LoveBug

Love Pedro Pascal (and Joel) 🥰 She/Her - married 🎀

[chick66i]

My sharp eye detected Joel’s tummy 🥰

[aurorawritestoescape]

LET ME TEACH YOU

boyfriend’s dad Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: your boyfriend begs you to have anal but knows jack shit about the act. Much to your surprise and pleasure, his dad steps up and teaches him. By example.

Tw: +18, mdni, smut, age gap, soft!Joel, consent king Joel, reader calls him Mr Miller bc she’s respectful and bc it’s hotttt, size kink, competency kink, pussy/ass fingering (different fingers ofc), cuckolding, ass play, rimming, anal, lots of lube, f!masturbation, creampie, praise kink.

Word count: 5,4k

A/n: I think this is the porn-iest story I’ve ever written ahah It’s very depraved but also sweet in some places. I had a blast working on it and I hope you’ll like the result♥️ Soft Joel kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics 💞Enjoy, my lovely freaks🍑

MASTERLIST

“Number one rule of anal sex is ‘No rush’,” Mr Miller says to his son. The older man is sitting by your side, his hands gently kneading your naked asscheeks. You hold your breath when he spreads the globes of your flesh and exposes your pussy slit and butthole. Both entrances clench.

You’ve been going out with Jack Miller for almost a year and you know his dad Joel relatively well. He’s single, works as a contractor, loves spending his free time playing the guitar, woodworking, watching old action movies and going to the bar with his brother Tommy. What you haven’t known before tonight is how good his fingers feel when he pushes them into your asshole. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

It all started with an argument. Jack was getting on your nerves, begging you to have anal.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, clinging to you like an annoying lap dog. He had just fingered you as a foreplay so you were sweaty and sleepy, lying naked on his bed. As always it had taken him too long. He had trouble finding the right rhythm and the right angle like he’d never touched your pussy before. While he was fiddling with your lady parts, a slideshow of your favorite porno scenes was playing on a loop behind your tightly closed eyes until finally you reached an underwhelming orgasm.

Probably relying on endorphins clouding your judgement, Jack began his anal pitch. He was promising you heavenly pleasure and an unforgettable experience, mostly turning himself on - a pole was proudly tenting his sweatpants.

Despite the passion in his voice, you were adamant in your decision. You’d never done it with anyone before and doubted that Jack was experienced enough to show you a wonderful world of anal.

“It’s not that simple, Jack! Jerking off to anal porn is not enough! What if you hurt me! You need to educate yourself first. You need to know… stuff.” You pulled the cover over your naked breasts and crossed your arms.

“What stuff?” Jack frowned.

“Exactly!”

You stared at the ceiling, contemplating getting dressed and going home. You were sure he wouldn’t let it go. And he didn’t.

“I’ll be careful, I promise. Just a tip first, you won’t even feel it. I’ll be super slow and then bam! I’m inside.”

BAM! No one in the history of mankind wanted to hear Bam! and their ass in the same sentence. So you shook your head and gave Jack an alternative,

“Why don’t you fuck my pussy?”

Jack palmed his clothed boner with interest but then shook his head, doubling down.

“Baby, pleaseeeeee..”

Nothing extraordinary would have happened if Jack hadn’t kept nagging and whining, pleading you to give him your butt. You kept saying ‘no’, he kept begging. It got so annoying that you decided to leave but before you sat up there was a loud knock on the bedroom door.

“Dad,” Jack grumbled and got up. He adjusted his hard cock and you pulled the bed cover higher, covering your chest.

“What’s up, dad?” Jack said, annoyed by the interruption.

“Can I …?” Mr Miller stepped into the bedroom. You swallowed loudly. It was weird to be completely naked under the sheet in front of your boyfriend’s father.

“Sorry for intrudin’, sweetheart,” he said, turning to you and then to his son. “Jack, I can’t listen to it no more! Don’t you get what she’s sayin’?”

“Dad, what the hell?” Jack’s cheeks grew red, he was shifting on his bare feet, throwing nervous glances at you. And you definitely shared his confusion.

“I wasn’t eavesdroppin’ I swear. These fuckin walls are cardboard thin. You were whinin’ like a little bitch, son. Sorry, sweetheart,” Mr Miller apologized to you again and then said the words that you’d never expected to hear from your boyfriend’s dad.

“Let me teach you anal.”

Jack was shocked and embarrassed. He was gawking at his dad with widened eyes while the older man was standing by the bed, towering over his son, feet planted firmly on the ground. He kept saying that he only wanted to help, gesturing with his big hands. To your surprise you immediately pictured those hands on your naked body.

You wondered how Mr Miller would teach you. Maybe he’d watch Jack and you, guiding you both, giving advice, or maybe he’d take matters (your ass) into his own hands. Those huge veiny hands. The thought made your core pucker and while Jack was asking his dad to leave, saying that he lost his mind, you pressed your thighs together under the cover, trying to alleviate the ache in your pussy.

“I couldn’t hear the TV, Jack! Only your pathetic attempts to put it in her ass. Sorry, baby,” Mr Miller looked at you, his hands raised palms to you.

“Don’t call her that,” Jack grumbled. He looked and sounded like a boy who didn’t want to share his toy truck.

“‘K,” his father nodded and turned at you. “Jus’ wanna help.”

He dropped his hands by his sides, his sad puppy eyes moving from his son and to you and back. Your heart swelled. Your pussy throbbed.

“Ok,” you said, surprising your boyfriend and yourself. Jack gawked at you.

“What do you mean ‘ok’?!”

“You want to have anal, yeah? But you got no clue what to do, don’t even lie, Jack! Let your dad teach us.”

That’s how you ended up in a position you couldn’t imagine being in your wildest dreams — lying naked on your front, your legs spread, your boyfriend's dad playing with your butt.

“Help ‘er relax,” Mr Miller says to his son, his voice soft and soothing, his tone casual as if he’s teaching Jack how to fix a lawn mower. Your boyfriend is seated in a gaming chair a foot away from the bed, his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. When his gaze meets yours, you quickly look away. He doesn’t seem pleased, rather mortified. Whatever. You always thought that Mr Miller was hot, in a rugged and dilf-y way.

Once you had a dream about blowing him in their kitchen, your mouth full of his fat cock, his fingers tight in your hair, no Jack and his cuck gaming chair in sight.

“Draw ‘er a nice bath, give ‘er a massage, somethin’ like that,” Joel says as his calloused palm glides up and down the back of your thigh. You’re one big goosebump, his touch is electrifying.

“No harsh movements.” He carefully pushes on your inner thigh until you bend up your leg. Your hips open and slightly rise off the bed. “She needs to be pliant, ready to take you in her most vulnerable place.”

Jack swallows hard. Your cheek is resting on the pillow, your head turned away from Mr Miller, but you are seeing him perfectly in the wardrobe mirror that stands lengthwise the bed. He’s wearing his usual flannel, sleeves rolled up, and dark blue jeans. It’s not his home clothes and you wonder if he dressed like this for you.

Mr Miller’s salt and pepper locks curl up at the nape, he needs a haircut, but you like his hair longer. You imagine running your fingers through his curls, tugging on them while he’s plowing your wet needy …

“Are you comfortable, sweetie?” Joel interrupts your dirty daydream with a question, his voice soft and raspy. It could have lulled you to sleep if not for a finger that grazes your butthole, making you flinch.

“Uh-huh.” You don’t sound too sure.

“We’ll get there,” he says with a little smile and adds, “Together.”

While you’re slowly melting into the bedsheets from his gentle tone, Mr Miller turns to Jack.

“Another important thing is lubrication. You have some?”

It looks like Jack’s using all his energy to dissociate at the moment thus he misses the question.

“Huh?”

“Lube? You have it or I need to go get mine?”

You widen your eyes, picturing Mr Miller squirt lube on some lucky lady in his master bedroom. And to think you considered him almost celibate!

Your boyfriend blinks a few times, then gets up. You hear him rummaging through a mess in his nightstand drawer, mumbling the word ‘crazy’ before he throws a little bottle on the bed and returns to his chair.

“It should be warm,” Joel says, rolling it between his wide palms.

“May I?” His reflection points at your ass in the mirror and you nod with a quiet ‘yes’. Mr Miller opens the lid with teeth and moves your left asscheek to the side for better access.

“Oh!” You gasp when a slight cold glob of lube lands on your tight ring.

“Bit more.” Joel adds another squirt and then starts spreading the liquid around your ring with a tip of his finger.

“Ahhhh,” you whimper and bite your tongue immediately. Jack’s chair creaks.

“Feels good?” When Joel asks you the question you don’t see a point in lying so you say “yeah.” Wet arousal pools in your core, it’s a matter of minutes before it slides out of your hole and reveals how insanely horny Mr Miller is making you.

“We’re just startin’ and look at her response,” Joel says with pride in his velvet voice while his finger is slowly drawing circles over your asshole. “She’s enjoyin’ it. Even if we stop now she’ll remember the act as something pleasant.”

“Maybe we should,” Jack mutters but neither Joel nor you pay it any attention. Hot flames are licking at your core, the ache in your pussy growing so fast, you roll your hips against the bed, searching for friction.

Adding gasoline to your horny fire is the sight in the mirror in front of you — Joel’s sexy hand moving rhythmically over your ass, his plush lips slightly parted, his dark eyes focused on your puckered hole.

Mr Miller lowers his voice and asks, “Growin’ needy?”

Your eyes lock in the mirror. Fuck! A hot flash burns your lower belly when his black pupils meet yours. Sparks flying, gazes drawn to each other for a few long seconds, promising pleasure and trouble. The intense eye contact does something to you, drowns you in an ocean of lust, pulls you so deep you panic and hastily flick your eyes to your boyfriend who seems very pale.

“Sweetheart,” Joel calls you as if hating to share your attention with his son. You hum but don’t look at him.

“Do you give your permission for the next step? To open you up I need to eat your ass. Is that alright?”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Both you and Jack answer but you are the one calling the shots.

“Yes!” You repeat louder and raise your brows at Jack. Your boyfriend lets out a defeated sigh and drops his head.

“Good,” Joel says and gives your butt a light pat before cupping both asscheeks and spreading them apart. Cold air laps at your holes and you shiver. Joel smiles, probably noticing goosebumps on your skin.

“We’ll start slow.” In the mirror you watch him unhinge his jaw, stick his tongue out and lower his head.

You gasp when Mr Miller slowly licks your tight butthole. “Oh my God!”

Joel chuckles and repeats the depraved action. Soon he’s licking your asshole gingerly, his fingers digging into your flesh with passion. You’re softly moaning, your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. You’ve never had your ass eaten and the sensation is incredible. You wish he’d get lower and take care of your leaking pussy but fuckkk you can come just from Mr Miller’s tongue dancing over your little butthole. So when he parts from your ass, your needy whine rings in the room.

“I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

His wet lips are curled up at the corners, pride sparkling in his blown out eyes, Joel glances back at his son and announces,

“Now we gonna start openin’ her up with a tongue.” Your breathing hitches. You don’t see Jack’s expression because you can’t tear your eyes off Mr Miller in the mirror. “Gently push the tip inside her just so” — Joel leans down and his hot tongue prods at your ring, your mouth forms an O as you moan.

Joel mutters, “Slowly go in,” then his head begins moving up and down while his tongue slides into your ass deeper with every bop. He’s salivating onto your crack, the wetness dripping down to your pussy, covering your folds with the warm spit.

You are losing your mind over how amazing it feels, meanwhile Joel alternates between licking your ring and tongue-fucking it for what seems like hours or so you wish. His lewd slurping fills the room and mixes with your soft noises. You apply all your willpower to stop yourself from moaning like a whore out of respect for your boyfriend who is now sitting with his legs crossed, probably hard but too shocked to accept it.

“How you feelin’, baby?” Joel asks, licking his spit-covered lips.

“S—so good, Mr Miller,” you stutter, staring at him in the mirror with your half lidded eyes.

“See, she’s already gapin’ a little,” Joel says, showing your asshole to Jack.

“Hm-m,” Jack hums, his brows furrowed, his suspicious gaze trained on your ecstatic face.

“Now let’s add a finger.”

You squeak like a little mouse and your holes clench. Joel notices.

“Hey, don’t be scared, babygirl. You’re open nicely now. And I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?”

“Ok,” you reply and hold your breath.

“Nuh-uh. None of that. You should be breathin’, sweetheart.” He puts his warm heavy palm on your back, between your shoulder blades and rubs it up and down, giving you a rhythm.

“In— out—in— out.”

You follow his direction and soon your muscles relax, your eyes flutter close, your jaws unclench. It seems like your body is seeping into the mattress.

“I’m puttin’ one finger in.”

His voice is so quiet you barely register his words, barely notice his finger going inside your ass, miss a slight burn of the stretch, that’s how serene you are feeling.

When you finally open your eyes you see Mr Miller’s reflection thrusting his index finger in and out of your butthole, his eyes on your ring, his lip between his teeth.

“Wow,” you mutter, in awe of the hot sight and the new sensation. All your holes clench again and again, your pussy pushing your generous slick out and you catch yourself wanting Joel to fuck you.

"Another finger? Is that alright, sweetie?" With your heart pounding in your ears, Joel's raspy voice seems both close and far. You nod and mumble a shaky 'yes' before he inserts a second digit into your lubed up asshole. You moan, Joel growls, both at the same time. Your boyfriend curses under his breath.

"Hooooooly hell," you exhale against the pillow, clenching bedsheets with your clammy palms while Joel's scissoring your tight ring open. "This … it's amazing."

Joel pulls his fingers out of you and chuckles yet it comes out strained. You know it takes everything from him not to whip his cock out and fuck you right now. Jack seems to feel it, too.

"Dad, maybe that's enough?"

"No."

"No!"

Your yell drowns out Joel's reply. Your cheeks burning, lust clouding your mind and overtaking your body, you lift your head off the bed and glare at Jack.

"Mr Miller needs to... we need to learn what to do next. Right?"

Jack crosses his arms, his lower lip sticking out.

Completely disregarding his son's suggestion to stop, Joel nods at you and asks Jack as if it's some depraved sex ed class.

"She's nice and ready now. What's next?"

Jack blinks at his dad, a mixture of frustration and confusion plastered on his face. He shrugs. "I fuck her."

"Wrong!" Joel sits up straight and gives him a disappointed look. "Son, the most important thing about anal is consent."

You drop your head back on the pillow and nod with the 'obviously' expression meanwhile Joel continues.

"Even after you did all the necessary prep, you ask her again. And if she says 'no', you stop! Got it?"

You watch Joel in the mirror, his bushy brows furrowed, two obsidian eyes piercing Jack. He's not fucking around.

"Yeah."

"Huh?"

"Yes, sir," Jack mumbles. He looks so pitiful now you get scared of your pussy turning into the Sahara so you hastily move your eyes to the mirror with Joel's reflection in it.

You watch and feel your boyfriend's dad lean down to you. His hot breath fans your naked back, sending chills down your spine, as he asks,

"Can I fuck your ass now, baby?"

Your voice is wanton and needy, you're almost drooling onto the bed, as you reply,

"Yes, Mr Miller. But..?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Can I be on my back?”

Joel kisses your shoulder and coos,

“Sure thing.”

Your body buzzing with want, you slowly and awkwardly roll over. Your exposed tits jiggle as you get comfortable and Joel takes you in— your puffy pussy, your heaving belly, your nipples hard as diamonds, desire plastered on your face.

Jack nervously clears his throat and leaves his cuck chair.

“You ain’t really doing it, right?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or his dad but Joel is the one who answers,

“I’m teachin’ you two. And this is the most crucial part. You wanna go in now and ruin all the progress?”

Jack closes and opens his mouth, but when you shake your head at his attempt to intervene, your boyfriend plops back in the chair, looking gobsmacked.

“This is insane,” he murmurs and you have to agree. You’re feeling insanely good.

With a nonchalant expression on his flushed face Joel grabs a pillow.

“Raise your hips for me, baby.”

You do what he asks and he quickly places it under your butt. When your hips are raised Joel hums in approval.

“Grab your knees for me, please.”

Like an obedient student you do it immediately.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

His praise, his scent - manly and dizzying, his warm smile, his obsidian eyes set between your thighs — all of it makes your blooming pussy contract and a drop of clear slick beads at your entrance.

Joel smirks, his dark gaze darts to yours and then back to your leaky hole. He opens his mouth but words die on his lips.

Instead he takes a sharp breath and climbs on the bed, grunting. With your body trembling in anticipation you watch Mr Miller kneel by your propped up butt, unzip his jeans, his back now to his son.

Just for your hungry eyes, he pulls his cock out. Big, veiny, hard as steel fuck machine. Hnggg!

You clench your jaws, killing a moan that rises in your throat from the sight of his manhood. You see a drop of precum on the slit and your mouth waters.

“Need more lube.” Joel squirts a generous amount on his hand and then strokes his cock spreading the liquid.

You squirm on the bed, fear and excitement coursing through your veins. He wants to stick that huge thing where?!

Joel seems to read the worry on your face. With one hand around the base of his stiff shaft, he brings the other to your knee and gives it a light squeeze.

“If you want me to stop I will.”

You don’t reply, just stare up at him, fear and desire playing tug-of-war in your heart.

“See?” Joel gets his son’s attention but doesn’t look away from you. “This sweet thing is unsure but she’s bein’ brave and doesn’t stop me.”

Jack sighs with relief from behind Joel’s broad body. He probably hopes that you’ve changed your mind.

Then the older man addresses you.

“You don’t have to be brave for me or anyone else, ok?” You hum while warmth spreads in your belly, reaches your clit and makes it throb. You open your mouth but words don’t come out. Joel gives you a knowing smile and offers,

“How ‘bout I open you up again with my fingers? Two steps forward, one step back.”

Jack’s chair creaks unhappily when you breathe out, “Yes, please.”

Joel gives you a curt nod and sits on his heels, his cock still hard and waiting. His strong hand circles around the back of your thigh as he keeps it steady for you.

Jack’s view is blocked by Joel so he doesn’t see when his dad traces your pussy hole with his fingers and brings the wetness down to your ring. His eyes dart up to yours just for a second, you see lust and mischief there.

“Alright, here we go,” he mumbles to himself, easing two lubed up fingers inside you. This time you take them easily, dull pain of the stretch is present but also welcomed. You moan.

Mr Miller closely watches your face twisting with pleasure while his fingers are fucking your butt. You watch him back, suddenly swept by a feeling so strong, you forget how to breathe for a second. There's no one else in the room, in the whole world, only you and this big older man, giving you an unforgettable experience, filling the hole that’s never been filled and you don’t want it to end, hate for him to stop. Stop giving, taking, watching you melt for him.

Ahhhh! A scorching heat floods your belly and hits you like a tsunami. Your core walls clench once, twice, your head digs into the pillow underneath, your eyes close and a loud moan slips out of your mouth. You’re shaking and crying ecstatic tears, your ass squeezing Joel’s thick digits, your pussy contracting around nothing.

“D— did you just come? Jack’s cold tone brings you back to reality as if a bucket of icy water was thrown over your head. Still jerking with climax you snap your eyes open, your breathing heavy, and see Joel’s lopsided smile in front of you.

Fuck! Your cheeks and neck burn and you cover your face with your hands, embarrassed by unraveling in front of your boyfriend’s dad. With his fingers in your ass.

Joel comes to your rescue. He gently rubs your thigh with his paddle of a hand and coos,

“She’s one of a kind, Jack. The anal stimulation isn’t as pleasurable for women as it is for men. In the right hands though… you did wonderful, sweetie.”

You bite your lip, hiding a grin that’s about to bloom on your face, and grip your knees tighter.

“We can stop now if…,” Joel starts.

“No!” You cut him off and push your knees to your chest. “I want to be ready. For the real thing.”

“I’ll give you the real thing,” Joel whispers so quietly it’s barely audible but you hear. Your eyes lock as he plants his palm on the bed by your side and hovers over your lower half.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

After you say ‘yes’ Mr Miller glances back in the direction of his son.

“Jus’ the tip at first. Maybe only. Depends on how she takes it.”

He looks down at you with that soft but feral gaze of his and talks to Jack.

“Watch her face closely when you push inside.”

Joel’s hot leaky cockhead kisses your pussy hole and you gasp, your entrance winking at his manhood, inviting it to come in. Joel whispers,

“Only teasin’.” You smile and shake your head at the man. He gives you a wink and drags his tip down along the delicate skin between your pussy and asshole and then nudges your tight ring.

“If she scrunches her pretty nose, stop. Means she’s hurtin’.”

