🩷

Late 30s. Feminine but not delicate. NC born & raised. Love for dark things & unique beauty

[yeah-thats-not-it]

Girls just want to make you mad so you’ll fuck them harder

[littledes1re]

Easy Fix

Pairing: Daddy's best friend + mean!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: It was just supposed to be an easy fix. On the stuffed animal, thighs gripping it and in your mind your daddy's best friend. Surely, you hadn't planned for him to catch you. Or to bend you over his knee. Or to be balls deep into you the next moment, right?

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Mean!joel (he is back!!), huge age gap (20s and 60s), grinding on stuffed bear, orgasm denial, spanking, size kink, pet names, praise kink, slight degradation, pinv, clit rubbing, unprotected sex, crying, slight dub-con, darcyphilia, slight fauxcest (Joel calls himself uncle), dbf!joel, stern but also sweet joel, slight hair pulling, no outbreak

A/N: ummm my ADHD has been doing parkour in my brain so Sleazy!joel is taking his sweet time 😭 BUT I did write this little filler based on the mean!joel idea I had a few days ago, so enjoy this filthy mess pookies <333

Being home again is…unusual, to say the least.

Memories, emotions, things you thought you’d outgrown. You kneel besides an open box, sorting through old notebooks and trinkets, but your mind keeps wandering.

When you straighten up, your eyes catch the stuffed animal sitting in the corner of your bed, its fur a little worn, its button eye slightly crooked.

It looks like its been already waiting for you.

But you know that your dad mentioned that Joel was gonna stop by and pick up some tools he wants to borrow for a weekend project and—that could be nothing unusual, since Joel has been like an uncle to you while growing up but right now with the house so empty and your thoughts running, you find yourself giving in to that secret itch, straddling your old stuffed bear on the bed.

That plush toy, with its threadbare fur and button eyes, has been your guilty escape for years, especially with thoughts of Joel creeping into your fantasies back then—his broad shoulders, that deep voice, the way he handles everything around the house while having that strict, authoritative way about him—the same tone your dad uses, only sharper, meaner, and somehow aimed always right at you.

Your skirt is bunched around your waist, panties tugged aside, and you're rocking slowly, the soft seam of the bear's belly pressing juuuust right against your aching clit.

But lost in the rhythm...you do not hear the front door opening downstairs.

Heavy footsteps echo up the stairs, pausing outside your door. A knock—light, hesitant.

"Hey, kiddo? Your dad around? He said he'd leave them tools in the kitchen, but I figured I'd check up here too." Joel's voice; that thick, rough, southern drawl wrapping around the words like warm gravel. 

Before you can even respond, the door creaks open, and there he is...tall and big, flannel shirt sleeves rolled up over forearms corded with muscle, jeans hugging his solid thighs. 

His eyes widen as he takes in the scene: you frozen mid-grind, thighs spread over the bear, your face flushing hot with embarrassment.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he growls, "What in the hell are you doin', girl? Humpin' away on some goddamn stuffed bear like a bitch in heat? Your daddy'd skin you alive if he saw this shit." 

He doesn't yell. Yet. But there's an edge to it, stern, like he's caught you sneaking cookies, not this. 

His jaw tightens, and he averts his eyes for a beat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, the picture of a man wrestling with himself. 

'Shouldn't even be in here. This ain't right. Girl's barely outta her teens, and here I am, starin' at... fuck.' Guilt flashes across his weathered face, creasing those lines around his eyes, but his boots stay rooted to the floorboards. 

He doesn't back out. Instead, his gaze flicks back to you, conflicted, a flicker of something darker stirring beneath the disapproval—his jeans tensing slightly at the crotch, betraying him.

You scramble to pull your skirt down, heart pounding, but the words stick in your throat. 

"Joel, I—it's not what it—" 

He steps closer, slow, like he's approaching a skittish animal, his big frame making the room feel small. 

"Save the excuses, honey. What would your daddy think, huh? Me walkin' in on his little girl like this, all desperate and spread out on a damn toy? He trusts me to look after you when he's out, not to...hell, this is a mess." His tone's firm, paternal almost, laced with that sternness, but there's a coo in the way he says 'honey,' softening the rebuke just a touch. 

He reaches out, his large hand gentle as he grips your upper arm, pulling you off the bear with ease. 

The toy tumbles to the side, fur matted with your slickness, and you stand there on shaky legs, panties still to the side, feeling tiny next to him.

"Now, you listen here," he says, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed besides him as he lowers his weight onto the mattress. 

His thigh presses against yours, warm and solid, and you can feel the heat radiating from him—the hard line of his cock straining against his jeans, impossible to ignore. 

"You're better than this, sweetheart. Rubbin' yourself raw on some childhood relic 'cause those boys at school ain't cuttin' it? That's no way to learn about your body." He pauses, hand resting on your knee, thumb traicng slow circles. "But actin' like your uncle, I gotta teach you right. Can't have you hurtin' yourself on nothin' but fluff."

Your breath hitches at the contact, arousal pooling hotter despite the embarrassment. 

"Joel, please...I didn't mean for you to see," you whisper, but your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants, betraying your thoughts.

He chuckles low, a rumble in his chest, but it's not cruel—more like a man who's seen too much and knows how to handle it. 

"Oh, I see plenty, girl. And that pretty face all flushed? Makes a man wanna help." His hand slides up your thigh, calluses rough but careful, pushing your skirt higher, taking a peek of your pussy. "But first, a little reminder of what happens when you get into trouble. Over my knee—c'mon now."

He pats his lap sternly, but his eyes soften. "It'll sting, but you'll thank me later, honey."

Trembling, you drape yourself across his lap, ass up, the position exposing you fully as your skirt flips over. He's so, so big—your small frame fits perfectly over his thick thigh and you feel his hardness press against your belly, a promise of what's to come. 

"Good girl, takin' this like you should," he murmurs, praise slipping in before the first smack lands—firm but measured, the crack echoing softly. It stings, heat blooming, and you yelp, tears pricking your eyes.

"Easy now," he coos, hand rubbing the spot immediately after. "That's for bein' sneaky in your daddy's house. He raised you all good—don't need you ruinin' it on toys."

Another spank, a bit harder, on the other cheek, and you squirm, the friction against his cock making him groan quietly. 

"There you go, your skin's turnin' pink so pretty."

He alternates, five or six measured swats, each followed by a stroke or a soft word—"Breathe through it, baby, you're doin' fine" building the burn without overwhelming.  

Tears well up, spilling hot down your cheeks, and he notices, thumb brushing one away when you turn your head. 

"Cryin' already, huh?" He chuckles. 

By the end, your ass throbs, red and sensitive, panties soaked through. 

He helps you up gently, but his eyes darken as he tugs the fabric aside, exposing your dripping folds, middle finger touching your lips. 

"So wet from a spankin'. Pussy's all shiny and swollen—too sweet for what those boys got, I bet. But I can fix that, teach you how a real man handles it."

His middle finger stays between your folds as he stands, unzipping his jeans, his cock jumping free—massive, thick and veined, easily bigger than anything you've ever had. 

"Back on that bear, c'mon" he orders, guiding you with a hand on your waist. "Gonna show you the difference, but you grind nice and slow—learn to build it just right." 

You straddle the toy again, the fur already damp and sticky from before, a yucky reminder as it clings to your slick skin. 

Lowering yourself, you begin to rub tentatively, the plush dragging against your clit in messy slides—gross, the way it mats further with your arousal, but thrilling under his watch.

Joel positions himself behind you on the bed, his weight making it dip, hands spanning your hips easily. 

"That's it, babygirl, move those hips," he praises, voice gravelly as his cockhead nudges your entrance, hot and blunt. But he doesn't thrust yet—teases, sliding along your folds. "Feel how big I am? Your little hole's flutterin' so scared but wantin'. Your daddy would have my hide for this, but you need teachin'—can't let you settle for less."

Guilt flickers in his tone, but he presses forward, just the tip nudging you, stretching your tight walls with a burn that makes you gasp.

"Oh—Joel, it's too much," you whimper, tears starting again, body tensing as you grind on the bear, the fur chafing wetly, adding to the overstimulation.

"Shh, easy, sweetheart," he coos, one hand stroking your back tenderly while the other fists your hair lightly, not yanking hard—just guiding your head back to arch you. "Breathe, honey. You're so tight, squeezin' like you were made for this fat cock. Just the head—feel it? Push back slow now."

He inches deeper on your movement, talking you through each bit: "There, darlin', another inch. Your pussy's openin' up so good, even if it hurts a lil'. Cry if you need to; those tears tell me you're feelin' it right." 

He groans when you sob, his hips twitching, but he keeps it paternal, praising: "Good girl, takin' your lesson."

One hand grips your hips, his cock entering your walls. "Going deeper now—yeah, juuuust like that."

You rock on the bear, the wetness intensifying—the plush soaked, strands sticking to your thighs and folds, a filthy grind that makes squelching sounds with each roll. It's degrading, the childhood toy turned lewd, but his voice anchors you. 

"Grind harder on that thing," he instructs, meaner now. "but don't you dare to cum yet. Earn it by lettin' me fill you proper." 

He sinks halfway, the stretch agonizingly full, your small hole straining around his girth. 

"What would your daddy say? Hm? His girl stretched on her uncle's dick."

Tears stream freely now, mixing pain and pleasure as he bottoms out finally, balls resting against the bear's fur. 

"All in—feel me in your belly? Hold still, darlin', adjust to it." He holds, stroking your sides, cooing praises: "Proud of you, takin' every inch like a champ." 

Then, after a while, thrusts start—slow drags out, then pushes in, talking through them: "Out easy...easy. Now in...deep. That's it." 

You cry harder, the dual sensations overwhelming—the bear's damp fur rubbing your clit in sticky, gross friction, his massive length pounding relentlessly. 

"That's it...real deep." He whispers. 

"Joel—please, it hurts so good," you sob, grinding down.

"Yeah? Tell me more, honey," he urges, hand leaving your hair to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple. "How's that big cock feel compared to your toy? Deeper than any boy could go—gonna make you forget 'em all." 

His pace builds, hips snapping, but he denies you—slowing when you clench. 

"Not yet, babygirl. Hold it for me. Cry those pretty tears but don't cum." 

Minutes drag, drawn out with his mix: harsh commands like 'Take it harder—learn it, that's it.' and tender coos like 'Almost there, baby, you're perfect.'

Your tears straining your cheeks, your cunt clenching down, as you try to hold the orgasm.

"Milking me so well. Pussy is eager to cum, huh?" He asks, stroking your sides. His thrusts quicken, head pressing right into sweet spot in you.

Finally, as your body quakes, he growls approval. 

"Alright, cum now, honey. Real slow. Let go around my cock and on that bear." His thumb presses your clit against the plush, rubbing through the mess, while he pushes his cock deep into your cunt. You shatter—screaming, tears flooding, grinding wildly as waves crash, his thumb amplifying the release. 

Joel follows, burying even deeper, cock releasing hot spurts and filling you up slowly. "That's it, here it comes. Take it real deep into that small pussy."

He collapses over you briefly then, breath hot on your neck, cock still releasing the smallest amounts of cum into you. He pulls out slightly, watching everything drip down onto the bear. 

"Your dad's gonna kill me," he mutters, his hand strokes your back almost tenderly. "But you needed that lesson. Don't let me catch you on that toy again—unless I'm here to fix it."

I feel like i could've made him a bit meaner...but idk.

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

Extra: @ashleyfilm @sworqfelins @cinamqnr0ll

[littledes1re]

@classybroad2 @locaparapedrito @kImrO @dragonslayer669 @pleurspetal @am-3-thyst @valoxwayward @imdoingitareyou @sweetmoonstarxx @strawberrylipglossx @chloeee20 @starry-swan @pretty-pink-princesss @fuzzyfawnnn n @griddygiant @toooldtoloseit @edennuit @silfaestre @keylimebeag @realultracunt @babyad @Adashofpurple @k4t13ispunk @biagaloree @biagaloree @tyitri @knewings @simpingforjoel @violatedvibrators @rafeysgirl5 @akiyhara @peachtreeinthegarden @sophsturnioloz @absolutebimbo-doll @byzyz @sweetpeakarolinaaa @jade10077 @spicytunarolllll @sstargirrl @imjustaprettyyprincess @girlymoviegal @sunshineflowersandkisses @joelmillerspnk @taniamiller @generaldisdainn @valyrianjoel @meowmah @shrewdreader

[astr0veil]

Fine, I'll Do It Myself

Summary: Tired from waiting around for Joel to come back, you take matters into your own hands.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F! Reader

Warnings: minors dni, f! reader, large age gap (Joel is 58, reader in twenties), smut, established relationship, masturbation, orgasm control, genitalia pronouns, unprotected piv, breeding, creampie

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: This is my first time ever writing. This was originally written in October but I didn't have the guts to post it until now, hence the fall vibes. English is not my native language, so forgive me for any mistakes!

divider by @strangergraphics

Joel had always been a busy man, even before you and him started dating. Whether it was going out on patrols, helping people around Jackson with whatever chores needed doing— the list was never-ending. And while you admired that about him, wanting to help people, sometimes you couldn't help but wish he was around more for you.

You had frowned as you watched him put on his worn brown boots, eyes locked on the way he tied the shoelaces with those big, rough hands of his. You were leaning against the doorframe, your arms crossed in front of you.

"Joel, do you really have to go?" You pouted. "I was hoping to spend some time together tonight."

Joel pulled the laces taut under his calloused fingers. He didn't look up, not immediately. His voice was low and gravelly when he spoke, standing back up.

"I know, darlin'. Won't be long. Someone's gotta patrol the west perimeter. People saw some fresh tracks. Ain't nothin' to mess with," he said, lifting his gaze to meet your eyes.

You pouted again, huffing slightly. "… I made pie."

It was a last resort to get him to stay, but from the way he looked at you, you could already tell he wouldn't be able to give in.

He adjusted the collar of his jacket, the fabric rustling. "We talked 'bout this, darlin'," he said, his voice softer this time. "Can't risk things. Not out here. Need to make sure everyone's safe."

He reached for his rifle, eyes filled with something close to regret. He wanted nothing more than to stay with you, spend the evening having you cuddle up close to him, eat that pie you'd made. But safety was important.

Before he turned to walk out the door, he looked at you once more. "I'll… I'll make it quick tonight. Try to be back 'fore dark. And tomorrow we'll figure somethin' out to make up for today."

You perked up a little at that.

"Promise?" You asked, your pout easing ever so slightly.

A small smile made its way onto his face.

"Promise. I've gotta go now. I love you," he said, leaning down and pressing a gentle, sweet kiss against your lips. It was the kind of kiss that left you wanting more, and deep down you know that was exactly his intent too.

"Save me a slice of that pie of yours," he whispered, pressing one last kiss to the top of your head. Then he turned out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind him.

-----

One hour turned into two. Two then turned into three. And then four.

You tried to keep yourself busy by reading through some of the magazines Joel had brought back for you a few weeks ago during one of his patrols. There was a whole stack of them, mostly about nonsense topics people seemed to care about a lot back in the day.

Seriously, who cares what colors look best during fall?

You laid on your stomach on the bed, the lamp on the bedside table barely bright enough to light up the room, reading. From page to page.

At one point, realizing that it had been a long time since Joel had left, you checked the time.

Four hours. He'd been gone for four hours.

You remembered his words. I'll make it quick tonight. Yeah, right.

Rolling onto your back, you sighed. You stared at the ceiling. You'd been so excited to finally spend some proper time with him. It had been weeks if not months since you'd last been intimate with him.

You knew it wasn't because he didn't want to, because Joel made sure to kiss you and grope at you any chance he got— he was simply too busy. And you ended up suffering in the process, because you wanted him so very badly.

Before you knew it, your mind started wandering. You began thinking about his lips first. Then about the way his scrubby beard would tickle against your fingers when you cradled his face with your hands. Then his hair, the salt-and-pepper colors always making your heart race as you ran your fingers through it, and how he'd groan lowly whenever you did.

Slowly your hand began sliding down, crawling down to your stomach, teasing the bare skin where your shirt had lifted upwards slightly. Goosebumps covered your skin, the touch of your own hand enough to make you shiver.

If he was going to stay away for so long, might as well do it yourself, right?

Closing your eyes, you imagined it was him. In your mind it was Joel who was lifting your shirt, past the curves of your soft belly, pushing the fabric up over your tits.

Then he'd let his calloused, big hands roam over your skin in a way that was almost reverent. He'd tease you a little before finally giving you some friction.

His thumbs would glide up to your bra, teasing your nipples that were already hard from the way he'd look at you. He'd brush them slowly, then circling, whispering filthy praise as he teased you.

You let out a soft sigh. He always took his time with you. Always made sure you were trembling with want by the time he was done, reduced to nothing but a shaking mess, begging for his cock to fill you.

Grabbing your breasts more roughly, you moaned. Then a soft whimper followed. You closed your eyes more tightly, one hand remaining on your chest to tease your overly sensitive nipple as the other slowly made its way down to the waistband of your shorts.

