"you said some people don't know why they're wolves, they just howl for the sound of it / some will never know they're beautiful until the crowd points it out for them." 💚💜
happy #the mandalorian & grogu release day!! i couldn't just stay put and not to anything for my favourite space dad & son duo. i'm very happy these two got me into drawing again after a (way too) long break 💌 i had this vision for a bit and after some trial & error it finally came to life :)) this is the way. enjoy 🫶🏻
welcome everyone to acaciusology, a blog exclusively dedicated to Pedro Pascal’s character, Marcus Justus Acacius, General of Rome, from the movie Gladiator II.
if you think the ppcu moved on a bit too quick from Acacius and are obsessed with him (same here), fret not, you are exactly where you need to be. here you’ll find anything and everything surrounding the General, from gifsets to inspiration for your own fic, such as:
#fic inspo and #prompts, reblogs or original content to inspire you and your writing.
#horny thots, either original or reblogged.
#gifsets.
#resources, incl. about the character himself, ancient rome and other co-existing civilisations.
#fic recs.
#acacius fic writers and their masterlists.
#admin asks, for any questions you may have about the character, his characterisation, his background, etc.
#acacius asks, in case some of you have any burning questions for the General himself, but beware, he is a busy warlord...
we are here to have fun. please be respectful or you will be blocked. otherwise, enjoy your stay!
pairing: OldMan!Joel x reader
rating: 18+
tags: large implied age gap, primal play, choking, possessive sex, rough sex, mindbreak, joel is the town meanie (but a softie for u), Joel knew you as a child (nothing occurred then), reader is an adult now
word count: 6,034
Summary: You burrow under Joel's skin
“Hey, little girl, is your daddy home? Did he go away and leave you all alone? I got a bad desire. Oh, I'm on fire.”
⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧ °｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧
"Well.." You giggle a little nervously, a shiver running down your spine, "That was my ride, Mister Miller, so what do we do now?"
The way you say his name sounds like sex on your lips as it causes him to go rigid, shaking his head free from any unsavory thoughts, "We?"
In the mountains in the west, rests a small town hidden from plain view. Surrounded by towering trees and excessive greenery. Boroughs of lakes and ponds sprinkle throughout the land - the main town, quaint and quiet. A grocery store, diner, bar, laundromat, nothing too impressive - a town easy to miss on the map.
Everyone knows everyone, a town full of locals, and the ones who do reside there know to stay away from Joel Miller, or otherwise known as Old Man Miller - coined by the kids.
They speak of him as if they’re reading a folklore tale. Old Man Miller, who’s inhabited this town, residing deep in the mountain, for some odd years. No one really knows when he arrived, nor how long he’s stayed.
Old Man Miller, who growls and grunts through his town interactions, only showing love to his dog, that’s usually at his side, preferring to treat the rest of the town as if they’re nonexistent.
Old Man Miller, who scares away children when they see him stomping into town. Old Man Miller, who has a permanent seat at the local bar that no one dares to sit in.
Old Man Miller, who has physical and mental scars from his previous lives. They rumored him to be ex-military, maybe even a hitman - everyone seems too fearful to ask. Old Man Miller, who has no issue beating the life out of any man aged seventeen to seventy-five if he deems it necessary.
The town is aware, you don’t mess with Joel Miller.
He prefers it that way; he’s lived long… way too long. Long enough that his bones ache in the morning with every stretch, his limbs pop routinely. Long enough that he has to ask people to speak up when they’re talking to him.
His face slightly sags with age, sprinkled with scars and freckles - still tight enough to show his permanent frown lines. He can hardly even read anything without his glasses. He knows he’s old - feels it every minute of his existence.
The last thing he desires is to be seen as approachable in his old age. He’s lived long enough to know people take advantage of the young and old, the weak. He’s refused to be viewed as weak ever since he left home at eighteen.
The drive into town from his isn’t long - just meticulous. Purposefully, having built his home away from others, enjoying it to be difficult to be reached. Joel had purchased most of the land in the area, refusing to sell it for a dime, prioritizing his privacy.
To reach his home, you’d have to memorize the excessive turns and veers that anyone but him would forget. He personally put up electric fences around the boundaries - along with strict ‘No Trespassing’ signs & the occasional ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot & Killed’ for a stronger effect. He didn’t take chances nor risks.
