Old Joel miller x daughter!reader
WARNINGS: Smut MDNI 18+ , inc3st , DDDNE, Noncon/Dubcon , Butt stuff , mean Joel, degradation , reader is described briefly.
Her old man’s hands were thick with scars, the kind that came from years of stubborn labor,split wood, stubborn nails, the occasional slip of a blade. Joel Miller wasn’t the type to apologize for his roughness, least of all today. His birthday. The house smelled like cheap whiskey and the faint, greasy residue of a half-eaten cake left forgotten on the counter. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight, and studied his baby girl across from him with a look that wasn’t quite a glare but wasn’t far off.
She was small for twenty, all sharp elbows and nervous glances, like a rabbit caught in the beam of a flashlight. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt, the fabric stretched thin from years of washing. She hadn’t said much since sitting down, just a quiet, "Happy birthday, Dad," before falling silent again. The words had tasted sour in her mouth, and Joel had known it. He always knew.
The TV hummed in the background, some old western with the volume turned low enough that the gunshots sounded like distant firecrackers. Joel took another swig from his bottle, the liquid burning a familiar path down his throat. He set it down harder than necessary, the glass clinking against the table. "You’re real quiet today," he said, and it wasn’t an observation so much as an accusation.
She flinched, just a little, and his mouth twitched. Ungrateful. That’s what she was. After everything he’d done, all the years he’d scraped and struggled to keep a roof over her head, and she couldn’t even muster a real smile for him. Not that he expected one anymore. But today was different. Today, he wasn’t in the mood to let it slide.
The chair legs screeched against the floor as he pushed back from the table. She didn’t look up, but her shoulders tensed, bracing. Joel didn’t bother hiding his grin. He liked that,the way she knew what was coming, the way she still couldn’t stop it. He reached out, calloused fingers catching her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You gonna pout all day," he asked, voice low, "or are you gonna act like you’re glad your old man’s still breathing?"
Her breath hitched when his grip tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her jaw. "I—I am glad!" she managed, voice thin as paper. The lie tasted bitter, but she'd practiced it enough that it almost sounded convincing. Joel's thumb brushed over her bottom lip, rough as sandpaper, and she couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through her.
"Coulda fooled me," he muttered, leaning in close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. His free hand dropped to her waist, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt, and her stomach clenched. "You know what today is," he said, not waiting for an answer. "My day. And you're gonna quit squirming like some goddamn brat who don't know how good she's got it."
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. Crying only ever made it worse. His fingers trailed lower, pressing against the waistband of her jeans, and her hands flew up instinctively,not to push him away, never that, just to brace against his chest. The fabric of his flannel shirt was worn soft under her fingertips, but the body beneath was solid, unyielding. "Dad—"
The word cracked halfway out, and Joel's expression darkened. "Don't," he warned, "You don't get to whine at me. Not today." His other hand popped the button of her jeans with practiced ease, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper as his fingers slid past the fabric, rough and relentless. The TV droned on in the background, some nameless cowboy drawling about justice, but all she could hear was the ragged sound of her own breathing. Joel's mouth curled into a smirk. "There," he murmured, pressing deeper, "that's my girl."
The girl’s breath came in sharp, shallow hitches as Joel’s fingers worked their way inside her ass, the intrusion sudden and merciless. She dug her nails into his chest, to steady herself against the dizzying rush of pain. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but the set of his jaw told her everything she needed to know: he wasn’t stopping. Not until he was satisfied.
"You’re so damn tight," he muttered, voice rough with fervour. He twisted his fingers experimentally, and she choked back a whimper. "You’d think I never touched you before." The words were punctuated by another slow, deliberate thrust, and her thighs trembled against the chair. She could feel the wetness gathering at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t dare let them fall. Crying would only make him rougher.
Joel watched her struggle with a detached sort of interest, like a man observing a stubborn engine refusing to turn over. His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat, pressing just enough to make her swallow hard. "You gonna say it?" he asked, voice low. "Or do I gotta make you?"