You wasted no time before sliding your hand underneath the waistband, fingers running over the wet patch that was forming in your panties. You were so very wet already, and decided not to bother teasing yourself over your panties. No, you needed to feel good.

Sliding your panties down, you snuck your hand beneath, moaning softly as your fingers ran through your wet folds, clit throbbing with need and begging for attention.

What you didn't notice however, was the front door closing shut downstairs. Neither did you hear the bedroom door open with barely a creak, too lost in your own pleasure with your eyes shut and your hand down your shorts, your fingers rubbing circles over your clit.

Joel stood frozen in the doorway. The sight that greeted him made him halt mid-step, his eyes wide and utterly startled.

He saw you spread on the bed, your flushed skin peeking from under your bunched shirt. Next his eyes fell on the quick movement of your hand beneath your shorts, the way your back arched slightly, soft moans escaping your pretty lips.

For a moment he just stood there, watching, jaw clenched as his eyes changed from shocked to something raw.

A low, rough sound came from his throat, close to a growl, eyes glued to every inch of your skin. His gut tightened, blood rushing south.

"Havin' fun, are we?" His voice was low, a mixture of unmistakable arousal with amusement.

Your eyes shot open at the sound of his voice, yanking your hand out of your shorts and sitting up, cheeks bright red with embarrassment. You felt utterly caught.

"Jesus, Joel," you said, swallowing hard. "Don't sneak up on me like that." Then, softer, "Didn't think you'd be back."

Joel let out a softer, low chuckle in response. "'M sorry, darlin'. 'M later than I thought. I called out f'you downstairs, but there wasn't a reply. Makes more sense now, seein' the reason why you weren't respondin'."

He took a step into the room, closer to the bed. "Doin' all that… thinkin' about me?" He asked, but he knew the answer. He'd heard you moan his name before he even entered the bedroom.

His words made you flush even more. Joel took another step closer, reaching out his calloused hand and cupped the heated curve of your cheek. He was surprisingly gentle.

He applied the slightest pressure, tilting your face towards him, forcing you to meet the dark heat in his eyes.

"Missed me that much, huh?"

The sudden close proximity of him combined with his scent made you shiver, the heat between your legs doing anything but go away. Earth, pine and a little bit of sweat.

It made you go crazy.

"Wouldn't have had to if you had come back earlier," you muttered, your voice trailing off. Joel's eyes seemed to soften at that.

"I know, darlin'. Weren't here. 'M sorry," he said, one hand remaining on her cheek as the other slowly reached down towards the bunched fabric where it still lay pushed up.

"Show me," he then spoke, making your eyes widen slightly. He gave a small nod towards where your hand had been moments prior. "What you were doin'. Show me how you were touchin' yourself, what I been missin' out on." His eyes darkened, his voice lowering an octave.

"Lay back and get them shorts off. Wanna see it." It wasn't a request, it was an order.

And you obeyed. You sat back against some pillows as you slid down your shorts down your legs, intending to take your panties off too, but he tutted.

"Not yet. Rub yourself over those pretty panties first. Wanna see how soaked they get from me watchin' you get off."

Your cheeks burned. You weren't used to being watched as you pleasured yourself, but seeing the way his eyes darkened at the sight of you made most of the hesitation disappear. You slid your hands between your legs, rubbing your clit over the wet patch that had formed as you touched yourself earlier.

A soft gasp left your lips at the contact, earning a groan from him. He watched every shift in your expression, how your fingers trembled over the fabric, the flush spreading down your neck.

He crawled on the bed with you, deliberately leaving enough space between you both as he settled on the opposite side of the bed.

"Look at me," he ordered, voice low but gentle. "That's it. Look at you, touchin' your pretty little pussy while I watch. D'you like that? Bein' watched?"

His voice was low and gruff. He didn't wait for an answer, one look at your panties was enough to answer it for you.

"Yeah, y'do. Look how wet you are, baby. Soakin' through your panties like that. Makin' a mess, ruinin' them."

His words made your hand move faster, whimpering softly. The friction wasn't enough anymore— you needed more.

Joel watched with utter focus how your fingers moved, a muscle ticking in his jaw when another soft moan escaped your lips. His own breathing deepened, the air thick with tension and arousal.

"Slide them aside, darlin'. Your panties. Show me how bad you want it."

You obeyed, fingers curling in the fabric before sliding them aside just enough to expose your soaked pussy to his gaze. The groan it earned you in return made you practically gush.

"Christ, so wet f'me, baby. She's practically droolin'. Beggin' to be filled, ain't she?"

You gasped in response, fingers circling your clit with desperation now. Your hole clenched around nothing, the filthy sight making Joel curse under his breath.

"Fuck, she's hungry. How 'bout you put a finger in there, hmm? Give her somethin' to clench on."

He didn't have to tell you twice. Your finger slid in without resistance, making you whimper in relief and making him groan.

"Greedy 'lil pussy. Suckin' in your finger like that. Bet she'd take my cock in one go, too." You moaned at the thought.

"Joel, please. Need you already," you whined, but he shook his head.

"No, darlin'. Finish what you started 'fore I came in. Seemed t'be doing so well."

He may have said no, but you could tell from the bulge straining against the denim of his jeans that he wanted this just as much as you did. He just wanted to see you unravel first.

"Add another finger f'me. Gotta make sure she's stretched real good. C'mon baby," he urged, cursing in satisfaction as he saw you add another. "Fuck, that's it. Good girl. Suckin' 'em right in. Bet I could shove my cock right alongside and she'd take it perfectly."

His filthy words made you moan, arching your back and desperately curling your fingers, trying to find that spot that would make this even better. And when you found it, your vision turned white.

Squelching wet sounds came from your pussy as you pumped your fingers in and out of your hole desperately, making Joel curse as he finally gave in and started palming his own cock through the front of his jeans.

"Christ, baby. Lookin' so good. She's so loud, just singin' and callin' for me to come fill her right up."

The sheets ruffled beneath you as you squirmed, fingers curling inside yourself, using your thumb to give your clit some much wanted attention.

"Please, Joel. I need you—," you begged, mouth open with little moans spilling from your lips. But he didn't give in.

"Patient, darlin'. Keep goin' 'till I say. Be good f'me and I'll fuck that pretty pussy 'till you scream later."

A needy whine left your lips at his words, eyes opening to watch as he palmed his cock through his jeans. You knew how big he was underneath, knew he was big enough to make you scream as he pounded into you until the bed creaked.

Your breathing grew heavier, head falling back against the pillows you'd propped up earlier. You were close. So very close. You could practically taste it.

"Joel, I'm gonna— fuck, I'm gonna come—," you whined, the wet squelches coming from your cunt downright obscene.

"Don't," he groaned. "Not 'till I tell you to, baby. Or I won't fuck you tonight. Be good f'me." His eyes were hard and demanding.

You huffed in frustration, but he already knew you well enough to know you wouldn't listen.

So he reached forward, one large hand snapping out, covering your wrist as he stopped your movement. His other hand remained busy, palming himself hard through the rough denim of his jeans, bulge straining painfully against the fabric.

"What'd I say?" he asked, voice low as he held your wrist tightly. "Y'ain't comin' 'till I say. Understood? Repeat after me. Now."

You let out a pained sob of frustration. "Understood," you muttered eventually, but he wasn't satisfied with just that.

"I said, repeat after me." He leaned in closer, his scent washing over her.

You took a shaky breath, voice sounding ruined when you spoke.

"I-I'm not coming until you say so."

This seemed to finally please Joel.

"Atta girl," he said, voice thick with pride. He let go of your hand as he leaned back once more, focusing on palming himself properly through his jeans. "Keep lookin' at me and keep touchin' yourself. Don't you dare cum."

You wasted no time sliding your fingers back inside, moaning without shame.

Joel's restraint seemed to shatter at this, his own hands frantically undoing his belt and unzipping his fly with a sharp tug. His jeans and boxers were pushed down just enough down his thighs for his cock to jump out, so very thick and flushed and angry. It made your mouth water.

He gave himself a few slow, deliberate strokes, eyes burning into yours and holding your gaze as you fucked yourself without shame.

"Lookin' so damn good for me, darlin', wound up tight f'me. But you hold it, understand? Be a good girl 'n hold it."

You reached out with your free hand, wanting to touch him, feel him, but his hand pushed you back.

"Didn't think so, sweetheart. Only touch yourself. 'N look what you're missin' out on," he spoke, voice strained as he closed his large hand around his cock. He let out a deep groan in response, his head falling back as a thick drop of precum formed at the tip of his length.

"Christ, he's so hard f'you. Just wants to be buried deep in that 'lil pussy of yours. Want that, dont'cha? Stuffed full of my fat cock 'till you go dumb."

His words were absolutely filthy, his eyes focused on where your fingers were still pathetically plunging in and out of your soaked cunt, your slick dripping down your thighs onto the sheets beneath.

You were close again. So very close. Your mouth opened in a relaxed O-shape, whimpers spilling freely from your lips, all shame abandoned. Your free hand found the cups of your bra, impatiently tugging them down until your tits spilled out, wasting no time rolling a pebbled nipple between your digits, urging yourself closer to that sweet pleasure you had been craving for the past half hour.

"Stop."

His command, stern and serious, made your eyes fly open. A pathetic sob escaped your lips, frustrated as he made you deny yourself for the second time.

"Joel, please, it's not fair," you whimpered, heavily breathing as you forced your fingers to still inside yourself. Your entire body screamed for release, and he took nothing but satisfaction from the fact he was the one denying you.

He only chuckled in response, his large hand stroking himself slowly now. With each stroke upwards his foreskin pulled over the fat mushroom head of his cock, a thick bead of precum glistening from the slit.

"Not fair? Baby, I don't care. You were pleasurin' yourself up here without me. You cum when I tell y'to. You cum when I cum."

You could've cried in frustration, but a part of you was enjoying this way too much to put up a proper fight. Waiting for that edge to ebb away, you slowly returned to touching yourself.

Joel wasn't far from losing his patience either. His cock was an angry red, the veins standing out as his big, calloused hand rubbed his shaft up and down, grunts and deep moans spilling from his lips.

"Doin' so damn good for me," he groaned, fucking himself into his fist. "Holdin' back for me. Takin' it."

His belt made metallic clinging sounds where it hung open down his thighs from the sheer force he was stroking himself with. His jaw was clenched tight, looking like it'd break if he clenched it any harder. He used his thumb to swipe down each drop of precum that formed at the slit, his balls hanging heavy beneath him.

"Christ, darlin'. Lookin' so damn good fingering your pussy like that. She's so fuckin' loud, ain't she? Think we should give her what she wants 'n fill her up?" he grunted, moving forward to position himself between your open legs.

"Gonna fuck that edge right outta you," he groaned, guiding his cock down to rub the fat head over your clit, moving your own hands out of the way.

You could only nod desperately in response, but he wanted more than just a nod.

"Gotta say it. Not gonna fuck your little sloppy hole unless y'tell me to."

You huffed in frustration. "Please, Joel. Want you so bad. Need you to fuck me. Please."

Satisfied, he smirked. "That's more like it," he praised, the heavy tip nudging against your slick entrance, groaning as he felt the heat radiating from your core. Slowly he pressed forward, a groan rumbling from his chest as your tight heat began to envelop him.

His thighs trembled as he sheathed himself fully inside, inch by inch.

"Christ, baby, you're killin' me," he shuddered, his dark eyes locked on yours, watching every single sensation cross your face. He leaned down, capturing your lips as one hand cradled your face.

"Wrapped tight around me like a fist. Feel that? So fuckin' deep inside you. That's what you needed, ain't it?"

Your nails dug into his back, legs locking behind him to urge him even deeper inside you, whining when he did.

"Please move," you begged. "Please. I need it so bad."

He stayed deep, unmoving for several seconds, his own breath warm and harsh against your temple as he savored the clenching, wet heat. He groaned at your begging.

"How could I resist when my girl is beggin' all pretty like that?" he asked, burying his face in your neck. Both his hands held onto your hips, keeping you in place as he slid his cock all the way back out to the tip, sliding back in in one, slow go. Deep.

It wasn't frantic. It was utterly controlled, each withdrawal of his cock making you feel so empty before he filled you again with a solid thrust so deep it made you see stars.

Your back arched, choked gasps filling the room as he fucked you slow and deep.

"Feels so fuckin' good, babygirl." he groaned, his breath hot against your ear. "Clenchin' me so tight like she never wants to let go of me."

He knew you were the loudest when he fucked you like this, one hand pinning your hips down as the other splayed low on your belly when they lifted desperately to meet his thrusts.

You could only whine, beg, clinging to him in the hope that he would go faster, but he didn't give in. He would make you cum exactly how and when he wanted.

His thrusts turned harder, his heavy balls slapping against your ass each time he roughly slammed back in, grunting in your ear. It wasn't only you that was trembling— so was he, from both the sensation and from holding himself back from rutting into you.

"Baby, fuck…" he groaned. "Feels so fuckin' tight f'me. Such a good girl, takin' my cock like that. He's fillin' you good, ain't he? Feel how deep I've got you? Givin' your hungry 'lil cunt what it wants."

He pressed kisses on your neck, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin beneath your ear as he bit down and sucked, marking you as his.

Your toes curled as he slammed home inside you over and over, the bed creaking dangerously beneath you both. The pace was still too slow, making you whine in frustration. You needed more.

"Joel, please, faster," you begged, undoubtedly leaving behind marks as your nails dug into his back.

"Orderin' me around now, ain't ya?" he chuckled amused into your neck, pressing one last kiss to your skin before he grabbed your legs. He folded them over his shoulders, practically bending you in half.

His hips snapped forward roughly, and instead of slowly dragging back out like before, his pace was now breathtakingly fast.

"Fuck!" you nearly keened in response, eyes wide as he leaned over you, keeping your legs over his shoulders as he slammed himself in and out of you.

"Yeah? Like that better? Bendin' you in half and fuckin' you rough?" he groaned. The sound of wet skin slapping filled the room, a combination of your wet slick and his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

He didn't wait for a response. He grunted, deep and low, his jaw clenched as he focused on getting you close.

"Gonna fuckin' cum, baby. Need you there with me. Wanna feel you milk my cock 'n drain me. Y'want that? Me breedin' this little cunt raw?"

You could only respond with a cry. He took that as a yes.

"Thought so. C'mon baby. Know you're almost there. Can feel it, the way she's clenchin' around me."

Sweat pooled on his forehead, his salt-and-pepper hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes were dark as he looked down at you, fucking you mercilessly.

He shifted, leaning forward and bending you in half even more, lifting you up slightly to drive himself impossibly deep, the thick crown of his cock kissing your cervix and hitting spots you never even knew existed.

His words in combination with how good he fucked you was all you needed to be pushed over the edge.

"Joel, gonna cum, gonna cum so hard, Joel—!"

You came harder than you ever had before, your back arching violently off the mattress, a sharp cry of his name tearing from your throat. Your fingers dug so hard into his back your nails were sure to leave marks, your entire body shaking like a leaf in the wind, pussy milking him and seeking out every single drop of his seed.

Your walls clamped down on him with breathtaking force. Seeing you lose yourself like that was all Joel needed, thrusting in and out two more times before holding himself deep, groaning loudly followed by a harsh, low cry. His cock twitched, spurt after spurt of hot cum filling you up, giving your pussy exactly what it so desperately craved.

"Yes baby, that's it, fuck, take it, every single fuckin' drop." He shuddered, leaning back over you as he buried his head in your neck, riding out his orgasm by thrusting in and out a few more times, fucking his seed deeper.

After the last drop spilled into you he groaned, softer this time. "Christ, babygirl."

He leaned up, eyes finding yours. He pressed his lips onto yours, kissing you gently as he helped your legs down his shoulders.

"You okay? Didn't hurt you none, did I?" he asked, concerned now that the heat of the moment was over.

You shook your head. "I'm okay," you muttered, your entire body going limp from the force of the orgasm he'd fucked out of you.

He looked down at you with soft eyes, slowly sliding himself out of your used hole. You both winced slightly, his release dripping out.

"Can't have that," he muttered, using his thick fingers to press his seed back inside. "Gotta make sure it takes, ain't that right?" he asked, making your cheeks flush.

He tucked himself back into his jeans, belt clinging as he fastened it. Leaning over, he kissed you once again, helping you back in your clothes as if you were something fragile. Something breakable.

"'M sorry for bein' late earlier," he said, sliding your shorts back over your hips. His thumb traced circles on your soft belly right above your waistband.

"Y'still angry at me?"

You smiled up at him, leaning up to kiss him slowly, teeth gently pulling at his lips.

"Not if you fuck me from behind next," you whispered against his lips, your mischievous smile making him chuckle in disbelief.

"Will I be forgiven then?" he groaned, nuzzling into your neck.

You hummed, and within seconds his hands were on your waist, flipping you over effortlessly, his calloused hands already dragging your shorts back down.

