placing another wet kiss over your lips before pulling away.

"Dr. Miller - please," you whine, voice rising in volume as your desperation grows. "Don't stop."

"Shh, m'not," he assures you. "Stay quiet for me, though, okay?"

He reaches up to grip your hand against the paper sheet, squeezing down in a silent reminder.

"Mhm," you nod frantically, clamping your free hand down over your mouth. He smiles.

"S'Joel, by the way," he whispers. "My name."

Your breath hitches behind your hand and at last, he presses forward, closing his lips around your needy clit. He begins with patient little flicks of his tongue, up and down over the pearly bud. Your breathing quickens then, huffed hot through your nose and Joel smirks against you, eager to give you more.

He flattens his tongue as he begins to work over your clit in broad, languid circles and god, you like that, if the clenching of your stomach muscles and the binding grasp you have on his hand are anything to go by. So he applies more pressure, all while maintaining that same even pace as he swirls his tongue around your most sensitive spot.

It's something far too many men get wrong, he's learned. Harder doesn't mean faster. Gentle doesn't mean soft. It's all about intent, patience, attention to detail.

It doesn't hurt that he loves it.

It's why he's in no rush as he moves his lips lower to tongue at your hole again, plastering his mouth over your folds to reverently make out with your pussy. He knows the warmth can be stifling, a hot mouth closed over a hot cunt, knows it must feel all the more dizzying to feel his nose prodding at your clit as he daringly presses the tip of his tongue inside you.

Sure enough, your hips rise up off the bed to meet his mouth, a whimper getting caught behind your hand when it drives his tongue deeper into you. Joel hums his approval, sucking at the slick that pools at your core in response.

You're so fucking sweet.

He reaches up to press your hips down, never unlatching his mouth from you as he resumes his place over your clit. Only then does he increase the pace of his ministrations, now that he can tell you're starting to fall apart.

He just wants to try one more thing.

He pulls away from your cunt with a wet pop and you whine in protest, your eyes snapping open, wide and blown-out with lust. He pays it no mind; you'll be thanking him a second.

He untangles his hand from yours to swipe his gloved fingers over your soaking folds, watching you twitch as he grazes your clit, so sensitive. Then he focuses, touching the tip of his middle finger to your hole before slowly sinking it inside.

In his periphery, he sees your head fall back into the mattress.

"Yeah, that's it," he encourages you quietly, pumping his digit in and out until slick coats the latex. "You want more, baby?"

He sees you nod, hears you hum something that sounds like yes and it's all the encouragement he needs to add a second finger alongside the first. You cover your mouth with both hands now, fighting to contain a moan at the stretch. Joel smiles. He'd love to hear what you sound like when you're not trying to be quiet, to discover all the sweet noises he could draw from you.

Luckily, Dr. Joel Miller doesn't need words to know when he's on the right track.

Because now his fingers are searching, curling and beckoning inside you while his eyes scan your face, watching for the moment you -

"Hmmmm!"

There it is, he thinks, while the tips of his gloved fingers nudge at that spongy spot inside you and a series of high pitched sobs turn to muffled sighs against your palms. Your thighs quiver beside his head while your walls clench around him, confirming what he already knows to be true.

"Feels good, don't it?" he coos lowly. "Right there?"

You drop one hand from your face to clutch at his curls, tugging softly, pulling him in closer.

"Yeah?" he whispers, pressing forward to ghost his lips over your clit again, fingers still expertly working your g-spot. "I got you."

And he does. His mouth engulfs your clit and now he swirls his tongue over it in deliberate little circles, harder and faster than before, chasing your release now. His free hand sprawls out on your tummy, feeling it flex and loosen with each pulse of your walls around his fingers.

Should he make you squirt? He knows he could, if he just pressed down a little right above your mound, if he kept prodding at your g-spot and sucking at your clit the way he is right now. Already he can feel wetness dribbling over his knuckles, the fist you have knotted in his hair yanking hard enough to make his eyes water - all the telltale signs of a powerful impending climax.

Maybe not here, he decides, softening the press of his palm on your lower belly and instead sliding it up under your dress to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

And - fuck, that seems to have its desired effect. You cant your hips into his mouth as the squeaks catching in your throat begin to rise in pitch.

He hums against you, long and low, his eyes fluttering closed. Savouring you, because he knows it won't be much longer now.

A few more precise circles of his tongue and your body is seizing up beneath him, walls pulsating around his fingers. He doesn't let up his efforts as you come, drawing it out, taking care to make sure it lasts as long as possible. You tremble, shake with the force of it, thoroughly silent as release rolls over you, but Joel still knows. You do gush for him, just a little, warm liquid trickling down into his palm as he coaxes out the final waves of your orgasm.

He doesn't stop till he feels your muscles slacken and you're clawing at his scalp and while he'd love to keep going, to make you come again and again and again...he notes the hour on the clock on the wall and knows this is neither the time nor the place.

So he heeds your wishes, retracting his mouth first and then, slowly, his fingers. He removes his drenched gloves and tosses them in the trash, watching you carefully as you finally free your mouth from behind your hand to sit up.

"Fuck," you pant weakly, scooting hurriedly down the bed to meet him at the edge of it. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into an endearingly appreciative kiss.

You moan when he licks into your mouth to let you taste your come and all at once, his own desire catches up with him, feeling his cock strain behind the zipper of his trousers. He stands, kicks the wheeled stool out of the way and takes your face in his hands, hinging at the waist to kiss you deeper while you bow your spine to do the same.

Fuck, he wants you. A thousand different ways and a thousand different times. Your fingers begin to fumble with the buckle of his belt, arousal punching him hard in the gut but he knows -

It's neither the time nor the place.

"Shit, wait, baby," he sighs, sounding unconvincing, even to himself. Still, he fights to regain control. He pries your hands off him and places them at your sides, chuckling at the sight of you pouting up at him. He cringes internally when he remembers how shocked and dejected you'd looked when he'd left you last week - he won't do that again.

"Please," you beg softly and he almost caves - almost.

"Not here, sweetheart," he soothes, his hands once again cupping the sides of your face, thumbs stroking lightly over your cheekbones.

"Then where?" you press him and he chuckles.

He traces the slope of your lips with his fingers, memorizing the shape of you.

"Did I make you feel good?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod.

"Do you want me to make you feel good again?"

"Please," you repeat, your voice oozing need.

He bends to press his lips to yours again - not quite a kiss, but something more like a promise. He swallows, reining himself in as he reaches behind him to grab a card off the desk. His card.

"Call me," he tells you as he turns back to face you, holding it out to you with one hand while he uses the other to gently stroke your hair. You stare up at him doe-eyed as he speaks, his tone all measured and even. "Let me take you out on a proper date, yeah? Bring you back to my place and show you all the ways I can make you feel good. What do you think about that, sweetheart?"

It'll be better that way, he thinks - for him and for you.

"Okay," you whisper, keeping your eyes on his face as you take the card from his outstretched hand.

Joel hums, leans in to kiss you one more time and then finally steps back. He straightens out his collar and runs a hand through his hair, scrubs a hand over his face and feels his scruff is still sticky-wet with your release. He smiles to himself when he thinks of how the scent of you will be trapped in his moustache while he tends to all his other patients today.

He collects his things and just about makes it to the door before he notices your underwear still bunched up on the tiled floor. He crouches to pocket them without giving it a second thought.

When he turns to face you this time, your face is all awed, mouth agape and eyes wide, fingers loosely clutching his card. He nods towards it with one hand on the doorknob.

"Call me," he says again. "M'serious."

"I will," you promise him, nodding fervently.

"Good," he winks, and despite how desperately he wishes he could stay, Joel steps through the door with one final steadying breath, leaving you behind - at the very least, more sated than last time.

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 4 months

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Hate to break it to you but this is ART!

For Christmas this year, I got a Jurassic Park Velociraptor toy, and even though it’s now a few days past Christmas, I decided to make this stopmotion video because I couldn’t stop laughing at the idea. Enjoy!

Animated with Stop Motion Studio Pro app on my iPad.

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 4 months

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#happiness #Senate?#joy #(senate doesn't count so we'll go with boyfriend)

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 6 months

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☀︎ your summer dream masterlist ☀︎

joel miller x f!reader

COMPLETED SERIES~

series playlist | ao3 | kofi | banner by the lovely @pamasaur

*follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader rating: 18+ minors dni series warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] we'll call him dad's buddy!joel, fairly soft!joel, age difference (28/50), alcohol, food, smut (will specify with each chapter), fluff, anxiety, mentions of infidelity, mentions of divorce, jet skis????, secret relationship. no use of y/n.

series summary: fresh on the heels of the worst breakup of your life, you find an unexpected kindred spirit in joel miller, who's agreed to tag along for seven days to a tropical resort with you and your parents.

Drive your car down to the sea / All the while you build a scheme / Take her hand and walk on with her / Make it real, your summer dream

prologue

day one–(re)introductions

day two–show

day three–activities, 3.5: bonus: the other side of the door

day four–sand

day five–new

day six–savour

day seven–plans, 7.5: bonus: loveyoubye

season two

part one–autumn air (coming soon) part two–? part three–? part four–?

BONUS*: feelings on fire/your summer dream crossover crackfic

vacation!joel edit by @nostalxgic 🤍 vacation!joel moodboard by @johnwatsn 🤍 vacation!joel video edit by @lovers-liability 🤍

alternative banner:

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 6 months

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There Are Limits

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: Maverick's new female friend brings out your spiteful nature. And seeing you with a new man is harder on Maverick than he'd like to admit.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, drinking, and did someone say bring on the angst?? Because you know I can deliver..

WC: 4000+

This is Part 5 in the There Are Rules universe.

“Captain?”

Maverick looks up when you step into his office. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk and there’s a woman standing between his legs, so close, she might as well be in his lap. When you enter, she steps away half-heartedly, looking slightly annoyed that her conversation with Maverick has been cut short.

Maverick’s cheeky grin falters when he sees you, and he clears his throat as he hops off his desk.

“Lieutenant,” he says. “How can I help you?”

You stare at him in shock, not sure how to react. The last several weeks haven’t been easy; in fact, you and Maverick have barely spoken since your mutual decision to terminate your romantic relationship. But seeing him with another woman is a whole new level of difficult.

“Lieutenant?” he says, lifting his eyebrows worriedly. He doesn’t bother to introduce his companion, with whom he is obviously very familiar.

You swallow around the lump in your throat and exhale slowly. Maverick isn’t the only expert in self-regulation. It’s a skill that’s proven quite useful, if not invaluable, during your tenure in the navy. And, although it’s always come naturally to you, recent events have seen that you receive plenty of practice. “Sir,” you say promptly, saluting Maverick in an entirely professional manner, as if you’ve never even had his tongue down your throat. “It’s about next week’s squadron dinner,” you say.

It's true that you meant to speak about the dinner – about how you were planning on skipping it to avoid an ever vigilant Cyclone who's been watching both you and Maverick like a hawk. Moreover, the less you see of Maverick these days, the better.

But the scene before you has severely shifted the trajectory of your plans. And the next thing that comes out of your mouth is hideously unrehearsed. “I was wondering if we were allowed a plus one,” you blurt out, your eyes darting pointedly between Maverick and his female friend.

Maverick stares at you mutely, as though it’s taking him a minute to process your request. “You want to bring a date?” he then asks, his eyes widening and subsequently narrowing in a matter of milliseconds.

You feel like you might sweat right through your uniform with the way he’s staring you down, but you stand your ground defiantly. “If I may,” you respond unemotionally; the way you’d address any other superior.

Maverick nods slowly, glancing at the woman who’s currently rifling through some papers on his desk. You ignore how comfortable she seems in his office, like she’s been here plenty of times before. “I don’t see that being a problem,” he says. “Who’s the lucky…?” His voice trails off and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Should be fun,” he finishes, giving you a wide, artificial-looking grin.

You smile back at him. “I agree.”

…

“Boyfriend,” Maverick says, his eyebrows shooting upward for a moment before he checks himself and pulls at the collar of his jacket as if it’s suddenly an uncomfortable fit.

You try not to acknowledge his reaction and instead introduce your date to some of your squadron mates. You’re not sure why Sam has decided to put a label on your relationship at this exact moment, but you’re not going to argue semantics in front of the one person you wouldn’t mind buying into this spectacle.

“It’s new,” you hear Sam blurt out, presumably cowering under the scrutiny of Maverick’s gaze.

You make a point not to look Maverick in the eye because you’re still upset about walking in on him last week when he was clearly otherwise engaged. But when Sam walks ahead, busy conversing with the other aviators, you feel a finger brush gently over the back of your hand. You pull both hands behind your back and square your shoulders to face your instructor.

Maverick is watching you solemnly. “This is good,” he whispers, although the tilt of his eyebrows says otherwise.

You can’t express how much it hurts to hear him referring to this situation as good, and yet, you nod, grinning rigidly. “It is,” you say, pausing to give him an opportunity to come clean about his own blossoming relationship.

But Maverick does nothing of the sort. Maverick is as unreadable as ever.

You’re about to walk away when the woman you’d seen in Maverick’s office appears from behind him. She nudges him on the shoulder to get his attention and shoots him a brilliant smile.

Maverick gives her a polite nod before turning back to you. “Lieutenant,” he says. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine.”

The woman beams at you and holds out her hand. “I’m Charlie,” she says.

You shake her hand and return her smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie,” you say. “Are you an instructor at Top Gun as well?”

She chuckles, throwing Maverick a flirty glance. “Not for a while,” she responds, looking back at you. “Not since this one made me rethink that particular career choice.”

Maverick drops his head with a laugh. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he says.

Charlie shakes her head. “Don’t be,” she replies. “It all worked out.”

Maverick nods, looking at her affectionately. “Charlie went on to bigger and better things. And by bigger, I mean she went on to design rockets.”

“Wow,” you say, both impressed and jealous of the woman who seems to hold a special place in Maverick’s heart.

“And look at how far you’ve come,” Charlie says to Maverick.

Maverick grimaces. “I’m right back where I started,” he remarks. “Full circle.”

“You’re right back where you’re meant to be,” she says earnestly. “And I’m proud of you.”

Maverick shifts his weight uncomfortably, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “We better grab a seat before Cyclone has an aneurysm,” he says.

You turn to see Cyclone watching the three of you with an irked expression from the table reserved for your group at the restaurant. He shakes his head ominously as you make your way toward the others. When the three of you arrive at the table, he mutters, “How gracious of you to join us.”

Maverick glances at him with a slight smirk but doesn’t say a word while Charlie lets out a small chuckle, taking her place beside Maverick at the table.

You lower yourself into the seat next to Sam, right across from Maverick and Charlie. Cyclone is sitting to Maverick’s right, aggressively perusing the menu.

“I hear the fish tacos are good here,” Maverick notes when Cyclone lays his menu down on the table in frustration.

Cyclone gives him a sour look. “Not a fish person,” he responds tartly.

You stifle a laugh, exchanging glances with Charlie, who is also snickering.