Joel presses his crown against your asshole and applies pressure. Your mouth parts when he starts pushing it into your asshole, the stretch far bigger than with his fingers. You take a few deep breaths, not stopping him, craving to be fucked.

“Yeah, breathe for me, baby. In and out. Like I taught ya.”

In! in! in! your pussy screams and throbs with the rhythm of your heartbeat, your body desperate to be ruined by your boyfriend’s dad.

Mr Miller pauses and closes his eyes, his forearm muscles tense with restraint, the veins of his hand that’s wrapped around his shaft are bulging. He speaks, trying to keep his voice steady.

“The most difficult thing now—is to control yourself — all you wanna do — is shove your dick deep inside her— to the hilt—- she feels so fuckin’ good.”

His arousal and your desire merge together and form an electric cloud around you two, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Mr Miller moves another inch deeper and you whimper.

“But you musn’t,” he grunts to his son or to himself. “You should be in control— think of her first and your pleasure second —Yeahhh?”

The last word sounds like a moan and you smile dizzily, ecstatic to see how much bliss you’re giving him. Joel pushes in some more and then looks into your eyes. “Wanna see?”

You nod eagerly and place another pillow under your head, propping it up to get a better view.

The sight before your eyes takes your breath away. Joel’s big hand wrapped around his girthy cock, the veins on his shaft thumping, glistening with lube. But the best thing is your stretched asshole, hugging Joel’s tip buried inside.

“Wow,” you breathe out. Joel smirks, his smile lopsided and boyish. He drops his head to your butt and asks,

“Wanna stop here? Done so good already.”

You crane your neck and glance at Jack, expecting him to scream ‘Yes! Stop! Now!’ but he’s hunched over in his cuck chair with a blank stare, chewing on the nail of his thumb.

You bring your gaze back up at Joel and purr,

“I want all of it.”

Joel nods and thrusts in.

Mr Miller’s fucking your ass like it’s been made solemnly for this purpose. His hands are gripping your spread thighs, leaving marks on your soft skin, his hips snapping against your asscheeks, drowning the room in the lewd Slap slap slap! Sounds.

By now you’ve lost all the composure and your loud moans are flowing freely from your lips, mixing with Joel’s animalistic growls.

“Yeahhhh.. good girl…she’s a fast learner… takin’ me like a champ.”

“Thanks, Mr Miller,” you mewl with your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you feel a second orgasm building. Hungry for it you lick your fingers, reach for your throbbing clit and start rubbing it while Joel’s steel shaft is massaging your insides.

“Lemme… want some help?” Joel asks, consent king as always.

“Yes, please.”

Not minding his son watching you two from the back, Joel brings his calloused thumb to your puffy clit and starts drawing infinities over it.

You arch your back, losing your mind over how amazing it feels. Your ass is full of Joel’s cock, but your neglected pussy hole is crying desperately. You look for your boyfriend behind Joel’s broad back. He still looks shell shocked, his widened eyes lowered, and you realize that he’s watching his dads heavy balls slap against his girlfriend’s asscheeks.

Opps.

“Mr Miller,” you whisper, staring at the older man again, “Could you..?”

You lift your hand, stick two fingers out and move them up and down, fingering an invisible pussy.

Joel flashes you a knowing smile.

“Gotcha, sweetie.” He glances back at his son and raises his voice, talking to you,

“You strugglin’, baby? Ok if I help you relax?”

You consent loudly so Jack could hear and the next second Mr Miller changes hands and his dry index and middle fingers easily enter your sopping pussy.

Yeahhhh! You whimper, so full of his fat cock and digits, it feels like you’re going to come apart at the seams.

Joel’s massaging your g-spot with two fingers, his thumb working your clit, his cock relentlessly rutting into your ass. You’ve never been fucked this good and you try to hold off your second climax, hating for the sex to end.

But Joel’s too hot, too experienced and soon you come with a wail, arching your sweaty back off the bed and clamping Joel’s hips with your thighs. Blinding ecstasy is coursing through your body, your cunt pulsing around Joel’s fingers, your asshole choking his cock so hard he stills.

“Here— we g—goooHngggg….” he roars, retreats his fingers out of your pussy and covers you with his huge frame. He pushes his face into your sweaty neck but holds his weight over your thrashing body.

“Where?” He chokes, his chest rumbling with groans, and you wrap your arms around his broad back and press your naked tits to him, mumbling into his ear,

“Inside my ass, Mr Miller. Please.”

His whole body tenses up over you and he begins squirting his hot cum deep inside your butt. The warmth of his load fills you more and more, every erratic thrust of his cock pushes the sticky spent back into you and you hold him tight, wishing to be stuffed to the brim. It doesn’t take long with how much he comes and soon his jizz covers your asscheeks and his balls, sticking them together like glue. You feel filthy and sexy, with your boyfriend’s dad busting inside you, the former having a perfect view of your asshole sucking the older man’s cum in. Too abundant it rolls down your crack and onto Jack’s bed.

Both of you are panting when Joel carefully pulls his cock out of your asshole and falls on the bed next to you, still fully clothed except for the pulled down jeans and boxers.

“Dad, put your dick away,” Jack grumbles.

“Yeah yeah.” Joel tucks his cock back in, leaving his jeans open. He sounds exhausted. You cover yourself with a sheet suddenly remembering that you’re naked next to your boyfriend’s dad.

You turn your head to him resting next to you, his forearm covering his closed eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly, his leg dangling off the edge of the bed. He’s so handsome you want to bite him. The man had a full day of work and then rocked your world. You find it incredibly hot but also feel guilty for exhausting him even more.

You watch Mr Miller for a few moments, warmth spreading in your belly and chest, until he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and turns his head to you.

“Dad?” Jack calls impatiently, hurrying the man to leave but Joel doesn’t spare him a glance and asks you,

“How you feelin’, baby?”

He nods down at your pussy but you know he’s asking about your butt.

“I’m ok.” You squirm on the bed, trying to access your state. “A little sore but good.”

“Good,” Joel repeats with a warm smile. You’re staring at each other silently, his gaze soft and warm, grinning like two fools. You want to kiss him but stop yourself. It’s inappropriate.

Then you remember where his cock was just a few minutes ago and giggle.

“What is it?” Joel asks, his eyes dart between yours and then slide to your lips.

You shake your head, silence thick and loaded between you two.

Jack rips it apart as he clears his throat.

“Thanks, dad. Fucking hell. You can go now.”

He gets up from the chair and crosses his arms, frowning at the two of you. You wonder if he’s going to break up with you after this. Whatever.

Joel sits up with a grunt and gets out of the bed. He sways a little and you smile proudly — you did it to him.

“Thank you, Mr Miller.” You sit up, holding the sheet over your body. He zips up his jeans and winks,

“Don’t mention it, baby.”

Jack scoffs. Joel heads to the door but as he passes his son he pauses.

“Get her a wet towel. And some water,” he commands. “So .. if she took my cock, she wouldn’t even notice yours. You’re welcome.”

With that he pats his son’s shoulder and leaves.

Who needs Jack, amirite? Maybe Joel can teach them something else?🤔 Thank you for reading! Please, leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story💞

MASTERLIST

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Joel tag @/libre-sol @roserxein

[chick66i]

To read!

[littledes1re]

Could you make one where reader is Joel's neighbohor and she is kind of obssessed with him and a brat, then she shows up as Sarah's friend just to make him mad on porpuse and one day he just loses it? With age gap and spank1ng ofc 🦢

Be my Baby

Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, huge age gap (20s and 50s) mean!joel, teasing, bratty!reader, spanking, pinv, unprotected sex, finger sucking, rough sex, degradation, daddy kink, cumming in mouth, no outbreak/alternate universe

A/N: im so sorry for the long wait anon!! I absolutely love this idea, it has the perfect Ldr vibe which is why i chose that title hehe. I hope you enjoy this anon, and my pookies too <333

You'd been scheming for weeks.

Every time you saw him out front—sweaty from working on his old truck, grey shirt clinging to his broad chest, salt-pepper stubble darkening on his jaw, those big hands handling things so easily—you felt that oh so familiar coil of heat low in your belly. 

Joel Miller was fifty-something, weathered and worn, with a mean streak you could practically taste. 

And you wanted him like a god damn fever. 

The problem only was...he saw you as Sarah's friend. Just a kid. Basically, a bratty little nuisance who kept showing up at his front door, disturbing his peace with nonsense excuses; borrowing sugar, asking about Sarah, "accidentally" breaking something in your house and needing a big, strong man to help you. 

Hell, Joel was old—but not stupid. Even before you were born, he'd already been playing these games. He knew every tactic, every move that he used to flirt with the older women in his neighbourhood.

The only difference was: Joel had been a teenager back then. You were a grown ass adult who bend over whenever you could, batted those eyelashes at him and called him "Mr. Miller" in that voice he didn't like. 

You should know better. 

But unfortunately, you just loved watching his jaw tighten, those dark eyes narrowing, fists clenching. 

And when nothing worked...you upped the stakes. 

"You're letting her stay for dinner again?" Joel's voice rumbled from the kitchen as Sarah let you in, his tone flat and unimpressed.

Sarah just laughed, thinking he is just joking. "C'mon, Dad. She's already here. Set another plate."

You stepped inside, the screen door clicking shut behind you. 

The kitchen already smelled like the garlic pasta Joel always made for dinner. He didn't look at you right away—just kept stirring, like your presence was a mild inconvenience he had to tolerate. And if he was being honest, it was an inconvenience.

Not only was he trying to keep his composure because of his daughter, he was also fighting to keep himself in check—to stop his frustration from boiling over.

You slid innocently into the chair besides Sarah, knees tucked under the wooden table. Joel, after he was done with serving pasta, sat in front of you. 

But the second your ass hit the seat, you kicked your sandals off and stretched your bare foot forwards. Your toes brushed the inside of Joel's calf, light as a feather. 

He went still for half a second, the spoon pausing mid-air.

"Soooo...how was work, Mr. Miller?" you asked sweetly, voice all honey and innocence while your foot slid higher, tracing the line of his jeans up towards his thigh.

Joel cleared his throat. "Fine."

Sarah was busy on her phone, texting someone. So, you pressed the ball of your foot right against that growing bulge in his pants, rubbing slow circles. 

Joel's knuckles went white around the spoon handle. His jaw flexed once, twice.

"You always look so tired after work," you continued, batting your lashes. "Would be nice having someone cook for you sometimes."

Your toes curled, pressing firmer. You felt him twitch under your touch, getting harder despite himself.

"Sarah, bring me some salt, c'mon." Joel said, voice tighter than before. 

Sarah hummed and stood up, phone in her hand and walking towards the cabinets. The moment her back was fully to you both, you dragged your foot up and down the length of him. Joel's breath hitched. His free hand dropped under the table and clamped around your ankle, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"Behave," he mouthed at you, eyes dark and warning.

You just smiled, all teeth and trouble, and wiggled your toes against his palm.

Dinner was an absolute torture for him but a complete heaven for sweet you. 

Every time Sarah looked down at her plate, your foot found its way back between his legs. Joel ate in silence, his thigh kept flexing under your touch. Once, when Sarah got up for a drink, you leaned forwards and whispered across the table, "You're so tense, Mr. Miller. Want me to rub your shoulders after?"

He didn't answer. Just stared at you with that mean, heavy look that made your stomach flip.

Sarah came back and sat down, oblivious. "Hey, you should come over tomorrow too. Dad's making his famous chili. Right, Dad?"

Joel grunted. "Sarah—"

"Please?" she pressed. "It'll be fun."

You grinned, pressing your foot hard against him one last time before pulling back. "I'd love to. What time?"

"Six," Sarah said cheerfully. "Don't be late."

Joel didn't say anything else for the rest of the meal. But his eyes stayed on you. 

-

The next day you showed up not at six. But at noon. 

You knocked twice, then smoothed your little sundress down over your thighs, feeling yourself. 

Joel opened the door in jeans and a blue flannel shirt, hair damp from a shower. He looked you up and down once, twice, then his expression hardened.

"Sarah ain't here yet," he said.

"She told me to come early," you lied, stepping past him before he could block you. "Said to wait inside."

"Bullshit." Joel shut the door harder than necessary. The lock clicked. "She said six."

You wandered into the living room, running your fingers along the back of the couch. "Maybe she changed her mind."

Joel followed, arms crossed over his chest. "You think I don't know what you're doin'? Showin' up here in that little dress, lyin' to my face."

You turned to face him, head tilted. "I'm not lying, Mr. Miller."

"Don't call me that." His voice dropped lower.

You took a step closer. "Why not? You like it when I say it all sweet like that. Makes your jaw do that thing."

Joel exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. "Listen here, girl. I know exactly what game you're playin'. Been seein' it for weeks. Bending over in front of my truck. Callin' me Mr. Miller in that voice. Touchin' me under the table while my fuckin' daughter sits right there. Ya think I'm stupid?"

You smiled. "I think you're just grumpy. And I think you like it when I'm a little bratty."

"Watch your mouth." He took another step. The air between you crackled. "You don't know what you're messin' with."

"Maybe I do." You reached out and traced one finger down the center of his chest. "Maybe I want the grumpy old man to teach me a lesson."

Joel's hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you forwards until your chest bumped his. "You got no idea what you're askin' for."

"Then show me," you whispered.

Oh, and he didn't hesitate at all. 

One second you were standing, the next he was dragging you towards his couch. He sat down and pulled you across his lap in one rough motion. Your dress rode up, ass bare and exposed. 

Joel's palm came down on your ass without any warning, making your skin ache.

"Fuck—" you gasp. 

"That's for lyin'," he growled, hand coming down again on the other cheek. "And that's for showin' up here like a little slut in heat."

You whimpered, hips jerking. The sting bloomed into heat that spread straight between your legs. Joel's other hand pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.

"You think you can just walk in here and bat those pretty eyes and get what you want?" Another spank, harder this time. "You been teasin' me for weeks, girl. Think I didn't notice every time you bent over? Every time you called me Mr. Miller like you wanted me to bend you over instead?"

"Joel—"

"Daddy," he corrected, voice rough. "When you're over my knee like this, you call me Daddy."

Your breath caught. "Daddy..."

"That's better." His hand rubbed over the heated skin, soothing for half a second before another sharp slap landed. "Good girl. Takin' it so pretty."

You whined, thighs pressing together. The praise mixed with the sting made your head spin.

Joel shifted you higher on his lap until your ass was perfectly presented. He spanked you again. Again and again. 

"You been askin' for this. Walkin' around my house like you own the damn place"

"I'm sorry," you breathed, voice shaky.

"Nah you ain't." Another slap. "But you will be."

He kept going until your ass was hot and throbbing, until every breath came out as a little sob. Then his hand slid lower, fingers dragging through your slick folds. "Fuck. Soaked already. Knew you'd be like this. Knew you'd get all wet from Daddy spankin' your bratty little ass."

You moaned, pushing back against his hand. Joel circled your clit once, twice, then pulled away.

"Up," he ordered. 

You scrambled off of his lap with shaky legs. Joel stood up too, unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other stayed fisted in your hair. He shoved his jeans down just enough, cock jumping free; thick, heavy, already leaking pre-cum at the tip.

"On the couch. Hands and knees."

You climbed up, dress bunched around your waist, ass still stinging. Joel knelt behind you, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. He dragged the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

"Look at you," he muttered. "Drippin' all over my couch. Such a needy little thing."

He pushed in slow, stretching you inch by slow, agonising inch until his hips were flush against your ass. You cried out, fingers digging into the cushions. Joel didn't give you any time to adjust. 

He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a brutal pace from the start.

"Fuck—Daddy—"

"That's it," he growled, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind, pulling you up until your back arched. "Take it. Take every inch like the good girl I know you can be."

The couch creaked under you. Skin slapped against skin.  Joel's free hand came down on your ass again, right over the marks he'd already left. "Been thinkin' about this for weeks. Thinkin' about bendin' you over and fuckin' the attitude right outta you. You feel that? How deep I am?"

You could only moan, head lolling back against his shoulder. Joel's thrusts were punishing, each one punching a broken sound out of your throat. He leaned down, teeth grazing your ear.

"You wanted the mean old man, didn't you? Wanted Daddy to put you in your place. Well here it is, baby. This is what happens when you push too far."

His hand slid from your throat to your mouth, two fingers pushing past your lips. You sucked on them without thinking, tongue swirling. Joel groaned, hips stuttering for a second.

"Good girl. Suck on Daddy's fingers while he fucks you stupid. That's it."

He pulled his fingers free and reached down, rubbing tight circles over your clit. The combination of his cock pounding into you and his fingers working you had you shaking, thighs trembling.

"You gonna come for me?" he rasped. "Gonna come all over Daddy's cock like a good little girl?"

"Yes—yes, Daddy—please—"

"Then do it. Come for me. Now."

You shattered with a cry, walls clenching around him. Joel fucked you through it, pace never slowing, dragging every last tremor out of you. Only when you went limp did he pull out, flipping you onto your back.

He climbed over you, one knee on the couch, the other foot on the floor. His cock glistened with your slick. He stroked himself fast, eyes locked on your face.

"Open your mouth," he ordered.

You did. Joel came with a low groan, ropes of cum painting your tongue, your lips, your chin. Some landed on your dress. He didn't stop until he was empty, chest heaving.

"Fuck," he muttered, thumb swiping through the mess on your bottom lip. "Look at you. All marked up."

You licked your lips, tasting him. Joel watched with dark, satisfied eyes.

"Sarah's gonna be home in a few hours," he said, voice still rough. "You better clean yourself up before then. And next time you lie about what time she told you to come over...I'm bendin' you over the kitchen table instead."

You smiled, lazy and fucked-out. "Yes, Daddy."

Joel shook his head, but there was the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Brat."

He leaned down and kissed you once, hard and claiming, before pulling away to tuck himself back into his jeans. 

The heat is gone but I still haven't found the right flow to write…my adhd is making me bounce between ideas like crazy. One day I want to write this, the next I want to write something totally different. I'm figuring it out though...slowly...👩🏻‍🍳

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[chick66i]

To read!

[livingemkayde]

between blurred lines

best friend's dad!/dad's best friend!joel miller x f!reader

(pre-outbreak)

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, fingering f! receiving, cockwarming (!?!?!?) uhh dom!joel, significant age gap, dad's best friend mixed with some best friends dad (?!!?!?!?). i think that's it, let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a/n: I LOOK PRETTY GOOD FOR A DEAD BITCH (she's alive!). im back from my tumblr break bearing a gift! i missed you all like crazy. gonna spend finals week catching up (procrastinating) on all the reading ive missed out on for the last month. i hope you guys like this one.

AND a very special thanks to @joelsversion for beta reading this in it's very early rough, rough stages. my ride or die fr 🤞

↳ summary: joel miller has always been...there. never different, always sporting a brooding scowl etched into his handsome face. he's your best friend sarah miller's dad, arguably worse, your dad's long time buddy. things are never different. not until this summer. not until now.

↳ follow @livingemkaydenotifs if you would like to be notified about more fics like this. love ya'll big time

↳ if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist

“You shouldn’t be in here.” “No,” you agree breathlessly. “I shouldn’t.” He slots himself against you, his other hand grips your hip and pushes you back into him. You gasp softly.  “Let it go.” You realize he’s talking about your dress. You squeeze your eyes shut. His lips skate against your neck in a way that makes you dip your head to the side in a silent surrender.  “Let it go,” he repeats.

You grew up with Sarah Miller. 

Soccer teams, high school football pep rallies, prom, homecoming, college acceptance season. Even though it turned into long distance facetime calls, and text chains nine messages long once college hit, Sarah Miller will forever and always be your best friend. 

It’s good to be back in Texas. Both you and Sarah moved back into your childhood homes the second after graduation hit. It’s good to be back, good to see her, your parents, and…Joel. 

You hadn’t seen him in a while. The last time you remember spending more than five minutes in his passing presence was when you and Sarah decided on that Chinese place for a post-high school graduation ceremony meal. He’s close with your dad. In an old school kind of way. In a lets raise our kids together kind of way and a the wives can go shopping together kind of way — before Sarah’s mom split, that is. 

Joel Miller, always brooding, always gruff and quiet. He’s never different. Though, you can’t help but think things might be different now—

No. You almost have to remind yourself out loud. He’s not different. He never is. He’s Joel Miller and you’re — you’re just a kid. You’re as old as his kid. 

Sarah, despite your hardened efforts, managed to drag you out of bed and into the shortest dress you own for a night at some club halfway across town. 