Joel’s engine roars down the main road, a familiar sound that alerts the citizens of his arrival. The pick-up truck blows out heavy amounts of smoke as he pulls into the gravel-filled parking lot of a store reading, ‘Grab n Go’.
He pets his dark-haired dog's head before exiting the vehicle, his boots colliding with the ground with a hard thud that seems to gain everyone's attention in the lot - immediately averting their gaze, a natural reaction.
He snorts, stuffing his fists in his pockets before strolling in.
He buys his usual supply, some milk, bread, peanut butter, eggs, cereal, coffee grounds, and orange juice - nothing too special as he plops his handbasket in front of the cashier, fishing out his wallet from his pocket.
The boy jumps a bit, woken up by the slam of the basket in front of him, his eyes widening as he realizes it's Joel, adams apple bobbing nervously as he straightens up, “F-Find everything okay?”
Joel doesn’t respond, irritated at the slight chance of small talk, his attention instead focused on you, where you’re leaning over the counter one cashier over, hips swaying in a tantalizing manner that has Joel blowing out hot air through his nostrils.
He narrows his gaze, grunting in an irascible manner, taking in your appearance, nothing but a small pair of shorts that show off too much of your legs, and some tight tank top that has the cashier, the Jensen boy, oogling at your chest - too distracted to notice how you slide a pair of sunglasses into your pocket - stealing right in front of him.
It would be enough to send most men into a lustful state, he can’t necessarily blame the boy, you’re a sight to behold in this rinky dink town… so much so he doesn’t realize he’s been staring creepily for the last minute - unlike Joel to be caught in someone else's business.
Joel interrupts in own trance, scoffing a bit, standing there, shaking his head lightly, as you immediately cut the flirty act once you get what you need, waving bye to the cashier as you exit the store.
He can’t help but watch you leave, ignoring the tightening of his muscles and heavy breathing, refusing to acknowledge any feelings in the moment.
“Kids”, he thinks, sighing through the quickening of his heartbeat as his eyes follow you through the glass window.
It ticks him off a bit then that he doesn’t know you. He knows everyone in this town as they know him. Why doesn’t he know you?
“Um s-sir. Your total…” The checker mumbles, trying to gain back Joel's attention in the most polite manner - an attempt to not poke the bear.
Joel snaps his attention down to the boy, throwing the total down to the cent, on the counter, before snatching his bag of groceries and storming out to his truck - the bell ringing as he pushes past the door.
“Hi, Mr.Miller.” You speak softly, causing him to stop dead in his tracks.
Feels like a sucker punch to the chest the way his feet screech on the ground, his head looking down to the right. He’s never approached, never talked to unless he speaks first, so to find you standing up against the wall, greeting him, leaves him in awe.
He can’t help his natural physical reaction, the way his face screws into a snarling frown - his peace disturbed.
You’ve got the sunglasses on, tag still hanging as he eyes you, harshly, refusing to show you how you’ve surprised him in this moment. A soft smile creeping up on your lips that has him faltering in his thoughts.
You wave your fingers at him in a little giggle that makes his skin feel too tight & his balls feel too heavy, promptly ignoring you and continuing on to his truck.
He doesn’t have time for this. Refusing to fall victim like the clerk in the store.
And no, he doesn’t mean to look at you through his rearview mirror when he’s reversing, he doesn’t mean to stare at your legs or focus on your chest rising and falling - nope, he isn’t memorizing your look - he’s just reversing out of this damn lot.
-
Due to the vastness of his land, up-keep takes up most of his day, choosing a different route to trek to make sure everything looks good. Most days they do, today is not that day.
He’s in his own thoughts, hands clenched around his shotgun, boots digging into the floiage with each step, taking in the scenery, planning on cooking the bird he hunted the other day when he hears it. A giggle.
It's unmistakable, that giggle. That familiar giggle.
He hears it plain as day - lighting a fire in his chest, a burning, irritable desire that has him seething. To hear something like that so closeby only means someone is trespassing.
Moreso, a group it sounds as he gets closer, his shotgun in his right hand, ready to keep his signs promise.
As he approaches, he finds you there… the girl from the store last week, flapping in his lake lazily, some boys watching from the side. Two of them, known as Burt & Joey, local burn-outs.
It’s not the first time he’s found younger folk in this small lake - it’s peaceful, slips right under the sunlight, the trees offer enough privacy but are home to a range of birds that sing you to sleep with their melodies. It’s a great oasis… but it’s his.