“There are non-fish tacos as well,” Maverick points out.

Cyclone nods grumpily. “Yes, I saw the entire section devoted to the various tacos they serve. I can read.”

Maverick bites the side of his lip to contain a grin. “Enchiladas,” he continues quietly, as if to himself. “Quesadillas, chiles rellenos…”

“I want a burger,” Cyclone declares, flipping through the menu anew.

Maverick shoots you an amused glance. “Let’s start with drinks,” he suggests, sliding a draft beer menu in front of his superior.

“Good idea.” Cyclone sighs theatrically, rolling his shoulders to loosen some tension.

“Hey, d’you want to share a couple of dishes?” Sam offers, tapping you on the arm to get your attention.

You glance over at him quickly, having almost forgotten he was there. “Sure.” You nod enthusiastically, even though it’s the last thing you would ever think to do.

Once all the drinks and food arrive, and you and Sam awkwardly try to allocate your respective shares of the dinner, Charlie pipes in. “How long have you two been together?” she asks, gesturing at you and Sam.

“It’s new,” Sam, the self-proclaimed boyfriend who has yet to work up the nerve to even kiss you, reiterates quickly while you chew on a quesadilla.

You wipe your mouth with a napkin before confirming, “Not long.”

Maverick’s eyes rest on you for a split second before he returns his attention to the ceviche in his bowl.

Meanwhile, Cyclone regards you with a dubious expression. “Where did you meet?” he asks gruffly.

“Through some friends,” Sam responds excitedly, as though it’s the most fascinating fact of the evening.

You take another bite of quesadilla and avoid looking directly at any of the three people sitting before you.

But Maverick cuts the silence short. “Is it serious?” he asks, and both you and Cyclone shoot him threatening glances. Charlie looks up from her plate, trying to interpret yours and Cyclone’s abrupt reactions.

Sam, meanwhile, is smiling blissfully to himself as he pokes at the contents of his fajita before rolling it up. “I’d say it has some potential of getting there,” he says.

You nearly choke on a pepper upon seeing Maverick’s expression transform from mild amusement to unequivocal displeasure. His jaw muscles contract as he forcefully stabs at his dinner with a fork.

Sam clears his throat nervously and speaks in a noticeably higher pitch, “Of course, I can’t predict the future.”

You roll your eyes and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s none of his business, anyway,” you say.

To Maverick’s left, you see Charlie’s jaw drop slightly in her shock at your informal – bordering on impolite – addition to the conversation with your superior officer.

Cyclone chuckles quietly, finally appeased by your interaction with Maverick. “At last, something we can all agree on.”

Maverick smiles politely. “I was just making small talk,” he says, laying his fork down without finishing his meal.

Cyclone gives him a flat look and leans forward to address his friend. “Charlie, how long are you in town?”

While Charlie and Cyclone engage in conversation, Maverick catches your gaze inquisitively, as if he’s trying to figure you out. His eyes are so penetrating, you feel like he can see right through you. He must know that your relationship with Sam isn’t even close to being serious. He must know that you’re probably going to break it off that very evening. He must know you only brought him because you were hurt and you wanted to hurt him back. Because Maverick has reconnected with someone of significance and is involved in something meaningful.

You tear your gaze away from him irritably. You’re about done letting Maverick stir up your emotions without so much as saying a word. You’re about done caring for a man who’s done nothing but cause you pain.

You rise from your seat and excuse yourself, heading for the bathroom near the back of the restaurant. No sooner do you break through the door, than you collapse onto the nearest sink and break down. You don’t even care that your mascara is leaving streaks down your cheeks, or that the tears are clouding your vision. You don’t even care that your hands are gripping the basin so tightly that your fingers are cramping.

You glance up at your reflection in the mirror; pathetic. How did you let yourself fall this far? This hard? This fast? You run the tap and dab some cool water on your skin, patting at the trails of makeup that your crying spell has left behind.

You take a deep breath, staring at your glistening face with a scowl, preparing yourself for the remainder of the evening. But just as you make your way for the door, it opens, and Maverick enters.

You jerk back in surprise, despite his history of showing up in places he isn’t supposed to be.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You panic. He knows. He knows that you ran away to cry. And this makes you furious. “I’m fine,” you respond curtly. “You shouldn’t be in here,” you add, gesturing to the door behind him.

He pulls his eyebrows together like he isn’t quite convinced. “You’re not okay,” he says.

You grit your teeth in anger. He can’t just ignore you for weeks and then try to comfort you like he gives a shit about your feelings. “Why are you here, Maverick?”

Maverick presses his lips into a thin line and breathes out steadily. “I was worried about you.”

You scoff resentfully. “Don’t be.”

Maverick sighs and lowers his head. “I can’t help it.”

You attempt to keep your voice even despite all the shaking your body is doing. “You better go, Captain,” you say spitefully. “Before Cyclone finds us. Or Charlie.”

He watches you soberly. “You asked me to stay,” he reminds you.

You stare wistfully into his eyes. He’s right, of course. You’re the reason he’s still here. Your relationship with him has been strained but civil since the incident on the carrier. There has been a mutual effort to avoid unnecessary encounters, and an unspoken understanding that, while romance is out of the question, it will take some time for both of you to move on completely. Obviously, you did not expect him to move on by moving in on someone new. Or old, in the case of Charlie, because the two of them go way back, apparently.

You struggle to remember why you’d wanted this – wanted him to stay despite knowing that nothing would ever come of it. In the moment, you were desperate not to lose him. But watching him carry on as though nothing ever happened between the two of you is absolute torture. You’d rather not witness just how little you actually meant to him.

You shrug. “Error in judgement, I guess,” you respond coldly, echoing his words from the night Cyclone had caught the two of you in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

Maverick nods. “Been there,” he says pensively before turning to walk out. Just before he does, however, he glances back at you and adds, “I’ll wait out here until you’re ready.”

“Don’t,” you say.

Maverick meets your gaze with a weary look. “I’m not leaving.”

“What’s Cyclone going to think when the two of us come back together from the bathroom?”

Maverick shrugs. “I have no control over what Cyclone thinks.”

“What’s Charlie going to think?”

Maverick pauses in the doorway. “What’s Sam going to think?”

You roll your eyes. “He won’t even notice.”

Maverick watches you quietly for a moment, then says. “I doubt that very much.”

You lick your lips as a fresh round of tears threatens to obscure your eyesight. The fact that Sam isn’t here to check on you but Maverick is has not escaped you. “Go, please,” you whisper.

Maverick wavers slightly on the spot and, after a brief interval, holds his hand out to you. You glance down at it hesitantly as your stomach flips violently at the though of touching him again. Clearly, you’re angry with him, but the part of you that loves him always wins.

Slowly, you step forward and place your hand in his. He pulls you in the moment you make contact, wrapping his arms around you as he releases the door to the bathroom. He lets his face drop, pressing his mouth to the top of your head.

After a prolonged – mostly silent – embrace, you detach yourself from his arms and give him a nod. “I’m ready,” you say.

Maverick nods back without a word and then opens the door for you.

…

It’s past midnight when you hear the knocking, followed by some irregular footsteps and a string of quiet – but still audible – curse words. After a moment of hesitation, you unlock the door.

“Captain?”

Maverick is standing in the corridor before you, although calling it ‘standing’ might be a bit of a stretch. He’s not exactly stable on his feet.

You glance up and down the hallway to make sure that no one has seen him. “What are you doing here?”

Maverick is watching you with a squared jaw, as though he means to keep the purpose of his visit to himself. He breathes his frustration out through his nose before veering right into the doorframe.

“Sir!” you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his arm like you might have any chance of keeping him upright were he to topple over.

“Sir?” he murmurs, and you could smell the liquor on his breath. He catches your gaze now that you’re closer and, in another moment, his eyes begin to slip down your face before they finally close. “I told you,” he says, his mouth twitching as he grimaces. He pushes past you into the room.

You quickly close the door behind him, hoping nobody heard the commotion. Praying he’ll have the sense to keep his voice down.

But Maverick, it seems, isn’t nearly as concerned as you are about disturbing your neighbors. He rounds on you with a resentful expression and shakes his head. “I knew this would happen.”

You blink at him in confusion. “What?” you say. “What happened?”

“You happened,” Maverick says defeatedly. He takes a step toward you, his eyes flitting between yours as if he’s checking to see if you can relate.

But it’s a weekday and you had just drifted off to sleep when he’d started drumming on your door, so you’re not exactly following. You furrow your eyebrows. “I happened to what?” you ask.

Maverick watches you miserably, taking a step back now, as though he can’t decide which is worse: being closer or farther away from the source of all his troubles. “You two make a fine pair,” he manages to say, but not without a break in his voice.

You purse your lips, looking away from him. You’re not going to comfort a man who’s standing in his own way. After all, it was his decision not to be with you. Besides, Maverick brought his own date to the dinner, so you aren’t feeling overly sympathetic.

Maverick tears his gaze away from you and smacks a hand over his face. “What am I doing here, Lieutenant?”

It’s a fair question, to be sure; one you wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to, yourself. But you’re more immediately concerned about the consequences of Maverick’s unsanctioned visit to your quarters than the reasons behind it. “Maverick, it’s the middle of the night,” you say, shocked at how firm you sound despite the tremor travelling through you.

Maverick’s eyebrows converge and he shifts his jaw as his eyes well up with tears. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding slowly.

“And you’re drunk,” you add when he takes a step toward you again.

“I am,” he admits, still in a whisper.

You ignore the stutter of your heart as he nears. “You can’t be here,” you warn.

He watches you wretchedly, giving his head a subtle shake. “I can’t,” he agrees.

You can hardly breathe when he finally stops before you, his soft eyes trailing down your face. His hand is coasting up the side of your neck before you even know what’s happening, and by the time his fingertips are hovering at the nape of your neck, you’re so lost in his gaze, it’s a miracle you’re still standing. Unsurprisingly, you aren’t in the state of mind to respond.

“I lied,” he says with a slight rasp despite the effort he’s exerting to steady his voice. “I think he’s terrible for you.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Sam,” he says. “He’s not the one.”

You pride yourself on your patience and understanding, even in trying circumstances; you’re not an unreasonable person by any means. But even you have limits. And, tonight, Maverick is testing every last one. “Are you the one?”

Maverick stares at you, his eyes swimming. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

You breathe out forcefully, astonished at his audacity. There is only so much you can let this man get away with. “Then, respectfully, shut the fuck up,” you hiss, pushing past him aggressively. You whip around sharply and point at the door. “Get out.”

…

The following afternoon in the briefing room, Maverick reviews the morning's flight footage with barely a look in your direction. He doesn’t even comment on the impulsive maneuver you pulled that left your partner confused and resulted in an uncoordinated hustle to regain momentum, costing your team valuable seconds that could have ended in tragedy were it a real dogfight.

Once the briefing is finished and the room begins to clear out, Maverick approaches your desk. “Can I have a minute, Lieutenant?” he asks in a subdued sort of tone.

You glance up at him grudgingly but don’t respond until the last of the pilots have left the room. “Is it about the Cobra Climb?” you ask monotonously.

“What?” He quirks his head in confusion before briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No,” he says, and then adds, more emphatically, “No.” He lets out a heavy sigh and lifts a leg over the chair in front of your desk, sitting on it backwards to face you. “I want to apologize to you.”

You groan. “Not again.”

Maverick steals a glance at the door, ensuring that the two of you are still alone, and then he lays a hand over yours on the desk. “I’m sorry about last night. Showing up at your place – less than sober.” Maverick lowers his gaze with a disappointed frown. “I – I had no right. I have no right,” he says, looking back up at you. His eyes flit between yours imploringly, burdened with all the guilt he carries.

“Stop,” you say assertively, pulling your hand out from under his grasp. You can’t listen to another word. This entire relationship has been a series of failures in self-control, each one a ‘mistake’ in Maverick’s eyes for which he subsequently has taken full responsibility. You rise from your seat and gather your things mutely.

“Y/N,” he says hoarsely, standing up after you.

You shake your head. “I don’t need another apology, sir,” you say bitterly. “I just need some space.”

Maverick nods. “Of course,” he says. “And I’ve been denying you that – and I apologize –”

“I said, stop!” you exclaim, shooting him a threatening look.

Maverick trails you as you make your way to the door – the exact opposite of your request. You rush out of the briefing room, and he follows, not far behind. Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallway because he’s behaving irrationally, to say the least. He reaches for your arm and pulls you around to face him.

You gulp, staggering the moment you meet his gaze, the aching in his eyes undermining your determination.

“Let me finish,” he pleads in a whisper.

You exhale sharply. “Finish, then.”

Maverick slowly lets his hand fall away from your arm now that you’re no longer a flight risk and, this alone, hurts, because you want him to hold you forever. Even when you’re fuming, even when you’re yelling, even when you hate him.

“Seeing you,” he says slowly, evenly, as though he’s trying to compose himself as he’s talking. He takes a breath and tries again. “With another man –”

“Come on.” You scoff, even though your heart is already buzzing at the thrill of making Maverick jealous. “You can’t expect me to not date –”

“I don’t expect that,” he says. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

You think about the way you felt seeing him with Charlie and you’re instantly sorry for causing him that much pain, regardless of whether it was intentional or not.

“I was angry,” he says quietly. “At myself, mostly…” he trails off, moving his head to the side and lowering his gaze. “But also at you. And I blamed you for the way you make me feel.” He pulls his bottom lip under his teeth and grimaces. “But that’s not your fault,” he whispers shakily. “That’s on me.”

You bite into your lip to keep it steady. You wish you could look away because the devastation on his face is undoing you, but you aren’t strong enough. You take a step back and take a shuddering breath. “Please don’t look at me like that,” you say, your voice unsteady. You can barely get a grasp on his words because you’re too absorbed in his eyes.

Maverick’s eyebrows lift inward, as if your request has him concerned – or confused. “Like what?”

You roll your eyes – as if he doesn’t know like what. “Like that!” you respond as he takes a step toward you in alarm. “Just stop!” You sigh in frustration, unable to articulate your thoughts because his eyes are still commanding all of your attention.

“Where am I supposed to look?” he asks, agitated.

“It’s the way you’re looking at me,” you explain angrily.

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” he asks urgently. “I need you to hear me.”

You shut your eyes and shake your head. “Enough, Maverick!” you exclaim.

Maverick stills immediately, watching you uneasily.

“You’ve been tiptoeing around me, treating me like I’m injured or in need of assistance –”

“I’m not –”

“You are and I’m tired of it. Why didn’t you call me out on the Cobra Climb?”

Maverick stares at you like you’re unhinged. “You want me to reprimand you?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “If you’re going to be my instructor – just my instructor – then instruct me. It was an idiot move and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You were distracted –”

“You’re making excuses for me! Why?”

“Don’t question my teaching methods,” Maverick says in a low voice.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re afraid of confrontation so you’ve been avoiding me. You didn’t even think to give me a heads up about Charlie!”

Maverick narrows his eyes. “What about Charlie?”