“Sarah, are the shot glasses still in the top cabinet?”

You reach for the knob, barely getting onto the balls of your feet before slipping on the cold laminate tiles in the kitchen. Your open palm balls into a fist and makes the cabinets shutter. Sarah responds with something from her room equally as unintelligible as your question was to her. You can feel your dress starting to ride up a little in your efforts, but you rifle through the Miller’s cabinets like it’s your own home. In some ways it is. 

“Hey, kid.”

You spin around, and quickly shuffle the hem of your dress back down. He nods his head in a lazy greeting. 

“Hey.” You’re breathless for some reason. It’s not because of the shot glasses. 

“Been a while,” Joel says, shuffling into the kitchen and setting a mug in the sink. He looks the same. Tousled hair and a beard just beginning to tinge gray. He’s always — always the same. 

You clear your throat. “Yeah. Been a while.” 

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” 

“Good to have you back,” he mumbles, settling back against the kitchen counter. You can see his arms flex when his palms settle onto the countertop. He’s strong, so much bigger than you. You never really noticed the big broadness of him until now. You’re not used to guys like him. All the boys you ever really experienced were clean shaven, soft in a way that told you they’ve never hauled ass through a day’s work. A lifetime of work. 

“Good to be back.” He clocks your outfit. You try to change the subject. “How are things?”

“Same ol’ same ol’.” He grabs a beer from the fridge. “Your dad’s gettin’ into golf. Tryna make me go out with him.” 

You laugh. “Not your scene?” 

“No, not quite.” He shakes his head, sipping on his beer with a smirk that almost makes your knees weak. “What’d you study again?” 

You scoff playfully. “Like you remembered in the first place.”

“Play along.” He smirks.

A knot sticks to your stomach, just below your navel. His voice is sickly sweet. Syrupy and Texan. His voice is like medicine. 

“Education. Just applied for jobs in the fall.”

“You teachin’?” 

“That’s the plan,” you let out with a breathless kind of laugh. 

“Smart girl.” 

His head cocks, and tilts it to the side. Your breath catches in your throat, palms sweaty against the black fabric of your dress. “Hardly.” 

He pauses, eyes you. It’s fleeting—you might think you dream it. You pick at the skin of your own thumb. 

“Your dad know you’re goin’ out?” 

You scoff. “I’m an adult. Don’t need my dad’s permission.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.” 

You eye him, a smirk plays on his lips. 

“I’m not—just…grown up, I guess.”

Something unreadable spreads across his face. “I guess.”

You hitch a tough breath. 

“What’d you need?” He swigs at his beer. 

“Oh.” You look back towards the cabinets, then. “Shot glasses.” 

“Moved ‘em,” he nods and stalks forward, backing you against the counter. He’s got a dark swirl of something warming behind his gaze. You don’t try to scoot away. Even when he reaches up next to your head and you hear the clink of two shot glasses brush up against each other in his fingers. 

“Don’t have too much fun,” he whispers while he pushes the glasses into your hands and leaves the kitchen.

__

You desperately, for your life, cannot keep up with Sarah Miller. 

She drinks entirely too quickly, efficiently, and practiced for your poor alcohol tolerance to keep up with. She’s a machine, and after three shots in, you’re already wasted. It wasn’t even midnight when your vision started to pull in a sideways direction and everything seemed a little slow. You knew things were taking a turn for the worst when the blonde quaffed frat guy with a Texas A&M polo shirt started sounding a little too funny. He was glued to your hip the entire night, though you aren’t sure you even remember his name correctly. You have your bets set on Colter, but then again, after your second shot, everything started to sound a little fuzzy to your rosied ears. 

And when Colter called you and Sarah an Uber at three a.m., you didn’t have the guts to ask him his name, only shooting him a half hearted thanks over your shoulder—your liquid courage having sobered up by the time the Uber rounded the corner to the Miller’s house. 

Even though Sarah Miller can throw back shots like it’s her day job, she passed out onto her bed as quickly as you both left her childhood bedroom while running late for your driver to the club. 

Before she promptly fell asleep, she mumbled something almost unintelligible into the pink sheets of her twin sized bed. But you could make it out enough to spring back from her words while your heart skipped a beat. 

“Get a shirt from my dads room.” 

So you knock, quietly, almost too quietly, and when you rap your knuckles against the wood of Joel Miller’s bedroom door a little harder, it pushes open slightly. The crack of it floods black, you can’t see inside, only the dim night sky illuminating the window sill and curtains in its wake.

When you push it open a little further, the door creaks so loud you push your eyebrows together with worry and freeze in your timely steps. But it’s empty. The bed isn’t entirely made, the covers a little rumpled and haphazard. You spot his dresser and make a quick beeline for it, itching to get out of your uncomfortable dress. 

The drawer slides open with a shift of wood on wood and you snatch up the first black t-shirt you find sitting neatly on top of the pile. Subconsciously, you bring it to your nose—sunlight, and evergreens, and a little hint of musk that peaks through the laundry detergent. The worn, soft cotton of it makes you sigh deep into the dark bedroom. You close your eyes, ball your fist up around the collar and lean into the dresser with your palm fitting against the edge of wood. Just as you turn around and move to close the drawer in your exit, a voice pulls your eyes up from the darkness. 

“What’re you doin’?”

You jump, almost instinctively bringing his shirt to your chest. A sinking, uneasy feeling settles right under your throat. It’s almost like you’ve been caught red handed—you most definitely were. 

You don’t say anything. The light pouring in from the hallway surely illuminates you enough. Joel’s eyes trail down to your bare legs, then to his shirt you have clutched in your hands. 

“That my shirt?” He points to your chest with a vague gesture of his hands. You look down at the material balled up in between your shaky fingers, then back to his eyes.

“I don’t—” You shake your head even though you know your efforts are fruitless. The least you can do is tell the truth. 

“Sarah—she’s—she’s sleeping. Told me to get clothes in here.” You make a slight nod of your head towards his open dresser. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes a step towards you. 

“Sorry, I can just—” You point towards the door behind him, and move to leave. 

“‘S fine,” he mumbles in that deepened, soaked drawl. All honey, and velvet, wrapping you up into something warm and inviting. It tugs at something just beneath your belly. 

When he gets closer, your breath punches out in a staggered rise and fall of your chest. Your fingers don’t move from clutching his shirt. When he nears, he slips a hand past you, brushing your waist, and shuts the drawer closed with a soft thunk. 

Your breath catches in your throat, his eyes trail your figure. 

“Fun night?” 

You clear your throat, nod, slowly, still studying his darkened gaze. “Yeah.”

You clock how close he is when you put your weight on one hip and his jeans brush up against your bare thigh. His breath swirls on your eyelashes. He tugs on his shirt in your hands and lets out a hearty sigh. Shifting from one foot to the other, then again. It seems like you both stay like that for years. 

Brown. His eyes are brown—maybe a little darker than they normally are. His eyes try not to roam, but that hint of something is gone before you can blink. 

He backs away then, towards the door. Most likely seeing you out. He settles near the entrance and looks back at you. Your bare feet shuffle through the carpet. He nudges the door open with a rough palm on the doorknob, leaning against the frame as you approach. 

You’re about to leave, but he catches your elbow, and you spin back to him in a desperate kind of way. 

“You look pretty,” he whispers to your surprise. “Forgot t’mention it earlier.” 

Pretty. 

He thinks you’re pretty. You didn’t even think pretty was in his vocabulary. 

You didn’t think he would notice. 

You don’t say anything. Your eyebrows furrow with want. You study him, eye his brown stare and the way his chest rises and falls under the navy blue t-shirt he’s wearing. And you slowly—slowly push the door shut. You both watch it close. It clicks, the sound of it deafening to your ears. 

He would never, ever make the first move. You’re smart enough to know that for certain, but—pretty. He thinks you’re pretty, and after all this time, it’s still always Joel. 

So you turn your back to him, swipe your hair over one shoulder and turn your head to the side. You can hear him silently swear under his breath. 

“You mind?” you say, gesturing to the zipper of your dress. His soft steps pads on the floor. You can almost feel his chest against your shoulder blades. 

His fingers toy with the zipper, hot and rough but—hesitant. He pulls it down slowly anyways, exposing your back to the crisp air conditioned air, and the heat of his gaze. The straps fall as the zipper does, he curses again, succumbing to your decided fate. 

You hold the front of your dress to your body on instinct, even though the only thing you want to do right now involves him ripping it off you. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything else—doesn’t back away or come closer or leave. So you reach your hand backward to find him and gasp softly when his fingers tangle with yours. You pull his hand to your body. He locks onto your waist like a leech. 

“What’re you doin’?” He rasps against the shell of your ear, almost like he’s pleading with you. He sounds like he’s in pain. Maybe he’s torn between pleasure and good judgment. You want him to forget about the latter entirely. 

Your stomach drops, you glance to the side again. 

“I thought—” 

“You thought, what?”

Your face goes hot, stare at your feet instead. His hand doesn’t leave you. 

“I don’t…” 

“You thought this was a good idea?” 

You don’t say anything. For some reason you didn’t think it was a bad idea. Not when his hand reaches around to grab your hip.

“What would your daddy think?” 

“I don’t really care what he thinks.” An admission more than anything. 

He sucks in a breath. A quiet contemplation. The look on his face doesn't read pissed, but it's a far cry from happy. You don't know what is behind his gaze.

“Nothin’ but trouble.” He breathes out in a heavy sigh. “Ain’t ya?”

His voice is so much deeper now. His accent shows through, silken and so southern it makes you grip your dress a little harder on instinct. You’ve lost count of how many times your breath has gotten caught up in the tightness of your throat. 

“‘S one word for it.” 

He almost growls, his hand skits down to the hem of your dress and pushes his fingers under it, trailing upward, but stopping before he meets lace. 

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“No,” you agree breathlessly. “I shouldn’t.”

He slots himself against you, his other hand grips your hip and pushes you back into him. You gasp softly. 

“Let it go.” You realize he’s talking about your dress. You squeeze your eyes shut. His lips skate against your neck in a way that makes you dip your head to the side in a silent surrender. 

“Let it go,” he repeats. 

You drop the hand on your chest and his t-shirt with it. Your dress falls to the floor in a black blanket of smoke. You gasp when his hands are on you, inching slowly from the hem of your underwear to grasp your breast in a rough, teasing palm. 

A small sound escapes past your lips. His other hand, quick to respond, slots over your mouth, silencing you and your whiny moans. 

It’s — rough. The way he pushes his palm into your face to quiet your whimpering, forcing your head back to rest against his shoulder. The way he pushes your underwear down your thighs to rest with his forgotten t-shirt, and your all too tight, too short dress. It’s rough, but so, so gentle. 

It feels like heaven. 

You pitch your back, arching into him in a desperate way. Writhing against him when he finally pushes a calloused finger in between your dripping folds. 

“Jesus.” He shakes his head. You can feel the scratch of his beard against your temple. You wonder what that scruff might feel like between your thighs. “Been wantin’ it all night, huh?”

It’s a question, but not one he needs an answer to. The mess between your thighs is evidence enough. 

Joel. You try to plead, but he’s relentless in his quieting attempts. The pad of his finger brushes against your clit and you’re keening against him. You can feel him smile. 

“Quiet,” he whispers into your ear, then lifts his hand from your mouth, hovering, waiting until the inevitable moan to escape past your lips. But you try your hardest, bite at the skin on the inside of your lip, and he rewards you. He’s a gentleman like that. He sinks his middle finger into your cunt, rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit with his thumb. Everything about him is just so, just right. 

Maybe, usually, with other guys, you’d be disappointed if they’re stingy with the foreplay. But you walked throughout the bar all night with slick dripping through soaked lace just at his words in the kitchen. Smart girl. So you push back into him and beg him—

“Joel.” You’re breathless. You plead at him with your body, with everything you have. “Please,” you whisper simply. 

Something like desperation and want and a little twinge of anxiety settles in your stomach when he releases you. He walks you back to the edge of the bed. It smells like him when you lay down and the softness of the blankets kiss the edges of your face. You can hear the clink of his belt buckle and you suck in a tiny breath.

“How do you want it, baby?” 

You push him back, and his eyes go wide. It’s the first reaction you’ve gotten out of him the whole night. A peak behind his brooding mask. And when you settle each leg on either side of his hips, he groans. It makes you a little more brave. 

“Like this,” you whisper, placing your hands on his chest. He grabs at your wrists, and pushes them under his wide palm to his stomach so you lean forward down to him. He pushes his boxers down and you try not to look, but you make a small sound at the sight. 

“Look good—” he grunts. You take his tip and notch it at your entrance. “Always look so pretty.” 

Your heart pounds in your chest. Everything is different. Everything is new. 

Pretty. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, glancing down at just the sight of him. The size of him. 

“You’re okay, angel.” 

Your gaze snaps to his face. He nods. You believe him. 

“I—ah—” you whimper. “I can take it.” 

“I know you can,” he grunts when you sink down an inch and take the tip of him. Your hips cant at the feeling, taking more of him through groans and pressing whines. He lets you set the pace. Let's you take your time. Even when he’s panting through his gritted teeth and tight lips. 

You sink down on him until there’s nothing left to take. It’s almost painful. But he’s right there, playing with the pearl of your clit, massaging your hips. He knows how much you can take and when you can take it. He seems to know alot about you while knowing very little. 

“Shit,” you groan. “Oh my — god.”

You can hear him muttering something along the lines of perfect. 

It feels that way—perfect. He fits inside you with a tight stretch but nothing compares to the feeling of his throbbing length resting inside you. You would die here with your wanton moans and you would wake to find nothing less. 

“Joel,” you whine, clenching around him, the stretch starts to sweeten. 

“That’s—fuck—yeah, good girl,” he whispers. He sounds like something sweet and dark and rough. You fist at his t-shirt. Just like the one left forgotten by the door. You don’t remember what you came in here for anymore. Not when you’re dangerously close from his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. 

“Fuck. Yeah?” He can feel it. From the inside. “Y’gonna come, baby?” 

It’s embarrassing. That you could come like this, with him waiting patiently inside you. You don’t have it in you to lie, you don’t have it in you to bounce up and down or move at all. He turned your legs to jello. 

“I-I don’t—” 

“C’mon,” he grunts and grips your hips to keep him flush to your body. “Know ya want it.”

It only takes one swift rock of your hips. His hands, broad and sprawled out across the plushness of your sides. Your body stalls out on top of him. He sits up to wrap his arms around you and brings you close on instinct. If your brain wasn’t so hazy and you weren’t so lightheaded your heart might swell at the thought. You bite out something sounding somewhat like his name—it’s a garbled whisper and cut of words but you think he gets the gist. 

“I—Ngh—fuck,” he whispers into the crown of your hair. You can feel him throbbing inside you. You chuckle something halfway coherent and let him flip you over, settled on your stomach with your face in the sheets. His fingers skip over your backside. 

“Joel,” you breathe. “I—” 

“Relax,” he says behind you, spreading your folds and staring at the way your cunt clenches around nothing. “Just relax, angel.” 

So you do, you sink boneless into the mattress and let him press you down into the sheets. He feels so broad. He feels so good. You tell him quite as much, in not so many words. You feel the weight of him settle behind you, his hand coming up to brace himself by your head. 

“God, you feel so fuckin’ good.” He sinks in, inch by inch. It’s not so much of a stretch anymore. Carving a place for himself inside you. It feels like he belongs there. You think to yourself that he probably does. You’re squirming beneath him, wringing your fists in dark blue sheets. 

You clamp your eyes shut when he bottoms out. Even more so when he finds a pace he likes and sets it. You don’t have to beg him anymore. Your legs shake beneath his hips, even more so when he hikes your leg up on the bed so he can push deeper. 

Something deep rolls through you again. It shocks you. Most of the guys you’ve been with haven’t made you come once, let alone twice. 

“I can’t—” you whine. “I—fuck.” 

He picks up the pace. 

“Y’can,” he grunts. “Know y’can, c’mon, baby.” 

You nuzzle your face in cotton. His hips chase his release and you know you’re close when he nudges against your g-spot.

“Don’t stop,” you whine. “Please don’t fucking stop, Joel, please, it—ah."

When you come, he grunts through ragged breaths. White hot pools in your stomach and you whine so loudly you’re worried about the neighbors. His hand comes to brace against the back of your neck. You’re so fucking soaked he slides through you easily. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he growls. He bears down on you and your hips and sinks to his elbows when he can’t keep himself up anymore. You feel the cotton of his t-shirt brush against your back. It sends a shiver up your spine. He comes, pulling out and spilling over your back. You try to hide your disappointment. 

He lays beside you for a minute, you barely reach your hand up from the bedsheets to brush against his bicep. He studies your face and pants through a slack jaw. He’s scruffy and broad and — perfect. 

Your gaze flick to his mouth, then his eyes. You silently realize he never kissed you. 

“Gonna get me killed,” he whispers. It’s almost weirdly affectionate in a way only Joel Miller could say. Still stuck in a limbo between pleasure and reality. You smile, softly. 

He climbs off you, and slinks to the bathroom. You wait with baited breath until you hear the water run. He emerges with a soft looking towel, damp with water, clinging to his fingers. You watch him and shiver when the towel touches your back. 

“Okay?” he whispers when you sit up and turn to look at him. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

It feels like something is supposed to happen now. You’re not used to this. Everything slowly comes back as the pleasure ebbs and you blink back to reality. You open your mouth, then close it. He does the same. 

You can hear Sarah’s door open and you both freeze. His brown eyes search yours through a furrowed brow. Your heart goes back into normal rhythm when you hear the bathroom door shut. Then nothing. 

He snags a new shirt from his dresser and tugs it over your body. 

The Texans. 

“Cute,” you gesture to the shirt. It’s soft underneath your fingers, worn. A gentle kind of faded navy blue. Joel picks up your dress off the floor and folds it into your chest while scoffing. 

“Shut up,” He shakes his head, but he can’t hide the smirk on his face. “Get outta here.” 

It’s all oddly playful. Like you both can’t believe it and are giddy at that fact.  

“Same time next week?” 

Something deeper flicks across his gaze at the doorway. “Is that a promise?” 

“You can’t answer a question with another question.” 

You turn when you leave the doorway and settle into the hallway. He’s got his hand on the doorframe, leaning into it—towering over you and already burning something hot through you. Again. 

“I just did,” he grumbles with a smug look, and then shuts the door. 

__

[simpingforjoel]

dbf!joel never fails to make me feral, this dilf is going to be the death of me some day!!! 😩🥵🫠🔥

[chick66i]

To read

[cinnag1rl]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Fourth of July

The loud thuds of the fireworks from the outside fill in the room as Joel rams himself inside you. Smudging your fourth of july themed makeup you’ve done on yourself, making you look like a absolute mess under him as he has you on a filthy mating press ,your legs on around his shoulders,

“Yeah fucking cock drunk, aren’t you baby? All messy for daddy, huh?” he teases you,

You let out moans and sobs from all the pleasure , your poor hole taking allll of Joels thick cock as your pussy gushes all of your filthy sweet juices. Slowly pulling his cock away from you for a moment,

“Not gonna answer, baby? Though’ you wanted to be a good girl for daddy today, sweetheart,” he playfully complains and thrusts himself deep into you again.

“Yes-“ you moan “Yes i ammm. Feels sooo good daddy” you sob, the filthy sound of the skin slapping mixing in with the thuds of the fireworks as Joel thrusts himself in and out of you,

“M’gonna-“ you whimper as you close your eyes from the closeness to your climax, “Can’t hold it,” you moan

“Eyes open baby, look at me n’let go” he grunts breathlessly, his hand coming up to your face and gently caresses your cheek.

Your eyes instantly open and you finally let yourself let go, the moans and various sounds coming out of you as Joel lets go as well, shooting his load in you, not stopping his thrust but slowing down.

“Did so good for daddy baby, so so good,” he smiles, as he leans in and places soft gentle kisses all of your face.

Happy fourth of July to anyone who celebrates! not in a tr*mp way ew (I personally don’t celebrate but i used the day to write something..)

Taglist! I don’t normally use this for drabbles but i haven’t used it in a while.. Thanks for all of your love and support!!

@nutbutterjellie @biagaloree @justaprettyprincess @fuzzyfawnnn @katalinablossom @aria1108 @girlymoviegal @mrs-miller03 @dugiioh @tomtohee @wand-erer5 @pinterestwhore145 @hystericalanduseless9 @politeolive @severlysentientnova

Tell me if you want to be removed or use Taglist to be added!