What’s his is his. Joel Miller, does not not share.
In usual occurrences, he’d fire a warning shot, right above their heads to get them to scatter, but he doesn’t do it now, his eyes focused where your body floats angelically, creeping on you where he’s buried within the trees, out of your sight.
The sunlight catches onto you, illuminating you in a way that causes Joel's heart to skip a beat - an action rare to him as he breathes out a deep grumble that vibrates within his chest.
Your body easily gives into the soft pull and push of the current, tilting down and back, a typical giggle leaving your lips as your head goes underwater for a second.
It puts Joel into a trance, his grip loosening on his weapon as he takes in deep pulls of breath through his open mouth, his jaw slack as he oogles you in a similar way in the store.
“Should've gotten more beer, idiot,” Burt murmurs to Joey, pulling Joel from his hypnotic state.
Joey tosses his empty can into the forest, “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so fuckin’ fast.”
Joel cocks his shotgun then, a rough sound that has birds flocking from their nests nearby, the boys cursing in fear as they turn red.
“Got ‘bout 3 seconds to get off my property till I start shootin’...” Joel doesn’t need to yell; his deepened southern voice carries with the wind, authoritatively and they know his voice. Everyone knows his voice and the weight it carries.
It doesn’t take long for the boys to begin to trip over each other, yelling at you where you remain in the lake to ‘come on’ and ‘hurry up’ but you only shrug in response, doggy paddling and beginning to tread.
“Just leave her, her funeral,” one of them breathily states before hiking back up the trail they came down in a hurry, stumbling on the way out.
Joel is never baffled, but he is today. He knows you can’t see him where he’s hidden in the trees, but he’s used to a certain reaction when he asserts himself. A reaction that the collective tends to share, a reaction of distress - fright, what have you.
You’re not scared, it seems, you just continue your motions, taking in a mouthful of water before spitting it out like a fountain.
“Little girl,” He hollers, voice hoarse with age, simultaneously vexed and intrigued with you, “You’re trespassin’.”
He doesn’t know why he’s giving you a chance, knowing his best bet was to shoot the gun in the water to get this over with - refusing to allow himself to think that he wants to prolong this interaction just to see the way your body moves with the water.
“Can’t own water…” You giggle in that same giggle, completely careless and worry-free as your head swivels, trying to locate Joel.
“Own the land around the water, smart-ass, still tresspassin’.” He challenges, his throat heavy with caution, ignoring how innocent you look as you squint into the bushel of trees - feeling like a damn wolf coming upon a fawn.
“Well… not if I stay in the water,” You hum happily, feeling sure of yourself, having come to a consensus in your head - as you give up on your search, settling with the realization you won’t find him.
“Jesus Christ, ya ain’t stayin’n the water.” His texan voice cracks with impatience, hands flexing, curling into a ball, refusing to be played by some silly little girl - especially on his own property. Unsure as to why he’s even entertaining this.
“Guess ya have to come n get me,” You sing out, floating on your back again in a blasé manner, blowing out a raspberry in a teasing way.
Joel wouldn’t do this… he doesn’t… but he does as he sets his gun down next to a tree, propping it up as he removes his utility jacket off, slipping off his boots. Leaving himself in some jeans and a t-shirt, finally stepping into the light, taking long, easy strides to the side of the lake.
Your eyes finally catch on him, and they don’t fill with fear nor dread, moreso wonderment and amazement as you bite your lip back, continuing to tread as Joel approaches.
“Hi again, Mr.Miller,” You grin delicately and politely, as if he’s not seconds away from losing his shit.
“Drivin’ me up the damn wall,” He snarls as he sloshes into the lake, fully clothed from head to toe, your mouth dropping open in a bewildered shock as he swims to you effortlessly, grabbing a strong fistful of your upper arm before dragging you to shore.
He knows he’s gripping too hard, digging his fingers into your wet skin as he hoists you out, but he can’t help the frustration he feels in the moment - needing to release it in some manner. He reduces it to just frustration with trespassing and nothing more.
He releases you once you’re out, mumbling about how you’re on land now and you need to go, taking steps towards his inventory, turning to where you’re standing, dripping into the forest floor.
“Well…” You giggle a little nervously, a shiver running down your spine, “That was my ride, Mister Miller, so what do we do now?”
The way you say his name sounds like sex on your lips as it causes him to go rigid, shaking his head free from any unsavory thoughts, “We?”