“Whatever,” you grumble. “Just don’t stand here and proclaim that my bringing a date to the squadron dinner somehow threw you for a loop.”

Maverick studies you silently so you boldly meet his gaze. His jaw is set but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that nearly draws you in.

“Stop coddling me,” you say firmly.

You watch his Adam’s apple rise then fall as he gulps down whatever retort he decides to keep to himself. His jaw muscles contract once more as his eyes settle over your face.

You tear your gaze away. “And quit looking at me like you…” You sigh, unsure how to describe the inimitable combination of exasperation and affection you see in his eyes.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice rising in volume. You can tell that he’s becoming increasingly defensive as your blows continue.

You’re annoyed that he’s annoyed and you blurt the words out before you can stop yourself. “Like you’re in love with me or –”

“I CAN’T LOOK AT YOU ANY OTHER WAY!” he roars.

You freeze. Stunned by the volume of his voice. Stunned by the emphatic delivery. Stunned at his words.

He turns away in a huff, placing one hand on his hip while the other is balled up into a fist at his mouth.

“This was your idea,” you say quietly as he slowly turns back to look at you. You aren’t the one who refuses to even try, and he needs to acknowledge that.

“I know,” he whispers, his eyes brimming with tears.

You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling. “Then stop,” you implore.

He shakes his head, pulling his lips into a rigid line. “I don’t know how.”

Tag List:

The rest of the list will be the comments. Hope I got everyone, let me know if I missed you! As always, let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my works XOXO

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 7 months

Text

Oh my goodness, I collect so many different things.

I collect antique cameras because I think they make beautiful decorations and love finding ones that work on the flea market.

I collect magnets from everywhere I travelled to and keep them on a board above my desk as little trinkets.

I collect every postcard that was ever written to me and write them myself because I think a postcard is a small reminder that somebody thought of you and loves you.

I collect books and especially special editions of my favourites because I just love reading and all the little add-ins that come with the different editions.

I collect pretty notebooks for the same reason except that I never fill them because they are so precious and the endless possibilities to fill these white pages overwhelm me somewhat.

Because polls get the most engagement I’m making a poll lol

(For the sake of this poll: a collector is anyone who *currently has* a collection of things either physically or digitally that they intentionally acquired which can be grouped together)

Please please please please pleeeeeeeaaaaaaase tell me what you collect and optionally why!!!! (This is doubly true if your collection is related to a regulatory/“special” interest!!!!!!! That’s honestly the only reason I’m making this poll, I am begging youuuuuuuuuuu

Neurodivergent related tags are for reach as I know a lot of neurodiverse people are collectors. I do try my best not to clutter those tags, if anyone has an issue with it please tell me and I’ll remove them

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 7 months

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@comicconscotland: Matt Smith & Jared Padalecki at Comic Con Scotland. Who would like to see these two back in Scotland at some point? 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 @jarpad

#where's cumberbatch?!#we need superwholock to become reality #flashback to 2012 #like one more actor and we did it guys #its canon #superwho #superwholock #jared padalecki #doctor who #matt smith #supernatural

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 8 months

Text

☀︎ your summer dream masterlist ☀︎

joel miller x f!reader

ONGOING SERIES~

series playlist | ao3 | kofi | banner by the lovely @pamasaur

Drive your car down to the sea / All the while you build a scheme / Take her hand and walk on with her / Make it real, your summer dream

prologue

day one–(re)introductions

day two–show

day three–activities, 3.5: bonus: the other side of the door

day four–sand

day five–new

day six–savour

day seven–plans* (coming soon)

*follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates

vacation!joel edit by the lovely @nostalxgic 🤍

alternative banner:

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 8 months

Text

cowboy like me | masterlist

dbf!joel miller x f!reader | ao3

DISCLAIMER: please read all chapter content warnings before reading!!! this series features adult content (18+)

back home in austin after five years away, you’re looking for something to do with your summer. what you don’t expect, is to find that something in the form of joel miller. quietly charming, ruggedly handsome, flannel-donned joel. you know. your dad’s best friend.

chapter 1: greetings from austin, tx you return to austin after graduating to find everything as it always was. well, most things…

chapter 2: shameless an innocent slip of the tongue leads to some very interesting preparations for the neighborhood barbecue

chapter 3: grilled joel knows he shouldn’t be looking at you the way he is, but you look so pretty on your knees; how can he say no?

chapter 4: moneyball when joel double-books you and your dad, you decide to teach him a lesson

chapter 5: welcome home joel requests your help to decorate his house for sarah’s return…and a few other things, too

chapter 6: company joel and his hands help you feel better after an argument with your dad

chapter 7: bloodstream you’re on your period and want attention, kisses, and pain medicine from joel. that’s all

chapter 8: lend me some sugar joel throws a homecoming garden party for sarah – and decides to make it one to remember

chapter 9: checkmate joel steals you away during a family meal to give you a telling off…in the form of a quickie

chapter 10: ride it, cowgirl joel picks you up from a girls’ night. you’ve plans for when you get home

chapter 11: illicit affairs your relationship with joel is getting harder and harder to hide, especially when a surprise visit from your dad threatens to spoil your romantic weekend

✨ chapter 12: hits different ✨ still reeling from your fight with joel, you seek out an effective way to deal with it: a night of sambuca shots and no second thoughts

chapter 12.5: coming soon! 🤫 preview: walk a mile in joel miller’s shoes. see if you’d do anything different.

drabbles

➵ reader drags joel to the eras tour ➵ sex tape [prelude to chapter 11...] ➵ books joel would be into ➵ slow dancing in the kitchen

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 8 months

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This is so good!❤️‍🔥

i know it when i see it // masterlist

ao3 | playlist

pairing: pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: it's the golden age of porn. sex and sin are the national pastime. your career in adult films starts opposite a man who goes by the name texas.

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

epilogue

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 8 months

Text

Yay! Can't wait!😌👉🏻👈🏻

his favorite girl [masterlist]

pairing: guitar teacher!joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel agrees to teach you how to play guitar for a college course, but you can't keep your eyes off him long enough to play. your lessons get a lot harder when you realize he feels the same.

series warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, no outbreak, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, smut, fluff, angst, m&f masturbation, fingering, unprotected piv, car sex

series status: ongoing

parts:

one - your overactive imagination wreaks havoc during your first guitar lesson with joel. 3.3k

two [in progress]

three [coming soon!]

four [coming soon!]

a/n: there's at least four parts planned, but might be more! and a joel pov extra thrown in 🎼 huge thanks to @morning-star-joy for being this series' biggest fan, this wouldn't be possible without you

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 9 months

Note

Hot damn… We need a follow-up. Like, a romantic sunset cruise or a bar tour with dancing or whatever.

I’d like to request a boyfriends dad fic where reader is on vacation with their family and Joel gets handsy with her but she convinces herself it’s okay. Then when her boyfriends ditches her Joel fucks her. Bonus points if boyfriend comes back super drunk while Joel is fucking reader and Joel just puts his hand over her mouth and continues fucjing her and bf passes by them but doesn’t notice 🤷🏻‍♀️

Just some thots…if it inspires you a fic/Drabble would be awesome

I may have....gotten carried away with this one.

title: karma is my boyfriend's dad

pairing: boyfriend's dad!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6588

summary:

Your boyfriend, Sean Miller, is an asshole. The one redeeming thing about him?

His dad, Joel Miller.

And he's just invited you along on the family vacation to Panama City Beach, Florida.

author’s note: thank you for the request!! this was a fun one. my 1000 follower mark is quickly approaching and i cant wait to do something fun for it! thank you for all your support and love so far 💕

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, alternate universe - boyfriend’s dad, age difference (21F and 56M), power imbalance dynamics, infidelity, asshole boyfriend, alcohol use, sunscreen as a flirting mechanism, reader wearing a bathing suit, touching in public, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), thigh riding, sex against a door. let me know if any are missing!

Sean Miller is a shitty boyfriend. He constantly ditches you to hang out with his frat brothers, he’s left you at parties by yourself, he’s forgotten birthdays and anniversaries and, to top it all off, he’s never made you come. You’ve been with the guy for two years and not a single orgasm in all that time.

You deserve better. You deserve orgasms.

The only redeeming thing about Sean is his dad, Joel Miller.

Joel is the textbook definition of a DILF. He’s tall and broad with dark curly hair streaked with gray and kind brown eyes. Even approaching the upper fifties in age, he’s built like a tank. Wide shoulders and biceps that stretch his flannel shirts to the point where you’ll sometimes sit there willing a thread to pop, his thick thighs and a tight ass always hugged by the most sinful pair of Levi’s.

But besides looking like sin, Joel is kind. There’s been more than one occasion where Sean had forgotten your plans, leaving you waiting at his house where he still lives with his dad and Joel would always take pity on you and invite you to watch a movie with him, the two of you sitting on opposite sides of the couch while he played a comedy to cheer you up. On your birthday, he sent you a Starbucks gift card and a text when his own son didn’t even remember. When you would update him on how school was going, he’d always pat your shoulder and say, “‘Atta girl.”

That last memory in particular always makes your tummy erupt with butterflies.

In the last few months, things with Sean have been especially strained. He’s started hiding his phone from you, flipping the screen face down anytime you’re within arms reach of him. On the rare nights he spends at your apartment, he’ll get calls that he insists on taking privately.

Honestly, you were more than ready to end it before Joel caught you in his kitchen one day and asked if you wanted to come with him and Sean on their vacation to Panama City Beach.

“Really? I thought this was supposed to be, like, a guy’s trip?” You ask. You stayed the night last night and Sean was still asleep, always one to sleep until noon if given the opportunity. Joel is making coffee while you sit at the bar.

Joel shrugs. “I’m sure he’d want his girl there. You two can party and leave the old man behind for his bedtime,” he says with a playful smile that makes your heart flutter.

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Miller, but there’s no way I can afford a ticket to Florida right now.” You reach for the cup he offers, only for him to pull it back out of reach.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover everythin’,” he replies. “Say yes and you can have your coffee.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Joel’s fingers brush against yours as he hands you your warm mug. A shiver runs down your spine at the contact.

“I’m positive, darlin’.”

________

Joel knows that his son treats you like shit, and he fucking hates it. He’s tried to talk some sense into the kid but all his wisdom just goes in one ear and out the other. He has to pretend that he doesn’t hear him bringing other girls over and it eats him up inside because he wants you to know, wants you to have better, but if he tells you, he’s severing the one tie he has to you and what then? He’s fifty-six, over thirty years your senior. He’s lived over two lifetimes in the course of your one. There’s no way in hell you’d look at him twice, and that’s not even including the fact that he’s your boyfriend’s dad.

Joel’s not sure what possessed him to invite you on vacation. You’re right, it was supposed to be a guy’s trip, a gift from Joel to Sean for his twenty-first birthday that was unfortunately right in the middle of his finals. He knows damn well Sean is, in fact, not going to be happy that you’ve been invited along. He’s certain the younger man fully intended to turn his hotel room into a revolving door for women he picked up at the bars along the beach, one time flings he could write off before returning home to a sure thing.

He tells Sean about the change of plans that evening over dinner. His son whines petulantly, slamming his fork down on the table.

“Dad, seriously? Why the fuck would you invite her, this is gonna ruin everything,” he says.

“Shouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout your girlfriend like that,” Joel admonishes. Sean rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t even put out anymore, I don’t even know why I keep her around. I should just break up with her before the trip.”

Joel’s jaw clenches with frustration. “I already bought her ticket. She’s comin’ whether you like it or not and that’s final.”

“Fuck this shit,” Sean says, chair scraping across the floor as he stands. “Whatever. Won’t stop me from having a good time.”

Joel’s counting on it.

________

Joel and Sean pick you up from your apartment at 4 am for the 7 am flight to Florida. Your boyfriend is passed out in the front passenger seat, but Joel shakes him awake and tells him to get in the back. The younger man grumbles but does as he’s told while Joel helps you load your luggage into the bed of the truck. The trip will last four days, so you’ve squeezed everything into a single carry on and your backpack.

After all, it’s Florida. You plan on spending every day in a bikini.

Sean passes back out as you settle in his vacated seat, placing your travel mug of coffee in the cup holder besides Joel’s. He gives you a polite smile as he puts the truck in reverse, placing his arm on the back of the seat and twisting to look out the rear window, his other hand deftly turning the wheel.

You can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, your core already aching at his proximity.

You’re in for a long four days.

_______

The three of you make it through airport security quickly, the early hour lending some reprieve from the crowds.

“Why is this flight so fucking early?” Sean grouses, slumped in one of the uncomfortable terminal seats.

“Did you want more or less time in Florida?” Joel replies, flipping through his newspaper.

“Whatever,” Sean replies with a roll of his eyes, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up and burrowing into it.

You return from your quest for breakfast at that moment, a white paper bag in your hands and a bright smile on your face as you sit between the two men.

“I got you a bagel,” you say to Joel, pulling a plain bagel wrapped in wax paper from the bag.

“You get me anything?” Sean asks, peeking from beneath his hood. Your shoulders drop.

“Oh…no. You don’t usually eat breakfast,” you reply. Sean groans. “We can share mine?” You offer.

“No, it’s fine, whatever. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Joel’s brow pinches in irritation, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he watches your smile fade into a frown as you look at the bag in your hands. He nudges you with his shoulder.

“Hey, I appreciate it,” he tells you quietly. You give him a tentative smile.

He misses the bright one.

________

“I call window,” Sean says when the three of you have boarded the plane, flopping into the seat after haphazardly tossing his bag into an overhead compartment without waiting for a reply.

Joel fixes his son’s bag before settling his own beside it and turning to hold a hand out for yours. You hand your duffel over to him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Which seat do you want, darlin’?” Joel asks you.

“I can sit in the middle,” you offer, scooching past him in the tight space. Your back brushes his chest and he catches a whiff of your strawberry shampoo, the scent making his mouth water.

He sits beside you, tucking his backpack beneath the seat in front of him. Your thigh brushes his as you get comfortable in your seat, the row a tight squeeze for the three of you.

“How long is this flight?” You ask, pulling a pair of headphones from your backpack. Sean’s already unconscious again, his head tilted against the window and his mouth open in a snore.

“‘Bout two hours,” Joel says. You nod, shifting in your seat again. Your shoulders knock into his when you do, and you give him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Tight fit,” you tell him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

He can think of something else that would be a tight fit.

The flight attendants go through their pre-flight duties and take-off occurs without any issue. When they give the green light to use electronics, you pull out your phone, cursing when the screen remains black even as you hit the power button.

“My phone died,” you explain. He smiles sympathetically.

“You wanna watch a movie on mine? I downloaded a couple,” he offers.

“Sure. We can share my headphones?”

“Good idea.”

Joel plugs your headphones into the jack on his phone and passes you the right earbud before sticking the left one in his own ear. He queues up a movie, some action film called Triple Frontier that seemed interesting based on the synopsis, and holds the phone on his lap. You lean into him, that strawberry scent settling over him once again.