Her lips parted, but the words stuck in her throat. She knew what he wanted,what he always wanted,but the shame of it coiled tight in her chest, suffocating. His fingers curled inside her, and her vision blurred at the edges. "Daddy," she gasped, the word tearing loose before she could stop it. "Please—"
The plea hung between them, raw and unfinished. Joel’s mouth twitched, something ugly flickering behind his eyes. "Please what?" he prompted, dragging his fingers out just enough to make her hips jerk forward, chasing the relief of emptiness. "Use your words, baby girl."
She sobbed openly now, her body twisting in a futile attempt to escape the relentless press of his fingers. "Daddy, stop—" The word broke into a wet gasp as he twisted his fingers deeper, the stretch burning like fire. Joel let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against her ear as he leaned closer, his breath hot and whiskey-soured against her cheek.
"Stop huh?" he echoed, his voice drips with amusement. He spread his fingers slightly, just enough to make her back arch off the chair, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. "You wanna tell me how bad it hurts? Go on. I wanna hear it." His free hand slid down to grip her hip, pinning her in place as his other hand worked her mercilessly, the rhythm slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every twitch of her body.
Tears streamed down her face, her chest heaving with ragged breaths as she clawed at his forearm, her nails leaving thin red lines in their wake. It didn’t matter,he barely seemed to notice. "P-please," she hiccuped, her voice small and broken. "It—it hurts—"
Joel hummed, tilting his head as if considering her plea. Then, without warning, he crooked his fingers, pressing up in a way that made her legs kick out instinctively, her toes curling against the floor. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough with something darker now. "That’s what I thought." He dragged his fingers out almost completely, leaving her clenching around nothing, before driving them back in with a force that knocked the air from her lungs.
Her vision swam, the room tilting at the edges as she choked on another sob. Joel’s grip on her hip tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there hard enough to bruise. "You’re gonna take it," he told her, his voice low and steady, like he was reciting a fact. "Just like you take everything else I give you." His thumb rubbed circles over her hipbone, the gesture almost soothing if not for the way his other hand kept moving inside her, relentless and unyielding.
Joel pulled his fingers out with a wet sound, and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness, her body trembling. He stood up in one fluid motion, his chair scraping back violently, and she flinched at the sound, too loud and too sudden. His belt buckle clattered as he undid it, the leather sliding free with a practiced tug. He didn’t look at her, not really, his gaze somewhere distant as he shoved his pants down past his hips, his cock springing free, thick and flushed, already glistening at the tip.
Joel's hands were rough as he grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her stomach with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs. The edge of the table dug into her ribs, as he pressed her down, the wood groaning under their combined weight. She barely had time to register the feeling of her jeans being yanked down past her thighs before she felt the blunt, wet press of him against her hole not where she expected, but higher, so much higher that her stomach plummeted.
"No—" The word burst out before she could stop it, panicked and raw, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the table's edge. Joel's chuckle was dark, humorless, as he dragged the head of his cock through the slick mess between her thighs, coating himself deliberately in her juices before pressing against the tight furl of her asshole.
"You are not allowed to say no," he murmured, breath hot against the back of her neck. His fingers dug into the meat of her hips harder, holding her still as he pushed forward without warning. The stretch was brutal and painful and she screamed, the sound tearing through the quiet room.
Joel didn't pause, didn't even falter,just kept pushing, inch by agonizing inch, until his hips met the backs of her thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside her. Her vision whited out at the edges, her knees buckling beneath her, but his grip held her upright, suspended between the table and his body. "There," he grunted, rolling his hips experimentally, the drag sending sharp, searing pain radiating up her spine and making her buckle. "Fuck, that's good."
Tears streamed down her face unchecked now, her breath coming in ragged, hiccupping gasps as she tried and failed to relax against the impossible stretch, he was too big and thick and there wasn't enough lube or prep. Joel's hand fisted in her hair, wrenching her head back until her spine arched. "Quit your damn crying," he snarled, voice rough with impatience. "You think this is bad? You don't know bad." His hips snapped forward, punching another choked scream from her throat, and he groaned, low and satisfied.