“Uh huh, we,” you shrug confusedly, as if of course you would be his responsibility.
“Ain’t no we, you got yourself here, get yourself on back.” His eyes can’t help but wander down to where your shirt is now see-through, displaying the skin on your breasts and the poke of your nipples through the shirt that has him quickly averting his gaze, blood rushing down to his crotch, his stomach tightening.
He didn’t do this. He never did. He purposefully avoided anything that could be a turn on in his life, settled into a town of old people, and kept himself away from any temptations. The women around weren’t the best lookers, he made sure of it. He fucked his hand once or twice a day for the sole purpose of stress relief - he didn’t do this.
“Can you show me at least?” It's unreal how soft your voice still is in Joel's ears, no hints of malice or irritation, mostly amusement it seems, at this situation, at him, he doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.
“Goddamnit,” Joel murmurs to himself, knowing he’s gonna do what he shouldn’t do, what his brain is advising him not to do. “C’mon. Hurry up.”
He doesn’t wait for you, doesn’t look back to make sure you’re keeping with his stride; the shuffle of your feet behind him is enough.
“We know each other?” Joel questions, wanting to know how it is you know him and he doesn’t know you.
“You don’t remember me?” You pout behind him, slipping and sliding as your bare feet connect with the forest floor.
It shouldn’t melt a part of Joel but it does, he knows you might be teasing but it disgusts him how his natural reaction is to turn around and soothe whatever concern you wear - incensed at how his needs seem intune to yours.
“Well… everyone knows Mr.Miller…” You hum a bit, your eyes catching on a butterfly, “But! You might know my dad… he’s the butcher.”
It hits Joel then, remembering you in some distant memory, probably having seen you last when you were still in grade school - a sliver of embarrassment feeding up his spine, recalling his x-rated thoughts he held moments before for the girl he’s known since her childhood.
“I know him,” Joel mutters as if he isn’t still thinking about your breasts in that top, imagining that they’re bouncing with every step you take, “Your daddy’s a dumbass.”
Truth be told, Joel had a fairly good relationship with your father up until last year, when he begged Joel for money to get him out of a bind with some loan sharks. Joel helped, letting him know it’d be the first and only time, and he didn’t do charity. He’d expect it back with interest.
It does make Joel feel better about the situation, lusting after some young thing, knowing if anything were to happen, it would be a nice balance of the current situation; he wouldn’t even have the heart to charge your father.
But nothing's gonna happen, the most is he’ll fuck the hard clench of his hand later to the thought of you floating in that water.
You only laugh in response, probably used to your father's antics, Joel assumes. He hardly remembers when you left to go be with your mom; maybe that’s the reason he forgot you. No one really leaves this town.
“Shouldn’t be hangin’ with burnouts,” Joel huffs, going up a steeper route, unsure as to why he feels the need to scold you, getting embarrassed by his own actions.
“They’re just my means of free transportation and alcohol,” You breathe out, catching your breath, trying to keep up your pace.
He disregards the feeling of relief that washes over his body, refusing to acknowledge his fading irritation in hopes that you weren’t involved with one of them or both of them… no, he doesn’t care about that.
Instead, he attempts to vilify you in his own head, understanding you as a person who takes advantage of any situation, a fox. Sly and slinky, ain’t nothing tangible about you. You’re a user who uses people; he’s not gonna be used.
He ignores your sighs of exhaustion as his home comes into view, a cabin for him and his dog, nothing more, nothing less. His truck parked out in the front as he walks to it, expecting you to follow.
When he turns to see how far behind you are, he realizes you’ve left, gone. Only to spot his front door open, absolutely baffled as he grips his gun, storming in after you.
You’re crouched down, petting his dog warmly, which gets him even more pissed than he already is, “Ya gotta sweet doggie, Mister Miller.”
He can’t control himself, completely thrown off by you in every sense, attempting to decipher if this is actually occurring, if this is reality.
“You out of your fuckin’ mind?” His jaw locks into place, hands fitting on his hips as he doesn’t curse at women, but the situation calls for it - he knows how he looks, his face probably filled with anger - expecting you to dial it back, to retreat.
“Whatdya mean?” You look up to him where you’re crouched down, unshocked, unwavering, still petting as your big innocent eyes blink up at him.
It’s enough to make any grown man weaken, some pretty lil thing blinking up at him in the middle of his home - the things he could do in this moment.
