#joel miller praise kink
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Talk me through it
• Joel Miller x reader
• Summary: Your sexual experiences were never a priority for your partners. They never even cared for you when it was over. When your friend Joel finds out, he wants to be the one to change that.
• Contents: Smut, age gap, friends to lovers, huge praise kink, aftercare, fluff.
• Authors note: My first fic in a few years… would love your feedback! ☺️ I take requests babies.
Your body in Jackson but your mind a million miles away, you were daydreaming about a man two decades your senior.
What did his hands feel like after a hard day of work? Coarse and dry most likely.
But we’re they gentle when they came in contact with someone else? When they were taking off someone’s clothes…
Snap out of it
He’s simply a regular at the bar. An acquaintance. And even that was pushing it. The only people he truly softened for was Ellie and Tommy.
You gaze at the clock : one hour left. The last hour is always the longest. Most customers had filtered out and you were cleaning with your coworker Amanda.
“How did your date go?” You asked
“Didn’t know if he was my type at first, but after he ate me out I decided he was.”
You tried to chuckle with her but your body cringed.
“You enjoy that?” You asked embarrassed.
It seemed like everyone liked it but you. Was there something wrong with you? Dumbfounded Amanda looked back at you.
“You don’t?”
“I don’t know, receiving head is just…boring. It’s not painful, it’s not exciting, it’s just meh. I’d rather move on to the main event, ya know?”
Her expression didn’t change.
“What are you talking about!? Receiving is practically the only thing that makes being born female worth it.” You both laughed as you stood on your tip toes to put a glass away.
Your words made Joel’s whole body stiff.
One night with me. One night with me and I’ll give you the head you deserve. Stupid boys your age don’t know how to pleasure a woman.
He couldn’t say that tho, especially not in public. Hell go for something calmer.
“Maybe you just haven’t been with an experienced enough person.”
You jolt around in shock. You had no idea until now he was in the bar, let alone listening to your conversation.
“Um, yeah, maybe. It’s not a big deal for me.”
You shrugged the topic off and quickly turned around making yourself busy. You went beat red knowing the most attractive man in town heard about your sex life, or lack thereof.
It’s a big deal for me, you’re torturing me here.
Joel decided he shouldn’t say anything else and risk making you uncomfortable, it wasn’t his intention. Without saying another word he headed home.
“Maybe he’s right, maybe you should have a night with someone older.” Amanda said in a suggestive voice. When you laughed this time it was out of awkwardness.
“Good one, I don’t think so. Im not one for one night stands. Plus, in a commune this size, Ive had a good look around and haven’t been attracted to any guys.”
Lie.
You and Joel were on good terms. You don’t use the word ‘friends’ because Joel isn’t really friends with anyone. At least he wouldn’t say that. He doesn’t let his walls go down enough for that. But he does care about his inner circle and that’s obvious.
You could tell you were one of the people he softened for. Mainly it was Tommy and Ellie, but somehow you always managed sneak your way in there. Most of the reason being you were giving him drinks.
Your affection for him was one sided, but it didn’t matter. He was never going to find out. Your crush just gave you something to look forward to during work.
• • •
It’s an hour before closing and Joel had yet to come in. Odd. Maybe he was under the weather today.
Pulling you from your thoughts was the bell of the door opening.
Speak of the devil
“Hey! Was wondering when you’d show up.”
He smiled at you. Thats rare. He liked a little too much that you wanted to see him. He wanted to see you too, he just still not good at expressing his emotions and letting people in.
“Whiskey?” You assumed.
“Actually, I was thinking of not drinking here tonight.”
The smirk on his face showed that he had a plan but you couldn’t figure out what in the world it was.
Why would he come to a bar if he wasn’t going to drink?
“How about I be the bartender for once. I hope that’s not forward of me to ask, but would you like to come by my place after your shift? If you’re too tired I understand-“
“Yes that sounds great, yes.” You could hear your smile in your voice.
“Alright then, peach. You know which house is mine. See ya then.” He got up and walked away.
Peach. He’d never called you that before.
Yes, you did know which house Joel lived in, but you’ve never been in it. You wondered what kind of decorations he hung up. Did it smell like him? You could barely stand still the remainder of your shift.
You have to put away your school girl crush.
• • •
As soon as it hit the hour you threw off your apron and went into the bathroom to freshen up.
You wished makeup survived the apocalypse, just a little to make your eyes pop.
What are you doing? He’s not your boyfriend.
You really must stop letting your mind wander. You ran your fingers through your hair and tried to get the smell of spilt beer off you. You don’t know what to expect. You’ve never hung out with Joel like this.
A few minutes later you’re knocking on his door. Nearly vibrating with nerves.
He opens it and
God
There’s that enchanting smile again.
It’s contagious. For a few seconds you two just gaze at each other with grins.
“Hey” you said shyly
“Glad you came, come on in.”
He opened the door as far as it went and you stepped in.
Definitely Joel Millers place.
Not much decorations, but his presence is here. Things Ellie has made for him hung around the living room. Things that survived of his from before the apocalypse. It felt homey. It felt safe.
He led the two of you into the living room. When your legs hit the couch you let out a sigh.
There were already two cold beers and glasses of water on the coffee table in front of you. Normally you don’t like to drink because you’re around it almost everyday and the smell gets annoying. But with Joel it seemed fun.
You both picked up your bottles and instead of making small talk or clinking the drinks together, you just nodded at each other and sipped.
Oh wow, this was actually kind of good. Where did he get this from? You groaned as it warmed your body.
“Haven’t been able to rest that much today. Work was busy. This is nice, Miller.”
He shifted closer to you. Closer than a acquaintance would normally sit. Not that you’re offended, you almost feel flattered. Joel speaks in actions.
“As long as you don’t go tellin people I’m nice.” He joked
“I like nice Joel.” Your voice wasn’t light anymore. “I hope I get to see more of him.”
You knew once those words came out of your mouth that they pushed a boundary. It’s a miracle anyone in this type of world is nice. It’s not an expectation you have anymore.
Your sentence didn’t seem to bother him, though. He stared at you for a few beats. He scooted once again until your knees touched. You’d never been this close to him, it was making your face get hot.
You both seem to have fallen into a comfortable silence, studying each other. There are details on his face you’ve never seen before. He pulled off facial hair like no other. His beard a mix of white, gray and brown.
You don’t know how long it stayed like this, but when you looked up at him to feel out the situation, he wasn’t looking back at you.
He was looking at your lips. You assumed they were dry or you had something on them. Instinctively you licked them.
“Don’t do that to me.” He whispered.
Your heart stopped.
“What?”
Instead of answering he put his hands on each side of your face. You made eye contact and thought you must be dreaming.
I’ve had dreams of him before, this must be another one.
But no. You can smell the drink he had and feel his big hands.
“Do you trust me?” He asked. You didn’t need time to think.
“Yes.”
In milliseconds your lips touched.
If this is a dream I never want to wake up.
The kiss starts gentle. Feather light. Sweet. Your noses bumping into each other. Not at all what you expected from Joel Miller.
You press your face into his to make the kiss more intense, but he puts his hands on your shoulders to keep you where he can be tender.
You pull away. Both taking a moment to process.
“Are you sure you want this?” He asks.
You can’t help but laugh because who wouldn’t want him. Especially after that kiss.
“I’ve been wanting you for so long.”
He breaks out into the biggest smile you’ve seen. Any nerves or unfamiliarity between you two is gone.
“Com’ere”
Now you’re both giggling and hugging. So happy that feelings have been confessed.
Your head nuzzled into his neck gave the perfect opportunity to whisper in his ear.
“You’re not going to break me. I want you to kiss me like I’m not delicate.”
Something snapped in him.
Maybe it was your warm breath on his ear, maybe it was that you were close enough to straddling him but not there yet. Maybe it’s because he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in town, no, on earth.
He grabs your face with more force this time. Kissing you aggressively. You enjoyed how his fingers dug into your jaw. You gasped and he took the opportunity to introduce his tongue to yours.
He grabbed your legs and settled you over him. It was obvious he was strong but goddamn. He lifted a fully grown woman like it was nothing. It made a fire start in your lower belly.
“I need you. I need you right here on this couch.”
You didn’t respond. Too drunk on him already. You knew once his cock touched you there’d be no thoughts left in your brain.
He chuckled at your state, snapping his fingers to get your attention.
“Sweetheart are you with me?”
“Yeah sorry, I just can’t believe I’m doing this with you. You’ve already made me feel better than any guys I’ve been on dates with and-” your words got muffled by you taking off your shirt. You went braless today.
Now Joel was the speechless one. Staring at your chest. Running his hands up and down your sides.
She isn’t real. She can’t be.
“You’re so … beautiful. Now I really can’t wait, darlin.”
With the same urgency as before he picks you up and laid you out on the couch. Kissing your stomach, not giving you time to process.
He continues kissing down your body while unbuttoning your jeans. He rips them off along with your underwear in one motion.
Jesus, fuck.
“You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you babe?”
“Yes, it’s all for you.”
He lets out a noise that can best be described as feral.
“But, um, you don’t have to do that. It’s not a big deal to me.”
The man looked up at your from between your thighs.
“Will you let me have a taste? If you say stop, I’ll stop.”
“…Okay.”
“Mmm, let me show you how a real man makes you feel.”
All apprehension and doubts you had floated away. Joel licked up both sides of your folds slowly, and you swore you could cum right then.
Your core fluttered around nothing. You needed it again and again and again. He was taking his time with you. Mapping your body out. His tongue making sure to know every inch of you.
The deeper his tongue went, the more your body relaxed. You don’t think it has ever relaxed this much.
The house filled with sinful noises. Your moans, him lapping against you, the couch cousins being gripped.
When he groaned it sent vibrations through your whole body, pushing you closer to the edge.
He went back to licking you from bottom to top. Flattening his tongue as much as possible. Leaving a kiss on your clit before going to the other side.
I love it when he does that. God.
He started to pick up his pace. Inserting his tongue as deep as it goes. Eating you out like a starved man. And he was. You were his new favorite meal. He’s perfectly fine with not getting laid tonight and doing this instead.
“Fuck please- ohh-”
He loves that he can make you sound like that. It makes his cock beg to get out of his pants.
“Joel,” you whimpered out, grabbing his hair.
“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me. You’re the sweetest fuckin thing.”
His words were sweet but his tone was filthy. It made your back arch. He knew you were close. He kicked it up a notch and inserted a finger in you.
You gasped at the size and feel. You could finally clench around something and your body was so happy.
“Fuck it feels so good! I’m close.”
I know you are
“You’re doing so good.”
He added a finger and moved them in a come hither motion.
You were done for. His calloused hands bringing you to release. He kept pumping in and out of you, getting all he could of your liquid. When he saw you regaining your breathing he removed his hand.
Laying there for a few minutes with half lidded eyes, you felt like you were on drugs. You were trying to find your composure but your body wouldn’t stop tingling.
The man who just gave you your best orgasm crawls up and appears in your view.
“Hey there sweetheart.”
He has the biggest smirk on his face, arms on either side of you. You don’t care. You’d give everything up if it meant you’d get more of his talent in your future.
“That was incredible.” You exhale
“For me, too.”
In what was becoming classic Joel Miller fashion, he presses the gentlest of kisses to your lips, then rests his forehead against yours.
“Did I wear you out?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. I have a lot planned.”
You bite your lip in anticipation.
“Oh yeah, cowboy?”
He liked the nickname.
“Yeah, but I prefer to fuck my pretty lady on my bed.”
With that he stood up and carried you bridal style to his room. It was darker in there with one orange lamp on which made the mood even more sensual. He placed you on his bed and resumed the position he was in before.
“I’m gonna make sure you feel me tomorrow, sweetheart.”
You let out a whimper. Crashing into another kiss.
It was his turn to take off clothes.
You hastily unbuttoned his flannel and threw it across the room. He would laugh at your urgency if he wasn’t just as bad.
You smooth your hand over his new bare skin. Soft with scars. You reached his belt and he pushed your hands away to do it himself. Taking the belt then his jeans off much faster than you could’ve.
You stared at his outline, unable to mask your expression. You can tell he’s big without even seeing it yet. By the smirk on his face, he knows it too. You were really boosting his ego tonight.
“You gonna gawk all night or should I take it out?”
Fuchsia creeping onto your cheeks.
“I don’t think I’ve been with anyone your caliber before.” You say meekly, still looking at his clothed cock.
He bring his face right above yours and tilts your chin so your eyes meet.
“Sweet girl, I’ll be gentle. I’ll start slow for you.”
You’re reassured. You feel safe with him.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
He brings his lips to meet yours once more. Not breaking it while he tugs off his boxers.
Your breath quickens as you get nervous again. He immediately takes notice and strokes your cheek. Caring about you in every touch.
You feel the head of his cock meet your entrance. Your head falls back against the pillows. He takes this as a sign to push in a few inches deeper.
“That’s my girl.”
Your gasps like angels singing. Your legs squeezing around me because you need more.
Joel goes like this for several minutes. Pushing in, letting you adjust, making sure he doesn’t immediately cum, then pushing again.
You needed movement. Unable to control the pleas that left your mouth.
“Joel, fuck me. I can take it. Stretch me out.”
He can’t say no to you. Especially when you’re like this.
He pulls almost completely out of you then slams back in. Going from 0 to 100. His tip touching your cervix.
He was reaching depths of you no man ever had before. You couldn’t help but be loud.
“I know baby, I know. Let it all out.”
His words made you moan even more. You’re so turned on it got caught in your throat. No one had ever talked you through it before. No one had said such dirty things to you while making you feel this good. No one has made you feel as good as you deserved.
“So good. So good for me.”
You were so wet it was seeping out of you and onto the sheets. You’ve had the briefest feel of him and are already addicted. You rolled your hips into him and hooked your legs around his waist. Instantly he groaned at the feeling.
“Just like that baby, there you go.” His low voice registered in your ear. You always admired the sound of his voice but you never thought it’d be praising you. It was a fucking drug.
He kissed you hard on the mouth and it made the little bit of your body you had control over go limp. He took this opportunity to take your hands and pin them together above your head. It turned you on so much, your back began to arch. Anyone within a ten mile radius would be able to hear you.
Joel had to focus to get a complete sentence out because of how tight you were clenched around him.
“You sound so good. I love hearing how I make my girl feel. You’re so spent on my cock, aren’t you?”
You nodded eagerly.
“Of course you are. Never truly been taken care of, have you?
“N-No.” you whimpered.
“Think you can take more of me, sweet thing?” He let your hands go so he could caress your cheek.
You were nervous but you nodded.
“Good girl.” He smirked at you when he said it. He loved how much power he had over you.
He grabs your legs and put them over his shoulder. With intense speed starts fucking you again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pulled obscene noises from your mouth.
“Oh god oh god”
“That’s my girl. I love being buried in your perfect cunt.”
Your back was arching, your fists were gripping the sheets and your clit was throbbing. Your orgasm was nearing quickly.
Your moans got higher and closer together as your legs squeezed around him.
“Words baby, use your words.”
“Fuck, I’m close. Oh I’m close, oh Joel please. It feels so fucking good.”
He knew exactly what you needed. He circled your clit with his rough thumb and continued to thrust into you hard.
“Good girl, cum for me. Cum on my cock.”
“Oh god oh god-”
You came harder than you ever have before. Leaving a mess on and beneath you. Your ears have a light ringing in them and you were seeing stars. You couldn’t even register if Joel was still near you until you felt a warm washcloth bringing you back to reality.
You opened your eyes and saw him. Someone you knew now you couldn’t live without.
He delicately rubbed one of your legs with one hand and cleaned you up with the other. Making sure you wouldn’t be uncomfortable if you fell asleep right there, which after that experience, was likely.
His actions are a huge juxtaposition to his reputation. He is not stoic and harsh and self centered. He is caring and affectionate and thoughtful.
You smiled up at him while half asleep.
“Thank you.” You managed to choke out. Your voice was half gone.
“Of course, darlin. It’s only the decent thing to do.”
He tossed the cloth on the floor and placed a soft blanket under where you both came. He’d wash the sheets later.
“No guy I’ve been with has really given me aftercare before…”
For some reason saying that was more venerable than the act you just did with him. Your face feels hot.
“You deserve so much more than what’s been given to you. And I don’t just mean with sex.”
You knew if either of you said much else you’d burst into tears. You made grabby hands at him and the two of you fell into a warm cuddle, touching as much of each others skin as possible.
“Goodnight, cowboy.”
He kisses your forehead.
“Goodnight, peach.”
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Good Girl
Pairing: Male Nurse Joel Miller x female patient reader.
Summary: the nurse in triage calls you a good girl.
Word Count: 2k
Content Warning: Joel Miller with curly hair and glasses, praise kink. Taking pills—painkillers and steroids. Implied age gap, older Joel—mid twenties reader. No outbreak.
Note: based off the sexy male nurse tonight at hospital that called me a good girl 😭 maybe it was innocent but I have a praise kink baby! Anyway, I’m high off painkillers and steroids and I’m super sick so this is probably a terrible fic. Anyway enjoy… or don’t!
You were worn from the endless beat down and busyness that work had drained you with. Your car keys in hand jingle in the silence of the night, glad you put on that ugly navy-blue hand knit old man’s sweater you’d brought from lowes. It was cold—perhaps a symptom of her sickness, or maybe it was just cold.
It was too quiet for your liking—never taking too kindly to hospitals, let alone at 10:00pm, in the complete darkness. It was silent, not one pair of footsteps, not a monitor beeping. It sets the anxiety on hold in your throat skyrocketing into nausea.
Your converse on the ugly off-white tile is comforting, at least you’re not completely alone in the eerie building. You look around the front desk, sighing in annoyance that to your surprise, there’s no one there. The box of masks and tissues occupy the space of the counter. And a sign; made by the staff.
The notice was printed on a foul-yellow in big bold writing.
“STAFF ON BREAK. GONE FOR 30 MINUTES. PLEASE SEE TRIAGE IF STAFF NOT AVAILABLE.”
Oh—okay, that’s fine. Everyone needs a break, especially healthcare workers in these dire times.
Walking back past the section of the building you’d come through initially, the permanently open sliding doors, you come to find again; no one at the triage.
But there’s no note, perhaps they’re just busy tonight. If so; why was it so silent? The ache in your ear dulled, but still caught the sound of someone shuffling in the background, through the window you could see an older lady, short with greying hair and rectangular glasses remaking a bed.
You decide to press the giant green button that says “call.” The woman notices the sound, turning the alarm off as she approaches the desk.
Her voice is irritable; like you’re interrupting the most important task of her damned life. “Can I help you?” She asks rudely.
A man in dark blue scrubs interrupts. “Are you here to see a doctor?” His voice is husky, tired sounding but still kind.
“Yes, please.” You plead tiredly, eyes dropping lazily and scoffing at how late it was, and how you’d have to be at work tomorrow.
Damn it all, right?
“Come in sweetheart.” He swipes his card on the door that’s attached to the pocket on his scrubs, unlocking the door with a beeping sound, he holds the door open for you.
“Thank you.” You wearily and slowly walk into the triage, the body aches infecting every limb of yours too to bottom.
“Just sit down here, and we’ll get some of your details. My name is Mr Miller, but you can call me Joel.” He grins cheekily.
You sit on the uncomfortable leather seat, a monitor right next to you, a second seat next to your own remains unoccupied as you arrived alone.
The details are boring, your name, birthdate, address and allergies are all rushed through quickly, although you did seem to notice how the man’s ears reddened at the sound of your name.
Great, now you’re sick and delusional.
He scoots his chair over to you, the wheels rolling along the slick floors, his legs guiding him to the monitor, he puts the cuff around your arm and checks your blood pressure.
He frowns at the result.
You refrain from looking until he’s back at his desk typing notes. That can’t be good.
“Alright, what brings you in tonight lovely?” The man’s attention was undivided. Those deep brown—chocolate eyes were watching you. It felt a little intimidating.
“I’ve had a cough for a few days, but I’m struggling to eat and drink due to how swollen my tonsils feel. There’s also an ache in my left ear.” You explain hoarsely, your voice seemed to have changed as a result of your withering condition, even had started losing your voice.
“Alright now, I’m going to check your temperature first, so I need you to slip this under your tongue, okay?” Enamoured by how soft this man’s voice was, you only nodded in compliance.
He puts a small disposable plastic cover over the thermometer and when it beeps he throws the cover in the bin and hums to himself. “Temperature is okay.”
“Just going to have a look in that ear and see if there’s anything unusual going on, just hold on tight.”
You remain patient, watching his every move, eyes veering back and forth as you watch him, noting how small the ear torch thingy looked in his hands, Christ, was that even normal?
“Ears look alright.” He states confidently. “Now I just want to check your mouth, open up wide for me.”
You comply, wordlessly, tongue hanging out of your mouth, he can’t seem to find his torch as he rummages through his things, deciding to use the torch off his phone.
A phone that seemed old school to be owned by a nurse. “Just try and relax that tongue for me.” His voice was soft, squinting as he tried to see the condition of your throat.
He jumps in thought, pulling the small pair of glasses from his top pocket, he looks so sweet with them on.
“Let’s try again, just try and relax your tongue, keep it down on the bottom of your mouth if you can.” He encouraged, “relax that tongue for me.”
He pulls away, turning the torch off on his phone.
“Sorry sweetheart I’m going to need to use the tongue compressor.” He chuckles, you let out a huff of a laugh, due to your hoarse and irritated voice.
“Sorry—I was trying to keep it still, it’s hard when you’re trying to consciously keep it from moving.”
The man walks to the other side of the room, he lets out a laugh. “It’s alright—we’ll get you sorted.”
You notice more things about him as he walks around, the half sleeve that covers his elbow. Black and grey mainly, but a cherry blossom flower in pink. Not entirely neat, the ink had faded, you could only presume it was a result of being tattooed many years ago. Perhaps before your time.
His arms were thick, muscly. The poor seams of his uniform sleeves were holding with all their might in the double stitch. His neck were thick, and even though you could only see a small portion of his chest, you notice the defined collarbones and black coarse chest hairs that come up to the base of his neck. His hair was slightly grown out, curly hair seemed free range. The grey hairs in his hair matched his patchy—but neatly shaven beard.
God he looked tired, his expression matching your own, he yawned underneath the mask he wore haphazardly. “Pardon me, it’s getting to that time of night.”
“I feel you,” you mumble, tiredness laced in every syllable.
He takes the paper wrapper off the wooden stick, holding it out as he sits back in his chair, across from you. “Just gonna hold your tongue down and get a look.” He firmly presses the stick into your mouth, holding your tongue down to prevent it blocking where he needs to see.
Your tongue seems to dispute the sudden constriction and wiggles which he laughs at.
“Good girl, thank you.” He praises, sparing a glance before wheeling back to his desk to throw the wooden stick in the bin, going back to his computer to type in his notes.
Good what now? Surely that’s not apart of a normal checkup, or procedure, right? Your whole body tingles and you feel yourself feeling warm, almost faint at his praise.
“Alright darlin, if you wanna sit in the waiting room and wait for the doctor you’ll be right in,” he gives a polite smile, you miss the way he looks you up and down. He holds the door open for you, slowly you’re able to lift your aching body off the seat that's noulded around you, offering him a small smile as you walk past him. “Thank you so much.”
You hobble to the stiff seats, taking a spot in the second row from the front—directly across from the front desk.. where typically the attendant had turned the light on and sat back down, she stares at you as she takes down her sign.
The tv was quiet, but it depicted a movie you were quite fond of; Kingsman: The Golden Circle.
Well—your love for Pedro Pascal made the movie more enjoyable.
He made a fine cowboy after all.
After a few minutes of watching the scene on the quiet tv, and snap chatting with your friends to let you know that you’d been praised by a sexy nurse, you’re called into the doctor's office. In which; the sexy nurse himself was there, assisting the doctor.
“I hear you’re not feeling too well, young lady.” The doctor was an older man, lean and tall, one white patch at the front of his otherwise untouched brown hair.
“I’m just going to check a few things out, we’ll get this all sorted for you so you can go home.” He said cheerfully.
The doctor, same as Mr Miller—Joel.. checked your mouth, tongue, ears and asked a few of the same questions. After assessing you; he finally had an answer.
“Sounds like a viral infection—we’ll get you some pain killers, steroids and a list of symptoms we’ll need you to come back for, if you experience them. I’ll be back in one moment!” The lanky doctor exclaimed.
The nurse—Joel, stayed. “Why don’t we get you seated, you don’t look well.” His large hand guides your mid-lower back, taking your hand to sit you onto the freshly made bed, the linen now tainted with your sickness.
“Thank you,” a whisper is all your aching throat can manage.
The moment is ruined by the doctor. “These are the steroids and pain relief. I forgot to ask—do you need a medical certificate?” He tilted his head, handing you the small white paper cup that had 4 pills, two large and two small. With a cup of water.
“Yes please, I’m scheduled to work tomorrow but I don’t feel fit enough to work.” You manage softly, although feeling a little embarrassed to complain about working in your condition.
Joel looked tired and stressed, yet here you were complaining. You begin swallowing the tablets, the two large first, unable to stop yourself from gagging as the pill gets lodged in your throat—the swelling of your tonsils makes it difficult to swallow.
But you manage, thank t to the encouragement of Joel. “It’s alright, easy now, don’t rush.” He croons, standing a little too close to you.
You take his advise, taking a few moments to swallow the pills and eventually you’re done. “There you go, easy now sweetheart,” he murmurs gently. Your body halts it’s shuffling to get off the bed, but the man takes your plastic and paper cup and put it in the bin for you. You’re stunned by how thoughtful and beautiful this older man was.
“Medical certificate and some pain killers to take home.” The doctor stated, interrupting your delusion, sitting them down on the work bench across from your position on the bed. “If you start to feel worse, fevers, vomiting, shortness of breath please come back.”
You stand, suppressing a groan as your stiff ankles hold the ache for your weight. “Thank you so much. Have a good evening.”
He bids his farewells, and you pick up your paperwork and medication, noting how once again, the nurse is holding the door open for you, the stronger man gives you a soft smile.
“Feel better sweetheart. Don’t hesitate to come back. Want you looked after, yeah?” It sounded like a coo, like he was pleading for your condition to improve.
“Thank you for all your help.” You muster, feeling better already thanks to the fast working medication.
“See you around.” His hand brushed against your lower back as you walk past. “Have something to eat when you get home, won’t you?”
Your cheeks felt inflamed, not from sickness, but bashfulness. “I’ll do that.” You promised, making your exit out of that stale smelling room. Your stomach grumbled, as if it also wished to comply to this man’s sweet demands.
The only thought of that handsome man on your mind, was she imagining things.. surely not?
Either way, your immune system was no good, it was almost a guarantee you’d be back sooner or later.. you just hoped, nurse Joel Miller would be on the clock to assist you back to health.
#pedro pascal#Joel miller#Joel miller hbo#Joel miller fic#Joel miller x you#Joel miller nurse x patient reader#Joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem reader#joel miller praise kink#old man joel miller#this is garbage sorry#I’m drugged up and sick#stay delulu#the last of us
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Waiting Game
Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.
Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.
Part 2 | Part 3
“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.
At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.
“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”
Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.
All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.
From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.
Joel frowned.
“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.
“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”
That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.
Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.
“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”
“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.
He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.
You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.
“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.
But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.
His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.
“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”
In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.
“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.
“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.
“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”
Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.
A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.
You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.
“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.
Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.
You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.
Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.
Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.
Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.
The police officer hadn’t bought it.
He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.
You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.
Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.
This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.
But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.
“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.
“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”
He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.
“Needin’ a room?”
The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.
“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.
“Smoking or non?”
“Smoking, please.”
Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.
“King or two Queens?”
“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.
At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.
“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”
No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.
“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”
The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.
“Alright.”
Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.
Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.
He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,
“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”
You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.
You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.
You turned back to Joel.
“Here you go, Daddy.”
In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.
“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”
In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.
If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.
A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.
Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.
He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.
Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.
He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.
So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.
He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.
Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.
To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.
Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.
Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.
Fuck, he needed a shower.
Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.
You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’
But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.
Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.
All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.
That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.
For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.
Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.
Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.
Fuck this.
He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.
And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.
You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.
“Sofa’s broke,” you said.
Joel blinked.
“Broke?”
You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.
The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.
“You can sleep there.”
Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.
“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”
“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”
Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.
Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.
“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”
Fuck.
“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.
“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”
By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.
“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.
“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”
Joel swallowed.
“Tails, what?”
“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”
Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”
Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.
“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”
“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”
You raised both brows, mildly amused.
“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.
“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.
Joel tensed under your touch.
“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.
It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.
“What game?” he asked.
“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”
“Too Hot?”
“You heard me.”
“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”
Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.
The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.
Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.
“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.
He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.
“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”
Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,
“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”
To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.
“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”
“Huh?”
“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”
Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.
And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.
You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.
“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.
“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.
“I bet you will.”
The man was a menace when he had the will to be.
At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.
“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.
“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.
Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.
His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.
Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.
“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”
Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.
“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”
“Twenty since I felt one this good.”
You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.
It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.
Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.
Even through the towel, he felt huge.
You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.
“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.
“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.
All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.
He peered down at you with a curious look.
“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.
You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.
You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.
“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.
Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.
“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.
You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.
“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”
Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.
“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”
Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.
“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”
Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.
You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.
“Joel.”
Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.
“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”
Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.
Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.
Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.
“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”
“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”
“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”
So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.
Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.
“Touch me, Joel, please.”
His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.
“Nah.”
Curt and cruel as ever. Then:
“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”
He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.
“Motherfucker.”
“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”
And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,
“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”
It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.
At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.
You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.
And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.
A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.
While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.
“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.
“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”
“Out.”
This motherfucker.
“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”
Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.
“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”
Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.
You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.
“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.
“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”
“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”
You stared him down, incredulous.
So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.
“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”
You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.
You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.
You were still hungry as shit.
Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.
You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.
By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.
You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.
You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.
Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.
What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.
You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’
Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.
In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.
You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.
Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.
You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.
Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.
“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.
You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.
You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,
“Like this?”
“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.
A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.
The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.
Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.
Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.
Well.
You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.
You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.
You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.
“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.
“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.
Daddy?
There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.
“Y’all been spying on us?”
“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.
You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.
“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.
It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.
“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.
“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.
You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.
Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.
“We’re about out.” Micah announced.
Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.
“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.
You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”
“Do I?”
You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.
He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.
“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”
The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.
“You think so?” you hummed.
“I do. I really do.”
“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.
“Wyatt can fight.”
Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.
“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”
Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.
“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”
“Six.”
“Fifteen at least.”
You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.
This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.
“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.
“Twenty.”
“Honey?”
The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.
It was Joel, of course.
Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.
Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.
“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.
Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.
‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.
Instinctively, you recoiled.
“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.
“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.
He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.
“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.
Joel raised both eyebrows.
“No?”
His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.
“Fuck no,” you answered.
A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,
“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”
“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”
No one moved.
Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.
Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.
“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.
“You’re a brat,” he fired back.
In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.
“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”
“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”
Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.
“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”
Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?
“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”
“If that’s what you—”
“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”
Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.
“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.
You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.
Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.
So you took off running.
Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.
You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.
“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.
Fat chance, Miller.
You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.
Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.
Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.
It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.
“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.
“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”
You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.
Then he pulled you over his lap.
Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.
“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”
You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.
“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.
Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.
“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.
Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,
“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”
You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.
“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.
Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.
“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.
Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,
“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”
You fuck with my head.
Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.
“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”
You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.
“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.
“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”
At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.
Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.
“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,
“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”
It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.
Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.
“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”
His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.
“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.
By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.
“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”
Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.
You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.
“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.
No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.
Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.
“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”
At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.
“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”
Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.
He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.
“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.
“Yeah.”
“How high?”
“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.
“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.
“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.
It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.
You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.
“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”
The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.
He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.
“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.
“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.
“Cobwebs and all.”
Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.
“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.
“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.
“So Prohibition-coded.”
“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”
You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.
At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.
Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’
No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.
No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.
Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.
“Good?”
“Great.”
You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.
“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”
“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.
His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.
“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.
The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.
In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.
When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.
Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—
“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”
Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.
“Joel, please,” you begged him.
“Baby, I’m—”
About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.
“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”
On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:
Dad 💙
Fuck.
FUCK.
Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.
You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.
Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.
“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.
Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.
“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”
But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.
It stopped.
Then started again.
The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.
It stopped once more.
The screen stayed black.
You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.
Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.
“Answer,” you hissed.
“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.
“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”
Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.
“He-e-y man.”
You were so fucking dead.
Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.
“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”
A beat.
“She’s good, she’s good.”
For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”
“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”
“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”
You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.
When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.
You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.
At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.
“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”
You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.
The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.
Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.
“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”
You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,
“This is not a fucking game.”
He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.
In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.
Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.
By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.
When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.
The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.
His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.
The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.
“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.
“Joel,” you choked.
Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.
With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.
“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.
He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’
“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”
Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.
He couldn’t finish off like this.
Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.
Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.
He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,
“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”
Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.
You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:
“Hey, dad!”
Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.
Might as well make it fun while it lasts.
“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”
Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.
You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.
He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.
Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.
“My sweet girl.”
“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”
“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”
From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.
“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.
At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.
“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”
The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.
“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.
Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.
“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”
As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.
He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.
So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.
He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.
You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.
You covered the mouthpiece.
“I can’t, Joel.”
“Sure you can, sugar.”
“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.
Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:
“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”
Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.
“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”
You didn’t need much more instigation than that.
You came. He followed.
And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.
Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.
Until it was in you.
Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.
You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.
“Did it…”
“What?”
“Joel!”
You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.
“JOEL!”
“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”
Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.
“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”
Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.
“What’s…ovulating?”
You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.
There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.
“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”
That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.
“Where are you going?!”
“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”
Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.
“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.
“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.
Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.
“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”
Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.
As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.
Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.
“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.
Joel turned his head and almost groaned.
Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.
Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.
Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:
“I’m not actually her dad!”
All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:
“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”
#NO ONE SPEAK TO ME FOR AT LEAST A WEEK#THIS IS DISGUSTING#I AM DISGUSTING#DO NOT PERCEIVE ME PLEASEJE HAHAHAHAH#brain rot ❤️#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller smut#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#the last of us#tlou#the last of us fic#joel miller x you#dbf!joel
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Swelter
A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.
Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.
Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (no y/n)
Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting
Word count: 6.8k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479
Swelter
A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.
Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.
You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.
“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.
“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.
“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”
Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.
“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”
“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”
“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”
“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.
“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.
“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”
“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”
“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.
“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.
“See?” Joel looks triumphant.
“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.
When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.
You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.
Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).
This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.
Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.
Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.
One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.
The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.
“Sarah, I need—“
You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.
Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.
And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.
“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.
God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.
“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.
“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”
“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”
You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.
“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”
“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”
The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.
“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.
In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.
“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.
“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”
“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.
“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”
You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.
The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”
Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”
“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”
“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”
So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.
A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.
You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.
He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.
With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.
That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.
Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”
“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.
“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.
“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.
“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.
Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.
Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”
“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”
“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”
“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”
“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”
“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”
It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.
“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.
“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”
This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.
However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.
“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”
“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.
“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”
“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.
His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.
In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.
When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.
He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.
Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.
“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.
“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”
“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”
With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.
“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”
“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”
“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.
When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.
“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”
“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”
“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.
“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.
When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”
Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.
God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”
“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.
“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.
“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“
He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.
You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.
“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”
“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.
Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”
“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”
He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”
You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.
“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.
“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.
Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.
The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.
However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.