You keep fidgeting in your seat, twisting and readjusting your upper body against the arm rest between your seats. After the third time, he reaches down and flips it up, your body slumping closer to his. When he looks down at you, your face is tilted up towards his and he has to concentrate very hard to keep his gaze trained on your eyes.

“Thanks,” you whisper before returning your attention to the movie. “Hey, that guy kinda looks like you.”

________

The flight passes quickly, much to Joel’s dismay. He would have liked to keep sitting pressed up beside you for longer.

At the car rental facility, Joel gets handed the keys to a Jeep Wrangler. Sean’s eyes light up when he sees it.

“Can I drive?” He asks.

Joel sighs. “Fine, just be careful would ya?”

Sean lowers the soft top before hopping in the driver’s seat. Joel insists that you sit in the front passenger, because he’s a gentleman, but he quickly regrets the choice.

With the top down and the music blaring, Sean is in a relatively good mood. He’s smiling at you and even reaches over to grab your hand, pulling it towards him to press a kiss to the back of it. Joel can feel the tug of jealousy in his gut as he watches you smile back at him but there’s nothing that he can do about that.

After all, you’re Sean’s girl.

And he’s just going to have to live with that.

________

Sean is standing behind you with his hands on your hips, lips trailing kisses along the exposed skin of your shoulder in your tank top while Joel is speaking with the hotel clerk, checking into the rooms. You squirm away from Sean’s attention, the man dropping his hands from you and frowning.

“Why are you being such a prude?” He snaps.

“I’m not being a prude,” you say with a sigh. “Your dad is right there.”

He tries to pull you back towards him with an arm around your waist. “Come on, babe. He’s probably already heard you moaning my name,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Not likely, you think.

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate.” You step out of his grasp again as Joel approaches, holding three key cards.

“Room 102 for the two of you,” he says, handing two of the cards to Sean. “And I’m in 104, if y’all need anything.”

“Great,” Sean says, grabbing your hand. “Come on, let’s go put our stuff away.”

You trail behind Sean, but can’t help looking back at Joel.

You’re surprised to find his dark gaze already fixed on you.

________

“Come on, let’s go find a bar,” Sean whines. You’ve just left the bathroom after changing out of your travel outfit of leggings and into a bikini and a sheer cover-up dress.

“It’s so early. I highly doubt there are any bars open. Besides, I need to charge my phone,” you tell him, packing a tote bag with your sunscreen, a book, your copy of the room key, and your sunglasses. “Why don’t we go to the pool?”

“It’s PCB, babe, there’s bound to be a bar open,” Sean says with a roll of his eyes. “But if you wanna be boring then by all means, go to the pool.”

You sigh. “You do whatever you want, Sean.”

He grabs his wallet from the nightstand, shoving it into his pocket. “Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being such a fucking bitch.”

The door slams behind him as he leaves, the sudden noise making you jump in surprise.

You can’t even find it in yourself to be upset.

________

Joel’s just opening the door to his room when he hears his son’s raised voice across the hall. He freezes, the door half open as he listens.

“Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being a fucking bitch,” Sean says before slamming the door.

Anger courses through Joel’s veins as he listens to his son’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, before opening the door fully and crossing the hall to knock on your door.

When you open the door, you look surprised to see him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Joel has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander your body. He can see the neon pink strings of your bikini tied around your neck and god does he want to see more.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Everythin’ alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just about to go to the pool,” you tell him.

“I’ll come with you,” Joel immediately offers without thinking.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want to get in the way of any plans you had, Mr. Miller,” you mutter.

“I’m sure.”

________

Joel sets some hotel towels on loungers positioned beside each other on a sunny part of the pool deck. The pool is fairly busy and to your surprise there’s a live DJ and a bartender is already making a steady flow of drinks behind the poolside bar. The pool itself is huge and even boasts its own lazy river that you’re looking forward to floating down.

Your attention is dragged to Joel once more as he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up. Your mouth goes dry as you watch his back muscles work, rippling beneath miles of tan skin that you want to trace with your fingertips.

You shake your head free of thought and remove your coverup while his back is still turned, stuffing it into your tote bag you’ve dropped beside the lounger. You pull out your sunscreen and sunglasses, slipping them over your eyes to combat the harsh Florida sun.

When you look up, you’re surprised to find Joel already watching you, gaze fixed squarely on your chest. You clear your throat, wiggling the sunscreen bottle at him.

“You want me to get your back?” You offer.

“Sure. Thanks,” he replies, voice rough. You have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together for relief from the ache between them, your brain conjuring scenarios of that deep timbre in your ear telling you how good you feel around him.

He sits on the lounger with his back to you, waiting for your next move. You squirt some sunscreen into your palm, rubbing your hands together before smoothing it across his back. His shoulders tense briefly at the first touch of your hands before he goes lax against you, his head dropping as you smooth the lotion on him.

You get lost in the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips as you drag your hands over the broad muscles of his back and shoulders and down his spine. In a moment of bravery, or stupidity, you let your fingers drag the tiniest bit beneath the elastic of his navy swim shorts, just enough that it could be passed off as an honest mistake.

When you’re finished, you hand the bottle to him over his shoulder. He takes it silently, lathering the rest of his body while you adjust your lounger flat and lay face down. You reach behind your back, tugging at the strings of your bikini until they fall to the side.

“Could you do me next?”

________

Joel takes a seat on the lounger, his hips brushing yours. He’s hard as a fucking rock in his swim shorts, has been from the moment you opened your hotel door wearing your sheer coverup, pink bikini taunting him beneath.

It was a stupid fucking idea to ask you to come to the pool with him. He was clearly thinking with the head in his pants and not the one on his shoulders because he didn’t stop to consider that he’d be getting a front seat to the soft skin of your thighs and tummy, the curve of your waist and ass and breasts on full display for him to commit to memory.

And now you were asking him to touch you. Giving him permission to have his hands on the same flesh he imagines when he’s gripping his cock roughly in his palm and chasing an orgasm that offers hardly any relief.

He swallows nervously before uncapping the sunscreen and squirting it directly on your back. You give a little yelp of surprise, the lotion no doubt unexpectedly cold, but you settle back down when he smooths a palm across your back.

You’ve untied the strings of your top, leaving him with no obstacles as he works the lotion into your skin. He loses himself in the repetitive motion, smoothing his hands across your shoulders and down your spine like you had done to him. He lets his thumbs press into the divot of your lower back, fighting the urge to drag them beneath the scant bit of fabric covering your ass.

As he finishes, he drags his hands back up your sides, his fingertips dragging across the soft skin of the exposed sides of your breasts. He feels the hitch in your breathing as he does and he worries for a moment that perhaps he’s gone too far.

“Thanks,” you say, voice breathy. “Would you mind getting my legs for me? I don’t want to get up.”

Joel thinks he should mind. He should absolutely mind being asked by his son’s girlfriend to rub lotion into her back and legs. The action is too intimate, it’s crossing a line and he knows this.

He just can’t bring himself to give a fuck anymore.

Wordlessly, Joel squirts some more sunscreen into his palm, this time warming it between his hands before smoothing it on your legs, starting with your calves. He slides his palms up your legs, high enough that his fingertips brush the crease where the curve of your ass meets your thigh. Your legs spread just the slightest bit and Joel lets his thumbs drift toward your inner thighs.

He’s playing with fire now as he presses his thumbs deeper, higher, the tip of one even grazing your bikini bottoms. He desperately wants to slide it beneath the elastic, to drag his thumb through your slit and find out if you’re wet just from the touch of his hands.

But Joel pulls his hands away and stands, moving over to his own lounger and laying facedown on the towel covered cushion. His dick presses uncomfortably into his thigh and he uses that discomfort as a means to will the hardness away.

He’s in for a long four days.

________

Your pool day with Joel runs from the early morning to the late afternoon. Neither of you hear from Sean during that time, but you can’t find it in yourself to be bothered. Not when Joel Miller is sitting beside you in an inner tube, floating down a lazy river as you talk about everything and nothing, drops of water clinging to his skin and catching the light. You could stay in a moment like this forever so long as he’s there, too.

As the intensity of the sun starts to wane, Joel suggests finding somewhere to get dinner.

“Pick somewhere nice, though. My treat,” he says as you’re parting ways at your hotel room doors. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, shutting his door and leaving you smiling in the hallway like a girl with a crush.

You let yourself into your hotel room, not surprised to find it empty. Your phone is still sitting on the charger with no new notifications. The part of you that’s been in a relationship with Sean Miller for two years feels a pang of sadness at your boyfriend’s silence.

The part that wants to fuck his dad doesn’t give a shit.

You shower and change into a sundress before slipping your sandals back on. Checking the time, you grab your bag and head to the lobby to meet up with Joel.

Joel’s already in the lobby, leaning against the wall near the exit and scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing a light blue short sleeve button down that hugs his biceps deliciously, the tan of his skin popping against the fabric, his usual boots, and khakis. You were almost certain this man didn’t own anything besides perfectly broken in Wranglers. His hair is combed back, still damp from his shower, and he looks so good you have to consciously stop your jaw from dropping.

“Hey, you pick a place?” Joel asks as you approach, slipping his phone into the pocket of his pants.

“There’s an oyster bar nearby that looks good,” you reply. He holds the door open for you, broad palm ghosting across your low back as you exit the cool hotel lobby and out into the hot Florida night. The traffic on the sidewalk is thick, people moving like the nearby ocean as they ebb and flow from place to place.

“You hear from Sean at all?” Joel asks as you navigate the crowds, his arm brushing yours as he sticks close to your side. You shake your head and Joel sighs. “I’m sorry. I love the kid, I do, but goddamn if he doesn’t piss me off sometimes.”

You sigh. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Miller. You don’t have to apologize for him.”

You’re both quiet after that. You don’t know what’s going through Joel’s head as you sneak a glance at him and catch only his furrowed brow and tense jaw.

You nearly pass the restaurant in your distraction, but Joel catches you by the arm, tugging you with him to the entrance.

It’s a cute little bar and restaurant, the kind of place that’s cozy without being horribly cramped. The lighting is dim and booths line the walls while tables sit in the middle, candles flickering and casting shadows on the walls and across the white tablecloths.

The hostess seats you at one of the booths, tucked away in the corner. You sit across from Joel, setting your bag beside you after digging your phone out from it. When the waitress walks away without leaving menus, Joel looks adorably confused.

“You have to use your phone,” you tell him with a giggle. “They have the QR code menus.”

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” Joel complains. You roll your eyes, standing and moving over to his side of the booth, settling beside him. His thigh presses to yours and you’re acutely aware of the contact as you lean close to share your phone screen with him.

When the waitress returns, you place your drink and food orders. Joel opts for whiskey, neat, and a medium rare steak because you can take the man out of Texas but you can’t take Texas out of the man. You order a spicy pineapple margarita and a plate of herb crusted oysters.

You should probably move back over to the other side of the booth, but you don’t want to. The feel of his body pressed to yours lights up your nerve endings in an unfamiliar way, his clean woodsy smell settling over you like a comforting blanket. He doesn’t say anything about how you remain seated next to him, just turns his head to talk to you.

The drinks arrive first. The sour tang of the pineapple makes your face pucker when you take a sip, making Joel laugh. You might be imagining it, but you think his gaze lingers on your lips for just a beat too long to be coincidence. You cross your legs beneath the table, squeezing your thighs together for some semblance of relief from the ache between your legs.

A second round of drinks is ordered and delivered while you talk about a TV show you both enjoy. This drink leaves you feeling pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Joel makes a joke about one of the recent episodes and it makes you laugh so hard you’re leaning against him for support.

You place your hand on his thigh close to his knee. Joel tenses beside you but doesn’t say anything, his eyes dark over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. You can’t bring yourself to look away but you’re also frozen in place, not daring to drag your hand further up. The spell between you is broken when the waitress drops by with your trays of food, setting them on the table and walking away with a request for another round of drinks from Joel.

“These look amazing,” you say, squeezing lemon over them. Joel’s started to cut into his steak, inspecting the center and giving a tiny nod of approval that makes you smile. “Hey, did you know oysters are an aphrodisiac?”

Joel coughs on the piece of steak he’d been eating, reaching for his whiskey and tossing the rest back as he swallows. “They’re what now?”

________

“Aphrodisiacs. They increase your sex drive,” you say, your lips wrapping around the bite poised on your fork. Your eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of satisfaction. “God, these are better than sex.”

“Must not be havin’ very good sex, then,” Joel immediately responds without thinking. His hand freezes halfway between his plate and his mouth, his eyes going wide as his brain catches up to his mouth. “Sorry that...that wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Miller,” you say, patting his knee. Your hand lingers there again, the second time this evening, and it makes Joel’s brain misfire. This whole dinner has been a test of his self-control and he is quickly fraying at the edges the longer you sit pressed beside him, that god forsaken strawberry scent flooding his senses.

The waitress delivers the third round of drinks and your hand leaves his thigh to pick yours up and take a sip. His eyes track the way your lips wrap around the straw, mind wandering to something else he’d like to see them wrapped around.

He takes a sip of his own drink, letting the burn of the whiskey down his throat distract him. The third drink is making his mind spin, a voice in his head urging him to trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your thigh beneath the table. He sets his hand on his own thigh, casual as can be.

You’re telling Joel a story about the time a guy in one of your classes was so hungover he fell asleep in the middle of an exam but Joel can barely concentrate. His eyes keep lingering on your lips and trail lower, lower, lower, over the delicate line of your neck, the dip at the base of your throat, the swell of your breasts.

Joel stretches his pinky, the tip of his finger barely skimming the soft skin of your thigh. He watches your face for a reaction and finding none, he feels emboldened. He inches his hand closer, his ring finger joining his pinky in caressing you.

He’s focused on your face, watching for any indication that you notice what he’s up to beneath the tablecloth. He holds his breath as his fingers dip beneath the hem of your dress. You stutter in your story, tripping over your words and Joel’s fingers pause in their exploration.

Joel shouldn’t be doing this. He should pull his hand back and forget any of this happened, forget the silky smooth feel of your skin beneath his fingers, forget the way your smile lit up your face as he floated down the lazy river beside you.

Then you’re tilting your head, eyes boring into him like you can see right through him, see every depraved thought running through his head and your knee presses more tightly to his, your legs spreading beneath the table and Joel’s hand sliding to your inner thigh with the movement.

“Can I get y’all anything else?”

Joel rips his hand from your leg and swallows guiltily as he looks up at the waitress standing beside the booth. You sit up straighter, your heat leaving his side and he curses the interruption.

Perhaps it was for the best, though.

You’re still Sean’s girlfriend, after all.

________

Your skin is buzzing with the liquor in your veins and the phantom feel of Joel’s touch on your thighs. The man is quiet on the walk back, brooding even. His brow is furrowed, jaw tense, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants like it’ll stop him from touching you again.

The thought makes you downright giddy.

“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Miller,” you say as you stand in front of the doors of your respective rooms.

He gives you a tight smile. “‘Course, darlin’. Have a good night,” he tells you before disappearing into his room, the heavy door shutting behind him and echoing in the hall.