[xodilfluvr]

red, white, blues in the sky 🎆💋🍒

[chick66i]

To read

[littledes1re]

From Apple Pie to Cream Pie

Pairing: pervy!oldman!joel Miller x cheater!female!reader

Summary: you bring apple pie to Joel Miller's porch, telling yourself it's nothing; just a visit to your boyfriend's older brother. But uncle Joel has been lingering in your mind since the night you heard him say it. This is a tale about something more than apple pie—the sweet pull of longing, care and the making of cream pie.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, huge age gap (20s and 60s), pervy!joel, cheater!reader, FAUXCEST, Joel calls himself uncle, reader cheats on Tommy, sub/needy!reader, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, praise kink, slight nipple play, slight degradation, no outbreak

A/N: It’s too hot to function and my brain is mush, so here's a "little" draft while I melt and work on a million other fics. Check the warnings, SCROLL if needed, it's really easy peasy. Drink water, my dear pookies <3

The throbbing started in your belly.

It was a deep, insistent pulse radiating outwards in slow, heavy waves that settled right between your thighs. Heat hummed relentlessly against your center, leaving your skin feeling tight and feverish. Slowly but surely, that dull ache migrated to your lower belly, then to your mound, before finally landing squarely on your clit.

And it was all because of two words:

Uncle Joel.

Your mind hadn't stopped circling those words for the past week—a constant, agonising reminder that echoed in your mind, your belly, your cunt, and even deep in your thighs.

The desire was as stubborn as the man himself; it refused to leave you. But then again...maybe you didn't want it to leave.

"Hell, you should bring her over to Uncle Joel sometime. I'll give her somethin' that satisfies her proper."

You could still remember standing there, just inside the screen door, heart hammering against your ribs and thighs pressing tight together as every filthy word Joel uttered sank straight between your legs.

The heat had pooled low in your gut, your cunt throbbing with every perverted suggestion Joel tossed out oh so casually—completely ignoring the fact that your boyfriend, Tommy, had simply asked him for tips on how to handle your high libido.

You couldn't even bring yourself to care once Joel started talking.

It started with, "Jesus, Tommy. You complainin' about good pussy?" before spiraling into explicit instructions on how to break a woman. "Well, sounds to me like you got yourself a girl who knows what she wants. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. You gotta treat that pretty little thing right, boy. Show her who's in charge. You gotta work that pussy like it's the last one on earth. Fingers, tongue, cock—whatever it takes. And when she starts shakin', don't stop. Push her right over the edge till she's squirting all over your hand, your face, your sheets. That'll settle her down proper."

Heck, you knew he was a pervert.

It was no secret. Even Tommy called him an old, perverted bastard.

But that didn't change the fact that he was older, bolder, and possessed large, rough hands that gestured emphatically as he spoke. Those were the same hands you'd watched grip tools and beer bottles—and the same hands that had, once or twice, brushed against your waist a little too long.

His eyes always lingered on your tits and your ass, looking at you as if he was already imagining exactly what he'd do to you if his pissy little brother didn't exist.

Since that night on the porch, your hand hadn't stopped wandering down to your cunt. Your fingers wouldn't stop rubbing that twitching nub until you came all over yourself, shivering with the forbidden thoughts of your boyfriend's brother—or as you desperately wanted to call him:

Uncle Joel.

And now, three days later, you stand at his door, pie in your hands warm, the heat seeping through the dish into your palms, grounding you, reminding you why you're here—you baked it, you told yourself, because you're a good neighbor, a good sister-in-law, because it's what a good woman does, brings pie to her man's brother, a gesture of kindness, of family, of nothing more than that.

But that lie tasted like bitter ash on your tongue, so you swallow it down, and you knock...

When the door opens, the world already narrows to the shape of him. Big. Board. Frame like a wall of stone, chest rising and falling beneath that old flannel shirt, the buttons straining across his big belly and smelling like musk or something unwashed in the best way. 

It makes your nostrils flare and your thighs press together of their own accord, a slow, wet shift of muscle and fabric that you can't control, that you don't want to actually control.

A slow, crooked smile spreads across his lips.

"Well, well, well," he says, and his voice is exactly as you remember it from that night on the porch, from the endless, aching hours when you pressed your fingers into yourself and imagined this moment, this exact moment, here, now, with him looking at you like you're something to eat, something to savor, something to devour slowly, filthy, until there's nothing left but the memory of pleasure. "Look what the cat dragged in."

He leans against the door, arms crossing over his broad chest, letting his gaze wander down your body and back up again, taking his sweet time; savoring every inch of you, from the curve of your hip to the swell of your breasts to the flush on your cheeks. You feel naked under that gaze, stripped bare, even though you're wearing a dress, a simple cotton thing, light blue, that falls just above your knees. Chosen unintentionally, or not? 

"Hello there, honey," he says. "Did my brother treat ya so bad you come to uncle Joel?"

Uncle Joel...uncle Joel...

He says it like a joke, a teasing jab, but the word uncle hits you square in the chest, soaks into your belly, and your thighs press together involuntarily. And oh, you know he sees it.  

You know he sees everything, because his eyes flick down to your hips, to your thighs, and his smile widens, deepens. 

You clutch the pie tighter. 

"I...I made pie," you say, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended. "Apple. I thought you might like some."

His grin widens, and he pushes off of the doorframe, stepping aside with a sweep of his arm, a gesture that makes the flannel stretch across his shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of that hair on his chest, thick, dark and curling, and you want to press your face into it, to breathe him in, to taste the salt on his skin.

Jesus Christ, what was wrong with you?

"Apple pie?" he says, voice full of amusement. "Lord, girl, you know the way to a man's heart. C'mon in, c'mon. Don't stand there like a stranger."

You step past him, and the door closes behind you with a soft click. There's no going back now, no pretending you came here for pie, no pretending you're anything but what you are: a hungry woman, a desperate woman, a needy, shameless woman who has come to her man's brother to be filled, to be claimed, to be taken the way she's always wanted to be taken. 

A worn sofa the color of dried blood sits against the far wall, the cushions sagging in the middle, shaped by the weight of his body.

He gestures for you to sit, and you do, sinking into the cushions, the pie still warm in your lap.

Joel disappears into his tiny kitchen, and you hear the clatter of plates, the running of water, the soft hum of a man moving through his space. He returns with two plates, two forks, a knife, setting them on the table with a soft clink.

Then he drops onto the sofa besides you.

He doesn't sit far away, doesn't leave a polite distance between you, nah, he sits close, his thigh brushing yours through the fabric of your dress. 

"Alright, alright," he says, reaching for the pie. "Let's see what we got here."

He cuts three generous slices, the knife sliding through the crust with a soft crunch, and he slides one slice onto your plate, two onto his, then picks up his fork and digs in like a starving man.

"Oh, fuck me," he groans, closing his eyes, and the sound is raw, almost sexual. He chews, swallows, shakes his head slowly, his eyes still closed, his jaw working, and you watch the muscles in his throat move, watch the way his Adam's apple bobs.

"That's..." he says, opening his eyes. "That's real good, sweetheart. Real good. You got a gift."

You flush, the heat rising up your neck, spreading across your cheeks so you look down at your plate.

"Thank you," you say, your voice is small. 

He takes another bite, and another, and you watch him eat, watch the way his lips close around the fork, the way his tongue flicks out to catch a crumb, moaning around the taste. 

He sets his fork down and leans back, one arm stretching across the back of the sofa behind you, his fingers brushing your shoulder, tracing the line of your collarbone through the thin cotton of your dress, a featherlight touch that sends shivers down your spine, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"C'mon," he says, and his voice is lower now, a purr that vibrates in his chest. "Tell me what's botherin' ya. You don't usually come over alone. Not without Tommy."

You look down your plate, pushing a crumb around with your fork.

"Nothing," you say, and the lie is thin. "Just...wanted to bring you something. That's all."

His fingers trail down your arm, featherlight, tracing the curve of your elbow.

"You ain't the type to make a pie and show up for no reason," he says, and his voice is patient, knowing. "I know ya, girl. I've seen you grow into a woman. I've seen the way you look at things." He pauses, and his fingers still, resting on your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. "The way you look at me."

Your heart hammers against your ribs, and before you can even process what he says, you're already trying to escape the situation. 

"I should go," you say and you start to rise, but his hand lands on your knee, firm; squeezing once. 

With that, magically, your muscles relax, your hips sink back into the cushion, your thighs open slightly, just slightly, an invitation maybe.

"Sit down, honey," he says, and his voice is gentle, but a command wrapped in silk behind it. 

So you sit. 

He leans in closer, and his breath is warm against your ear, smelling of apple and cinnamon. 

"Is it Tommy?" he asks. "He can't take care of you?"

You loved Tommy. God, you loved him. 

You shake your head, a tiny, jerky movement, "No. That's not—" your throat tight, your mouth dry, your heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your god damn ears. 

"Because he told me something the other night," he says, and his voice drops lower. "Complainin' about how much you need it. How he can't keep up. How he's exhausted. And I gotta say, I felt sorry for you."

You swallow. 

"A woman with that kind of hunger," he continues, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your knee. "All alone in her bed, touchin' herself while her man sleeps. Thinkin' about what she could have. What she deserves."

He pauses, and the silence stretches.

Until—

"Thinkin' about me?"

You can't answer. Your mouth is full of cotton and want, your tongue is tied, your throat is closed, and all you can do is just sit there, trembling, your thighs pressed together, your hands clenched in your lap, your eyes wide and wet and desperate.

"You wanna show uncle Joel?" 

A whine bubbles from your throat. You immediately feel yourself nodding like a desperate little puppy excited to get treats, making him chuckle.

"Words," he says, and his voice is patient. "I need words, babygirl."

"Yes," you whisper. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please...uncle Joel."

He chuckles again, and the sound vibrates through you, settling in your bones, in your blood, in your cunt, and you feel yourself clench. 

"That's a good girl," he says. "Now stand up for uncle Joel. Right in front of me. Let me see you."

You rise with shaky legs, thighs trembling, and you stand before him, your hands at your sides, your heart in your throat, your cunt aching wet and ready.

He stays seated, looking up at you, his dark eyes hooded and patient, like a wolf watching a deer wander into the clearing...like a predator who knows his prey is already caught.

"Now pull that dress up," he says, and his voice is soft—a gentle command. "Slow. Let me see what my brother's been wastin'."

Your fingers tremble as you gather the hem of your dress, lifting it inch by slow inch, the fabric sliding up your thighs, revealing the skin of your legs, the soft curve of your hips, and then the oh so wet, slick fabric of your panties. The cotton clinges to your folds, almost translucent with arousal, a dark stain spreading across the pale blue.

Joel exhales slowly, a long, low breath that seems to come from somewhere deep down his chest. 

"There you go," he coos. "Keep goin'. Let me see that pretty pussy."

You pull the dress up to your waist, exposing your ruined panties, the glistening outline of your cunt hidden behind the soaked cloth. 

He reaches out immediately, hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugs them down, and the fabric slides over your hips, past your thighs, down your legs, and you step out of them, standing before him completely bare from the waist down.

"Well, would you look at that," he murmurs. "Ain't that the prettiest thing I've ever seen. All wet and ready for me. And Tommy, that dumbass, he can't even handle it."

You whimper, the sound escaping your throat before you can stop it. He starts spreading your labia with his thumbs, gentle; exposing your slick, pink flesh, the small nub of your clit, the opening that clenches and releases with your breath.

"Would ya look at that, honey." his voice barely above a whisper, and he leans in, closer, closer, until his breath is warm against your cunt. "Glistening like a goddamn jewel. You're so fuckin' sweet, baby. You know that? You know how fuckin' perfect you look right now?"

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, just above your knee, then another kiss, higher, on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and another, higher still, his beard scraping against your skin.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the salt and pepper strands, gripping him, holding him, wanting to feel his mouth on your cunt, but he doesn't go there, he just keeps kissing your thighs, your hips, the soft skin of your belly, until you're trembling, shaking, your knees weak, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Please," you breathe. "Please, Joel."

"That's uncle Joel to you," he corrects, his voice a gentle growl against your thigh as he looks up at you. 

"Now c'mere, sweet pea..." he says, and he pulls you down onto his lap. "That's it, right where this old man wants ya."

You straddle his thighs, your bare cunt pressing against the rough denim of his jeans, without much thinking you grind against him, a slow, desperate movement, a plea of want.

His hands slide up your sides, under your dress, palming your breasts through the lace of your bra. He finds the clasp, unhooks it with practiced ease, pulls the straps down your arms, and the bra falls away—your breasts spill free, full and heavy, your nipples peaked and aching. 

He cups them quicky, his thumbs circling your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down your cunt. 

A whine escapes from your throat. 

"Oh, I know," he murmurs, his mouth against your neck, his lips brushing your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "You're my good girl."

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. You arch into him, pressing your breasts against his chest, grinding your cunt against his thigh.

Then his hand slides down, down your belly, down through the soft nest of hair between your legs. His fingers find your cunt, and he doesn't tease, doesn't play, doesn't dance around the edges—he plunges two fingers deep inside you, making your hips grind at him and your back arch. 

"God damn," he groans against your throat. "This pussy's so hot and slick, clenchin' every time I push in deeper."

He pumps his fingers in and out, a steady, rhythmic rhythm.

You hear it: the wet, sucking sound of your own arousal, a rhythmic schlick schlick that fills the quiet room, that echoes off the walls. 

"Tommy don't know what he's got," Joel murmurs, curling his fingers, hitting that spot inside you, that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes, and you feel the pressure building, the heat rising, the pleasure coiling in your belly ready to snap. "He don't know how to take care of a woman like you. But I do. Uncle Joel knows."

He kisses you then, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting of apple and cinnamon, and you moan into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Christ, you're suckin' 'em in like you don't ever wanna let go. Keep those hips still, baby girl, or I'll have to hold you down while I work 'em deeper." he says, pulling back, his forehead against yours, his breath hot on your lips. 

His thumb finds your clit then, circles it, presses down, gently at first, then harder.

"I'm gonna—" you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling, your cunt clenching around his fingers, "Joel, I'm gonna—"

"Mhm, let go for me, honey." he commands, soft but firm. "Cum on uncle Joel's fingers. Show me how good I make you feel."

And you do.

You shatter. A cry tears from your throat as your climax rips through you, waves of pleasure crashing through your pelvis, your thighs clamping around his hand, your cunt clenching and fluttering around his fingers, the release slowly going through your body as he works you through it, slowing his rhythm, gentling his touch, murmuring praise after praise.

"There we go," he says, his voice soft, tender. "That's a good girl…let it happen. You're making such a mess on uncle Joel's hand." 

You slump against him, boneless, panting, your forehead resting against his. You can feel his smile, feel the satisfaction in his chest.

But before you can catch your breath, before the aftershocks have even faded, he's lifting you, shifting you, laying you back on the sofa, and your head hits a cushion, your legs hang over the edge.

He unbuckles his belt, and unzips his jeans, the sound of the zipper a slow, deliberate rasp, a sound that makes your cunt clench hard around nothing.

He pulls his cock free, and your breath catches in your throat.

It's thick, hard, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum already, a vein running along the shaft like a river on a map. It's bigger than Tommy's; thicker, fuller.

"Look at that," he says, stroking himself slowly, his hand a rhythmic pump, and you watch his hand move, watch the way his fingers wrap around his shaft, the way his thumb swipes over the head, spreading the pre-cum. 

"Cunt clenching around nothing. You hungry, sweetheart? This pussy hungry?" he asks. "You want uncle Joel inside you?"

You spread your legs wider, your pussy still clenching, still dripping, still hungry for more, and you look up at him, your eyes wide, your voice a whisper. "Inside. Please. Please, uncle Joel."

He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds. You hold your breath, waiting until he pushes in, and when he does you gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the way he opens you up. 

He is so much bigger than Tommy, thicker, fuller that you feel a moment of panic; can I take this? Can I really take this? 

But then he's soothing you, voice soft and gentle.

"Shh, shh, easy now," he says, and his voice is a balm. "Breathe for me. That's it. You can take it. You can take all of uncle Joel. Let it in nice and deep." 

He pushes deeper, inch by agonising inch, a slow, but huge invasion, and you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you, filling you in a way you've never been filled before. 

"Feel that?" he whispers. "Feel how good we fit together? Tommy never made you feel like this, did he?"

You shake your head, tears sliding down your cheeks, and you can't speak, can't find the words, can't do anything but feel, feel, feel.

"No," you whisper, and your voice is broken, cracked, raw. "No, never."

"Because he's a fool," Joel says, and his voice is tender, loving, even as he pushes deeper, even as he fills you completely, even as he buries himself to the hilt. "A fool who don't know how to handle the treasure he's got. But I ain't a fool. I know a good thing when I see it. I know a hungry woman when I see her."

He is buried to the hilt now, letting you adjust to his grit, letting you feel the weight of him inside you, the stretch, the ache, the pleasure, and you feel your cunt clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper.

"Atta girl…there it is. I'm allll the way in. Gonna keep you pinned nice and deep, grindin' slow so you feel every throb, every pulse." He says softly. 

Tears start to prickle in your eyes when he starts to thrust. Slow at first, deep, each thrust a drag against your walls, a wet slide that makes you moan, and his hips meet yours with a soft, wet slap.

"Listen to those messy sounds—Christ, you're drippin' down your thighs already." He murmurs, making a sob erupt from your throat. "Oh, I know, that's my girl. Takin' me so good, aren't you? So fuckin' tight. You like being filled by your uncle, hm?"

"Yes," you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders, the pressure rising, the coil winding tighter, ready to snap again. "Yes, yes, yes."

"Say it again, honey." he demands softly. But his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the couch creak beneath you.

"Uncle Joel," you gasp. "Please. Please fuck me."

He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, and his pace quickens, his thrusts become harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the pleasure building; rising, the coil winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap. 

"Goddamn," he grits out. "you're perfect. You're gonna make me cum, sweet pea. You gonna cum with me? Cum with uncle Joel?"

"I don't know—" you gasp, your vision blurring. "I'm close—it's too much—"

"It ain't too much," he says, and his voice is firm. "You can take it. You're a strong girl. A hungry girl. Let go for me. Let me feel you break."

He drives into you harder, faster, and you feel the coil snap, the pleasure explodes and you shatter again. A broken cry tears from your throat as you cum, your inner walls clenching around him, fluttering, pulsing, milking every last drop from him. 

A guttural groan leaves his lips and he follows a moment later, spilling inside you in hot, thick drops—filling you up with a warmth that spreads through your belly. 

Your cunt still works around him as he collapses on top of you, his breath hot against neck. 

After a long moment, he stirs, lifts his head and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips.

"You did so well, sweet pea," he murmurs. "Took everything right into that cunt of yours." 

He pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the loss, the sudden emptiness a hollow ache. 

He fetches a damp cloth from the kitchen and cleans you up with gentle hands, wiping between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, whispering: "We made some cream pie, didn't we?" and you feel like crying, like laughing, like giggling. 

"You gotta go home soon," he says. "Tommy'll be back in an hour."

You nod as you sit up, and reach for your panties, but he stops you, his hand on your wrist, his eyes dark and possessive.

"Leave 'em," he says, and his voice is a firm command. 

"What?@

"The panties, hon." he says. "Leave 'em here. I want to know you're walkin' around without 'em. Thinkin' about me. Feel my cum drippin' down your thigh."

You blush, a deep, burning flush that spreads across your cheeks, but you don't argue. You pull your dress on over your bare skin, leaving your soaked panties crumpled on his coffee table like a trophy. 

He walks you to the door, and as you step out into the fading light, he calls after you.

"Come back tomorrow," he says, soft. "I'll have the pie warmed up."

You smile, and your thighs are still slick with his spend, and your cunt is still sore and full, and you know, with a certainty that settles into your bones like honey, like syrup, like warm apple pie, that you will.

You will.

Poor Tommy lmfaooooo😭😭

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[chick66i]

To read

[rhaenyratargeryen]

[valevntine]

happy monday happy new week happy new joeldro doodle

[gutsby]

Loophole

Pairing: Sex Ed!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you a different kind of sex.

Warnings: 18+. FIRST TIME ANAL, NO ONE LOOK AT ME!!!! Need all my backdoor baddies behind me on this one, both literally and figuratively. Unprotected p-in-a. Daddy kink. Breeding kink. Assplay. Salad tosser!Joel. Olive oil used as lube because this is, unfortunately, the apocalypse, and all sex shops are out of business.

Note: Any and all characters written in this story are adults. Reader is described as having grown up in isolation, without access to formal education, and as such, her understanding of the human body and sexual reproduction is limited. This is not a reflection of her intelligence or her ability to learn the topics.