“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.
You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.
“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“
“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”
His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.
“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.
“Wrong word,” he replies.
You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”
He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.
Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.
Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.
“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.
“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.
The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”
“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.
“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”
“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.
“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.
“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”
“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.
He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”
“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.
.
.
.
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#pedro pascal characters#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#the last of us#my writing#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal smut#joel tlou#joel the last of us#joel miller imagine#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel miller the last of us
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Starin' Problem.
pairing: dbf!no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader
summary: a red dress and a glass of whiskey is all it took for Joel to lose every ounce of self control he once had.
warnings: porn no plot, female pronouns, age gap (both consenting adults), unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, slight creep joel, daddy kink, breeding kink...,mean joel, dirty talk, praise!!!, no use of y/n or descriptions of reader, not proofread
word count: 1.3k words
recommended listening: granite by sleep token
authors note: i'm pretty sure I had planned for this to take place at reader's parent's wedding but i never specified so it's just some fancy event they planned lmfao, enjoy <333
“Quit starin’.” Your father whispered into Joel’s ear, following his eyes to you, his daughter, across the room. “Let's not have a problem tonight.”
“I ain’t.” Joel grunted, taking a sip of the whiskey in his hand as he continued to watch you. “We won’t have any problems.”
He’d spent most of the night trying to decide if you’d worn any underwear under the dress, with a slit that ended right under your hip he was convinced you weren’t but then you’d turn a specific way and he swore he could make out a line. The low neckline left nothing to the imagination and only added to the torture you were putting Joel through at the hands of fashion, he never knew he could be so turned on by someone your age but here he was with a rock hard cock, staring like a creep.
“Whoever that guy with your dad is has been staring at you all night.” One of the girls you’d been standing with spoke, a hint of jealousy in her voice.
You turned your head around, making eye contact with Joel, and looking him up and down. You couldn’t deny the attraction you had for him, and the dark red suit your father had picked out to match the same red of the dresses your mom had picked out wasn’t helping at all. He looked you up and down before making eye contact with you again, taking another sip of his whiskey, and twirling a finger around.
“Joel? He’s probably on a secret mission to keep an eye on me.” You joked, acting like you had stepped on your dress as an excuse to spin around without anyone suspecting anything.
“He can keep an eye on me.” A different girl responded, giggling as they continued to joke about him.
He could’ve orgasmed right then and there as you spun around, the two of you hadn’t spoken all night and yet here you were entertaining him. His glass of whiskey was almost empty, if he played his cards right maybe he’d be able to get you alone, away from the annoying girls you’d been around all night.
You watched him glance at his glass before heading off to what you assumed was the kitchen, he hadn’t made any signal for you to follow but this was your moment.
“What would my dear father think if he knew his best friend was eyeing up his daughter?” You whispered, coming up behind Joel and dragging your nails down his back.
“Does his dear daughter care?” Joel whispered back, setting his glass down and turning around to face you. “Seemed like you quite enjoyed it.”
He trailed a finger over the neckline of your dress, hooking it under the fabric and exposing one of your breasts. A low groan escaped his throat, accompanied by him fixing his suit pants. His fingers found your nipple, rolling and tugging it slightly.
“Seems to me you’re enjoying it a whole bunch.” He chuckled, using his other hand to tilt your chin up, leaning down so your lips were inches apart.
“Fuck, Joel-”
He smashed his lips against yours, swallowing every whimper escaping your lips, pulling the other side of your dress down to expose both breasts. Your hands made quick work of unbuttoning his suit jacket, pulling it off of him and throwing it on the floor, before moving to his dress shirt.
“Naughty girl, lettin’ some old man touch you in a kitchen at your parent’s party.” He spoke against your lips, shoving your dress down to your hips and taking a step back to admire you. “God you’re fuckin’ pretty.”
“Joel, please.” You whined, grabbing at the last few buttons left on his shirt desperately as if it was going to get them unbuttoned faster.
“I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already beggin’. Fuckin’ whore.” He chuckled, helping you unbutton his shirt and tossing it to the side with his jacket. “Need some dick, huh?”
You shook your head, shoving the rest of the dress over your hips and onto the floor, grabbing his head and smashing your lips back together. His fingers danced their way down your skin, memorizing every bump and curve in the chance that he wouldn’t get to do this again, making their way under your thighs and lifting you onto the counter behind him.
He trailed a finger up and down your folds, gathering your wetness and bringing it to his mouth, groaning at the taste. The sensation of his finger slowly pushing in and out was so overwhelming, you were practically floating on cloud nine and there was nothing you’d change about it.
“Tell me how bad you want it.” Joel rasped, lips pressed up against your ear, removing the rest of his clothing. “Tell daddy how bad you need it.”
“Daddy, please…fuck- need it so bad.” Your words were barely audible, desperate and whiny.
The feeling of his cock pushing inside of you had you throwing your head back, hand slapped over your mouth to muffle any and all noise he’d pull out of you. He pulled back out slowly, watching your pussy grip his cock as he pushed back in. Forbidden sex had never felt so good, he’d find any and every reason to visit you after tonight if he could experience this again. His beard scratched against your neck as he bent over, pulling your body closer to him, sucking and biting at the skin he could reach.
“God, I could make you a fuckin’ mom.” Joel groaned, leaning his head further into the crook of your neck. “Look so fuckin’ pretty, full of my babies.”
“Daddy-”
“That’s right, say my name, baby.” He switched the arm that was bearing your weight and brought the newly freed hand to your hair, tugging it back enough so he could see your face.
His hips pistoned in and out, cock reaching places you didn’t even know it could, but if you told him that he’d make a joke about you not sleeping with a real man like him. He placed wet kisses down your neck and all the way down to your nipples, sucking on them in turns.
“Joel, please, I’m so close..” You cried, eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill at any moment.
“That’s too damn bad, because that’s not my name.” He chuckled, evilly, wiping away the tears that had slid down your cheeks. “Try again, I know you can do it, baby.”
“Daddy, daddy please.”
“Good girl.”
He brought his thumb down to your clit, drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts, coaxing your orgasm right out of you. You slumped into him as it hit you, body shaking as it made its way through you. He continued to thrust into you, chasing his own white, hot high. Your small whimpers as you came back to the world was enough to send Joel over the edge, painting your insides a nice milky white. His own body slumping into yours as he recovered from the pleasure.
“Did such a good job, darlin’.” He praised, smoothing your hair down as you continued your way out of cloud nine. “Did so good for me.”
You gave him a weak smile, smoothing the hairs that were stuck to his sweaty forehead back to their spot. He sat you back down on the counter and filled his glass up with water before handing it to you, the aftertaste of whiskey was enough to perk you right up.
Joel helped you back into your dress, fixing your hair to cover the hickeys that were soon to appear, sliding your underwear back up but making sure to push his cum back inside of you before sliding them all the way up.
“C’mon, we got speeches to make.”
#maddies fics#joel miller fluff#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller#joel tlou#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#tlou hbo#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#pedro x reader#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fandom
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hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader
masterlist : coach!joel masterlist
pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader
summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach.
warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n]
word count: 6.4k
a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.
You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.
Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.
Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax.
No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.
So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.
You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.
The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.
Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?
The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing.
You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.
Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.
The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.
Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.
You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.
Bingo.
Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.
You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.
You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.
And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.
It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.
His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.
You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from — Lucas.
TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.
A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky.
That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.
Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.
He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.
“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”
Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.
Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”
Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.
He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”
You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining.
“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”
“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”
Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.
Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already.
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.
“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.
Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”
You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.
“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.
He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”
He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down.
“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”
There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.
You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”
You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”
“Knew that already,” you mumble.
He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”
You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.
“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”
He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.
The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.
“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.
Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…”
When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”
“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.
“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.
He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.
You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”
With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”
“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee.
“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.
You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”
The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.
“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”
“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head.
“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.”
Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”
“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.
You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”
Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.
“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel.
Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.
“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.
Then — he stops.
His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?”
"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."
You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.
Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”
“Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”
You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.
“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.
“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.
You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips.
“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.
Oh.
It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.
He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.
“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become.
A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”
If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.
“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.
When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.
“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.
“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”
“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel.
“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.
“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”
He doesn’t make you wait any longer.
When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily.
“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.
“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him.
His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.
“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”
“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”
Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is.
Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!”
“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”
“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.
His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.
“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.
If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.
“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”
With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.
Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”
And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”
Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.
With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.
And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.
“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.
You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”
When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.
Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?
Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”
Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.
#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller/reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller/f! reader#joel miller x you#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic
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Red Light [landlord!joel miller]
The men you keep bringing home are no good for you. It's up to your landlord Joel to protect you from heartbreak.
my masterlist!
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+ (mdni)
tags and warnings: AU - no outbreak/modern day, obsessive!joel, dark!joel, but also soft!joel, landlord!joel, violence, death, murder, stalking, jealousy, truly creepy behaviour, unprotected sex (lead by example; just not mine), creampie, dubious consent, reader’s serious lack of self-preservation, sexual tension, abuse of power, spanking, spitting, squirting, praise kink, degradation kink, joel is a munch, somnophilia, possessive behaviour, dirty talk, a smidgen of gaslighting, the general filth you should expect from me by now, a spoonful of genuine intimate connection™️, implied age gap, submissive reader, dominant joel, daddy kink, knives, mild torture, light anal play, voyeurism, unreliable narration, inappropriate use of a necklace, panty sniffing, ambiguous(?) ending
word count: ~ 15.8k (uh, oops!)
read on ao3!
hello, all! this fic has been tossing and turning inside the proverbial sheets of my head for a while now. when i tell you it's darker than anything i've written, i mean it, so please, please mind the tags. this story does not depict a healthy relationship; joel is a total creep and both he and reader are heavily delusional. with that said, please enjoy this (super long) one-shot!! xoxo
PREFACE
Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires.
— Macbeth, I.IV
~
THE TENANT
You're beginning to think it’s a built-in bad luck charm. A microchip implanted in your skin or a flaw you have yet to pick out. Every single one of your prospective boyfriends has disappeared off the face of the Earth since you moved into town.
It isn't you. It's not. There is nothing wrong with you. It isn't your fault that either they decide after one date that you aren't worth seeing again, or they stand you up before the date can even begin. Your profile pictures are decent. You followed the rules meticulously: a shot of your face, a group picture to show you have friends, a selfie, a candid. You've examined them time and time again for flaws and find none that a man would care about. You're pretty. Sexy. Confident. They're just intimidated. Fuck, you're turning into your mother.
And yet—
Since moving into this apartment—this beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime deal of an apartment—your luck with dating has abruptly ended.
It's a lovely building. A stout brownstone with wrought-iron stairs and an old, but functional, elevator, it's traditional and charming. Perfect for a single woman.
Six months. This is your first second date in six months. David is just fine. He's handsome in a frat-initiate kind of way, with a nice smile and a good sense of dress. He doesn't ask many questions about you, and he's a little pretentious about films you don't give a shit about, but he likes you. You didn't have a horrible time on the first date: he wasn't afraid to spend his money on you at the nice restaurant. And he has a car.
Raised as an optimist, you learned to see the good parts of a situation. David can work out.
On the way out of the elevator, you spot your landlord Joel speaking to the concierge. You instinctively smooth down your hair and wave at him as you walk by, shrugging your purse onto your shoulder. “Hi, Joel. Hi, Sam.”
Sam the concierge waves back, but Joel puts his back to the conversation and gives you his full attention, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk. Your heart leaps and your head goes fuzzy with nerves. You barely manage to force a giddy giggle back down your throat. Relief coats your bones when Sam excuses himself to take a call.
Joel Miller’s an older guy, his tousled dark hair threaded with silver on his head and in his beard. One look at him and a person could know that he works with his hands for a living; he’s broad-shouldered, strong, with big arms and a capable air about him. He’s proven his mettle a hundred times over already with the miniscule repairs he’s made to the building. He turned it into a good place to live; he even trims the hedges outside and polishes the doorknobs when they get rusty.
He’s wearing a green T-shirt today, which is another member of the typical summertime circulation of blue and grey T-shirts, and a pair of jeans. “Evening,” he says, his rich brown eyes sparkling. Sometimes, you can see him smile when his mouth isn’t showing it. It’s charming. Enthralling. “How’s that new lock workin’ out for you?”
You grin. He remembered. Joel installed a new deadbolt on your door last week, since the chain on the last one broke. “It’s perfect,” you tell him. “Are you in a chocolate or lemon mood this time?”
His gaze flickers down your body, taking in your yellow dress, before meeting yours again. “Lemon,” he says.
You bite the inside of your cheek. Talking to a handsome man feels like tossing your heart in the air and trying to juggle. Flirting with a handsome man is like toeing a tightrope between two mountains and forcing yourself not to look down. Your stomach swoops with the path of his eyes over your body, and you cannot convince yourself that you imagined it. “Lemon squares it is. Thank you again, Joel.”
“Just my job to keep my tenants safe,” he says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. You can see a pair of keys in his pocket along with his cell phone. The mere sight of his belt makes your cheeks hot. Why are you looking at his belt? You’re going on a date with another man, for God’s sake. Relax.
“Helps when I like my tenants so much,” adds Joel, and you forget why you were scolding yourself in the first place.
“Yeah?” You tilt your head to the side. “Maybe you should be baking for them, instead.”
Joel steps away from the desk, working his jaw as he seems to fight down a smile. “It’s for the best this way, believe me. Can’t cook for shit.”
“Big, strong man like you can’t work a stove?” you tease. Don’t look down.
“I only fix ‘em.” There’s a crooked smile on his face now, and your heart beats your ribs to shrapnel. “You look real nice. Goin’ somewhere?”
That simple validation calms your nerves more effectively than a half-hour of repeating affirmations into the mirror before leaving your apartment. You give the skirt of your sundress a little swish. “A date, actually,” you say, feeling sheepish. Your landlord certainly doesn’t need to hear about your track record as of late. “He’s taking me to Sunfest, in the park.”
A minute twitch of his brow is the only reaction he gives to the news. “That so?” he says. “Lucky man.”
“More like lucky me,” you say with a small laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. Stop talking, you plead to yourself. Too much information. Shut up, kindly excuse yourself, and leave.
Joel shakes his head, and now is the first time you notice that his eyes haven’t once left you. It warms your body. “He’s the lucky one. Trust me.”
“Okay. I concede.” You chew on your lip for a moment and, sure enough, his gaze hones in on your mouth. The air in the lobby crackles white-hot. You clear your throat, turning your head to find David’s car parked on the street outside. “I should go. But I promise I’ll get started on those lemon squares soon.”
It’s a possibility that you only imagine Joel’s eyes flitting from the car outside back to you when you turn your head back to face him. “Do me a favour?” he says, a scrape to his deep drawl.
“Anything, Joel.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Be safe,” he says. “You have my number if anything goes wrong.”
You give him a grateful smile. “I’ll be safe, Joel. And if I’m not, you’re the first person I’ll call.”
“Good. That’s…” He trails off, still watching you, his eyes trained in their path across your face. “You’re good. Smart, beautiful, good. You deserve to have somethin’ real.”
The simple, small praises melt your bone marrow and recast it in the shape of him. The old chandelier hanging from the ceiling casts him in a soft light, stark against the hard muscles and profound depths in his eyes. He's breathtaking. You've always known it, but…
He sees something in you, too.
David honks his horn and makes you jump out of your stupor. You walk backwards out of the lobby just to keep looking at Joel for as long as you can. “For the record,” you say, “you’re a good man, Joel.”
“Don’t be so sure, honey,” he replies, his tone playful.
You laugh, hurrying out to David’s car as the door closes behind you.
“This place is beautiful,” you said to Sam, the concierge working the front desk of your prospective apartment. The appropriate paperwork was in your arms, your eyes scanning every inch of the old building. Of all the places you'd seen in and around the neighbourhood, this was the most promising. You hoped to get a glimpse at a unit before you signed, though. Assuming the landlord even wanted you to live here.
Sam smiled at you. “Lots of people just see the cracks.”
“There's so much character,” you replied, admiring the crystal chandelier. The walls were a calming, aged white, the floors genuine hardwood. The lobby was decorated with plush chairs upholstered with burnt orange fabric, the corners filled with real potted plants.
The door opened behind you, and you turned to see a handsome stranger, dressed in a pair of dirty jeans and mud-caked shirt, wiping his forehead with his forearm. Behind you, Sam said, “This is Joel Miller. The landlord.”
“Oh!” You were flustered, floundering to stretch out your hand to shake as you introduced yourself. “I’m sorry to catch you at a bad time. This building is gorgeous. You've done a great job with it, Mr. Miller.”
The landlord did not once look at Sam, his eyes fixed solely on you as he wiped a hand on the cloth slung over his shoulder and shook your hand. His hand engulfed yours, warm and rough. The touch jolted you like an electric shock. Your hands must have been clammy and shaking with nerves, but the contact steeled you.
The intensity of his gaze, however, made you shift on your feet. He didn't waver, didn't stray, like a man set on a mission. Nothing about him was shy. He drank in the sight of you, indulging without shame, his eyes travelling to the next destination once they'd had their fill. It made you feel stripped to the bone.
“It's nice to meet you,” he said. “Sorry for the dirt. Just finished weeding.”
You shook your head in dismissal. “You really take care of this place.”
“It's good work,” he said plainly. “Serves me well. I like gettin’ my hands dirty, fixin’ things.”
“Where were you when my sink broke every week at my old place?”
“Fixing the sinks in this one.”
You laughed. “Well, for what it's worth, the outside is beautiful, too. Not a weed in sight.”
“Pleased to hear it,” said Joel, his dark eyes glittering under the chandelier.
“You're from Texas!” you said suddenly. Oh, God, kill me now. I sound like a stalker.
But Joel smiled, a raspy laugh leaving his mouth. You wondered if he laughed often. He looked like a serious man. “You familiar?”
“I was born there,” you supplied. “Left when I was young, but my dad lived there all his life.”
“Lookin’ good on you already,” he said. “It’ll be nice havin’ another one of us around.”
“Does that mean you're considering me?” you couldn't help but ask. Fuck, you wanted this apartment.
“I've already considered,” said Joel, his eyes sweeping your body. “You're the only applicant.”
Your hands were trembling and your heart thrummed with excitement. “Oh, God, thank you!” you gasped. “Joel, thank you.”
You could swear his chest swelled a bit at your graciousness. “I can show you the unit, if you’d like. It needs some TLC, but I’m happy to help with the process as best I can. Unless you have someone to…”
You realised what he was hinting at and shook your head. “Oh, no, it’s just me. I’d love to take a look.”
You noted the slight drop of his shoulders and followed him into the elevator. A part of you was surprised to see there was no gate that closed you in; they were plain, somewhat modern elevator doors. “Fixed it last month,” Joel said, looking sideways at you. “Just in time, apparently.”
You grinned at him, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Nice to see there's no creepy operator in here.”
“Just me.” He punched the button for the third floor and rode with you to the top.
This was the start of your new life.
You shut the passenger’s side door and situate yourself inside David’s Lincoln. He’s dressed in a pair of black shorts and a clean Henley. “Hey, beautiful,” he says, leaning in to kiss you across the console.
You hum, smiling against his mouth. “You clean up nice, too.”
He places a hand on your thigh and pulls away from the curb. He's a touchy person, which is perfectly fine considering how long your latest dry spell has lasted, but at least he isn't inching his way up your dress to cop a feel while he drives.
The festival is bustling with people, tented stands, and the smell of fried dough and beer. It’s almost dinnertime, and your stomach growls. When was the last time you ate? You spent hours agonising over what to wear until you were sweating and had to shower all over again. You wish you’d snuck an apple into your purse.
David pulls you into him as you both walk through the winding paths between vendors. “It’s a beautiful night,” you say breezily.
David squeezes your waist. “Mmm. You’re beautiful.”
A bit too corny for your taste, but you let it slide. “Don't tell me you're allergic to powdered sugar, because I’ve been eyeing the elephant ears.”
“God, if I eat that shit, I think it’ll set me back a month at the gym,” he laughs. “Let’s get one for you, though.”
Great. Now you're the expensive date who eats while her date watches her stuff her mouth with an elephant ear. “Uh. Maybe later.”
You stop at a jewellery vendor and spend a good while eyeing up a beautiful gold necklace and the heart-shaped pendant dangling from it. David doesn’t notice your staring and breezes by with your hand firmly in his. “Let's check out the grand stand. My buddy’s band is playing before the fireworks display.”
“Sure,” you say, turning your head to watch the necklace disappear slowly from view.
The gigantic domed stage houses a group of musicians currently tuning up their instruments. David sidles right up to the front and releases your hand to execute an elaborate handshake with his friend, who’s fine-tuning his bass.
“Hey, man,” greets the bass player. “Good to see you. Who’s this?”
You open your mouth to introduce yourself, stretching your hand out, but David says, “My date for tonight. Baby, this is Ray, of Uncontrolled Bleeding fame.”
The bass player shakes your hand politely. “Very nice to meet you.”
Because it doesn’t seem to matter much to David, you decide it’s worth the time to tell Ray your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Ray. I’m excited to hear you play.”
Not that you've ever heard of a band called Uncontrolled Bleeding. Still, Ray seems nice enough, and you're on a date. You should give them a chance.
David squeezes your waist and kisses you lightly on the temple. “You mind if I go backstage for a bit to say hi to the other guys? Won’t be long.”
What?
“Oh!” you manage to eke out over the great swooping nosedive your heart has just performed. He’s here to see his friends. He’s not on a date. “Of course. Take your time. I’ll just… walk around.”
David departs with Ray for a personal backstage tour while you bite down on your tongue and turn back in the direction of the main strip. A few vendors catch your attention, and you take your time because God knows David is taking his. A little bit of you revels in your own petty victory when, a half-hour later, Uncontrolled Bleeding begins to blare their metallic, screaming anthems across the park and you haven’t returned to the grand stand.
You find your way back to the jewellery vendor to ponder over your favourite necklace some more, but your night gets worse when you find that it’s disappeared from the headless display mannequin. You solemnly slide your wallet back into your bag and pause when you hear your phone ringing.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” It’s David’s voice, presumably, though it’s so loud on the other end of the line that you can barely make out his words. “I can’t… where… left?”
You plug one ear and look vaguely in the direction of the grand stand across the park. “I can’t hear you very well, David.”
“… afterparty… downtown… going… Uber home?”
You press your lips together and look down at the ground: at your pretty sandals, your new dress. Your entirely wasted potential on a guy who wanted you to find your own way home. “Yeah, David,” you say tightly. You don’t particularly care if he can hear you. “You have fun with your friends.”
“Can’t hear… talk later… okay?”
You hang up and wander back toward the vendor selling elephant ears.
~
“Miller.”
“Hi, Joel.”
“Honey, it’s loud. Can barely hear you. Are you safe?”
“I’m safe, Joel, I promise. It’s just—Uncontrolled Bleeding.”
“What?”
“No, I mean, the band. They’re really loud. I hate to ask, and I know it’s late, but—”
“What do you need?”
“I, uh… I need a ride home. I can’t get a cab, and all the Ubers around are taken, and the busses are rerouted all the way—”
“I’m comin’ to get you. You just wait for me at the entrance, okay, baby girl?”
“Thank you, Joel.”
“You know I said you could call me for anything. I meant it.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Oh! Wait—”
“What? What is it?”
“Do you want an elephant ear?”
~
Joel is white-knuckling the steering wheel when he arrives to pick you up. Despite the congestion around the festival grounds and the fact that your apartment is at least fifteen minutes away, Joel makes it to you in a mere five.
“Did you blow every red light to get here, Mr. Miller?” you ask with a playful smile as you secure your seatbelt and settle on the truck bench.
“I was in the area,” he says with a crooked smile, looking your way. “May have pushed forty a couple times, though.”
You sheepishly extend a cardboard takeout box filled with fried, powdered dough. “Will you take this as my sincere thanks, or will you expect a separate batch of lemon squares?”
Joel answers by dipping his head and taking a bite of the flattened, doughy bread. You watch every minute movement, his strong jaw working as he chews, indulging you even though he’s already done far too much to get you out of this rut. He doesn’t once break eye contact while he eats; you begin to chew subconsciously on your bottom lip.
“Ain’t bad,” he declares at last, and your shoulders deflate with a kind of relief, “but if you let me take you for some real dinner, I’ll forget about that extra batch.”
You tentatively reach for his mouth and swipe some powdered sugar from his moustache with the pad of your thumb. You feel his eyes scanning your face all the while. “Look at me, the lucky girl,” you say softly. “One date goes wrong, and there’s a strong, handsome man waiting to take me on another.”
From the very first day, Joel Miller has always taken his time when it comes to looking at you. It’s a penetrative stare that makes your skin heat up from the tips of your ears down to your chest. His eyes are so dark, pools of warm melted sugar, and you feel yourself leaning, trancelike, slow, into that cavernous gaze. Your body is not your own. It seeks the subtle warmth, the familiar scent—sawdust, coffee beans, rich, dark cologne—and the violent torrent of sensation that erupts from the contact point when he cups your cheek in one hand.
You’re in the throes of attention, warm as a candle weeping fat waxen tears.
“Told you before,” says Joel, his thumb sweeping fondly across your chin, “you deserve somethin’ real.”
“Yeah,” you sigh happily, feeling all-too complacent under the touch of his rough palm, “maybe I do.”
Behind you, a car honks its horn, and Joel curses, pulling away from the curb. He takes you to Turner’s, a bar by campus that would be crawling with students if it weren’t for the festival. Joel comes around to the passenger’s door and opens it for you, helping you hop out with your hand enclosed in his. His palm is a steady weight on your back as you both walk inside the dim, stuffy bar.
The back is bustling with activity—drunk folks playing pool or watching the Huskies’ football game or splitting their attention between both—but the bar itself has enough spaces open to fit the two of you. Here, the light is burnt orange, and it makes the strands of grey in his hair shimmer gold. His eyes observe his surroundings with a military precision before they flit back to you, magnetic.
“Shame to waste this dress on that asshole,” says Joel, sweeping his gaze down, back up, barely perceptible. “You’re too goddamn pretty for any of ‘em.”
You’re deliciously abuzz with the incisive way he compliments you. It feels like being punctured down to your very soul; you will never forget the shape of the stain his words leave. “Do you spy on all my dates, Joel?”
He smirks. “Don’t need to spy on ‘em, baby. They’re a bunch of obnoxious kids.”
You huff, resting your cheek against your palm. “I just don’t get it. I thought David was just fine. Then, he takes me on a date just to abandon me for his friends and tell me to find my own way home.”
Joel shakes his head, scoffing as he runs his fingers through his beard. He does that when he’s frustrated sometimes, and you wonder if his hair is soft or coarse. “Piece of shit doesn't know how good he got it.”
“You must know something I don’t,” you say mirthlessly, watching the bartender approach from the other end of the long honey-oak block. “I haven't been able to get a second date since I moved in.”
Joel is silent, eyes still firmly fixed to you, until the bartender arrives, a charming middle-aged woman with a particular Texan twang you could recognise from a mile away. “What’ll it be, Joel?” she asks, giving him a sweet dimpled smile. “Hi, honey. This old man botherin’ you?”
“Only in a nice way,” you reply, squeezing his shoulder.
Joel hides his grin with a swipe of his fingers over his bottom lip. “Coffee for me, Rina. Drivin’ home.”
Rina’s eyes slide to you, and you ask for the same. You don't want to drink alone. She reappears moments later with two small, chipped mugs of dark roast in her hands. Setting them in front of you, she takes your food orders: a BLT for Joel and a veggie burger for yourself. It’s almost ten o’clock now, too late to eat, but your eyes droop sleepily and your stomach growls for a taste of real food. The powdered dough, shockingly, did not suffice.
“You ever miss Texas?” Joel asks once you're halfway into your respective meals. You notice that he only digs into his sandwich when you aren't eating, and abstains briefly to watch while you take your bites. It's an exchange of energy, a steady vigil by your side, the hypnotic pull of his warm body. You cannot scoot any closer to him, but your leg brushes his where you rest your foot on his barstool.
“I wish I remembered more of it,” you tell him. “I grew up a big city girl. Even lost my accent a year into being away. My dad would tease me about it all the time. Said I’d been gentrified.” You fondly shake your head. “Miss him like hell.”
“I can still hear it sometimes,” says Joel, tilting his head to the side, “when you get all passionate about somethin’. Like the time I installed your deadbolt and you tried to explain away your Backstreet Boys CD.”
You put your head in your hands. “Oh, God. I thought you'd forgotten.”
“Nuh-uh, baby, you ain't easy to forget. And I like when you get excited. You get this look in your eye.”
“Yeah?” You slide your foot up his ankle and bring the leg of his jeans with it. Up, down, you keep going, letting the relative darkness embolden you, his sweet little pet names and his silent adequacy enabling what is most definitely inappropriate behaviour. “Tell me about this look, Joel.”
He rests his elbow up on the bar and squares his broad shoulders to you. They eclipse all the other patrons behind him. “You've got pretty eyes,” he tells you. “First thing I noticed when I met you all those months ago. Saw how they lit up when you smiled. Heard your happiness when you told me about Texas. It was nice to be the reason you smiled, ‘n’ I just wanted to make it happen again. I couldn't say no to you. Don't know how any man ever could.”
The revelation stuns you in your seat. His expression telegraphs little save for his attentiveness, his posture locked parallel with yours, singularly focused on the way you react to him.
You try for a joke. “And I was the only applicant.”
It crumbles, sand in your mouth. Something has shifted. Joel isn't the type to shy away from a conversation, but his gaze hasn't once shifted from your face. It feels like flames licking your cheeks, the heat of that look pushing in on both sides, inescapable. You find that you enjoy the way his attention makes you preen; you want him to look at you.
He thinks you have pretty eyes.
“You know that ain't the reason why,” he says, whisper-quiet and gruff amid the vague chatter in the bar.
“Why, Joel?” you ask, spine straightening, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. As you suspected, his eyes flick down your face, lashes obscuring the precise shade of his irises.
His Adam’s apple dips. “‘Cause I like you,” he says, the feeling of it like the slide of suede down your spine, “and I wanna keep you safe.”
You shrug slightly, giving him a smile. “I feel pretty safe.”
Joel’s hand drops to the bar top and his fingertips brush yours. The touch jolts your sleepy mind awake. “You're too good for every single one of those assholes you bring around. You know that, right?”
“I’m beginning to understand.”
“You deserve someone who's gonna be good to you. Give you all the attention you need. Make you… happy.”
You swallow thickly, the candle flame pressing in, sucking the oxygen from your lungs. “Thank you, Joel.”
His fingers begin to creep up every ridge of your knuckles, slowly turning over your palm so it faces the ceiling. The rough pad of his thumb traces the long lifeline inside.
“Repeat it.”
His eyes lift to yours, and for a moment, there’s something in them that ignites an instinct inside you to flee. There's danger in those eyes: the careful, measured restraint of a man who knows more anger than he lets show. A flicker, brief but incandescent, passes through your head, an electrical current.
He’s the reason you never had a second date.
It disappears the instant it comes, the Paterian glimpse of an idea in its entirety fleeing for the horizon, and the instinct recedes in favour of the warm, melting sensation his fingers disseminate through your bones.
“I deserve someone who will be good to me,” you repeat, like a mantra. “I deserve someone who’s going to make me happy, and keep me safe.”
“That's right,” says Joel, brushing his thumb along the veins in your wrist. You feel the shiver, but you're locked to him, your eyes unable to take in any information apart from the way he feels, looks, smells. “You're a good girl, baby.”
Your lashes flutter and a sweeping rush of pressure descends on your core at the way those words sound on his tongue. You picture him directing you to your knees and calling you a good girl while you take his big cock between your lips, imagine the way he would hiss through his teeth, good fuckin’ girl, that’s it, baby girl, while he fucks you from behind, merciless. Hands and tongues and limbs would mould into one another, amalgamate, becoming indistinguishable.
He would be good to you. You know it. He’s always been good to you.
“Joel?”
“Hmm.” Fingers still make idle patterns on your forearm.
“I think you should take a look at my sink when you get a chance. It might be broken.”
No amount of coy suggestion could make him ignorant to your desire for closeness. You can feel your body screaming for it, grasping at him with buffed claws. Joel smirks, looking down at your foot making a path up and down his ankle.
“I’ll take a look tomorrow.”
~
It’s two o’clock in the morning when a shuffling outside your bedroom door guides you out of a decent sleep. In total silence, the most minute noises can be deafening. But it sounds, to your sleep-addled brain, like the hasty retreat of footsteps.
You blink awake, shifting onto your other side to peer above the darkness of your doorway. Through the bleary haze in your eyes, you notice a tiny red light in the upper corner of the room.
You squint, rubbing your eyes furiously to pry them open wide, but your vision is the static grain of an old television, and your eyes refuse to adjust. Instead, you grumble, pulling your comforter over your head, and go back to sleep.
You’ll tell Joel tomorrow.
THE LANDLORD
He cannot wait until the morning.
The nighttime, he discovered long ago, is a friend. It’s the gentle descent of darkness, the horizontal fall of the golden-hour sunlight scanning the entirety of the apartment before it at last succumbs to silent, tar-black night. Occasionally, a car will pass below, or the honk of a horn will tear jaggedly through the quiet, but most times, Joel can sink comfortably into the dark and assume his post.
Six months ago, he showed some restraint.
Of course, the connection was instantaneous—the pretty girl standing in his foyer with a radiant smile on her face, drinking in the chipped paint and ancient railings and furniture imprinted with years of use, arrested all movement of his heart. You wore a white dress and a pair of strappy sandals, not suited whatsoever for walking the city but perfectly tailored to make an impression. You arrived punctually, all smiles and handshakes and Southern politeness despite your insistence that you'd left it all behind. You shone. And when Joel slid his rough, work-worn hand into yours, dipping his gaze to watch the way he dwarfed your fingers, he felt a tremor roll gently from your body to his, thunder over a mountain. He wanted to chase the next lightning strike.
It began leisurely, like a hobby, something he could go to when life got a little much. He watched you come home, examining the way your shoulders rounded slightly when you were upset and the way you wiggled your fingers in a wave to those passing by when you were happy. He watched, typically from the garden out front, as you pranced about your balcony on cool mornings to the electronic croonings of Britney Spears, curled up in a chair with a blanket over your legs and a coffee mug warming your hands, or watered your thriving plants from where they hung in the direct morning sunlight. Your day-to-day became his day-to-day.
And then, he was doing more than merely watching. He was following.
Your favourite coffee place by the apartment building, just a block away. He lingered far behind that first morning, his fingers twitching in your direction before the rest of his body steered him. The neighbourhood wasn't so great back then, prone to muggings and the like. He wanted to keep you safe. That was all.
You ordered something cold, too sweet for his tastes, and sat for a while as you worked. The barista spent the rest of your time there eyeing you up whenever he could. Joel scoffed. He wouldn't know what the fuck to do with you. Just a goddamn kid.
He followed you to work and back, on those rare days he wasn't occupied maintaining the grounds. You sat in a corner cubicle with a decent amount of sunlight and typed away on your laptop all day. Joel monitored the company’s publications just so he could have a glimpse of the way you wrote; he wasn't interested in makeup, but he bought a subscription to Viva because he wanted to trace his fingers over your name in those small italic letters. MANAGING EDITOR.