You swipe the key for your room, opening the door to find it still dark, everything the same as you left it. You drop your bag on one of the beds, pulling your phone out to check if you have any missed messages and finding none.

The silence from Sean is the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.

You leave your room, crossing the hall to knock on Joel’s door. The man answers a moment later, already changed into a t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, opening the door wider.

“Left my key in the room,” you reply. “You mind if I stay with you for a bit?”

You can see the struggle flash across Joel’s brown eyes, but it’s just as quickly swallowed by a shade of lust that makes your breath hitch.

“Sure, darlin’,” he finally says, stepping back and making room for you to cross the threshold.

You turn to face him when the door shuts. You can’t tell who makes the first move, only that one moment you’re staring at each other and the next your body is being pulled against his, thick fingers digging into your hair and pulling your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

He turns your bodies, your back hitting the door as his mouth continues to explore, his tongue dipping between your lips to tangle with yours. He tastes like whiskey and feels like sin, his broad body pressing against yours. Your arms wind around his shoulders, pulling him towards you desperately like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel groans against your mouth. “Been wantin’ to touch you so goddamn bad, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

His hands drag up your hips and over your waist, fabric of your dress bunching in his fists. He looks down between your bodies, watching as he slides a thick thigh between your legs, the sudden pressure against your sensitive core making you gasp. You rock against the hard muscle, unable to fight back a whimper at how good it feels.

“That feel good, baby?” Joel asks, lips close to your ear. “Come on, darlin’ move a little faster for me, that’s it.”

His hands grip your hips, urging your movements over his thigh. Your head tips back against the door with a thud as you gasp. His lips trail hot kisses across your jaw and neck, his teeth nipping at the skin just over your pulse point. One of his hands drags the strap of your dress down, exposing your breast to the cool air of the room, your nipples going tight with equal parts chill and anticipation.

Joel rubs a thumb across the tight bud, almost reverently, before bringing his mouth to it, pulling it between his lips and swirling it with his tongue. The sensation makes your hips move faster over his thigh and you can feel how slick you are in your panties with each thrust.

“You have any idea,” Joel groans, other hand leaving your hip and ripping the opposite strap down so that he can give your nipple the same attention, “how fuckin’ hard it is, huh? To keep my fuckin’ head on straight when you walk around lookin’ like an angel that a devil like me don’t deserve?”

“Joel,” you moan, your chest heaving with strained breaths as just this man’s thigh brings you closer to relief than your boyfriend ever has. “Joel, please!”

“Please what, sweetheart? I’m already in this deep, you gotta know I’d give ya anythin’,” he says. “You wanna cum, baby? Wanna soak my thigh for me, get these pants all messy so that I can’t think of anythin’ but you when I gotta wear them for another three days?”

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your orgasm cresting unexpectedly. Your legs clamp tight around his thigh, the aftershocks coursing through you with surprising ferocity. When your grip on him loosens, the man drops to his knees, looking up at you with a wicked gleam in his dark brown eyes.

“How’d that feel, baby?” He asks, running his hands up the outside of your legs until his fingertips find the elastic of your panties, easing the fabric down your thighs while he waits for a response.

“G-good,” you mumble, feeling a bit self-conscious in the aftermath. You’d just come from nothing but grinding against this man’s thigh for crying out loud. You reach up to fix your dress straps, but a pinch to your inner thigh has you yelping in surprise.

“Nuh uh, wanna see those gorgeous tits when I look up at you,” Joel admonishes. You can feel your cheeks heating, blood rushing to your face from just his words.

He lifts your leg, draping it over his shoulder. The position leaves you a little off kilter, your hands landing on his head for balance.

“I’m gonna eat this pretty little pussy now, okay?” He says, rather than asks. He gives you no time to respond, leaning in to lick through your folds with a deep, satisfied groan. You cry out from the overstimulation to your sensitive clit, your fingers pulling against his hair. He hums, the vibrations pulsing through your bundle of nerves and making you damn near sob at the sensation.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” is all you can manage to say, a slur of his name as his tongue circles your clit and dips inside your entrance, messy slides of it through your folds as he drinks you up. You look down briefly, only to find him staring right back at you, his heated stare making your blood boil.

“Gimme one more, baby, and then I need to get you on my cock,” he groans before doubling his efforts, licking and sucking and nipping at your flesh until you’re sobbing out his name as you come for a second time. “Fuck, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

He stands, shoving his pajama pants down his thighs, his cock bobbing free. The thick length of it makes your mouth practically water as you watch him give it a few rough tugs. He smirks at you, reaching down to lift one of your legs, holding it up with the crook of his elbow at the back of your knee. The position leaves you spread wide for him as he takes his cock in his other hand, positioning the thick head at your soaked entrance.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, the tip barely pushing inside of you.

“I want this,” you repeat dutifully. He shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart. Wanna hear you say you want my cock.”

You whine, the sound damn near pitiful to your ears. “Please, Joel, I want your cock.”

“There’s my good girl,” he says with a smile, finally easing into you with a burning stretch that makes you gasp. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You moan as he bottoms out, hips pressing to yours. He kisses whatever skin he can reach as he gives you a moment to adjust before pulling out nearly all the way and thrusting sharply back inside, punching the air from your lungs as his cock drags against your g-spot with each thrust.

There’s a pounding at your back and a shout of your name, followed by, “Dad! Where the fuck is everyone?”

Your eyes go wide and Joel’s hips slow but to your shock, they don’t stop. He brings a hand to your jaw, fingers pressing to your cheek as he slips his thumb between your lips and shushes you.

“Haven’t seen her,” Joel shouts back, even as his eyes never leave yours. Your walls flutter around his cock as he continues to thrust, sharp but controlled so as not to make a lot of noise that can be heard on the other side of the door. “You should check the hotel bar. Said she might get some drinks there if you weren’t back when we finished dinner.”

“You guys went to dinner without me? That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Sean whines. “Fine, whatever, I didn’t even want to see her anyways. Found me a blonde that I can bring back to the room instead.”

Joel’s eyes flash with rage and you shake your head gently. When Sean’s footsteps indicate he’s left, Joel’s hips resume a more punishing rhythm. He withdraws his thumb from your mouth as his hand slides lower, circling your throat possessively instead. You gasp, moaning loudly as your body relents to a third orgasm that leaves your vision fuzzy at the edges.

Joel’s own movements stutter before he’s pulling out, his cum splashing against your tummy as he grinds his cock against your hip, finishing with a gasp of your name.

You lean against him as you catch your breath, enjoying the feel of his hands smoothing over your hair.

“You okay?” He asks.

You grin at him. “Never been better, Mr. Miller.”

Sean may have found a blonde, but you’ve found your way into bed with his dad.

Karma’s funny like that.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-catt @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @Sadbloatedegg @dimitra300 @thesolarangell @pedrotonin @ievutebebee @peterrthree @worhols @lonesomecowboah @taraiel

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 9 months

Text

This fic is my newest obsession…🌚

the old college try

pairing: frat dad!joel miller x college student!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5.1k

summary:

Family Weekend, or DILF Day as you and your friends like to refer to it, is when the University of Texas encourages the parents and families of its student body to visit the school and participate in activities that the Division of Student Affairs has organized. The fraternities and sororities have their own schedule that includes not-so-sanctioned house parties on frat row following the game. It’s your senior year and your last DILF Day so you’re hoping to go out with a bang. Literally. Enter Joel Miller, handsome single dad visiting his son at the Theta Lambda Upsilon fraternity house.

dear reader:

this is an extremely self-indulgent fic that i just had to write, so i hope you enjoy it! if you do, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging <3

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), alternate universe - no outbreak/no sarah, age difference (42M and 23F), dub con - sex under the influence of alcohol, no use of y/n, frat party stereotypes, keg stands and beer pong, semi-public sex (frat bathroom), mild daddy kink (not during sex), p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, cheesy dad jokes, the university of texas as a plot device. please let me know if any are missing!

You turn over in your bed with a deep groan, burying your face into your pillow. You reach your arm out from under the covers to grab your phone from the nightstand, smacking your hand around the wood surface until you find it and can bring it under the covers with you. Turning over, you tap the screen and squint at the series of unread text messages.

Ashley: Get up bitch!

Ashley: It’s time to get ready!

Ashley: We’re going to be late if you don’t get up

Ashley: Don’t make me break into your apartment

Ashley: You know I can

You sit up quickly, shoving the blankets off of you and rushing to the front door, flipping the lock and pulling it open. Your best friend is across the threshold, knelt down on the ground with two bobby pins held up and her eyes wide in surprise.

“Aw man,” she laments, standing and brushing off her knees. “I wanted to test my skills.”

“I’m not paying to replace the lock,” you chastise, stepping back to let her in. “Sorry, overslept.”

“Figured. I’ll get your coffee started,” she replies, heading for your kitchen while you head back to your bedroom to start your morning routine. “Guess which frat is hosting the tailgate today?”

“Which one?” You shout from the bathroom as you run through your skincare routine.

“Theta Lambda Upsilon,” Ashley shouts back. The scent of brewing coffee paired with this excellent news has you perking up immediately.

Your friend steps into your room with two mugs in her hands, passing one to you as you exit the bathroom and sit at your cluttered vanity, pushing aside products to make room to set your mug down. Ashley sits on your bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“The hottest frat hosting the tailgate and after party means we’ll get to see the hottest dads this weekend,” she says, shimmying her shoulders excitedly. “It’s simple genetics.”

“You dropped genetics. Remember? You couldn’t handle an 8 am class,” you say as you apply mascara.

“I went to enough classes to know how a Punnett square works.”

You laugh, finishing your makeup between long sips of coffee. “It’s amazing you couldn’t tough it out through an early semester but give you an afternoon game and you’re trying to break into my apartment at the crack of dawn.”

“It’s DILF Day, baby. It’s like waking up on Christmas morning.”

As an out-of-state student, your parents have always skipped Family Weekend in exchange for buying your plane tickets back home for Thanksgiving and Christmas break, which leaves you with plenty of opportunity to ogle the hot dads that descend upon campus on this glorious weekend. You’ve never had the guts to actually pursue anything with anyone, but it’s your senior year and your last DILF Day so you’re hoping to go out with a bang.

Literally.

“What are you going to wear?” Ashley asks.

“Shorts and that new tank top I got,” you reply, finishing your makeup with a pop of your lips after applying gloss. “And boots. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ashley nods as you rifle through your closet for the outfit in question - denim cutoffs and orange Texas Longhorn tank top that hugs your curves and shows off the perfect amount of cleavage. Finishing the look with your worn brown cowgirl boots, you spin for your friend who gives you a thumbs up. “Sexy. I reckon’ this year you’ll catch yourself a DILF.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Joel’s arm hangs out the truck’s open window, fingers tapping against the hot metal as he drives down the highway towards the Austin campus of the University of Texas. It’s Family Weekend and his son, Sean, started his sophomore semester at UT a few weeks prior and now lives in the Theta Lambda Upsilon fraternity house on campus after proving to Joel that he would take his classes seriously by doing well his freshman year. Joel’s always been close with his son as a single dad and the fact that Sean asked him to Family Weekend feels like a testament to that bond.

The campus is already bustling with the game day crowd, trucks parked in grassy areas along the road with their tailgates down, people setting up tents and tables and coolers. Joel drives slowly down the street until he’s turning down a side road and parking down the hidden drive his son had given him instructions to find. He hops from the truck, sneakers hitting the hot pavement and the sun already beating down on his arms as he makes his way towards the TLU house a couple blocks away.

There’s a huge crowd of students and parents in shades of burnt orange and white on the front lawn of the two story fraternity house, red solo cups or cans of beer in hand. Joel looks around until he hears a familiar voice calling out, “Dad!”

Sean emerges from the crowd dressed in a white polo shirt with an orange Longhorn logo on the chest tucked into khaki pants, his curly brown hair slicked back with gel. Joel smiles, hugging his son and patting him on the back in greeting.

“Been ages since I saw you, kid. Have you gotten taller?” Joel asks.

Sean rolls his eyes. “You saw me last weekend!”

A voice calls out Sean’s name and the younger man throws an arm around Joel’s shoulders, dragging him along into the packed fraternity house. The scene inside is not unlike all the ones he’s seen in movies and TV shows - flags stuck to the walls as decor, a mysteriously sticky floor, and kitchen countertops filled with booze. Sean stops and grabs a red plastic cup, handing it to Joel.

“Pick your poison,” Sean instructs, grabbing his own cup. Joel raises an eyebrow at him.

“Last I checked, you weren’t twenty-one,” he chastises, earning him another eye roll.

“Like you didn’t know Uncle Tommy was buying me beer when I was a senior.”

“He what?” Joel asks, though the question is lost in the noise as Sean leads him to an impressive back deck hosting a beer pong table and two kegs nestled in plastic trash cans and surrounded by ice.

Sean slips into the crowd surrounding the kegs, taking Joel’s cup from his hands, pumping the tap and filling each cup with ice cold beer, handing one to Joel.

“Go Longhorns,” Sean says, tapping his cup to Joel’s and chugging the contents. Joel watches his twenty-year-old son with wide eyes and a torn conscience.

“This is what I’m payin’ tuition for, huh?” He teases, taking a single sip of the cheap beer. A cheer erupts from behind him and he turns to look at what’s causing so much excitement.

You and a friend are at one end of a plastic folding table, glaring daggers at two boys at the other end, a single solo cup set on the table in front of you. You have a white ping pong ball held delicately between two fingers, your other hand propped on your hip as you squint one eye shut to take your aim for the cup that sits in front of the boys. You let the ball fly and it sinks into the cup, another cheer going through the small crowd gathered around you as you jump up and down excitedly.

Sean approaches the boys, slapping one of them on the shoulder. One of them shouts, “Redemption shot!”

“Oh, please! You can’t aim for shit, Chad!” You shout back.

“Celebrity shot, then!” He suggests. The boy, Chad, reaches out to pull an older man to his side. “Dad edition!”

Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on Joel. You wave him over, the older man glancing around briefly before pointing to himself to confirm. You nod, smile bright as he approaches.

“I need a daddy for this celebrity shot, you wanna do the honors?” You ask sweetly. Joel swallows nervously, face heating at the suggestive tone and look you’re giving him.

“Come on, dad!” Sean calls out. “Show ‘em what a Miller man can do!”

“Yeah,” you chime in. “Show me what a Miller man can do.”

“Alright, fine,” Joel acquiesces, moving to stand beside you. You slip a ping pong ball into his hand, standing so close beside him that your bare arm brushes his as you both watch Chad’s dad take aim for the single cup.

The ball soars through the air, hitting the rim of the cup and bouncing off onto the table, rolling to the ground as the men groan. He feels you place a hand on his shoulder, your lips close to his ear as you whisper, “Come on, Mr. Miller. You’re my only hope.”