"I'd better get to work then, darlin'."

[cinnag1rl]

Sugar Cookies ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Warnings!: Food play, Smut, MDNI, a bit praise kink, nicknames ( angel,baby, sweet girl) , daddy kink, age gap (50s and 20s) (not implied directly) eating out, breast play, slight domestic, slight pussy pronouns, kitchen counter smut,no cordyceps universe, already established relationship (not implied directly)

W.C: 1.5k words!

Summary: The day felt too long, so you figured you’d bake some sugar cookies!

Note: As promised heres an attempt to write food play fic! I had so much fun making this tehe, if anyone has any suggestions or requests, i’ll be

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

ଘ(*. .)

 Joel always loved whenever you cooked or cleaned for him, taking care of him and doting him, truly one of the things he loved about you and he always reciprocated back. And every so often you impulsively wanted to bake , the memories coming back, back to the days when you were a little girl begging your parents to let you help with any baking. Nowadays you baked pies, brownies, cakes or even sugar cookies.  

Joel was out at work , and there were just some days you felt he was just gone for too long,  today was one of them. So you got to baking, you searched through the cabinets to spot if you’re missing anything that limits you from baking anything . You were missing cocoa , so you couldn’t make brownies, and you didn’t have any milk, so you thought of making sugar cookies, one of your favourite sugary sweets. 

 You progressively made your cookies, firstly making the batter, skillfully adding all the ingredients, expertly doing it all not even needing the recipe from how many times you made these cookies. You then placed the dough in the fridge to cool it, and after about an hour you finally put the individually balled up batter on the cooking tray and then in the oven. 

 As the cookies were baking, you started to work on the frosting, you added all the ingredients and you added a drop of red food colouring, the already white coloured frosting mixing with the small drop of red making the softest pink colour, which you always think adds a nice touch to the delicious sweet. And as you mix in the food colouring you hear the front door open, and you excitedly turn around from the counter, already knowing who it is.  

“Hey, Angel,” he greets and heads to the kitchen, and walks towards you.  

“Hi..” you smile and rush to hug him and see him. 

His hands slid down to your waist holding you tightly, and then he rests his head on top of your own head, inhaling your sweet scent. 

 “You been baking, baby?” he breaks his hold , and walks over to the counters and hovers above the counter where you were making the frosting at. 

 “Yeah..got bored..” you say and chuckle and observe him as he grabs a bit of frosting with his finger and licks it , the action sending sparks up your spine causing you to feel a slight wet feeling between your thighs , making you blush a bit as he nods approvingly about the frosting. 

“Best damn baker in the whole town, aren’t you, angel,?”  he chuckles and turns towards you , his eyebrow arching , puzzled as to why you froze in place. 

You stand still right there at the kitchen door, the air between you two feeling thick .You can’t help but let your mind start to picture suggestive thoughts thinking of what you want Joel to do to you. 

“What’s wrong, baby..?” he discloses lowly and plants his hands around your waist again as he leans his lower torso or back on the counter  

“Mmmm..” you mumble and he slowly starts to comprehend what you truly meant and want, 

“Daddy licked the frosting you made and that got you wet, baby?” He states and scoffs. 

“Sweet girl..” he asserts lowly and chuckles, he holds your chin and tugs your face closer and kisses you. You reciprocate and shift closer to him and let him kiss you earnestly. He starts peppering your jawline with kisses till your neck leaving small bruises along his path , marking his territory as he does every night. 

“Guess since daddy trying your frosting got you all wet, means i should eat more, huh?” He mumbles close to your ear, 

“Wha-?” you say unsure of what was going to happen, and unexpectedly Joel turns both of you around, your back now facing the counter, and he lifts you up and positions you on top of the counter and sets his lower torso between your legs , next to the bowl of frosting. 

He strips you out of your top ,no room for discussion, and he takes a moment to stare at your hardened nipples. His chest rising and falling faster with every time his gaze falls on your chest, he pauses for a moment, the idea in his mind still being processing, and in a beat, grabs a dollop of frosting with his finger from the bowl placed next to you. 

 You watch him with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, he gently smears the frosting on your tits applying it neatly, you let out a small gasp and can’t stop gaping at him as the cooling sensation hits you causing you to quiver, making the wetness between your thighs rapidly growing. 

“Now, ain’t this the sweetest dessert for daddy?” He says with a small chuckle, licking clean the frosting from his finger, debating whether to just bury his face in your frosting-covered nipples or to roughly squeeze them until you come for him or to take his time to enjoy you, and drag on your release wanting to tease you, ultimately choosing that option. He lowers himself, and he swirls his tongue on your left nipples making you loudly gasp and moan. He licks off the frosting from your breast in a slow manner, taking his time to taste the frosting and sucking your nipple.  

“Daddyy” you whimper, and press your legs together ,the wet spot on your underwear  slowly increasing. Joel snickers from all your small responses and moves on to your right nipple, both nipples already hardened from the pleasure. 

As you continuously moan and whimper  ,Joel finishes off licking all the frosting and can’t help but look up at you and grin at you.  
  

“Gonna let daddy have some more, baby?” He asks you lowly, not being able to deny him in the slightest, knowing you need this as badly as he does and nod affirmatively. 

“My sweet girl, always wanting to please me, huh?” He asserts and chuckles. He gently lifts your hips up, to help you out of your shorts you’ve been wearing letting it drop on to the floor, he then yanks off your wet underwear letting it all drop on the floor. Joel jerks open your legs , your bare pussy exposed to him, your juices glistening dripping all down. Joel hungrily stares at your exposed cunt,and letting the corners of his mouth jolt into a smile . And in no time he repeats his previous action with the frosting, this time on your pussy.  

Joel overspreads your pussy with the use of his fingers again, this time not with just a dab but with more than a spoonful of frosting. Covering your cunt fully, making it fully hidden. The cooling sensation hitting you even harder this time, making your pussy throb and overflow with juices, mixing in with the frosting.  

“Fucckk, look at her, sweet girl..” He watches in awe and licks clean his fingers from the frosting,  
“So embarrassing...” you mutter feeling vulnerable 

“S’not embarrassing, angel..” he grumbles, he lets his fingers settle on your chin, holding your face in place, he leans his face closer to yours , 
“Ain’t ever seen a prettier thing than you, or her.” he murmurs for only you to hear. 

He then lowers himself and crouches in front of you, just in front of your concealed pussy between your trembling open thighs, he yanks you forward to the edge of the counter and plants his hands on each of your leg to keep them open , he then starts slowly licking your cunt, simultaneously devouring the frosting. 

“S’Delicious, angel,” he mumbles, licking your folds the mixture of the sweet frosting mixing with your cunts juices,. He takes his time sucking and teasing your clit and licking clean your sweet pussy, you let out various moans and almost shouting, “Fucck”, “Daddyyy” letting them slip out your mouth, closing your eyes from all the pleasure. 

You continue letting out your sweet moans and whimpers as Joel takes his sweet time eating you out ,your heartbeat rapidly increasing. He thrusts his tongue into you, curling and shoving in and out your firm hole. 
“I cant-: You whimper and tremble, 
“I can’t hold it” You groan 

“Let go for me, baby.” he commands as he ultimately pulls away from you and sucks on your clit instead, making you freeze in place , coming hard, forcing you to loudly moan  and gasp, your pussy pulsing on his tongue , and savouring every drop of your slick, making him groan against your cunt. He looks up at you and the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. 
“Taste so good, baby..” He discloses and snickers as he gazes into you .As your chest rises and fall even faster now, continuing to maintain eye contact with him. 

And just as soon as he straightens himself and settle his lower torso between your legs again to take care of you after your release , the timer for the cookies rings. Joel snorts and smiles, 

“Just in time, huh?” 

[reedispunk]

Common Ground

summary: Joel hates his new apprentice, but he sure likes the man’s girlfriend.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! no outbreak, Joel pov, he’s lonely and grumpy (and horny), Joel gets what Joel wants, age gap (20s, 50s), pwp, pinv, fingering, oral (m receiving), ass play, spit, cum eating, praise, dirty talk, explicit language

a/n: there’s nothing to say, it’s just filth, oops

wc: 5k

“Don’t even think about it, man,” Tommy warns as he drops his toolbox into the bed of Joel's truck.

Joel squints over at his brother, the sun bright in his eyes. “Think about what?” 

“Don’t fuck her, Joel.”

"What the hell ya talking ‘bout?” he smirks, fully aware of Tommy's meaning.

“Saw the way you were looking at her just now. We don’t need any trouble, Joel. He's a good worker.”

“He’s a waste of space, that’s what he is," Joel bites. He never wanted to hire an apprentice; he didn't believe they needed one. But when Tommy brought this new guy, Nate, to work a few months ago, Joel's been taking every opportunity he gets to make the younger man's life hell in the hope he’ll quit. Still, Joel has to admit, having the apprentice around isn’t all bad, because every day at 12:30pm sharp, the younger man's girlfriend calls with lunch, and Joel has been finding himself transfixed by her. 

“You can’t just not like him Joel, you have no reason not to.”

“I do.”

“Really? Give me one.”

“His name. Typical asshole name.”

Tommy laughs. “Dude, come on, he might be young, but he knows his stuff, he could be a real help for us in expanding.”

“We don’t need him. We've been doing fine just us for all these years. Besides, the kid might know how to build, but he's the most self-absorbed person I've ever met. Spends more time checking on his fuckin’ hair.” Joel huffs, turning to lean back against the truck. “You heard the way he talks about her too? She could do so much better.”

“I think you're just hearing what you want to hear ‘cause you wanna get in her pants.” Tommy smirks.

“So what if I do? You can’t stop me.” Joel responds with a smug grin like he's ready to take on the challenge. One thing about Joel: if someone tells him not to do something, he's almost always going to find a way to do it.

“She’s like half your age.”

“Trust me, no one has ever complained about that before.”

Tommy scoffs. "You're disgusting.”

“So you settled down; now the rest of us aren't allowed to have any fun?”

“Not saying that, but she’s his girlfriend, please, brother, just keep clear.”

“Fine, relax. Won’t go near her.”

“Promise me.”

Joel holds a hand up in the air, an irritating grin spread across his face. “I promise, Tommy."

“God, you're so fuckin’ annoying.” Tommy slams the door of the trunk and goes around the other side to climb in. Joel’s never been one to break a promise, but when it comes to her, he thinks she might be the one who finally makes him crack.

“You wanna come for a drink?”

“Nah, the wife’s got dinner waiting.”

“Right.” Joel rolls his eyes. He’d never admit it, but he’s jealous of his brother. Tommy's settled down with another kid on the way. Joel might have Sarah, but she’s grown now, always out with her own friends enjoying herself, and he’s just left alone at home with nothing but his thoughts.

So, true to his usual post-work routine, he walks the few blocks to the dingy bar he likes. Slouching onto the stool as he orders a whiskey, he scans the room to see who's in tonight. He’s tired, he’s horny, and if he’s completely honest with himself, he’s really fucking lonely. So when his eyes catch on that familiar woman, alone in the booth right at the back of the room, he can't help himself. 

"Ohh, now the universe is just playing with me," he mutters under his breath as he takes his glass and walks through the darkened bar over towards her. “Drinking alone?”

"Sadly," she smiles, so innocently. 

“No Nate?"

“Not tonight.” 

He nods with a satisfied hum, trying his best not to let his eyes slip down to her cleavage.

“Mind if I sit?" 

“Not at all.”

He slides in opposite her, leaning back, thighs wide apart beneath the table as he rests his arm on the back of the seat. “So, we’ve never really spoken.”

She nods. “You don’t strike me as much of a talker.” 

Her eyes are mesmerizing; he’s never been close enough before to see them like this, and in the soft neon light, he finds himself getting lost in how they glisten. When she brings her glass up to take a sip, his eyes lock onto her mouth, watching as her tongue darts out to wet her lips, making his dick twitching at the sight. He can’t help but think what it would be like to kiss her, what she would taste like, and what it’d be like to shove his cock between those lips and make her choke on it.

She shifts in her seat, a delicate strand of hair falling gently down her neck, leading his eyes right to her chest, exactly where he was trying not to look.

“Like what you see?” she asks quietly so no one but him can hear. His eyes flick back up to hers, so she’s really not as innocent as he first thought.

His head tilts to the side slightly, weighing up his response. “Mmmh, but I’d like to see more.”

Her cheeks blush instantly, and she tries to hide it, looking away towards the loud crowd at the bar. “Not sure Nate would approve of that.”

"Well, that asshole shouldn’t have let you come here alone then.”

“You don’t like him?”

He doesn’t answer.

She rests her elbow on the table, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “He doesn’t know I’m here. Didn’t want him to tell him.”

“Why not?”

She looks down, unable to meet his gaze as she admits the truth. “Because I didn’t want him to know that I came here looking for you.”

“Looking for me, huh?” There’s an innocence to her, but he can tell she’s got that devilish side deep within her core that aches to be let out. He knows she’s looking for him to show her exactly how to cut herself loose.

“You think I bring food over every day just to please Nate like some good little housewife?” 

Her response amuses him, because that’s exactly what Nate wants her to be. “So why do you do it?”

“To see how long it’ll take for you to notice me.” 

“Well darlin', you’re in luck because I notice you, alright." He makes no attempt to hide the smugness radiating from him now. She’s fucking desperate for him, and she's not hiding it very well. “Notice how your flimsy little dresses have gotten steadily shorter over the weeks, slowly revealing even more of your skin that just aches to be traced by my touch. Notice how you sway your hips that little bit more only when you walk by me, like you’re trying to tease, and shit, it’s working…”

Her lips part, her mouth turning dry as she takes in every word.

“…Or how you do all that, yet never meet my eyes. You look away quickly whenever I glance over, pretending to be all innocent, but you ain’t, are ya?”

Her cheeks turn more red because she knows she’s been caught out. He sits forward. “Y’know, I’m under strict orders not to fuck you.”

She almost spits the last sip of her drink out as his words register. Her eyes widen, and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Clearing her throat, she takes a breath. “By who?"

“My brother.”

“You always follow your brother's rules?” 

"No," he scoffs. “Don’t answer to anybody." 

“So you’d break the rules?”

He swallows and looks back over his shoulder to observe the other people minding their own business in the bar. When he turns back, she’s practically squirming as she awaits his reply, the intrigue clear in her eyes. 

“Depends if I think it was worth it.”

“You don’t think I’m worth it?”

He downs the remaining liquid in his drink and takes his time to look her up and down. “Are you?” 

She gives him that shy smile again. “How about we find out?” 

He taps a finger on the table, making her wait as he decides his next move. "Not tonight.”

"Oh." She sits back in her seat, and he’s sure he sees her trying to hide the disappointment. He wants to tease her, to make her wait so that when he finally does fuck her, she’s begging him for it. 

“Go home to your boyfriend.”

“Why?”

“Because I want him to find you fuckin’ soaked all 'cause of me.”

She bites her lip, her eyes wide, dark and hungry as the flush creeps up her neck.

“Let him fuck you. Let him try his best to fill ya whilst you wish like hell it was my cock instead.”

She starts absentmindedly twirling that goddamn strand of hair around her finger, and he can’t take it anymore. He’s got the upper hand right now, he has to keep it that way.

So he stands, adjusting his now incredibly tight crotch right in front of her eyes, and leaves her alone in the booth. That night, as the alcohol still buzzes through his system, he lies half naked in his bed, stroking himself as he thinks about her, releasing his load onto his stomach from the thought of all the ways he plans to take this woman. 

———

The following day, he waits for her to call by with lunch like she always does, but she doesn’t show, and she doesn’t come the day after or the one after that. He guesses it was the alcohol, the heat of the moment, or maybe she woke up the following morning and regretted the conversation. Still, he looks dead into the eyes of Nate every day with the secret knowledge that his girlfriend really wants the master, not the apprentice. 

By the time Friday night rolls around, he’s irritable. Nate went home hours ago, and Tommy left the site just before the sun finally set. But they had a deadline for tonight, so Joel offered to stick around and work until it was done, realizing if he went home, he’d only find himself grumpy and alone there too. 

As the stifling Texas heat still lingers despite the night sky and the ache in his back starts to pull, he secures the house and turns out the lights. Making his way from the backyard towards his truck, he sees her, walking down the driveway towards him.

"What ya doing 'ere? Boyfriend left ages ago.” He grunts, pretending like the sight of her doesn’t make him happy.

“I know; he’s at home eating junk food on the sofa.”

She’s wearing a short summery dress that stops an inch above her knees, the V-neck revealing too much of her skin. He notices the few beads of her sweat that glisten between her breasts from the humidity, and it makes him want nothing more than to push her up against his truck and taste it.

“Where does he think you are?”

“A friend's house." She steps forward slowly, closer to him. The familiar smell of her perfume reaches him now, the subtle yet divine scent that he remembers so well consuming his mind. “He told me you were staying late, so I came to see if you needed anything.”