Your writing is clean, efficient, and smooth. It reads like velvet. He keeps a pile of magazines and newsletters tucked in the back of his bookshelf. For the August edition, they printed your interview with a local prizewinning novelist; you beamed in the picture, photographed in your favourite coffee shop, so happy and so generous, sharing your talent with others.
He was so fucking proud.
Five months ago, he watched you bring a date home for the first time.
It blindsided him. He could not prepare, plan, or sabotage. He could not do a thing as you guided the man—a fucking kid with a too-big ego, grinning smugly for his imminent conquest—inside the elevator. Joel could only watch helplessly, wiping his brow from his precarious place on the ladder, as you walked past him with no more than a soft, sweet smile. He never forgot the painful imprint of that smile on his eyelids. It still burns his eyes late at night, when he stays awake inside his office, monitoring his dual screens. He will pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes just to replay the memory of that look.
The kid left the next morning, before you woke. He never contacted you again. You trudged into the lobby that day, a weariness in your eyes that did not match the vibrant colour of your dress. You spoke idly to another woman in the elevator about your broken thermostat, hugging yourself to keep warm.
It was working perfectly a few hours later, and there was a bouquet of roses waiting for you at the concierge’s desk. Fiddling with the red ribbon, tears welling in your eyes, you asked who the admirer was. Sam shrugged his shoulders, but when you turned to look out the front windows, you saw Joel tending to the red roses in the garden bed.
It earned him the first taste of your baking. Biting into one of those moist, warm brownies felt like melting a little piece of you down and moulding it into the shape of his mouth. It felt like taking a piece of the girl he’d coveted for weeks and rolling it over his tongue, keeping it. Swallowing it down. There it rested inside his stomach until the next time he did you right.
He wanted to tell you no. To insist that he would do anything to make you feel good even if you wanted nothing to do with him. To make it clear that he did everything for you, not for some feeble professional relationship between a landlord and his tenant. He breathed you. He needed you.
So, four months ago, he began to watch you through the cameras.
They’re small, discreet, tucked into holes in the wall that have been spackled over, repainted, re-sanded. He ran the wiring while you were at work, listening to your CDs on loop to get a better sense of the earworms you hummed on your way out the door every morning. One in the living room, one by the entrance, and one in the bedroom.
He could keep you safe this way. This way, he would know if those men you brought you home were treating you right—fucking you like you deserved.
You were so goddamn pretty when you came. For months Joel had sat in his office, slicked-up cock in his hand, jerking himself hard and fast to the pictures of you in Viva. For months he’d spilled over his fingers, on his belly, on the glossy pages of the magazines. The heady, cloying scent of his own sweat and cum stuck to his nostrils. It wasn’t enough. He could imagine wrenching open your tight little pussy all he wanted—the slow, heavy drag of his cock between your hot, wet walls and the sweet noises he’d steal from your tongue—but it wasn’t the satisfaction he needed.
Joel needed you. Your body, your smile, your voice. He needed to wrap you tight around every vein, a tourniquet, squeezing until all feeling was lost.
You would be his, in time. He just needed to make it so.
The first time he watched you pleasure yourself, rain pattered gently against the window panes and thunder echoed in the distance. A couple grids had already lost power, and Joel had a backup generator if the apartment was next, but you did not seem to mind one bit that the storm drew closer. You clicked off the television, retired to the confines of your bed and its soft white linens, and slipped your hand beneath your flimsy shorts. Joel sat upright, his back creaking in protest, his knuckles white around the edge of his desk as he watched, unblinking, the way your fingers gently circled your clit.
He didn't touch his cock once that night, no matter how deeply his own need tugged at him. He couldn't look away from the camera feed for fear that he may miss the moment you reached your orgasm.
When it arrived, it was delicious to watch. Your back arched, your lips parted, and your eyes fluttered shut, fingers rapidly rubbing your slick pussy as you seized under your own ministrations and slowly settled, melting into the mattress. He needed to see more. He needed to be there.
You were a chiaroscuro of savoury, sultry magnetism and the ichor of the morning sunlight. You were kind and thoughtful. You were gentle, patient, attentive. You were one hell of a baker. You were so fucking sexy it made his tongue prickle with the prospective taste, the anticipation of touching your soft skin engulfing any sense. Reason had no place in Joel Miller’s mind when it came to the sweet girl upstairs.
Three months ago, you had recovered from the evident betrayal inherent in expecting more from your date than a one-night stand. The next man was older, a partner at a law firm, and took you to dinner at a nice restaurant. He asked questions about you and reciprocated your enthusiasm for good cuisine. He was kind and treated you well. But an incendiary rage ignited in Joel at the sight of the bastard’s hand on your lower back. Another man was touching you. Another man was getting close to you, making you smile, whispering in your ear. Another man was attempting to claim what was rightfully his.
Joel followed your date home that night instead. He lived in a high-rise downtown, the sort of building that had a doorman and a valet.
Joel followed him down to the underground lot with a lead pipe in hand.
“‘scuse me.”
He shut his car door and turned around, giving Joel a polite smile. “What can I do for you?”
A calculated sheepish scratch on the back of his head. “Just… ah, shit, I don’t mean to bother, but my engine isn't turnin' over and my phone died. Mind if I used yours?”
He patted his pockets for his cell and gave it enthusiastically. Joel did not take the phone. He used the proximity to pull the man close and bring the pipe down across his head.
Blood bloomed, pretty and potent and rich as the roses he planted for you. The body made little noise, the skull shattered upon impact, the legs crumpling. It could never have been much of a man, going down so fucking quick. Should've put up a fight.
The man must not have liked you very much to let himself die. Joel, whose eyelids were tattooed with your radiant smile, would have crawled his way back out of a certain grave. Joel loved you. You belonged to him. This was a necessary consequence.
The pipe was dented by the time he was finished. Joel sank to his knees once the body fell, bringing it down again and again, the meticulous arc of the rusted metal uniquely stirring. It felt so fucking good, battering the skull to pieces, blood and brain and bone fragments accumulating on the ground and the pipe and his face. It felt good knowing he had kept another man from betraying you, hurting you, fucking you only to leave in a blur. He was being altruistic. He was becoming a good man for you.
Joel, kneeling in the pool of warm blood until his jeans were soaked crimson, rubbed his hand down his face and smeared the blood across it. Chest heaving, he let the grin stretch his face.
He had found his calling.
Two months ago, he slipped inside your apartment while you were asleep.
You had a rough day. Your boss insisted the company could not afford to give you a raise despite skyrocketing share prices and all the fucking work you’d done for them. The rain started just before you left the building, holding back tears, and a car splashed icy, muddy water on you during your walk home. Salt in the wound. You were sniffling as you let yourself into the apartment, your hands trembling with the effort of shouldering your bag and your misery. Joel approached you from behind and lifted the bag onto his shoulder.
“Hi, Joel.” Sad and soft and still so polite despite it all.
“Hey.” He opened every door for you on the way to the elevator and rode it up with you for good measure. “Wanna talk about it?”
You just shook your head and sidled up next to him, your cheek resting on his shoulder. He held his breath, overcome with the sensation that if he moved an inch, the spell would break, and the comfort you sought from him would slip between your fingers. Your arm brushed his, your dewy lashes fluttering as you finally let yourself relax. Joel inhaled, and the scent of you cleaved him down the middle: rain and perfume.
“Would you give me a raise?”
He looked down at you and smiled. “For a batch of those cupcakes, I’d give you whatever you like.”
It was a half-truth. He’d give you whatever you wanted, cupcakes or no. The sound of your laughter dripped into his bloodstream, saline. It cleansed him of the wrongs he'd committed. He was doing what needed to be done. The world had to realise it turned for you, and then all would be right.
Hours later, when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, shrouded by distant skyscrapers, he sneaked his way inside. His master key made easy work of the lock, but he had to pull the chain lock off with a pair of pliers because his hands could not reach between the gap. He made clinical work of it and stepped inside.
There was a chair in the corner of your bedroom for days you felt like reading by the window. Joel lowered himself into it and began his vigil.
It was a science to study the way you slept. He began to learn the patterns of your breathing, the minute movements of your limbs and how they translated to the moods of your dreaming. The amount of times you turned around, groaned, or hummed correlated directly to the sort of day you'd had. He began to map your tells in his head, drawing them out, formulating blueprints of the simple things that made you.
To Joel, it was like connecting a red string between thumb tacks, like pouring the varnish over a finished painting, sealing a promise, closing an envelope. He enjoyed the satisfactory slotting of each puzzle piece into place, creating your image, finally knowing you.
By then, he’d caught the virus. He’d let himself get close, and now he was infected with it—that insatiable need to be near, to watch, to admire from mere feet away.
He continued to acquaint himself over the weeks with your sleeping self to supplement the time he could not spend with you while you were awake. On more than one occasion, he got careless, letting himself succumb to sleep in that corner chair, joining you in the dream world. In those dreams, you were wrapped up in his body, warm and soft and tight, and he was taking. He was behind you, on top of you, beneath you, forcing you to look in the mirror as he spread you open on his cock and wrapped his fingers around your throat. In those dreams, your eyes rolled back and your lips moulded to the shape of Joel, yes, oh my God, and he'd whisper back to you—my sweet girl, my good fuckin’ girl, all mine.
And you were. You were his.
Tonight, he followed you to the festival.
He watched you make a beeline for the necklace you wanted only to pout when you saw it had disappeared. He watched your face fall as David’s rejection sank bone-deep. He reeled in his own gnawing rage, pushing deep down that urge to storm right in and rip out the asshole’s throat with his goddamn teeth, and waited until you called him.
He knew you would. You trusted him. You needed him. You needed a strong, capable man to take care of you the way you deserved. So he waited inside his truck by the phone, happy to at last hear your sweet voice on the other end of the line.
Thank you, Joel.
He tucked those words under his ribs, letting them flower and spread. Those words gave him purpose, made him buzz with erratic energy, validated all his actions. He was doing everything right.
Your dress was so fucking pretty. Jesus, he wanted to slip his hands under the hem, finger the waistband of those pink panties he knew you were wearing, and bunch the fabric up around your hips as he stuffed you full of his dick. Fuck, he would fill you up with his cum and tuck your panties back over your abused pussy, keeping all of him safe inside. You’d be so happy. You’d get drunk off his cock, begging for it, crying for it. He’d give you everything.
You do feel safe with him. You said it yourself.
Now, leaning against the doorway in your bedroom, Joel turns the heart-shaped pendant over and over in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the smooth gold surface. It’s cool and quaint and will kiss your skin beautifully. But he needs to wait for the right time. He needs to make sure you’re ready.
The sense memory of your fingers on his skin, gracious and gentle, the way you always are, is pushing at the edges of his control.
There's no one like you. He’s never been more certain of anything.
You're so goddamn sweet in those tiny silk pyjamas, your body curled up on the bed and your leg slung over a large pillow. You may feel cold and lonely at night, but that's only for now. He won't let you feel alone much longer; his body calls to you, singing your name. He has only so much restraint, and he's been waiting for six months.
Your lips are slightly parted, your face smooth and serene under the spell of sleep. You're the reason he fixes what's broken. The world needs to be better for you. It needs to be safe and bright and perfect.
He planted tulips today. You’ll appreciate them, he thinks. He wants you to wake up to vibrant colours every morning and go to sleep knowing that he thinks about you.
You shift slightly in your sleep, a soft moan leaving your mouth as you hug the pillow closer. Joel straightens in the doorway, wondering if your mind can sense him nearby. He doesn't know what he would do with himself if you were dreaming about him. His eyes move from your pretty face down your chest, barely concealed by the tiny top you're wearing, to find the apex of your thighs, temptingly spread on the mattress.
He won't. He can't. You’ll never trust him if he loses himself to desire. Joel grits his teeth, his cock achingly hard in his jeans, and unbuckles his belt as silently as he can. He pulls out his dick and squeezes himself at the base, staving off what he knows will be a too-fast orgasm. You move again, your body stretching out on the bed. Joel spits into his palm and begins to stroke his cock.
He can see a sliver of your waist where your shirt rides up, half of your ass where your leg is slung over the pillow, and your tits smushed together just over the hem of that scrap of a top. You're all of his fucking fantasies rolled into one. Joel breathes hard through his nostrils, his fist tight around the tip of his cock.
He wants to shuck down those little shorts and put his face in your pretty pussy. He wants to grab your hips and guide his cock inside you. He wants to slide into your addictive cunt until you forget your name. Until you forget every name but his. Your soul will be stained with him. His has never forgotten your shape.
God, your tight pussy would feel so fucking good around his cock. He jerks himself roughly, bracing his hand against the doorframe when a little whimper leaves your mouth. Fuck, he mouths, gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw begins to ache. He fucks his own fist, sloppy and unrefined, eyes fixed to your waiting pussy between creamy-soft thighs. His cock dwarfs your slit, eager to spread you open—he’ll fix so nicely once he gets you ready.
Joel feels his stomach tighten, his balls pulling up, his jaw taut as he brings himself to a high over your body the way he has so many times. He switches so he can jerk off into the hand around which his gift to you is coiled, spilling his cum all over his fingers and the necklace as he bites into the heel of his palm. His spine decompresses and his cock slowly softens in his hand, the tension briefly relieved. His fist gradually loosens around the cum-slick necklace; the heart has imprinted its shape into his palm.
You stir, turning over in your bed, and Joel hastily departs, tucking his cock back into his jeans. He has enjoyed this brief interlude, but he has work to do.
Besides, he’ll see you in a few hours. He knows damn well the sink works just fine, but he’ll take any excuse to see you again. And it seems you’ll do the same.
~
Joel keeps him in a spare apartment in the building, one whose walls have been padded for soundproofing.
Joel’s sleeves are rolled to his elbows and he's occupying the chair across from David, who's taking his sweet fuckin’ time waking up. Joel’s been pacing for a half-hour, rubbing his fingers over his bottom lip, contemplative, but the bastard won't move.
So Joel takes a seat, grabs a fistful of the kid’s hair, and yanks it forcefully so he’s staring him right in the face.
One eye is already blackened—Joel got a little carried away. The sedative worked perfectly, but David has a punchable face. It took all he had not to keep going.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” says Joel as the kid slowly blinks awake, bleary and unfocused. “Eyes on me, now. Don't want you slippin’ away again.”
David only stares for a moment, gears grinding gently to life in his brain Once that animal instinct kicks in, the kid starts writhing against his restraints, bucking hard in Joel’s unrelenting grip. It's useless, of course. He’s tied by the wrists and ankles. Helpless.
Good.
“What—why the fuck… let me fucking go, man, please,” groans the kid.
“You made a mistake, David,” says Joel. “Think I’m gonna forget about that?”
David whimpers, flexing his hands subconsciously as pain undoubtedly prickles his scalp. Joel hasn't let go of his hair. “Please just let me go, man. I swear I didn't do anything. If you want money, I’ve got money.”
Joel smirks, a scoff slipping out. This is rich. The delectable flame licks up his throat again, indistinguishable from the pleasure of a good meal, a good fuck. It's craving. It’s darkness. He sinks deeper.
“You think it's manly to leave your date for your friends and leave her to find a way home herself? You think it's funny to treat her like a little toy and then leave her when you're done?” Joel sneers. “You didn't even call her back, David.”
He whines out another please, his ankles ineffectually kicking out. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Just let me go. Fuck, it hurts.”
“You don't know,” says Joel, repeating it, slow and savoury, rolling it around in his mouth. “You wanna know the most insulting part, David? You don't even care. You made her upset, and you didn't get on your goddamn knees to beg her forgiveness. You didn't do everything in your fuckin’ power to get her back.” Joel brings the knife from his pocket and idly pushes the tip into David’s cheek. “You think she ain't worth that, David? Tell me the truth, now.”
David shrieks, hysterical, the terror and pain so fucking delicious that Joel gulps it down and yet still wants.
“Are you fucking kidding me? No bitch is fucking worth it. She was cute, but that's it, I swear. I didn't know she had a boyfriend. I wouldn't have—”
The knife digs, gouges, splitting skin and prodding muscle. Joel can feel the edge of the blade slot between the kid’s teeth. He howls, screaming for help to nobody that can help, not quite gone enough yet to realise his utter hopelessness. Joel will have to rectify that.
“Oh, I ain't her boyfriend yet,” Joel says calmly. “But I am hers, way she's mine. And you hurt what's mine. I can’t forget that.”
The knife retreats to admire its handiwork. The cheek is split, the edges jagged, spitting blood. The kid’s tears slip down his face and dip into the wound, salty enough to hurt. He screams and he cries and it’s beginning to get on Joel’s nerves.
“Please stop,” he cries, watching his assailant rear back and grip the knife tight, like an ice pick. “Please… fuck, please—!”
He’s getting real sick of that word. Please. A mere please can’t excuse the look he put on your face last night. A please will not absolve him of the cardinal sin.
No one—no one—makes you frown.
Joel sinks the knife into David’s knee, using both hands to drive it to the hilt. The kid’s face is ashen, white and grey as clouds rolling in, and his frail screams begin to peter out; he’s losing consciousness. Joel won’t have that—not until he’s finished.
“Stop whinin’, David. A real man falls in front of his woman and makes things right. A real man fixes what's broken. And a real man”—he twists the knife, gorging, glutting on the feeling of making amends on your behalf—“does everything in his power to show her he loves her.”
“Please…” The final, feeble attempt of a doomed man to return from the cliff’s edge.
Joel stands, adjusting his grip on the kid’s hair, and brings his knife just beneath his chin. When he drives it upward, he can see the shimmer of the blade through David’s slack, open mouth.
“I told you to stop whinin’.”
~
He’s in your bedroom again.
He felt the need calling to him, vibrating with a particular intensity he could not ignore. He rarely comes to see you twice in one night, but now that he's here, he knows it was the only way to settle his nerves.
You're asleep, lips parted against your pillow and a piece of hair fluttering in front of your face with every exhale. Joel approaches your bedside and tucks it safely behind your ear. You don't wake, but you hum sleepily, hugging your pillow closer. Joel smiles, satisfaction sinking deep and assured into his core. He's done right by you. You’ll go happily to him. Moth to a gemlike flame.
He wanders around the edge of the bed, gaze lazily indulging in your body as he goes. His cock twitches again with a need he cannot yet meet, the desire to move your panties aside and fill you with him. He does not. He kneels at your bedside, closest to where your legs have scissored apart beneath your sheets. The temptingly sweet call of that warm place between your thighs has Joel shifting your comforter aside and ghosting his fingers across the soft skin of your calf.
Your breathing deepens slightly, like you're sucking in a long mouthful of air, and then you settle. It's the only indication you give that you can feel his presence. And then it’s gone, and he’s hooking his fingers in the waistband of your pretty panties and bestowing upon himself what he's only seen through screens for months.
You're spread open and glistening, an indication of some preceding dream or fantasy playing out in that keen, busy mind. Your body is wholly pliant, so soft and glowing in the faint silvery light streaming in from the window, and it would be so easy to—
No. He will not taste you. If he does, he won’t stop. You need to trust him. There is blood on his hands that hasn’t yet washed clean, and he will not imprint those rust-red fingerprints on your body. You’re his world—what kind of man willingly imparts such pain onto a world he loves?
Some infinitesimal fractal lodged in Joel’s head obliged him to return to you tonight, to cleanse himself of the events that transpired under the illicit cover of night. The very sight of you reminds him what he’s doing this for. He crushes his nose into the wet spot that darkens your panties and inhales deeply, acquiring some sense of what you will taste like. The smell makes his head go fuzzy, intoxicated, tang and sweetness and impending gratification. In your sleep, you sigh, melting against the mattress.
Joel brings your panties back up over your pussy and thinks, Tomorrow.
THE TENANT
You're miserable when Joel knocks on your door the next day.
“He hasn't called me,” you tell him, letting yourself stew, sulking from the feeling of yet another man deciding you weren’t worth a follow-up phone call. “Am I repulsive? Am I a total freak? Is it something in my perfume?”
Joel looks down at you, lips parted as if on the precipice of a response, sweeping his gaze up and down your body. You’re wearing a simple sweater and skirt, but fuck, he can make you feel naked. His gaze penetrates deeper than flesh. It’s only then you realise he’s holding coffee.
Two cups of coffee.
“Oh, Joel,” you sigh, licking your bottom lip. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” he says with a crooked smile, his voice a bit raspy, as if caught off-guard. He hands you your favourite drink—caramel macchiato, double espresso—from your favourite place down the block, and you could kiss him with how good it feels to hold the cool, condensation-slick cup in your hands. Your entire body deflates with the first sip.
“You’re my hero,” you tell him. “I mean it.”
Joel shakes his head fondly. “You got a funny sense of heroics.”
“They taste exactly like this,” you say playfully, tracing the rim of the plastic cup. “Thank you, Joel.”
He swipes his thumb across your chin. “It’s only coffee, baby.”
Since last night, something is inexplicably different. A new, once-forbidden boundary has been crossed. It may be technically inappropriate for your landlord to bring you coffee, touch you so intimately, call you baby. But it makes you feel like warm melting honey, and who is to say a feeling like that is wrong?
He’s wearing a blue T-shirt today. His hair is tousled like he slept on it, and your fingers tingle with the anticipatory sensation of how it would feel to take fistfuls of his locks in your hands. He’s stunning. And you catch yourself staring too late, tearing your gaze away the way one retracts their hand after burning it on the stovetop. Your heart skittering, you direct Joel to the sink and plan some excuse in your head for why it has miraculously fixed itself overnight.
But he doesn’t even spare a glance toward any of your appliances. He’s only looking at you.
“I got somethin’ else,” he says, almost shy, reaching into his pocket for a tiny box.
He grimaces when your eyes, wide and obviously panicked, meet his. “Jesus, I didn’t really think about how this looks. I’m not… proposin’, I swear.”
You both release a nervous laugh, but you cannot deny that your nerves are still fluttering at the sight of that simple suede box in his big hands.
He opens the lid and you gasp. It’s your necklace—the very same heart-shaped pendant you had been eyeing up at the festival. It’s shiny and polished and precisely, undeniably, the same one. “Oh my God,” you whisper, gently sliding your finger over the cool golden pendant. “It’s beautiful. Joel, how did you…”
“Turn around,” he says softly, the gentle direction guiding you better than any hand could. You obey, and Joel steps forward until his hard chest is flush to your back. He’s warm and sure and smells so good—cologne and coffee and mint and something potent, like iron—and all your questions fizzle to sparks in the air. You can no longer grasp for them. You reach out and you only find him.
His touch is careful. The heart-shaped pendant settles against your breastbone and shimmers in the afternoon light. Your chest briefly shimmers with the thought that you were made to wear this necklace. His large, rough hands ghost across the back of your neck as he secures the clasp, and you shiver. A single knuckle trails slowly down your spine, bumping every vertebrae on the way.
“It ain't your perfume.” His deep, grumbling voice is equivalent to the scratch of his beard against your temple as his jaw moves with each word. “And you're nothin’ close to repulsive. Look in that mirror and tell me what you see.”
There is a mirror, a full-length one by the entrance to your apartment, and it's surreal to watch your own body turn to face it, to watch yourself defer entirely to the man behind you. It feels nice to just let him steer you every which way.
“I see you,” you tell him, your hand lifting to the pendant on your throat. “And this.”
Joel clicks his tongue, his nose sliding up your temple. “What else do you see?”
You watch your lashes flutter, your head listing slightly to the side. “I see myself.”
“Hmm.” It’s a sound of approval, his palm now sliding around your waist and his arm banding across your body. He presses his hand to your hip bone and pulls you back against him. “Such a beautiful girl in that mirror. Ain't that right?”
“Joel, I…” You can feel his swelling erection prodding your ass and your head feels hazy with a heady, lustful desire you can no longer ignore or dismiss. “I don't think we should be…”
“No?” His mouth curves against your temple and you shiver at the coarse scratch of his moustache on your skin. It feels deliberate, premeditated. “I won’t tell a soul,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking your hip right where the hem of your sweater begins to inch upward. You can see a strip of your own bare stomach in the mirror. He’s making your eyes droop, your lashes flutter, your body light up from one nerve ending to the next, a closed circuit.
Oh, God. His touch is measured, gentle yet barely restrained. It is dipping a finger into the water just as it nears its boiling point. Months of staring and dreaming and retreating to your bed to touch yourself to thoughts of someone you cannot touch have led you here: his necklace, his gift to you, sitting prettily on your throat, his capable hands moulding you slowly to the shape of him. He’s touching you.
“You like me?” His voice rubs hard on your ears, sanding you down, smoothing the rough edges. He lets you linger on the precipice, a firm grip on your hand, letting you make the choice: to let go, or to reel yourself in.
“I like you,” you whisper, snapping the tether and plummeting to the warm, wet earth below.
You watch Joel’s eyes close in the mirror, something like a prayer falling from his lips. It does not take the shape of words—it is gruff and yet soft, hardly loud enough to discern over the ringing in your ears—but it’s so reverent that you can picture yourself falling to your knees at the sound of it.
His hand skims up your waist until he finds your throat, gently pinching your jaw so he can direct the turn of your head. You go easily, tilting your gaze back to rest your temple on his shoulder, as his other hand slides up from your hip to your ribs, grazing the underside of your breast. “You like me enough to touch you like this?”
You gasp, finding an anchor in the deep brown—nearly black, now—of his eyes. They’re warm but they’re dangerous; once you look, the cage door slides shut, and you’re trapped.
This must be one of your many dreams.
“Yes, Joel.”
“Mmm.” He smirks, teasing his tongue across his plush bottom lip. You watch the movement and feel yourself tightening, want want want a chorus in your ears. “You wanna kiss me, baby girl?”
Silently, you nod, your fingers gently sliding through his silky locks while your other hand seeks the strong balancing force of his shoulder. His smile sobers to a deep, stunning severity, and you cannot think to let it frighten you when you’re already slanting your mouth over his.
It starts slowly. His mouth is soft, his hands deftly returning the fervour with which you hold him, cupping the back of your neck with his other hand warming your ribs. A small gasp escapes you, and a rumble of satisfaction passes from his chest through yours, and it flips an ineffable switch inside him.
Joel turns you in his arms, his chest pressed to yours, his hand shooting out to brace against the wall as he walks you back toward it. Sufficiently cornered, you let your body melt into him, his palm now warming your lower back, his tongue feverishly seeking the seam of your lips. You let him pry you open, tasting the coffee and mint on his breath and inhaling the rich scent of him, sticking it with greedy hands to the walls of your brain. You’ll never tire of him, of this.
He kisses you like a glutton seeking more fulfilment, like an aesthete seeking that exhilarating, fleeting moment in time, desperate and unwavering and famished. Tongues slide together, hands grope and wander, fabrics shift. You can feel your sweater lifting at the same time your fingers finally find the hem of his T-shirt, but he beats you to the chase. You’re dizzy by the time he breaks away to remove your shirt, but you dutifully lift your arms to help him.
You seek his mouth again to resume the kiss, but Joel is decidedly feeling pious. He kisses his way down your throat, the necklace dangling from it, your sternum, your belly, sinking to his knees as he goes along. His hands are firm on your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place, while his mouth draws a map of you, eliciting the honeyed sensation of warm water dripping down your body.
“Oh, God,” you whisper, your head knocking back against the wall. It's so much. You've never been the object of attention quite like this, the marble statue at which the devout kneel, obsessive in their worship. You've never had a man fall to his knees to put his mouth all over you.
Has he wanted you as long as you’ve pined for him?
Joel grunts, his lips dragging open-mouthed kisses from one hip to another, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your skirt and yanking it down. You yelp, grasping his shoulders.
Joel only growls into your skin, his hands dropping to your ass and kneading you while he continues down past your hips. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he grumbles. “So goddamn pretty. Don’t know how I waited this fuckin’ long. Jesus, baby girl, you're perfect. Goddamn perfect.”
His ramblings are poison. Every word infects, squeezing out your healthy cells, replacing them with the delicious scrape of fire against the ceiling of a room. The scratch of his beard. The sweet nurturing sound of his voice. The cared-for sensation of being kissed and touched and spoken to like you're someone worth a second date. Like you're worth the price of all the world and a couple stars, too.
And so the words slip out, shy and whisper-quiet and your cheeks burning hot enough to blister.
“Please, Daddy…”
Joel’s hands tighten on your body, a fractional movement that kicks up the frantic beating of your heart. He tilts his head back to gaze up into your eyes and you feel more naked with that single stare than ever before.
“That what you need, sweet thing?” he says, pressing his lips to your inner thigh. “You need Daddy to make you feel good?”
“Mhm,” you whine, the pitch of your voice pathetic and needy. You watch him crush his nose into your inner thigh, nipping at your sensitive flesh, and his name leaves your mouth in a sob.
“‘m gonna need words,” he commands, biting you again in reproach. “Talk to me, baby girl. Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to make me come,” you plead, grasping his soft greying hair in your fingers. “Please.”
“You gonna call me what you wanna call me?” he prompts, smacking your thigh. “C’mon, baby, lemme hear it.”
“Daddy!” you cry out, your hand tightening in his locks. “Fuck, Daddy, please make me come.”
Joel growls, bringing your soaked panties down your legs. Your knees nearly knock together, but he’s shouldering his way between them, bringing one up onto his wide shoulder. You're spread open like this, bared plainly for your landlord to feast upon at his will. The sight of his lips parted, waiting and ready to take your pussy into his mouth, has you trembling.
He gives a slow, experimental lick, sliding the flat of his tongue through your wet slit. You shudder, your head lolling against the wall. One teasing drag of his tongue and you’re butter, humming and whimpering for more, Daddy, please as he takes his fucking time tasting what you have to offer.
“Goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, his blunt nails digging crescent moons into the flesh of your ass, pulling your body flush to him. “Waited so fuckin’ long for this.” You watch the fire ignite from red- to blue-hot in Joel’s eyes, his gaze shuttering as he loses himself, devoted entirely to the process of unravelling you.
The next time he dips his tongue between your folds, he does it deliberately, calculated, as if he has already memorised your shape and now seeks to pry you open. He parts your lips to make way for his mouth, hot and soft against your clit. Softly, you cry out, watching as he presses a featherlight kiss to your pearl. You try to grind against his face, needing more, but a resounding slap to your ass stops you dead.
“No takin’ what I don’t give,” he says. “You understand me?”
You pout, but you nod your head anyway.
He decides it isn’t good enough and abruptly takes your clit between his teeth in a scolding bite.
“Repeat. It.”
“I’ll only take what you give,” you tell him. “I’ll be good.”
Apparently satisfied, he hums, diving back in and finally—finally—sucks on your needy clit. “Oh!” He’s eager, sure, but he’s practised. He’s meticulous in the way he applies pressure to your clit, lapping at you greedily and pulling back to draw your pleasure into measured tidal waves. You crest only to recede from shore, and then his lips suction to you again, his hand snaking around to your front and pressing down on your lower belly.
“Fuck!” you squeak, your stomach tightening as the dizzying pleasure overcomes you. “Joel, I’m gonna—!”
The orgasm pulls you under, drowning you with a forceful hand, your lungs sucking in mouthfuls of air. You seize, your heel digging into Joel’s muscled back, your fingers fisting his hair, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing, begging to be filled. Joel keeps his mouth on you all the while, licking you through your high, and you think it’s a benevolent act until your orgasm gently fades and he continues to make out with your pussy as if it never happened.
“Ah! Joel, please—” It’s so much. Too much; your pussy contracts relentlessly at the endless attention from his tongue, happily licking your clit and relishing the faint throbbing underneath it. It’s like he’s starved. His eyes are closed, his beard glistening with your wetness, his fingers dimpling your flesh as he pulls you right along to another high.
Two thick fingers gather up the juices you’ve leaked onto your thighs and push them back into your hole, insistent in their desire to enter. You gasp, your heart in your fucking throat: “That’s only two?”
He chuckles, but the vibration only makes you jump, letting his fingers sink inside your cunt to the knuckle. “Oh, fuck, fuck, Daddy, that feels so good, please make me come again, I need it, please—!”
Joel groans into your pussy, curling his fingers toward him so they press against a spongy spot inside you that sends your head spinning, your mind folding in on itself. All you know is the next orgasm, the best way to get him to give it to you, the fastest way to reach that indelible place once more, just once more—
Joel’s hand applies more pressure to your belly, and you scream, clawing desperately at his shoulder as you give yourself over to something much, much stronger than an orgasm. It’s foreign, the creeping sensation of an invader taking up residence in your body. You cannot see, cannot hear. It assumes control, tearing a cry from your mouth and locking all your limbs tight and splashing your wetness all over Joel’s chin, beard, shirt.
You think he only stops because you begin to list; he catches you around the hips and presses a soft kiss to your used little clit. “Mmmmm,” is vaguely how you manage to thank him, your eyes peeling slowly open.
“I know, baby girl,” he says, stroking your hip bone with his thumb. He litters kisses all over your thighs, coaxing you through the minute twitching of your muscles as they relax. “You did so good for me, pretty girl. So fuckin’ beautiful. My sweet girl.”
You shiver in his grasp, watching as he makes his way back up your body. He swipes his forearm across his wet beard and you moan a little at the sight. “Nobody’s ever…”
Joel crowds you, his hand cupping the back of your neck so he can guide your gaze up to him. “That's what you don't understand, sweetheart,” he says. “You can try to find another man to make you happy, but he won't be me. I’m the only one who’s gonna treat you right.”
“Joel…” Sense begins to push at the edges of your brain, but you only slump further into his touch, letting him secure your hair behind your ear. “This isn't right,” you whisper. “I pay you every month to live here. People will know. People will talk about me.”
“People have suffered worse for a hell of a lot less.”
You have no time to decode his words because he grabs your hand and presses your palm over his chest. Beneath the shirt and the warm, tanned skin, you feel a strong, rapid heartbeat, hammering away at his ribs. He maintains eye contact, the gaze incisive, peering right into the cluster of wiring inside your head that calls his name. “You feel my heart and you tell me this ain't real. You think this ain't love? You think it's obsession? Infatuation? Think I can’t see you lookin’ at me the way you do?”
His words pin you to the ground. They’re possessive, covetous—jealous. He wants you, and he knows you want him. All these months, he’s wanted you the way you’ve craved him; all the comforts and the roses and the baked goods in lieu of payment for substantial repair jobs; the times he’s let slide some late payments because I know it’s tough sometimes, the inexplicable kindnesses in your everyday.
Joel Miller dedicated himself to you the second you arrived to see the prospective apartment.
“You’re mine,” he says, his thumb stroking your jaw. “And I wanna hear you say it.”
People will call you a whore. They’ll think you’re pimping yourself out for cheaper rent. They’ll send you filthy looks. But the man in front of you makes you feel wanted. Desired. You’re better than all the dates that failed. You’re better than a shitty boss who won’t give you the raise you deserve. Joel is good to you. He’s always been.
“I’m yours, Joel Miller,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now please take me to bed.”
He grins, taking your hand and leading you to your bedroom. You get grabby straight away, fingering the hem of his shirt with a pleading look in your eye. You can still see the evidence of your orgasm staining the collar. “You can take it off, baby,” he says with that cocky smile, letting you lift the shirt over his head. In the sunlight, the grey in his hair shimmers, and his chest is bared to you. You lick your lips, placing your hands on his broad shoulders just to feel the way your palms contour to his dips and curves.