It doesn’t escape Joel’s notice that you keep your hand on his shoulder as he takes aim and throws the ball across the table, sinking it into the cup. You’re throwing your arms around his shoulders in celebration as the people around you shout excitedly. On instinct, Joel’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you close for a brief moment before coming to his senses and taking a step back.

“Thanks,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m going to go inside for a drink. You want anything? I’ve got a stash of IPAs in a friend’s fridge upstairs if you want something better than Miller Lite. Consider it a thank you for winning me bragging rights over Chad.”

Joel should say no. He shouldn’t be taking up drink offers from someone half his age, but you’re giving him another devastating smile that has his resolve folding faster than a lawn chair in a hurricane.

“Sure.”

The hottest man you’ve ever seen is currently following you upstairs to your friend Craig’s room for a beer. He’s tall and tan with sweet brown eyes and dark hair that looks like it would be a dream to run your fingers through. His broad chest and toned biceps press deliciously at the confines of the white UT Longhorns shirt he’s wearing. When he stepped up beside you to throw your celebrity shot at the beer pong table downstairs, you’d noted that his left hand featured no wedding band or a tan line of one left behind.

You reach the second floor and head for the last door on the right, marked with a PRESIDENT plaque. You reach into the pocket for the key Craig had given you earlier and let yourself inside, heading for the mini fridge in the corner and grabbing two Yellow Rose IPA cans.

“So,” you say, handing the man one of the drinks. “You got a name, or should I keep calling you Mr. Miller?”

“It’s Joel,” he says, taking a long sip of the beer. You watch the muscles of his throat work, longing to press your lips against the tan skin.

You tell him your name, holding a hand out to him for a handshake. His grip is tight, sturdy, and for a brief moment you think about how his sure, thick fingers would feel deep inside of you. He looks around the room curiously as he pulls his hand back.

“Craig and I have been friends since freshman year,” you explain. “I helped him pass calculus, he lets me keep my beer out of the grubby hands of his frat brothers.”

“Calculus, huh?” He asks, taking another sip. “Must mean you’re pretty smart.”

“Just a basic engineering prerequisite,” you joke.

“Engineering? That’s impressive.”

You take a seat on Craig’s bed, crossing one leg over the other. Joel’s eyes track the movement and you smile, giddy at the attention. “What do you do, Mr. Miller?”

“Thought you were gonna call me Joel?”

“Mm, I can think of a few things to call you.”

Joel nearly spits his mouthful of beer out, choking on the bitter drink. You rush towards him, patting him on the back as he coughs. After a moment of fighting for breath, the man seems to realize how close you are, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips, trailing down to your chest.

You lean in a little closer, pressing yourself to him and you think this might be it, Joel Miller might be the DILF of your dreams as he leans into you as well.

But the doorknob rattles and the door swings open, Joel jumping back in surprise as both of you turn to look at the doorway. Craig leans against the frame, an eyebrow raised and a knowing smirk on his lips. You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, looking between you and Joel. “Ashley’s lookin’ for you downstairs. We’re headin’ to the stadium now.”

“I better find Sean, then,” Joel says. Craig’s eyes light up.

“You’re Miller’s dad? Hey, man, nice to finally meet you. I’m Craig, TLU president.” The men shake hands, patting each other on the back. “Sean’s a good kid, we’re happy to have him.”

“Good to hear,” Joel replies.

“Well, guess I’ll go find Ashley.” You place a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Maybe I’ll see you later?” You let your hand trail down the man’s bicep as you leave and you watch his throat work around a nervous swallow.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “See you later.”

The Longhorns pull off an impressive win, a 49-0 blowout against Oklahoma that has the entire campus celebrating with abandon. If Joel thought the TLU house was packed for the tailgate, that crowd was nothing compared to the after game party. More alcohol, more people, and more noise is packed into the house. Joel sticks close to Sean, meeting more of his frat brothers and their parents with shouted introductions.

When the stale air inside the house gets too overwhelming, Sean leads him to the deck. More kegs have appeared and his son bumps him with his shoulder, nodding towards where a few people are gathered around one, a man hoisted upside down by two people gripping his legs as he chugs directly from the keg tap. He spits the valve out as the crowd shouts a chorus of, “Twenty!”

“I bet you could do better,” Sean says. Joel raises an eyebrow at him.

“I know what you’re doin’, kid, and it ain’t gonna work,” Joel replies. Sean puts his hands up.

“I’m not doin’ anythin’. But if you’re too scared, you can tell me.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Hey, my dad’s got next!” Sean shouts, dragging Joel through the crowd with an arm around his shoulders. Joel tries to argue but a familiar face in the crowd has the words dying on his tongue. You wiggle your fingers at him in a wave and suddenly he has the motivation to execute the most impressive keg stand of his life.

Joel grabs the cold handles of the keg, Sean and one of his fraternity brothers lifting him into the air so that he’s suspended upside down over the barrel of beer. People begin counting, shouting numbers as he attempts to focus on the beer flooding his mouth and drinking it down steadily. It’s been a long time since he’s done one of these, probably before Sean was even born, but if there’s one thing Joel has never been, it's a quitter.

After what feels like forever he spits the valve out with a gasp and he gets lowered back to ground as the crowd shouts, “Thirty-four!”

Sean’s frat brothers jump around him excitedly, hands patting him on the back and cheering his name. He laughs as Sean starts yelling, “That’s what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about!”

Movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention and he turns his head just in time to see you disappear into the house. He tells Sean he’ll be back in a minute and follows after you, craning his neck to scan the mass of bodies crammed inside until he spots you on the stairs.

When he finally manages to reach the stairs, he’s surprised to find them roped off at the bottom. Looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to him, he ducks beneath the barrier, taking the steps two at a time. The second floor is dark and empty but light spills into a hall from beneath the last door marked PRESIDENT.

Joel knocks on the wood, his head a little light from the rush of alcohol in his system but it has him feeling good.

Confident.

Maybe a little too confident because when you open the door, he wraps an arm around your waist, pushing his way inside as his lips find yours, a little noise of surprise swallowed by him as his tongue explores yours.

He comes to his senses when your teeth nip at his bottom lip, jarring him back to a reality where he is a mature adult who thinks with his brain and not his dick. He grips you on the shoulders, breaking the kiss and holding you at arm's length.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t even ask if it was okay to kiss you, just came bargin’ in here like a bull in a goddamn china shop and you probably don’t even want—“

“Joel?” You interrupt. He blinks.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Kiss me again.”

Joel kisses you again, but pulls away a second time to ask, “Wait, how old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” you reply, giggling as he mutters a low thank god before pulling you back into his arms. It’s another short lived kiss, the man leaning back once more as you huff in annoyance.

“Wait, how much have you had to drink?” He asks this time.

“Less than you, Mr. Thirty-Four-Second Keg Stand,” you answer. He gives you a smirk that has your stomach doing somersaults.

“You liked that, huh?”

His hands slip into the back pockets of your shorts and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the feel of your lips against his. Your heart is racing as he pulls you even closer and runs his hands up your back, warm palms exploring your curves like he’s trying to map them to memory.

You’re lost enough in each other that the sound of the door opening doesn’t register until an upset voice is saying, “Ugh, come on! No fucking in my room!”

“Shit,” you yelp, tearing yourself away from Joel. Craig is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. You grab Joel’s hand and tug him towards the door of the en-suite bathroom, pulling him inside and slamming the door behind you, flipping the lock.

“Hey, wait a minute—“

“It’s not your room, Craig!” You yell through the wood. There’s a muffled curse from the other side.

“Condoms are under the sink,” he shouts back. You grin victoriously at Joel, who’s laughing so hard he has a hand pressed to his chest. You step up to him, grabbing that hand and bringing it around your waist.

“You sure about this?” Joel asks seriously, stepping forward until he’s crowding you against the door. You tilt your head up to look at his handsome face, his dark eyes so intense as he searches your face that you feel giddy.

“I mean, the location isn’t ideal, but at least Craig keeps his bathroom pretty clean,” you joke, noting the clear counter space and surprising lack of dirty clothing littering the floor.

“Answer the question, sweetheart. You sure about doing this with me?”

You reach up, tangling your fingers into his soft curls, pulling him close until your lips graze his as you respond, “I’m so fucking sure.”

Whatever tether of control Joel had been holding onto seems to snap with your words, the man kissing you so roughly that all you can do is hold on, your fingers curling desperately against his scalp as his tongue dives into your mouth and tangles with yours. He tastes like beer and smells like a mixture of cedar and sweat, the combination intoxicating as he presses close and surrounds you with it.

Joel trails his lips across your jaw, nipping your earlobe before continuing down your neck. He sucks the thin skin over your pulse before soothing the sting with his tongue as you writhe against him, gasping at the sensation. You can feel his smile against your shoulder and as he presses a thigh between your legs, you get a brief feel of his hard cock behind the barrier of his basketball shorts.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he growls, hands trailing across your curves until he’s gripping one of your breasts, squeezing tightly.

“Not so bad yourself,” you moan. He chuckles darkly.

“The mouth on you.” He reaches two fingers into the low neck of your tank top, dragging it down over your breasts. He yanks the cups of your bra down in a similar fashion, the fabric bunched beneath your chest to expose your tight nipples to him. He dips his head down and wraps his lips around a tight bud, pulling it into his mouth as you gasp.

“Could show you some other things my mouth is good at,” you tell him as he releases your breast with a wet pop, lifting his head to look at you.

“I have a better idea,” he says, dropping to his knees. He lifts one of your legs and wiggles your boot off, tossing it to the side before doing the same with the other.

“What are you doing?” You ask when his hands reach for the fly of your shorts. He pauses, looking up at you with concern.

“I was plannin’ on eatin’ you out until you couldn’t think straight,” he says. His brows pinch together. “Do you not want that?”

“I-I’m not sure? I mean, no one’s ever…,” your sentence trails off, your eyes going wide.

Joel runs a soothing hand down your thigh, smiling up at you. “That’s a damn shame, baby. Let me show you how a real man takes care of a woman.”

You let him work your shorts and panties down your thighs, stepping out of them with a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. He lifts one of your legs and settles it over his shoulder, opening you up to his hungry gaze. His eyes flick up to your face and he grins as he says, “Pretty all over, aren’t ya?”

Any smart reply you have died on your tongue as he starts kissing the sensitive skin of your thighs, starting at the knee that’s close to his face and moving up, up, up until you can feel his warm breath on your pussy. His tongue flicks across your clit, featherlight, but it’s enough to have you gasping his name.

He starts a rhythm of messy swirls of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves before dipping down to your entrance, the tip of his nose still brushing your clit and making you moan. You buck against his face and he immediately grasps your hips in his big hands, fingers curling into the flesh of your ass to hold you still as he lavishes your pussy with attention.

“Oh my god,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. He groans at the same time his lips wrap around your clit and the sound of his satisfaction has your orgasm taking you by surprise, washing through your veins and making you feel like you’re on fire.

You feel breathless as he licks you slowly, thoroughly, his tongue making sure he’s gotten every last drop of your release. He leans back, slowly lowering your leg from his shoulder. His lips and chin are coated in your wetness, shiny in the light of the bathroom vanity, the sight making your cheeks feel hot and a nervous giggle spill free.

Joel grins, boyish and sweet. “Good?” He asks.

“Great. Amazing,” you concur. “Ten out of ten. Your Yelp review will be glowing.”

“Shouldn't I be the one leavin’ the Yelp review? You were the meal after all.”

You blink at him. “Oh my god, that was so bad,” you say, laughter near hysterical.

He stands, his palms cupping your face and pulling you into a filthy kiss that quickly shuts you up, his tongue slowly exploring yours and introducing the musky taste of yourself to your taste buds. You reach down, palming his hard cock through his shorts and the responding groan you receive from the older man has you clenching in anticipation.

Joel breaks the kiss, pulling you against his body and turning until you’re facing the vanity, your hips pressed to the edge of the laminate counter. You watch his reflection in the mirror as he runs a hand down your back, pressing you forward slightly so that you’re bent over the counter, ass slightly tilted up. His hand continues lower until it’s running reverently over one cheek. He catches your eye in the mirror.

“You gonna let me fuck you just like this?” He asks. Your breath hitches as his fingers trace through your folds, one dipping into your entrance. He watches your face in the mirror, eyes dark and expression serious. “Answer me.”

“Fuck, yes, anything,” you say quickly. He thrusts his finger slowly, curling it against your front wall with every pull from your body. One finger becomes two, the slight stretch making you whine as he continues to work them in and out of you. “Joel, please.”

“Please what, baby?” He asks.

“Need you to fuck me,” you tell him.

Joel grins, removing his fingers and urging you to the side so he can open the cabinet under the sink. He crouches down, rummaging through the contents for a moment before standing with a victorious expression and a foil packet pinched between his fingers. He shoves his basketball shorts and boxers down his thighs, just low enough to free his impressive cock, thick and long with a slight curve up that has your mouth watering. He rolls the condom on and then grabs your hips, the tip of his length sliding through your folds and making your breath catch.

“You ready, baby?” He asks, squeezing your hips. You meet his gaze in the reflection, your lips tilted in a smirk.

“Been ready for a while, old man,” you tease. He raises his eyebrows and draws his hand back, landing a sharp smack to your ass that has you crying out.

Before the sting even fades, he’s pushing inside of you with one steady thrust until his hips are flush to your ass. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter and you lift onto your tiptoes, trying to escape the sudden sensation of his cock stretching you so well. He chuckles darkly, tight hands on your hips keeping you from going too far.

“Old man,” he taunts, mimicking the higher pitch of your voice. He reaches forward, palm resting beneath your chin as his fingers and thumb press into your cheeks, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his in the mirror as he says, “Eyes up, sweetheart. You watch how this old man fucks you.”

Joel draws his hips back and slams forward, the head of his cock burying so deep inside of you that your eyes roll back from the exquisite stretch and pressure. He sets a rhythm that has a constant string of moans and pleas spilling from your parted lips, a slow pull out and a rough push in that makes you see stars. If you dare to let your chin drop or your eyes shut, the strong hand around your throat reminds you of his demand that you watch.

“That feel good, baby?” He grunts. “My cock in this tight fuckin’ pussy?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“That’s right, who’s fuckin’ you so good? Say my name, sweetheart, wanna hear it from that pretty mouth.”

“Joel!” You cry out, the tight coil of pleasure in your belly finally unraveling, your cunt pulsing greedily around his cock as you cum. He curses, his rhythm going sloppy as he fucks you through your release and right into his own.

His hand leaves your throat and his head drops to your shoulder, soft kisses being left on your shoulder blades as you both catch your breath. After a long moment, he pulls back from you, removing the condom and tying it off to toss it in the garbage.

You straighten up from your bent position over the counter, fixing your bra and tank top back into place. Turning, you find Joel holding your shorts and panties.

“Was that…are you…did you—“

You lean into him as you grab your clothes, kissing him softly. Pulling back, you murmur, “That was amazing.”

Joel sighs in relief, watching as you get dressed and tug your boots back on. “Good. That’s…good.”