Another note: This is a semi-sequel to Birds & Bees :-)

One more note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi!

Word count: 6.3k

This was always the most difficult time of the month.

For Joel, anyway, it was pure misery day in and day out

Why? No reason other than it being the hardest to resist you. When you’d wake up all fidgety and hot and wanting him, and that burning sensation wouldn’t subside until long past your bedtime. Even in your sleep, to the man’s teeth-gritting dismay, that body lying next to his would inevitably wind up moving just as needily grinding up against him, and he’d feel powerless to its charms. He would have to relent.

Capitulation wouldn’t bother him so much if it didn’t mean you were ten times more likely to get pregnant.

“Ovu-la-tion,” you’d sounded out for him one morning, lips forming the most perfect ‘o’s and ‘u’ while you did.

It was in moments like those that Joel regretted teaching you sex at all. Giving you knowledge about your biological makeup and function certainly had its purpose, to be sure, but when he’d gone so far as to show you—how fucking sweet you’d looked peering up at him, then murmuring, ‘Show me where it goes?’—well, he’d just as well have gone out back and shot himself in the foot. The act probably would’ve been less painful and left him with fewer places scarred than what he endured each time he had to turn you away.

“Done told you about a hundred times now, honey, that kinda lovin’ leads to babies if we ain’t careful this time of month. Y’think we need a new mouth to feed?”

It killed him to say it.

Hell, deep down, there wasn’t a thing in the world he wanted to see more than a couple of rugrats with your pretty eyes and smile crawling around, pestering him.

But this wasn’t the time for that.

You’d pout and you’d clamp your legs together, tell him he was so mean, and why’d you even bother teachin’ me this stuff if we can’t do it when we both really want to? Joel would smile and smooth a hand over the crown of your head. He’d kiss your cheek and remind you he had fingers and a tongue, too, and more often than not, you would begrudgingly accept that offer.

Today, you were considerably more hardheaded and ornery. Everything seemed to be making you mad since you’d set off from Jackson an hour ago, and there wasn’t a lick else for Joel to do other than to—

“Fuck you,” you cursed, kicking a stump.

You’d almost just tripped over it.

Joel was leading the way home after a successful supply run in town and a visit with Tommy and Maria, and you appeared to be even more upset to leave than you normally were. You’d all but torn a tree limb the length of your body off of a nearby offending oak just fifteen minutes ago, and your impatience with nature was evidently only growing the longer you walked on.

The old man smothered a smile as he turned to you.

“Alright there, sweet pea?” he said.

“Nope,” you huffed at him, low.

Joel turned back to the path and pretended not to hear you threaten the life of some shrubbery by the wayside

He might’ve carried on like this for another two hours, at least. Surely the forty-five minutes that were left in your journey home would’ve been a cakewalk—and more than a little entertaining to him, despite the sharp pang of need he felt, too. When he was outdoors, and he was moving, and he didn’t have to stare for too long at your face or your body or the little swishing movements of your dress as you walked, he was fine. Or OK, anyway, and able to play it cool.

“I wish you’d bought me a bigger dildo.”

As soon as you said it, Joel choked.

Alright, so he wasn’t perfect.

“Hon, what did I say about—”

“Yeah, yeah. You told me don’t say nothin’ too ‘graphic’ about our sex life when we’re not at home, but that doesn’t really matter out here, does it?” You stopped in place, and that made him stop, too. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. I can say I get fucked every day—”

“Baby.”

“—except when you’re scared of knockin’ me up!”

It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t also painfully true.

If Joel wasn’t currently watching you shrug off your knapsack, drop the thing to the forest floor like a bag of potatoes, and glare at him as if he were maybe the single meanest man alive, he might’ve even laughed.

Then you dropped to your knees. Right there in the middle of the clearing the two of you had just been trying to cross, you went and reached inside your bag.

He’d bought it as a precaution—this…gadget.

On the nights that he knew he’d have to spend away from home for patrol or a hunt or just some emergency run to Jackson that he couldn’t have you join him on, Joel had bought you a little toy to keep you company.

Especially in times like these, when you were horny and heated as you’d ever been, it had seemed ideal.

He just wished you hadn’t chosen an open field almost an hour away from home as the first place to pull it out.

“Sweetheart,” Joel said, tone now appreciably firmer. “You ain’t gettin’ down in the dirt and…and…playin’ with yourself with that brand new toy daddy got, OK?”

But it was too late.

You’d already taken it out.

The man deserved to be punished a little bit.

What, did he think he could just open up a whole new universe of debauchery and pleasure and then shut you out of it whenever he damn well pleased? Of course, Joel had taught you about consent and how each party to ‘playtime’ between adults needed to give it enthusiastically in order for their actions to be considered sex at all, but you weren’t asking him to participate if he didn’t want to. You weren’t begging for permission, either. You just wanted to act on the natural impulses you felt inside yourself and not be treated like some kind of freak for wanting relief.

So you would fuck yourself, plain and simple.

Only it wasn’t so simple, really.

Joel had instructed you on intercourse, giving and receiving head, touching your partner in their erogenous zones, and knowing how and when to cum—many, many times since he’d first taught you in the spring—but he hadn’t shown you how to fit this thing.

You were slicker than an oil spill between your legs. The skirt of your dress was flipped up, and the pale ivory material was spilling out over the ground beneath you. Your panties were off, and your cunt was on full display.

Joel was perched between your knees, hovering.

A sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow, and you could see the moisture beading at his temples before they slid down, rolling slow to reach his beard where a sea of silver and black consumed each droplet. Lined and weathered and pathetic was the face peering down at that treasure inside you. Brown eyes blinked slow, as if in a trance, and a tongue darted out to wet his lips every now and again.

If this wasn’t power, you weren’t sure what was. Smiling sweetly, you moved the tip of the bright pink toy down your seam and wriggled your hips a little.

You pretended like it was for dramatic effect and not because you had no fucking idea how to fit a dildo inside you and actually make it feel like sex would.

“Lemme lick her some,” Joel said, lowering his head. He was on his stomach, and his face might’ve been a foot and a half away from your drooling, aching heat.

It would be so easy…

Just a couple strokes from his tongue, maybe a finger or three pumping in and out of you. Groans rumbling between your thighs and in no time, you’d find bliss.

But that wasn’t the point of all this, was it?

The point was self-sufficiency.

Not needing anybody else.

In keeping with this thought, you spread your legs even wider and began to push the tip of the toy to your core.

It made it less than a centimeter before it met with resistance. At the same time, Joel let out a strangled:

“S-Sweetheart. Baby, let me show you.”

“No.”

“But darlin’, you’re gonna hurt yourse—”

“So?”

With your other hand, you began to play with your clit.

Maybe a little pain wasn’t the worst thing to feel now.

A breathy moan slipped out of you, and you could just tell that the less-than-secret Sex Ed professor in Joel was dying inside. He couldn’t bear the thought of something hard and phallic that wasn’t his penis brushing against your velvety walls unless he had some sort of say in it. He wanted to teach you again.

“Pussy’s too…fuck.” He watched the silicone sink in half an inch before your hole forced it back out, leaking. “She’s too fuckin’ tight. Needs daddy to stretch her out a little, get her ready for the fun, huh?”

“Nuh-uh. I can take it.”

This time, you gripped the base of the thick, veiny fake cock and pushed up—three or four inches, all at once.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimpered. “Oh, that’s so good.”

And that was all it took, apparently.

Three and a half inches, two seconds, and one soft, pleading look from you had Joel changing his mind. Or deciding something, at the very least. He flipped you.

He caught your pink toy slipping back out and held it.

“Hands an’ knees, baby. All fours, yeah. Jus’ like that.”

You could barely breathe, let alone process the words being spoken to you, but somehow you managed to follow his orders. Your mind was swimming with lust and a bone-crushing need, your body pulsing with a warmth unlike anything you’d felt in a while. That sensation would come in waves during the time of the month you were most sensitive, when you were ovulating, though those moments were all short-lived.

Now Joel was indulging you in the feeling, and really dragging it out. Not only touching you but filling you up with something that wasn’t just his tongue or his fingers. You kneeled there, awed, and you could feel your fingers curling into the grassy earth beneath you.

You arched your back, dropping down to your elbows.

And Joel took control of that toy, sawing it in and out of your dripping pussy with practiced, near-perfect precision. Even as his hold shook a little, when the grip of his free hand on your ass tightened and you heard him mutter, low, ‘Fuck, that’s it, pretty girl. Take it all inside,’ he stayed focused on you. It went in deep.

It wasn’t him, but it was close, and Joel was kind.

“Lemme stretch her out. Make her feel real nice.”

Your cunt was making loud sucking sounds with each withdrawal and entry of the dildo, and your legs had started to shake. You clawed at the grass, whimpering.

“Da—ah— d-daddy.”

“There’s a good girl. Always so sweet openin’ f’me.”

Sometimes you swore you could finish from Joel’s words alone. His timbre, his control, the way he spread your cheeks open and spit—it all made you feel filthy in the best way. In your current hormonal state, wildfire blazing through your limbs, you couldn’t help yourself.

Half-cockdrunk and ovulation-crazed: “More—More, Daddy. Want your cock in me. Fuck me now, p-please.”

“You can’t have ‘im, baby. Ain’t safe right n—”

“But you wanna fuck, too, don’t you?”

Now you were peering over your shoulder, looking up at him. Joel was watching you back with an almost mournful expression, and you could tell he wasn’t just teasing you when he spoke. He felt genuine remorse.

“‘Course I do, baby,” he answered without hesitation. “I always do. Jus’ wanna do what’s…what’s right f’you.”

At the same time, you pushed your hips back a little.

Joel’s crotch was aligned with your ass, and as soon as you moved, a big, heavy, denim-clad bulge kissed you back. It bumped the dildo even deeper, and you hissed.

Joel groaned at the contact, gaze snapping down.

“What’s safe…” His words trailed off in a breath.

A barely coherent murmur: “What’s…what’s…”

You ground your bottom even harder against his front, the base of your toy no doubt bobbing back and forth.

Self-sufficient. Easy.

“Sweetheart.”

In and out.

“Daddy, I want it,” you pouted.

More friction.

More pleasure sprouting between your legs, tightening in your core and all but forcing the sentence out of you:

“Can’t you…put ‘im someplace else—someplace safe?”

Your mind was spinning perilously, not really forming any logical thoughts, but the concepts were there: your pussy, your mouth, between your tits, up and down.

Joel had started to move his lower half in time with yours—pantomiming thrusting. Grinding even harder when you dropped your head and let out a needy sound and begged him, ‘Put him anywhere, daddy.’

Joel’s hips jerked forward, and he cursed.

“Anywhere, baby?” he said, breathless.

He was dry-fucking you in doggy now.

The dildo was still lodged in your pussy, and Joel was still fully clothed, but he started to move as if he had really mounted you and was splitting your cunt, or something, open on his cock. He humped you like an animal in heat, grunting and groaning and holding your body as if it was the last thing tethering him to Earth.

Feeling equally feral, you turned your head again, and you asked him in a tone as sweet as you could manage:

“Please, Joel?”

He was going to explode.

You are not fucking her in the ass, Joel told himself. You are not doing that. Not now, not later, not ever.

Better late than never, you thought with a smile.

After verbally sparring with the man for all of five minutes—arguing that you should, in fact, use some ‘loophole’ that would keep you from getting pregnant—Joel had agreed. Angrily. Seeming to hate himself for it

“This is not somethin’ you do on a whim, hon,” he’d groused, scrubbing his beard in a slow, worried way.

He’d opened his satchel anyway. Rifled around in the thing before procuring a bottle of something sleek and sloshing. Your gut had twisted, but you’d felt eager, too

You hadn’t been entirely clear on what this kind of sex entailed, but if it was anything like the first time Joel had taught you, you sensed that you would enjoy it.

“So you just…put ‘im someplace new, is that right?”

“Ain’t like that.” Joel had shook his head.

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’” he’d interrupted at once. Poured the liquid from the bottle into his palm, the stuff gleaming in the sunlight a pale yellow hue. “‘F’we do it, we do it slow.”

So that was how you and him were doing it.

Slow.

Now you were perched at the edge of a riverbank, your gaze drifting lazily with the flow of a stream no more than four or five feet away from you and a sense of gentle, calming quiescence filtering through your system. On all fours again, you felt comfortable.

Joel had rolled out a blanket for the two of you to take your places and was careful to secure a new spot away from the beaten path, under the shade of a stand of aspens. Both of you had stripped. With the hand that wasn’t lathered up, Joel rubbed circles into your back.

“You sure you don’t mind doin’ things a little different today, baby?” His voice was low, almost grave. “Won’t do nothin’ unless you like it—I want you to know that.”

And if your body hadn’t already gone half-limp with all the pressure and the pleasure this man was inflicting on your muscles through his soft, kneading motions, you might’ve turned around and faced him. Smiled and said something like, ‘Don’t be silly, daddy. I like it all.’

Your contented hum evidently conveyed that well enough, because the next thing you knew, there was a new force beneath the kneading, between your thighs.

Solid, wet pressure you were more than familiar with.

“Daddy,” you giggled, body jerking forward a little at the sensation of him licking through your folds. “‘S’ain’t— ain’t no different! We always do this!”

At first, Joel didn’t answer—he simply tracked his tongue down the length of your seam from behind and lapped wetness from it. Nosed further between your legs and used his beard to stimulate the extra sensitive skin while he nipped at your slit, kissed your aching clit, and sucked your essence with the sweetest fervor. It didn’t take much for the arms holding yourself up to grow weak, then, and shortly, you were moving down onto your elbows with your rear pointed up at Joel.

He speared your dripping, quivering cunt with that tease of a muscle repeatedly, in and out again and again while you shuddered against him and sighed.

He maneuvered the hand that was coated in that slimy substance, finally, and started palming your ass with it.

“Daddy…p—please…I want…”

Joel paused just long enough to unglue his mouth from your pussy: “Want what, now, darlin’? What?”

You wriggled again, and you let out a dramatic huff.

“You know what,” you told him, words a plea. You rooted your bare knees even deeper into the blanket, and you canted your hips up. Pushing back onto him. “Wanna come, and I want…want you to be…inside.”

“That so?”

And to your surprise, you heard a chuckle, soft and low

At almost the same time, the hand covered in the slick, oily stuff started sliding down your ass again, inward, sliding through not just your folds but the entire cleft.

Joel knelt again.

Put his tongue to work again.

And for a second, you wanted to rebuff him…again.

Felt tempted to kick your feet and say this lickin’ ain’t any special or different, daddy! Sure ain’t no loopho—

“Oh.”

You froze.

Stared straight at the river and watched it churn and gurgle and flow and saw none of what was going on, really, because you’d just been hit with a new feeling.

Realization.

Penetration somewhere else.

You couldn’t even wonder at where that originated. Your legs clamped together, and you let out a breath.

“Wh— Why’re you lickin’ there, daddy?” you stuttered.

Joel’s hum vibrated through your center all the way to your teeth, causing them to grind together while you tried making sense of this novel feeling. Whimpering.

A few more featherlight, languid licks from Joel, then:

“Need it wet back here if I wanna play with her, right?”

“But that’s not my—”

“I know, baby.”

After Joel’s, your next words were swallowed up in a moan when the man started tracing circles—making an outline of a ring, again and again—and it was all you could do to keep from rutting your hips in helplessness

Ever the patient teacher, Joel stroked your back with the hand that was dry, again, and gave you a second to soak it in. With the hand that was coated in slick, he followed after his tongue with just the fingertips rubbing, coaxing the flesh. Prodding it to open.

“See, this hole doesn’t self-lubricate like your pussy does, sweetheart,” Joel said, near-pedagogical now. “No matter how turned on you are, it’s never gonna get all drippy and wet and pliant on its own. ‘S’why I gotta coach her along. Make sure she’s nice and slicked up.”

“But why?” you squeaked, reflexive. “For— For what?”

“For this.”

Then Joel slid something inside—not his tongue.

It edged in once, maybe half an inch, then slid back out. And in again, deeper, before retreating to the rim and toying with the muscles you felt clamp in unison.

“Try to relax, darlin’. Only makes it harder if you don’t.”

“But how come?” You squirmed. “Feels funny, daddy.”

Joel took a beat, and for that moment, he didn’t move. Just held whatever he’d stuck in you—presumably, his finger—and he didn’t poke or push you again, just held the tip tight to your puckered ring and hummed softly.

“Y’know the stuff I put on my hand?” he asked.

“Some…Some kinda oil, I guess?”

“Olive oil, that’s right, baby. It ain’t ideal, I’ll admit,” Joel paused, and it felt like he was shifting around. Adjusting his grip, maybe, until you sensed what felt like his thumb pressed up against that slicked place. “Back in the old days, they made real, um…gooey stuff special for doing things like this. Called lube, OK?”

OK. You nodded, still too off-kilter to look behind you.

Suddenly, swiftly, Joel’s thumb started to rub a little.

And you couldn’t say why your body jumped the way that it did, but you jolted before you could even try to keep it in. You mewled like some kind of strange and wanton creature, and you pushed your hips backward.

Embarrassment gripped you almost immediately.

Blinking hard and staring straight ahead, you shook your head, “‘M’sorry. Sorry. Don’t know why I did that.”

“Aw, honey,” Joel cooed. “Baby. Don’t apologize, OK?”

Still, your face was hot. You hated how you’d sounded.

“Would you turn around and look at me, sweetheart?”

Slowly, you did.

Behind you, your old man was perched on his knees, with a serene and gentle expression on his face. The fine lines and wrinkles had smoothed considerably, and what was left behind looked like understanding.

Wanting, too.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, what we’re doin’,” he started, slow. He rubbed a big, slick hand over your skin, and your whole body warmed in response to it. “Might make some different sounds, ‘cause Daddy’s playin’ with a whole different hole, and that’s OK. What’s important is that you like what’s happenin’.”

A brief beat of silence.

“That’s…consent, right?” you said shyly.

Joel grinned. “Yeah, darlin’. That’s consent.”

Consent when he edged in his finger to the knuckle next. Consent when he sawed it in and out, and twirled it around. Consent when he added a second, then a third, then quit the stretching altogether and just bent down to latch his mouth onto your wet, quivering ring.

He kissed it and licked it and laved it in saliva. Spit on it more than a couple times. His beard must’ve been drenched by then, but Joel didn’t seem keen on stopping for a while, judging by his grip on you.

Meanwhile, you were amped to no fucking end.

“Oh, daddy,” you hissed out a sigh of pleasure when his tongue slipped back inside, all the way and wriggling. “Daddy, put it—put him in, now.”

Joel grunted and retracted his tongue.

“You sure you’re ready for it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And where do you want daddy inside?”

“Um.”

You snagged your bottom lip between your teeth.

It felt wrong to say it, so you simply pushed your knees wider apart. Arched your spine, blinking back up at him

“There,” you whispered, wiggling your hips.

“Darlin’, you’re gonna have to say the place out loud if you want me to fuck it, OK? That’s all part of the deal.”

“But daddy.”

“I need you to get comfortable with stuff you think is wrong or ‘taboo,’” Joel continued, gentle but firm. “Don’t want you gettin’ halfway through and thinkin’ maybe you shouldn’t’a done it, and feel ashamed.”

Maybe that was part of it.

Maybe you did feel a little embarrassed that your body was currently in flames, and you wanted this man inside you so badly that you’d accept him anywhere, anyplace, even if you hadn’t the faintest idea how—

“Baby.” Joel interrupted your thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me all the places we’ve already done it.”

Your cheeks warmed reflexively.

“We…we’ve…”

“In your pussy?”

You nodded back.

“Between your tits?”

“Y-Yeah. There, too.”

“And…?” Joel trailed off.

“And…” You stared back at him, cheek resting on your forearms and your naked ass still up high by his face. Admittedly, this did feel a little enervating. But you tried to bite the embarrassment with a little smile. “You’ve…put ‘im in my mouth—fucked my throat, too.”

Joel grinned back. You took that as your cue to go on.

“And um…well, I’ve sat on your face. Rode your…thigh a little bit before. And you’ve rubbed your cock, like, between my legs until you spilled all over my pussy.”

“Anything else?”

“We did that ‘69’ thingy.”

You were pretty sure that was all of it.

Joel hadn’t been teaching you for that long. Compared to him, anyway, your experience was but a blip on the radar, and you had a good ways to go before you could say you were anywhere near as knowledgeable as him.

You peered curiously at your teacher; he peered back.