You lean in and put your lips to his neck, tracing the shape of him down to the hollow of his throat, He tastes faintly of fresh air and sweat, and he smells like you. Your hands admire the warmth and strength underneath them, his body so tangible when only yesterday it was a distant dream. He lets you indulge, though his hands flex at his sides, and your fingers fumble with his belt buckle.
“Help,” you mumble against his chest, bumping your nose into him. Joel chuckles, relieving you of your burden and shucking off his belt. It clinks along the floor somewhere nearby, and you can unbutton his jeans to bring them down, freeing his hard, throbbing cock.
Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s thick and slightly curved, the tip leaking precum onto his belly, his balls heavy with the need to come. During those long nights after long days of work, you would imagine, for hours on end, what lingered just below his belt; the little trail of hair leading down his soft belly to your destination; the way his wide shoulders would bracket your body, shelter you from all the tough shit you could possibly suffer. You would picture all the ways you could thank him. You bite your bottom lip and ready yourself to sink to your knees, but Joel is having none of it. He attacks your mouth, kissing you deeply, his hands sliding up your back as if he's trying to count every vertebrae. He doesn't relent even when your knees hit the edge of the bed and you collapse backward onto the mattress. He only crawls over you and pins you beneath his hard body.
“So pretty like this,” he says, lowering his head and nudging your chin upward with his nose to give himself better access to your throat. He sucks and nips at you all the way down, pausing at your heaving breasts. His fingers gently toy with one stiff nipple while his mouth occupies itself with the other, teasing it with his tongue and his teeth. You moan softly, content to watch him explore your body, squeezing your tits before he migrates downward.
“Daddy,” you whisper, stroking his hair away from his face, your head falling back onto the pillows as his fingers part your folds once more. “Fuck, please, touch me. I need you inside me.”
Joel settles in between your open legs and takes his cock in his hand. You mewl for him, determined in the face of his big cock to fit it nicely inside you. “Mmm, you ready for me, baby girl? You need Daddy to fill you up, use you like a pretty little toy?”
You’re nodding frantically, the words igniting you. “Please take me.”
Joel slaps the head of his cock against your clit, once, twice, watching your thighs twitch. Spreading the slick wetness from your pussy onto the tip, he finally guides himself to your hole and notches just inside.
“Jesus,” he utters. “Jesus, you're a fuckin’ dream.”
“It’s real,” you pant, “I’m real.”
He begins to disappear inside you, wrenching you open, your poor pussy disused from going so long without decent sex. You feel the pinching pain give way to a delicious pressure in your core as he eases into you, taking it slow despite his taut jaw, his gritted teeth. Your cunt forms a tight seal around his length, your arousal lubricating his entry, and you feel lightheaded. He’s so fucking big—and he’s still going.
“Oh, my… Joel—”
“I know, baby.” He brings his thumb to your clit and helps you relax with every circular swipe. “I know what y’like.”
You keen up against him, your thighs squeezing his hips. He's only halfway inside you and it feels like being filled up to your throat, choking on the air you breathe. Your head falls back, your hands flying up to your tits and squeezing.
“Daddy…”
One of Joel’s hands overlaps yours where it grasps your breast. “That’s my girl. You can take me. Always knew you could.” Still, he's panting with the exertion of holding back.
“You thought about me?” you say coyly, trying to pull him deeper inside you. He obliges, if only because you're being so petulant, and his hips finally knock into yours. You release a bone-deep sigh of relief.
“All I do”—his hips thrust shallowly, baring his teeth as he paws at your thighs—“is think about you.”
You cry out at the angle, the depth he reaches, how thick and heavy he sits inside you. Your pussy sucks him in, begging for more, and Joel obliges by hooking his hand in the back of your knee and pushing your thigh toward your chest.
Your vision whites, a ragged cry leaving your mouth. “Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, yes, that feels so good—”
“‘s right, baby girl. I’m the only one’s gonna fuck you this good,” Joel grits out, dragging his thick cock along your walls, spreading you open, forcing himself to fit. The head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust, measured in their intensity, just enough to drive you up the goddamn wall but never enough to sting. “I’m the only one you want.”
Your mouth is open and his pounding urges a steady rush of ah, ah, ahs up your throat. Joel leans over you and tilts your head back with a hand in your hair to slant his mouth over yours. He lets you pour your cries into his mouth and he swallows them down, fucking you so hard that your hips begin to ache.
He smatters your jaw with sloppy kisses. You lift your hand to his face and trace the patches in his beard, your brows drawn together in your perpetual haze.
“I dreamed about you,” you whisper, taking his earlobe between your teeth to make him growl against your skin. “Touched myself thinking about you.”
“I know,” he says, his hips grinding hard against yours, rubbing up against your used clit. He answers your gasp by nibbling your throat, and you keep him fixed to you with your hand at the back of his neck. His soft hair is matted with sweat and you want to bury yourself here, etch the shape of him into your stone. He's strong, capable, so present in this moment that your heart begins to throb to the beat of his.
Joel surges upward and takes you with him, forcing you to sit on his lap. At this angle, his cock reaches deeper, somehow, your mouth falling open and your forehead dropping to his shoulder. His palm is a soothing presence on your sweaty back as he tells you things that make you flush from your chest to your ears.
“Thought about takin’ you on the goddamn bar last night,” he grunts, guiding your ass in a rolling rhythm along his lap, his cock gliding slowly along your walls. You moan, your thighs shaking around his hips. “Thought about spreadin’ you over my desk and fuckin’ you dumb with my cock.”
You sob into the crook of his neck, grinding down on his cock, the pressure of his navel against your clit sparking hot in your lower belly. “What else?” you ask, nipping at the strong muscle where his shoulder meets his neck. Your tits are pressed up against his chest, his warmth engulfing you, your body slowly lowering over him as he guides you the way he likes.
His palm coasts down your spine until he finds your puckered asshole. His name is jagged and rubbed raw on your tongue.
“Shhh, baby girl.” The pad of his finger teases your hole with just enough pressure to ooze electric ecstasy down your spine. “Feels good, doesn't it?”
Fuck, his voice is so gentle, so knowing. You curl your fingers in his hair, your nose tickled by the locks that curl over his ears.
“Mmmhmm,” you mewl, lifting your hips as best you can despite the growing aches, telegraphing your desire to be touched by him—played with.
“Thaaat’s it,” he coos, his nose nudging your cheek as he turns his head. His finger continues to prod your asshole while his hips buck up into you. “Openin’ up for me like a good girl. You’d let me take you wherever I want, hmm? Whenever I want?”
“Yes, Daddy, yes,” you moan, your mouth perpetually open against the skin of his neck. You can’t think. You can't breathe. You can only drink down mouthfuls of him and let your body succumb to the delicious weight of his cock inside you. “Yes, I’ll be your little slut. I’ll be whatever you want. You make me feel so good.”
He seems pleased with your babbling, grinning into your cheek as he keeps you spread wide and pounds up into you. His finger continues to tease your tight hole until he feels your body contract around him and apparently decides that he isn't quite through with you.
“Turn around. Hands and knees.”
Who are you to refuse?
You lament the brief loss of his cock as you shift into your knees, resting your forearms on the bed and teasing him with a wiggle of your ass. Joel hums appreciatively, sidling up behind you and grinding his hard cock between your asscheeks. You jolt forward, but he catches you around the waist and warms his palm at your ribs.
Something warm and wet lands in a glob on your asshole, and you realise he fucking spit on you. Your head spins, dizzied by your own arousal, and soon, the warm, wet head of his cock slips back inside your hole, and you relish the refuge of being taken by him all over again.
“You wanna know what else?” He begins to fuck you hard and fast and almost angry in its intensity. His thrusts knock against your ribcage and rattle the bars, your heart floundering for a way back to the surface. “I thought about knockin’ on your door every goddamn day and putting my dick in this pretty fuckin’ pussy. Thought about your tight fuckin’ body every single time I saw you walk by and a long time after. I thought about the noises you'd make and Jesus, I was right. So goddamn sweet.”
You’re drooling onto the pillow, your eyes rolling back in your head, your fingers uselessly clasping handfuls of your white sheets. Joel is an animal, mounting you from behind and taking you hard, deep, the slick squelching noises of your coupling so crude and indecent that they burn through your ears like a lit fuse. It's wrong. You never should have kissed him. But wrong shouldn't feel like this.
Wrong shouldn’t taste like mint and coffee, shouldn't smell like roses and sawdust. Wrong shouldn’t feel like his cock sitting snug inside your pussy, some obscene jigsaw, seeping saplike pleasure down your spine.
This must be right.
His hands are rapacious, one wrapping around your hair and the other guiding the bend of your back, arching you perfectly to fit him while he takes you the way he likes. “Such a tease in those pretty dresses. Such a prim and proper girl ‘til she gets the right dick. You’ll get on your knees for this dick, baby girl, won't you? You’ll beg for it like a goddamn whore.”
“I will!” you moan, your cheek pressed into the mattress. The force of his thrusts have you travelling up the bed in minuscule movements, his thighs slapping hard against yours. “Fuck, I will, Daddy! Please, Daddy, I wanna make you feel good, I’ll do anything.”
“You're doin’ such a good job already, sweet thing,” he says, using his leverage on your hair and your waist to yank you upright, his chest pressed to your back, your ass now firmly sat in his lap. You moan long and low at the new angle, your back arching and your toes curling.
Joel groans against your jaw, his mouth travelling along the line of it in sloppy kisses that indicate he's about as close as you are. “Yeah, baby. Fuckin’ drunk on my cock. Fucked you good and dumb, hmm? Fucked you so good you can't even think.”
You can only manage a low whine, the sound of it a fleeting puff of air from your lips, the oxygen in your lungs depleting and replaced with the smell of him. You try to bounce on his dick—you really do try—but you cannot remember how to work the muscles in your thighs. You cannot remember what you had for breakfast nor the colour of the skirt you wore today. You can only vaguely understand the shape of the man behind you, the name that belongs to him, the way you curve and fit into him. You’re falling, the technicolour world outside your window fading to the sound of soft, beating wings—that may be your heart, fluttering in your ears—as you seize, yielding to the pleasure.
You will not recall the sounds you make when you come, grasping blindly at his thighs to keep yourself from falling over, your ears ringing. You feel his moustache scratching your jaw and his cock working you through your high, slowing his thrusts to help you land softly on solid ground. You may cry out his name, and you may call him something else entirely. But it's vibrant. It's radiant as the sunlight now dipping behind the distant buildings. It tastes just as sweet as the golden hour.
Joel does not stop fucking you when your body goes limp in his arms. No, he resumes his brutal pace, using you like a fucking toy to get himself off. You happily take it, your head lolling back against his shoulder and your eyes drooping.
“Nnh, fuck… I’m gonna… Jesus—oh, fuck—”
His hips press flush to your ass and he nuzzles his face into your throat, depositing kisses and love bites all over your skin as he pumps shallowly into you, his hot cum filling you up and leaking generously around the seal of your cunt. You gasp, your fingers threading through his already-tousled hair, keeping him glued to you as he flexes against your body and comes hard enough to double himself over.
He collapses on top of you, forcing you to bend at the hip, little puffs of air escaping his mouth and seeping into you. You whine, your sore hips battered and bruised, your pussy deliciously abused as you pulse continuously around his dick. “Joel, please…”
He comes slowly back into his body, his lips trailing down your spine as he lifts himself upright. “Shit. ‘m sorry, baby girl. You feel okay?”
You hum happily, letting yourself pant into the mattress. “Feels so good.”
Joel pulls out, savouring the tight drag of his cock out of your pussy, hissing through his teeth and watching his thick cum dribble slowly out of your hole. “Such a fuckin’ pretty sight. My sweet girl, all used up.”
You drop your face into your forearm and giggle. Joel smooths his hand over your lower back. “What's so funny?”
“Just…” You sound a bit hysterical as you continue to laugh. “I’m going to be late on rent this month. I put a down payment on a car.”
Joel lowers himself next to you and gently pulls you into him, his moustache tickling your cheek. “Planning on gettin’ the hell outta dodge?” he says playfully, nipping your earlobe.
Your eyes droop and you sink into him. “Think I’ll stay here for a while.”
“I know you will, baby,” he murmurs.
“Joel?”
“Hmm.”
“Thank you for the necklace.”
~
It’s night when you next wake, and Joel is next to you.
For someone so stern and strong, he looks utterly serene in his sleep. His lips are slightly parted, half his face pressed into the pillow, his hair curling around his ears and his arm lazily draped over you. You gently sweep a lock of hair away from his face.
Through the dark, the red light beams, and the arm around your waist tugs you closer.
THE END.
#kiwisbell's fics#pedro pascal#joel miller#the last of us#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#dark!joel x reader#dark!joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#tlou hbo
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make a move on me
➔ pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader - 5.5k
➔ You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodeling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.
➔ Rated MA for baby’s first anal fic protected p in a and anal fingering (r receiving), age gap (reader is early 20’s, joel is 36), m masturbation/pillowhumping, daddy kink, size kink, praise kink, gentle-turned-rough sex, pet names (baby, darling, honey, good girl, baby girl, little lady), slight degradation and condescension but only in a sexy way, one use of “slut”, pussy pronouns, one (1) pussy slap, gratuitous dickscription, heavy dom/sub dynamics i mean seriously these power dynamics are out of control, tommy is a little bit of a shit (affectionate) [pls let me know if i missed anything at all :)]
➔ This reader insert character: has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, no name/no use of y/n, is generally able-bodied, fits in joel’s shirt and is implied to be shorter/smaller than him, is on summer break from college but no major/year is mentioned.
Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. Keep his hands to himself and his mind on the job. Don’t fret over the pretty little thing who’s been draping herself all over the house ever since he started demo, practically begging to be fucked.
If he had any sense, he would pack his shit and drop the job–or, at the very least, tell your parents to put you on a leash. But there’s a little part of him that might be a glutton for punishment–that savors the teasing.
The most infuriating part of the whole thing is that he can’t blame you for this whole mess. He shouldn’t be so quick to temptation. You should be able to walk around your own home in whatever you want and not have to worry about the creepy contractor getting flustered every time he looks in your general direction.
But god, you make it hard–double entendre intended. You walk around like you haven’t a care in the world because you don’t; you’re home for summer break after a grueling year at college, and you intend to savor every languid second of it. Your preferred method of savoring just happens to be wearing tight little bikinis that barely hold anything in place as you lounge out by the pool in the Texas heat, or tight leggings that hug your ass so perfectly it almost makes him jealous of the material as you curl up with a book on your couch.
Joel’s a grown man. He can keep it in his pants, no matter how badly he wants you. But you’re not exactly making it easy on him.
Really, it’s Tommy’s fault when the levee breaks. If he could keep his big mouth shut, Joel might’ve been able to maintain the thin control he had over himself. But Tommy goes and makes an off-handed comment about you one night, and that’s the beginning of the downward spiral.
The brothers are both lounging on Joel’s couch after a particularly taxing day of demolition work, beers cradled in hands and the TV droning uselessly with some movie that they’re more staring at than actually watching. It’s late, yet weary muscles are melted so comfortably into the couch that neither of them try to move even after Sarah’s gone off to bed.
Tommy’s eyes flicker over to Joel, then back to the TV. “That girl’s gon’ be trouble for us, brother.”
There’s a question mark in the grunt Joel emits, leaning forward with interest because he knows Tommy’s talking about you without any specification.
Tommy hums in confirmation and takes a sip of his Corona. “She’s always wearin’ those skimpy little outfits a’hers, and she ain’t coy. Must catch that pretty little thing starin’ at your ass even more than I catch you starin’ at hers.”
Joel plays it off as best as he can until Tommy goes home for the night with a half-assed promise to actually be on time in the morning for once. Then he goes up to his room, locks the door, and wraps himself around the spare pillow that lays against his headboard.
He tries so desperately hard not to think about the plump round curve of your ass, or the enticing way you lick your lips, or those damned little bikinis you favor. He grinds his aching cock into the soft pillowcase and tries to think about anything that isn’t you.
But he comes with a muffled growl of your name anyway, face pushed deep into the pillow and hips jerking arrhythmically.
There’s not much he can do now besides clean himself up and try not to think about how thoroughly fucked he is.
The next day is torture because he can feel your gaze lingering. He catches you checking him out on more than one occasion, and you’re brazen about it now. You can tell something has shifted, so you shift with it. Where you once would’ve flushed with heat and hurried away to your room, you now meet his heated eye contact and hold it.
Joel’s jaw hurts that night from the way it’s been hard-set and clenched all day long. He rubs over his sore temporomandibular joints with his long, thick fingers and wills himself to siphon you out from beneath his skin.
It doesn’t work.
The work helps. Laying tile is something he normally considers tedious, but it’s a welcome reprieve in your home because he can get down on his hands and knees and focus on something that isn’t you.
You see the labor he’s going through, and you appreciate it. And really, what kind of host would you be if you didn’t reward his efforts?
It starts with a pitcher of iced tea. It’s made just the way Joel likes it, with light ice and a few slices of lemon. He doesn’t know how you could possibly guess that, but it makes him want you that much more.
And then it’s cookies. Pain-stakingly handmade oatmeal raisin cookies, to be exact. You’re like something out of his most shameful domestic dreams in your cute floral-patterned apron and oven mitts as you pull the tray of cookies out of the oven, and an image of you in nothing but those mitts and that apron flickers through his mind before he can stop it.
All the while you traipse around the house like a mirage–humming along to the yacht rock that drifts from Joel’s stereo, swaying your hips in the kitchen as you put together the most delicious bologna sandwich Joel’s ever eaten, toweling off your soaking wet body after an afternoon in the pool. You’re the worst temptation Joel’s ever had to face.
It becomes his mantra. Be respectful, be respectful, be respectful.
But there’s no respect in your eyes. There’s nothing honorable about the way you bite your lip and smirk when he catches your gaze lingering on him.
Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. But why should he have to play nice if you don’t?
And really, the whole thing is Tommy’s fault. He started it with that first comment about you, and then he goes and calls out sick (read: horribly hungover) this morning. He leaves Joel all alone with you–gives you the perfect opening to pounce.
Or, more accurately, entice Joel into pouncing on you.
He’s just setting his tool bag down, about to decide where he wants to start today, when your beautiful face pops in through the door.
“Good morning, Joel,” you say with that gorgeous smile of yours that makes his knees go a little weak. “No Tommy today?”
He nearly chokes on his own tongue when you step further into the room wearing a plaid button-up he left here earlier in the week and booty shorts so small he has to do a doubletake to make sure you’re actually wearing anything on your lower half. You look fucking good in his shirt, and suddenly all he can think about is pulling you in and bending you over the half-finished vanity–
“N-no. He’s sick,” Joel manages to choke out. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then, “that’s my shirt, isn’t it?”
You look down and rub the time-worn fabric between your fingers like you have to think about it, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.
“Oh, it must’ve gotten mixed in with our laundry!” The little giggle you let out is so innocent that he almost believes you. Almost. “Here–”
You start to lift the fabric up your torso in the most tantalizingly slow fashion, and he just sits there and watches it happen. He sees the first peek of skin above the waistband of your shorts, and then your beautiful stomach, then the delicious curve of a breast–
He quickly jolts out a hand to stop you in the midst of mentally willing every single molecule in his dick to control itself. “S’alright, darlin’. You keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.”
“Okay,” you acquiesce and let the fabric drop back down into its rightful place. “Can I get you anything? Water maybe?”
He certainly could use it. His neck and face are flushed red, and there’s sweat starting to form at his temples despite the relatively cool temperature within the house.
He realizes, with startling clarity, that he’s at a precipice right now. This might be the only chance he gets to really do something about this burgeoning tension that’s spread thicker than butter between you and him. He’s got a choice to make, and it’s not going to be an easy choice.
“Sure.” It comes out a bit too high-pitched, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Sure, sweetheart. That’d be great.”
“Alright,” you say with that damned giggle again. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as you leave the room, Joel feels like he can breathe again. It’s so much easier to think straight when you’re not standing there, smiling up at him and looking so damn gorgeous.
He’s got two options, when it boils down to it: fuck you or leave you alone. And he really, really wants to take you. Make you scream his name while he pounds himself into you, fill you so full that you never completely wash him out. And you want it too, he knows you do, you’re practically begging for it.
But he promised himself he would be respectful. That he would keep his hands away from the girl that’s definitely too young and too pure for someone like him–because he knows that if has you, he’ll never be able to get enough.
There’s a very clear and obvious loophole that comes to mind now; a way he could have you without ruining you, a way you could both come out of this satisfied yet mostly intact. Joel’s never been opposed to doing the hard jobs, after all.
He’s got a condom in his wallet and KY jelly in his bag–mostly used for plumbing fittings, but it’ll do the job for this kind of pipework, too.
You come back with a glass of ice water, and his resolve slips. How the hell is he supposed to initiate this? What if you say no and think he’s disgusting? What if you tell your parents? He can’t do this, this was such a horrible idea, he–
Your touch on his back is like a gentle breeze, just a flutter of your fingers to alert him to your return. He flinches a bit at the sudden contact, but when he turns you’re still so achingly close. He can smell the agonizingly sweet aroma of your conditioner and the lotion you slather on your body after showering, and all he wants is more. He wants to wrap you around him, to inhale that scent straight from the source. His resolve is back, just like that.
He doesn’t give himself another opportunity to hesitate. He places one big, meaty palm on your cheek and wraps the other around your hand that holds the glass of ice water to steady you; and then he kisses you with such bruising force it almost knocks the wind out of you.
You moan. You actually moan the second his lips meet yours, and he knows just like that–with a startling moment of clarity–that this isn’t going to be enough. He’s going to take, and take, and take–gorge himself on you until you have nothing left to give. And the strangest thing of the whole matter is that he thinks you’ll actually enjoy his greed.
“Joel–”
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmurs as his lips break away from yours–so low and soft in your ear it can’t be anything but a growl. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop right now.”
“I want it,” you affirm.
He searches your eyes, but he finds only earnest honesty and lust. That darkness, that pure and unadulterated want is enough to make his pants tighten. “Fuck.”
He’s so big underneath your roaming hands as he crowds you back against the long bathroom vanity. He lifts you like you’re nothing and sets you on the counter top; he slots himself between your legs and there’s an actual stretch in your muscles to accommodate the width of his hips. One of his wide palms slips behind your head and his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging a little bit to angle your head just the way he wants it. It’s messy and frenzied and desperate–your hands gliding over tee shirt-covered muscle, his tugging your (his) shirt up over your stomach.
“Was starting to think you weren’t interested.” Your voice is heavy and breathy as he breaks away to tug the shirt over your head, casting it aside to lie forgotten on the floor.
“I’ve been tryna convince myself m’not,” he kisses into your neck. “Didn’t work.”
With a sudden roll of his hips, he has you gasping into his neck. He can’t be more than half-hard, but that bulge is formidable. Thick and straining and… suddenly you can’t focus on anything except getting him out of those tight jeans to see what you’re working with.
Your hand just barely fits around him. He’s thick and flushed, getting harder with each passing second as he scatters feather-light kisses over your neck and shoulders. He muffles a groan into your neck as you slowly pump his length–you think he’s seven, maybe eight inches at best guess. The tip of him is flushed red once you get his uncut skin out of the way, and it makes your mouth water. There’s a slight upward curve to him and a long, prominent vein that runs down the left side. It’s porn star material–you didn’t know real people had dicks like this.
“Joel… Jesus, that’s gonna be a tight fit.”
“Oh, don’t worry darlin’,” he hums, thumb ghosting over your clit in a way that makes your entire body jolt. “It ain’t goin’ in there.”
There’s nothing but pure excitement in your voice, despite the anxious gulp that tracks down your throat. “Where…”
“Flip over f’me.”
You follow his instruction with a sort of morbid curiosity, hopping down from the counter before folding yourself over it.
You can feel his eyes on you, as he takes in your willingness. It’s like you’re on display for him, for his appraisal. You’ve still got shorts and a bra on, yet you’ve never felt more exposed.
It’s almost like he can sense your mind swirling–maybe it’s because his is prone to do the same. He sets a gentle hand on your back and smooths it down your spine as he crowds up against you–you can feel the press of his exposed cock against the curve of your ass, and it makes you shiver.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs as he folds over you, caging you in with the delicious weight of his body. His lips trace along the curve of your jaw and down your neck as he speaks. “But I made myself this little promise that I wouldn’t fuck you. You got me actin’ so unprofessional, honey.”
You whine at the sincerity in his voice–all you’ve wanted since the day he started was for him to have you folded over and at his mercy like this.
“You can fuck me,” you whine earnestly. “It’s okay, I promise. Won’t tell.”
“Mmm, I know. You’re too good a girl to go gettin’ me in trouble over somethin’ like this,” he hums–you can hear the condescension in his voice even as he praises you, and it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “But with all the teasin’ you been doin’... don’t rightly know that you deserve to be fucked.”
“Please–”
“However,” he continues, landing a light smack to your ass in retaliation for your interruption, “might be willin’ to take you anyway, with some conditions. Out of the goodness of my heart.”
He pauses to let you ask, “What conditions?”
And then he pauses again, asking his own question this time. Is he really going to go through with this? But he’s spent the better part of two weeks staring at your ass, and you’ve spent the better part of two weeks putting it on display for him. It’s like you’ve been silently asking him all this time to take it.
His hand slides down from where it rests on your spine, over your tailbone to where he’s been thinking about all this time. He feels the way your muscles tense up even through your shorts, and it sends a thrill he can’t describe coursing through his veins.
“You ever taken someone here before?”
“N-no.” He feels it again as his other hand comes to soothingly rub your hip–that excited-yet-nervous flutter of muscle. You haven’t run away screaming yet, and that’s the biggest motivator he could have to keep going.
“I think you ought to let me. As a thank you, for puttin’ up with all your play,” he growls into your ear.
It’s fucking dirty, the idea of letting a man you hardly know take you in such a taboo way. It’s even dirtier how fucking excited the idea has you.
“You say no right now and I’ll drop it,” he murmurs so sweetly. “Don’t ever have to talk about this again.”
You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished talking–a sly smirk spreading over your lips as you grind back against him hard enough to make him choke on a moan.
“It’s only right,” you affirm. “Gotta make it up to you for how naughty I’ve been.’
His eyes flash dangerously as he grinds his cock against you again, smearing precome against the flimsy fabric of your shorts. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”
He has your bottoms and panties down around your ankles in a flash, and he actually groans at the sight of your sticky cunt all puffy and wet and on display for him.
He can’t resist the urge to swipe a finger through your folds, delighting in the string of shiny arousal that connects his finger to your core when he pulls away. “She wants it so bad, hmm? Such a shame she ain’t gettin’ any.”
It tugs a moan from your throat, especially when he drags as much slick as he can up to circle your tightest hole. He feels the way you flutter with apprehension, and he leans back down to kiss the corner of your jaw.
“Gonna get you nice and ready, I promise. M’not gonna hurt you, baby girl.”
“Thank you, da–” You almost lost yourself there for a second–almost laid your whole hand of cards out on the table for him to see. You try not to get flustered over the slip–you simply clear your throat and try again. “Thank you, Joel.” But you aren’t nearly as smooth as you hope to be.
In a flash Joel’s free hand is lifting your head, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. They’re so much darker than normal, and it only serves to make you wetter.
“What’d you call me?”
“J-Joel.”
His hand slips down to your throat and gives it a warning squeeze–his jaw is set, you know he isn’t playing. “Try again, and tell the truth this time.”
“D… daddy.”
You try to hide your face, to cower in shame, but he won’t let you. He smashes his lips to yours at the exact second his first finger probes that tight, waiting entrance.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly breaches you, using your own slick to guide the way. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You can’t do anything but gasp, hands clutching for dear life to the edge of the counter. This feels different, and not in the way you were expecting it to. It’s tight, sure, and it feels foreign, but it also feels so much better than you ever could’ve expected it to. The subtle stretch around his thick finger is addicting.
Joel’s jaw drops at the expression on your face; you already look so thoroughly fucked-out, and he’s barely even started. “Fuck.You like this, hmm? Like feelin’ daddy’s fingers gettin’ you ready for his big cock?”
The only response he gets is a wrecked little whimper, and he props your chin up again to meet his heated gaze. “Talk to me. Gotta talk to me, tell me how you’re feelin’, or I’m gonna stop.”
“Fuck!” It’s shriller than you want it to be and you would feel pathetic if you weren’t so thoroughly overwhelmed with this new sensation. “Don’t stop daddy!”
“Feels good, yeah? How long has daddy’s little slut wanted to try this?”
But there’s no way you can be expected to answer, not when he’s adding another finger to the onslaught. Not when your legs are already shaking and you’re thinking about just how many fingers he’s going to have to use to get you ready for the massive cock you can feel throbbing against your thigh.
He retracts just as suddenly as he started, and a needy little whine escapes from your throat involuntarily.
He can’t help chuckling as he reaches for the bottle of KY jelly he’d dug out of his bag while you were getting him water. It feels like it’s been years since you left the room on that little errand for him–definitely not the barely ten minutes it’s actually been.
“Relax, baby girl. I’m comin’ right back.”
You feel the cool drizzle of the water-based substance over your hole and it forces another whine from your throat. It’s met with his thick fingers again, spreading the jelly over your hole before plunging two in knuckle-deep.
“Atta girl.” His voice is thick and sweet as honey as he slowly works his fingers, thrusting and scissoring at an achingly slow pace. “Doin’ so good f’me.”
“Daddy–”
“I know,” he coos. “I know, it’s so much, isn’it?”
All you can manage to do is nod your head, arms shaking under the strain of holding yourself upright. He sees the way your limbs tremble and he adds a third finger just to be extra cruel–although he steadies you by grabbing your hip firmly with his free hand, keeping you in place as he fucks you open with his fingers.
Everything is so hot. There’s a sticky sheen of sweat covering your forehead and your chest; you can feel your own slick dripping down your thighs.
And then his free hand drops down to thumb at your clit, and everything twists in your gut so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.
Within seconds you’re coming–no pretense, no warning. It explodes white-hot from your belly and sweeps through you to the tips of your fingers and toes with flash flood speed. One second there’s nothing more than pleasant anticipation–the next, you’re shaking and convulsing and sobbing Joel’s name as you fight with every cell in your body to remain upright.
He does his part to work you through it, thumb swiping even circles on your sensitive clit, pulling his fingers from you to pin you in place on the counter so he can continue working you through it.
“I know, I know,” he coos so sweetly in your ear over the sound of your moans and cries. “You’re doin’ so good baby, let yourself have it.”
It’s minutes before you’re breathing normally again–your legs are cramping from trying so desperately to support your shaky weight. Joel’s hands are soothing you the whole time once he lets up the onslaught on your clit; it’s like he’s mapping you, tracing over every dip and curve so tenderly you could almost forget what this encounter really is.
“Doin’ okay?” He husks into your ear–and then he’s folding himself over you again, and you can feel the insistent press of his hard cock against the curve of your ass.
For some reason, that’s what really makes it sink in. That’s the moment you realize that this is actually going to happen–that you want it to happen. Joel’s about to take something from you that no one has ever taken before, and you want him to. You’re offering it willingly, even.
You hum in response and buck your hips back, giving him a delicious taste of friction that pulls a ground from his throat. “Mhm. I’m ready, daddy.”
“Fuck, that’s my girl.” He gives your hip a light pat before pulling away for a moment, and you somehow have the presence of mind to jump up on the deep countertop because you know your legs won’t be able to support you through what’s about to happen.
There’s a smile on his handsome face when he turns back towards you, lube and condom in hand. “That how you want it, baby?”
Despite everything that’s already happened, you feel so much more exposed like this. You’re completely naked, and he’s fully clothed with his pants shoved down just enough to free his dick. Even as you spread your legs to admit him between your thighs, you feel shy. And he senses it, the slight apprehension in your gaze, because his smile softens even further; he sets the lube and condom down on the counter next to you so he can grasp the collar of his worn t-shirt and tug it up over his head.
He’s beautiful for a nearly forty-year-old man, you think. He’s firm and toned, but there’s a softness about him that you can’t help admiring, especially around his belly. Your eyes eagerly lap up the soft curve of his tummy, following the tantalizing promise of his treasure trail to his cock, hard and aching for you. The ruddy, flushed tip is weeping for you; you don’t know that you’ve ever seen someone so turned on before, and it’s a heady rush of power.
He chuckles as he sees your hungry eyes taking him in–he raises one big hand to cup your chin and pull your gaze up to meet his. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so good spread out f’me like this. You sure you’re ready f’this?”
“Fuck yes,” you say with an alluring little wiggle of your hips, and that’s more than enough for him.
He pulls his bottom lip between even rows of shiny white teeth as he rolls the condom down over his length, and it’s actually intimidating like this. He’s so big and imposing and it makes your legs want to close, but–
“M’gonna go slow, okay?” He vows, voice gentle as his big, brown eyes look into yours. His fingers wrap tightly around the half-used tube of KY jelly, and he leans down to kiss you when he sees the nervous gulp that bobs your throat. “Gonna be real gentle, I promise. You tap out at any time and we’re done, ‘kay?”
“Okay,” you affirm, and you feel a lot better. As out of the blue as this is, as little as you really know Joel, you can tell he’s being sincere. You trust him; you know he won’t hurt you.
The first press of his aching tip against your hole is enough to make you choke on a gasp. He’s big, and even with all of his attentive prep work to get you ready for him it’s a tight fit. You can tell it’s affecting him, too. His eyes flutter shut and he bites down hard on his bottom lip, and you can tell that he’s fighting with all his strength not to just shove himself deep inside you. You appreciate his restraint more than words can convey, so you don’t even try; you hook your arms around his neck and pull him in for a deep, messy, desperate kiss instead. His tongue licks eagerly into your mouth as he eases his hips further and further towards yours, and it’s a nice distraction from the nearly overwhelming stretch of your muscle trying to accommodate his girth.
He shudders when his hips finally meet yours, cock stuffed to the hilt into your ass. “God damn baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You doin’ okay?”
You whine at the first roll of his hips, nodding your head rapidly because words won’t come. It’s such a foreign sensation, being stretched and breached like this. Not unpleasant necessarily, but so brain-scramblingly different that all you can do is dig your nails into his strong, broad shoulders and hold on for dear life as he actually starts to fuck into you.
It’s nasty, and you’ve never been so wet in your life. You hear the sticky squelch of lube as he thrusts his hips, shoving his cock deeper than you imagined possible. Your own wetness seeps from your neglected cunt and drenches him, dripping down around his cock and wetting the dense curls at the apex of his sex.
“Shit baby, you’re takin’ daddy’s cock so well,” he whines breathlessly; one arm hooks under your knee so he can spread you open a bit wider for him, and then the other hand returns to your puffy, arousal swollen clit.
You make what has to be the most high-pitched sound you’ve ever made as his index and middle fingers start a torturously slow pace on the little bud. “Fuck daddy!”
“I know,” he coos–you think that soft, breathy, Southern twang is going to actually put you in your grave. “I know, you wanna come, dontcha? It’s okay baby, daddy’s gonna make you come all over his cock just the way you need.”
His hips pick up the pace in time with his fingers, and all you can do is lay there limply like a ragdoll. The pleasure is so much different than what you’re used to, but it’s good. It’s amazing, the feeling of him balls deep in your guts in tandem with his ministrations on your clit, in a way you never imagined it could be.