Her fingers dug at the table’s edge, splinters digging into her palms as Joel’s hips pistoned against her, each thrust a fresh wave of pain. She tried to twist away,instinct, useless instinct,but his grip on her hips only tightened, fingers pressing into the bruises he’d already left behind. "Stay still,cunt." he growled, punctuating the words with a sharp slap to the back of her thigh that made her jolt, her muscles clenching involuntarily around him. Joel groaned, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he steadied himself, his breath ragged against her ear. "Christ, that's tight."
The girl’s sobs were silent now, her throat too raw to make sound, her tears dripping onto the table’s scratched surface. She could feel him everywhere,the stretch of him inside her, the heat of his body pressed against her back, the rough fabric of his shirt scraping against her skin.
His hand left her hip suddenly, sliding around to press against her lower belly, fingers splayed possessively over the soft skin there. "Feel that?" he murmured, pushing down just enough to make her whimper. "You can feel me, can’t you? Right fucking here." He thrust harder, deeper, as if to prove his point, and she choked on a gasp, her legs shaking beneath her.
Joel chuckled, the sound dark and thick. "Bet you never thought you’d take it like this," he said, his voice rough with exertion. "Bet you didn’t think your old man had it in him." His free hand tangled in her hair again, yanking her head back until her spine bowed painfully. "Look at you," he breathed, his gaze dragging over her tear-streaked face. "God damn, you’re pretty when you cry."
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the weight of his stare, but Joel just tightened his grip, his fingers flexing against her scalp. "Nuh-uh," he chided, his tone almost playful. "Eyes open. You wanna act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one." His hips snapped forward again, the angle sharper this time, and she cried out, her vision blurring at the edges.
The girl’s breath hitched as Joel’s thrusts grew rougher, his hips slamming against her with a force that rattled the table beneath them even harder. Her fingers slipped on the sweat-slick wood, her arms trembling with the effort to hold herself up. Joel’s grip on her hair tightened, forcing her head back further, until she could feel the tendons in her neck strain. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice ragged. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze in the dim light. His pupils were blown wide, his mouth parted around heavy breaths. "There," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheekbone roughly. "That’s better."
His rhythm stuttered for a moment, his cock twitching inside her as he adjusted his stance. The shift sent a fresh wave of pain radiating up her body, and she bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood again.
Joel’s pace quickened then, his thrusts losing what little finesse they’d had, becoming erratic, desperate. His breath came in short, sharp bursts against her ear, his fingers digging into her hip hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks in their wake. "Fuck," he gritted out, his voice strangled. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum" His cock pulsed inside her, the heat of him unbearable, and she knew what was coming, she had known since the moment he’d pushed inside her. Still, when he came, it was with a force that knocked the air from her lungs, his hips jerking forward as he spilled into her with a low, guttural groan.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing,hers shallow and panicked, his heavy and satisfied. Joel’s grip on her hair loosened slightly, his fingers carding through the tangled strands almost absently. "There," he murmured, his voice rough. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" The question hung in the air, rhetorical, mocking. She couldn't’t answer even if she’d wanted to. Her throat felt raw, her lips swollen from where she’d bitten them.
Joel didn’t seem to expect a response. He pulled out slowly, his cock slipping free with a wet sound that made her stomach turn. The sudden emptiness was almost worse than the fullness had been, a cold, hollow ache settling low in her belly. Joel exhaled sharply, his breath warm against her shoulder as he straightened up, his hands leaving her body for the first time in what felt like hours. The absence of his touch was almost as jarring as the touch itself.
Her knees buckled as soon as Joel stepped back, sending her crumpling to the floor in a heap of trembling limbs. The hardwood pressed cold against her bare thighs, the grit of dust sticking to the sweat-slicked skin of her palms as she tried—and failed to push herself upright. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate, muscles turned to water, and she slumped forward with a quiet, broken sound that wasn’t quite a sob.