“Now, can you be a good girl and say where daddy’s goin’ next?” Joel goaded you gently. Edging in closer.

“In my, um…” You couldn’t help it when your face heated again. You braced yourself. “In my…backside?”

It sounded dumb as fuck saying it like that.

Surely there had to be a better word than—

“Anal.”

“Anal?”

“Yeah, sweet pea.” Joel smoothed his touch up your spine, then back down again. He rubbed at the muscles that were tensing slightly. “That’s it.”

From your position under him, it was hard to read his face. You couldn’t begin to imagine the look on yours.

When you didn’t say anything at first, still processing that one word, Joel went on—massaging, and talking.

“Old school birth control, I guess you could call it. Probably more effective’n rubbers. And it means daddy can cum as much as he wants, deep as you’ll let ‘im, y’know, cause, uh…y’can’t make a baby in the butt.”

You let out a giggle.

Again, you couldn’t help the reflex.

“Really?”

“Really, really.” Joel smirked.

Solemnity of the moment temporarily suspended by a couple sly, stupid grins and laughter sneaking out between you, Joel dove in. He didn’t drop his whole body weight on top of yours, but he got damn near close with the way he pretended to collapse and his entire torso draped over your back while you kicked and squirmed and bit out, giggling, ‘Get off, daddy!’

You lay flat on the blanket, belly-down, and Joel planted his forearms on either side of your frame, caging you in. He bent down to pepper you with kisses.

“That tickles!” you hissed, chin jerking against the assault of his lips. You writhed and laughed with him.

The little detour couldn’t have lasted more than a minute or two, Joel touching and teasing and kissing you in that sweet way he did, and you pretending to be annoyed. But your body relaxed, and you didn’t protest in the slightest when Joel tilted your chin back to him to get a proper kiss. You opened your mouth without thinking, melting under that calm and tender caress.

Warmth crowded you. Something hard pressed into the space between your legs, and you parted your thighs unconsciously. Joel groaned into the kiss.

“Darlin’,” he started, only for his breath to hitch a second later. You’d lifted your hips the slightest bit and pushed back toward him, so the tip of his cock was nudging between your cheeks. “Hey, there’s no rush, OK? Daddy can wait longer if you need more time.”

“I don’t. ‘M’ready now.”

Really, you didn’t understand why Joel seemed so loath to try this with you. Had he changed his mind?

With the side of your face cradled in his big, warm hand, you craned your neck slightly to meet his gaze, and you asked him, quietly, “Do you…not wanna…?”

Joel blinked once.

He looked almost ready to internally combust or blow up when he nodded his head, fast as he ever did before

“Yes. I do. Sweetheart, I wanna be inside you so bad, but this kinda sex…I just get nervous, might hurt y—”

At the same time, you raised your hips again.

With Joel’s broad and bare and massive body blanketing your own, it was hard to push far, but you did well enough. You pressed the blanket for leverage.

You notched the head of Joel’s thick, leaking cock at the entrance it had never breached before—that taut little ring of muscles—and you sank in backward. Slow.

“Oh,” you groaned at the sting, which was immediate.

Joel had been right: it hurt. It wasn’t remotely the same as being penetrated in any other place, and it almost made you want to squirm away with how tight and uncomfortable it felt. The oil barely helped at all.

Then Joel groaned, too. The hand holding your jaw tightened its grip reflexively, and as it did, his cock jerked inside you. He was no more than half an inch in.

“Baby, fuck,” he cursed. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You lips twitched up a little, despite the burn.

“It h-hurts. Feels…weird,” you said honestly.

Joel halted without a moment’s hesitation.

He bit out a soft, rasping apology, ‘’M’sorry, sweetheart. ‘M’sorry. Daddy didn’t mean it.’

And, just as he moved to pull his tip from your achy hole, you eased your hips back onto him again, further.

Your muscles clenched hard against the intrusion—a dull throb spiraled from the spot where Joel was entering you, right up through the column of your spine—and a pitchy whine clawed out of your throat.

You ground your teeth and sucked in a breath, feeling as split open, exposed, and vulnerable as you’d ever been. It didn’t seem like something should go there.

But desire had other plans for you both, apparently.

The plea bled into your tone, covert and quiet.

“Keep goin’, daddy. Please. I want it.”

Your eyes locked with Joel’s, your hips stirring again, and that look communicated everything you needed.

Joel swallowed.

It had to be a relief to him. Dreamlike, almost.

“That right?” he said, slow smile starting back.

And you like it like this, don’t you? was implied.

The first wet drag of your heat down his length was painstakingly slow. You made it halfway to the base when your rim squeezed tight, and you made a face. Pain flared, but only momentarily. Joel was there to hold steady, knees firm on either side of your legs, as he let you take the lead a little. He kissed your neck.

“There’s my brave girl,” he murmured in your ear. “Takin’ it all like a big girl, huh? Like usin’ this hole?”

You nodded, fucking yourself further onto him.

New. Taboo. Stretching out a different place, all because you were ovulating, and this was one of the few ways to make sure pregnancy didn’t happen.

Joel let you sink back until the swell of your ass was kissing the coarse gray hairs at the base of his abdomen. Your hole fluttered and sucked at his cock, and Joel’s grip flexed on your jaw. His hold lowered.

And, just as the muted sting had begun to settle in your stomach, reality of what was going on and how you were taking him gradually touching your conscious brain, you felt fingers press your throat. They were gentle, not forceful. Just testing your level of comfort.

“Where’s daddy, baby?” he murmured softly.

“In my ass,” you answered. Holding his gaze.

He squeezed more, groaning when you squeezed back.

“You like takin’ cock up there, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy. Love—Love feelin’ you here.”

And it was strange—the harder he held you to him then, the more he stretched you and made you want to whimper and writhe on the blanket, the better it got. The more pressure he applied and the more possessive he seemed to get with each aching second that passed, the easier that weight felt inside you.

The deeper desire burned when Joel lifted up and dragged his cock with it, tip sliding to your entrance.

You wanted him sheathed back inside you.

You wanted to take some control yourself.

So, before the old man could make the next move and ease back in, you pushed up swiftly. You heard, and you felt, a wet squelch as your channel spread to accommodate his girth all at once. It burned a bit.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” Joel cursed.

“Like that, daddy,” you whimpered.

You turned your head so you were facing the river again, fingers curling into the worn, plaid material of the blanket beneath you. Joel lifted slightly, as if unsure what else to do but needing more, and you obliged by sliding back. And forth. Rutting your hips and rubbing your raw, wet hole up and down his shaft.

You didn’t ride Joel often. He was usually the more dominant one, wanting to take charge and fuck you senseless. But today, on this sweet, quiet, balmy summer afternoon, you made the man pant and groan and grip your throat helplessly while you used your taut, yet-untouched orifice to drive him out of his mind

Pleasure sparked low in your body, in a place you didn’t think it was possible to feel it. The pain turned sweeter.

It wasn’t like it disappeared altogether, but it did become something you could use to get yourself off.

That, on top of Joel’s strangled, labored words right next to your ear, damn near pushed you over the edge.

“Pussy must be feelin’ extra lonely seein’ daddy love all on this other hole, ain’t she, sweet pea?” Joel shifted, lifting your hips higher to fit his hand between your thighs. He groaned at the contact. “Can feel her leakin’ somethin’ awful—like she’s achin’ to be stuffed, too.”

Now he was meeting your thrusts; they got weaker and sloppier while he took two fingers to your clit and started rotating them over the swollen little nub.

Euphoria blinded you for a moment. Your body jerked, teeth sank into your bottom lip, and you cried, hoarse.

“Fuck me, daddy, please.”

You didn’t care which hole.

Your bodies were colliding, grinding in frantic tandem with one another and making the most obscene sounds as you did. Joel’s strokes were maddeningly shallow, like he couldn’t keep out of your warmth more than an inch or two before he needed to be driving back in, scraping your insides and fucking you fast.

“Wanna fill you in both, next time,” Joel said, almost helplessly. Rutting in harder with each new word. “Stuff that pretty pink dildo in your pussy while I take your ass, or the other way around, whatever y’want.”

Your eyes squeezed closed at the thought. Stars burst behind the lids while Joel fucked you relentlessly, and you pictured getting plugged up by both your toy and his cock, and you almost hit your peak in the moment.

Then your eyes opened again, and Joel had lowered his head beside yours. He tilted your chin to him with the hand that was still on your throat, pressing tenderly despite how hard he was pounding you from behind.

“How’s that sound, sweet pea?” He smiled.

You trusted him.

You nodded your head.

Then, in what felt like it might’ve been out of place with any other man but him, you kissed. Deeply. You parted your lips, let Joel’s tongue invade your mouth, and you absorbed every grunt and moan and praise while you did the same with those quick, sharp thrusts. The dichotomy was so dizzying you almost didn’t hear the good girl, and sweet, perfect thing, takin’ all o’me.

His words were so continuous and sweet, and your orgasm was so rapidly approaching that you almost didn’t say what was humming in your skull, presently.

But it came out before you could try to stop it.

“In—In my pussy next time,” you panted from the kiss. Staring at him. “Want you to come inside me, a-and—”

Joel’s cock throbbed inside your ass, and he groaned.

“Baby. Please. Don’t say it.”

You knew he wanted to hear it, though; it was just a matter of how dangerous the declaration would be once it left your lips and hung in the air between you.

The knot of pleasure in your stomach swelled to the size of a fist. Your body shook with each thrust Joel delivered, and the sweet feeling curled your toes, made drool start to peak out of either corner of your mouth.

Your eyes were as soft as they’d probably ever been peering up at Joel then, watching him stare right back.

Your insides squeezed, and he drove in even faster.

Joel’s lips couldn’t have been more than an inch away while he held you to him, knit his brows, and practically heaved the next breath out while he hammered at you.

“Don’t wanna…play it safe next time?” he groaned.

You shook your head.

“Want me to come inside your pussy next month?”

Your soft yes, and its result, could’ve ended you both.

As soon as you said it, recognition that was pregnant with meaning filtered between you, and your bodies drew even tighter. Joel leaned in to kiss again, needy as you’d ever seen him, the muscles of that sweet, slippery ring choked his cock from root to tip as he stabbed in repeatedly, and you kissed back, grinning.

He erupted inside you not long after your hole spasmed and your body went lax under him, spent. You felt him fuck his seed deep in your ass and relished the feeling, while also picturing it leaking somewhere else.

Ovulation was a dangerous fucking thing.

Joel pulled out, fingering the warm, white, gooey stuff right back into your fucked-raw channel when it started to dribble out. He kissed behind your ear.

He pressed his length flat against your lower back, wet with fluids and nowhere close to going soft after the events that had just transpired—with the thoughts that were no doubt humming through his head same as you

Over your shoulder, you met his gaze, the smile on your lips a little sleepier but no less eager than it was before.

“Well,” you said, low, “I can’t wait for next month.”

[chick66i]

To read

[dilf-docs]

I Smoke Out Your Darkest Side

bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: if you're on fire, just keep burning.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., creampie, foreplay, dry humping, spitting, daddy kink, degradation kink, angst, ??? ending CHAN CHAN CHAN

word count: 5,075 words

side note: last part !!!!!!!! i hope you like the ending to my first tumblr series hehehe !!! thank u for waiting citizens it's not like it took umm idk A WHOLE YEAR wait speaking about years.. last story of the year OH MY GOD well HAPPY NEW YEAR FELLAS if i don't say it before midnight,,, im so lucky to have y'all !!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you for appreciating my stories, love y'all ❤️ almost made it to a 3k population in a year WOAH

part: prev | masterlist

It's been radio silent.

Joel isn't answering your calls, and while you think it's unfair, you try to understand.

But you wish Joel was here to hold you through the nightmares, filled with her screams and eyes glistening with betrayal, but it was the disgust what stayed with you the most.

(How long? she asked as well. A year, came your guilt-ridden answer, last summer. The slap that followed left a sting in your cheek and a burn in your heart. I don't know you, she'd said, but you still remember the smell of grass and that curls with a toothy smile that asked you to be her bestfriend at five)

To wash away the shame that eats you from inside crawling like a second skin you can't erase, rotten from regret and the guilt of not telling and still wanting him, despite it all.

You love him. Hope he still loves you too.

So you wait by the phone, conflicted emotions bubbling inside of you, for a call that never came.

Calls never came. You couldn't say sorry, couldn't hear say it himself. Rust grew in between telephones, the same silence that clinged to you in halls and dorms where her absence was noticeable. But his hurt more.

Graduation came a year later. In solitude, you'd managed to finish a road you thought you'd run in two. Now, she was far away, with other friends, pretending you didn't exist like she had been doing for almost a year.

And then there was Joel, your Joel. Far from you, like he had ever since your fight with Sarah, keeping that distance that cut like a knife. Unread texts and unanswered calls. The ghost of his presence on places he used to be.

Dissappearing from your life altogether.

Like all of it was just a dream.

It had become hell. And he, the devil you knew.

To make matters worse, your parents couldn't come. So it was just you, all alone.

Fuck this.

You wait, as you always have. Sarah leaves with her new friends and Joel, who hugged her awkwardly but with care as she got her diploma, who seemed distant but still there, present, unlike with yourself, stood there.

"Hey"

He turns, face pale as if he's seen a ghost.

"Hey"

You take a deep breath. "We need to talk"

He sighs, in distress. "I know"

But you never did that good, did you? Other things you did better, instead.

Joel is devouring your mouth like he means it, tongue licking every corner and teeth as to imprint you inside him. The only thing in the room are the breathy moans leaving your mouth and high pitched whines from his nips and licks, the time he's greedily taking, selfish, interrupting whatever it is you wanted to say.

The We need to talk as you pull away for air dies when you hear him grunting and feel one of his hands making its way up, grabbing the back of your head and forcing your head still.

"Look at me" he commands.

His curls are a mess, his eyes are half lidded, dark with desire and grief and his cheeks have a slight red tinge to them. His lips are heavily swollen, slick with a combination of both of your spit and smudged lipstick.

He follows your trail of sight. "Tastes like ya'. Don't mind"

Joel lets his eyes roam ovee your own, glassy and unfocused, your breath is erratic and your bitten red lips, coated in salive and what's left of your lipstick.

"I wanna bite all over ya'"

"Do it" you dare. This might be the last time.

How long has it been since you've been in here? You had a huge fight in mind, but the second you said those three words and you'd find your way back to a farewelling dorm that knew too much, it was over. Maybe it's been minutes, but the hours have melted with the fire of need.

Burn. Burn. Burn.

You don't think you want to stop, not even when your lips feel a kiss away from bleeding. But you want it to hurt, because nothing lasts longer than pain.

"Open your mouth and be a good little doll fo'me" Joel instructs, voice a little deeper, hoars from the lack of talking. Miller was a man of action, rather. "Don't close your eyes"

He spits right inside you, making your thighs involuntarily clench.

"That's it, baby. Gave ya' a lil' gift so you remember me"

He then kisses you properly, releasing you only to bring his hand to your chest,fiddling with your hardened nipple through your dress.

"Thank you, daddy"

He grunts from the back of his throat at the calling and your thighs clench around him again. You unconsciously start moving your hips in small motions, your wet cunt humping into his throbbing member.

His hand shoots out to grab you, roughly.

"Always so eager" he says with a nostalgia that cuts deep. But you're not here for the memories: just for the new ones that'll cut fresh.

Joel keeps your pace tortuously slow and very slightly bucks his hips up as well, not to keep up the friction, but for you to feel his erection poking against your tight core.

"C'mere"

With an unstopping searing kiss, he guides you to your bed, already devoid of the mattress he's used to seeing, and lays down with your upper body on top on him. Thanks to the position, you start properly humping into his lower abdomen, feeling its familiar soft swelling. You moan loudly, not giving a fuck anymore since you're leaving this dorms for good in less than a day.

"S'pretty" he murmurs, breaking apart for air. But he's restless, using his thumb, running it all over your mouth, smearing even more saliva around it. Your hands hold to Joel's shoulders like a vice, so he kisses you again, drinking in every single pleasured sound he receives in return.

There's your first orgasm incoming. You focus on moving your hips, moans breathier and more high pitched. Joel knows you all too well. So he straightens his back, gripping your hair, angling your head upward to have a better look of your hazy eyes.

"I'm-" you whine, "I-"

"I know, baby" as you keep thrusting back and forth, the tension in your stomach one step away from snapping. "Come for me, sugar"

You feel trembles rip through your body and the shaky breath drowned out against his lips, eyes snapping shut as you bite down his own. Joel groans at the sting, hands moving to guide your hips in slow and deep motions, to prolong your orgasm for as long as possible.

"Feels good?" he asks.

You manage to nod, body slowly giving out. The tent in his pants has grown unbearable, the silhouette tight against the fabric.

"Need'a be inside you right now. Think y' can manage that, sugar?"

You nod again.

"Then, let's practice what we did one last time" he mutters before manhandling you on all fours.

The mirror.

You shudder upon facing the mirror in front of you, the same one you'd been fucked to last year, intentionally. Ever since, you'd seen your reflection time to time, but never as sensual as that time.

"You're a good girl, right? So don't turn away"

You hear the thud of his jeans and feel his leaking tip poking your entrance, his soft belly and chest meeting your back as he leans down.

You can only see half of your body in the mirror, but God, the smudged make up is there. And not the lipstick, but the mascara earlier tears had ruined. You try not to think about it.

Joel slowly enters you to shy away your thoughts, warm walls fluttering around his thick girth as you let out a long moan at the intrusion.

Maybe it's the emotions of the days, but your eyes seemingly give out. He senses you falling down, causing him to grab the roots of your hair to force your head up.

"Keep y'r eyes on the fuckin' mirror, baby" he groans, "watch me fuck ya'"

You finally feel him bottom out, mewling at the sensation. The burn of the stretch in your warm walls accommodating his length brings the held back tears out of your eyes. Joel groans, drawing slowly his length out until the mere tip remains inside you to then roughly slam back in, pulling another gasp from your lips.

He loves to see the tears and the feeling of warmth surrounding his cock.

He doesn't give you time to adjust, just sets the common ruthless pace as you claw the remaining sheets beneath you, cunt clenching each time Joel's hips hit against you, skin on skin.

He lands a hard spank on your ass. "Y'r slutty little cunt 's made for my cock. How'r y'ever gon' replace it?"

"I don't think I can-"

The confession slips as some drool does too. Fuck, and the tears. Joel groans when he sees them fall to the empty mattress.

"My lil' slut loves takin' my cock so damn much. Can't stop the tears from comin'"

You cry from how hard he's pounding into you, the sensation of pain and pleasure bringing tears out of your eyes. If it wasn't for the strong grip he has around the scalp of your hair, your upper body would've gone limp by now.

You utter his name like a prayer, panting as you whimper with each thrust, the sound echoing off the walls.

You. Seeing you; nothing is more perfect. How is he supposed to love you goodbye?

From your sounds to the sight as he pulls out to see his cock wrapped around in your slick, he'd utterly besoted. How your heart beats to every little touch.

For Joel, you look the most beautiful when you're taking him.

Your body begins to tremble when you feel yourself coming for the second time. He feels it, in the way your walls tense around his girth. Joel moves to graze your spongy spot, to kiss it as your arousal trickles down your thighs.

"Joel..." you mewl his name, weak.

"I know, baby. I know" he repeats his earlier words, rubbing your ass. "Gon' milk all over ma' cock? Go on, doll, gotta do it for me"

One last time.

"Joel!" you cry out, body giving up.

You cling onto his cock tightly, coming again. Joel feels you coat him in your orgasm as you wail loudly from the high. It's his hands the only thing stopping your body from falling onto the mattress. You squeeze him tight, greedily, his cock twitching madly inside you.

He's about to burst any minute. His mouth kisses your shoulder as his thrusts turn sloppy. Your breath hitches as you sense Joel's desperation.

"Joel-"

"Wait fo'me-"

"Joel" you croak out again.

You whimper, his cock showing no signs of remorse on your sensitive g-spot.

"Atta, girl..." he mumbles, drunk in pleasure, not realizing. You don't know if that's what hurts more. "'Tis pussy? Mine. Yeah. You're my girl. My good, pretty little whore. You're mine, sugar. And I-"

He cuts himself off, speech faltering. You feel like hurting yourself more. For one last time.

"I love you too, Joel"

A whine falls off his pretty lips as spurts of white cover your leaking cunt. Then, he lets out a guttural groan from the orgasm, milking out the last of his remains inside your welcoming walls before collapsing next on top of you, utterly spent and exhausted.