“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me,” he growls, hitching your leg a bit higher over his hip so he can thrust even deeper. “Fuck, m’not gonna last long like this. You’re gonna make daddy come so hard in this tight little ass.”
His words are accentuated with a little smack to the side of your ass, and it makes you moan louder still. Your head rolls back as he picks up the pace of his fingers, swirling hard and messy circles with reckless abandon. He’s not trying to prolong it anymore–he’s going for the kill.
“Fuck daddy!” Your hands scrabble for purchase on his smooth, freckled skin as he pounds harder into you. “W-want it, please, want you to come in my ass–”
“Gonna give it to you, impatient girl,” he growls deep in his chest. “You gimme one first.”
Your entire body jolts when he brings his hand down on your sensitive cunt before groaning at the way your arousal sticks to his hand and makes his fingers shine.
“She wants t’be stuffed so full, doesn’t she?” He purrs, fingers dancing so fucking teasingly around your fluttering cunt that it makes your eyes water. “Bet she’d love to be chock full’a cock right now.”
“Joel–”
“Now, now, baby, no whinin’. It’s unbecomin’ for such a sweet little lady,” he grunts, and the condescension dripping from his tone is almost enough to make you come on its own. “You’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful for it, aintcha?”
“Yesyesyesplease–”
His fingers have barely returned to your clit before you’re coming again. This one is even more powerful than before–a hurricane instead of a flash flood. Your entire body trembles with the ebbing flow of pleasurable waves–the words you’re panting aren’t even discernible English anymore.
The way you clench and flutter around him in your own pleasure pulls him over the edge faster than anything ever has before. He comes hard, chest clenching hard around his breath, cock twitching more violently than anything you’ve ever felt before as he spills his load into the condom.
It’s a long, breathless moment before he pulls himself from the vice-like grip you have around his dick. He pulls out with a deep, long groan–it makes you giggle, because it’s the most over-dramatic sound you’ve ever heard in your life.
There’s a beat, and then he starts laughing, too. At the sweet sound of your laugh, at the way he feels like he just ran a marathon, at the absolute absurdity of this whole thing. His laughter is so sweet and gut-deep and infectious, and it only serves to make you laugh harder. For a good few moments it’s just you and Joel, half naked, panting and sweaty, doubled over in laughter.
And then the bathroom door swings open and Tommy barges in.
“I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better after sleepin’ in, what’s so funny–” He stops dead in his tracks; he sees you naked and spread out on the counter and Joel disheveled and sweating. Neither of you are laughing very much anymore as you both scramble to cover yourselves up.
Tommy quirks a brow, a smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Joel. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”
You don’t know how to answer when you’re so mortified, so you do the only thing you can think of–you dart out of the room and down the hall to the safety of your bedroom as fast as your shaky legs can carry you.
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wet nights | joel miller
pairing/AU: bfd!joel miller x female!reader – no outbreak
summary: getting beer spilled down your dress at your best friend sarah’s birthday party might not have been so bad– not when her dad can help you clean up.
warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 25 and joel is 47, reader is described as wearing a dress, swearing, use of pet names, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, exhibitionism, praise with a dash of degradation kink, one small touch of your clit, soft dom!joel, use of sir, cum play, no use of y/n
a/n: mom said it was my turn to write bfd!joel lol. basically this is just me wanting to write joel getting his cock and balls sucked bc it's what he deserves 😌 as always thank you to @dustydaddyyy for reading through this for me! and happy reading <3
main masterlist / ao3
Nodding your head to the beat of the music you gulped down a cooling sip of beer. The bar was stuffed to the brim tonight for Sarah’s birthday. Every chair and booth occupied, large groups huddled together against the walls, and a growing crowd of brave, seemingly deep enough down their drinks, dancers moved across the makeshift dance floor. Leaning against the bar right at the end, you were shielded from the continuous line of people looking for a drink to sate their thirst on this hot summer night.
You’d missed Sarah since graduation. She’d moved back to Austin to be closer to her father – a man you had still to meet even after all these years of knowing Sarah. You’d met in undergrad where you’d had a couple of overlapping classes the first year. She’d been one of those people where you’d just clicked, like a hand in a glove, you two just fit together.
Now you had moved to Austin. It wasn’t exactly planned, but you’d applied to a postgraduate program at the University of Texas, not necessarily thinking you’d get in– but then you had. Sarah had been ecstatic when you’d told her. You hadn’t seen her in person in over a year, but you couldn’t wait to live in the same city as your best friend again.
But first, her 25th birthday party.
Tonight would be your first night out as a new Austinite. Sarah had invited all her closest friends and family to her favorite bar to celebrate. You’d dreaded it a little, you weren’t gonna lie. That nagging anxiety had bubbled under your skin all week at the prospect of being the only one at the party who didn’t know anyone already. Sarah had told you not to worry though when you’d voiced your concern to her a few days ago – she’d introduce you to everyone – nothing to worry about, and she’d been right.
All Sarah’s friends had been extremely friendly and nice, and you’d been taken under their wing immediately. Quickly, your anxiety had melted away, condensing into nothing as you’d started to have a good time.
It was deep into the summer, and Austin had shown itself from its hotter side the last few days. Inside the bar everything ran hot, even with the AC on blast and with the amount of people who’d made their way inside in the last hour, looking for a good time on a Saturday night, it never stood a chance.
Trying to cool off you’d excused yourself from your new group of friends to order yourself a cold beer. One of the ACs blew cold air directly towards the bar, keeping the frantic bartenders cool as they pushed out order after order of drinks. You watched them from where you stood perfectly in the wind of the AC, glass raised to your lips when you felt a hard bump against your shoulder.
“Fuck,” you cursed as your full glass of beer spilled all down your front, staining your white summer dress.
“Shit– sorry, sweetheart.” You didn’t have time to react as your beer was lifted out of your wet hand and placed on the rough wood of the bar.
Looking up from your ruined dress you took in your beer thief as he reached across the bar for some napkins. He was older, forties maybe, maybe older if you were to take the sprinkle of salt and pepper in his hair into consideration, but he was gorgeous. A strong jaw and sculptured nose. Clad in a t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans, you thought he looked casual– not like he belonged to the rest of the birthday party. The material of his t-shirt strained against his bicep as he leaned back from over the bar – a stack of napkins now in his hand. Standing to his full height before you, you noticed just how broad he was, and it made a drop of desire pool in your core.
The man’s previous frantic movements came to a halt as he took you in for the first time; his dark brown eyes rolling down your body and leaving a trail of heat. His fist full of napkins stalled when his eyes landed on your dress, quickly diverting them with a loud clearing of his throat.
“Um– here,” he said, voice strained as he handed you the napkins.
Pulling your eyebrows together in a frown, you looked down at yourself again. The fabric was completely soaked through, and you felt a prickling heat tickle your cheeks as you realized you now looked like a walking ad for a wet t-shirt competition.
“Oh shit,” you muttered, taking the napkins from the man as you tried your best to cover yourself.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart– bumpin’ into ya like that.”
Pressing the napkins to your dress you shook your head at him, “It’s fine– eh,” you looked up from your body.
“Joel,” he introduced himself.
“It’s fine, Joel. It was an accident. I’ll just go to the restroom and try to get the stain out,” you said with a grimace, and reached for more napkins.
“Let me help ya,” he offered as he placed a friendly hand on your elbow.
As Joel guided you through the crowd towards the toilets, hand hovering at a polite distance behind your back, he continued to apologize.
“I feel terrible– let me at least pay for it if it ends up needin’ replacin’.”
Inside the bar’s toilets, you jumped up on the stone countertop lining the wall, turning the closest sink on.
“It’s okay,” you repeated as you busied yourself with trying to clean yourself up, “This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten beer spilled all over me,” you said with a teasing laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little.
Standing beside you with his hip leaning against the stone and a knee popped, Joel huffed out a strained laugh, a laugh somewhere between embarrassment and relief.
“Yeah?” He questioned, eyes falling to your working hands.
“Tell you this much– I’ve had plenty of wet nights.”
A sound escaped Joel at your words, one he quickly tried to cover up with a cough, and you realize your innuendo a second too late. When you looked up from your hands, eyes wide, you noticed that Joel’s cheeks had flushed slightly, like he was embarrassed that he’d even caught onto the innuendo you hadn’t meant to make.
“Oh! No, not like that–” you rushed, tone slightly mortified as your eyes met his, trying very hard not to stutter through the rest of your sentence, “I–uh... I only meant that I uh–... I‘ve had plenty of situations in which I’ve gotten wet–”
At this sentence, Joel raised his eyebrows in a look that seemed half-surprised, half-amused, and your stomach dropped even further into your ass in embarrassment.
“–with water!” you clarified quickly, before you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, closing your eyes as you huffed out a laughing sigh, “There’s no way I’m getting out of this gracefully, is there?”
You heard Joel’s chuckle to your side, deep and syrupy, like the stuff you’d liked to pour over your pancakes in buckets when you were a kid.
“You’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t started explainin’, I think,” Joel told you, his tone joking, and you chuckled bashfully, nodding before you looked up at him.
There was a moment in which you exchanged a look, before you felt the smile break over your face and you dissolved into embarrassed laughter, shaking your head as Joel laughed, too.
“Off to a great start,” you muttered in between chuckles, “First week in Austin and I’m already making passes at handsome strangers in bar bathrooms.”
“I never said I was complainin’,” Joel said jokingly, and you let out a chuckle, “First week in Austin, hm?”
“Yeah,” you said with a nod, “Here for a postgrad.”
“Smart and beautiful,” he mused, “Reckon I should spill beers more often if this is what I get in return.”
Delicate wings fluttered in your tummy at his words as a feeling of excitement filled your chest. Looking up at him with a raised teasing eyebrow you said, “Not sure spilling beer on someone is the tried and tested formula.”
“Well, that depends, really,” Joel answered back in a teasingly contemplating voice, “‘s it workin’ on you?”
Your stomach dropped slightly at his words, and when your eyes moved to meet his, he was looking at you with a look that made your insides burn.
“Maybe,” you told him with a teasing smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.
You were never usually this bold, but there was something in the way he was looking at you and the syrup-y tone of his voice. You could tell he knew what he was doing, knew exactly what to say, and you wanted more. Biting down on your bottom lip coquettishly, you leaned backwards on your arms, giving Joel a full view of the soaked front of your dress, and more specifically, everything he could see underneath.
“And what works on you, Joel?”
You watched with some satisfaction as Joel's eyes ran over the length of your chest, before he quickly redirected them to your eyes.
“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman here, sweetheart,” he almost whispered, his eyes as dark as the Austin summer night sky. You gave a noncommitted shrug as a teasing smile tugged at your lips. Then, you leaned forward so that you were closer to him, feet dangling slightly.
“I never asked you to be,” you told him, your voice low but not quite a whisper as you looked up at him through your lashes.
Behind your rib cage your heart quickened with excitement as Joel’s darkening gaze bored into yours, and you knew you him right where you wanted him. His eyes danced over your face for a moment, before they flickered down to your lips. It almost made you stop breathing for a second, the tension in the air between you so thick you could cut it with a knife. There was just something about this man, something about Joel – and in this moment you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anyone before.
Maybe it should’ve scared you, the speed at which you’d fallen under his spell (or was it the other way around?), but right now, with Joel’s darkening eyes staring into yours, you couldn't bring yourself to feel any fear. You could only look at him, could only feel his breath fanning over your lips and the intensity of his gaze on your face.
“You’re trouble, aren’t ya?” Joel’s voice was low, not quite a whisper, but full of deep bass.
You felt the expanse of his hand fall on your bare knee, rough and calloused over where your sundress had ridden up.
“Nothing you can’t handle.” You batted your eyelashes semi-innocently, spreading your thighs slightly, which made Joel’s mouth twitch in amusement.
“’s that so, darlin’?” He asked, taking his place between your legs, your face now only inches from his as he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow.
“Mhm,” you nodded slightly, your hand falling over his to guide it slowly up your thigh, “Don’t you wanna find out?”
As Joel’s index finger made contact with the side seam of your underwear, he closed the space between you and pressed his lips against yours. The hairs of his mustache tickled your cupid’s bow as he dove deeper, lips rolling over yours. You sat up slightly when his other hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your core rubbing up against his growing bulge. You whimpered against his lips at the contact, and Joel inhaled it, consuming every breathy moan and whimper.
His hand slid slowly downwards to your ass where he gave it a nice squeeze, pulling you even closer when your legs came up to wrap around his waist. He licked at your lower lip hungrily, and you opened yourself up to him to allow him to deepen the kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. He was a great kisser, probably the best you’d kissed. His lips moved expertly over yours, soft and firm at the same time as he guided you through it.
The grip on your ass tightened again and soon you were half-way to hanging off the counter as he rocked his front steadily against your core, where your arousal had started to pool. The kisses turned needier then, shorter and desperate between quiet whines. You could feel the shape of him against you, hard and thick, and big. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you as you imagined yourself on your knees before him, the weight and taste of him on your tongue. He was so fucking hot, and you wanted him so fucking badly.
“Can I suck your cock?” you panted through frantic kisses.
Joel pulled back slightly, head tipped back to find your eyes.
“You wanna suck my cock?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. You only nodded, head tipping slowly with the bite of your lip.
Joel tsk-ed, “Dirty girl,” he said and rocked his hard bulge against your core, which earned him a moan. It made a wicked grin spread across his face, like he’d just proved a point.
His hands left your body as he slowly stepped backwards – that same cocky grin adorning his features as he nodded towards one of the stalls. Jumping off the countertop, you almost tripped over your feet to follow him inside.
“Relax, baby– ain’t no need to get on your knees until after we’re inside,” he teased, holding the door open for you, bicep bulging against the fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck, he looked so hot.
“Ha-ha,” you fake-laughed at him with a teasing roll of your eyes as you stepped past him and into the bathroom stall. When the door clicked behind him, followed by the unmistakable sound of the lock turning, you felt a pair of strong hands land on your hips as he pressed his body against your back.
“I’m only teasin’,” he reassured you in your ear, his breath fanning over the shell and sending a tingle down your spine. Turning around in his hold, your own teasing smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“Yeah?” you queried with the raise of an eyebrow, “Well two can play that game, sir” you teased as you slowly sunk to your knees, missing the way Joel reacted to the title you’d assigned him.
From above Joel watched you, body relaxed and composed like he wasn’t about to get his dick sucked, but the lust in his eyes gave him away. Your teeth caught on your bottom lip as you fumbled with his belt, the sound of metal clinking bouncing off the tiles as you focused on popping the button on his jeans and pulling the zipper down. You couldn’t take your eyes off the shape of him hidden behind the denim, and it made your mouth water, your thighs squeezing together. You were mesmerized as you let your pointer finger run over the covered length of him, the cotton fabric of his boxer briefs soft under your fingertips.
For a moment, you couldn’t believe what you were about to do – suck a man you’d just met less than an hour ago off in the bathroom stall of some dingy bar? But then again, something excited you about it.
Maybe it was Joel? Or maybe it was the thrill of it all– of maybe getting caught?
“Go on, darlin’, it’s okay– be a good girl n’ take it out f’me,” Joel ordered from above, his voice dropping an octave. You looked up at him, caught the way he studied you, gauging your every move and reaction.
Then something shifted in his eyes, a flash of insecurity making its presence known, “Or don’t– we can stop f’you want– if you ain’t feelin’ it anymore.”
You shook your head before he’d even finished his sentence. God, no! You sure as hell didn’t want to stop.
“I wanna keep going, Joel,” you smiled, your fingers hooking into the elastic band of his boxer briefs.
A genuine smile bloomed across his face then, his rough hand coming down to cup your chin, “That’s good, baby,” he said, swiping his thumb slowly over your skin, before he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.
“Know you’ll be good f’me, won’t you?” he whispered against your lips, drawing a breathy whine from you at the praise.
“Yes,” you sighed, almost breathless as he kissed you again quickly before he murmured against your lips, “Yes, you will, darlin’– you’re gonna choke on my cock ‘n thank me for it, won’t ya?”
He was driving you mad with all these questions. In just a few minutes, this man had turned you inside out, pushed every button to turn you on– you were practically swimming in your panties, your mind clouded in hazy arousal.
You didn’t know what to do, and not thinking clearly, you chased his lips.
“Nuh-uh,” Joel chuckled, pulling away slightly, “lemme hear you say it, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you sighed again, “thank you for giving me your cock.”
“Thank you for giving me your cock, what?”
This manwas relentless.
“Thank you for giving me your cock, sir?” you tried, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.
Pleased, a satisfied grin pulled at Joel’s lips. He rewarded you with a quick kiss before he pulled away, standing to his full height again.
You couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to touch him. Hooking your fingers into the elastic band of his boxer briefs again, you slowly pulled them down, revealing inch by inch of the base of his fat cock.
He was big, and the sight made your mouth water, but what excited you the most was the weight of his heavy balls.
“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes wide with fascination.
His hand found the back of your neck in a grounding hold as he guided you closer, your lips bumping against his tip. “Give it a kiss, baby… just like that,” he praised as you did exactly what he wanted, placing a kiss to his cock the same way you’d kissed his lips.
Over you, you could hear Joel release a content breathy chuckle, “That’s so good, baby, such a good girl.”
Egged on by his praises, you shifted a little on your knees, steadying your hands on his thighs as you pooled a blob of spit in your mouth that you let drip down the head. Joel watched you intensely as you used your dominant hand to slowly work the spit over his length, earning yourself a strained grunt. He grew even harder in your hand as you familiarized yourself with the weight and size of him in your hand.
“Wanna taste it, sir,” you said and placed another soft kiss to the head, swiping your tongue over the slit to taste the precum that had started to pearl.
“Yeah?” he taunted, almost degrading, “You wanna taste my cock that badly?”
“Y-yes,” you whined, looking up at him through your lashes.
Joel watched you for a beat before he tapped at the hand wrapped around him, shooing it away as he fisted himself. “Open wide then, honey, ‘f you want it that bad,” he said, slapping his cock against the side of your face.
Your mouth dropped open in an instance as Joel stuffed his cock inside your mouth slowly. You opened up as wide as you possibly could, relaxing your jaw to accommodate the size of him in your mouth. It was a wide stretch, and the tip touched the back of your throat far too soon, making you gag around the head.
He pulled back to let you breathe for a moment, before he sunk back down your throat again, a large and grounding hand resting at the back of your head. The second time you were more prepared to take him, holding him in your throat for a few moments longer before you started to gag. Over you, Joel let out a strained grunt; the noise sending a bolt of arousal straight to your core.
After that, Joel let you take the lead.
You started out slow, taking the head into your mouth as you let your spit-covered fingers glide over his shaft in an experimental tug. Under your fist, a slick sound echoed off the tiles with every jerk of his cock. You made sure his cock was thoroughly coated in your spit as you set a steady rhythm. You let your tongue glide over the underside of his tip, his hips bucking when you dipped your tongue into the slit.
It was sloppy, and wet, and the noises coming from your throat were entirely too obscene as you started bobbing your head, taking him down your throat.
“That’s a good girl,” Joel praised you, helping guide his cock down your throat with the hand resting at the back of your head. “You love suckin’ cock, don’t you? Love havin’ a big cock fill up that tight throat?”
Suddenly, you heard the muted music coming from the bar grow louder before dying again at the sound of the door slamming shut. You stilled your movements in panic as you heard someone slip into the stall to your right. Your eyes met Joel as you slipped his cock out your mouth, but to your surprise he looked far from concerned about the new audience.
Stretching his neck he turned his head in the direction of the occupied stall, while he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock. Even in his hands it looked big, and you started to wonder how you’d ever managed to fit it down your throat. A beat passed before he turned his head to look at you again, a wicked grin coating his lips as he bobbed his cock in your face, rubbing the head over your closed lips before he slapped it lightly against your cheek.
“Open up,” he mouthed with another light slap to your cheek. His actions made a tingle of arousal spread throughout your body, and you realized in shock how much the thought of getting caught turned you on.
You did as Joel said and opened your mouth for him to feed you his cock again. He watched you very closely this time, letting you ease yourself down his cock at your own pace, trying your best to be quiet. When the very tip of your nose made contact with the thatch of coarse dark hair at the base and your lips were snug around his cock, Joel couldn’t help himself. The grounding hand at the back of your head held you down as he shoved himself as deep as he possibly could down your throat, his balls bouncing against your chin at the movement.
To your right you heard the unmistakable sound of a toilet being flushed and a lock being twisted. Your eyes welled up with tears, your vision fogging over as you tried your best to fight against your gag reflex. Over you, Joel watched you with a proud smirk on his lips. When the sound of the sink turning on echoed through the restroom, you allowed a whimpering gag to escape you as you squeezed your eyes shut.
It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did, but the thrill of getting caught choking on an older man’s cock, a man who was essentially a stranger, made you wonder if you could come untouched. You were so close already, just a flick of your clit would send you off the edge of bliss.
Your eyes were about to roll back into your head when Joel finally pulled back. You gasped violently for air at the exact moment the door opened, filling the toilets with loud music for a moment before you and Joel were locked away again in your own little world. Like you were on autopilot, your hand slipped between your thighs to find your clit, and soon you were withering with your orgasm.
“Oh, there you go, honey, come all over those fingers f’me, just like that,” you heard Joel say, though the force of your orgasm made it seem like he was far away, like your ears were filled with cotton.
When you finally calmed down, you steadied yourself with a tug at Joel’s jeans – the fabric rough under your fingertips. Over you Joel fisted his cock as he watched you with a wild look in his eyes.
“Goddamn, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot comin’ like that just from gettin’ your throat fucked.”
“Thank you, sir,” you managed to let out, your voice strained and hoarse.
Realizing he must’ve been close, you sat up straighter on your knees, ready to pull him off the edge too. Leaning forward, you stuck out your tongue, licking a fat strip up the seam of his balls to the underside of his shaft. His cock jumped in his hand as Joel let out a breathy laugh.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, “Look me in the eyes honey– look me in the eyes when you lick my balls.” Joel jerked his cock above your face as you continued to lick at his heavy balls – your eyes locked with his.
“Look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he choked out through groans, “Suck on ‘em, baby, suck on my balls.”
Blinking up at him you tried your best to fit one of them in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking greedily and lapping at the skin, before you moved on to treat the other with the same amount of love.
Joel’s mouth dropped open in a gape, his breath coming out quicker and more staggered. He squeezed himself harder at the base with each jerk before skating his thumb over the swollen head, massaging it.
“Fuck,” he panted, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”
Popping his balls from your mouth you hurriedly sat up in front of him, the tip off his cock brushing over the plump of your bottom lip with every thug of his cock.
“Please, sir,” you begged, “Please, come in my mouth.”
Joel wasn’t one to deny your request, especially not when you were sat so pretty in front of him with your tongue sticking out.
A second later, Joel shoved his cock in your mouth and came – balls drawn tight as he shot his load down your throat. The force of it made you gag a little at first, the restriction around his sensitive cock only making him come harder. He groaned above you as you sucked him dry, before he pulled back when it was too much, and caught his breath.
“Say Ah,” he said, a gentle but firm hand cupping your jaw. The squeeze of his fingers made your mouth drop open to reveal the cum coated on your tongue and where it pooled at the back of your throat. “Don’t swallow– Let me see, darlin’.”
Your smile fought against his grip. Sticking your tongue out the best you could, you let him see the state he’d left you in; chin coated in saliva, tears starting to dry on your cheeks, mouth puffy and fucked, and marked in this stranger’s cum.
“Pretty as a picture,” he tutted before he let go of your jaw, and with a pat to your cheek finally gave you permission to swallow.
After that it was like the spell had broken between you. Joel helped you to your feet, both of you giggling when your legs wobbled like a foal unsteady on its feet. He held you upright with a strong hand to your waist, while the other one traveled up the length of your body to cup your face, and bring it closer to place a slow and sensual kiss to your lips.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’d never done anything like that before?” You asked him a moment later as he helped you clean your face by the sink.
Joel gave you a look in the mirror.
“You don’t?” you exclaimed.
Joel gave you an infuriatingly casual shrug, “It ain’t your first time suckin’ dick that’s for sure,” he teased with a pinch to your side which made you jump.
Giving him a playful shove, you said, “I’m not lying! I’ve never had a one-night stand.”
“Well, the night’s still young,” Joel joked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and dipping his head to place a soft kiss to the column of your neck.
You leaned into his touch, feeling the soft grip of his hands on your body, and the soft presses of his kisses as you watched the two of you in the mirror. You found that you liked the reflection looking back at you, and if you were lucky, you hoped he liked it too; maybe enough to want to see you again.
“I can’t go back out there like this,” you said after a moment.
Your dress had finally dried, but so had the beer – staining it yellow.
Joel lifted his head from your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder as his eyes scanned your body in the mirror.
“I have a flannel in my truck I can borrow you?”
“More layers in this heat?” you questioned, already sweating at the thought.
A wide grin spread across Joel’s face, full of mischief, “I guess I’ll just have to take ‘em off of you later, then.”
Turning around in his hold, you wrapped your hands around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair curling at his neck as you met his eyes. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” you whispered, painfully aware of the wet stain of arousal soiling your panties and sticking to your cunt.
“No, it doesn’t,” Joel hummed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.
“Wanna get out of here?” you asked and brushed your lips over his.
A moment later Joel guided you out the restrooms with a protective hand resting at the small of your back. Weaving through the crowd, you’d made your way almost to the exit when you heard a shout of your name over the music.
“There you are!” Sarah shouted again as she moved through the crowd towards you and Joel, arms reached out to the sky.
“Oh! And you’ve finally met my dad!”
i hope this was okay and that someone liked this? as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3 i'm very curious to hear your thoughts about this! <3
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller one shot#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us smut#tlou fanfiction#tlou smut#bfd!joel miller#dom!joel miller#pedro pascal#*writing
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'𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐰.
pairing: contractor!joel miller x f!reader
genre: no outbreak au, modern au, explicit smut, minors dni
word count: 3k
summary: joel is used to asshole clients, and when one of them calls him an old man and basically demands him to finish his girlfriend's kitchen in time, he expects you to be the same. But you're the opposite. when he learns how you've been treated, he comes up with a plan to get back at your boyfriend.
warnings: hints of reader being in a toxic relationship, age gap, daddy kink, piv, dirty talk , revenge sex and filming it, infidelity (reader cheating on her bf), praise kink
a/n: This was completely spontaneous, normally I was going to finish one of the haunted hoedown entries but I saw a ✨ s p i c y ✨ video and instantly got up to write this because that video was something else I tell you. Sucks that they don't credit those things on twitter so I can find more of the guy he was also older hence the age gap fgbgfbf
thank you to @johnwatsn for beta'ing this (and sorry for all the typos lmaodfbfg) and thank you to @pedrorascal for the stunning gif 💜
“I’m not paying extra if you do overtime, old man. You said a week and you’ll finish in a week. I don’t care if your knees hurt or you have a heart attack in the middle of hammering a nail—you finish my girlfriend’s kitchen in time. Got it?”
Joel had a lot of unpleasant customers. John was just one of many but his comment had stuck with him. And it wasn’t the rude comments or the tone that basically told Joel that John thought of him as dog shit; no, it was none of that. It was the old man that had bugged him. The hissed comment of his age slithering under his skin and agitating his body.
Joel knew that it only bothered him because it was true. He was an old man. His daughter in her last year of college, doing her absolute best and growing while he was getting old. His skin creasing at the eyes every time he laughed and his hair more salt than pepper.
The thoughts continuing to swirl in his head, with a sigh, he knocks on the door of John’s girlfriend, expecting a woman as equally as unpleasant and demanding.
You’re far from what he expected. Your smile is bright, your eyes kind and lips looking soft and shiny. Joel has trouble gathering himself when you extend a hand, not a care in the world. His eyes drop to where your sweetheart neckline pushes your breasts together, slightly spilling over the fabric. His mouth goes dry, cock twitching under the denim.
Guess some parts of him didn’t get the memo that he was an old man now.
“Joel, right?” you ask, voice unsure and timid. Your eyes gradually take in the height of him, moving to explore the broadness of his shoulders and stopping at his eyes. “John mentioned you.”
Joel’s stomach suddenly turns sour, it’s enough for him to snap out of the sudden lustful gaze he found himself in. He grabs your hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “That’s right. Joel Miller at your service, ma’am.”
He might be imagining it, but he swears your breath hitches just a little when he takes your hand.
“How chivalrous,” you smile and move to the side. “Come on in, Mr. Miller.”
“Joel is just fine,” he grunts, reminded of the old-age comment. How young were you, he wonders. Late twenties, early thirties? He has no idea. He’s also not sure if he wants to know.
You close the door behind him and nod, “Alright then Joel,” you step in front of him, walking towards what he assumes is the kitchen. Joel dutifully follows. “I’m sure John told you about what needs to be done, so hopefully you don’t have any questions.”
He raises an eyebrow at that, confusion swirling in his expression. You don’t turn to look at him, entering the kitchen, you continue, “I had something else in mind originally but he told me to trust him so... I guess that’s what I’m doing now.”
“That don’t sound right,” Joel mumbles. He gives the area a once over, he sees a lot of pink, clean, and polished furniture. The windows are large, allowing the sun to bathe everything within. He vaguely remembers John mentioning a dark, minimalist look but he wasn’t really listening at the time. “Isn’t this your kitchen?”
Your shoulders raise at his question and you finally turn to face him, kind eyes now tainted with a hint of sadness, “It’s going to be our kitchen soon. He probably thinks it’s too girly.”
“That’s no reason to leave you out of the design process,” Joel answers, taking a step closer. You smile helplessly with a shrug, your eyes dropping to his lips before averting them. His pulse races, something wicked forming in his head. He stops an inch away from you, a mere breeze would’ve been enough for your bodies to touch but he keeps still and so do you. You’re flustered, he can tell. “You wanna tell me what you had in mind?”
Your eyes briefly go wide, something like shame crossing your face but the expression is quickly replaced by understanding, “Oh the design,” you murmur, voice barely a whisper. “I honestly would’ve loved some more counter room since I love to bake.”
“Well, you’re in luck darlin’ because I don’t remember much of the details your boyfriend gave me,” he smiles when your brows furrow with confusion. “Meanin’ you have to lead me with the design.”
He swears your smile is the brightest damn thing he’s seen in a long while.
It’s the last day of the constructions in your kitchen but you’re not thinking of the new kitchen counter or the new cupboard, all you’re thinking of is Joel’s proposition, and how you were soaked with just the mere thought of it.
You and Joel had grown close during the time he fixed up your kitchen. Surprisingly, you actually went with the design you initially wanted and not the one John had in mind. You knew it would lead to a fight and some part of you was glad—John was meant to be perfect but it was only on paper. He was a dream boat when in public and amongst friends, but alone? Not a chance. He belittled you, hated almost all your hobbies and always made unnecessary comments on what you looked like.
Despite yourself, you had blabbed all of that to Joel. He made you feel safe, and the fact that he was very pleasant to look at helped. He didn’t say much but you could tell that he was livid, which secretly made you pleased. It was good to see that how John treated you wasn’t actually the norm.
You loved watching him work. The way sweat would slide all the way down to his neck and how his muscles would tense, straining the fabric of his shirt.
He told you about how John had treated him, confessed he thought you would be the same. Your insides had boiled with anger. You apologized profusely and he just shook it off, saying it wasn’t your fault.
Then the kiss had happened.
It had happened on a particularly bad day. You were upset, filled with negative emotions to the brim and all you wanted was unconditional comfort. You kissed him, he didn’t stop you until your hand reached for his belt.
“I wanna show that asshole how amazin’ you are,” he had said. “Will you let me?”
At the time you hadn’t known what he meant by that.
But now you do.
“Look into the camera, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth pressed against your ear. You shudder, your bare body feeling good against his, like you were made for him. Your pussy throbs and drools all over his cock that slides agonizingly slow between your folds. You try to do as he says but it’s just too hard when your eyes are constantly on the brink of rolling back into your skull. He drags his lips down your neck as his large hands knead your breasts, your nipples achingly hard. “Don’t make me say it again, honey. Don’t make me be mean when you’re such a good girl.”
“Oh, fuck—” your body shudders, lashes fluttering as you stare right into the camera with a lost expression. You see yourself, Joel right behind you. You don’t know how but he looks even taller while his body splays over yours, bending you over. He presses his palm over your forehead, forcing the arch of your back. Your inner thighs are soaked, his cock moving between your legs. You see the flash of the glistening head every time he rocks himself forward.
He looks into the camera and your entire body clenches with want, “Look at that,” he hums, laving your neck in open-mouthed wet kisses. “Your girlfriend already going stupid with my cock. Not so bad for an old man huh?”
Joel’s lips stretch menacingly, eyes shining with amusement. Letting go of your forehead, he pushes both your tits closer to the camera, thumbs moving over the pebbled flesh. You moan loudly and your legs quiver.
“Sweet thing over here tells me you don’t let her ride you—I thought you were a dumbass before but now I think you’re a downright moron. Fuckin’ hell, who wouldn’t want such an eager thing jumpin’ up and down his cock.”
You whimper, eyes going teary. Your heart races wildly in your chest. “J—Joel, please. . .”
“Hear that, John,” he growls, the tremble of each word reverberating into your skin. “She’s beggin’ for my cock. Ain’t that right, darlin’?”
You nod but it’s not enough for him, not enough for Joel. “Don’t be shy now, tell him. He ever got you this wet?”
“N-No,” you breathe out and maniacally shake your head. “N-Never.”
“Poor thing,” he clicks his tongue. “Poor poor thing. Don’t worry, daddy’s got you now. Doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” you slur, pushing back your hips. “Fuck me, fuck me—Fuck me, daddy, please.”
“Say it again,” his teeth sink into your skin. “One more and I’ll fuck you.”
“Daddy,” you moan, eyes rolling back. “Daddy, need you, need your cock. Fuck me, please.”
He hums in satisfaction, “Well, since you asked so darn nicely,” Joel kisses your temple and his lips move over your skin as he speaks to the camera, “Looks like she’s my girl now, my good girl.”
When he buries himself into you, inch by inch, your jaw goes slack and your nipples go tight. You forget about the camera, about John who’ll see this. You only think of him. He stretches you to your very limit, his cock thick and hard. It takes you everything not to move your hips. You want Joel to tell you what to do. You want him to fuck you so good that your mind will go blank as you start bouncing on his cock. His one hand grips your waist firmly as the other remains underneath your breast, the sensitive flesh spilling over his hand while holding you.
“How does it feel?” he murmurs into your ear, his cruel teasing from earlier gone.
“Good,” you whimper, squeezing him tight. “So fucking good, the biggest I’ve ever had.”
“Fuck, darlin’,” he kisses the skin behind your ear. “Such a filthy mouth on such an innocent lookin’ girl. You were wasted on that jackass.”
He knocks the air from your lungs before you can answer. The drag of his cock like lightning searing your skin. He fucks you hard, almost angrily, but you know it’s not directed at you. Never at you. The smack of his balls against your ass fills the bedroom, and you’re positive the phone is recording every wet, filthy sound. It doesn’t take much for Joel to reduce you into a withering mess, every word forgotten, his hips relentless as he fucks deeper and deeper into you.