“I don’t. Just heading out.” he brushes past her, his finger tracing the back of her hand as he does so. He drops his tools into the back of his truck before turning back to her, exhaling heavily. “You shouldn’t be turning up to random houses after dark like this, y’know.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not safe.” He reaches a finger to her chin, lifting her eyes to look directly into his. “Anything could happen."

“Like what?” Her voice is barely a whisper. 

He shakes his head. "Thought I’d scared you off, or maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“I just wanted to be careful.” 

“Is this being careful?” His eyes flick down her body, inches from him. “Did you do as I said? Did you think about me when he was inside you?”

She nods. 

“and only me?” 

She nods again. 

“Good girl.” He feels the blood is rushing south, but he can't do this; Tommy would kill him. “But you should really go."

“Why?”

“Because in a second I’m going to lose my fuckin’ mind and have my way with ya. You're better than this; I’ll only get ya into trouble.”

“What if I want trouble?”

He chuckles. “You don't. Go home.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh sweetheart, I'm really trying here." He drags a hand through his hair. He knows it's useless; his dick is in control now, but at least he can tell Tommy that he really, really tried not to, right?

“I want you.” She whispers.

"Why? You just need an older man to take care of ya? Is that it? Need someone who can give you exactly what you need, unlike that pathetic excuse of a boyfriend.”

She doesn’t respond, just stares into his eyes endlessly, like she’s starving to be taken care of. God, she’s beautiful. Tommy's pleas from a few days ago sound like a million miles away right now. He inches closer, moving his head down so that his lips hover over hers; the anticipation clouds his thoughts, and all he can think about is what it would be like to be buried between her legs. With a dirty grin, he tries to stop the inevitable one last time. “Last chance, Miss.”

“Kiss me.” 

Finally, with her permission, he pushes his tongue into her mouth; her desperate hums make his dick throb against the constraints of his jeans. He guides her back until she’s trapped between his body and the truck, breaking from her lips to lick down her neck, following the V of her dress as she sighs into him. He moves further south, the knot in his back merely a distant thought as he buries his head in the low of her tummy, breathing in her scent. “Fuck, you smell so good.” 

His hand snakes up her thigh, inching the fabric of her dress up to gain access between her legs. Brushing his fingers over her panties, he feels her desire already seeping through, the discovery making him groan into the night air. He teases her, rubbing her over the wet fabric as her head falls back against his truck.

Hooking a finger into the waistband, he peels the damp lace down her legs before bringing it to his nose, inhaling deeply, closing his eyes as he takes in the scent of her desire. “Fuuuuckk.” She watches him intently then as he stuffs her panties into his back pocket. “I’m keeping these.” 

As he stands up to tower above her, his fingers find her soaked folds again, dipping into her arousal as his thumb presses against her sensitive clit and her hips pushes forward into him. “Maybe you were right,” she breathes, “We shouldn't." Her protest is weak.

“So stop me.” He teases, knowing she won’t. “Go on, stop me, darlin'." She ignores him, whimpering louder as his fingers explore her entrance. “Can’t, can ya? It's written all over your face; you're fuckin’ desperate for me to give you what he can’t.”

Her mouth falls open as he slips a finger into her tight heat. The whimper that escapes her goes straight to his crotch. Despite the quiet secluded street, the low light, and the shelter of his truck, he feels her tense against him when they both hear a noise in the distance. “Joel, someone’s coming.” 

“Nah uh, eyes on me, darlin’.” His thumb flicks against her bundle of nerves faster as his free hand comes up to cover her mouth. He continues his movements, working her to her orgasm as the person on the opposite side of the street remains completely unaware of the scandal taking place beside this truck.

Her body shudders violently before it collapses weakly against him. He looks down, removing his hand from between her legs, his fingers glistening with her juices. “Shit.” He opens the passenger door and nods. “Get in the truck." 

He doesn’t know where to take her. Sarah will be home, and they obviously can’t go back to her place. He considers just doing it in the truck, but he needs more space to have her in the way he craves most. But he’s so fucking turned on right now, he just needs to get her to goddamn bed soon. So he speeds towards the edge of town where he knows of a gross little motel. It’s not ideal, certainly not romantic, but it’ll do the job. 

He walks into the reception as she follows close behind, keeping her head down. Like the world is against him right now, he finds the desk empty.

After what feels like an eternity of calling out for assistance, a small old lady appears from the back room and shuffles towards the desk, her eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Finally.” He mutters under his breath, but he knows the older woman heard him by the glare she offers up. “Need a room.”

The lady pauses, her eyebrows raising expectantly as she looks at Joel. 

“Please.” He adds.

“For both of ya?”

He grunts.

“We don’t do any of that funny business ‘ere y’know.” She warns.

Joel scoffs. “Excuse me?”

“This is a respectable establishment, sir.”

He looks around, silently disagreeing with her. “Hmm. If you say so.”

She clears her throat, a stern expression daring him to say more.

He smiles falsely. “Look, ma’am, it’s not like that. We just need a room… please.”

The old lady rolls her eyes, sitting down at the computer to aimlessly scan the screen to see what’s available. Joel taps a finger on the desk impatiently, his leg bouncing, his cock aching to be released from these tight fucking jeans, if only this woman would hurry the hell up.

“Got one?” He bites. 

“I do.” She sighs.

“Great. We’ll take it.” 

The lady’s eyes flick up, looking past him to her behind him. “Nothin’ like good old-fashioned manners, is there?" She chuckles, and her sarcasm pisses him off. 

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” His eyes narrow.

The old lady ignores him, slowly plodding through to the back room in search of the key. He swears this lady is taking her sweet time on purpose just to fuck with him.

When she comes back, she slaps the keys onto the surface as he settles up. He’s desperate to make a comment about the ridiculous price, but considering his predicament down below, he pays it, and without another word, exits in search of the room.

It's small and dated, and there’s a fusty smell of cigarettes and sex, but what did he expect? He's here for the same thing. The second they’re inside, he pushes her back against the door, his mouth on her skin once again as she reaches down to palm him through his trousers, making his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Sure ‘bout this?” He asks.

“Yeah.” 

He picks her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he takes her over and drops her body gently down onto the bed. He stands there at the edge of the mattress looking down at the flawless woman before him. 

“Take it off.” He nods to her dress. “Let me see what’s mine.”

He watches her remove the material, eyes roaming all over her. She’s nervous, but she doesn’t need to be, she’s so effortlessly beautiful.

He removes his flannel, then his t-shirt, revealing his broad chest to her. He notices how her eyes rake down his entire form before focusing on his happy trail that leads her eyes to his belt buckle. 

“Like the view?” he smirks. She doesn’t speak, just bites her lip as her eyes flick back up to his. "Course you fuckin’ do. Go on then, unbuckle 'em." He nods towards where her eyes can’t stop looking. She hesitates for a second, before leaning up to slowly push his jeans and boxers down to finally release him.

The way her breath hitches as his cock springs free in front of her satisfies him. Her lips part as she observes him in all his glory. He’s not arrogant but he’s self-aware, and he knows he’s big. He’s thick and girthy, and the bob of her throat tells him she’s worried if he’ll even fit.

"Oh, he’s gonna fill you good, don’t you worry about that, sweetheart." He pushes her thighs apart, revealing her pussy to him. “Jesus Christ, look at ya, still fucking drippin’. Go on, touch yourself.”

“Joel.”

“Do it.”

She reaches between her legs, the rise and fall of her chest increasing as she pleasures herself. “Yeahhh that’s it, you look fuckin’ good, baby.” He takes his erection in hand, stroking slowly as he watches her.

After a few minutes, she sits up, her mouth so close to his dick as her eyes flick up to meet his, waiting for further instructions. “Open up.” 

She does as he says, her soft, warm mouth taking him in as he struggles to suppress a groan. He doesn’t push yet; he lets her guide her own movements as she gets used to the size of him.

When she releases him with a pop, her hand coming up to stroke him, she gets a little brave. “What do you think your brother would say about this?” 

“Please, don’t talk about my brother right now.” He sighs, his head falling back as she licks up the underside of his dick, all the way from his balls to the tip.

When she takes him back in her mouth again, she guides his hand to the back of her head, letting him know she’s ready for more. He thrusts his hips forward, his cock sliding further until it hits the back of her throat. He starts slow, testing her limits, but soon speeds up when he struggles to hold back. Her nails scratch sharply up his tummy, and she starts to gag around him. It's obscene and vulgar, and he can’t get enough. 

He senses she needs a second so he pulls out, letting her catch her breath, a string of her spit still connecting his cock to her lips. “Fuck that’s hot.” He sighs. “You good?”

She nods. He taps the head against her bottom lip a few times before pushing all the way back down her throat until her nose presses into the hairs at the base. “Fuuuckkk. Wish you could see yourself right now, such a good girl taking it like this.”

Like any older man, he wishes he could last as long as he did when he was younger, but those days are long gone, and if he doesn’t pull out right this second, it’ll all be over too soon. 

“Condom?” She asks. He nods, reaching down to his jeans on the floor and taking one from his pocket. She lies back on the bed, legs parted as she waits for him.

He hovers above her, tracing a hand down over her body, her hips lifting off the bed as his fingers tickle her skin, goosebumps appearing on every inch. “You're so beautiful, do you know that?” The look on her face tells him she doesn’t believe it.

“Joel…”

He spits into his hand, smearing it over his cock. Then he lines himself up with her drenched entrance, waiting as she wriggles desperately underneath him.

"This what you want?” He grins.

She nods, whimpering as she lifts her head to see him running his tip through her folds. 

“Say it."

“I want you, Joel. Need you inside me.”

“What else?”

Her head falls back down against the sheets, a frustrated moan escaping her lips, making him almost lose his composure as he pushes the head in further. 

“Please…”

Finally, he thrusts deep inside her. Mutual groans coming from deep within their bodies as they get lost in the feel of finally being connected. His head falls down into the curve of her neck, nibbling at the skin softly as he delights in the feeling of her tight, warm heat. She fits like a glove around him; so perfect, so goddamn addictive. 

“Jesus, you’re big.” She sighs, her back arching as he fills her. “It feels so good.” 

“Yeah? You like that?”

As he starts moving inside her, her legs come up to wrap around his waist, her heels digging into him to push him deeper. “He doesn't fill you like this, does he? Shit, he doesn't know how to work your body so it’s trembling like it is right now; only I can do that.” 

Their shared pants fill the room, and he reaches down between their bodies to circle her clit. Her moans please him and let him know she's already close. “If only he knew where you were right now. If only he knew my cock was so deep inside of this tight pussy.”

“Fuck, Joel. Please, don't stop.” She reaches up to pull his body down into hers, her nails scratching against his back, leaving trails of red as he feels her walls flutter around his dick. He feels her body tensing against the bed as he rides her through another high. Giving her little time to recover, she gasps as he pulls out. “Turn over.” 

She lies on her stomach before him; with his knee, he spreads her legs again and enters her from behind. He parts her ass cheeks and spits on her asshole, his thumb dipping down to smear it over the puckered rim. Slowly he teases her there, and as his thrusts speed up, he starts to push his thumb inside her tight hole as she grips the sheets at the intense sting. With his free hand, he slaps her ass making her yelp into the mattress.

He's in pure heaven. The sound of his hips slapping against her skin and the wet sounds of their shared desires mixing, paired with the sight of her holes filled up with him like this all while her boyfriend sits at home none the wiser, does something to him.

He leans down, kissing the top of her back. “Gimme another, sweetheart; I need to feel you come round this cock once more.”

“I can't, Joel," she pants, he knows she's overstimulated.

“You can, I got ya”

He withdraws, leaning back onto his knees, and he pulls her body up onto all fours. Entering her again, his thrusts turn ragged and messy as he pushes his thumb back into her ass even deeper than before, pushing the air from her lungs as her eyes screw shut.

She reaches back, gripping his wrist tightly as the new angle makes her clit hit just right against him. Just as he asked, she comes again; it's less intense this time, her body completely exhausted, but it’s enough for him to finally break. 

"fuuuckk, I'm gonna come, where’d ya want me?” 

“Let me taste you again.” She pants. 

He pulls out, and she turns, her mouth opening, waiting for his load. Pulling the condom off, he tugs his dick hard until he's spurting his thick seed onto her tongue, groaning loudly as his release rips violently through his entire body.

“Ohhh yeah, Jesus Christ.” He makes sure she catches every drop. “Swallow it, darlin’.”

She does, and that sight alone is going to stay with him for a long time. He falls down onto his back, his limbs sore, his tummy rising and falling rapidly as he attempts to recover. She lies down beside him, her head resting on his chest. “Good?” he questions with a grin. Like he even needs to ask.

After a moment, she lays a soft kiss on his sweaty chest before disappearing into the bathroom to clean up. When she comes back, she finds his flannel, wrapping it around her naked body. She sits on the edge of the bed, bringing a knee to her chest as she looks at him. “This wasn't a good idea.” She says softly, shaking her head, but the little smile apparent on her lips tells him something different.

He smirks, moving his arm up to rest behind his head. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He watches her fiddling with the sleeve of his flannel. “You can keep that if you want; it looks better on you.” 

“You know I can't." She chuckles. 

“No?” He sits up, reaching forward for her hand. “Come ‘ere.” He pulls her across the bed until she straddles his lap. “You want me to take it off ya, then?”

His index finger runs up the soft material before gently pushing it aside to reveal her nipple. Leaning in, he sucks it into his mouth, her sweet soft whimpers pleasing him. Squeezing her ass cheeks with both hands, he pauses and lifts his head, placing a soft kiss against her lips.

“What?” She searches his eyes, her hand combing through his fluffy brown curls. 

"You ever need taking care of again, you know where I am.” 

———

Walking into Tommy's kitchen on Monday morning with his right eye black and swollen, Tommy's vigorous munching slows as he looks up and sees Joel’s face.

“Jesus Christ, Joel.” 

Joel smirks, unbothered. "You should see the other guy.” He sits down opposite with a groan, instantly digging into the breakfast waiting for him. 

“You’re unbelievable.” Tommy sighs, shaking his head. “Look at ya, not an ounce of guilt about it.”

“Guilt? She’s an adult, Tommy; she makes her own decisions, and I guess I was one of them."

“Fuck sake… so I need to find another apprentice?” 

“I told you before, we don't need one, but yeah... Nate isn't coming back.” 

“And her?” Tommy asks. Before Joel can reply, his phone buzzes in his back pocket. When he takes it out, Tommy watches a shit-eating grin spread across his brother's face. “That’s her, isn’t it?” 

He shrugs. “Oh, I’ll be seeing her again.” 

Tommy pushes his chair back with a loud scrape. “You can eat mine too, don’t exactly have an appetite anymore.” 

[moremeg3-deactivated20231016]

[neverquit69]

WHEN SHE MAKES YOUR FAVORITE DESSERT!!🥰🔥❤️🔥🥰🔥🍷

[littledes1re]

Cherry pie

Pairing: Oldman!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After countless dates with a boy, you know that next time you’re going to sleep with him. But you’re way too inexperienced. So what better way is there than showing up at Joel Miller’s door with cherry pie in hand, and asking if he’s willing to help you out?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, oldman!joel, dom!joel, both reader and Joel are kinda unhinged, slight pervy!joel, tiny bit of mean!joel but he is a softie, cheating (also not? bc reader is not together with that boy), inexperienced!reader, girthy age gap! (61 and 24), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink (?), oral m!receiving, pinv, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, fingering, riding, size kink, outbreak, tiny bit of thigh riding

A/N: oh my gosh that old, dirty man is back at it again. I missed him, I hope yall did too😌

Your fingers tapped nervously on the plate beneath the cherry pie. The sweet scent was almost unbearable, but giving up wasn’t an option—not after that time you spent searching for ingredients outside of Jackson.

The sun dipped low behind the trees and it was nearly evening. The timing was perfect for some pie, and you were sure Joel would love it.

His house sat on the quieter edge of Jackson, marked by a ‘Miller’ mailbox, a wooden porch, and a dried-out garden. (You couldn’t blame him though, he was working way too hard to keep up with his garden.)

Three knocks.

“Hi.” You greeted him, a smile tugging on your lips. His eyebrows quickly furrowed—just as you know him. Joel looked exhausted. His green flannel dirty, hair messy and dirt stained boots. He just came back from work.

“Whatcha doin’, girl?” His voice hoarse, deep. Sending shivers down your spine.

And you knew this was a bad idea. Heck, asking Joel—your mentor, your teacher and someone who took care of you countless times—to show you how to give someone a blowjob was embarrassing.

But you didn’t know how else to learn. You were way too inexperienced—no enough friends to ask, no porn, no education in this town.

And after your last time, having to interrupt a heavy make out session with that one boy who works at the day care, you needed desperate help for next time.

“Bought you cherry pie.”

His eyes lingered over the pie for a moment, then landed on your body—following the curve of your skin up and down, lingering far too long on the red crop top you were wearing.

“Made me pie, eh? It’s cold outside. Come on in.” He opened his door wide, a hand coming to the small of your back and letting you in—lingering a bit longer than usual.