He can’t help but see you as some wild feral animal, didn’t have a solid daddy to teach you right from wrong, tell you not to go into some old man's home, especially when he’s had thoughts as perverted as his.
It awakens something dormant in him, that dominant masculine gene that wants to teach you, show you… protect you. There are men even meaner than him out there; you should find yourself lucky.
“You’re breakin’in, oughta shoot you-”
“Shoot me then,” You blink up, your bottom lip coming between your teeth as you sit on your legs, your posture straightening, the dog running out the front door.
“Or… you could use your hands like a real man.”
Joel freezes, for the first time in his life, he freezes. Some temptress sits below him, smiling at the prospect of Joel putting a bullet in her skull - testing him, he realizes. Trying to call his bluff.
He doesn’t bluff.
It’s primal, the way his eyes immediately darken down to you, his eyes glowing where you’re staring back, locked onto his… waiting.
For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are the deep breaths that leave your two mouths… and then… he lunges.
You’re quick, very quick, escaping his grasp as you run, deeper into his home. He’s old and slow, but smarter in his movements, the way he cuts you off forcing you back, squeals exiting your lips as you maneuver around him.
It’s a silly dance you continue for some time, turning him every which way, working him up as you view this interaction like a game.
For a quick second, he acts as if he’s going one way, turning the other way in a fake out before grabbing you and pulling you to him, hoisting you up to his chest as you kick your legs in the air.
You’re slammed onto the wooden dining table, your back colliding with the wood in a hard motion as breath escapes your lips.
Joel easily fills the space between your open legs, his dry, calloused hands wrapping around your neck, tightening their grip as you gasp for air, pressing down on your windpipe, thumbs massaging into the soft skin.
“Wanted me to use my hands, like a real man, ain’t that right?” Joel teases you from above, ignoring the way his jeans feel too tight for his body, not just due to the water.
Your throat constricts, your face losing color as he tightens, your legs loosely wrapping around his body there, your lips moving to say something.
He releases slightly, not too much, only allowing you to get what you need out as he tries to ignore what he could do to you in such a vulnerable position, the wet material of your shirt clenched down around your natural curves - he wants to rip it off with his teeth.
“Mister…Miller…” You gasp, blinking out tears, before letting your voice relax into a soft, melodic moan, legs tightening around his body as he stiffens.
It hits him all at once, all that he’s denied himself, all he’s wanted to indulge in for years; it lies beneath him, like a feast, his last supper.
You writhe there, young & sweet, soft & tender… ready for the taking. Conquered by him, waiting for him to use you as he sees fit.
He’s known he’s been sick for quite some time, known he shouldn’t be getting into drunken fights every Friday. Known it probably isn’t healthy to seclude himself in the way he does, he knows - he’s never cared.
He didn’t know he was sick in this way. Willing to fuck, someone he stills consistered to be a friends, daughter on his kitchen table. Willing to do the most despicable things possible to the young girl below him.
He won’t, no, he won’t do that. Won’t cross that line… he’s a bad man, but he has his limits, his eyes focused where your breasts are on full display under his kitchen light, softly swaying with your breath. Your lips colored with desire and wet with saliva as your eyes patiently wait, slowly blinking up to him.
“Screw it,” He breathes out, leaning over to where you lie, pressing his body over yours as your lips connect on a hungry crash. Years of pent up agression releasing in that moment as he turns into a feral animal.
He can’t even recall the last time he’s fucked, let alone something as precious as you, makes his cock swell where it's trapped in his jeans, his vision blurry as he blindly kisses at your lips, eagerly dipping his tongue into your kind mouth.
He could pass out, he thinks, with the amount of blood rushing to his cock, filling it like a damn balloon as his balls pulsate and beat below him, groaning into your mouth as he fiddles with his belt buckle.
“Mr.Miller…” You whine into his open mouth, sending shockwaves into his creaking bones, forgetting his own age in this moment, only reminded by your words.
It makes him feel insane, wanting a girl youthful enough to only know him by “Mr.Miller” and not Joel. It's enough to make him burst in his jeans.
His pants fall around his ankles as he rips at your top, the fabric coming undone with his eagerness as the tatters fall around your body, showing no care for your belongings, only desire for his relief.
Your shorts are then tugged down to your feet and discarded before Joel finds his place between your legs once more, hands greedily moving up from your outer thighs, up your belly, to cup at the soft mounds of flesh on your chest as you arch your back in response, placing your hands over his as he squeezes out his relief.