Then suddenly you’re tilting back, his arm an anchor around your stomach as you find yourself between his thighs sitting on his lap. Your eyes move to the screen, you look perfect between his legs, the muscles tensing and flexing as he grinds his hips. Your skin pleasantly burns.
“Come on, sweetheart, show him what he’s been missin’ out on.”
Joel leans back, palm planted firmly on your mattress with pretty pink flowers that John hates.
Your body takes control, your brain swimming in a fog of lust and pleasure. You grip his thick thighs, bracing yourself, you begin to move up and down his cock. He fills you beautifully. His gaze is fixed on the tiny camera, staring directly into it as you try your best to please him. Arousal coils tight in your stomach. Your breasts sway with your every move, your body coating him in shiny slick.
“A throne for a princess,” he groans, eyes moving from the camera to your reflection on the screen. Fire burns down your spine. His gaze and presence alone choking the air from your lungs. You twist yourself to get a better look at him, catching his gaze momentarily, you moan wantonly at the sight. Him only sitting, relaxed while you’re breaking down sends jolts of electricity up and down your spine. You sit wholly, grinding down while keeping his cock buried deep inside, searching for that devastating spot inside you.
The world around you becomes a bright white when you do.
Your ears start ringing, and you begin to shake, legs clamp together as you shudder around the length of him. A choked sound between laughter and bewilderment tears from your throat. Your body moves of its own accord now, helplessly bouncing on his cock, the bulbous head grazing against a certain spot that just makes you want more and more and more—
“Yes yes yes yes,” you chant. Joel’s head disappears from view everytime you move up. You hear his moans, they become louder and louder, his southern drawl becoming prominent the more fucked out he gets.
His sounds only spur you on, making you ride him harder, sweat beading at your tailbone. Your pussy swallows him hungrily, every inch of him without protest. While you’re absolutely lost on his cock, you notice him tilting his head so he’s in view again. You hold your breath. His mouth parts, the tip of his tongue touching the corner of his lips, he gives the camera a taunting look. Joel’s expression turns into a half smile and he wraps his arms around you. One going over right above your breasts and the other around your stomach. His hand cups the side of your neck. He drags his mouth down and up your cheek.
“Come on, pretty girl,” he rasps, kissing you. You look to the camera, hips slowing but not stopping. “Yes, pretty girl, just like that,” another kiss. “Look at that pretty girl getting fucked.”
Joel squeezes your breast as his arm comes down, both of them now tight around your stomach. You feel him pulsing deep inside you. His voice is thick with arousal. “Look how beautiful you are on my dick. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”
You nod and grind against him, loving how deep he feels. He kisses your neck, tongue tracing shapes into your skin as both his hands come up to your tits and squeezes them, the plump flesh spilling from between his knuckles. His lips move down your shoulder and back up your neck, following the same path over and over again, decorating it with slow kisses.
Joel gives the camera one last look before disappearing behind you, fingers sprawled over your stomach and down between your legs. You feel the rough hairs between your shoulder blades first, then the softness of his lips follows through. Your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back, his mouth is so goddamn soft, the skin tingling and burning at the same time.
His hips snap up, and with the sudden movement, a fresh wave of wetness coats his cock. You lean forward, face closer to the camera, while he lays back, watching hungirly at the way your ass moves.
“Yeah, just like that,” he groans, smacking both your asscheeks simultaneously.
Then before you know it he’s moving, pressing you fully over the table in front of you, the phone shaking as he begins to hammer into you. You can’t even see what you look like anymore, your head dropping, you cry out his name. If it wasn’t for his hands on your hips, you would’ve collapsed to the ground.
“That’s it, come on my cock,” he nips at your shoulders. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet—can you hear that? Can you hear how fuckin’ soaked your girlfriend is on an old man’s cock?”
It takes you a second to realize he’s not talking to you, but the camera. You flutter around him, squeezing him tight enough that he moans, hips slowing. “Daddy,” you gasp. And with that, you finally let go, cunt gushing around him, coating him with slick. Joel peppers your back with soft, quick kisses, whispering praise between every kiss.
“That’s it, sweetheart, bet you never came that hard before. Good girl—my good fuckin’ girl, wettin’ my cock so well.”
You tighten and gush around him a second time, you swear by how hard you’re clenching your insides most likely have taken the shape of him.
“Where do you want me?” he whispers into your skin. Words coming muffled and hoarse, dripping slow like molasses. You push back against him, looking into the camera with a small smile.
“Inside me, daddy, please.”
“Oh shit—” he picks up the pace, the thrust of his hips sloppy and needy. “Shit shit shit—so fuckin’ perfect, so good for allowin’ this old man to wreck her good—So good for tellin’ me to fill her up—fuck—”
You’re blindsided by how honest he suddenly is, the rasp of his voice going straight between your legs. His hips stutter and Joel comes with a loud, thick moan, spilling into you. You moan right alongside him. He continues to rock into you with shallow thrusts, laying kisses on every patch of skin his lips can reach.
While you’re lost in complete bliss, he reaches around you and grabs the phone, stopping the recording before collapsing back to the bed, pulling you along with him.
“You feel so good,” he says, cock softening inside. You feel his come trickling down from between your thighs and shiver.
“You feel good too,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and covering his lips with your own. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”
“Guess this old man still has some tricks up his sleeve,” he chuckles weakly and you press another kiss, this time on his cheek. “We don’t have to by the way.”
“Don’t have to what?”
“Send the video.”
You stare at the phone for a second, brows furrowed as you think. Then with a quick shrug, you turn back to him. “Nah, let him see it. I could’ve forgiven how he treated me but not you.”
He clicks his tongue with disapproval, “You shouldn’t forgive him for how he treated you either, darlin’. You deserve better.”
“Well, I guess you’re just going to have to prove it me then,” you smile and with a sudden impulse, boop his nose. He laughs, nipping the pad of your finger.
“I guess I will.”
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#tw daddy kink#tlou fanfic#the last fo us fanfiction#hbo tlou fanfic#hbo the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal characters fanfic
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Desert Dust | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Summary: You're a small-town waitress in a highway town in Arizona with a standard, safe life. You never really thought you needed more -- until you met Joel Miller.
Warnings: Joel is a consent king in this one. No age gap mentioned (make it your own). Self-deprecation. Toxic coworkers. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Objectification of Joel by readers coworker. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). References to shitty past hookups. Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Size kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy.
W/C: ~8K. Sorrrrrrry, not sorry?
A/N: Hi, hello. It's been a hot minute since I've been here! I took a hiatus for the past few months because life was, well, life and I was busy getting married. Happy to be back. This one was inspired by a drive through the Arizona desert. Special thanks to @syd-djarin for being a slut with me on this one.
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications | Read Joel's POV
Humans rely on cooperation, communication, and mutual aid for survival and well-being. Without that, it’s like being cast adrift in a hostile sea without the safety net of community and companionship.
You know this.
And so that’s why you stay, that’s why you’ve always stayed.
Even if most of your days feel lonely, at least you have the comfort of predictability.
++++
"I’m goin' on my break, Tracy," you call out, tossing the words casually over your shoulder as you grab your hoodie and a pack of American Spirit cigarettes from behind the counter. Sometimes you think the only reason you still have the damn vice is for the excuse to step out of the suffocating walls of the grease-drenched building they call a restaurant.
Tracy responds with a touch too much of feigned enthusiasm, pouring a steady stream of black liquid into the mug of the customer sitting in the booth before her.
With a nod of acknowledgment, you slip out the restaurant's back door, the hinges creaking softly in protest as you step into the crisp Arizona air. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty ground as you light up your cigarette, the flame dancing in the breeze.
As you inhale deeply, the familiar taste of tobacco fills your lungs, calming your nerves and grounding you in the present moment. Leaning against the weathered brick wall, your thoughts drift as wisps of smoke curl lazily into the sky.
In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of laughter and chatter drifting from inside, a comforting reminder of the community that surrounds you. Here, amidst the tumbleweeds and endless blue skies, is a place you’ve called home since you ran away from yours at sixteen. It’s not much, but it’s something. Something is always better than nothing, right? People know you by name when you go to the grocery store, and know your order at the only coffee shop in town – big-city girls don’t get that.
As you take one last drag from your cigarette, you try to summon feelings of gratitude for what you do have, but as the smoke dissipates into the desert air, a lingering sense of restlessness gnaws at the edges of your mind.
It's only when you stamp out the cigarette in the dirt below, watching the embers fade into darkness, that you dare to entertain the notion that perhaps you could have more.
++++
You step back into the restaurant, and your eyes adjust to the fluorescent lights above, a stark contrast from the natural light of the sun. Carefully tucking your hoodie away and readjusting your apron strings, you prepare to dive back into work.
As you glance around, you notice Tracy frantically pacing back and forth behind the bar, her demeanor tinged with a hint of frazzled energy. It's not the busiest you've ever been, but for her, every customer that walks through the door feels like a tidal wave of chaos – especially when it’s just you two on the floor.
With a sympathetic smile, you nod in understanding as she thrusts a stack of menus into your hands, followed by a piping hot coffee pot. "Be a doll and go take table three’s order, will ya?" she says, her voice tinged with urgency. Before you can even acknowledge her request, she’s off, stacking her forearms with plates, yelling that she’ll be right there honey to the patrons by the door.
You make your way over to the table, weaving through the maze of booths and tables with practiced ease. As you approach, you notice a lone figure sitting hunched over in a worn leather jacket, eyes fixed on the menu in front of him. He sits up to full height and adjusts himself in the booth, eyes still on the sticky plastic in front of him, giving you a full view of his side profile.
Fuck – he’s gorgeous. Handsome in a way that unmoors you.
Rugged, weathered charm exudes from him. He turns to look at you and oh. His salt-and-pepper curls frame a face weathered by sun and wind, a beard streaked with grey adding an air of distinguished maturity. His eyes are soft and brown, enveloped by small creases in the corners.
Your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, and with the coffee pot in hand, you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in the pit of your stomach, settling there like a stack of pancakes eaten way too fast.
Clearing your throat, you offer him a tentative smile. Get a grip – he’s just another customer, you silently plead with yourself.
"Hi," you say, your voice a little softer than usual. "Can I get you something to drink?"
As his eyes meet yours, a brief but intense connection crackles between you. There's something in his gaze, a depth that you can't quite decipher, leaving his thoughts shrouded in mystery. His face remains stony, and unreadable, like the weathered cliffs that dot the desert landscape.
Your breath hitches in your throat as you follow his eyes drifting down your chest, lingering for a moment on the nametag pinned to the worn cotton of your uniform. Heat rises to your cheeks under his scrutiny. You wish you would have opted for your cleaner uniform this morning. You’ve never been one to care too much about your looks, mostly because nobody looks at you, not really. All catcalls from drunk men in bars and the occasional flirty customer. But you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the attention he’s giving.
His eyes finally settle on the coffee pot in your hand, a subtle shift in focus that breaks the spell of tension between you. "Just coffee, darlin'," he says, his voice honey-thick, low, and raspy like the rumble of distant thunder.
You nod silently, the words caught in your throat as you turn to pour him a steaming cup of coffee.
“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper, letting the corners of your lips turn up into a small, cordial, smile.
“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.”
Walking away, you can’t help but notice the feeling of the weight of his gaze lingering on you long after you do.
He sits in silence, nursing his coffee with a quiet intensity that commands attention. His presence seems to cast a shadow over the room, drawing the gaze of both patrons and staff alike. You steal glances at him between customers and try not to read into the fact that his eyes are usually on you by the time you find him. He’s not staring – he couldn’t be – why would he be? You shove the thought down and focus on your tasks at hand, him calling you sweetheart playing like a broken record in your mind, over and over.
Tracy, usually bustling about with the frenetic energy of a hummingbird, is unusually attentive to him. She stops by his table more often than necessary, refilling his cup with a gentle touch and addressing him with a warmth you've rarely seen her reserve for anyone else. You swear you even saw her push her tits up behind the wall before going out to him – but you can’t blame her, you’d probably do the same if you had as much to work with as she does.
As you work behind the bar counter, wiping down tables and clearing plates, Tracy tries to engage you in conversation about the mysterious stranger. "Been a long time since we've had a man like that in here," she says, a hint of gossip in her voice, wrapped pretty in a bow of objectification. She reminds you of a praying mantis, attempting to draw in her prey before she eats him.
"Yeah," you murmur, not quite wanting to talk about him, especially not with her.
Excusing yourself, you slip into the bathroom, the wooden door offering a momentary respite. Leaning against the slightly sticky surface, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But despite your efforts, you can't shake the feeling that something has shifted. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but feel the twisty weird tug that pools in your lower belly, and the uptick in your heart rate. You attempt to fix your hair and pinch your cheeks to add some volume to your face. You slip on a touch of chapstick and assess yourself. This is so fucking stupid. He’s a customer. Just a customer. You’re just bored, horny, and alone.
But maybe he is, too?
No. Stop.
After a moment, you emerge from the bathroom, only to find his table empty, a worn $20 bill – more than enough to cover his check – left behind as a silent farewell. Your heart sinks at the realization that he's gone, slipping away like a ghost in the night. Shit.
You didn't even catch his name, and now he's just another fleeting memory, a stranger passing through your life like a whisper in the wind. And though you try to convince yourself that it doesn't matter, that you'll forget about him by morning.
But when dawn breaks the next day, he’s the first thought that crosses your mind.
++++
The days turn into weeks, each blending seamlessly into the next in the endless cycle of small-town life. But amidst the monotony of routine, there's a flicker of anticipation that ignites in your chest every time you step foot into the restaurant – the hope that he might, too.
Stupid, silly little small-town girl.
You’re in the middle of bussing a rather messy table, throwing empty plates and glasses into a bucket after the lunch rush when the sound of bells above the door and heavy boot steps echoes through the restaurant. Not looking up from the table, you yell out take a seat wherever you want, throwing the final pieces of flatware into the bin. Raising it to your hip, your attention finally snaps to the customer and fuck –
You freeze there.
His hand lifts in a simple greeting.
His presence is a magnetic force that shifts the air in the room. Clad in the same worn leather jacket and a dark tee, he exudes a silent, sturdy confidence. You know nothing about him, but you feel like you’d trust him with your life.
“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say, trying to hide your smile, your excitement.
He’s a customer. Not a bored and horny customer. Just a customer.
As he settles into the booth next to the window, you can't help but feel a rush of excitement coursing through your veins. You greet him again with a smile, your voice warm with genuine affection, and he nods in return, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary.
But before you can exchange more than a few words, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. She's quick to bring him a menu, bring him a coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming.
You watch from afar, a pang of frustration chewing at the edges of your composure like a moth to cloth in an old closet. It's as if Tracy has staked her claim on him, leaving little room for anyone else to form a connection. And yet, despite her best efforts, you can still feel the weight of his attention on you, a silent reassurance that you're not alone in this silent dance of whatever the fuck this is.
You think that maybe it’s all in your head – maybe he is into Tracy, and you’re confusing his affection for something it’s not. It wouldn’t be the first time. Lord knows you’re no stranger to having one too many vodka sodas and pining after the affection of the first person who looks at you, crying in the passenger seat of a truck of some guy who gave you attention hours before.
Lord know how many nights you check your phone every three seconds just to be disappointed. Too busy begging for the love of someone who doesn’t want you, and never will. Yet you’re just so hopeful. Hopeful that one day it might not feel this way, hopeful that someone will want you back.
You wonder if you want so desperately to be seen, that you’d twisted every lingering glance, smile, and hello, for something it’s not.
When you enter the dining room, your heart once again sinks when you notice him rising from his booth, getting ready to leave. His eyes catch yours and you give him a small wave goodbye. He holds yours while he tucks something under his coffee cup, giving you a nod, letting you know that he wants you to pick it up. His face is unreadable when he eventually walks out.
Walking over to the table, you notice cash tucked neatly under an empty coffee mug. But you notice something else, too. A worn business card for Joel Miller, CEO of Miller Brothers Contracting. It’s a simple card, just his name and an email on the front. But when you turn it over, you’re surprised to find a phone number scribbled on the back.
Maybe it’s not all in your head.
++++
Later that night, standing in the dark alley of the restaurant, the cement damp from the afternoon rain, Tracy's words hang heavy in the air like a dense cloud of cigarette smoke. You listen in silence as she talks about him, her tone laced with a confidence that borders on arrogance.
"I think I'm gonna ask him to get a drink," she says, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. "I think he's into me. I mean, come on, who else stops in and only orders coffee, and leaves a tip like he does? Even caught him looking at my ass once."
Her words cut through the stillness of the desert night, harsh and abrasive in contrast to the quiet solitude that surrounds you. Tracy has always been one to flaunt her looks, to revel in the attention of men like Joel who pass through the diner's doors. There aren’t many.
But as you listen to her speak, a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a silent warning that this pursuit of Joel may lead to heartbreak for one or both of you. You've seen the way he looks at you, the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks no one else is watching. You slip your hand into the apron and thumb over the paper of his business card.
You want to warn her, to tell her to tread carefully, but the words catch in your throat like smoke caught in a breeze. Instead, you offer her a weak smile, masking the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.
"Yeah, Tracy," you say, your voice tinged with forced enthusiasm. "Go for it. You deserve someone who appreciates you."
But as she stubs out her cigarette and heads back into the restaurant you can't help but smirk knowing he gave his card to you.
It’s finally your turn to be wanted.
But you don’t call, or text him. You want to, you do, but you don’t know what to say, or where to begin. You’re so out of practice when it’s something that matters. It’s easier to pretend he still wants you if you don’t break the illusion—or that’s the lie you tell yourself, anyway.
++++
Some weeks later, you find yourself alone in the empty restaurant – Tracy having called out for the night. It’s slow. Way too slow. The late hour weighs heavy on your shoulders. George, the cook, went home almost an hour ago. You work to check off the tasks on your list before you leave for the night, and eventually accomplish everything except filling the salt shakers.
You could have sworn you turned off the neon open sign and locked the doors until the familiar sound of bells chimes through the empty restaurant.
“We’re closed,” you yell out, twisting the final cap on the last salt shaker.
Your eyes flicker up to find a large man stumbling through the door, his presence heavy with the unmistakable scent of whiskey and cigarettes. He doesn’t look so good, his skin is pale and damp, eyes glassed over.
You rise from your booth, a sense of unease prickling at the back of your mind as you approach him. Despite your better judgment, you tell him to take in any booth of his choice, while you head behind the bar to grab him a glass of water. When you set it down in front of him, he bristles at your gesture, his words slurred and tinged with aggression at the fact that you brought him fucking water. Your patience wears thin as he rebuffs your offer, his tone sharp and abrasive.
"Just trying to help you out here" you snap, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice. You’re not sure where the irritation is coming from, but it feels right – natural – a built-in defense mechanism. But instead of backing down, he responds with a menacing snarl, his hand shooting out to grip your wrist in a bruising hold. Panic surges through you as you try to pull away, his grip tightening with each futile attempt.
"Let me go," you plead, the fear evident in your voice as he rises from the booth and crowds you against a nearby table, condiments spilling over the edge of the table. His hands move to grip your upper arms with a forceful intensity. You stumble slightly, the weight of his presence pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket, your head turned to the side to avoid having to look at him. “I’ll tell you what, you little bitch –”
You feel the rapid beat of your pulse, the thrum of blood in your veins. You struggle against the man. Your inner voice screams danger, but just as you feel the panic rising in your chest, the familiar sound of chimes rings through your ears. Within seconds, a new figure looms into view, his broad frame casting a shadow over the scene unfolding before you – to you. With a swift movement, he pulls the man off of you, his voice a growl of warning as he asserts his dominance.
“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” Joel says, voice low and threatening.
It's him.
Relief floods through you at the sight of him, a silent thank you echoing in your mind as he stands between you and the aggressor. And as he faces off with the man, his protective stance speaks volumes. Your mind goes a little fuzzy from the adrenaline as you watch the man struggle in his grasp, followed by a slur of cuss words, ultimately ending in Joel punching him in the face, the harsh sound of bone to face.
It shouldn’t turn you on, the violence of it all, but it sort of does. The outward display in your defense appeals to the primitive, underived part of your brain, the way a knight would defend a maiden’s honor.
He drags the man out of the establishment, and you hear him tell him to get the fuck out and never come back.
He locks the door and turns to face you. Your arms come up to grab yourself in an instinctual hug, your body is a little shaky from the interaction. Without saying anything, he walks over to you, bringing both of his hands to the sides of your arms – the same place where the man had grabbed you – but his touch feels different. Gentle, reassuring, safe.
“You alright?” he says, a deep crease between his brow as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with concern.
“I’m alright – tha,” your words break a little, and you start to feel hot tears cling to your lashline, “thank you,” you manage to blurt out, avoiding looking at him in the eyes, not wanting him to see yours all teary.
He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You bring your hand to meet his on your cheek and notice a sticky sensation under your palm. You grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Jesus, if his hand looks like this, what must that guy’s face look like?
"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern. "It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he reassures, but you can tell he's probably lying.
"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.
"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.
"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.
Interlacing your fingers with his on his left hand, you guide him through the restaurant.
Navigating through the kitchen, smelling of oil and french fries, you caution him to watch his step on the freshly mopped yet always greasy floors.
In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. Joel leans against the desk, quietly observing you. "Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.
He stands silently, watching as you work to open the kit, his eyes fixed on you, particularly when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth. "This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care.
“You can make it up to me later,” he whispers. His tone, the intention behind his words sends an exciting zap down your spine. There’s shared silence. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, that same feeling of raw want, painted with uncertainty, settles in your stomach.
“Can I ask you something,” he says, and you flick your eyes up to meet his for a moment before lowering them back down his hand. You let out a soft mhmm in response, knowing his question before he’s even asked it.
“Why didn’t you call?”
The boldness of his question stops you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.
“I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. You lean in close enough to catch the scent of him – cedarwood and fresh cotton, the earthy scent of desert dust clinging to his clothes.
“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished.
You stand before him, looking at his chest and the bare skin on his neck that’s dotted with freckles, avoiding his eyes.
“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Have you always been this self-deprecating?
His hands float up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze fixed on a button on his shirt in front of you.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
The bandaged hand trails up over the side of your body, and his fingers land under your chin, his thumb tilting you up to look at him. You’re sure you must look like a mess, eyes tired from a long shift, mascara smudged from your tears. How pathetic you must look. The pad of his thumb caresses over your lips and you hold your breath.
There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things.
But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him.
But no.
Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.
“Joel,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. His thumb is still on your lower lip.
“Ki–” Before you can continue, his hand drops, and his lips crash into yours and he groans. He wants to rip you open, eat you raw, to devour every inch of you. You’ve had plenty of kisses, but none like this – none full of such heat, a fiery intensity, a need. He wants you. Joel wants you.
He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and you let out a little whimper. The sweet sound goes straight to his already hardening cock. He holds you tighter to his chest, thick and capable hands on your hips as he dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as a man his size can. He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Your breath hitches in your throat as he nips at your jaw, eliciting a soft moan from you. And oh – he likes that.
“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, his voice a little wrecked already and he’s barely touched you.
His hand trails up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra you’ve had for far too long. You would be embarrassed about him seeing it if you weren’t so aroused, drunk on his touch. You continue to let out little moans as he kisses your neck, and thumbs at your nipple beneath the fabric.
“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest.
His words melt into you like butter, making you feel all soft and weak-limbed, fuzzy in a way that’s new to you.
“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal. The words come naturally for a girl who never really had more than a one-night stand or some shitty fuck from a guy who drank too much whiskey – his dick half-hard, promising he’ll rock your world.
That does it for him.
Joel’s cock is rock hard, with an almost painful stiffness. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat.
But as much as he needs that right now, he knows he has an obligation. To make you feel good. To make you feel good about yourself in every way.
He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.
“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs. If you weren’t so hazy you might’ve made a joke about him only having one good hand at the moment. He would chuckle at that, you briefly think, before his husky voice speaks again.
“Can I undress you?” he asks. You’ve never been asked that, most of the other men we’re quick just to take your clothes off. Too sloppy, too eager – careless. You’re starting to realize how hot consent is.
You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, all while Joel unbuttons your skirt. You wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. As a reflex, you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body, wishing you could blend into the wallpaper.
“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” Joel says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at.
He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Goosebumps collect like pebbles on your skin from the cool air, and your nipples harden from the significance of the moment.
“No need’ta hide from me,” he assures you. You believe him.
You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. You can’t control the deep hum that escapes from your throat. Joel smirks at the sound, lips still attached to your breast.
“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. You have of course played with your nipples when you touched yourself, but you’ve never had a man pay so much attention to them, to be gentle and firm at the same time.
He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, whispering sweet praises as he does. You drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls that gather on the back of his head as he works his way down to the band of your panties. Much like your bra, you’d wish you opted for a cuter pair of underwear. Not like you own any anyway, but something tells you he could give two shits about that right now.
On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. He looks up at you with a softness you’ve never seen in a man, his pupils so dark they edge out most of the brown, his hooded eyes are almost a plea for you to let him continue.
“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, already hooking his thumbs in the band of them, awaiting your permission.
You pause with your mouth agape a bit, not quite sure what to say. Every fiber of your being wants you to say yes, yes, yes. But you’re nervous – you haven’t shaved, and you remember Tracy saying something about men not liking hair on women, especially not on their pussy — a man won’t even eat you out if you’ve not been properly groomed.
What if you taste weird? What if he doesn’t like it? You’ve only been eaten out once if you can even classify it as such, and he was down there for maybe two seconds before he was rising and wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, claiming whatever you’re wet enough before shoving his rather average cock into your pussy, paying no mind to you or your pleasure.
“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away, trying to give Joel an out.
His prominent nose presses into your mound and he moans, moans, at your smell.
“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, the truth behind his voice evident in his tone. His cock twitches against the confines of his jeans.
He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame, he thinks.
“O-kay,” you say on an exhale. You’re determined to not let the negative thoughts swirling in your head win.
“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire.
He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him.
“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. You let out a soft little sound at the feeling of his lips on your skin. He looks up at you once again, making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, before once again returning his attention to your cunt.
He gets bold with his kisses, and once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole. You look down at him with lusty doe eyes and bite your lower lip in anticipation, still a little nervous. He looks at you and gently nudges the nip in, he holds it there for a brief second, before fully thrusting it up into your core, holding your gaze as he enters you. You gasp.
“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, his lips sealed around your puffy clit. His large finger pumps in and out of you as his tongue flicks and swirls where you need him the most.
“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.
“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s so precise, so overwhelming, so fucking good.
Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and the world goes a little fuzzy at the edges of your vision. You’ve had an orgasm before, you think, but you don’t remember it feeling like this.
You moan as he sets a relentless pace with his mouth and fingers, slowly tightening the coil inside of you in a way you’ve never felt before. Time slows for a brief moment and your vision goes white, little specks of light dancing behind your eyelids, heat rushing up to your chest and cheeks.
Until –
“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. And when he’s satisfied that you’re satisfied, he gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to his full height.
“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until his lips find yours. You taste yourself on them, feel the wetness in his beard. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you moan. It’s so hot to taste yourself on him, dizzying that he’s not wiping it away. He wants you. Joel wants you.
The daze of your release wears off, hurling you back down to earth. Joel kept his promise, he did show you what you’re worthy of. No more mediocre, subpar sex for you. You are worthy of that. Deserve that and more. It’d be rude of you not to return the favor.
On jelly-like legs, you begin to kneel before him, wanting nothing more than to be a practitioner of pleasure, to elicit another good girl from him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor.
“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask, feeling a sting of rejection.
“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.
You bring your palm to cup him through his jeans and he groans, your hands trace over the thick shape. He’s big. You watch as his jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. You can’t help but feel excited when you feel a damp spot on his jeans, the place where his pre-come has gathered.
“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says with intensity, an urgency in his voice. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop.
Truly seeing him, the sight of his heavy cock in all its glory, makes your mouth water a little.
“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. You think you might actually feel him there when he’s inside you at this rate.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. You get the memo. He lifts you and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk behind you, your damp skin sticking to the mess of customer receipts and supply lists underneath you. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length.
“I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s music to his fucking ears.
“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do. He juts his head down and spits onto it, using his fist to work it onto himself. You hold your legs open in a V, bracing yourself with your arms behind you. Your ass hangs slightly off the edge of the desk, just enough for him to have full access and view of your glistening slit.
He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust. Your heart throbs in your chest, and your eyes flicker closed.
“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again.
“Okay?” he asks. You nod.
You can tell he’s holding back, not wanting to hurt you. And while you may be out of practice, you know your body was made for this. You feel so full, so content, you just want to feel all of him. After he’s confident you’re ready, he pushes his hips forward once again, fully burying himself deep inside of you.
Your pussy walls clench against him, and your jaw goes slack. You were right, you do feel him in your tummy. He’s so fucking big, but god, it feels good. It’s like he’s stuffing and filling all of the lonely spaces that have been hiding inside of you for so long. Like he was made for you.
He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. You can tell he wants to fuck you harder, deeper. You can tell that he’s waiting for you to take it there, to give him that permission.
“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand at your hip flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs.
“Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk, your bare breasts flesh against the cool wood, your hips perfectly positioned at the edge, bent over and waiting to once again be stuffed.
He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.
“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. Something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin.
“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” you say, breathless.
“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep.
Good girl. Pretty. Come for him.
And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, your mind hazy and filled with nothing but the thought of the way he fills you just right.
His movements begin to slow. You can tell he’s close.
“Where do you want me, baby?”
“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you rasp, beg.
After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come.
He holds you there, both of your breaths coming a little ragged, his body shaking and jolting a little. You feel him pulse inside of you. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this content, utterly blissed out from the feeling of him – all of him – deep inside of you.
When he pulls out, you let out a small moan, a little sad your pussy has nothing to clench around anymore. He tells you to stay there for a second before he returns with a handful of paper towels from the kitchen to help clean you up.
He kisses you again. It’s different this time, not as intense as the first few, but just as hot, just as passionate. The same pull you felt the moment he first entered the restaurant.
He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up.
“Wanna smoke?”
++++
“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, the dim glow of the fire illuminates your features.
“Too long,” you mumble, taking a big drag. Now you get why in movies after a really good sex scene the characters always want a cigarette. You watch as he lights his own.
“And you, where are you off to next?” You don’t want him to leave.
“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke dancing in the air around him.
Your stomach twists a bit at the thought. Don’t go.
“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours.
He gives you a subtle wink. You smile.
You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him, taking in the crisp desert air, enjoying being next to him.
And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. You accept.
But this time when you stamp out the cigarette, watching the embers fade into darkness, you fully entertain the notion that not only could you have more.
You will.
Especially if Joel has anything to say about it.
END
Or if you want, you can read Joel’s POV here.
Tagging some moots cuz I'm sure Tumblr will probably fuck my engagement on this one since I haven't posted in forever :/
If you like this, please consider a reblog (dm me if you want to be removed): @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @hellishjoel @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy
ily.
#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller the last of us#joel miller one shot#pedro pascal character#pedrohub#pedrostories#consent#joel miller#joel miler x fem!reader#joel miller fanfic
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cherry thrill | lights
9.2k / pairing: daddy dom tattoo artist!joel miller x sub virgin f!reader
series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi
chapter summary: your tattoo artist, joel miller, takes your virginity.
chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, implied age gap, swearing, virginity loss, dom&sub dynamics (/not lg), size kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, swearing, dirty talk, pet names (princess, bunny, baby girl, sweetheart, etc.), oral (m&f receiving), fingering, protected p in v, joel talks you through it, protective!joel, slight pov switching, reader is described as having no tattoos or piercings, as well as hair, but otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n
series summary: Trust and devotion. Ink meets innocence. Your tattoo artist, Joel Miller, shows you what it really means to give up control. Reeling from the loss of your job, you’re running out of options, until a passing comment from Joel and a video camera give you just the right idea.
A/N: this was supposed to be a one shot but just like everything else I try to write, I expand on the characters too much for it not to become a series. also, thank you for 2,000 followers, I promise to do something soon to show my appreciation <3 I'm bad at giving thanks and receiving attention so anyway - dividers by @firefly-graphics (thank you, daisy!)
During your first consultation, there was something in the air.
Glances that lasted a few seconds too long, a charged energy replicating that of two strong magnets.
You stand frozen in a dark office down the hall from the shop’s main entrance. The walls are painted black. A gallery wall displays different art and posters in gold frames. There’s a large red neon sign with your tattoo artist’s initials, J.M.
Joel Miller.
You sit opposite of him, leg anxiously bouncing and nails subconsciously piercing the chair’s leather arms as he listens silently to your request before his mind starts to work. It doesn’t take much time to draw up an example or two with your guided tweaks and fixes.
Other than the scribble of a graphite pencil, silence falls over you both. And observation takes over.
Joel surrounds himself with scattered drawings on loose paper that litter his desk. You watch the way his eyes screw inward to focus on the sketch he is drawing up. A small vein protrudes from his temple, his jaw shifts from side to side with tension.
He’s a blunt sort of handsome. With harsh edges and lines, jaded and carved with precision like precious marble. It makes your pulse jump a bit in your neck and wrist.
You think your first tattoo should be something special, especially since you’ve waited so long to pull the trigger. He was a bit intimidating like you imagined a tattoo artist to be, what with his brooding demeanor and how he looked you up and down upon taking one step inside his parlor.
Virgin.
That’s what he called your skin, untouched by any ink or piercings.
He didn’t know that it described you down to your core. No one had popped your cherry, taken your virginity, made you theirs. Untouched.
Now, half an hour later and sitting anxiously in his back office, he finishes drawing up the sketch and asks about the precise placement you had in mind.
“I was thinking here,” you mindlessly point to a spot on your upper thigh. There was a level of secrecy to it, in case any future employers cared about that sort of shit.
You can’t help the way your skin vibrates under his touch, when he aids you in taking off your bottoms and runs his calloused palms up the smooth skin of your thighs.
You shakily exhale as he warms you.
You definitely don’t let yourself fantasize that he’s feeling you up, or even think about wanting him to explore every inch of your body. You know he’s just doing his job.
But the way his eyes flick up to yours when he feels the goosebumps he knows he’s created is otherworldly. Like he knows you want him to fuck you. The way your muscles twitch under the warmth of his palm, feeling pliant under his touch. Fuck.
His eyes gleam as his mouth forms into a barely-there smirk.
There was no point in playing coy. Your body changed at the contact and Joel knew it.
It was damn near degrading the way he let you simmer. It set a light inside of you no one had before. So that’s when you knew you’d let him, Joel Miller, take your virginity.
It would be no easy task. You didn’t know how to pursue him, or anyone for that matter. Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have said virginity.
You try not to stare for too long, but even with his gruff demeanor and silence being second nature to him, he was handsome. A rugged sort of handsome with different facial piercings.
A septum in his nose highlighted its aquiline structure. And a small hoop in his right eyebrow, with greys tickling through like pretty streaks in the hair. It made him look deliciously too old for you. Perhaps that’s what you enjoyed most, though. He was no amateur.
The moment his fingers dipped into your flesh to work on your tattoo's placement, you knew he felt it, too. Supple under his touch. Squishy. Something he could sink his teeth into. Something that obeyed.
“You prepared for the pain, sweetheart?”