From the inside, his house was cosier—the last bits of sunlight spilling from the windows, painting everything into a golden haze. His furniture, old and rugged like him, was scattered with soft pillows and a few photos here and there. And of course, his beloved wooden carved animals, carefully crafted, sat in every corner, quietly collecting dust.

You carefully place the pie on his kitchen counter, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel already pulls out two forks, one for you and one for him. “Now what do we have here.”

You knew he adored your pies. Sometimes you’d bake him two or even three, and he’d devour every last bite—but only after he’d done something in return. Whether it was fixing something around your apartment or bringing you something from patrol, there was always a little exchange involved.

“What’s the matter with you? Why the face?” he asks, and your heart leaps, suddenly remembering why you came. He already took a generous bite of cherry pie, a smear of filling resting messily at the corner of his mouth.

“Just—uhm. Can you do me a little favor?”

“A favor? Should’ve known. Y’never bring that old man pie without wanting any favors.”

You giggle quietly, also taking a bite of pie.

“What is it this time, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

The first time he called you that was when you were together on patrol. He taught you how to use a sniper, his hand landing gently on your shoulder, squeezing softly when you did well. Or when you helped him fix your light—tools in your hand, his voice calling you a good girl when you handed him the right ones.

Or when he had you creaming around his fingers. After giving him his pie, quietly, on your couch. Leaving small kisses on your neck, the other hand rubbing your nipples through your shirt, telling you how good you are for him.

And a ‘this can’t happen again.’ leaving you with wanting more.

So, you weren’t sure if you were here because of that boy or because of Joel. Because, admittedly, you have been aching for his touch since then.

“Cat got ya tongue?” He interrupts your thoughts with a quick snap of fingers. “My back is fuckin’ killing me. Let’s sit down on the couch, then you can tell me about that little favour of yours.”

Before you can answer him, he pulls out two plates, carefully puts one slice for you and two slices for himself, and then walks to his living room with them.

You take a deep breath.

Walking into the living room, you see him sitting there—already one of the slices gone—as he starts on the other. You gently make your way to him, sitting down next to him. He takes his fork with pie and brings it to your mouth, making you giggle and take it, a coo leaving his lips.

“C’mon, say it,” he urges, nudging you. Your mind spins with all the ways this could end.

Either he’ll react well—just as you know him—and help you, or he’ll make you leave his house and never contact him again.

You start, “So there is a boy.” And you can see him clenching his jaw tight, fork leaving his hand as his eyebrows furrow.

“That so?”

“Mhm. And I—I don’t know how to ask you this but—“

You look down, your fingers fidgeting with each other, heart thudding in your chest like it’s about to break out.

“Spit it out, kid.” He sighs, sets the plate down, and turns his body toward you—making it now impossibly more difficult for you.

“I—I want to do things with him. But i’m kinda too inexperienced.” Your cheek heat up while you’re talking, your gaze falls down not wanting to look into his disturbed face. The air in the room now feeling impossibly thick.

After an awkward silence you peak up to Joel, who is just looking at you. You can’t tell if it’s disbelief or disgust. Or maybe something in between.

“Jesus christ, girl.” He mutters out. “And what do you want me to do? Hold your hand while you’re getting dicked down?”

Your eyes widen, a gasp leaving your lips at his wording.

“Oh my god—no, no. That’s not what I meant.” Well, what you meant might be just a little bit worse than what he interpreted it as.

“Just—ya know…maybe show me how to give a blo—“

“Nah.” He interrupts you swiftly, shaking his head. “Not happenin’”

You sigh, defeated. Not only did you feel embarrassed, but you probably just ruined your almost perfect relationship with him. Joel took a pillow, mumbling something under his breath, and placed it over his lap. Your eyes perked up at that—he was hard. And he was trying to hide it.

“B-but, you also showed me something else the other time. Wouldn’t be that the same?”

He sighs. “Baby, you ain’t comin’ here dressed like that, bringing me cherry pie and asking me to give you sex ed.”

“Y’know I ain’t got anyone else.” You pout—maybe that’ll help. “And besides, you told me to come to you whenever I needed something right?”

“Christ,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Just can tell you how it’s done, yea? Nothin’ more.”

You hesitate. Hearing it out loud would be more awkward than him simply showing you. His eyes leave no room for choice, so you give a small nod.

“Comin’ here asking me how to blow someone.” He shakes his head, in disbelief.

“Heyyy, Joel—I don’t know how else to learn okey? I don’t want to embarrass myself.” You whine.

“S’fine.” He grumbles under his breath, sitting up straight. “Y’start by teasing.”

His eyes land on your tits.

“Show ‘em. Every boy will appreciate it.”

Your cheeks flush red.

“Then you get on those pretty knees. Take it out, give it some love.”

You ask, curious. “How do I give it some love?”

“Can’t serve everything on a silver spoon can I?” Grumpy, annoyed—making you amused. The pout from earlier starts to form again, you give him a pleading look.

He sighs once again. “Give kisses first. From top to bottom. Stroke gently.” And you notice how the tip of his ears are red.

“And the rest is pretty much self explanatory, ain’t it sweetheart?”

You look at him, the curiosity not letting up. As if you had no clue of the world, wanting him to explain it to you in every single detail. And you were so amused at how flushed and annoyed he was getting.

“God damn, girl. Open them lips, wrap them around and go up and down.”

“How fast?”

“Just how fast that person likes.” He shruggs.

“How do I know how fast that person likes it?” And it’s laughable at how dumb you were making yourself seem, but seeing him grip the pillow over his crotch tighter, his cheeks flushed and sweat dripping from his forehead—it was worth every single second.

“I let my girls know when I gather their hair in my palm and push them faster down.”

Your breath hitches, his girls.

“Then I buck my hips into their mouth,” he continues.

All this time, you thought Joel was a miserable, lonely man with no relationships whatsoever. Embarrassment washes over you as you think about how you believed you were the only one he liked—and that when he fingered you, you were special. You came here to get educated—no, you came here to seduce him. And that was the plain truth.

“Got that in your pretty little head?” He asks you, suddenly pinching your chin between his fingers and making you look at him.

You wanted him to push your head down and buck his hips against you.

“Not really.”

“You’re getting on my last nerves.” He grumbles before putting the pillow away and revealing his bulge. Your eyes land on it, as he zips down his pants, looking at you. His eyes darkening.

“C’mon. That brain of yours had to take some sort of information, right?”

His eyes land on your tits.

You quickly nod, pushing your crop top up quicky, revealing your breasts to him. You hear a groan leaving his chest, then a chuckle.

“Good, that’s what I like to see.” His hand finds your chest, fingers squeezing, then pinching your nipple. “Now what do we do?”

“Get on my knees.”

“Atta girl. Get on those knees.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice when you slide down the couch and kneel in front of his bulge. Nodding, he gently pulls his hard one out of his boxers.

You almost start to drool at the sight.

He was so big. And he was pulsing. Red mushroom head, precum dribbling from the slit and decorated with veins from bottom to top.

“Now, what did we say?” He asks, his hand gently pumping himself up and down, while your eyes follow.

“Give it some love.”

Your hands shakily grab his cock, looking small compared to his length. Stroking up and down, looking up to him with doe eyes and placing kisses on every inch while you listen to Joels groans.

“That’s it.” He gathers your hair into his palm, forming a loose ponytail to keep it from falling in your face. “A man should always do this, yea? Not let you do all the work.”

Your cheeks heat up again, his eyes lock into yours as you nod. There was a warmth spreading inside your panties. You had already difficulties taking his fingers last time, you wonder how it’ll be if you took his cock.

“Wanna take him into my mouth.” You mumble.

He coos. “‘course ya do. C’mon then. Show me how good you listened.”

“Up and down.” You nod. “Hm, up and down, that’s right.” He answers.

You open your lips, hand gently stroking up and down his dick. Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip, hearing him shudder in response.

You try different things out. Swirling around, getting deeper, pulling out and giving small kitten licks. All the while Joel groans your name, and without noticing, your ponytail wrapped in his fist, he moves your head—slow, deliberate—up and down his length.

“Just like that. Y’learning fast.”

The pleasure in your abdomen getting unbearable. You feel yourself soaking through your panties as you start grinding your hips against the heel of your foot.

“Would ya look at that.” He chuckles, his hand going faster.

And as Joel’s movements get messier, he dives your head down until a gag rises sharp in your throat. You cough, and he pulls out quickly, watching your face closely.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, baby.” He carefully tries to calm you down, and while you try to breath normal again, he starts apologising: “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That should’ve not happen. Got too lost in the pleasure.”

“S’okey.” You smile lazily to him, drool hanging from the sides of your face, lips swollen red. You looked too beautiful for your own damn good right now. And Joel wants nothing more to take you right then and there.

“I think that’s enough for today. You already learned how to use your mouth. I’m sure you’ll do good.”

Disappointment washes down your face. You sit there looking up to him with pleading eyes. The throbbing in your cunt unbearable and the urge to take care of him way too big.

He slips the edge of his shirt over his thumb and brushes the drool from your mouth, slow and careful.

“Pretty girl. You let that boy treat you well, yea? Or else.” He mumbles, but your eyes are only on his wet, aching cock.

The boy was forgotten, and Joel could see it in your hazy, fucked-out eyes. You were needy—needy to be touched—and he wished he could just take you, right on his couch. But he made that mistake once. He couldn’t let it happen again.

You move before you even realize it, climbing onto his lap and settling on one of his thighs. His hard cock grazes your skin, and he takes his time looking at you—your lips, your tits.

“Oh angel, we can’t.” A breath leaves his mouth.

You lean in and start kissing him—his cheek, his neck—fingers stroking through his hair as you suckle on his collarbones. His hands find your waist, gripping tight. One hand cups your breast, pinching your nipple. And before you even realize it, your hips are grinding against his thigh.

“Why?” You ask, laying your head against his chest, moving your hips in a slow rhythm.

“I would ruin you.” He answers, “And people in this town would kill us.”

“But you’re just teachin’ me something. Nobody has to know.”

A groan leaves his lips when your hands wrap around his cock, gently stroking up and down.

“That so?”

“Hm”, you nod. “Y’still need to teach me how to take cock.”

“Jesus christ, sweetheart. When did ya get so bold, huh?”

And you want to say ‘when you left me with aching for more’ but you don’t. Instead, you focus on the pleasures building in your tummy. Grinding harder against the rough fabric of his jeans, and a whimper slipping from your lips.

Suddenly, Joel mumbles a “fuck it,” then follows with, “Pull your pants and panties down. Now.” He demands it—and you do just that, standing up and tugging everything down.

“But you ain’t gonna complain if it hurts.” His hands pull you back into his lap, making you sit down again. “All this begging and then complaining about it hurting would be pathetic, girl.”

“C’mere. You’re wet enough.” One hand touches your folds, the other holding his cock. You buckle up, his tip gliding over your folds as you release a breath.

You gently and slowly, sink down.

“Easy, easy, babygirl.” He helps you. Squeezing your hips and guiding you through. A cry leaving your lips when you fully sit down. His length stretching you, touching places you’ve never even felt before.

“S’big, yea? That’s a mans cock, baby. Not gonna gave that much satisfaction when you ride that boy.”

Your head falls to his shoulder, biting down, clenching on his cock. “So big.” A whimper falling from your lips.

“Oh I know, I know.” He whispers. “But you’ll take it, baby. Still need to teach you, don’t I?” He says it playfully. Joel knows the boy is long gone from your mind—and that you came here for one thing: to get fucked by him. There’s no denying it.

He shifts underneath you, gripping you by your thighs and thrusts two times up, leaving you breathless.

“Good?”

“Mhm. More.” And he doesn’t need to hear that twice. He starts giving you quick thrusts, altering between deep and slow, while your moans fill the room.

Your hands grip his shirt, looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed, concentrating, rough breaths leaving his mouth. Tits start to bounce up and down, while he pumps in and out of your squelching cunt.

“Ain’t the one I used to be, girl—help that old man, will you? Start moving your hips.” He groans.

Your body almost limb from the pleasure, starts moving at his request. Going up and down, circling. His hands guiding you, helping you. Biting your lips, whines filling the quiet room and as Joels body suddenly shudders, you feel it.

His cum pumping you. Spurt after spurt, filling you to the brim.

You whimper, looking down, seeing drops of cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, that’s a good girl.” He coos. “Tightest fuckin’ cunt i’ve ever had. Made me cum in no time.”

And you’re still aching for more.

“Could’ve just go to him.” You shrug. “He would’ve at least lasted longer.”

Joel looks at you with widen eyes. The relief after his orgasm completely gone, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushing red. Not with shame or embarrassment.

But anger.

Without a word, he grabs your hips and forces you down onto the couch beside him. Your eyes widen, hands clutching his neck as he looms over you.

“Joel, what are you doing?” You ask, with no answer. Instead, he spreads your legs and grabs his cock.

He glances down, noticing he’s still soft. After a few frustrated strokes, he mutters, “God dammit.”

You giggle.

“Find that funny, huh?” He asks and you can’t even answer before he fills you with two of his fingers, a yelp leaving your lips. “Still got my fingers, baby.”

“Joel..” You squeeze your eyes shut when he curls them, his thick fingers going in and out of you.

“M’right here, angel. Y’think that boy of yours can reach those spots huh?”

And the spots he reaches are indescribable. Your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot over and over again. Your legs start to shake, as you feel yourself getting close.

“Look at that, y’let me cum in you so well.” He whispers, looking at the ring of sperm build around his fingers whenever he pulls them out of your cunt.

“Joeljoeljoel.” With that you clench down his fingers, hips bucking, tummy clenching, you come around his fingers with a big cry.

Before you can even come down, he’s filling you again—his cock sliding in. The stretch feels good this time, and you clutch his shoulders as he murmurs your name. Your sensitive walls tighten around him, his length still a bit soft but just firm enough to push deep.

“Takin’ it so so good, baby.” He gently whispers in your ear. His lips latch into your neck, kissing and biting. Your moans start to fill the room again, as his thrusts begin in a quick rhythm.

“Feels good, feels so good.” You whimper, and squirm around. “I know it does, I know. That boy may last longer, but he won’t give you a reason for your pussy to be swollen red.” He looks down at your cunt while saying, a thumb landing on your clit.

You can’t even listen to him as the pleasure grows in your tummy once again. “M’gonna cum, please.”

“Good, c’mon then.”

His thumb speeds up at your clit, your leg falls from the couch because of the hard thrusts. Your hands grip impossibly tight to his shoulders.

“Gonna fill you up again, show this whole town who you belong to, yea?” Your eyes get wide at that, making him chuckle. His thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier.

“Joel, please.”

“Shh, s’okey. Cum with me, baby.” And you do.

You let go. This time, it’s harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. Your mouth falls open, silent, as Joel gives you two more hard thrusts before spilling inside you—filling you up again, his release dripping onto the couch beneath you.

He kisses your temple, your nose, your forehead while you come down. His breathing is still hard and deep just like yours, softly coming down from the hard orgasms you two just had.

He pulls out, sits up slightly and watches as his cum oozes out of you.

“Christ, all filled up aren’t you?” His fingers wander to your slit, then he gathers the cum that drips out of your hole and pushes it in with two of his fingers.

With all the exhaustion, you can only whimper.

He thrusts them in and out, thumb gently landing on your clit, just slightly grazing it and making you shudder because of the sensitivity.

“No boy, yea? You’re mine. And if that takes, that’ll prove it.” He looks at you, furrowed eyebrows. And you nod your head softly, limbs to weak to function as you lay on his couch filled to the brim while his fingers are still working inside of you.

The next orgasm rolls in quietly, soft and fleeting—just enough to leave you relaxed and sleepy. Joel lets out a quiet chuckle, then pulls you close by the waist and shoulder. You nestle your head against his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead with quiet affection.

“God damn, y’need to bring me more often pie, sweetheart.”

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just need that old man so bad…

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[littledes1re]

Strawberry creampie

Pairing: Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: You’re cramping, cranky, and just needed to grab a few things. Joel’s mouth had other plans. What starts as a simple ride to the store turns into a slow spiral of sleazy muttering, tuna-fueled rage, and unsolicited period advice. You’re in pain. He’s insufferable. And somehow, you still end up in his van—a heat pad, a stolen shirt, and Joel’s version of comfort waiting in the back.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, non specified age gap unprotected sex, fuck buddies, sleazy!joel (he’s back hehe), pinv, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, period sex, size kink, slight descriptions of blood, praise kink, chubby/fat!joel, slight degradation, daddy kink (just once), joel says the most unhinged things, aftercare, no outbreak,

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY POOKIES!!🎉🥰 Can y’all tell I’m on my period rn lmao😭 I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write a period fic and I finally did it!! Also yes, I used a picture of Hopper for the header—SUE ME. We needed to see Joel Miller’s belly more 😔😔😔😔

Joel pulls up in that same beat-up truck—the one that sounds like it’s coughing up its last breath every time it moves, held together by duct tape and Joels stubborn will.