“Why don’t you head downstairs first? I need to freshen up,” you suggest. Joel nods, but doesn’t make a move to leave. You raise your eyebrows at him and that seems to have him getting the hint.

“Oh! Right, I’ll just…go downstairs,” he says. You giggle, leaning into him for one more kiss before he disappears from the bathroom and you busy yourself with fixing your appearance to look a little less well fucked.

Downstairs, Joel wanders through the first floor in search of his son. He feels a flash of guilt for leaving him for so long, especially to fuck a woman half his age in a frat house bathroom, but the guilt is short lived when he finds his son with his tongue down the throat of a blonde girl in the living room.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, turning to head for the front door instead. It’s getting late and now seems like a good time to head home.

He’s a few steps out the front door when he hears his name called out and you appear from the doorway.

“You heading out so soon?” You ask, bottom lip jutting out in a pout that he kind of wants to kiss from your lips. He runs a nervous hand through his hair.

“Uh, yeah. Was gonna head home,” he says. Christ, he has no idea why he’s acting so weird, but you have him tied up in knots.

“You know…my apartment isn’t far. Maybe…maybe you don’t have to go home just yet?” You say, looking up at him through your lashes.

Those knots of uncertainty loosen and Joel holds a hand out to you.

“Lead the way, baby.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 9 months

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I need the next part!🥵

Fall Into Temptation | 1/3 (Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader)

Summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamn preacher’s daughters.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Female Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. NO DESCRIPTION OF READER despite the nickname Joel gives her, it doesn’t speak to her body type. AGE GAP (reader is late 20’s and Joel is 56, I know, I know but this was self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). Asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel?

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N: I teased this forever ago. Originally, it was going to go VERY differently, but I ended up revisiting the drafts I had saved and tweaked them more to my liking. This is a 3 parter, I want to test the waters and see how it goes, it might not be everyone’s cup of tea but I am so happy to be back trying to get into the groove. I might end up making a masterlist for this but again I’m just testing the waters. If y’all could let me know your thoughts, it would be very much appreciated! 🤍

Joel had seen him around the community before.

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates.

Joseph? Was that it?

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name.

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and truth of the matter was, he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered onto his face.

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the other direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he preferred.

He wasn’t here to make friends.

The closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either.

More like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he needed a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of them were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could be possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve got to be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and Oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them.

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the third one. His breath hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your late twenties, and even then that was a goddamn stretch.

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened.

All three of you were stunners, so why the fuck did it have to be you who had held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah.

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Polygamy a thing around here?”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing.

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He is the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters?

He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the commune. “He ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort, hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him.

“Hope for what? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? The the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching basic literacy. Shows them how to start reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol.

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so intently that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her mouth from Joel’s view as whispered something over her shoulder.

Shit.

He’d been caught caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late.

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head.

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man.

Unsure of what to do, Joel offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse.

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “Gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got any business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her too much, you know?”

“What about the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster.

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass.

Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor for a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s just about the sweetest thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters probably sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s good. Too good. It wouldn’t surprise me if the good lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?”

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a swig.

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure, so innocent and untouched—it caused something to stir deep inside of him.

“Any of them taken?”

Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t tell me—”

“No, I’m not interested,” he rolled his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer.

“They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “He is a nice man and all, but he’s real strict with them. Not like that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can believe it.”

Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

“Wasted.” Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Oh and by the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? It’s best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if she makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna say no. Not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think about it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “It was a joke.”

“Right. I’m sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, not like I’ve got to be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door.

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head. You stood up and said something else to her, and then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving.

Alone.

In the middle of the fucking night?

While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself.

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like idiot teenagers rather than men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before stumbling to his feet.

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he had realized what was happening.

Kent was going after you.

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following in suit.

Joel stepped out into the night, looking around.

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent.

That couldn’t fucking be good.

“Where the fuck are you two?” he muttered under his breath.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled between the bar and the commune mess hall. You’re pinned under Kent with your skirt bunched around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed it’s way up your bare thigh.

“Aw, come on now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She has no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of him.

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation.

“I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two.

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist.

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’ girl. You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear.

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him.

Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and even more for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard.

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes black and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face.

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face.”

Kent managed to get to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley.

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more.

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beat him to death right in front you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel clocked the way that you flinched. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you.

You hesitated for a split second, but then took his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet.

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it.

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, sandalwood, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “I’m fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest.

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you.

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you I’m fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spinal cord.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face.

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “It ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a baby bird.

“That really ain’t necessary—”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours.

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright,” he relented. “I suppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards.

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.”

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “I just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” You teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church was not some joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I actually just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you.

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed out, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?”

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house, not their church.”

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep the keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin.

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side.

“This place gives me the creeps,” he admitted.

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship.

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring.

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls.

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk.

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“I suppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered.

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. It’d started to throb with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar.

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else.

Above it, bolted into the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it.

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world.

A fucking slab of carved wood.

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” You recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder.

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands; a big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started to dig through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours, darlin’.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“That’s real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt.

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers.

“Do you really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the walls of the church.

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because part of me thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. The harder I try, the more ridiculous it all seems.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger.

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly.

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel about all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words.

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him.

He was absolutely right, after all.

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ about your dad?”

“What is it?”

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he’s never done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you. “He ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart.”

“Look, my father isn’t perfect but he’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.”

It had been a statement, not a question.

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone.

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against his zipper.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to kill his erection.

It didn’t.

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say. “You were nervous to come into the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“That’s right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee.

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest.

“Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables?

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone.

Want, sure.

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther.

But Joel didn’t want you.

He fucking needed you.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain.

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure about that, darlin’ girl?”

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you.

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek.

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body.

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it baby? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.”

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours.

You heard him chuckle softly.

“I’d expect better manners from a girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“That’s much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle.

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age.

He was the one giving you your very first kiss.

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones. What the fuck had he been thinking?

And what about you?

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it.

None.

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench.

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard about this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you?

He couldn’t. Simple as that.

“You sure about this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself?

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further.

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance.

You breathed him in deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat.

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt.

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline.

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply.

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted was make a wrong move.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need…”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise.

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you—”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt.

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you.

It was something else.

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t.

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it out loud.

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around.”

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle.

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest.

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t.

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson.

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God.

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, baby.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it’s like for a man to make you his?”

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass? Is that how sex worked?

He almost laughed. “Don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“I just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “I’m gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a while. You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

“Of course,” you breathed out.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller series #joel miller story

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sharp-cheekbones-locked · 1 year

Text

rated r

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader (Professor x TA Student)

Words: 5299

Warnings: Swearing. Oral (male receiving). Reciting poetry during sex because why not. Penetrative, unprotected sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong people). Slight dom/sub elements. Very slight though. Mostly sweet smot. Creampie.

Based on this little headcanon.

Y/N: I literally just had a quick idea and I can't resist when someone tells me to write something so here you go. Some shameless teacher/student smot. Please please let me know how I'm doing in the comments and as usual, reblogs are always appreciated (if you're interested in rpf fanfiction). This isn't beta'd...Also, the poem recited here is by the one and only Chian Poet, Pablo Neruda. You can add yourself to the taglist(s) here.

He knows he’s been scrolling through the pages for too long but he can’t stop himself. Ever since he took the position, he swore that he’d only ever read the reviews turned in at the end of the year because he loved improving on his style. But this was different. This was a hell hole that he didn’t realize he could spiral so easily down from just one review. At first, Pedro thought that he’d go on it to see the more honest reviews of his courses and teaching. You could only write so much on the evaluations without feeling guilty and this was a proper and free resource.

What he didn’t expect was to find almost no criticism of his classes and pretty much every comment discussing his looks and what the student would be willing to do for extra credit. He thought he was on the wrong website at the beginning but nope, this was the right one. Like all other things, Pedro was slow at first but then some comments became real suggestive and he began to read between the lines. But no matter what he read and understood, he never seemed to get a handle on one specific type of comment which only consisted of one word.

He’s not sure what to make of it and the thought is brushed aside when he hears a knock at his door. Pedro looks up and sees you standing at his doorway, paperwork in one hand and phone in the other. He doesn’t know what prompts him to do so but he immediately shuts off his laptop and tries to calm down, hoping that he isn’t blushing too hard from what he’s been reading.

“I’m about to go get some coffee, want anything?” You ask as you scroll through your phone and look up when he says nothing. “Professor?” You raise an eyebrow at him when he continues to stare at you.

“S-sorry I um, no. No thank you. And for the millionth time, just call me Pedro.” He huffs in irritation, and frowns when you roll your eyes at him like you always do and shake your head.

“Sorry, not trying to get caught calling professors by their first name. Your friend takes that too seriously and I’d rather not annoy him any further. Anyway, I’ll be in my office if you need anything. Oscar told me you’ve been falling behind again with grades and I’m almost done with his stuff so swing by if you need to drop anything.” You wait until he nods in confirmation before walking out towards the cafe and Pedro can’t help but feel his annoyance grow when you leave instantly.

He looks at his door as if you’ll appear again, meditating on the issue he’s been having for a while now. Every time he tries to convince himself to tell you how he feels, he remembers how difficult things could get for you. Even though he wasn’t on your committee or anything, he still knew how people would react should you get caught with him. He swears underneath his breath and turns on his laptop again, anger only rising when he remembers what he was searching before you came in.

Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with these people? He cringes at more reviews and curses the fact that the website was anonymous. He closes the page and tries to get his mind off of the weird reviews for a bit, working through some of the quizzes until he notices how late it is. Shoving the rest of the essay quizzes in his leather bag, Pedro takes the folder filled with multiple choice and walks out of his office. He heads towards Oscar’s office and knocks on it a few times. When no one answers, he looks at his watch and sees it wasn’t late enough for you to leave yet. Taking out the spare key his friend gave him, he unlocks the door and steps in, eyes immediately following the light of the side room where you are. He shuts the door behind him and makes sure you can hear him walk towards you.

As soon as he walks in, you look up and smile at him, making grabby hands towards him when you notice the folder he’s holding.

“Knew you wouldn’t resist,” you laugh when he smiles nervously at you and stands there long after you told him you’ll get them back to him in a day or two. When he doesn’t move, you put your pen down and tilt your head to the side.

“Anything else I can help with?” You ask again, watching his eyes as they look around the room as if the answer was in here somewhere. But he never responds and instead, he puts down his bag and walks towards your couch. You say nothing as he sits back and stares up at the ceiling. As soon as he starts untying his tie and unbuttoning the first three buttons of his shirt, you knew something was off.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” You push everything aside and grab your coffee, taking a sip as you waited for him to finally acknowledge you.

“Can I ask you something?” Pedro asks and you can tell from his tone that this was something serious. You smile deeply and nod at him, a part of you hopeful for whatever he was about to throw your way.

“Of course!”

“So I overheard some students talking about this website where they leave reviews on their professors…”

“Oh no, did you go on ratemyprofessor?” You cut him off immediately and regret the little outburst because Pedro shuts his eyes and takes off his glasses to rub his face.

“S-sorry I- I’ll be quiet.” You wait patiently until he puts his glasses back on and looks up at you. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place but you can tell from the way he’s ringing his fingers that he read something he didn’t like.

“Some of the reviews were helpful, really helpful. But most of them were, I don’t even know what to consider them and it’s been bugging me all day, especially one word that I kept on seeing over and over again.” His voice is low and you curse yourself for fixating on how beautiful he sounds, and frankly looks, as he sits on your couch and opens up to you about whatever this was.

“Were they rude? Did- did someone call you names or something?” You try to see if he’d tell you anything specific but he shrugs his shoulders and looks away.

“I don’t know.”

Realizing that he was probably annoyed and embarrassed that he was coming to you, you pick up your phone and kick your shoes away from below your feet before you take the seat next to him.

“Mind if I look through some?” You ask before you unlock your phone, looking at him until he turns his attention to you before you smile softly at him.

“Also, I hope you know that most of these are usually idiots trolling other students and the professors on campus. There isn’t any truth to them whatsoever and you need to ignore them because they’re sometimes by students who failed the classes and they’re just looking to give the professor a bad name so not many can sign up an-” The words die in your throat when you scroll down and read the third comment on his page.

Your eyes widen in shock at how forward the short sentence is and you decide to not look at Pedro as you read the rest of them.

As you scroll down, Pedro’s nervousness grows because with each movement of your finger, your eyes widen even further and your breathing either stops completely or picks up at a rapid pace.

The silence is deafening and when he can’t take it anymore, he asks you to stop because it only gets worse.

“These are...umm, wow. Very flowery language. And the imagination is just-”

“Please stop.” Pedro cuts off your rambling, knowing that he probably made things more awkward than necessary.

“Got it.” You take the last sip of coffee before putting the cup on the floor and tapping on your phone.

Pedro wants to ask you what you think of these reviews but he can’t focus on anything but your previous comment on how untrue the website mostly is. He was right, you probably didn’t think he was attractive after all.

You know that things will only get weirder if you remain quiet so you break the moment and hit him on his shoulder to catch his attention.

“What was the word you were confused by?” You ask almost hysterically and Pedro looks at you as if you grew a second head before he decides to answer you.

“There were some reviews that were alright but at the end, they’d just have the word ‘dilf’ or ‘big dilf vibes’ along with a smiley face and...well, I don’t know what that is or whether that’s a good or bad thing.” Whatever you were expecting him to say, this was probably at the last of the list and you almost choke on air when you see how genuinely irritated he is by this whole situation.

“Have you uhh, not looked this up or anything?”

“No because I don’t know what the fuck will pop up if I search that.” Pedro rarely swears and you’re caught off guard by how forign yet beautiful the curse word sounds falling from his lips. Taking a deep breath, you brace yourself for the worst possible conversation you’ll ever have with him and try to sound as calm and collected as possible.

“Well, you see, the word dilf is an acronym and it usually refers to an older man who has children and- and is viewed by some as sexually attractive.” You hope this is the end of the inquiry but like all the other chats you’ve witnessed, Pedro rarely lets go of things until he’s crystal clear on them.

He’s quiet for a few moments and you dare to look up at him, only to find him blinking confusedly at the floor and narrowing his eyes almost in anger.

“What? I- I don’t even have kids, how does this make any sense and why do students think this is okay to write on the internet?” Pedro’s voice grows and he doesn’t realize he’s yelling until he looks over and sees you grimacing at him.

“S-sorry.”

“That’s okay, and like I said, this is what it usually refers to. People sometimes say it to men who’re older and are sexually attractive but don’t have kids...like you give off those vibes. Basically, you’re an attractive older man and that reminds some of fathers who are also on the older side and are still attractive. As to the other question, all I can tell you is, kids are dumb these days and they have no shame.”

“But what if other professors see this and start to think I’m a joke?” You can tell his fear is genuine and you shake your head immediately, taking his hand and squeezing it to get his attention as you calmed him down.

“Look, everyone knows this website is garbage. No one goes on there I promise, and you will be taken seriously. You have tenure too so I don’t see why you’re worried about this.” You wait until he nods in affirmation before you remove your hand. As you’re about to stand, Pedro asks you one more question.