His southern drawl is sweet like honey, deep and husky nonetheless.
“I think so.”
Your response is meek. It’s your wavering nerves from having him so close and unsure what the feeling of being tattooed will be like. Joel looks for certainty instead. He insists on it.
“Need ya t’tell me. Not that you think, that you know.”
“I’m sorry. I know so.”
Joel squeezes the back of your thigh fondly, a proud little smile twitching at the edges of his mouth. “Good girl.”
The praise alone was enough to make your thighs sticky with arousal. Joel sent you home that day with an ache between your legs that your fingers had to fix. And you thought about him the entire time.
How his cold tongue piercing would feel against the warmth of your clit. Holding you with his strong, protective arms swirled with black ink. How his staggering dark eyes would look into yours as he fucks you.
But thinking about him wasn’t enough.
You tried to string out the process, anything you could do to fix more time with him. Anything to get his tough palms on your skin.
You fiddled with different placements, opting to show a little skin as you rid yourself of your top and pointed to your ribs during your next appointment.
A breath hitches in your throat as he eyes your bra's innocent pink color. Lacy and pretty. Delicate. He clears his throat and runs his fingers along your side, evidence of his touch causing an effect on you displayed with more goosebumps. Your body could simply not hide the attraction you felt towards him.
“Would hurt. A lot. The ribs move every time you breathe, which makes the tattooing process more painful.” Joel gently cups your side with his large palm and squeezes your ribs, holding you in place as you shakily breathe with the hold he has on you. “Can’t tell ya where to place it, can only advise. Just don’t want such a pretty girl to shed any tears.”
That’s when you knew you could trust him. That even a man as hardened as himself could treat you with such care.
He excuses himself for a moment, opting for more transfer paper and leaving you topless in his private office.
Your ears were ringing, you could hear the quickening beat of your heart. You slowly inch off the portable tattoo table, glancing around Joel’s dark academia-style office.
He’s an enigma, you think, the more you look at his surroundings. Quiet but dark, you knew he was concealing a hidden desire. You hope to unlock it. That he’ll trust you enough just as you trust him.
Articles of clothing start to drop to the floor, one by one. You knew you’d be ambushing him; you didn’t want to scare Joel. So you left yourself in your soft pink-colored bra and panty set. You thought it was classy and cute. Not too forward, but sweet. Definitely planned out, you hope he doesn’t notice.
All your confidence quickly disappears as soon as he comes back in through the door. You could feel your heart slowly sink to your stomach, your lips parting to come up with some sort of reasoning.
“I-I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say. Joel is stilled at the entrance of his office, door still ajar as he blankly stares at the delicate angel standing in the middle of his office.
He clears his throat and finally closes the door, leaving the two of you in silence. You can’t read his expression.
“What do ya think you’re doin’?” He asks, sweet southern drawl dripping with tension as his heavy boots slowly make their way closer to you.
You can only shake your head, unsteady hands concealing as much of your body as possible. You decide to face the mirror, keeping your back to him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I was just-” Lie. “I was just looking at your full-length mirror to see other placement ideas.”
Joel merely shakes his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “I can tell when you’re lyin’ t’me, baby girl. You wanna try tellin’ me the truth now?”
His tone only makes the ache in your core grow with desire as your pulse quickens under his eyeline.
You feel embarrassed, heat coursing through your body and making you tingle as his stare lingers selfishly, basking in the glory of your figure. You watch with want in the reflection as his eyes stare at the curves of your hips and your ass. A handful, he probably thinks.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, moving closer and enveloping you in his musky pine and whiskey scent. It’s almost knowing what he says next. “Tell me what y’want.”
You swallow the lump protruding in your throat before you decide to be honest with him. Like you said, you could trust him. You play with your fingers and pick at the skin by your nails.
“I want you.” You say barely above a whisper.
Joel simply shakes his head, takes another impossible step closer, and cranes his head down to hear you better. His lips and coarse beard hairs tickle at the shell of your ear.
Your eyes close shyly as he speaks again amid your silence.
“Say it again, baby. Can’t hear ya.” His toned front meets your back, forcing a whimper past your lips.
You work up the nerve to take a glance at the two figures in the gold-framed mirror. Perfect opposites. Young, beautiful, a little inexperienced. Older, handsome, sure as hell looks like he knows what he’s doing.
His height looms over you. His eyes are an unknown shade of obsidian and he’s radiating a comforting warmth. Your hand reaches for his, only able to look him in the eyes through the glass as you guide his hand to your hip.
Your thumb rolls across the faded tattoo on the backside of his hand. There used to be a cross there, but it looks to be covered up by some sort of python now. With a shaky sigh, you try again. “I want you, Mr. Miller. I want you to take my virginity.”
You’ve prepared yourself to hear his laughter, a snickering, degrading comment of disbelief. You felt ready to experience shame. But you were wrong.
Joel places his pointer finger under your chin, using his other hand to guide you in his hold to turn and face him. His thumb grazes over your lower lip as he guides your head to tilt up and look at him properly. Your soft eyes meet his lust-driven ones and your heart surges at the sight.
You’ve never seen a man so hungry.
“You want me to take your virginity, little bunny?” He hums seductively. Suddenly, you don’t feel so doomed. It’s placed with a little bit of eagerness now. You wanted your spoils.
“Yes. Want you to do whatever you desire with me, I’ll do anything you want.” You sound like a devoted cult member, but the energy you feel is undeniable. You’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties at this point.
Slowly but surely, Joel begins to nod. He’s mulled it over and he’s made up his mind.
“Whatever I desire, huh?” He tuts almost degradingly. Your nod of enthusiasm makes his blood rush.
He hesitates, untrusting of his own words.
“Want you to call me Daddy,” He starts haphazardly, gauging your reaction. “Think you can do that, sweet girl?”
Your wide eyes soften, a notch of confusion knotting your eyebrows.
“You- what?”
“Want you to call me daddy. Want you to be a good little girl for me and hop up on that desk. Can ya do that for me, princess?” His chin juts up and signals toward his office desk.
The swirling in your stomach just won’t stop.
“Go on now.” His orotund voice projects his instructions. You back up a few paces until you feel the cool metal of his desk hit your backside, slowly moving to sit on it with hidden excitement and a shiver up your spine.
You do want to be good, if there’s anything you want in this world right now, it’s to play along and be good for him. Knowing he would take care of you was making you leak.
His fingertips delicately touch your skin, starting at your wrists and moving upwards to the straps on your bra. He’s intimidating to look at, so you fixate on something behind him. But it doesn’t help when he clouds your vision. Even his aroma, from the smoke of his cigarettes to the musky spruce cologne, was putting you in a tailspin.
You don’t anticipate the way your body moves for him. His hands skim to the back of your bra, and your spine straightens. It makes the right side of his mouth twitch up into a smirk.
“Nervous?” He belittles.
Your long lashes innocently flutter, you think you might be doing it on purpose. You sort of like playing along.
“A little… Daddy.” You test cautiously, the word tangling on your tongue. But it’s unforgettable the way his eyes light up at the name. You find yourself already willing to do whatever it takes to recreate that signature look of his.
Joel hums appreciatively, thumb making minuscule circles over your chin. “I’ll take care of ya. Ya know that. Or else you wouldn’t have chosen me.”
All you can do is nod. Because he knows that your selection process was a real thing. You had danced around it once during your first consultation when he asked if you had a boyfriend. All you could feel was heat rising to the back of your neck, shy eyes evading his warm brown orbs.
“No, definitely not.”
“What’d’ya mean definitely not? You’re a pretty girl.”
You shrug in a noncommittal way. “I’ve never had to really worry about stuff like… boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Any of that sort of stuff.”
His eyes flicked up to yours in an instant, a mutual understanding of your underlying words. “I see. I understand, angel.”
Joel works your bra off with one hand, you gasp as you feel the material loosen around your body. His opposite hand taps at the top of your thigh. You’re all too aware you are eagerly sitting half-naked on his desk.
“Open.” He directs, voice laced with smoke.
You nip at your lower lip and slowly inch your clamped-shut thighs open for him. He instantly makes eye contact with the wet, dark little circle that’s ruining the pristine innocence of your panties.
He decides not to make fun of it, but it’s truly a compliment. Your adoration for him. “This all for me, angel?”
You work up a few quick nods. Now that he was so close, you wanted him to hurry the hell up.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
You feel heat tingle at the sides of your neck. This would be your first time really talking like this with someone. He made it feel safe to talk so dirty. To try, to learn.
“Yes, daddy.”
You can’t deny how proud you feel to be the reason a certain warmth brightens in his eyes and on his smirk. You did that, you pleased him. Little did you know how he’d thank you for it.
“You said you’re a virgin? Hard to believe.”
A shaky sigh leaves your parted lips as his warm palms slowly pull your bra down, revealing your breasts to him. “Just never found anyone I really trusted or liked enough.”
He mutters something quiet in understanding, all too distracted by how damn pretty you look.
Joel is silently observing your body, he can’t help but want to touch the delicate flower in front of him. A gasp leaves your parted lips as his calloused hands come up and cup your breasts. He starts to squeeze, and a happy little whimper leaves your mouth with a small smile.
“I like that.” You tell him, hoping it improves your chances that he’ll do it again. Which he does.
“Good.” He compliments, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, turning them into peaks that send electricity down your spine.
A sweet and experimental moan leaves your lips. Joel stands between your parted legs and you feel his erection for the first time against your skin. You can tell by the shape protruding through his pants that he’s a large man, already thick and swollen for your taking.
“No one’s ever been inside of you?” He damn near growls, raising an eyebrow after the beat he offers you to answer.
You shake your head again. “I’ve tried my fingers, but I’m sure it’s not the same.”
A scoffy little breath echoes out of his nose. “No, not quite. Lay back for me, bunny.” His hands release your breasts, pebbled nipples left abandoned as you slowly move down onto your elbows and then onto your back.
There was a sudden peak of anxiety, not being able to fully see him. But perhaps this was the point, to fully surrender yourself under his touch. To trust him.
His rough hands grip the sides of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. He gets about halfway down your thighs before you quickly sit up on your elbows again.
“Joel?” Your voice anxiously chirps.
He stops, eyes flicking up to you from your cunt still concealed by your sticky thighs.
“We can stop,” He says before you can explain. “S’okay if you’re not ready.”
“No, no, that’s not it, God, that’s not it,” You rid his worries, feeling your chest quickly rise and fall under his all of a sudden protective gaze.
“I uh-... I know you don’t owe me this, we’re not together, but… can you talk me through what you’re doing? I want to learn, and I can tell you’re experienced, I know it’s a lot to ask but-”
“S’not too much to ask.” He quickly intervenes, gently taking your hands and guiding you to sit up fully once more. Your soft eyes graze over all the layers he’s still wearing, and suddenly you’re reminded how naked you are.
“Use your voice, sweet girl. Can tell you wanna say somethin’. This is your time.”
The sentiment means a lot. It is your time, your first time, and just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean it should be any less special. So you decide to make it your time, the way you want it.
“Can you take your clothes off too? And is the door locked?” You trail off upon seeing his amused smirk.
“Go on.” He nods again, letting you list your needs and wants.
“And can you kiss me, please, Daddy?” You ask more softly than the rest of your demands. You know that kissing is romantic, but you think it might help settle you. Pull you back from drifting away, keep you here with him.
He watches you for a moment, a bemused grin on his lips before he gently cradles your face. “The door’s locked. I’ll take my clothes off. And I’ll kiss you as many times as you like as long as you keep askin’ that nice.”
For the first time during your interaction, your face lights up with a smile. It’s small, it’s thankful, but it’s there. There was an undeniable connection you shared with Joel, it made you feel safe under his curious eyes.
With his large hands cupping either side of your jaw, he leans down while simultaneously guiding your chin up as your lips meet. It’s gentle at first, soft. His mouth tastes like a cigarette, it’s oddly intoxicating and you find yourself wanting more.
You know how to make out at the very least. So when you gently bite down and tug on Joel’s lower lip, both of your eyes open as a throaty little groan escapes him.
He kisses you a little harder this time, hands falling to your hips as he pulls you closer so your fronts align. The force makes your lips part and Joel takes the opportunity to let his tongue invade your mouth. He moves fluently to explore, both of you falling into a sweet lull as your bodies meld into one.
Inadvertently, he hooks his pointer finger into your panties halfway down your thighs and finishes pulling them to your ankles. They land somewhere on the floor in a pile of your other clothes.
Unbeknownst to you until he took his hands off your body to pluck open his belt do you realize how you were on fire for him.
You wonder while he pushes down his trousers and tugs off his shirt if he’s ever slept with a virgin before. If you’d be his version of a first time just like he’d be yours. No, not his first ever, you weren’t that foolish. But maybe you could teach him a thing or two as well.
There’s no way to mask your surprise when he pushes down his boxer briefs, the dark band revealing all that was underneath. His half-hard cock raises towards his stomach, rosiness fluttering at his tip. You were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a little hooked, deliciously curving upwards.
With a new sense of confidence, your hand reaches forward and you start to shift your hand up and down his length. Joel’s quiet grunt shatters your thoughts. He gently cups the side of your neck and twirls a piece of hair around his finger.
Joel takes your hand off his cock and you worry you’ve done something wrong already. He holds it palm-side up and nods encouragingly. “Spit on your hand, baby.”
He nods after you look up at him with shy, blown-out eyes. But you obey.
You spit into your hand and let him guide your hand back around his member. That seems a lot better. He glistens with your spit and you have the urge to keep shocking him with your confidence.
You lean forward and directly spit onto his tip, looking up to see his approving little smirk.
“Fuck- That’s- mmm, that’s good, angel,” he sighs with a certain happiness, loving the feeling of getting his cock taken care of. “Feels real good.”
The praise sets off a million pistons in your brain, feeling yourself scrabble off the desk, dropping to your knees as you continue to pump him.
He’s heavy in your hand, and you gently lean forward to give sweet kisses to the tip. You swallow the lump in your throat before parting your lips, taking the head of his cock into your mouth. He’s salty, musky, but not dirty. In fact, he was rather well-kempt in his nether regions.
You force yourself deeper and Joel already has his hands in your hair to pause you.
“Woah, slow your roll, pretty girl.” He says with shortened breaths. Heat floods your body, you hate being so new to this.
Joel continues to stroke your hair back, gently gliding a thumb up your cheekbone before he cradles one side of your face. “I see you gettin’ all shy, I know this is your first time, but I’ll teach you the basics. And no one’s perfect on their first try, okay? So just get that thought outta your head now.”
Your chest swells at his eagerness to relax you, so you nod gently and lean in to kiss the base of his stomach in appreciation. The right side of his mouth tilts up as he swipes his thumb across your plump bottom lip, a silent thank you for the kiss.
“You’re a real good girl, you know that?” A bigger smile breaks across your lips and you eagerly tug on his cock with eagerness. Joel sighs, already in defeat at how you’re willing to get it right for him, to learn, to listen. To obey.
“You’re gonna wanna relax your jaw,” his fingers guide you, your lips parting and letting your jaw drop lower, lower, lower for him. “And the whole part is to suck, not just put your mouth on it, okay, peaches? So hollow your cheeks, no teeth, and only go as far as you feel comfortable.”
You shake off your nerves and clear your throat, feeling your mouth fill with spit intended for him. You place your hands on the back of his thighs, feeling the dark hairs under the pads of your fingers.
Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip once more. You swirl your tongue around him, adoring the way he hisses when you glide your tongue across the slit leaking a salty substance.
Over the introduction, you try to take him down your throat properly. And he’s a mouthful, literally. He’s a lot. But you try to just enjoy that there’s no real pressure.
A lot of saliva starts to build in your mouth, and you swallow it around him. You’re awestruck when he lets out a low moan, strong hands weaving through your hair and lightly tugging. Your eyes flutter up to him through your lashes, and he’s looking at you so deliciously.
You can tell he wants to fuck your mouth, holding his hips back from really letting you have it. And maybe he could do that to you someday, but for now, today was slow. And Joel knew that too.
Joel gently tucks your hair back, your lips suctioning around his length before he drags you back towards him, indicating for you to start moving, to bob your head.
It takes a few tries, but you really feel yourself going further down his cock. You breathe through your nose, but it’s hard when you’re trying not to gag around him. Finally, after little to no error, you slip up. His tip unexpectedly hits the back of your throat and you gag around him.
Joel must feel your whole body tense with anxiety because he’s quick to gently hush and console you. Your eyes well up with tears, but your first instinct is to keep him inside your mouth and swallow around him.
A long, low groan leaves Joel’s mouth, a compliment to your first big challenge.
“Holy fuck,” he pants, weaving his fingers into your hair and fisting eagerly to keep himself grounded. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well, princess, you have no idea, fuck,” he grins. “Try using your hands on what you can’t take, come on, baby.”
You can feel yourself physically gush at his compliments, your stomach swirling with a newfound desperation. To please.
With new instructions, you work your hand at his base and pump up and down with the rhythm of your mouth. You worked on gently squeezing and releasing your hand, making Joel go slack-jawed as a husky groan leaves the back of his throat. Sucking and licking and bobbing your head in earnest, he’s already twitching in your mouth.
“You’ve done this before baby,” his voice drips with a smirk, pulling yourself off for some deep breaths and a few desperate swallows.
“Haven’t, promise, Joel,” You coo with a proud little smile, your voice thick and wrecked as you continue to pump his cock in the absence of your mouth.
Joel lets your hair go and guides your hand off his cock before helping you up from the floor.
Your face is obviously written with disappointment, you could have continued. You sort of wanted to continue despite the ache hanging around in your jaw.
“You were gonna make me come, don’t wanna come yet, angel,” Joel pants weakly, ducking down and connecting your lips. You’re a little taken aback. Not by the kiss, but by the fact you already had him nearly ready to finish.
“Really?” You murmur hopefully against his mouth, wishing he wasn’t just saying it to compliment you.
The way that his features started to twitch and his tummy and chest fluttered with his jagged breathing, it would have been quite a sight to see him finish. Maybe he would have even done it right on your tongue. The thought alone gives you goosebumps.
Your insides swirl as he licks inside of your mouth and gently runs his tongue along your bottom lip, moving you back towards his desk. You hop up without his instruction, feeling him smirk against your pouted mouth.
“Now you’re gettin’ a hang of things.” He murmurs into your mouth, carrying on where he had left off before, sinking down to his own knees at the edge of the desk and positioning your feet to rest up on the edge. He seems to stare at the glistening arousal you’ve been creating for the last hour straight.
That nervous feeling settles in your stomach, completely bare and open for him. A shocked gasp leaves your mouth, not prepared for him already to be diving into your pussy.
The breadth of his tongue slowly swipes up the center of your core, purposely flicking off of your clit and making you yelp at the contact. His cold tongue piercing against your sensitive bundle made a shiver shoot up your spine.
He gently smirks as he places a sweet kiss on the inside of your thigh. “You’re jumpy, kitten. Take a breath. Wanna make you feel real good.”
You let out a shaky sigh and move off your elbows, back flat on his desk as your eyes slowly drift close. Then, as he starts to truly taste you, learning you and what you like, it’s unexpected how much you enjoy it. It never really dawned on you that some people truly enjoy eating pussy, but Joel Miller sure does.
Your broken little whimpers and strung-out moans turn into writhing on his desk under him. He was such an expert, meticulously swirling his tongue around you and suckling your clit into his mouth.
It didn’t take long for your fingers to wind up into his hair as his shoulders lay bracketed between your thighs. It was heavy, it was stomach-twisting, in fact, it was rolling through you like a storm. The it in question was your first oral orgasm.
“J-Joel,” you gasp, your jaw dropping down as he slowly prods the tip of his finger at your entrance.
“Need to get you ready for my cock, sweet girl, keep focusing on how good you feel,” he encourages. Your face pinches as his finger slowly sinks into your entrance, but you realize how grateful you are for all the extra spit and arousal Joel has provided.
It doesn’t necessarily hurt, it’s a weird ache at first. But then his finger starts to slowly pump inside of you, and it’s a new craving. Especially with the way his tongue moves around your clit, the pistons in his brain firing all to figure out what you like.
Do you like when he flicks your clit with his cold metal piercing?
“Ohmygod-” you gasp.
Do you like when he swirls his naughty tongue around you in tight figure eights?
“Joel, please,” you say, needing more.
Did you like it most when he suckles around your sweet bud?
“Joel!” You cry out, tugging tighter at his hair, not sure if you want to tug him closer for more or push him away because it feels too good.
“O-Oh, oh my god.” Lying still was a foreign thing to you now, all you could do was wiggle and grip your fingers into his hair, tugging harshly as he grunted against your core in enjoyment.
He actually likes pleasing you, he likes tasting you! It’s a compliment without words as your eyes dip close and your head digs back into the desk.
Suddenly, your stomach starts to drop like you’re on a rollercoaster. You’re not unfamiliar with the feeling of an orgasm, but this, oral, it hits differently.
“Fuck,” you curse unexpectedly, making Joel cock up an eyebrow as he glances up at you. All you can do is watch as his mouth suckles harder around you, his finger pumping faster and adding a second.
Because if there’s anyone in this world that can break you out of your shell, Joel wants it to be him.
Now you’re really aching for him, wishing that it was his cock slotted between your walls, pushing you towards euphoria.
“Know you wanna come for me angel,” his fingers quirk upwards in a come here motion, and a long, strung-out moan of his name leaves your lips.
God forbid any of the shop’s workers or clients hear you, but you can’t think of a singular reason to care right now.
Your walls flex and squeeze around Joel’s two fingers, truly feeling the stretch as you come around his digits. It leaves you a whimpering mess on his desk, hot pants leaving your pretty lips.
Joel is in heaven, lapping you up and moaning against your core as your clit starts to twitch with the overstimulation. His hands squeeze at the flesh of your thighs before he sits up and kisses up your body, his own lips meeting yours. He’s hungry, and you’re still bouncing back. But you want it so bad, and you’re so close to finally having it.
“Joel, I’m ready.” You coo, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He breathily laughs and pecks your lips once more, tasting your own arousal and making you feel warm inside.
“Desperate for my cock, ain’t that right, pretty girl?”
God, he was such a menace with his mouth. Your adorably shy grin is all the answer he needs. But you give him one anyway, because he likes when you talk like that with him.
“Yes, daddy, I just wanna feel it already,” you try out, Joel’s lust-filled eyes meeting yours as white-hot heat spills into your stomach.
“I’ll give it to ya, baby girl. Wanna give that tight little virgin pussy my cock, don’t want anyone else to have ya. Mine.” Joel huskily grunts, a choked moan leaving your lips.
Joel reaches past your head and to the drawer on the other side of the desk. He jimmies it open and searches his hand around blindly. He flips open his wallet and pulls a small square foil package from the slot.
Oh, duh, a condom. In all your excitement, you sort of forgot to be safe. But you’re glad he was prepared.
You watch with adoration on your features as Joel lifts the condom to his lips, pearly teeth ripping the foil off but not hurting the condom. His other hand rests sweetly on your hip, thumb running soothing circles into your pretty skin.
It’s a soothing feeling, one that he doesn’t have to do, but he does because he’s being considerate and maybe even a little protective. You gently lay your hand on his forearm, fingers tracing fresh black ink and older green ink on his arm’s sleeve.
A shaky sigh leaves your lips as he uses both hands to glide the condom down his shaft. It’s nearly invisible, the way it’s so thin and tightly wrapped around his cock. Besides the band that rests at the very bottom of his shaft. He grumbles something incoherent, probably his annoyance with the fussing of the condom and how tight it probably felt around him.
You take in a shaky breath and nod at him once he comes to rejoin your centers.
“You’re sure you’re ready for this? Don’t wanna wait for someone y’love? Or trust? Or just... Anybody but me?” Joel’s face is pinched with genuine concern.
You smile softly and gently cup his cheek. “I do trust you. It takes a lot of trust to allow someone to alter your body forever with a tattoo. So, you’re giving me a tattoo, and you’re taking my virginity. You’re sort of doubling down for me right now, honestly.”
Joel flashes a genuine little smile. It’s the most you’ve said consistently all day with him, even with a little drip of sarcasm and wit.
“Okay. But ya gotta say it.” He says more seriously.
“I’m ready, Daddy. Want you to make me feel good. I know you can.” You can already feel yourself picking up his dirty talk. It makes your smile twitch as you gently grip both of his forearms, his hands spreading your thighs open for him.
He enters the space, his heavy cock resting over your core and slowly slipping up and down your wet folds.
You let out an unexpected little scoff as he grinds himself down against you, your arousal soaking the condom. He holds himself at his base and taps his tip down against your already throbbing clit, making you hiss out a desperate whine.
“M’not usually this… gentle.” He admits through gritted teeth. You’re sort of shocked by that. Sure, he has a rough and tough exterior, but he’s treated you with such delicacy that you assumed he was like this all the time.
“So, what are you usually like?” You pose, your breath hitching in your throat as one of his hands abandons your thighs and guides his tip from your clit to your entrance, up and down, several times. Your thighs twitch impatiently. Your entrance squeezes around nothing.
“M’just... not this gentle,” is all he can say without breaking into a bemused smile.
“Yeah? Maybe you can show me next time what you’re really like.”
Joel playfully scoffs as his face starts to pierce with concentration. “Not sure if you can handle it, kitten.”
“I’m sure I-” your words are cut off by a loud gasp, your lips parting as his tip penetrates your walls. You’re phased for a moment before you gulp and recollect yourself. You whimper, louder and louder as he pushes on, watching Joel move with such caution.
He really is holding back, you think. You wonder what he’s like when he can just fuck how he pleases.
“Baby,” Joel’s voice breaks your concentration. “Breathe.”
A loud huff of air leaves your mouth that you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. The ache in your hips and core only builds with tension as Joel pushes on, his length and girth surely parting your tight walls.
“So fuckin’- tight.” He says with gritted teeth, his fingers piercing into the delicate flesh of your outer thighs, making you whimper.
“Joel,” you quietly cry for him, tears threatening to spill at the pain. It’s just- a lot. It’s a lot for your first time, and maybe you wouldn’t have signed up if you knew what he was packing, but in a weird way, you loved it. He felt made for you.
“M’here, angel, look at me.” In all the excitement and overwhelming feelings of pain and pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed you were clenching your eyes closed. You slowly peek them open, greeted by his heavenly features.
“There’s my girl.” He compliments, warmth and sweetness shooting through your body.
“Fuck,” you say, your voice a bit wet as Joel comes down closer to aid you. He’s all the way in now, you can feel his balls flushed against your sopping wet cunt.
The arousal helps, the condom sort of doesn’t but it’s fine, that’s life, you think. You’re torn between pain and pleasure. Honestly, you just feel so fucking full.
He tells you between breathy pants that he would have used lube if he had any, but he didn’t, and he’s sorry, and his pretty voice starts to turn into static with how fucking good he feels inside of you.
“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praises, sponging a few kisses along your cheeks and tasting your salty tears. You feel like some weak pathetic being under him. He’s been sweet, but you’re sure he’s just treating you like he found a wounded animal.
“Move, Joel, please” you weakly demand, lassoing your arms around his neck and holding him close to you.
“No.” He says through gritted teeth. “Just-” he pauses and takes a deep breath, knowing that you’re dealing with a million emotions right now as he’s trying to breathe around the death grip you have on his cock. “Just wait a minute, sweetheart, let yourself adjust.”
A pouty, bratty sigh leaves your lips as you continue to blink away tears. You eventually nod and he only smiles adoringly as he returns to kiss at the tears.
Your senses are spiked. You can smell his cologne, feel each gristle of hair from his salt and pepper beard. It’s erotic how much more you can feel while at the edge of your emotions.
One of your hands roams into his darling chocolate curls, instinctually going to gently scrape your nails delicately against his scalp. You’re sweetly surprised to hear him mutter a sweet little moan just for you against the shell of your ear.
Your hands flutter across dark tattoos on his shoulders and arms, your blurry vision trying to make out the shapes as you trace a pretty angel on his upper bicep.
Joel Miller was inside of you. Joel Miller has taken your virginity. The hottest man you’ve ever set your eyes on is fucking you at his place of work, on his desk. And you convinced him to.
Joel was right. The pain, ache, and burn slowly turned into a real yearning for him to move. It felt like what was right, a certain neediness to be filled and fucked.
“Daddy,” you whisper more sweetly this time, more to your character. “Please fuck me, you feel good now, I can take it. Promise.”
It takes him a moment to gather himself as well, smiling sweetly as he keeps his mouth by your breasts where he is sucking a gentle hickey into your soft skin. Color flushes to the area, feeling his teeth gently nibble on the spot before he finally lifts off.
Marking you, you think. It makes another gush of arousal flood your core, liquifying your spine as you become putty in his hands.
His mouth twitches in a small smile as he captures your lips. Unbeknownst to you, the sweet kiss was just a distraction.
Joel slowly began reeling his hips back which was a whole new sensation. His strangled moan harmonized with the gasp you let out into his mouth, moaning out the breath you were holding as he plunges himself fully back inside your warm cunt.
You whimpered weakly, needy and anxiously happy, you wanted more. More, more, more.
“Oh- my god,” you whimper, feeling him start a steady rhythm inside of you. Your jaw slowly drops and your eyes flutter closed, feeling your tits start to lightly bounce every time his hips perfectly align with your own.
“So goddamn tight, still,” he grunts each word, forehead against yours as he watches your face unfold with a million reactions.
Something primal switches in Joel, knowing he’s the first one to do this sort of stuff with you.
It’s strangely possessive and arrogant, he knows it, but being the first man you trust to fuck you properly was feeding his ego. You’re a beautiful young woman with big doe eyes who waltzed into his shop and insisted he rail you, take your sacred first, talk you through it, and carry you through this dark and fearful forest.
You trusted him. He wouldn’t break that bond.
You came here wanting something, knowing how to get it. You came here asking, and Joel was open to teaching. The last thing he wanted was for some asshole to hurt you, something your sweet nature couldn’t afford was poison.
Maybe he could teach you more, if you wanted. If he offered you an invitation to his world, would you take it? He only shared a slice of his lifestyle with you today, would the rest scare you, or entice you?
Joel can’t help the way his hips buck faster at his thoughts, a little sob leaving your lips. He’s absent, just for a moment, feeling your skin slap against his as he holds you down and fills you fully. His tip hits your cervix for the first time and heat floods your stomach as you cry out his name.
“Shit,” he panics and quickly comes back to his senses, wide eyes meeting your bleary ones, “you okay, angel? M’sorry” Joel whispers, returning to his original rhythm.
“Yes-yes, fuck, please keep going, keep doing that, I can’t believe how good it feels.”
Joel weakly smirks, proud to see you taking him so well.
The desk squeaks and juts with each of his heavy thrusts, that’s how you know it’s fucking good. You came here wanting to lose your virginity, but now that you’ve unwound Joel Miller, you want him to fucking rail you.
Licking your lips, you lean up and pepper kisses up his wirey jawline, feeling the patch of hair that fades out and then back in again. He’s so sweet right now, but you wonder what he was talking about before. What was he when he wasn’t gentle? How good would rough feel? Would you like it? Maybe you could learn, explore, adventure. Surely Joel with his experience could be a guiding light.
You watch with glittery eyes as Joel pulls his head off yours and licks across the pads of his fingers.
“What are you- shit,” you whimper as his fingers start circling your clit, taking a moment to find your sweet little rhythm, one that somehow matches his hips. Now, your skin is slapping and it’s echoing around the room. Your moans are louder and uncontrollable, as are Joel’s. Your hips ache but you don’t find the will to care, he feels like fucking heaven.
His cock is somehow inching deeper, as if your walls have decided to invite him in further, where he hits this perfect little spot inside of you that makes you squeak Joel’s name with robbed breaths.
You’re not sure if you can hold on much longer, your stomach starts to swirl as all the knots inside your belly begin to untie themselves.
You brace Joel at his shoulders and look into his eyes as you moan his name. A certain hunger flickers behind his dark brown orbs. His jaw clicks and he starts fucking you in earnest, filling you up each time as his hips snap with vigor. He feels fucking amazing, piercing your walls and marking you as his.
“Joel-”
“Say what I wanna hear, baby,” he rasps. You quickly nod and gulp.
“Daddy, please, I-I’m so close,” you moan sweetly as your head digs into the desk, jutting your chin up and arching your back. Joel takes full advantage of your breasts in his face, burying his nose in between them and nipping at the sensitive flesh, nearly making you yelp.
“M’right there with you, angel baby, come for me,” he insists breathlessly.
His hips were losing their precision, going buck-wild, so you knew he was close. But he was holding out for you.
You clench your eyes closed, feeling yourself lose all control. Your heart races in your chest, beat thrumming in your throat as you hold Joel against your front as his hips continue to snap and fill you. You don’t know what to do with your mouth, so you feverishly land your lips on his and make him mask the moans of your orgasm.
Joel’s groan echoes loudly into your mouth as you gasp against his lips. Your walls clench eagerly around his cock as he spills into the condom.
It’s blinding, deafening even. Your face goes slack and your eyes see stars. You think you might be shedding a tear or two because Joel is cupping your face kindly, thumbs swiping under your eyes as he encourages you out of your haze.
“Lemme see those eyes, pretty girl,” he pants sweetly, watching for any sign of doubt. But he wouldn’t find any.
You’re not so sure where he starts and you begin, your mind is so fuzzy.
A soft hum leaves your lips as you soothingly run a hand through his dark hair again, gently stroking the longer curls away from the sheen on his forehead. Both of you were so warm, it felt like a fire was set between you two. When you curl a strand around your finger, you weakly smile as it coils back up and bounces.
“How was your first time, angel?” Joel pants, still buried balls deep inside of you. Your hips ache, but part of you wasn’t ready for him to pull out yet.
“I can’t believe I finished twice.” You admit with a shy smile, running a thumb up his cheekbone and glancing up at his eyebrow piercing. He notices you staring but keeps his eyes on your own.
“Did it hurt?”
He shakes his head.
“What about the one in your nose?”
He shakes his head again, this time with a smile.
“Or your tongue?”
This one made him ponder before he finally gave a light shrug.
“You don’t remember the pain after a while. Just like tattoos. The pain is temporary.”
Your mouth tilts in a lopsided smile, feeling messy with both of your spillages still puddled around your centers.
Joel grunts as he slowly stands up from his bent-over position on the desk, pulling himself out of you and tying up the condom before he tosses it into the waste bin.
You whine quietly to yourself as you close your legs. It hurts a little more now. Your hips and your core, a certain soreness. Or maybe it was missing him already.
“Oh,” you whisper, starting to feel a little bit of leakage glide down your thigh. “Joe, do you-”
“Course,” Joel says assuringly, hands already on a towel as he neals down and gently glides the material up the inside of your thigh. You bite down on your lip as he cleans you up with the soft towel and a little bit of water.
You glance around the sterilized room and realize he’ll probably have to scrub this place down for the most part. Whoops.
You’re slow to dress. Joel’s already buttoned his pants by the time you find your panties. He snickers quietly and helps you dress with a smirk.
It’s not awkward like you feared it would. It sort of felt like you guys were friends. Then, something sort of unexpected happens.
Joel fondly strokes a hair out of your face, pushing it behind your ear and smoothing out the little knots he had caused while fisting your hair during his blowjob. He’s soft and gentle with you. It makes you oh so curious what he looks like when he’s not soft and gentle.