“Goddamn… what am I doin’,” Joel whispers, enchanted with your body, face leaning over to press into your chest, kissing at the meat there hungrily, the wetness from the lake coating his beard as he drags his face between your breasts.
You whine and whimper below him, hips swaying in response to his needs, watching as he takes pleasure in groping at your body, Old Man Miller.
“Need’t fuck you.” Joel breaks away, set on extinguishing the fire in his boxers as he drops them down, allowing his leaking cock to bob up and out, hitting his abdomen, taking himself into his hand to pump loosely, almost irritated with not being inside you.
“Um..” You’re breathless below him, the only thing on your body being your white cotton undies. “You think that’ll fit Mr.Miller?”
He audibly groans then, pumping himself faster in his hand, his cock flexing instinctively, ready to blow with just your questioning.
Joel ignores your words for now, pushing the panties there to the side to reveal your soggy mess, his fingers diving between your folds to expand them, getting a pretty view of the small hole there, lips licking in response.
“Gon’ make it fit,” He huffs, shuddering while aligning his wide throbbing head with your entrance, pushing only the tip in, getting his arms under your legs to pull you to him as he thrusts with all his might, entering you with one slam.
It’s enough to make him finish right there, and he has to close his eyes to prevent himself from doing so, the feeling of your tight, warm hold around him, how you pulse down onto his needy cock, taking root in you there.
“Perfect fuckin’ fit,” He shakily whispers, knowing he’s pushed you to your limit where there's no room left, wishing he could feel apologetic for making you feel such a way, but only focused on your soft pulsing clench.
He knows below him you’re catching your breath too, having screamed so loud it shook the house when he slammed into you like that, not being able to control himself, knowing by the end of this he’ll probably have beaten your poor pussy black & blue.
“Jesus, darlin’, damn good pussy you got here.” He can’t help his crudeness, licking his own lips ravenously as he tugs his hips out then in, threatening to spill his seed as he ceases his actions, wanting to make the moment last as long as possible.
“Oh god,” you gasp below him, your arms going out to grasp at anything, settling for the edge of the table as your chest rises and falls rapidly.
“Ever been fucked by a man as old as me?” Joel challenges, needing to cover up the desire to cum too fast, deciding to poke at you.
“N-no, Mr.Miller,” you cry, still adjusting to his size, tears streaming down your cheeks as your back settles, trying to find a comfortable position.
It makes him feel more like a man, knowing that. Imagining that the boys your age couldn’t do it well enough, makes you need someone like him to get the job done & that sends him off.
His thrusts are rapid and brutish as he holds your legs to force you to meet every pound, your walls quivering around him as he does, “Don’t think I’vever fucked anyone like you either princess. So young, so sweet…”
It is incredible, the way you feel around him, your hole desperately clenching and hugging around him, refusing to let go. Tighter than most of the women he’s fucked in his lifetime, makes him wonder how he’s gone so long without you or how he’ll ever let you go.
“Ple-please, gentle…” You sob out, your head rolling back as you allow your body to be used in such a masochistic manner.
It only encourages him to quicken his pace, feeling his hips pop a bit as he does, remembering he isn’t 20 anymore, not allowing it to stop him, motivated to fill your young cunt with his ancient seed.
“Boutta drain my balls, baby girl,” He pushes your legs back, bringing your hips down as they slightly hang off the edge of the table, his hands finding their places, grasping onto your breasts as tightly as possible - makes him feel like a damn teenager, fucking you like this.
You’re filled to your limit as he pushes past, his thick tree-branch-like mass bullying into you deeply and unforgivingly, tweaking your nipple in his hands - sweat streaming down his face at the most intense workout he’s gotten in years.
“Da-Daddy…” You blabber, hazy-minded, feeling your body ravaged by one of the men you remember your dad playing poker with in the garage, completely at his will.
“That's right, I'm your daddy now, baby girl.” Just hearing those words are enough for Joel as he twitches relentlessly inside you, his cock just begging for relief - teetering on the edge of ultimate pleasure.
He loves reducing you down from that girl in the store stealing just to steal, that girl that has boys hanging around you thinking you’ll give them a chance… but not him, not Joel - he wins.
It fills Joel's mind with pride and confidence that he’s got you right here, that he’s balls deep inside you, you’ve been conquered by him, and you’re his. You must know now that you’re his.
