𝐾𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎🕸 @kaleriaaa - Tumblr Blog

Jun 11

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

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