You sigh softly as you look at yourself in the mirror. You sort of felt proud, like you’d be a whole new person leaving the shop today. Even without a tattoo.
“Joel, I don’t want anyone to see me leaving your office.”
“That ashamed of me, huh?” He scoffs at you playfully, running his hand up and down his chest hair before he finally throws on his shirt. “I have the back office, so we can just go out that door.” He juts up his chin to behind you and you follow his eyeline. “Goes to the alley behind the shop.”
You note the dark green painted exit door, and you’re thankful you don’t have to parade through the front of the shop or go past any other clients.
The gentleman that he is, Joel walks you to your car as dusk settles in, marking the sky an orange and red horizon.
“I gotta clean up the shop and close. You gonna be okay until I see you next?”
You nod meekly, a sweet smile on your face that twinges with a little shyness. “I’ll be okay. I still need that tattoo.” You tease to which he grins.
“You do. I’ve worked real hard on it, so you better come back an’get it.”
You nip at your lower lip as he stays guarded by your window, like a handsome pierced, and tatted bodyguard.
It’s itching at you too much to let it go. You’re just too curious.
“M’not this gentle.”
“Yeah? Maybe you can show me next time what you’re really like.”
“Not sure if you can handle it, kitten.”
You gulp and clutch his hand before he fully stands up to walk away from your car. “You’ll show me again sometime? Like you said?”
Your eyes glimmer with a certain hopefulness, but his own seem to harden out of caution.
It was just insane that he knew so much more than you. You wanted to unlock all forms of pleasure you were comfortable with. You like that he was holding something back.
You were wet clay in his massive hands, he could mold you to his liking. You could learn his pleasures, his kinks, what unravels him beyond repair. You could learn a thing or two about yourself in the process.
Joel sighs.
“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.” He warns, lips crooked in a snarl. His eyes beg for you not to want him, not to want this.
But nothing set your nerves on fire like seeing him in control of you, just that brief second where his eyes flashed from amber to black and he fucked you like nothing or no one was stopping him. What if you gave it all up to him?
Submissiveness dances behind your eyes, and Joel’s a sucker for that sweet look on your face. He debates if this is what you really want, or if it’s something else. He can’t deny he enjoys the trust you put in him.
Joel quietly sighs with hesitation, eyes the way your small hand desperately holds his before he finally squeezes back.
“You don’t know how t’take no for an answer, do ya?” He asks, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “That’ll have to change.”
You grin and nod, biting down on your lower lip as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Joel takes notice, not wanting to see you in any sort of discomfort, especially from something he caused.
“Take some pain medicine and relax tonight, angel. You were perfect.”
Your heart swells at the compliment, the appreciation, the care. He gently pats your window a few times before standing up straight and backing up from your car, moving back towards the dark green exit door. “I’ll see you soon.”
Driving away, you’re giddy with excitement of the unknown. It was a dark path you wanted to pursue. And maybe it was fucking stupid how you could trust a complete stranger like this, how none of your past partners felt worthy of your first time, but the tattooed and pierced old southern gentleman did. It was fucked. But you were sort of fucked for Joel Miller.
You hum to the radio as you experience pure adrenaline, thumb gliding over the raised numbers on his business card. You glance down and notice a small stamp of a fern in the top right corner, adjacent to his name and professional title.
The Obsidian Gallery
Joel Miller
Senior Tatoo Artist
You can’t explain how your heart inadvertently races as you remember flashes of his hips rutting into yours, those same delicate fern leaves decorating the front of his hips. You were so fucked for Joel Miller.
next chapter ->
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller fluff#joel miller angst#The Last Of Us#tlou#the last of us fic#joel miller tlou#pedro pascal#joel miller pedro pascal#daddy dd/sub#dd/sub kink#dd!joel miller#dom/sub
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sensational
6.9k | joel miller & f!innocent!reader
part two
this comes from this request. a few liberties were taken with the details (the reader knows that sex exists, but not much else), just fyi!
summary: thanks to becoming an orphan at age 13, you've lived the rest of your life oblivious to all the world can offer. now that you're in jackson, joel miller ignites something in you that only he can give answers to.
warnings: slight angst (mentions of parent loss), innocent!fem!reader, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 25), kind of pervy!joel, smut (18+, mdni!!!), fingering, grinding, reader watches old pornos with joel, slight praise kink, no use of y/n.
note: i planned originally to have this be just one part, but even though it ends in a way that i like, i could maybe be convinced to write a second part teehee (part two coming soon!)
You used to love the rain. The way it cascaded down your skin in little droplets, cleansing your body from a hard day's work, and the way it made your hair look so perfectly disheveled.
You craved the rain, until it became nothing but a reminder of the night your parents died.
It had been years at this point, but you would never quite forget how young, and small, and unsuspecting you'd been when they told you to run. How cruel, that time might pass, you might change, but with one smattering of rain, you returned so swiftly to the worst night of your life.
The three of you had been living alone, making your way...somewhere, but they never told you where. Your parents' only wish was to keep you safe, that much was clear. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that upon an ambush by at least ten clickers, after both your parents had been infected, that they'd insist that you run.
"Please, darling," your mother had pleaded, a lump in her throat as she formed the words. "Don't make me beg. I need you to run. Promise?"
Your father was somewhere else, but you could hear him yelling in the distance, in a fight for his life. You were too young, even at thirteen, to understand that those were the sounds of a dying man.
"I'll be right behind you," she'd choked on the last phrase, and in hindsight, you knew she was lying. But in the moment, you'd believed her. You couldn't see the bite she was hiding on her arm, her fate already sealed. "I'll come for you, my love," she insisted, "but I need you to go. Head for the woods."
It was the last time you saw her. You'd turned tail and had run as fast as you could for the woods.
The last thing you heard was a gunshot. A single shot, echoing around you in the trees. It may have been impossible to know, but you didn't need to turn back. Your parents were dead.
If you hadn't found Jackson, who knows how long you might have lasted. Nearing your twenty-first year, you'd proven valuable to the community, and they'd welcomed you in. Jackson was the first home you'd had since you were five.
It hadn't occurred to you that you were years behind your peers in terms of...well, everything, until you met Joel.
Rugged, tan, and sporting a perpetual frown paired with an ever-present crease between his brows, Joel Miller was your patrol partner. You weren't exactly sure why, and he didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but then again—he never seemed particularly pleased about anything.
It hadn't struck you as anything to be proud of, or to boast about to the other young women in Jackson, but they certainly loved coming up to you and expressing their jealousy when they felt so inclined.
"What's he like on patrol?" they'd ask, their eyes wide and lips curled in smirks as they waited for any insight you could give them on his mysterious personality.
All you could ever say over the next four years was a quick, "He's quiet."
Maybe that was why the two of you worked well. He wasn't much of a talker, and after you'd lost your parents, you hadn't been one to waste any breath on conversation, especially when you had survived alone with your own thoughts for almost eight years.
Silence was your mutual understanding. No talking meant no questions, and no questions meant no problems.
And this worked. Until it didn't.
-- -- --
It started like anything started. Quietly, hardly a bother, until it sank into the marrow of your bones and demanded that you address it.
More literally, it started in your shoulders. You'd been on patrol with Joel, a quiet, "Let's go," his only words to you that morning. They were his only words to you every morning, and that day was no different.
Patrolling with him was easy. Like you'd said—no talking, so no problems. You rode next to each other on your respective horses, and there was nothing more than a glance or two toward each other when necessary. It was the only form of communication that the two of you shared.
His big brown eyes had always startled you, looking so inviting in the contrast of the white snow during the winter, but they never showed you more than he allowed you to see. And all you saw of Joel was his dedication to sleep, patrol, eat, and repeat.
You hadn't felt the desire to look that closely at him until some of the girls in Jackson asked you how big his hands were, or what he looked like up close.
"You know," one of them had crooned, not realizing you were unsure of their intentions, "what does he look like without that big old coat on?"
You'd shrugged. "Why should I know?"
Another one wiggled her eyebrows. "Doesn't it get...lonely out there? Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company?"
The faces of those girls, the glint in their eyes, it was something you couldn't quite decipher, as much as you wished you could. So one day, you'd asked the man himself what it all meant.
When you said it for the first time, it was so quiet that you could hardly even hear yourself.
Joel grunted, the only indication that he'd heard you.
Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't find a reason why. This was just Joel. He seemed to know everything there was to know about life; surely he could help you understand this. "Why do the girls in town keep asking me what it's like to patrol with you?"
He didn't answer for a second, but then shrugged. "They botherin' you?"
"No." You weren't quite sure that was true, and knowing him, he could probably hear the lie in your voice. "They're just kind of...belligerent."
His eyebrow cocked. "S'a big word," he mused. "Sure you know what it means?"
Your cheeks grew hot. "Yes," you insisted sharply. "I do read, you know."
He murmured a response, but the wind carried it away from you. You rode in silence for a bit longer before he said, "Don't let those girls get in your head. I think they just wanna get a rise outta you."
"A rise?"
Joel nodded and brought his horse to a routine stop. This was where the two of you always stretched your legs. He reached up to help you down your own mount and set you on the ground gingerly. "You know," he said, as if you should know, but with no regard for the fact that you didn't. "You're still kinda new here. Seems they're still pretty dead-set on embarrassin' you."
"I'm not embarrassed," you insisted again. "I just...is there a joke I'm not getting?"
"Any reason you chose to talk so much today?" was his only answer, which made your stomach clench.
There was no reason for you to be offended, as it was your typical routine to remain quiet unless absolutely necessary, but you couldn't help the way your lips curved downward. "Sorry," you mumbled, "forget I asked."
He was quiet again as the two of you walked at least two hundred paces, stretching out your sore muscles in the snow. It used to be comforting, the silence. It wasn't maddening, it didn't ever bother you if Joel was in his thoughts. You weren't even sure at times if he had any. But all that had changed now; his brow creased more than it usually did, and you wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was thinking.
Joel was the one constant in your life now. Maybe it was a—well, probably it was a trauma response from losing your parents, but you couldn't help it. You didn't need much from anyone, just someone to stay. Joel was strong enough to take care of himself and was smart enough not to make any rash decisions. As far as you could tell, he'd stay.
So how could you be so embarrassed by asking these questions?
"I forgot how long you said you were...alone out there," his grunting voice filled the space between you once more. It was quiet, and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how to speak.
"Since I was thirteen," you said mechanically, so familiar with others in Jackson asking the same question.
"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "And you're how old?"
"Twenty-five," you said, feeling oddly small in his presence.
He shook his head. "That's a long time to be alone," he muttered, blowing out a breath.
You huffed. "Yeah, well, I survived. And besides, I've been here for four years now, you know."
"I know."
Again, the silence. Infuriating.
Then, you couldn't help it. "What's...'spooning,' and why do those girls ask me if we've done it?"
Joel stumbled, reaching out for balance. His hand found purchase on your shoulder, and you caught him awkwardly. "You don't even know what spooning is?" He sounded incredulous, as if you'd asked a juvenile question.
The warmth from his hand was astonishing, and distracted you from your embarrassment, if only for a moment. It sank through his glove into your coat, and down toward your skin. Something about the weight of his hand on your shoulder, even for a second as he removed it quickly, was enough to send you spiraling.
Your face burned. "Never mind," you said quietly and mounted your horse again. How stupid could you get? You scolded yourself. You'd ventured too far into this conversation, and now you didn't know how to get yourself out of it. "I was just...never mind. We should get back."
He nodded, but his face still looked somewhat pinched. "Yeah. S'getting dark."
The sun was still up. No intention of sinking beneath the horizon for at least a few hours. You rode again in uncomfortable silence, this time letting it fill the space. You foolishly thought that maybe if you were quiet long enough, he'd forget that you'd made a fool of yourself, that you'd exposed yourself to the truth: that you knew hardly anything about...anything except for survival instincts.
When Joel spoke again, it surprised you. "I didn't mean to tease ya," he said. "It's just kind of a surprise that you're not...that you don't..." he looked over at you, and there was some type of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging you not to make him say it.
"That I don't what?" you said dumbly, hoping you didn't sound as childish as you felt.
He pondered his next words carefully, and then he hummed, "If you want, I could...teach you some stuff."
"Like spooning?" You felt a warmth in your face as you watched his shoulders hunch with a soft laughter. Your own shoulder burned where he'd touched it, and something bloomed in your gut.
He chuckled. "I don't know about all that," he said, "but I'll help you get...back on track. Would hate for someone to take advantage of your...innocence." It sounded sinful, the way he said it, and the something in your gut pulsed.
"You don't have to," you shook your head, but you didn't even believe the words as they came out of your mouth. "I'll just ask someone else."
"Darlin', don't trust anyone else to give you straight answers. I'm older'n half of everyone in Jackson, anyway." He flashed you a look. "I'll help. Whatever you want to know."
You bit the insides of your cheeks, your stomach turning strangely. "Anything?"
He nodded dutifully, but his eyes had already left yours. Joel Miller, ever the professional. "Whatever you want."
-- -- --
Joel liked to consider himself someone who would never again suffer the shock of surprises. After having lived through and seen more shit than any normal person could, he thought he'd experienced it all.
That is, until her pretty lips had opened and asked him to teach her about all she'd missed. Until she asked him to teach her.
He hadn't really seen her as the picture of innocence until he'd heard how long she'd been alone, surviving with no one and nothing besides her own thoughts and the clothes on her back.
The least her parents could do was teach her how to shoot, he'd thought when he first met her. It was a curiosity that was quickly resolved, as she'd proven herself valuable to Jackson.
Tommy had wasted no time putting them on patrol together. "It'll be good for you," his brother had reasoned when he brought up concerns. "You know, to talk to someone out there. I know she's on the young side, but you don't gotta fall in love with her." He'd flashed an apologetic smile when Joel had scowled. "You're scarin' everyone, Joel. Bein' all quiet and shit...it's—"
"It's what?" he'd asked gruffly. "I don't do it on purpose. I'm a grown man."
This was all true, and he very much didn't do it on purpose. With no one around whom he deemed worthy of his conversation, Joel Miller had become the quiet, introspective version of himself that everyone decided to become scared of all of a sudden.
The way he saw things? It wasn't his fault everyone in Jackson was boring. Or childish.
But her. With her unmistakable will to survive and those eyes that could burn fierce with ire one moment, and soften with curiosity the next...it was only a matter of time before he agreed to do whatever she asked.
He should have seen it coming, especially considering her past. Every time he thought of just how...unsuspecting she was about...everything, he had to shake his head, clearing it of any thoughts that threatened to take advantage of her.
But being ignorant of spooning. He had to clear his throat every time he thought of what that might mean for himself in this particular arrangement. If she knew nothing of something so...palatable, he could hardly help himself when thinking of what else she might be unaware of.
He tried to be patient, and he tried to be respectful, but at the end of the day, he was Joel Miller. From the moment she looked at him with those wide eyes, he was lost.
-- -- --
"What I would give to give that man the ride of his life," one of the girls next to you hummed at breakfast the next morning, her eyes presumably glued to Joel, who'd just come into the cafeteria. You didn't look up at him, instead casting a confused glance toward the girl who'd spoken.
"Ride where?" You cursed your quick instinct to ask questions, as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Face burning, you looked down again at your plate. "Never mind," came your almost instantaneous response. You were getting used to having to apologize for your ignorance, and people rarely—especially not these girls—offered their kindness.
One of the other girls snickered. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway," she said, smiling widely. Her next words were nothing short of a drawl, the complete essence of mockery. "'Joel, what's it mean to ride?'" she pinched her face in what you assumed was an impression of you, and it only made your eyebrows furrow despite your stomach sinking in utter horror.
And then there he was. He'd called your name, and now he was standing behind your left shoulder, hand outstretched to save you.
You were sure his hand had never looked quite as appealing as it did now. The calluses on his palm were raised and visibly rough. For a moment, you stared at his fingers and wondered what they might feel like against your cheek.
Swallowing a lump in your throat, that something arose in your gut once more before you heard him murmur your name again.
"Come on," he grunted, but there was a gentleness to it that made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Time to go."
The girls at your table were silent when you took his hand gingerly and let him lead you from the cafeteria. You noted the swift wave of cold that hit your hand as soon as he dropped it, just a second later. Clasping your hands together, you hoped in a fit of desperation that you might preserve some of the weight and warmth of his touch on your skin. It failed.
"Thanks," you said later, when the two of you were outside the community's borders. Jackson felt a bit too stuffy for any real admissions of gratitude, you'd decided. It turned out to be a good conclusion when you felt the delicious churn of your stomach at the idea of being alone with him once more.
I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway, one of the girls had said. Doesn't it get lonely out there? You were reminded of another's teasing, and this time your cheeks burned at the memory. Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company.
He was big, you considered. When he stood next to you, his frame was almost larger than life, and his shoulders were sinfully broad when you watched him walk in front of you on previous patrols. The sheer size of him was enough to send you into a heady descent.
As usual, Joel didn't answer for what felt like ages, and you'd begun to wonder if he could see where your train of thought had led you. Then:
"You could have told me they were bein' that outrageous," he grunted, keeping his eyes forward. "I woulda helped you out sooner. S'no fun feelin' left outta everything."
It was...odd to hear such words come from a man like Joel. Although, you reminded yourself, you'd hardly spoken to him in the four years that you'd been in Jackson; who was to say he wasn't normally like this? A quiet, brooding older man, yes; but maybe he was naturally like this. One to offer his help.
"If you wanted to help, you would have made an effort four years ago." You let your words hang in the air. You didn't mean for them to come off sharp; it was simply the truth. "I don't need your help," you added, tightening your hands on the reins of your horse and swallowing roughly. "It was fine. I am fine."
He flashed you a look as if to say, is that so? You couldn't help but notice the way the corners of his eyes creased, the only sign of amusement. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on him, although you weren't sure how you were going to explain the way your mouth went dry at the sight of his big brown eyes.
"Besides," you insisted quietly, "you're not my dad."
Joel cleared his throat. Looked down, shoulders tense. Inhaled. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I'm not."
Emboldened by this clarification, you inquired, "So what did those girls mean earlier? Riding, I mean?"
If you could have guaranteed the image of Joel's eyes going wide in surprise to remain in your head for the rest of your days, you would have done it instantly. His forehead was creased as his eyebrows lifted, and despite his position facing away from you, you could see it all.
The way he seemed to wrestle with himself before answering, the way his hands seemed to clench in his gloves. "So, uh..." he started, and then paused again. Mustering up whatever courage he needed, Joel finished, "Well, ya see, when a man and woman love each other very much—"
"Joel." Oh. You couldn't help it when a breathless chuckle left your lips.
He was silent, and when he finally answered, it wasn't a question. "What."
"I'm not fucking stupid. I know how reproduction works."
Joel's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and you couldn't ignore the look of complete relief that washed over his rough features. "Thank fuckin' Christ. Didn't know if I had it in me for another sex talk. I'm too old to be doin' this."
"Believe it or not, my parents did leave me with the basic information." Swallowing roughly, you continued. "And I know...I know that men usually...take. It's an assertion of power, from what I've...seen."
He shook his head. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've run into your fair share of dirtbags, even in the middle of the world goin' to shit." He ran a gloved hand through his hair, and you secretly enjoyed the way it stood up. "Anyone ever, you know...take...from you?"
Hearing your own words regurgitated back to you left you feeling fluttery. Shaking your head, you got down from your horse; you'd reached your typical resting spot. "No," you said firmly. "They never wanted me."
Joel nodded. "S'good," he said, and it bothered you to no end that you couldn't understand the emotion in his voice. "So..."
By now he was standing next to you, closer than you were used to, judging by the way his coat sleeve bumped yours as the two of you walked, stretching your legs. "So," you said, thinking up a way to make this conversation less awkward. "I just hate feeling like a kid again. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. There's more than just survival when it comes to living. I just want to know what I'm missing out on," you confessed with a hand on your stomach.
When Joel brushed by your side again your stomach flipped. And what the fuck is that about, and why do I keep feeling it? You asked inwardly, but you were too nervous to ask. Bombarding Joel with questions, especially after you'd just started talking to him on patrol after four years, seeming to be the wrong path to take.
He shrugged, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. "There's nothing to miss if you don't know what you're missin'."
"Yes," you admitted, "but that doesn't stop any of those girls from making me feel like I'm..."
"Innocent?" he murmured, and you thought you weren't meant to hear it until he turned to look at you.
Those big brown eyes, they just won't quit, a voice nudged you in your head.
"I don't want to be innocent," you groaned, throwing your head back. "God, not in the sense that they see me in. Sounds like a damn curse."
The sound of his rumbling laughter, however quiet, sent a shock down your spine and you nearly tripped in the snow. "There's pros and cons, I s'pose," he offered. "It's like I said: I'll help you get back on track. If that's what you really want."
"It is." You stopped walking, took a look around at the landscape, otherwise empty with the scattering of trees. You swallowed, pressed one. "So...riding. It's a part of reproducing, then?"
He chuckled again, but this time it didn't come off as demeaning. It was like he was teasing you, but good-naturedly. "Let's not jump too far ahead of ourselves, yeah? Start with somethin' smaller. Then we'll work our way up."
Joel's eyes were piercing when he held yours in his gaze. If someone watched this conversation, you were sure they'd be able to see the blush blooming on your cheeks.
"Learnin' takes time, ya know," he mused, his growling voice nearly a hum that could have warmed you from the inside out.
You'd made it to the edge of the woods now. This was normally where you turned back, heading for home. But neither of you moved. The bubble of something pulsed again, and you swallowed roughly before whispering hoarsely, "So where should we start?"
-- -- --
If Joel were a better man, he might have warned her what the curse of innocence in a young woman could be. He might have shook his head, stepped back, and told her to ask someone else. He might have taken the reins and turned the two of them back toward Jackson.
If he were better, he wouldn't have stepped closer to her. If he were a better man, he wouldn't have looked into her sparkling eyes and let the question slip. Fuck it all.
"You ever been kissed, darlin'?"
-- -- --
You swallowed. Don't make a fool of yourself, you begged yourself before answering with a quiet shake of your head. "Not many contenders out there. Not any good ones, anyway."
He'd leaned closer to you with his question, and now you could practically see each line of age in his face. Joel's expression was unclear; he could have been pleased with this information or...or maybe there was pity in his eyes. "No," he said with an understanding nod. "No, I suppose there wouldn't have been."
He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and you watched as he traced it along his lips. The gray strands in his hair glinted off the sunlight, blinking pleasantly in your eyes. That something pulsed once more in your stomach, and there was a sort of realization that came with it.
Joel, you thought. Joel is making me feel like this.
"Will you kiss me?" The words were out of your mouth before you could reel them in.
But instead of laughing, or scoffing, or giving any sign of mockery, Joel Miller inhaled quietly. "You know how much older I am than you?" he asked.
You nodded. "We're both adults, Joel. Besides," you felt a ghost of a smirk come to grace your lips, a feigned confidence coming to save you in this moment of truth. "I thought you told me to ask you these questions."
He sighed. "You're right."
"So? Will you?" you asked, with a small, "please?" coming out afterward.
He moved slowly, something you were equally thankful for as you were frustrated with, but his forehead met yours soon enough. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, letting it fan deliciously across your face. The knowledge that he was just as nervous as you were was not only a comfort; it was perhaps the most attractive thing you'd ever known.
And when you lifted your chin, just a hairsbreadth from his lips, your eyes fluttered closed, waiting for him to meet you in the middle. It only took a moment before he was closing his mouth over yours, and Joel Miller was kissing you.
He was gentle, of course, but there was something restrained about his kiss, the way he slowly slotted his lips over yours as if you might crack under any more pressure. It only made you want more, more, more...
You pressed your hands to his chest and curled them into fists, tugging his jacket to lessen the distance between your bodies even more. You didn't know how you were doing this, how you'd managed to find confidence in what could have easily been a humiliating experience. Your first kiss at twenty-five? With anyone else, it might have been a nightmare.
With Joel, it was turning out to be the most delightful dream.
"So soft, baby," he pulled back to whisper against your mouth. "These lips are so soft for me."
You hummed your response and pulled him back to you, letting him see that you wanted more. That incessant pressure was building, and it wasn't until he had his arms sliding around your waist that you forced yourself to pull back, head spinning. "Joel."
He blinked. "What? Too fast?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darlin', you're just so—"
"No, that's not it." You managed a weak smile, but the look in his eye, the question and the undeniable desire—is that what it looks like?—quivering in his brown irises, nearly made you collapse. He waited for you to continue, his hands never leaving you, a courtesy you were grateful for. "I feel...hot." Your cheeks warmed. "Um, there's this...pressure."
His lips closed in a tight smirk, and he squeezed your hips. "Where, baby?" he murmured, and you could have sworn you saw stars outlining his head at the sound of the pet name. "Show me," he cooed.
"Um." You paused, unsure of just how. But with his hands on your waist, his heavy, warm touch melting you on the spot, you took one of his gloved hands in yours and guided him to your stomach. "Here. Kind of."
"Yeah?" he said, and you forgot about the cold. About your horses waiting to be mounted, about your other responsibilities in Jackson. All you could see were his dark eyes that had somehow grown darker as you pushed his hand down, down, down...
"Fuck, babygirl," he cursed, and let his hand rest on the crux of your thighs, just barely pressing on the source of the tingling sensation. If anything, it made it worse, and you let a breathy whine fall from your lips. "You're gonna be the death of me, huh?" he groaned.
You couldn't form words. Just one kiss (a very good kiss, mind you) and a heavy hand on your core was all it took, apparently. You could hardly look anywhere but his face, your mouth dropping open as your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into his hand before you realized you were doing it. "Joel—" you whimpered, and he pulled his hand away.
There wasn't enough time for you to feel jilted, as he tugged you back to your horse and practically launched you onto it himself. "We're goin' back," he said firmly, "now."
Swallowing, your throat dry and rough, you pressed a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat swimming under your skin. "Did I do something wrong?"
You could hardly see him shake his head as he mounted his own horse, looking back at you to make sure you were following him. "'Course not," he called over his shoulder. When you caught up with him, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder, he continued. "Look, darlin', f'I'm gonna be givin' you your first kiss and makin' you feel that good..." he sighed, his dark eyes finding yours. "I'm not doin' it in a fuckin' snowbank."
-- -- --
The entire ride back to Jackson was painfully long, silent but for Joel's mumbled directions, despite the fact that the two of you had taken this same route countless times in the four years that you patrolled together.
Your eyes were trained forward, and you knew his were as well, but it took everything in you not to glance at him even for a second. If you did, you were afraid that the pressure building in the crux of your thighs would never go away.
It would be unfair to say that you were completely unaware of what might happen when you got back to Jackson, but you still didn't know much, which left a nervous bubble rising in your gut. It wasn't like there were any books left in Jackson that you could read about it, or any movies that Maria would allow to remain in the community's borders.
Again, you got a wave of feeling like this should have concerned you, or at least made you a little anxious. But with Joel pulling ahead, his strong back the only thing you could look at, you felt the knot of tension release in your stomach. This was Joel. After four years—even four mostly silent years—of working together, you felt like you...knew him, somehow. That he couldn't possibly lead you astray.
Sure enough, when you were both within the borders, horses returned safely to their stables, the tension returned. Or had it ever really dissipated?
Joel hovered close to you as you left the stables. "Let's go, darlin'," he breathed, a gloved hand on your lower back as he guided you.
"Where?" you said, and you hoped it didn't sound as desperate as it did to you, the pressure getting worse. "I need—"
"I know, baby, I know," he cooed gently, his head on a swivel as if looking for anyone who might stop you. "We're goin' to mine. I've got the perfect lesson planned for ya, alright?"
It was all you could do to nod and let him push you forward through the snowy streets. If only those girls could see you now.
Once inside, you took a breath. There was no one around, and once the door closed behind you, the silence felt all the more heavy. "Ellie?" you asked, if only in courtesy.
He shook his head, and you bit your lip when you saw him smirk. "Just us, doll."
Joel shed his outer layers, and when he stood in front of you, you realized that this was the first time you'd seen him without his coat. Without his gloves, aside from that morning.
Your eyes snagged on his fingers, and you swallowed roughly when you saw the way they twitched, as if in anticipation for something. Or maybe he was holding himself back, you considered. His jaw did seem to have an impatient clench to it. Hands rough like you knew they would be, it didn't take long for your mind to wander into thinking of what it might be like to feel those hands on your skin.
With any luck, he'd give you the sweet release you craved, however it would unfold.
"See anything you like?" he teased, and your cheeks warmed.
"Sorry," you fumbled for a response, your eyes dropping. You'd meant to clear your head, but then your eyes were caught on his thighs. Specifically how hard the seams on his jeans were fighting to remain unripped. "Um, a lesson, you said?"
He nodded, reaching out a hand to take your own coat off, leaving you in the sweater and pants you'd had on all day. You were sure your hair was knotted and would be for days, but he only smoothed a hand down your face, letting you lean into his touch. His fingers were still cold, but your face was hot and it offered a dizzying sense of relief.
"I could never teach you all this," he murmured, his thumb rubbing back and forth in an absentminded swipe across your cheek. "Not without getting...distracted," he finished, pressing his other hand to your waist. Underneath the thick layer of your coat, his hand felt like a hot iron scorching your skin, despite there still being a few layers of clothes between your bodies.
"Distraction is okay," you breathed, lifting a hand to cup his on your waist. "Right?"
He shook his head, a chuckle lifting from deep in his chest. "Not tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, I want to stick to the plan."
"Which is?"
Wordlessly, he removed the hand on your waist and entwined it with your own, tugging you toward the living room where an old television had been placed on a rickety-looking shelf. "Sit," he directed, and you did so without hesitation. He paused, biting back a smile at your eager cooperation, and adjusted himself.
It occurred to you that as much as you were affected by him, he was experiencing a similar effect from you. His pants, already tighter than sin, seemed to have become even tighter, as a bulge began to grow while he stood just a few feet from your face.
"Joel—"
"No, no," he waved a dismissive hand and went to the television to grab something. He came back with something you recognized: a VHS tape. "Don't worry 'bout me, sweets. Tonight's just for you."
"We're gonna watch a movie?" you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart sank a little. You had been hoping that the two of you would kiss some more, and maybe even...you didn't even know the name for it.
"Not just any movie," he grinned, putting it in to watch. The video started. "A special one."
When the scene opened on a man and a woman in the throes of passion, you gasped. "No way," you whispered. "I thought Maria—"
He shrugged, sinking down on the couch beside you, his knee bumping yours. "She must've missed this one," was all he said.
The woman looked to be enjoying herself, as her scene partner kissed her neck, dragging his tongue from the dip in her clavicle to the curve of skin where her neck met her ear. A cartoon-ish moan left her lips, but you didn't pay it any mind. The sight of it made your thighs clench together subconsciously, the lick of pressure rising again in your center.
"Joel—"
"Shh," he said gently. "C'mere, darlin'." With no more than a heavy hand on your waist, he tugged you closer to him, situating you over his lap. "Comfortable?"
You almost said no; you knew that this wouldn't be an acceptable seating arrangement in the cafeteria (or anywhere public, for that matter), but when his hands landed on your thighs, you nodded swiftly. His fingers curled around your skin, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his fingertips, poised as if he might spread your legs from where they were squeezed together between his own thighs.
Something hard and solid nudged at your core, and you couldn't help it when you leaned back into his chest, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. A breathy moan tumbled from your lips, and your stomach fluttered when you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.
"That quick, baby?" he whispered, his breath fanning over your neck. "You really are a sweet young thing, aren't ya," he teased, pressing his nose to the joint between your jaw and your neck, "fallin' apart for me already?" He rocked his hips forward, his bulge pressing harder against you, and it nearly sent you into a spiral.
You swallowed, your throat dry. The sounds of the movie seemed far away as you opened your eyes and looked at his beard, peppered with gray and scratching at your chin when he leaned over you. "Joel," you whispered, bringing your hands to cover his own on your thighs, "I-I want to know everything." You'd never meant anything more fervently, more desperately, than this.
If you'd known how addicting this could feel, being so close to him, feeling his hands on you, perhaps you would have been embarrassed at the way your hips began rubbing yourself on his lap, hoping for—you didn't even know what could be after this. You just knew that the way you felt was the most intense thing you'd felt in your entire life, and you wanted to keep feeling this way, as long as you could.
Joel tutted, squeezing his hands on your thighs. "Oh, look at you," he groaned, a deep, carnal noise that made your chest constrict, "you're a natural, doll." His lips brushed your shoulder, and he darted his tongue out to lick a small strip up your neck.
Your heart swelled with the praise, and it was all you could do not to squeeze your eyes shut. "Please," you begged quietly, as if someone might hear you.
"I know, baby, I know," he crooned, dark eyes locked onto your own as his hand crept closer—to your waistband—closer—unzipping your pants—closer...there.
Your hips lifted from his lap with the heady sensation of his fingers pressed to a bundle of nerves between your legs. "Joel—!" you squeaked.
You felt him smile against your cheek. "So wet," he murmured, "so slick for my fingers, baby." He began rubbing that spot in tight circles, a slow, torturous pace. "Let me know when you're gonna come, yeah?"
"When I..." you trailed off. You'd never...how would you know? "I don't..."
Joel hummed in your ear, rocking his hips again and releasing a guttural groan. "S'okay, pretty girl," he reassured you, "I'll be gentle. Lemme know when it feels like it's too much. "I've gotcha."
You were too far gone to doubt him. This was Joel. He wouldn't let you fall, as much as you felt like you were going to slide to the floor at the feeling of his hand coming up from your leg to caress your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. A strangled mix between a cry and a moan left your lips, and with one more kiss to your brow paired with a quick swipe of his finger over your ever-sensitive bud—
Something gave way and you jerked your head back, digging into his shoulder. Your legs spasmed and you squeezed your hand over Joel's, holding his hand in place underneath your panties.
"Fuck, doll, just like that," he encouraged you. "Look at you, eyes rollin' back for me. Shakin' like a good girl." His hips tensed beneath you and you felt his chest shudder as he released a punishing moan. "Got me feelin' like a damn teenager, comin' in my jeans."
His fingers stilled, but his hand didn't move. Your legs slowly stopped shaking, and the solid mass beneath you was softening. You let out a sigh, your eyelids fluttering closed. Your cheeks were flushed, you could tell; but this time, it wasn't embarrassment that brought the warmth to your face.
"You okay?" he murmured, carefully removing his hands from their places on you. "Feel alright, darlin'?"
Your head turned, nestling into the crook of his neck. Nodding quietly, you shifted in his lap. "I...I didn't know it could be like that," you shivered.
Joel paused the video, the living room falling quiet around you. Swinging a hand under your legs and tugging you to a more comfortable position over his lap, he raised his fingers to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your desire. Your jaw slackened when you watched him open his mouth, lapping at the tips of his fingers.
"Trust me, doll," he said with a glint in his eye. You whimpered in anticipation as he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I've got so much more to teach you."
tysm for reading! you made it to the end! part two is in the works posted!
#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#pervy!joel#innocent!f!reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller#joel miller tlou#tlou smut#tlou fic#tlou joel fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#the last of us#the last of us fanfic#the last of us smut#jackson!joel miller#joel miller x innocent!f!reader#fem!reader#joel x fem!reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n
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