The passenger door creaks loudly as he opens it for you to slip in.

“Looking good, sweetheart,” he drawls, eyes flicking over you with that lazy smirk that always makes you want to roll your eyes and punch him into the ribs. “You do somethin’ different with your hair, or is that just bedhead?”

You don’t answer.

“Goddamn door’s stickin’ again,” he mutters, slamming it shut behind you with a grunt once you’re in. “Gotta hit it twice now. Like I’m tryin’ to put down a damn zombie. I swear, one of these days this whole piece’a shit’s just gonna fall apart while I’m drivin’. Hood’ll fly off, wheels’ll roll in opposite directions, and I’ll just sit there like an asshole in the middle of the road.”

Joel was a man of many words. Too many, as you always liked to say. There wasn’t a sentence he didn’t lace with a curse or a complaint, but that’s just what made him Joel.

He slaps the dashboard affectionately, like it’s a stubborn old dog. “But she’s got character, y’know? Can’t just toss her out. She’s earned her miles.”

You glance at the cracked windshield, tape curling at the edges, smelling the familiar faint scent of gasoline and old leather.

He’s already shifting into gear, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the back of your seat. The truck lurches forward with a wheeze, and Joel mutters something under his breath that sounds like a curse (once again).

You weren’t sure when exactly your life veered off of course—which wrong turn, which bad decision, which moment of weakness landed you here, tangled up with this sleazy, grumbling old man who smelled like motor oil and cheap soap and somehow still managed to get under your skin in all the worst ways.

Joel wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even really a friend. He was just…there. A warm body, a familiar mouth, an orgasm when you need it the most.

And yet, here you were asking your fuck buddy to help you run errands, as if that was something normal.

“Tommy called this mornin’,” he starts, like he has been waiting all day to talk about it. “Said he needs help fixin’ the fence again. I told him, ‘You break it every damn week, maybe stop leanin’ ya fat ass on it.’”

He snorts, clearly pleased with himself. “Didn’t like that much. Got all huffy. Said it’s not his fault the wind knocked it down. I said, ‘Bullshit. The wind didn’t eat three burgers and leaned on that damn thing.’”

You glance at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t notice.

“Then he starts goin’ on about how I never answer my phone. I said, ‘Maybe if you stopped callin’ me every time a nail pops loose, I’d be more inclined.’ Told him I’m not his damn handyman. He said, ‘You’re not doin’ anything else.’ I said, ‘Exactly. Let me keep not doin’ it in peace.’”

He shakes his head, muttering, “Idiot’s gonna be the death of that damn fence. Or me.”

He glances at you again, expecting a smirk, a laugh, something. But you’re just staring out the window, arms crossed tight over your chest.

Joel frowns, drums his knuckles against the steering wheel, a soft, rhythmic tap that fills the quiet. His eyes flick back to the road, then to you again.

“What about you, sweetheart?” he asks, voice casual but slightly unsure. “How was your day?”

You shrug, barely. “Forgot my eggs on the pan.”

He snorts. “Shit. Bet the whole house smells like rubber now.”

You nod, still not looking at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “One time I damn near burned my kitchen down doin’ that. Left the stove on, went outside to yell at the neighbor’s dog—little bastard kept barking like a maniac—came back in and the whole pan was blacker than my coffee.”

You shift slightly, arms still crossed, but your mouth twitches. Just a little.

Joel catches it. Keeps going.

“Whole place smelled like shit. Like scorched tires and disgusting rubber. Took a week to air it out. Had to throw the pan out too—thing looked like it’s been through a war.”

A quiet laugh escapes as a huff, involuntary and short.

Joel glances over, smug. “There she is.” He taps the wheel again, slower this time. “You alright?”

You don’t answer. Just shift again, pressing your hand to your stomach, feeling that sharp pain tearing through your insides.

Joel notices. But he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

“Where d’you want me to take you, sugar? Grocery store? Liquor store? Straight to hell?”

You mutter, “Just grocery store.”

“Good. I was runnin’ low on stuff too.” He answers, looking at you, expecting a smile—a something. But you just look out of the window.

He asks again, slower this time. “You really good?”

You nod, but it’s tight. Joel doesn’t push—not yet. Just mutters, “Alright then,” and pulls out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming on his thigh.

The ride to the store is mostly filled with Joel’s annoying voice: a steady stream of complaints about traffic, gas prices, and some guy who apparently parked too close to his truck last week. You let it just wash over you, eyes fixed on the trees and strip malls outside the window, while your stomach cramps in slow, mean pulses.

Inside the store, the fluorescent lights are too bright, buzzing faintly overhead like a swarm of insects.

You move through the aisles on autopilot, grabbing the essentials: a bottle of ibuprofen, a bag of chips you probably won’t eat, a chocolate bar you definitely will. You pause at the feminine hygiene aisle, grab a box of pads and one box of tampons—just to be prepared for everything.

And Joel…well Joel, of course, is nowhere near the checkout. You find him two aisles over, standing toe tp toe with a man in a hoodie, voice raised just enough to draw attention.

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s real damn fish,” Joel is saying, gesturing wildly with a can of tuna in one hand. “You think they’re just grindin’ up mystery meat and callin’ it tuna for fun?”

The other man scoffs. “I’m just sayin’, it don’t taste like fish. It’s like…fish adjacent.”

Joel’s eyes narrow. “You ever seen a cow in a can? No? Then shut the hell up.”

You sigh, stepping in before it escalates. “Joel.”

He barely glances at you. “Tell this guy tuna’s real damn fish.”

“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, grabbing his arm and steering him toward the checkout. “Come on.”

He lets you pull him away but not without a parting shot. “You’re the reason the country’s goin’ to hell, y’know that? Can’t even trust a man with a can opener anymore.”

You don’t respond. Just shove your items onto the band and pretend you don’t know him while he mutters under his breath about “fish truthers” and something about “goddamn grocery store philosophers.”

Back in the truck, you toss the bag into the backseat and climb in, settling into the passenger side with a sigh. Joel’s already midrant, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing like he’s still in the store, still arguing with the guy in the hoodie.

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s fish. Tuna is fish. I don’t give a shit if it’s in a can or swimmin’ in the damn ocean.”

You don’t even care anymore.

Because this is Joel—a man who’d argue with a stranger over canned tuna like it was a matter of world security. A man who was always loud, always wrong, and always ready to throw hands over the dumbest shit.

But he could fuck. God, could he fuck. And when this whole thing started, that was the only part you let yourself care about.

The rest? The attitude, the mouth, the sleaze—you told yourself you could ignore. Just noise. Just background. Even while it’s annoying.

Joel keeps going, voice low and gravelly. “I swear, people get one opinion and suddenly they’re a damn marine biologist. ‘Oh, tuna’s not real fish.’ What’s next? Chicken’s not real poultry? My dick’s not real meat?”

You snort, but don’t look at him.

Joel catches it instantly. “You agree with me now, right?” he says, smug as hell. “Knew it. Knew you were on my side.”

You shake your head, staring out the window. “I’m not on anyone’s side. I just think it’s funny you almost fought a man over a can of fish.”

He scoffs, still grumbling about the tuna guy when his voice drops into something lower, lazier—familiar. His voice softens, just a notch. “You got everything you wanted, hon?”

You nod, slow. “Yeah.”

He watches you for a second longer, then shifts his gaze back to the road. “Need to go anywhere else?”

“No, but…thank you.”

“Oh, my polite girl,” he says, grinning all cheeky. He reaches over and pinches your cheek, rough fingers warm and calloused.

You huff, batting his hand away. “Don’t.”

He chuckles, leaning back against his seat. “Got adrenaline runnin’ through my veins. You should’ve just let me fight that dude.”

You glance at him. “You still there?”

Joel scoffs. “Ain’t lettin’ myself get disrespected like that. People piss me off,” he mutters. “Whole damn store full of idiots. Got me all wound up.”

He glances at you, then back at the road. “Could use a distraction. Somethin’ to take the edge off.”

You shake your head.

He smirks to himself, voice dipping into that slow, familiar drawl. “Could bury my face in somethin’ soft. Shut my mouth for a while. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even look at him. “Shut up.”

That actually makes him pause.

“Woah,” he mutters, glancing over. “Usually you like my tone.”

You don’t respond, keeping yourself from insulting him.

He watches you for a second longer, then scoffs. “What, now you wanna get on my nerves too?”

You still don’t say anything.

Joel shakes his head, muttering, “What’s the matter with you today anyway?” Then, under his breath, half a joke, half a threat: “All stuck up. Need me to fuck it outta you?”

You roll your eyes while shifting, pressing your palm tighter against your stomach, jaw clenched.

Joel watches you for a second longer, then leans back in his seat with a low exhale. “Ah,” he mutters. “So that’s what this is.”

You glare at him. “Don’t.”

He grins wider. “You on your period, sugar?”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Joel.”

“What?” he says, all mock innocence. “I’m just observant. You get all quiet and mean, start holdin’ your tummy like that. I’ve seen it before.”

You mutter something under your breath and look out the window.

He leans in a little, voice dropping. “Y’know, I used to see this girl who loved gettin’ fucked on her period. Said it helped with the cramps. Said I was better than Midol.”

You groan. “You’re disgusting.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but I’m not wrong.”

A beat of silence. The truck hums beneath you, tires rolling over cracked pavement.

Then Joel shifts, glancing at you again — slower this time. “You want me to take you home?”

You shake your head. “Don’t feel like being alone.”

He nods once, like that settles it. “Alright.”

Without saying anything, he reaches over—rough palm warm through the fabric and lays his hand over your tummy. Rubs once, slow and firm, like he’s done it before.

“C’mon,” he mutters. “Let’s go back to my van.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

He shrugs, voice low. “I’ll crank the heat. You can lay down, steal my last clean shirt, bitch about my mattress. I won’t even try anything.”

You raise a brow.

He smirks. “Unless you ask real nice.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not done.

“Could even rub your tummy,” he adds, voice syrupy. “Or your thighs. Or whatever else’s achin’. I’m versatile like that.”

You snort. “You’re a menace.”

“Damn right I am,” he says, grinning. “But I’m a menace with a heated van and a soft spot for cranky girls who forget their eggs on the stove.”

You try not to smile. Fail.

He sees it. “There she is,” he says, satisfied. “Knew I’d get you.”

You sigh, long and slow. “Fine. But I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight.”

Joel taps the wheel, already pulling into a turn. “Good. I’ll keep it to a low simmer.”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop him. And he doesn’t ask again.

Joel doesn’t shut up the whole ride back.

He’s still going on about the tuna guy, about “idiots with opinions and no taste buds” and how “this country’s gone soft, that you can’t even trust a man with a can opener anymore.”

Every few minutes, he reaches over to poke your side, just enough to make you flinch and swat at him, which only encourages him more.

You’re too tired to argue, and the cramps are starting to dig in deeper, like something inside you is twisting just to be cruel.

By the time he pulls up to the van, the sky’s gone a dull gray, the kind that makes everything look washed out and tired. The van’s parked in its usual spot—half on gravel, half on dead grass, tucked behind a sagging fence that leans like it’s given up.

There’s a busted lawn chair tipped over in the dirt, a rusted grill that hasn’t seen fire in years, and a pile of wood that might’ve once been a table.

It’s a mess. But it’s Joel’s mess. And somehow, that makes it feel…familiar. Even safe in a twisted way.

He hops out and circles around to your side, opening the door for you with a dramatic bow.

“Ma lady,” he says, voice syrupy.

Inside, the van is exactly how you remember it.

Dim, cluttered, smelling like cigarettes, old leather, and something vaguely wooden. The red curtains are drawn, casting everything in a soft, crimson gloom. Then there’s a pile of laundry in the corner, a half empty mug on the counter, and a pair of boots kicked off near the door.

The bed’s unmade—sheets rumpled, blanket half on the floor—but it’s still comfortable. You know it.

It’s the same bed where Joel first pulled you down with that crooked grin and promised to show you some “lovin’ and care,” and then fucked your brains out.

You sit down on the edge of it now, letting out a low groan as you clutch your stomach.

Joel watches you for a beat, then makes a soft, exaggerated cooing sound. “Poor baby,” he says, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “Need some water?”

You nod, and he moves to his tiny kitche, grabbing a bottle from the mini fridge. It’s not cold, but it’s water so you take it with a quiet “thanks.”

He eyes you for a second, then gestures vaguely towards your jeans. “You need to change or somethin’? I got a shirt you can wear. Big n’soft. Smells just like me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not a selling point.”

He smirks. “Sure it is. You love how I smell.”

You don’t answer that with a response, but when he tosses the shirt your way—a faded green thing that’s probably seen more oil stains than laundry detergent—you take it anyway.

It does smell like him. Cigarettes, sweat, and something warm and earthy underneath. You change in the cramped little bathroom, peeling off your jeans with a wince and tugging the oversized shirt down over your thighs.

When you come back out, Joel’s already stripped down to his boxers, scratching at his stomach with one hand and tossing his fannel into the laundry pile with the other.

“Gotta take a shower,” he mutters. “Sweat my damn ass off today arguing with that guy.”

You don’t look at him, but you can hear the way he grunts as he moves, the way the floor creaks under his weight. He’s big—broad and solid, with a belly that presses against the counter when he leans over it, soft and round and unapologetic. He doesn’t suck it in. Doesn’t hide. Just scratches his ribs and yawns like you’re not even there.

“You stay here, yeah?” he says, nodding toward the bed. “Look—heating pad.”

He pulls it from under a pile of flannels and plugs it in, testing it with his palm before handing it over. “Old man like me needs somethin’ warm for his back, but you need it more than me right now, hon.”

You take it without a word, pressing it to your stomach as you sink back onto the bed. The warmth is immediate, soothing. You close your eyes for a second, breathing through the ache.

Joel steps closer, leans down, and presses a kiss to your forehead—rough lips, scratch of stubble, the faintest scent of wood and sweat.

“Stay here, baby.”

You don’t argue, don’t roll your eyes. Just curl onto your side, the heating pad tucked against your belly, and listen to the sound of the water starting up in the tiny shower stall.

The van creaks as Joel moves, his body brushing the narrow walls, muttering something about how “these damn doors keep shrinkin’” as his stomach bumps the frame.

You don’t look, even while the door is open.

You’ve seen it before. The way he moves like he owns every inch of himself, the soft weight of him, the stretch of his skin, the way he doesn’t flinch when he catches his reflection. It’s not confidence, exactly. It’s just Joel. Unbothered. Unapologetic.

And somehow, that’s the part that makes you stay.

The water shuts off with a metallic groan, and a moment later you hear the soft thud of Joel’s feet against the floor, the creak of the bathroom door swinging open. Steam rolls out in a wave, curling into the cool air of the van.

He steps out, towel slung low around his hips, belly damp and flushed pink from the heat. His hair’s slicked back, droplets clinging to his chest hair, trailing down the curve of his stomach.

Then, his eyes land on you, curled up on the bed like a cocoon, Joel’s oversized shirt swallowing your frame. The heating pad hums faintly beneath the blanket, but your face is pinched, one hand still pressed to your stomach, the other curled into the sheets.

Joel’s expression softens. “Oh, honey girl,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “You look like hell, don’t you?”

You don’t bother answering. You’re too tired, too sore, too wrapped in the dull throb of your own body to do anything but breathe through it.

He crouches besides the bed, towel shifting slightly on his hips, and reaches out to brush your hair back from your forehead. His fingers are warm, still damp, and surprisingly gentle.

“There she is,” he says, voice low and fond. “My little grump.”

You close your eyes, letting him touch you. comforting. Familiar. His hand moves to your head, stroking slow, then down to your shoulder, thumb tracing lazy circles into the fabric of his own shirt.

“Hurts bad?” he asks.

You nod, barely.

He sighs. “Alright. Scoot over.”

You do, and he climbs onto the bed besides you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

The towel stays on (barely) as he settles in behind you, one arm draping over your waist. His hand finds your stomach, warm and broad, and he starts to rub in slow, steady circles.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

You hum, the pressure easing something deep inside you. He keeps going, patient and quiet, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

After a while, his hand drifts lower, to your hip, then your thigh. Kneading and soothing. His touch is firm but careful, like he’s trying to press the pain out of you with his palms.

You melt into it, tension bleeding out of your muscles one knot at a time.

Joel leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Told you I’m better than Midol.”

You don’t answer, but your body does—softening under his touch, breath slowing, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re warmin’ up,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Feelin’ better?”

You hum, eyes half-lidded. “A little.”

He leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Good. Hate seein’ you all curled up like that. Makes me wanna fix it.”

His hand drifts up, slow and warm, brushing the hem of the shirt. He pauses just beneath your ribs, thumb tracing lazy circles into your side.

“These girls also sore?” he murmurs, voice low and rough.

You don’t answer right away. Just let out a soft, miserable whine and nod, eyes still closed.

Joel hums, like he’s been given permission. “Yeah, figured.”