Above her, Joel sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Christ,” he muttered, toeing her hip with his boot like she was a stray dog he’d found on his porch. “Get up.” But she couldn't move he clicked his tongue and crouched down, his knees popping with the effort. His fingers curled around her bicep, hauling her upright with a rough tug that sent fresh pain lancing through her shoulders. “I said up.”
The world tilted as he dragged her to her feet, her vision swimming at the edges. She stumbled, her knees knocking together, and Joel’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arm hard enough to leave marks there too.
He didn’t let go as he steered her toward the couch, his steps measured and sure despite the whiskey still lingering in his system. The cushions sagged under their combined weight as he pushed her down, her body folding like a marionette with its strings cut. Joel stood over her for a moment, his shadow swallowing her whole, before he turned away with a grunt, disappearing into the hallway without a backward glance.
The silence he left behind was thick, suffocating. She curled in on herself instinctively, her arms wrapping around her middle as if she could somehow hold herself together. "I'm cold..." She murmured to herself as she rubbed her middle to warm herself up
The faucet in the bathroom down the hall groaned to life, the pipes shuddering behind the walls. Water splashed unevenly against porcelain,Joel washing his hands, probably, the way he always did after. Methodical. Unhurried. She stared at the ceiling, counting the water stains blooming across the yellowed plaster like ugly flowers. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
The pipes hissed as the water cut off. Footsteps, heavy and slow, padded back toward the living room. She didn’t look up, didn’t move, just kept her arms locked around herself like a vise. Joel’s shadow fell over her first, then the weight of him settling onto the couch beside her, the springs creaking in protest. The smell of whiskey and sweat clung to him, thick enough to taste.
A damp washcloth landed on her, startling her. It was warm, almost hot, the steam still rising from it in faint curls. “Clean yourself up,don't want you soiling the couch” Joel said, his voice rough but devoid of its earlier edge. He wasn’t looking at her, his gaze fixed on the TV where the black-and-white cowboy movie was monologuing.
She picked up the cloth with trembling fingers, the fabric rough against her skin.She dabbed at her thighs gingerly, the heat of the cloth a contrast to the chill settling deep in her bones. The cloth turned pink, then red, and she swallowed hard, focusing on the way the fabric caught against her skin, the way the heat seeped into her muscles.
Joel’s arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing her shoulder absently, the touch incongruously gentle after what he'd done. The washcloth lay heavy in her lap, stained pink where she'd wiped between her thighs, and she clenched it tighter to keep her hands from shaking. The TV flickered, casting jagged shadows across Joel's face,hard lines softened by exhaustion, the whiskey finally catching up to him. His eyelids drooped, his breathing slowing to something almost rhythmic.
She didn't move when his arm slid down from the couch back to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her against his side with a grunt. The fabric of his shirt rubbed her cheek, smelling of sweat and tobacco and that cheap aftershave he'd worn for years. His heartbeat thudded under her ear, steady and unrepentant.
The girl held herself rigid against Joel’s side, But his breathing only deepened, his fingers going slack against her arm. The weight of him pressed heavier into the couch as he settled to lie down with her stuck between him and the back of the couch , his chin dipping toward her head. She dared a glance up,his eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open. Finally asleep.
Her own exhaustion dragged at her limbs, a leaden weight behind her ribs. The adrenaline had burned off, leaving her hollowed out, trembling with the aftershocks. Joel’s arm around her was heavy, suffocating, but she couldn’t muster the energy to slip free.
The girl’s eyelids grew heavier with each slow, rhythmic breath Joel took. The warmth of his body pressed against hers was an unwelcome comfort, but her body betrayed her anyway, sinking deeper into the couch’s worn cushions. The television’s flickering light painted stripes across the ceiling, blurring as her vision doubled. She tried to count them—one, two—but lost track somewhere between the third stripe and the sharp ache between her thighs.
The last thing she registered was the scratch of his stubble against her temple as his head lolled forward. Then nothing.
Sleep came like a thief, swift and silent, stealing her away from the ache in her body, the stickiness between her thighs. For a few blessed hours, there was no Joel, no hands, no teeth,just the yawning black void of oblivion.
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