"I said I love you"

He doesn't glance at you. "I heard"

"Joel" you call again, stern. Desperate. "We have to"

"Don't" is all he says.

You feel your eyes tear up again. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to come inside me and then toss me aside"

"And what should I do?" Joel spits. His tone may be harsh, but his eyes tell other story. They're helpless, scared. "Choose you over my own daughter?"

It hurts more than you thought. Not the answer you were expecting, even if it's the harsh truth.

"I'm not asking for that" you cut.

"Then what, doll? Certainly not a miracle. Doesn't fuckin' exist"

You get up, angrily dressing up. You're not asking for that, but why is he treating you like a nuissance, as not a person but as a problem that can't be solved. Like it's easier to say no and get rid of you than try. What happened to never letting go? Of loving you no matter what?

"Get out"

He laughs, dryly. "The fuck you gettin' mad for? What's supposed to happen, huh?" he gets closer, threatening. "That I took you 'n we ride off to da' fucken' sunset?"

You give him your back, so he doesn't see your burning eyes.

"No, but I told you to come so we could talk"

"Certainly ain't look like it with ma' dick 'nside ya'" he snickers.

The slap lands, harsh, with an echo bouncing off the walls.

"Fuck you, Joel"

He breathes, hard.

"We messed up. There's no changin' that"

"We've already been there, Joel. Why bring it up again?"

"'Cause my daughter ain't talkin' to me" he jabs, icy. "And it sure as hell is your fault"

"Stop" you say, temple throbbing. "Don't"

"No, you don't wanna-"

"No" you counter. "You are the one who doesn't want to face it. We've already talked about it before. Why are you acting like we haven't? Like Vegas didn't happen?"

"Because it was stupid!" Joel roars, rendering you speechless.

"What... what are you trying to say?" you ask, afraid of the answer.

"This whole thing..." he runs a hand across his face, "why did we think it was gonna work?"

"Because we love each other" you chide.

He looks like you've hit him again.

"Sometimes, sugar, love ain't enough"

Your heart stops beating.

"Joel, don't do this"

"I was selfish choosin' ya' before" he croaks. "Can't make that mistake again"

Your heart burns. "I'm a mistake?"

He looks like he's regretting his next words but he'd rather cut it from the root.

"One I'll never be able to forget"

"You're selfish, Joel" you spit, wounded.

"I'm aware. And I'll pay the price for it every single day of the rest of ma' life"

You go to your corner, like that'll protect you from everything crumbling down.

"Goodbye"

Hurt. Wrong. Wounded. Hopeless.

That's the last you hear from Joel Miller in a while.

Summers have gone by. Still, there's something that stayed under your skin, because memories always linger like bad perfume.

You're no longer that twenty one year old child who buried a love and friendship of a lifetime under the Texan sun, but a woman who spent the past years trying to forge walls to keep inside the love and the sins.

Arlington is alright.

Close to the place where your heart last beat but far enough to stay away from the air thick with memories, to every corner bathed by the phantom of his smell, the echo of his voice, in the wind, in the water and under your skin. To the last words he ever said.

Goodbye.

The end. One you refused to accept.

So you wandered, tethering the edge of just surviving, pretending there wasn't an ache in your chest every time you looked back and he wasn't there. When a couple passed by. When two friends laughed.

It's as if you were haunted, by guilt, by the past. Shackles seemingly impossible to shake, bounding you to an existence without who you cherished the most.

A sickness only the Millers had the remedy of, but they were too the ones you had been poisoned by. Rejection. Betrayal. Hurt.

Your punishing mind often went back to that night, wondering how things would've changed. If you had stopped, if you hadn't started at all.

Then you'd laugh, in that hollow, humorless laugh your selfish heart had mastered by now.

You'd chose Joel. Every single time.

Still, life went on, unforgiving. You worked until the etched burning hope would asfixiate by the mundane, filling your bed to erase the memory of his skin. But there was an indentation of his shape in the space where you could be touched but not held, like his lips were a tattoo you didn't chose and couldn't forget.

It was cruel, but it was the only thing you'd known since the night Joel walked away.

Today, it's no different.

There's a new silver thread among your hair and your coworker just recommended you a new shampoo. The bakery is selling fresh bread you buy before walking down the street you know by memory, but that of habit and not of loving; of knowing. There's an episode of the latest sitcom waiting, and a text you'll leave to rot until the ache of your body turns to craving. Maybe some workload will numb the itch, if you feel like advancing. There's cold lasagna in the fridge, from last Tuesday you cooked. You haven't taken out the trash yet, because the week hasn't ended. Friday is around the corner, lurking the blur of the weekend, and there goes another week of this life you're living.

And now the remote is not working.

Fuck.

You check it. Just the damn batteries.

Today, it's no different, except a late trip to the convenience store to save a late night Arrested Development marathon.

It's quiet, with the running conditioner and it's neon hues that overlap with your blues. The hallways are quiet and empty, people brushing by with small items or packed carts for two. The home you once had allowed yourself to dream of.

You find what you're looking for after a beat. Nothing ceremonious or relevant about it.

It's when you're walking up to the register when you hear it.

"Damn it!"

Followed by another curse. From another person.

"Why are you acting like I wanted to drop 'em? It's not my fault they fell!"

He calls her name, but you don't need names to recall that thick accent and sounds time has cast a spell you won't be able to ever forget.

They're here. Joel and Sarah. Together.

Last time he chose her. You chose her too. It was love, funnily, what broke it. Your shared love for a daughter and a good friend.

A part of you is happy they made ammends, or so it seems, but that they're together five years later has to mean something: that, at least, someone hadn't lost.

"And you gon' tell me that tower of chocolates was standin' in your way?"

"Okay, seriously. Who puts a damn tower in the middle of the hall?"

"Language..."

"I'm twenty-seven for Christ's sake! I'm not a baby anymore!"

You decide to part quietly. Was is it you'll win staying behind to hear voices that belong to a life that couldn't been made up, with all the time in between.

Another tower of chocolates isn't having your coward, selfless and seemingly noble act.

"Fuck!"

You hear their footsteps echoing closer, drowned by the sound of your heart.

"Seems you ain't the only one kickin' down towers..."

Sarah imitates a laugh before replying with her usual sarcastic tone she used when embarrassed and that witt that you admired. It hurts to even remember it still.

"Muscle memory. A star kicker doesn't simply forget her soccer college trayectory"

Your body seems rooted in place, like just breathing the same air as Joel kills you.

"There y'are. Need help?"

There's a helping hand and eyes you refuse to raise.

"Hey. S'alright" his voice turns softer, "it'll be okay. We all make mistakes"

You feel your lips wobble and that shine in your eyes only loneliness seemed to bring. Joel's words; that tone he used when he'd hold your body―smelling like him, warm as his, to say prayers he'd never allow himself to believe in before you. For the growing faith of loving you forever.

I love you.

I love you so fucking much. And if ya' can't accept that, can't believe in that, then… then I'ont know what the fuck I'm gonna do. 'Cause I can't lose ya', baby. I can't.

You won't. I'm here, Joel Miller. You won't lose me.

I won't leave 'cha, doll. You'll have to get rid of me first.

Every moment replays like a movie, but the burn of his words stays.

"Woah, easy. Sure you ain't need help?"

Maybe it was the hair, or the walls he too had built again himself. Sarah recognizes you first.

"No fucking way"

There's no warning for daughters who are too old to be chastised again, just the eerie silence that comes with realization, and the weight of years passed by pressing over your lungs.

"Y/n...?" he asks, voice raw and small, like a child lost at a mall. One that still believed in Santa; in magic. Haunted, like a man who too had been walking the Earth with a love left hollow by a heart so empty.

You run. What else are you supposed to do? Stay? Do that choice you couldn't make five years ago? Pretend you could look in the face the man you loved and the friend you betrayed? The sleeping sins you'd ignored by not looking in the mirror or allowing yourself to fall or let anyone in again?

"Wait!" he calls out, desperate, like he's reliving the day he lost you on the flesh, pain raging through his rapid breaths and sloppy steps.

"Dad!" Sarah follows behind, but he's forgotten how the world keeps spinning.

To him it's stopped. For him it's you.

Sun, moon and stars. Air. In the night, on the shadows that ressemble your voice and silhouette. In life itself.

Because anything reminded him of you. You were in every corner, prying, not like a disease but like an ivy, growing through the cracks of the stone he'd try to rebuild since you left. But weren't you always a stubborn little thing?

"Please!" he calls out, voice hoarse. In anguish. In a wretched cry for your name it sounds like tears dropping and hearts cutting instead.

You stop, but don't dare to turn around.

It had been easy to rip his image off your brain, until it started to show everywhere, like a penalty for trying to move on. It had been hard, then, to untie every red thread bound to you, woven into each memory. His face: it was the first you'd wake to and the last you'd see. It was punishment; perhaps guilt the strongest.

So you couldn't look back. Add more burden you couldn't forget.

"Please" he tries again. Hopeless.

You turn, allowing yourself to feel something. God, does it hurt.

His hair is greyer, and dissapearing wrinkles are now imprinted on his face. He's got sunspots, from summers you didn't know or work he didn't chatter to you anymore, like the sun itself came down to kiss his skin. His body remains the same. He smells the same. Sounds the same.

Like the man you loved. Like Joel Miller.

The one who seems relieved you haven't left yet. The one who his eyes shine with something you haven't allowed yourself to feel in agaes.

"Stay" he asks for more, as if you aren't bearing your soul already by just looking at him.

"Don't make me say it" you plead, voice filled with sorrow.

"Then don't" he walks closer, steps heavy with grief. "Not like last time"

Joel's closer. Close enough to see his tired defenses crumble and the ache swimming inside the brown of his eyes.

Of a man who's given up and wants to lay down under the warmth of the woman who stole his heart.

"What has changed?" you laugh between tears, dry.

You feel him take his hand, and it's unfair how the dead flowers bloom and the butterflies flutter as if a day hasn't gone by.

"That I can't let you go 'tis time" his voice laced with despair. "Last time I did, it almost killed me. Don't think I can survive it 'gain"

You want to scream and shout against him. Collapse into the same body you cursed moments before. The compass working. The lost ship finding the lighthouse among dark waters, making it's way back to the shore. Home.

But then you look back: to Sarah. To the collateral damage of your regrets.

You pull back. He can see it. You can see the hurt it leaves: of sand slipping through fingers. Of being so close you could almost feel it.

"Goodbye" like he too had once said. "Forget you ever saw me today"

You can't see him cry. You won't allow Joel to see you cry.

But your guilt-ridden feet don't take you to far. It's the touch of an old friend who stops you from leaving this time.

"Hey"

The girl who didn't think twice before sharing ice cream. Who talked back when people messed with you. The girl who gifted you every year what you wanted because she knew you better than you knew yourself. The same one who knew your best secrets and covered your bruises with Hello Kitty band-aids, even those that needed more than one.

She touches you like before. Before the pain and the treachery. When there was loyalty and a bond signed with falling milk teeth and chalk on the streets. Of off-tune karaoke or sleepovers where you'd talk 'till three. Soccer matches were you'd cheer and essays she'd review for you.

How you wished she'd touch you when it all came down. When you graduated but no one showed up. On those summers the sound of waves haunted you and vacation was just another reminder of what you'd pay for your crimes.

Your favorite one. Joel Miller.

"What?" you ask, not sharp but worn.

"Listen" she sighs, words heavy on her tongue. "I know what happened. I remember it all, but, if you could just..."

You wait. Waiting for the hope of it all. But don't dare to speak and burst what seems like a miracle.

"I know you loved my dad" she winces, making you bow your head down with the all too familiar shame. "And that he loved you"

You don't even dare to pronounce her name. You feel undeserving.

"I knew it then. I know it know" she sighs, "and the worst part? I see it hasn't changed"

Your heart goes up your throat. You look up.

"Don't give me that look" she laughs, bitter. "You always did it when things didn't go your way, like you needed compassion from others. Didn't you see you had it all? Everything you wanted?"

There's a pause. No one dares to break it, as if breaking it means no turning back.

"Why wasn't it enough? Why my dad?" her voice raises. "Why did my best friend had to also fuck my father?"

That's the wounds you didn't want to poke. The live flesh you carry still.

"Sarah-" you croak out.

"You think time made it better? That I could learn to accept it?" she shakes her head. "I don't think I can ever do"

"I'm sorry-" you rush, before she cuts you off again.

"Your apologies won't make it better, if that's what you think. The damage is done. Like I said, I don't think I'll ever accept it. But I've come to... it's become managable, I suppose. At least now I can see your face without wanting to kill you"

Your throat feels dry.

"C'mon, almost thirty and can't take a joke?"

You don't know if you're allowed to laugh. She must've seen it in your face. It's been almost a lifetime of knowing you, how could she not?

"Yes, you can laugh. Take the rare chance" she sighs. "Now, where was I? Right, that I wanted to kill you"

You flinch.

"The only reason I didn't, it's because of my dad. Same as of why we're even speaking right now"

You allow yourself to give Joel a quick look. He looks like a helpless puppy with big sad eyes.

"I don't even know what I'm doing, and I know it's contradictory, but I care about him, even if sometimes I don't want to see him either"

She takes one step forward. You take one back.

"I think what I'm trying to say is, I'm his daughter. I just want him to be happy"

Your breath hitches.

"And, God, I hate to say this, but he was happy with you"

Joel looks at you like he's finally allowed to do so. His eyes shine with unshed tears.

"What are y-?"

"You can start with hello, if you'd like" she cuts you off. "It's been a while"

Your aching heart throbs without the pain of beating without feeling for the first time again.

"Thank you" you whisper, voice breaking.

She turns. "i don't think we can be friends again. Or that I can forgive you" a beat goes by. "But I can't hold grudges, can I? Seems we're in this for a while..."

Sarah steps aside, a physical manifestation of her permission.

"He means it, you know?" she speaks as you walk past her. "I had never seen him before like that. Not even with my mother"

The pit in your stomach grows as you approach Joel, wary like an animal you don't want to scare. You aren't sure who's the prey and who's the predator anymore.

"Hey" you whisper, softly. "Sarah said I should start with that"

He chuckles, sheepish. "Yeah. 'S been a long time"

"So..."

"So..."

You laugh along. That doesn't stop the tears, though.

"I'm y/n" you say, extending you hand.

"Nice to meet 'cha. I'm Joel"

He takes your hand. It's warmth stings with the ache of longing. God, how hadn't you missed it. It still felt like it was meant to fit.

"Is this how people meet nowadays?" you try to joked amid a sob.

His hand lets go, finding it's way back to you. Back to the woman he fell in love with, with a face slightly older but always his.

"Dunno" Joel caresses your face, with the tenderness only his rough fingers seemed to be able to give. As you look into his eyes, it's the same man you chose seven summers ago, "but I think it's a good start"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif: @loregifs / tags: @klmr0 @fertilise-me

[jasminedragoon]

I WASNT INFORMED THERE WAS AN ENDINGGGG!!!! OH HOW I CRIEDDDDD UGLY CRIED?! Sarah is so patient for putting up with that and giving her blessings anyways

[dilf-docs]

i'm sorry u found out six months later ajdjjd i'm still a little conflicted with the ending but i'm glad u enjoyed reading it! 🫶🏼 not the crying but u get it

[chick66i]

To read

[littledes1re]

Mean, mean man ᥫ᭡.

Cw: 18+, smut, MEAN!joel, unspecified age gap, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dub-con, non-conish?, slightly toxic, possessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, NO safeword, psychical aggression: pinching, slapping, spanking, spitting into mouth, 'only the tip' as punishment, pinv, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, pet names (puppy, pet), praise, naive reader kinda, no outbreak

A/N: me sick and me bored and me horny af AND I've dreamt about mean!joel absolutely ruining my life so...i had to write something little. /Note: this one has abusive/unhealthy dynamic vibes. If that's not your thing, totally okay! just don't hit "continue reading" and then yell at me. ;) For the rest of you degenerates, I'm still working on requests AND sleazy!joel so enjoy, pookies <333

Joel Miller was one mean, mean man. 

But that's what you maybe liked about him. People would talk. Oh, how much they would talk. They would say he pinches too hard, slaps too rough, spanks you until you weep. They say he calls you puppy like a dog, pet like a thing, girl like you barely deserve that much. 

But they never see the way he holds you after—thumbs brushing the red mark on your cheek, voice low like gravel: "That's my girl."

He sometimes pinches your skin without looking up from his newspaper. 

Sometimes he doesn't even need a reason.

You'd be standing at the stove, stirring something for dinner, and he'd come up behind you. His fingers would find the soft skin just above your hip, pinch until your breath hitches, and he'd murmur right into your ear: "Been too quiet today, puppy. What's on that pretty mind?" 

You'd try to answer, but the words would come out shaky. 

He'd pinch harder. "I didn't tell you to speak." 

Until you'd go still, and he'd kiss the back of your neck like a reward.

Oh, but the slaps. 

Those would come when you really stepped out of line. 

Maybe you sassed him in front of the mailman. Maybe you rolled your eyes when he told you to fetch his boots. He didn't raise his voice. He never did. 

He just waited until you two were alone, then he'd take your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilt your head just so, and say: "You know what you did, girl." 

And then his palm would connect with your cheek, not hard enough to knock you over, but enough to make your ears ring and your eyes water. 

He'd hold you steady while you'd blink through the shock. "Better now?" he'd ask, soft and mean. 

You would nod, and he'd lean in and press his lips to the same cheek, a kiss so tender it hurt worse than the slap.

The spankings were a language all on their own. 

Over his knee in the living room, the fire crackling, his hand rising and falling with a rhythm that felt like a hymn. 

Each smack echoed through the old farmhouse. He'd count, but sometimes he'd lose track, stop, shrug, and start over. "Don't matter," he'd mutter. "You'll be red either way." 

By the end, your skin was heated, your thighs were wet, and you were crying on his flannel. He'd pet your hair, then his fingers would find your chin, tip your head back, and he'd spit into your mouth—a warm and slow act. 

"Swallow," he'd say, and you did. "That's it." 

Some nights he would only give you the tip of his cock—just the head, slick and warm, pressing against your entrance.

He'd lie behind you, half-asleep, one arm under your head, and nudge into you an inch, maybe less. 

Then he'd stop. "That's all you're gettin' tonight, puppy." He'd yawn. "Been real mouthy." 

And he'd fall asleep with just that tease inside you, leaving you clenched and desperate, your hips twitching against him in vain. He never stirred. He was dead to the world, and you were left in the half-dream of his presence, aching for more of a man who didn't even know he was torturing you.

Other nights, he'd take you slow out of pure meanness. 

He'd lay you out on the rug, spread your legs wide, and push into you with a patience that made you weep. 

Each thrust was a long, dragging press, his cock filling you inch by inch, then pulling back until just the head remained. 

"Beggin' without a sound, aren't you, girl?" he'd say, chuckling, thumb pressing into your clit just enough to make you gasp. "You want to come, puppy?" 

You'd sob out a yes. 

"Ain't that a shame." He'd speed up, just a fraction, enough to build that wave inside you—and then he'd stop. "No. Not happening." Over and over until you were a mess of sweat and pleadings, until you forgot your own name and only remembered his.

And when he lets you come (rarely), it's always almost an afterthought.

He'd be inside you, slow and deep, analysing your face, and you'd be wrapped around him, whimpering, and he'd sigh like he was tired of the whole thing. 

"Go on, then," he'd mutter, pressing his thumb into your clit. "Get it over with." And you wpuld shatter, and he'd grunt once, then pull out and spill all across your belly, his breath hot on your face. 

"Look at you, girl. Good puppy. Are you gonna thank your old man?"

And you did. You always did. 

Because under that meanness was a man who built his whole world around you—big shoulders and worn hands, a country house with a porch swing where he'd sprawl and let you curl at his feet like a cat. 

He'd stroke your hair and spit into your open mouth without breaking his gaze on the horizon, just because he could, just because you were his, and you'd swallow and feel like you were part of a story that had no beginning and no end.

This is not a story meant for other ears. 

It's a fairytale only you two know the ending to—a dream where the mean old man keeps his little pet safe, warm, and used under the same roof, and she wouldn't want it any other way.