His hand slides up, careful and slow, until he’s cupping you through the fabric. No pressure, just warmth. His thumb strokes gently along the curve, feather-light.

“Mm,” he murmurs. “All swollen. Poor things.”

You let out a shaky breath, but you don’t stop him. You don’t want to. So he keeps going, slow and steady, massaging with the kind of care that makes your chest ache in a different way. Something that makes you feel safe and seen.

His hand quietly drifts lower, just a little—not quite crossing any lines, but close enough that your breath catches. He notices. Of course he does.

“Y’know,” he says, tone going sly, “I wasn’t kiddin’ earlier. Had a girl once swore up and down that a good fuck was better than any painkiller.”

You groan, but it’s half-hearted. “Joel…”

He grins against your skin. “What? I’m just sayin’. Could be medicinal. Therapeutic, even. I’m a giver like that.”

His hand slides a little farther, palm warm against the top of your thigh now, thumb pressing slow, soothing circles into the muscle.

“Bet I could make you forget all about that ache,” he murmurs, voice like honey and gravel. “Real gentle. Real slow. Just enough to take the edge off.”

You don’t answer, but your body does. Your hips shifting slightly, breath hitching and already a small pulse inside your underwear.

Joel chuckles, low and pleased. “That’s what I thought,” he says, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Feelin’ better already.”

There’s a pause—not awkward, just quiet and then you murmur, barely above a whisper, “I’d bleed all over your sheets.”

Joel’s hand stills for a second. Then he lets out a soft snort, amused but not mocking.

“Y’think I care?” he says, voice low and rough. “Sugar, I can throw ‘em in the machine. Hell, I’ll toss ‘em out if I have to. Ain’t like they’re made of gold.”

You don’t say anything. Just stare at his sheets, jaw tight.

He leans in, brushing his nose against your temple. “Ain’t nothin’ about you that’s disgusting. You hear me?”

You shift again, uncomfortable in a way that has nothing to do with your body. “It’s not exactly…sexy.”

Joel huffs. “Who said anything about sexy? I’m talkin’ about you. Hurtin’. Needing somethin’. I don’t give a damn what time of the month it is. You think I’m scared of a little blood?”

You glance at him, uncertain. He meets your eyes, steady and sure.

“I’ve seen worse,” he says, smirking. “Hell, I’ve bled more than that just tryin’ to fix the damn carburetor.”

You let out a reluctant laugh, small and shaky.

“You know i’m right” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’ you could do that’d scare me off. You wanna lay here and groan, I’ll rub your back. You wanna cry, I’ll hold you. You wanna ride me bloody, I’ll lay down a towel and thank you after.”

Your face burns. “Joel.”

He grins, unbothered. “What? I’m just sayin’. You don’t gotta be embarrassed. Not with me.”

You look at him, really look, and there’s no judgment in his eyes. Just that same crooked affection, that strange mix of sleaze and sincerity that somehow makes you feel…safe.

You exhale, long and slow, and let your head fall back against the pillow.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Joel leans down, presses a kiss to your forehead again—softer this time, lingering.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now stand up. Let me take care of you.”

Joel shifts behind you also standing up, the bed creaking under his weight as he leans over to the far end. You hear the soft rustle of fabric, the tug of a pillow being yanked free from under a pile of laundry, the click of the heating pad being unplugged and moved.

You blink up at him, glassy eyed. “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just lays a pillow down near the end of the bed, smooths the heating pad over it, then tosses a towel on top.

“Gonna make you a little nest,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked grin. “Get you all warm and comfy. Then I’m gonna fuck the pain right outta you.”

You huff, but your body’s already responding—a slow, low ache curling in your belly, different from the cramps. Deeper. Thicker.

Joel pats the towel. “Lay down on your tummy, sugar. Right here. Let that heat hit you where it counts.”

You hesitate, but only for a second. Then you shift forward, letting him guide you down. The towel’s soft against your skin, the heating pad radiating warmth through the fabric, straight into your lower belly. You exhale, already feeling the relief.

Joel stands behind you, hands smoothing over your hips, adjusting you just so. “There we go,” he murmurs. “Nice and easy. Just like that.”

You bury your face into the sheets, the scent of him everywhere—smoke, sweat, soap.

Then he leans down, presses a kiss on your thigh, and whispers, “Just let go, baby. I got you.”

You feel the slow, deliberate tug of your panties being eased down.

“Is it… is it dripping blood?” You tense.

Joel pauses for half a second. Then he lets out a low, appreciative sound, voice thick with that familiar drawl.

“Nah,” he murmurs, leaning in close. “It’s drippin’ heaven, baby.”

You groan, burying your face into the sheets. “You’re disgusting.”

He chuckles, unbothered. “Yeah, but you’re still lettin’ me touch you.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. Not when his hands are back on your hips, warm and steady, not when his voice is in your ear, all gravel and heat.

He shifts behind you, the rustle of his towel hitting the floor barely audible over the sound of your own breathing.

One hand slides down, fingers brushing between your thighs, exploring your folds. “Already wet,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then, lower: “Need me to prep you?”

You shake your head, barely. You just needed relief.

He exhales, rough and quiet. “Alright.”

He pushes in slow, careful, just the tip and then stills, breath catching in his throat.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice rough. “You’re so damn tight like this.”

You whimper, hips twitching under his hands.

He leans over you, lips brushing your hip. “But feels like heaven, baby. All warm and snug and squeezin’ me like you missed me.”

You bury your face in the pillow, flushed and aching, but you don’t pull away.

He pushes in slow, inch by inch, his breath ragged, hands gripping your hips like he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will. You’re warm and tight around him, body pulsing with heat and ache, and he groans low in his throat.

Joel groans, rolling his hips just a little. “Could stay right here all night. Just like this. Deep and slow. Let you milk the pain outta both of us.”

You whimper, burying your face into the sheets once again, the stretch deep and aching but good. So good.

Joel stills once he’s fully seated inside you, chest heaving. Then, with a low grunt, he shifts—knees bracing on either side of your thighs, his body rising over yours.

And then he lowers himself, slow and heavy, until his belly settles against the small of your back, warm and solid.

You moan, the weight of him pressing you deeper into the heat of the pillow, the pressure on your belly somehow soothing and overwhelming all at once.

“Too much?” he murmurs, voice rough but careful.

You shake your head, breath shallow. “Just…heavy.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “Yeah, I know. Big ol’ bastard, ain’t I?”

You huff a laugh, even as your lungs work a little harder under him.

Joel shifts, just enough to take some of the weight off your ribs, his forearms bracing him up. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll hold myself up. Don’t want you passin’ out on me—not unless I earned it.”

You roll your eyes, but your body relaxes under him. The weight of him is grounding, comforting in a way you didn’t expect. Like being blanketed in heat and muscle and the steady rhythm of his breath.

The bed creaks again as he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that rock the whole frame. The headboard taps the wall in time, a soft, rhythmic thud that fills the space between your moans and his low, filthy praise.

“Fuckin’,” he breathes. “You’re so goddamn soft under me. Like a warm fuckin’ peach, ripe and drippin’.”

You whine, half from the ache, half from the way his words go straight to your spine.

He chuckles, low and filthy. “That’s it, you just lay there, sugar. Let me do the work. Let me press all that ache outta that sweet little belly. Ain’t no Midol in the world that hits like this.”

You cry out, feeling him hit that one spot in you.

Deep, dragging thrusts that make your breath catch and your fingers curl into the sheets. Every inch of him presses into you, every roll of his hips sending a fresh wave of heat through your belly.

“Shit, girl… I’m stickin’ to you. Sweat, blood, all of it. My belly’s glued to your back like we’re welded together.” He murmurs.

You’re already so sensitive—from the cramps, from the heat, from everything he’s done to you tonight. Every stroke against your walls feels like too much and not enough all at once.

And then he shifts just right—hits that spot deep inside once again, and you gasp, a high, broken sound, and your thighs tremble.

Joel stills, just for a second. “Oh, baby,” he groans, voice thick with heat. “You gonna cum already?”

You can’t even answer. It’s already happening—your body clenching around him, breath stuttering, pleasure crashing over you like a wave you didn’t see coming.

Joel groans, low and guttural. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl. So goddamn tight, milkin’ me already.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your neck—his weight just pressing you down more.

“Didn’t even have to work for it,” he murmurs, voice all grit and honey. “Just slid in and you broke for me. That sweet little body was beggin’ for it, huh?”

You’re still trembling beneath him, body limp and flushed, breath catching in your throat as the last waves of your orgasm ripple through you. Joel stays buried deep, his weight a warm press on your back, his breath hot against your neck.

He leans in. “That helped? Made your cramps all better?”

You nod, still dazed, cheek pressed to the mattress.

He grins, slow and smug. “Told ya I’d fuck those cramps right outta that pretty little belly.”

Then he looks down again, and you feel the way his breath hitches—the way your hips twitch, the way the blood is dripping down his cock.

“Look at this fuckin’ mess,” he mutters, voice thick with heat. “All that blood and slick… drippin’ down my cock like you needed it.”

You cry out under him, body limp and flushed, when Joel grinds in again—slow, deep, relentless. The overstimulation sharp and sweet all at once.

“Sensitive?” he rasps, voice thick with heat. “Good. Daddy likes it like that.”

He shifts his knees wider, bracing himself, and then he thrusts deeper. So deep. You gasp, the pressure sharp and overwhelming, like he’s pressing into something you didn’t even know was there.

“Shit,” he groans, voice thick and ragged. “You feel that, baby? That’s me hittin’ the end of you.”

You whine out loud, hips twitching, the pillow under your belly pushing everything tighter, more intense.

Joel leans in, his belly heavy on your back. “Can feel your little womb flinchin’ around me,” he mutters, filthy and reverent all at once. “Like it’s beggin’ me to stay.”

You moan, overwhelmed, and he grinds in again—slow, relentless, like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into you.

“You’re shakin’ like a leaf, baby.” He coos. Overstimmed, overstuffed, and still takin’ it. That’s my girl. That’s what I like.”

“Joel—“ you whimper, your head already floaty.

“I know, honey.”

The bed creaks beneath you both, the heat from the pad, the weight of him, the stretch—it’s all just too much and not enough. You’re drowning in it, in him, in the way he fills every inch of you.

Joel kisses your shoulder, then growls, “You’re gonna come again, baby. I can feel it. Gonna milk me dry, ain’t you?”

And with the next thrust—deep, slow, all in—you do.

Body shaking, cunt releasing all kinds of fluids and your breath knocked away.

“Second one’s always the messiest.“ he whispers, pulling out an inch and looking at all the mess you did. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that? Sweetest little thing I ever ruined.”

You’re wrecked. Muscles slack, thighs sticky, brain fogged. And before you can calm down, he moves again. Gentle, deliberate rolls inside your cunt and your body jolts like it wasn’t expecting more.

You gasps, voice all breath and disbelief: “You’re still? Joel… I can’t take no more…”

And he just leans in, mouth hot at your ear, hand now sliding up your ribs to hold you still.

“Shhh… hush now.” A low, lazy murmur. “You said that last time. And look at you—still here. Still takin’ it.”

He starts pressing in deeper, making you see stars.

“Mmm… this one’ll fix those cramps up real good. Better than any damn pill ever could.”

You try to speak, to protest, but all that comes out is a broken moan. Your legs twitch. Your breath stutters. And he feels it—the way your body starts to tighten again, even before your mind catches up.

He slows down, just enough to make you feel every inch, every drag of him inside you. His hand stays between your legs, fingers slick and steady, working your clit with maddening precision. You’re trembling, overstimulated, breath hitching with every pass of his thumb.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “I know it’s a lot. I know you’re sensitive.”

You whimper, hips twitching, trying to pull away—but he just follows, keeps you pinned with his weight and his mouth at your ear.

“But you’re takin’ it so good,” he breathes. “So fuckin’ good for me. Just one more. You can do that, can’t you?”

You shake your head, but it’s useless—your body’s already betraying you, clenching around him, grinding into his hand like it’s got a mind of its own.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me feel you. Let me help. Gonna fuck those cramps right outta you.”

And then he adds: “That little belly will thank me later.”

You’re too raw, too full, too far gone—and he knows it. He wants it.

“Cum for me,” he growls, thrusts deep and slow. “Give me that third one. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you do—again—with a cry that’s more sound than breath, your body seizing around him as he fucks you through it, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your overstimmed, aching core.

Your thighs clamp under his hips, your cunt pulsing so hard it borders on pain. You sob through it, too sensitive, too full, and still he doesn’t stop, dragging it out until you’re writhing, begging, soaked and ruined.

He groans deep, guttural, and his hips stutter, grinding in deep, and staying there. His voice is a rasp: “Fuck… that’s it. That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of it.”

You feel him spill inside you, hot and slow, his whole body pressed tight to yours, breath ragged against your neck. You’re shaking. Floating. Gone.

“God damn it—my fuckin’ back—” he grits out, voice cracking as he drives in deep one last time.

He groans, loud and low, like it’s being torn out of him, and you feel it—the heat, the weight, the way he spills inside you like he’s been holding it back for hours.

“Shit… that’s it… that’s it…” he mutters, forehead pressed to your shoulder, body trembling. “Gonna need a fuckin’ ice pack after this. Jesus.”

You can’t help it—you laugh between all that overstimulation, breathless and wrecked, still clenching around him.

He huffs a laugh too, catching his breath. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, woman. I just threw my back out makin’ you see stars.”

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just stays there, heavy and warm, muttering into your skin.

“You good, darlin’?” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “Still breathin’? ‘Cause I ain’t sure I am.”

You hum something soft, too gone to answer, and he chuckles—a slow, wrecked sound.

Finally, with a grunt and a muttered “Alright, here we go…”, he shifts his weight, pulls out slow, and pushes himself up. His knees pop again. His feet hit the floor of the van with a heavy thud, and you groan because you can’t feel your body.

“Sticky little thing. You know what you look like down there? Goddamn…like strawberry cream pie, baby. Red white and split open and spillin’ sweet all over me.”

You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “Ugh, Joel… you’re so disgusting.”

He just grins, slow and lazy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Yeah?” he drawls, dragging two fingers through the mess and smearing it along your thigh. “Then why you blushin’, huh?”

You try to glare at him, but your face is hot, your body still trembling, and you can’t stop the way your hips twitch when he touches you again.

“Shut up,” you mumble, voice thin and wrecked.

He grabs a towel, wets it from the bottle, then kneels between your thighs.

But before he even touches the towel to your skin, he leans in and drags his tongue through the mess he left behind. Blood, come, sweat all of it.

You gasp, hips twitching, eyes flying open.

“Joel—”

He just chuckles, low and wrecked, licking his lips like he’s savoring it.

“Tastin’ like honey,” he mutters, voice thick with heat. “Sweetest thing I ever put my mouth on.”

You groan, half mortified, half melting, and he grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Then he takes the towel and starts to clean you sweet and slow, gentle strokes, careful not to press too hard.

“Easy now,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, darlin’. You earned it.”

He leans over, brushing your hair back from your face.

“Y’wanna stay like that, or y’want me to change you?”

You groan into the pillow. “Can’t move.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you up, sweetheart.”

He slides an arm under your belly, the other under your chest, and lifts you slow—careful not to jostle you too much. You wince, legs trembling as you shift upright, and then you see it.

The sheets.

Blood and come smeared across the fabric in thick, dark streaks. A mess. Your mess.

You gasp, eyes going wide. “Joel—your sheets—”

But he’s already shaking his head, brushing a kiss to your temple.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that. Sheets can be washed. You? You’re what matters.”

You blink at him, still dazed, still flushed, and he smiles, soft and crooked.

“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up proper.”

He helps you to your feet, one hand steady at your waist, the other grabbing a clean towel. The van rocks gently as you both move, and he groans again.

“Goddamn suspension’s worse than my knees.”

You laugh, leaning into him as he guides you to the little bathroom, and he mutters something about “gonna need a chiropractor and a cigarette” under his breath.

Btw guys, i finally have an Ao3 acc. I’m trying to post all my fics also there but i can’t promise anything because i’m struggling to understand that damn website lmao😭 but if you like to check it out here is the link!

I hope yall enjoyed sleazy!joel hehe and again, happy new year everyone! I hope you all started safely and happy and i hope this year will be just a little bit better! 🫶🏻

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 l @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @easybbgrl @Madnessofadaydreamer @Sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

Divider by @bhavihelps

[littledes1re]

@classybroad2 @locaparapedrito @kImrO @dragonslayer669 @pleurspetal @am-3-thyst @valoxwayward @imdoingitareyou @sweetmoonstarxx @strawberrylipglossx @chloeee20 @starry-swan @pretty-pink-princesss @fuzzyfawnnn n @griddygiant @toooldtoloseit @edennuit @silfaestre @keylimebeag @realultracunt @babyad @Adashofpurple @k4t13ispunk

[joelmillerspnk]

*writing from grave*

Joel leans in, his belly heavy on your back. “Can feel your little womb flinchin’ around me,” he mutters, filthy and reverent all at once. “Like it’s beggin’ me to stay.” You moan, overwhelmed, and he grinds in again—slow, relentless, like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into you. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf, baby.” He coos. Overstimmed, overstuffed, and still takin’ it. That’s my girl. That’s what I like.”

this was so goood omg, I need a sec

[littledes1re]

LMAO love ur reactions!!! Thank you soo much bae🫶🏻

[themanwhocurrupts]

she just wants to watch you stroke yourself to her.

maybe even hear her name as you cum on camera for her.