“Fuckin’ belong to me-” He’s gone mad above you, his eyes squinting closed, hands molding your breasts, his hips locking up in place as his cock roots deep in your cavity, trying to memorize your incredible grip on him as his balls tighten where they once sagged, pulsing and shooting heavy amounts of seed into your womb.
He can’t imagine how he looks nor the sounds he makes as he releases years of pent-up arousal into your available center, greedily pushing it forward to force you to take it all in, needing you to soak it up for him.
He thinks he’ll pass out, maybe, his heart could give in, he imagines your cunt is enough to make young boys have heart attacks, he can’t imagine what it’ll do to him.
To his shock, he remains hard. Something that hasn’t happened since he was twenty-three. As if his body knows that his whole life has led to this moment where he becomes one with you - that this moment was not yet meant to end. Your pussy driving him to utter insanity as he lies over you.
His hand snakes its way between your bodies, finding your soft nub, deeming you deserving of this as his thumb swirls romantically, causing you to buck your hips where you’re still full of him.
“No more, daddy, can’t do more-” You whine out, your hands going to his shoulders, utterly overstimulated as he doesn’t cease his movements.
Makes him wanna laugh, knowing that if he can handle another round, you sure can.
“Shh,” Joel murmurs, pressing his lips to yours in a far less animalistic version than before, being able to feel the soft plumpness of your lips now. He moans, getting his second wind, his hips beginning to thrust less energetically, his age showing.
It's tender this time, the way he allows himself to fully feel you, the way your walls flutter and falter around him, weak and sore at his intrusion, still granting him the most pleasure possible as he slowly thrusts.
“Tell me who you belong to,” Joel commands over your lips, breathing in your shallow breaths as you try to not to cry out from the pressure of him and the relief of his connection between your legs, another finger swirling, pressing down in a way that makes your toes clench.
“Oh god, you-you daddy,” You sob out, not being able to handle it, having never been with a man who can keep going, especially after the previous brutal fucking.
“Say it again,” He growls possessively onto your lips, picking up his pace in hums and hand movements as he feels you contract around him, finding your own orgasm as it only encourages a tighter hold around his cock.
“Ya- you, Mr.Daddy,” your words slur, the combination of Mister Miller and daddy falling out of your lips as you find yourself slipping from your mind with every relentless thrust, wondering if he slipped himself a viagra when you weren’t looking.
Joel's cum is used as lubrication as he sloshes in and out of you. The vulgar sounds of the creamy wetness are enough to send you over, grasping at his back as your back arches, your chest served at his face as he takes his opportunity to once more worship your chest.
Your orgasm is furious as it pulses down throughout your body and down on him, where he’s finding his next one, sucking at your breast, swirling your nipple in his mouth as he fucks out your orgasm, his arms fitting around your body for his final push.
“I-don’t, I'm gonna- no,” You babble below him, completely gone from your mind as Joel uses the last of your orgasm to reach his peak, using the last of your pulses to bury deep inside you once more, tightening your bodies together, erupting once more.
It’s less intense than before but takes him out completely as he collapses over you, slipping out as he catches his breath, feeling his bones ache and flex within him - too damn old for this.
He loses track of time, where his sweaty forehead is pressed to your skin, listening to the way your heartbeat slows, eventually remembering where he is, who he is, what he was doing, etc.
It shocks him to his core. The effect you have over him, what you did to him…He knows you’re the one lying under him half unconscious, but he’s the one who’s truly ruined.
It’s in that moment he knows what you are to him and who he is to you.
You’re carried to another room, tucked away in his bed. When Joel asks you to say your name, you only babble incoherently. When he asks where you are, you don’t respond, far from your own mind.
He decides that it’s best for you to stay the night until you’re your usual self - until he can talk to you about this “relationship”.
He starts a fire, piling firewood in from the hutch. Not something he does for himself, never. It’s only for you, watching as the glow illuminates your face where you’re sleeping peacefully, buried in the blanket.
Eventually, he slides into bed with you, his body curving around yours naturally, naked skin connecting with each other, reminding himself he’ll need to call down to the pharmacy to pick up some of his pain medication for the ache that settles into his core.
He pays it no mind, his only cares revolving around hearing your soft intakes of breath and heavenly murmurs, promising himself there won’t be a day he goes without you - not now, not ever.