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[chick66i]

To read

[daydreamingmiller]

pre-outbreak joel miller you will always be famous

[hauntedinkk]

soap and wandering hands ~ j.m

tags: MDNI!! FAUXCEST, NMPISA!!, DDDNE!!, 3.4k words, kidnapper joel, dd/lg, nicknames like bunny, baby/baby girl, i picture this as the night ellie and joel have their porch talk (after the talk), pervy joel, joel never dies in this series btw don’t worry, daddy kink, stockholm syndrome, reader is an adult, joel is in his late 50s, reader calls joel dad once accidentally, bath time, washing, fingering, orgasm, handjob, facial and fluff.

summary: bath time routine with daddy.

this is a series of oneshots that i am starting as the series i was writing completely burned me out. you don’t necessarily have to read the upcoming oneshots in the order of which they were posted as they are written without heavy plot.

you’d just sort of fallen into a routine ever since daddy found you in the woods.

you finally felt safe. for the first time in your short life, you felt like you could allow yourself to trust someone. to love someone too.

even if that meant he kept you locked in the cabin a few houses down from his own.

the day passed by in a peaceful bliss. you enjoyed watching the snow by the window and you kept the fire roaring too. joel had taught you how to light it when he first took you here and almost a year in, you’d finally mastered it.

part of you wished sometimes that you could go out there, feel the snow crunch beneath your boots or even be able to open the window and feel a snowflake drop onto your hand.

but you couldn’t. joel had fixed the windows so they couldn’t open and as for the door? he kept the key for himself somewhere.

but you didn’t mind — not really anyway. how could you when he’d given you everything you’d ever wanted. safety. a warm home.

you were perched on the couch, half laying down against the soft arm of the sofa. you kept a pillow propped behind your head, your book in hand as you read about the five lisbon sisters mysteriously taking their lives.

you perked up like a puppy anticipating their owner, the sound of the door unlocking and opening making you sit up and close your book.

joel walks in, his heavy footing indicating a hard day as he shook the snow from his hair like a wet, old dog. he pulls his jacket off and hangs it up on the hanger next to the door, turning around with a tired smile.

“hi there, baby girl,” he says, beckoning you over with a wave of his hand. you immediately jump up, skipping over with a wide smile and holding your hands up, indicating you want to be lifted. “ya want uppies?” joel chuckles, assisting you in climbing up into his arms. he groans heavily. “y’gettin’ big, honey.”

you smile into his neck and wrap your legs around his waist. “i missed you, daddy. i was waiting for you, what took you so long?” you ask, pouting as you pull back with your arms looped around his head.

joel smiles, bouncing you a little in his arms as he takes you over toward the couch, sitting down and setting you in his lap. “aw, baby. how’s my favourite girl?”

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arms around his middle. “m’good. i’m kinda sleepy, though. my eyes are tired from reading.”

joel runs a hand through your hair, petting you like the cutest little kitty. “aw, kiddo,” he coos, sitting you upright properly in his lap. “you’re really enjoyin’ that book, huh? little book worm, ain’t ya. how bout bath time now? get ya all cozy.”

you huffed, dropping your head into his chest and nuzzling your face into his scratchy flannel. “nooo, daddy. i hate bath time, you never make the water hot enough.” you groan.

joel tsks, tapping your back rather roughly in a warning. “hey,” he starts firmly. “watch your tone, young lady. i’m givin’ ya a roof over y’damn head and takin’ care o’ya. least ya can do is cooperate.”

you look back up at joel, swallowing harshly despite your reluctance. “m’kay. but.. promise you’ll make the water hot.”

joel swallows his firmness, huffing as a slow smiles creeps onto his face. “fine. now get up, lazy ass.”

joel uses his hand to test the temperature of the water, glaring at you slightly as you happily swing your legs that are dangling off the bathroom counter. you giggle as you hear him hiss at the heat of the water, seemingly not having much tolerance for warm water.

“c’mere. check f’this waters good enough for ya before daddy burns his damn hand off.” he groans, sitting back on his heels on the ground by the tub, rubbing his hand on the material of his flannel to dry and soothe it.

you smile as you hop off the counter, walking over with a spring in your step as you test it yourself of the back of your hand. you exhale in satisfaction as the water slightly yet sweetly burns your hand. “s’perfect, daddy. thank you,” you say, leaning in and pressing a kiss to joel’s scratchy cheek. “i don’t know why you’re so dramatic about it, it’s not even that hot.” you chuckle, sitting back on your heels the same way he was.

joel shakes his head, standing up on creaky knees and reaching down to lift you up into his arms, sitting you down onto the counter once again. “c’mon, arms up. get these clothes off, hm?”

you comply, lifting your arms above your head to allow joel to pull your shirt off. he reaches around your back and pulls the clasp of your soft, white bra off, letting the material drop to the floor to be dealt with later. he smiled as he looked at your exposed torso, his hand reaching down to cup one of your small breasts, his thumb brushing over your pink, soft nipple. “how bout that? prettiest damn girl in jackson.”

you squirm, forcing a pout on your face. you push Joel’s hand away. “stooop, joel. you’re so gross.” you whine, scrunching up your nose.

joel rolls his eyes, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead and signalling you to lift your hips. “bossy. callin’ daddy by his first name too. y’know that ain’t allowed.” he tuts, pulling your sweatpants and worn panties down all in one go and allowing them to drop to the floor.

he then grabs your hand gently, guiding you off the bathroom counter and toward the tub. you smile to yourself, enjoying your brattiness and the way joel reprimands you.

you lift your leg and dip your toe into the bath water, testing that the temperature is perfect before — while using Joel’s assistance — climbing into the tub and easing yourself down into the soapy water.

you moan softly in contentment, tilting your head back onto the tiled wall comfortably. “mm, s’nice.”

joel smiles softly, reaching out and gathering you hair in his hands to ensure it doesn’t get wet. “yeah? you my happy girl now, bunny?”

you nod silently, enjoying the feeling of joel combing your hair with his blunt nails.

“good girl,” he praises. “you just relax. pass me that hair tie thingy off y’wrist.”

you open your eyes, turning your head toward him. “are you gonna do my hair?” you ask hopefully.

you always did love when joel did your hair. surprisingly, he was quite good at it, precise with it too. you guessed it was from having his little girl before the outbreak. and maybe he did ellie’s hair too. he didn’t really talk much about her. all you knew was that she was nineteen and she didn’t spend much time with him anymore — always too busy with her friends and girlfriend.

you supposed that was why he loved taking care of you. if you knew anything about joel, it was that he liked having someone to be responsible for. so when sarah died, he found ellie, and when ellie became distant, he found you.

and you definitely didn’t plan on leaving.

joel nods, leaning down and pressing another kiss to your face, this time to your lips. he didn’t kiss you there often and when he did, it was normally just a peck. he was your father figure after all.

you kiss him back before he pulls away, watching his eyes open again. he was just so handsome, wasn’t he?

“mhm. gonna do a braid or somethin’. that okay?” he asks splitting your hair into three pieces anyway.

“uh huh. i like when you do my hair, dad.”

joel pauses slightly, folding the first piece over the middle piece of hair. “none of that kiddo, c’mon. remember what i said, hm? daddy’s good but.. not dad, yeah?”

you flush a little, nodding and swallowing harshly. “yeah, right. sorry, it just slipped out.”

joel quickly braids the rest of your short hair. “s’okay, bun. s’just a mistake — daddy always makes mistakes.”

you weren’t really sure why this happened — calling joel dad you mean. you guess it just comes from not having a father growing up. you knew it wasn’t normal though, calling a man like joel dad especially considering the sort of things you did together.

you feel a little bit of sadness wash over you, the room feeling a little awkward. joel seems to notice this, so, tying the band around the remains of your hair, he stands up, unbuttoning his flannel.

“what are you doing?” you ask, the water lapping a little as you move.

“gon’get in with my baby girl. there a problem with that?” he asks, his tone playful in an attempt to lighten your mood. you smile and shake your head no, watching as he stripped himself of his shirt and pants, pulling off his boxers.

you watch his half hard cock bob to life between his legs, his heavy balls looking ever so appealing. you swallowed, watching as joel approached you. you weren’t really sure why he was hard in the first place, he always seemed to be when he was around you, especially when you looked like this. your pretty nipples and breasts sitting above the water, your neck looking so biteable.

“scootch up a little f’me, would ya kiddo?” he says, waving his hand forward as he raises his leg to step into the bath. you do just that and scoot forward, allowing joel to settle down in the bath, pulling you back against his chest

you turn your head around, a grin falling onto your lips as you take in the big man behind you who’s chest hair was now decorated with bubbles. “you look kinda funny.”

joel mirrors your smile, like daddy like daughter, huh kiddo? “what’cha mean, ‘ya look funny’?” he asks, reaching out and wrapping both hands tight around your waist, his fingers digging into your skin slightly. “you tryna’ say somethin’, baby?”

you burst into a fit of giggles, squirming slightly to try and remove yourself from his firm grip. as you thrash around in the water, you feel your lower back lean back into something hard — something poking you.

and you knew what that was, didn’t you?

you quiet down suddenly, slowly melting back into his touch.

joel hums, his grip on you softening a little when he feels your head relax back into his chest. “yeah, ya know what that is, don’t ya?” he says, he voice low and gravelly in your ear, sending a swirling feeling to your lower belly, a feeling that suddenly makes you want to squeeze your thighs together.

“yeah.. yeah, ya do,” he agrees, one hand that was loosely set on your side slowly slides up towards your right breast, his large hand cupping the soft skin of your tit as he tweaked your nipple to life with his thumb. “s’daddy’s cock, ain’t it sweet thing? s’real hard f’ya, kid.”

you whimper, leaning back to feel more of his touch, if that was even possible. “want you to touch me now, daddy..” you whisper pathetically.

joel’s fingers slide over your slippery clit, feeling the bundle of nerves pulse beneath his digit. it makes him smile, because it’s just so fucking sweet isn’t it? how riled up he get you even if it’s just from his words.

he’d sort of wired you to be this way though — shaped you into this sensitive little thing that he could toy with so easily.

you arch up into his touch, groaning lowly in your throat when he massages you just right, feeling the way your body reacts from his touch. your opening drools more warm, sticky arousal for joel to coo over and use to lubricate his fingers.

he chuckles behind you, resting his chin on top of your head, nuzzling into your hair. “jeeze, honey. she’s just makin’ a damn mess for ‘er daddy, hm? such a pretty little pussy.”

“dad — daddy, please. want them inside.” you whine, becoming restless in his arms. there was a tight knot in your stomach and it was getting so unbearable that you were damn near at the point of tears.

and joel feels bad — he’s not the devil, he doesn’t like to tease you. you just make it too easy to resist. and why not have a little fun with you? toy with you a little. I mean, it wasn’t like you were going anywhere, y’know? he’d made sure of that. that was what locked doors were for.

joel laughs into your hair, dipping his head down and pressing a sloppy, scratchy kiss to your neck. “ohhh, daddy’s just teasin’, bunny. it’s okay, I’ll give ya what ya want.”

his fingers slip down to your wet hole, his middle finger tracing the outline of your opening. the sensitive nerves throb beneath him and it makes your breath hitch. you hold it unintentionally, bracing yourself for that initial stretch.

and then he slides one in. just one. and it’s so fucking perfect.

you absolutely curl into him, your hand wrapping around his thick arm that was loosely around your waist. “oh, daddy..” you pout, your gummy walls relaxing and lubricating his single finger.

“that’s good, ain’t it? tell me how much ya like daddy’s finger in your pussy while he works her open.” he encourages, using his wrist to pump his finger in and out — not completely pulling it out, but just enough to make you hiccup.

“i — i do i..” you scramble for the words but your head goes hazy when his ring finger joins in on the motion. “i love it when you tou-touch me like this.” you manage.

“usin’ y’words so well, honey. c’mon, you reach down and rub that clit f’me. you make yourself feel good.”

and you do. because — let’s face it — you want to cum just as bad as joel want’s you to, don’t you? so you reach down and clumsily find that little nub at the top of your vulva, your fingers pressing down and moving in slow, practised circles — just the way daddy taught you.

“yeah, that feels so good.” you choke, tossing your head back dramatically as you clench around Joel’s fingers that had now set the perfect pace.

he knew just how to take care of you, though. just how far to push you and just when to reel things in. but it wasn’t surprising, it was what daddy’s were for. well, at least that was he told you.

“fuck yeah, it does,” he growls, curling his fingers up against that spongy spot nestled deep in your walls. the spot he knew just how to find. “gonna make daddy cum in a minute if ya keep makin’ those noises. reach around and give him a hand, would ya?”

he sounded so desperate too, like getting you off was somehow getting him off. and he wasn’t even touching himself. it did make joel feel a little old though. he knew he wasn’t twenty anymore, but hell, cumming untouched made him feel like a fucking grandpa.

you reach around lazily with the hand that wasn’t touching your clit, wrapping it around his hard, leaking, bath-water damp cock. you blindly use your wrist to jerk him up and down, twisting ever so often at his tip.

and it was just so slow, wasn’t it? at least that’s how it felt to you. his fingers dragged over that special spot so slowly. the way the heel of his palm rutted against your clit so perfectly was creating the prettiest stars in your head.

you couldn’t help but let the loud moan deep in your gut spill from your lips. it wasn’t cute or dainty — it was raw, straight from your soul. “oh yeah, yeah, yeah,” you pant, arching your back up, your hand slacking on joel’s cock.

“yeah baby, you cum on daddy’s fingers. you show him just how much you needed this,” he says, clearly not too bothered about his own pleasure at that moment, that could wait for later. “show me how much ya missed me today.”

but you couldn’t respond, could you? you just stayed arched up, the tight knot in your stomach being pulled so tight until you just had to release that tension — that unbearable goddamn tension that had you so worked up. it was like a water balloon being filled too much that it had no choice but to pop — burst, even.

and that’s exactly what you did. you bursted.

you mouth fell open dumbly, your head dropping back just around Joel’s collarbone as if it just gave up on holding itself up. you couldn’t even make any noise — couldn’t speak. all you could do was feel it.

joel moves his fingers lightly over your g-spot to ensure he’d milked every last ounce of cum from your body. his voice was like a silky smooth drawl in your ear — the kind of voice described in romance movies. “there she is, makin’ a damn mess of herself. daddy’s girl — his lil bunny.”

yes — yes, you were daddy’s bunny, you were. was about all you could mumble from your mouth, if you’d actually made any sound, you weren’t even that sure.

joel groans low in his chest — so low you didn’t even really hear him at first. but then you heard the lapping of the water, the splashing. you groggily, turn your body around so you’re facing him. and then you realised what he was doing.

he was fucking.. jerking off.

“d-daddy?” you say, watching joel hazily drag his eyes to yours. but when he does, it isn’t that loving, sweet gaze. it’s hungry. desperate even.

“lean down f’me. come on, quick. let daddy paint that pretty face.” joel orders through his teeth, his hand going to your hair and fisting it harshly, dragging your face down to his cock without even giving you a chance to do it yourself.

you yelp a little but really it’s just for show. you did like when daddy made a mess on your face, he said it was a special thing that he’d only ever done with you.

you close your eyes, sticking your tongue out flat — just enough to make joel groan. “good girl,” he grunts, his fist moving faster as he feels that bursting feeling in his balls as his tip starts to spurt. “here it comes.”

you feel the creamy globs coat your skin — your tongue, cheeks, forehead. and it feels so dirty.

but that was what you liked about it, wasn’t it?

joel tucks the blanket around your body as you settle into bed, his hand reaching out to brush a piece of hair from your face. “was just what i needed, baby girl. daddy had a real hard day, y’know.”

you melt back into the mattress, your eyelids fighting to stay open. you’re so damn beautiful, joel thinks. you try to keep the conversation alive but exhaustion seeps into your voice. “mm.. how come, daddy?” you ask, bringing your fist up to your eye and rubbing it as a yawn takes over.

joel chuckles at your tired form. this was probably the worst part about his visits to you — leaving.

he hums and leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead and grabbing the stuffed, raggedy teddy bear he’d looted for you yonks ago, tucking it in beside you. “don’t matter now. you go to sleep, daddy’ll see ya tomorrow, bunny.”

your eyes fall closed, your sleepiness finally taking over your body. “night, daddy.”

joel smiles. “night, baby girl.”

tag list (no pressure): @cinnxmxngxrl @mabelmiller @tbr22pile @littledes1re @sugarcookiecupcakeprincess @msxjennipascal @nastydawggg @fae-monster @pillow-princess-69 @pascalixpunk @subconsciouscollapse @literatureheretic @winterhawkgf @ilovetoomanymen @graveyardofemotions @mytearsricochetm @muttamaro @pressgforgoodgirl @blushinglace @willowsages-blog @joeldarling @sleepybansheee @silly-pret-ttyboy @goonbarisi @dixie-isnt-cool @lilac-boo @brittmb115 @layaispunk @millermami @pascalixpunk @literatureheretic @mcthsman @livingundeadgirllz @nyctxphilian @hanahleah @shivispunk @xojdmasf @styleslfreak @valyrianjoel @lemon-ice-pops @axshadows @fallout-girl219 @94namkooksworld @dietmountaindewsposts @there1snothingleft4u @penvisions @sweetyyhippyy @in-pedros-smile @joelmillerswifey @sunlitrecs

[littlepadika]

Ahhhh daddy 😩🧸💗 wanna b his good girl so bad!!

[tomshiddles]

PEDRO PASCAL as Joel Miller The Last of Us 01x05

[chick66i]

Papi

[cinnag1rl]

Hey everyone might be posting this in a few days (maybe less) ! Remember drink loads of water and take care of yourselves💗 ⛰️ i forgot to add tags mb

Its uploaded!! <——

Camping & Lovin’ 𝜗ৎ ₊ ⊹ ᰔᩚ

!soft Joel! x reader

Taglist link!!

Tags/TW :MDNI,Age gap (50s and 20s) (Not implied directly), Nicknames (baby, honey, etc), Daddy kink, fluff and smut, hunting animals ,Manual restraint, public sex but its in the middle of nowhere, soft kisses, lots of loving, Slight daddy kink,

Summary: You never got the chance to go camping, so Joel takes you to a camping/hunting trip for the first time!

W.C: 1.7k

Taglist: Tell me if you want to be removed💗 or if i got a user wrong!

@nutbutterjellie @biagaloree @Justaprettyprincess @fuzzyfawnnn @katalinablossom @aria1108 @mrs-miller03 @dugiioh @tomtohee @wand-erer5 @lambe-rt

Much love goes to you💗

[chick66i]

To read

[rugrats05]

Laughing at the idea of Tommy thinking that getting to know Ellie would be easy because she's so outgoing, but the second Joel's out of the room, she's silent and stone-faced like nobody's business. One second she's joking around with them, but once Joel gets up, she's off and scurrying after him like a little duckling. It takes months for the kid to actually tolerate his presence without Joel in the room.

I kinda feel like they dealt with it the same way you deal with dropping off a baby at daycare. You get them engaged in an activity, a little hand grasping onto their parent's shirt or knee, and then the parent slowly and silently creeps away.

Joel literally has to stand right next to Ellie, her little body pressed against his, and Tommy has to immerse her in something she likes, like space or dinosaurs, and then Joel can slowly back away. It works like 60% of the time.

I'm just imagining Tommy showing her a toy dinosaur he found for her on patrol, while Joel is trying to navigate out of the kitchen, and then he bumps into a chair or something, and the sound makes her realize she's alone in the kitchen without Joel and she's like 'fuck my person is leaving' and scurries after him and they have to start to whole process over.

[hauntedinkk]

He reminds me of a big old tired dog who just wants belly rubs and head scratches

[simpingforjoel]

mr. miller would get sick of me trying to bury my fingers in his hair and scratching his happy trail every chance I get!!!!! I couldn’t leave that old man alone even if I tried no matter who is around!!! *whines and makes grabby hands at the sexiest senior citizen in all of jackson*

[pedge-page]

But imagine he's this closed off figure in Jackson, and youre just trying to help him settle and relax. He doesnt like you in his house, doesnt like you stocking his pantry, doesnt like you fluffing his pillows. Every time you touch soemthing, he undoes it. But its really because he doesnt want to get used to your scent and touch on everything he uses.

And then at some point you cook for him. Hes a little tipsy. He talks about his headache and you force him to lie down, his head on your lap as you run your fingers through his salt and pepper curls. Hes very standoffish at first but soon starts to settle. Everything becoming untense and he melts into your body. The tickling sensations on his scalp sending signals all over his body to rest, endorphins triggering release for thr first time in years.

It gets to a point where daily he plops himself on the couch, looks at you with expectant eyes, until you come over to rub his head, face, chest, all of it always resulting in him snoring. And then you have the problem of this giant weight on top of you that wont move so you gotta get comfortable too.

It genuinely is like an old dog.

[chick66i]

Omg 😭🥰