“Wait, you said it’s an acronym?”

Fuck. When did you say that?”

“Uhh, yeah. Yes.” Pedro is looking at you like you have all the answers and you can’t help but find it the cutest yet sexiest look he’s possibly given you. He’s so vulnerable and the thought of offering comfort in a different way shakes you to your core.

“What does it stand for then?”

“Does it really matter I mean-” You try to end the conversation but Pedro only demands a little more roughly, and you almost melt into him at how firm his tone suddenly is.

“What does it stand for?” His voice is more serious and you swallow the lump in your throat before you tell him.

“It stands for ‘dad I’d like to fuck.’ But since you’re not a dad, it just means that they want to...fuck you.” You hope you aren’t being too crude for him and when you turn to meet his eyes, you find them much softer than earlier, perhaps even more relaxed.

He says nothing but continues to stare at you, a part of him wanting to ask you if you also thought similarly. When you don’t try to move off of the couch again, Pedro gulps and allows his eyes to take in your body language.

Something about you being comfortable in your office and taking off your shoes makes him wish he could kiss you but he brushes the thought aside and musters up the courage to ask you what’s been on his mind ever since he opened up the website earlier in the day.

“So do you still think there’s no truth to any of the reviews?”

The question catches you off guard and you can’t help but stare into his dark brown eyes to make sure this wasn’t a joke. He surprises you again and looks down at your lips, biting into his own lower lip before he turns his attention to you again.

“I- I um...I mean my opinion doesn’t really matter you know so-” You laugh nervously and try to break the tension but Pedro cuts you off again with a stern expression.

“Please…”

It’s a soft whisper but it shakes you to your core and you realize that perhaps this wasn’t as one-sided as you initially thought it to be.

“I think that you’re an exceptionally attractive man and that you’re somehow even more handsome when you start to rant about Latin American literature, especially Chilean poetry. I- I don’t think I’ve met anyone as knowledgeable about this topic as you and I wish I could audit one of your courses but I’d probably end up not paying any attention because-” You stop yourself before you can go any further but Pedro doesn’t give you the chance to grow quiet, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his lips to lay soft kisses on them before he urges you to go further.

“Because what hermosa?” His voice is hoarse and you can’t help but lean into him as you whisper those last confessions in the dimly-lit office.

“Because I’d be too busy imagining you reading to me your favorite pieces as I- I…” Pedro sees longing and reluctance in your eyes, reads in between the lines and makes a split second decision. He inches closer to you and slips his hands across your neck, pulling you into him and swallowing your surprised gasps as he molds his lips with yours. You’re shocked at the turn of events at first, not sure of how to react to his desperate touches. But as you feel his fingers twist harder in your hair, you can’t help but relax into him and return his kiss. He moans into your mouth when you part your lips for him, and pulls you in until you straddle his thighs.

You know you should stop and reconsider what the two of you are about to do but you can’t find it in yourself to care any less. Pedro somehow senses the reluctance in your touches and he breaks the kiss not a moment later. He doesn’t let go of you though and you shut your eyes for a second to collect your bearings.

“I- I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me.” He’s first to speak and your eyes flutter open at the whispered apology.

“I liked it.” It’s the simplest three words Pedro has ever heard yet they do something to him and he realizes that it would break his heart if you asked him to let you go. When he says nothing and continues to stare at you, you clear your throat and try to get off of him. But the hold he has on you tightens further and he refuses to let you go, making you wish his gaze didn’t have this much control on you.

“Pedro?”

“I’m not your professor, I’m not even on your committee. But I know how this would look if- goddamn it. All I’m saying is, I don’t want to force you into anything but I- I’m willing to take the risk if that’s what you want.” He manages to say before his mind is scrambled with thoughts of you writhing underneath him and before he could tell you to forget he ever said anything, you lean forward and softly kiss him until you feel him physically relax beneath you.

“I do, I do want you.” You can’t help but smile as soon as you see those familiar dimples growing the longer he looks at you. There is a sudden shift in the air around the office and your smile slowly falls when you finally register just how much you want him. He says nothing as you get off of him and begin to strip. As your shirt and pants hit the floor, Pedro begins to unbutton his shirt and kick off his shoes. He’s about to take the glasses off when you stop him.

“Please, keep them on.” Your plea makes him twitch in his pants and he doesn’t notice you getting on your knees until you move his hands away from his belt and begin to undo it yourself.

Pedro is mesmerized, unable to look away from you as you undress him and stare at him like he’s the most beautiful sonnet to have ever been written. His heart is close to beating out of his chest and when he you push his thighs open to make space for yourself, he finally snaps out of his haze and grabs for your hands.

“No wait you don’t have t-”

“Please...I want to.” You whisper to him and wait until he nods before you slip your hands underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and pull them down. You can tell he’s nervous from the layer of sweat forming on his chest and the way his fingers are itching to grab for something so instead of diving right into him, you lay your palms across his thighs and massage them until he begins to ease at your touch. Pedro doesn’t dare to look away from you and as you try to make yourself comfortable in between his thighs, his mind panics and he thinks you’re about to move away from him.

“No estés lejos de mí un solo día, porque cómo...porque, no sé decirlo, es largo el día.”

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -- because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long

The words are spoken before he realizes what he’s doing and he watches as your chest rises and falls at a rapid rate with each word he moans to you. You recognize the poem immediately, having heard him gush about it during one of his seminars. But somehow, in the privacy of your office, the words carry a much deeper meaning to you and you lick your lips as you lower yourself down and kiss his navel.

Pedro almost jolts at the softness of your lips and he doesn’t bother to hold back as he pushes his fingers into your hair again, not to force you to do anything, only to ensure that you would remain near him where he could feel your heat caressing his skin.

“Keep going...please.” You ask him before you continue to kiss across where he’s begging for you and as he takes a deep breath to try and remember the next words, you firmly take his hardening cock in the palms of your hands and lay a kiss on the leaking tip. You keep your eyes on him and smile when you see his stomach clenching tightly. Kissing him one more time on the underside of his cock, you lick your lips and slowly inch his cock in your mouth.

“Mierda...y te estaré esperando como en las estaciones, cuando en alguna parte se durmieron los trenes.”

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Pedro is struggling to form a coherent thought but the warmth of your mouth drives him to continue. He wants nothing more than to return the favor and he realizes he is when he notices the way you suck on him and moan every time he recites a new verse to you. You shut your eyes to savor the heaviness of him in your mouth, not caring for how loud you’re being as his hold tightens around your hair. You could feel him thrusting in your mouth and you almost laugh because he’s so enraptured by you that he doesn’t know he’s shoving his cock deeper into your throat.

“No te vayas por una hora porque entonces...en esa hora se juntan las gotas del desvelo- oh fuck, fuck please baby I...you look so pretty, mouth full of my cock.”

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

He’s a moaning mess already and you finally pull off of him, smiling devilishly as you watch him stare at the trail of saliva connecting your lips with his cock. He clenches his jaw tightly and swears even more when you spit on sock and begin to jerk off the tip while you lean down and kiss his balls. It’s filthy and shameless but you don’t care enough, wanting to show him just how much you want him.

Pedro sits up and groans when he feels you lick and suck on his balls, hips jutting forward when you return your mouth to the leaking tip of his cock and massage his balls instead.

“Y tal vez todo el- el humo que anda buscando c-casa...venga a matar aún mi corazón perdido. Mi corazón...fuck!”

the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart.

Pedro screams when you surprise him and take his cock as far down your throat as you could and begin to swallow around him. The pressure of your throat muscles drives him mad and he falls back to the couch to try and stop himself from coming down your throat.

“Fuck baby baby please...I- I won’t last any longer. Come here,” Pedro reluctantly pulls you off of him, growling his need when he sees the mess you’ve made of yourself. He immediately pushes you into the mattress and shoves your thighs open, his chest quivering when he sees how wet you are for him.

“Is this all for me querida? You liked sucking my cock so much?” He asks as he licks his fingers and teases your slit.

“Pedro… I need you, just fuck me already.” The word is like a bucket of cold water and he hesitates when he realizes that he doesn’t have any condoms on him.

“Fuck wait, I don’t have any condom.” He sits back in disappointment, all the while massaging your thighs and keeping you close around him. “I- I’m on the pill and I’m clean...haven’t had any since I started this degree so-”

“Really? But you’re-”

“Jesus Chr- can you question my non-existent sex life later...I need you to fuck me, please.” You frown at him when he just stares at you, and he only catches up with what’s happening when you pull him by his hand until he falls on top of you.

“I’m clean too...a-are you sure mi cielo?” He asks one last time and prays that you don’t go back on your decision. When you cross your legs behind his back and force him closer to you, he turns his attention down your body and grabs his cock. You hold your breath as you watch him tease your entrance, letting it go when you feel him slowly inch his cock deeper inside you. It’s too much and not enough and you dig your nails into his broad shoulders when he finally sheathes himself inside your walls.

“Oh god fuck bebecita you’re- perfect. Fucking perfect. Ay que no se quebrante tu silueta en la arena, ay que no vuelen tus párpados en la ausencia.”

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.

Pedro nuzzles into the crook of your neck and kisses your skin to help get you relaxed for him. You sigh his name over and over again, begging him to move when you feel him pulse inside you.

“Please...fuck me.”

It’s a short request but Pedro groans when he hears just how wrecked you are when he’s barely even touched you. He knows he won’t last long and he’s trying his hardest to not embarrass himself. But you feel too tight and too warm around him and he thinks this must be heaven because there’s no way anything so magnificent can exist on the earth.

The sound of your soft giggles fills his ears and Pedro pulls away to look at you, only to realize that he’s just said all of his inner monologue out loud in your ears.

“I- I don’t care if you’ll cum in a second Pedro...just fuck me already please. I’m- I need you.” You lean up and peck his lips before you slither your hand down your body and rub at your clit.

“That’s it, touch yourself sweetheart. Go on, let me feel you cum on my cock querida. F-fuck, no te vayas por un minuto, bienamada, porque en ese minuto te habrás ido tan lejos.”

Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll have gone so far

Pedro continues to recite to you, marveling at how much tighter you clench around him whenever he moans those sweet words to you.

He picks up the pace and shuts his eyes to avoid looking at how beautiful you are as you come undone beneath him. Your sighs and pleas are music to his ears and he questions again how he managed to catch your attention when you could literally have anyone you wanted. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Pedro lets go of the couch and wraps one hand around your throat, wanting nothing more than to feel your heartbeat sounding against his skin. He doesn’t squeeze hard to cut off your breathing but he does get a little rough when he sees how much you’re enjoying his harder touches.

“Oh fuck Pedro...you’re- you feel so good. So fucking good. I- can I cum? Please let me cum.” He’s surprised by the question but finds the prospect of you giving him power over your pleasure more of a turn-on than he cares to admit. Wrapping the other arm around your back, Pedro braces his foot on the floor and pulls you up on his lap, swallowing your moans as he begins to fuck up into you.

“Dame un beso...you want to cum? Then fucking kiss me...kiss me like you want- no, need me. Kiss me like I’m the only one made for you.” He doesn’t know what prompts him to say such things but when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss, his lungs give out and his hold on your waist tightens.

You’re swallowing his growls and he’s sinking into your desperate pleas and as he thrusts into you a few more times, you feel yourself fall over the edge, cunt clenching around him so tightly you swore you’ve never felt so full before.

Pedro breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on your sternum, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm until he began to feel a strike of pleasure zap through his spine.

“Fuck oh god fucking shit I- que yo cruzaré toda la tierra preguntando, si volverás o si me dejarás muriendo.”

I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking, Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Pedro breathes out the last two lines of the poem before he cums, forcing you on his cock a few more times as he shoots his seed deep inside you. You shiver at the warmth spilling in your cunt and painting your walls, never once stopping from kissing across his skin as he slowly brings you down to the couch and refuses to get off of you.

The room feels much hotter than earlier and you don’t let up on your caresses until Pedro smiles at you. A fit of giggles breaks the silence and you can’t help but laugh even more when he frowns down at you.

“What's funny now?” Pedro asks as he maneuvers himself a little off of you.

“Your glasses are all fogged up...can you even see anything?” You ask jokingly and apologize almost instantly when he begins to tickle your neck with his mustache.

“Well someone wanted me to keep them on so,” Pedro takes them off and throws them to the ground before he begins to kiss down your chest. You sigh when he brings his lips to your hardened peeks and teases them with soft licks.

“I mean...I wasn’t sure if you’re able to see anything without them. Those dilf vibes you know.” You hold onto his hands so he doesn’t tickle you again but when he says nothing, you look into his eyes and hope he wasn’t offended by your words.

“Hmm, and yet you were the one begging me to fuck you.” Pedro whispers across your flushed skin and you hiss when he slowly pulls out of you and grabs his undershirt to clean the mess he made between your thighs. He clenches his jaw when he notices how much it pleases him that you’re filled with his cum and he hopes you don’t notice this slightly caveman-ish side of him. But you’re too perceptive for your own good and you sit up on your elbows and stare at him as he dabs at your wet skin.

“Thinking of becoming a real dilf...professor?”

The words make him freeze and he looks into your eyes with embarrassment.

“Not as vanilla as I thought then…” You wink at him and lean over to kiss him when you see how nervous he’s suddenly become. Pedro doesn’t dare to move a muscle as he watches you put your clothes back on and try to look presentable. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen now but when you throw him his clothes, he follows your lead silently and hopes that you’ll notice how new this is for him.

“I know a pizza place that’s still open...how about we order to-go and finish this off at your place.” The smile that takes over his features is almost boyish and you can’t help but pull him in for another kiss.

“Just so we’re on the same page, this isn’t a one-time thing...right?”

“Oh heavens no. You recited your favorite poem to me as you fucked me...no way I’m letting you go now...Professor.” You smile when he murmurs something in Spanish as he collects his stuff and walks out behind you.

“Keep that up and we won’t even make it to the pizza place.” Pedro warns as you lock the office door behind you and make your way through the empty hallway.

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing!”

“Depends on what your opinion is on car sex.” Pedro winks at you when he looks over and sees the shocked expression on your face.

“How scandalous of you Professor Pascal.” You feign innocence and run ahead when you see him trying to catch you.

“Down girl.” Pedro warns one last time and he tries his hardest to stay serious but the smirk you hold for him makes him break and he shakes his head in anticipation of what you’re about to say to him.

“Or what...you’re going to punish me Professor?”

“Oh bebecita, you’re in for it now.”

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @marsplsstop @ezrasbirdie @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul @bii-aan-ckaa @nohartandsole @djjarins @lamelyssher @giselatropicana @pescopadral @blackmarketmummy @laviipopii @ew-erin @fan-of-encouragement @melody13522 @clydesducktape @planetariumx @sambucky21 @thirddeadlysin @leannawithacapitala @fangirl-316 @thou-creature-of-the-deep @what-iwish-you-knew @mandoamando @nabootycall

#pedro pascal x reader

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