[xverah]

[littledes1re]

daddy, i’m sorry 

Pairing: Old!daddy!joel miller x female!reader

Summary: Joel sits downstairs, reading by the stove, trying to pretend he doesn’t hear the footsteps of his son’s girlfriend. Trying to pretend he doesn’t remember what the two of you have done and feel. But when you appear in the dark—barefoot, wide-eyed, floaty-headed and call him Daddy like you still mean something by it, he knows you’re about to break the rules again.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, slight angst, age gap! (60s and 20s), fingering, praise kink, slight mean!joel, daddy kink, ddlg undertones, subspace, infidelity, power imbalance, taboo relationship dynamics, needy!reader, no outbreak,

A/N: i’m not feeling very well lately. this is just an unfinished draft that I never finished, but I wrapped it up now to kinda ease myself back into writing. I also want to finally get to some requests that have been sitting in my inbox. Things might move a little slower for now, I’m sorry about that! But i hope yall enjoy this one in the meantime: filthy, taboo nonsense that just hits right when you’re horny hehe😋

The fire crackled low in the stove, its orange glow flickering across the old wooden floorboards. The room was dim, lit only by the firelight that danced around Joel’s chair. He sat still, legs stretched out, reading glasses perched low on his nose, the spine of a thick book resting in one hand.

Outside, the wind knocked against the windows, but inside it was warm and real quiet. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones and makes you forget the day.

Joel turns a page slowly, his eyes moving steady across the lines, but he wasn’t really reading anymore. Not with the fire murmuring besides him. Not with the weight of the day finally easing off his shoulders.

And then—

a sound.

Soft and unmistakable. Footsteps.

He stilled.

The book lowered an inch. His jaw tightens just slightly. He didn’t look up, not yet. Just listened. One step. Then another. A pause. Then the creak of the top stair.

Joel closed the book gently, thumb marking the page.

He didn’t need to look to know it was you.

His eyes flicked towards your figure in the hallway, dressed in white like a ghost. The room was dark, but Joel could still make out the tremble of your lips, the flush blooming across your cheeks.

He doesn’t want to know what you did upstairs with his son, he didn’t even want to think of it.

And more than anything, he didn’t want you coming to him—disturbing the only ounce of peace he ever feels, that quiet hour when the house is asleep, and it’s just him, a book, and the soft crackle of the fire.

You slip into the room without a word, the hem of your dress brushing your thighs as you move gently to the couch besides him. He doesn’t say anything. Just watches. Swallows. His jaw tightens. And you can already see his knuckles going white from gripping the book too hard.

With a quiet sigh, legs are drawn up as you settle besides him, eyes fixed on the way he turns the page—his hands broad and steady, the book looking small in his palm.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, thoughts wrapped in cotton. Everything feels soft, distant—like the only thing keeping you tethered to the moment is Joel.

He clears his throat, making you look up to him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, voice low and hoarse, the sound of it rumbling deep in your chest.

You shake your head. “No, it’s too quiet up there.”

“You’re not used to country,” he answers with a hum.

He was right. Staying at Joel’s farmhouse—just because your boyfriend insisted that spending the holidays at his dad’s place would help you relax—was a mistake. Instead of peace, you were face to face with the very thing you’d been trying to avoid for years.

And now you can’t keep it together anymore. Joel knows it.

He saw it already on your glassy eyes on the breakfast table. Or on the way you gently touched him when you tried to slip past him.

“Do you always read in the dark?” You ask.

“Sometimes. When my eyes get used to it. Helps me wind down, you know?”

You nod, and you feel it in your chest—knowing that once, you knew everything about him. That he once told you everything. Every little quirk he had and has.

Silence stretches between you. Joel’s head dips, trying to make something of the words he is reading, but the only thing his mind allows is to hear your little breaths and your voice looping inside his mind.

He can feel you staring.

“You should go back to bed.” He says, finally.

Your heart thuds in your chest. You tilt your head, eyes glassy looking at him.

“Doesn’t feel right,” you murmur. “Up there. Without you.”

He shakes his head, jaw clenching, hands closing the book.

“We’ve talked about this.”

You nod.

“Remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice is just above a whisper.

“And?” His eyebrows go up, reading glasses moving with them. His voice makes your skin crawl; it makes you want to curl yourself further into the couch and disappear. You just needed him.

“I-i’m not trying to start anything.” A lie.

“Bullshit.” His voice cuts through the warm atmosphere of the room—sharp, hitting right into your heart. Your bottom lip wobbles as you look at him, breath picking up.

“Look at you.” His hand sways in your direction, eyes scanning you up and down. “You look like a mess.”

“I—I don’t mean to be.” Your voice is breathy, almost like a whimper. “I just…I don’t feel right.”

Joel scoffs, his heart breaking a little too—from being so mean. He doesn’t want to be. But you two were never meant to be. What happened between you has to stay in the past, forgotten. That was the deal: to never talk about it again. To never seek each other out. To never ask for more.

“You should go,” Joel says again, quieter this time. “Ain’t right, you sittin’ here like this.”

You don’t move. Just look at him, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

“That ain’t my problem.” You flinch. “You have your boyfriend right upstairs, you don’t need me.”

Silence falls again.

Neither of you move or say anything. Joel doesn’t look at you—his eyes are focused on the way the fire plays shadows on the walls and the way it lights up the place.

You, on the other hand…are almost on the verge of crying. Not because of sadness, but because you’re locked in a headspace that won’t let you think straight. One that just wants to be cradled, to be held, and to be told that everything is going to be okay.

And that should be from Joel.

Because your boyfriend doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand your headspace, your needs. He doesn’t listen, and when he does he misinterprets what you say.

Joel doesn’t. He never did.

After a while Joel releases a big breath, and rubs his forehead.

And then he hears it:

“daddy, i’m sorry.”

It lands like match on dry grass.

Joel freezes. That word hangs in the air—thick, trembling. He squeezes his eyes shut, his mind already drifting to the past, to when you laid underneath him and called him that word like he was your anchor.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re darker. But they’re not angry. Not anymore. They’re wrecked. He knows he has been fighting this way too long, and he knows that a single word can break him. And that happened now.

“Jesus,” he mutters, just under his breath.

Your cheeks flush, embarrassment runs through your body.

He drags a hand down his face, then looks at you—really looks. At the way you’re still curled in on yourself, flushed and trembling, eyes wide, lips swollen, wet and waiting for something.

“You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me,” breathes out.

But he’s already moving. The book slides from his lap to the floor with a soft thud. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and opens his arms.

“C’mere,” he says, voice gentler now. “Come here.”

You move fast. You climb into his lap like you’ve done it a hundred times before—knees on either side of his thighs, arms already reaching to curl around his neck, face nuzzling toward the warm space beneath his jaw.

But his hand comes up, firm against your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You pause, blinking up at him, dazed and soft. Sou try again, leaning in, seeking the comfort of his chest, but his voice sharpens.

“Hey…hey. Hey.” He catches your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his. His eyes focused on your lips.

“You know we can’t keep doin’ this,” he starts, voice low. “We said last time was the last time.”

You whimper, barely a sound, but it’s enough to make his grip falter for a second. His thumb brushes your cheek, gentler now.

“Last time,” he says again, quieter. “You hear me?”

You nod, slow.

“Promise?” he asks.

You nod again, eager. But he doesn’t let go.

“No,” he says, firmer. “Words.”

“Promise.”

He watches you for a beat longer, then exhales through his nose. His hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you in.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, you curl into him, breath soft against his neck, while he can feel how far you’ve gone—how quiet, how warm, how gone. Your body’s heavy in his lap, boneless, like you’re melting into him inch by inch. And Joel knows what that means.

His hand moves slowly over your back, steady and grounding, trying to soothe you.

“You’re real quiet now,” he murmurs. “That little motor of yours finally ran outta steam, huh?”

You don’t answer. Just nuzzle closer, your lips brushing the side of his neck, barely there.

“You’re deep in it, ain’t you,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Didn’t even see it happen.”

He shifts slightly, adjusting you in his lap, cradling you closer. His voice drops to a whisper.

“You always do this to me,” he says. “Come in here all soft, all sweet…and I try so damn hard to be good.”

You let out a tiny sound—half sigh, half whimper—and it breaks something in him.

“Shh,” he soothes, pressing his lips to your temple. “I know, baby. I know.”

His hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. “Daddy’s got you.”

You feel soft in his lap, breath already hitching, hips starting to shift just enough to make him feel it. You need him.

Joel’s hand tightens on your hip, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to hold something back.

“Y’are needy, aren’t you, baby?” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “Figured.”

You nod, whimpering softly, and he exhales like it hurts.

“Can you tell me what you need?” he asks, brushing your hair back. “Just wanna make sure you’re still with me.”

“Want you,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy.”

He closes his eyes for a beat, then nods. “Yeah. You want Daddy to help you come back down.”

His hand slides lower, slow and steady.

“S’okay,” he murmurs. “I got you.”

And just as he shifts you in his lap, his mouth close to your ear, you hear it—barely a breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud: “This the last time.”

But his hands don’t stop.

“Y’stay real quiet, yeah? Don’t want him hearin’ that his dad’s takin’ care of his girlfriend better.”

It’s not a threat. It never is. It’s resentment, but not at you—god, never at you. It’s at the boy, his own son, who gets to have you in the daylight, while Joel only gets the dark.

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard while looking into your hazy eyes. You whine again, signalling that you’re ready. Ready for him to take you. He chuckles under his breath in response.

So, Joels hand slides down, slow and warm, slipping beneath the hem of your dress, then lower. He cups you over your panties, real gentle, but firm—and lets out a quiet breath when he feels the dampness.

“Messy girl.” he coos.

You whimper, hips pressing desperately into his palm.

“Shh,” he soothes, lips brushing your temple. “I know. Daddy’s here.”

He quickly hooks a finger around the edge of your panties, tugging them aside with care, while your head rests on his chest—breathing in his wooden scent. His fingers find you, slick, soft, sticky and he strokes through the wetness, slow and teasing. His fingertip brushes over your clit gently, and you gasp.

“Just like that,” he whispers. “Let me feel you.”

After letting you settle, he eases one finger inside—only one, because he knows you need time to adjust in this headspace. His finger settles into your cunt, and you breathe out, clinging to him, as he holds you tighter.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Nice and easy.”

He waits for yuou, lets you adjust, then begins to move—gentle, curling thrusts, deep and slow, while his other hand cradles your back.

You were already feeling sensitive—like your body knew Joel was near, like your cunt could sense the weight of his big, steady hands cradling you. And you were always extra needy when you started to float.

He shifts just enough to see your face, brushing your hair back with the hand not inside you. Your eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed. You look dazed, dreamy, like you’re floating somewhere only he can reach.

Joel swears under his breath. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “All gone, huh?”

You hum, barely even able to nod, and he smiles: absolutely wrecked by how beautiful you are like this.

His fingers keep moving, slow and sure, coaxing you through it, fingertip curling into that one spot that only Joel can reach. He leans in, presses his forehead to yours.

“You stay with me, babygirl. Don’t drift too far.”

You move softly in his lap, breath hitching, but hips shifting just a little more desperately—like you’re chasing something just out of reach.

Joel notices. Of course he does.

“Still restless, huh?” he murmurs, voice still against your ear. “One ain’t enough for you, baby?”

You shake your head, your body answering before your mouth can.

He smiles knowing. “S’okay,” he whispers. “I got you.”

He eases his hand back, just enough to press a second finger to your entrance. He waits—feels the way your body flutters, how you cling to him tighter.

“Breathe for me,” he whispers. “Let me in.”

And when you do—when he slides that second finger in, slow and careful—you sigh, your cunt fluttering around him. The stretch is deeper, fuller, and your whole body melts around him.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s what you needed, huh?”

Joel starts with his thrusts again. Slow, deep and grinding. Every thrust now pressing into you more fully, brushing against that sweet, aching spot inside you. You can already feel the stickiness between your thighs, the way your slick clings to him, to you, to everything. It’s warm, messy, perfect.

“Daddy…” you sigh, burying your face into his chest.

“Yea? Like that?” He asks, placing a kiss on your temple. “Daddy’s filling you up nice and slow?”

You nod your head softly, coming closer to his chin, pressing a peck on his lips and then a faint one on his stubbles.

The chair under you two groans as your hips shift, chasing the rhythm of his hand. You’re trying to stay quiet, but every slow thrust makes you tremble, makes you cling to him tighter.

His fingers continue to move slow and deep inside you, while the room is quiet, so quiet that you can hear it. That soft, wet sound each time he thrusts in. It’s intimate.

A slick little whisper between your thighs, hidden in the space where your bodies meet.

He presses in deeper, and the squelch is louder now—squelching, needy. You feel it in your belly, on your skin.

The slick sounds between you grow wetter, messier, and your breath comes in soft, broken gasps. Joel feels it—the way you’re clenching tighter, the way your body’s starting to shake.

“You’re close, yea?” he murmurs, voice thick with warmth. “I can feel it, baby.”

You can’t answer. You just whimper, pressing your face into his neck, trying to hold on.

And then you feel it—his thumb, warm and steady, sliding down to circle your clit. Gentle at first, just enough to make you gasp.

“There we go. So puffy for daddy, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Let Daddy help you.”

His fingers keep moving inside you, while his thumb works soft, perfect circles over that aching spot. The rhythm is steady and grounding.

“That’s it, babygirl. Just come for me. I’ve got you.”

His fingers find that tender spot inside you again—just as his thumb circles your clit just right, and his voice drops low in your ear. “Yes, that’s it, baby. I’ve got you.”

And then you do.

Your whole body tenses, then breaks. You cry out, soft and wrecked and he holds you tighter as your release rushes through you. He feels it immediately—the way your walls flutter around his fingers, the way your slick gushes over his hand, warm, wet and so desperate.

It runs down his fingers, over his knuckles, dripping onto his wrist and soaking into the fabric of his jeans. But he doesn’t care. He loves it.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, kissing your temple. “Let it all out. I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t pull away. He keeps his fingers inside you, gentle now, nestled deep, cradling the soft, fluttering squeeze of your walls as you come down. The chair creaks beneath you, the room still thick with heat and breath and the soft, wet sounds of your release.

“You’re making such a big mess, baby girl…” he murmurs. “Daddy has to clean ya up, hm?”

His other hand strokes your back, grounding you, while his lips press soft kisses to your temple.

“Still flutterin’,” he whispers, almost in awe. “So sweet. So soft.”

You whine, your body coming down from your release—still overwhelmed, and he hushes you gently.

“I know, baby. I know. You gave me everything, didn’t you?”

He stays there with you, fingers still inside, until your breathing evens out and your body stops trembling. Even then, he doesn’t pull away. He just holds you, full and warm and safe in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he says softly.

You hum, content. His scent is everywhere—smoke, leather, wood. You feel like you could stay here forever.

“You feel better, babygirl?” he asks sweetly.

You nod, slow and lazy. “Mhm. Thank you, Daddy.”

You’re curl into his lap, limp and trembling, your cheek pressed to his chest. His fingers slip from you now, but his arms don’t move. One hand strokes your back in slow, grounding circles. The other rests on your thigh, warm and steady.

The chair creaks softly beneath you both again, but neither of you moves. You’re still slick between your legs, the mess of your release soaking into his jeans, but he doesn’t care. He just presses a kiss to your hairline—gentle, lingering.

“You were so good,” he says softly. “So damn sweet.”

There’s a pause. Like he wants to say more. Like there’s something sitting heavy in his chest. But instead, he just holds you tighter.

“Let’s just stay like this a while.”

“Just let me have this,” he says, barely audible. “Just for a little longer.”

And you do. Because right now, in this hush, in his arms—you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Okey i’m gonna be honest…i don’t like this🫩 but i also missed writing for daddy Joel sooo…I hope you guys enjoyed it! Also this is not proofread🫣 please let’s just ignore all the mistakes and things that don’t make sense

Now i’m gonna concentrate on some requests, and then i’ll probably post ex hitman!joel! He is miserable, bleeding but still soft for her <3

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 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @easybbgrl @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[littlemissfunshineinflorida2]

[cyberxbattalion]

[black--armor]

[refractedamber-deactivated20250]

Treat her like a princess; tell her she's a good girl while you're fucking her ass.

[fronesis]

I love tumblr bc it feels like im talking to a wall and sometimes the wall responds

[sweetheartsandsinners]

I want to be treated like a princess and fucked like a filthy little slut.