The Birds and the Bees
Joel can keep you pure, or he can keep you to himself.
Tags - dad!joel, smut, loss of virginity, incest/dadcest, inexperienced reader, icky daddy, teddy bear bumping, masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie (plus a plan b later), angst. You’ve been warned. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND ALL CHARACTERS ARE ADULTS. 8.1k words. A/N - for the daddy’s girls ♡ @sofmoth, thank you for your eyes and help. you know i love you.
It’s early afternoon when Joel checks his watch that’s a minute or two ahead, and he’s missing you. His girl.
You’re only upstairs, just sleeping soundly in your bed. There’s plenty of worse places you could be, Joel figures, so he truly shouldn’t be complaining that you’re at home, safe in the room you grew up in. And it’s Sunday, and you’re a hard worker and a good girl, just like he raised you to be.
But goddammit, Joel misses you. He wants you down here with him, wants your head resting in his lap as he spins the little diamond studs in your ears he gifted you for your eighteenth birthday.
If Joel reaches for his own ear, he can still feel the fucked up scar from the piercing the girl at Claire’s gave him. You were nine when he took you to get your ears done, and you were about to wuss out until Joel made you a deal that he’d get his ears pierced too, so you could see it wasn’t so bad. Joel let you pick out his earrings, these tiny blue cubic zirconia butterflies that would match the ones you chose for yourself. The girl fuckin’ mangled his left ear, but whatever. The mission went successfully and with minimal tears. Some tears, but not the meltdown it could have been.
Joel groans and his knees crack loudly as he stands up from that worn out leather couch, and he walks up the stairs, heading right for your bedroom door. He twists the knob quietly, and the door creaks as he slowly pushes it open.
You’re the sweetest thing all laid out in your bed, tightly tucked head to toe in your blankets. You’ve got that same little pout on your lips you always wore when you slept. But your teddy’s out, Joel notices. Odd. He wonders what the hell you’re doing with him.
Joel steps quietly through your room, stopping at your bed. He reaches down and tickles his pointer finger over your nose, causing you to sniffle and scrunch your face all up. Joel grins, then moves down the bed. He lifts your blanket and gently tickles the bottom of your foot, chuckling at your wiggling toes.
“Daaaad,” you grumble groggily, pissed off when he doesn’t stop messing with you. Joel parrots your name back in the same tone, mocking you, earning a kick to his leg. Wrong move, kiddo. He catches your foot and raises it, tickling the very center where you’re most sensitive to it.
“Dad, stop.” You squirm and writhe, body betraying you as you giggle at your dad’s teasing. “You’re such an asshole. Just let me sleep, please.”
“Nope. S’time to get up an’ get showered. Ya need it,” Joel says, dropping your foot as he heads for your window and tugs on the blinds, letting them roll up with a loud snap. You groan loudly, covering your face with your pillow and pull your blankets back over your body, only for Joel to tear them off again. “Whatcha so tired for?”
“Nothing,” you reply in a clipped tone that Joel pays no mind to, a skill he learned from your teenage years. Pick and choose your battles.
“Snuck out, huh? Stayed up all night partyin’? That's what you’re all sweaty for?”
You pull your pillow off of your face and glare at your father, ignoring his question, then get up and out of bed. Joel leans over the mattress and straightens out the sheets, blankets, and pillows, then grabs your stuffed bear. “What’s Teddy doin’ out, hon? Thought you said you were too old for stuffies.”
“Did not.”
“Did too. When we did your big girl room, ‘member?”
You roll your eyes as you head for the bathroom. Time has passed, people grow and change. Maybe you’re not too old for stuffies anymore, but you sure as shit did tell him that when you were fourteen or so, somewhere around there. Your birthday present was a big girl room remodel, which you were so fucking excited for.
It started with bedding. Joel took you back to school shopping at Kohl’s like he’d done every year prior, and was beet red and scratching the back of his head as you shopped for new underwear and your first bras, bras that Joel had no idea how to help you with, bras that Joel couldn’t fucking believe you were now old enough for. A friendly woman took you into the dressing rooms and offered her expertise, and Joel quietly wandered away to give you your space.
With your new bras in hand, you left the dressing room and saw that Joel was gone. You searched the store for him until you found him in the home goods section looking at over priced coffee makers, both of you quiet and awkward. You tucked your bras under your new shirts and hoodies for the school year.
Joel cleared his throat, “So…what else is on our list, kiddo?”
“Shoes and socks.”
“Already? I just bought ya a pack of socks.”
“I ran out, Dad.”
Joel wondered how the hell you could run out of socks, when all they’re doing is going from your feet to the hamper to the washer and dryer. Teenage girls, what a fucking animal.
“Alright. Lead the way, then.”
Joel pushed the cart behind you as you headed for shoes and socks, but you ended up distracted by one of those model beds that were not to be sat on, Joel reminded you. The bedding caught your eye - some romantic, purpley-gray color with maroon floral details. You just…liked it. You don’t know. You still do.
“Dad.”
Joel looked at you from the cart, and put his hands on his hips. “No. We’re shoppin’ for school. Spent an arm an’ a leg already on supplies alone.” Fuckin’ binders and folders and scientific calculators for early algebra, Christ almighty.
“Please?”
“What’s wrong with your Care Bears?”
You frowned and tilted your head at your dad, his mirror image as you put your hands on your hips in the same exact way. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew what was wrong with your Care Bears bedding. Shit, if he had Care Bears bedding at thirteen years old he’d probably be the same way. But still - how? How had you grown up so fast?
Joel made a face as he looked at the bedding with you, shaking his head as he looked at the price tag. The goddamned store was always overpriced to hell. “Go on,” he said, motioning towards it. “Go grab one.”
You smiled and searched a nearby aisle for the matching bedding, then retrieved one of the sets and put it into Joel’s cart. “That’s for a queen bed, Peanut. Go get a twin.”
“They don’t come in twin.”
“So…?”
“So I need a new bed,” you replied simply. “I’m too big for a twin now.”
Oh, that was rich. “Gimme a break, you are not too big for a twin bed.”
“Am too. My feet dangle off.”
That was a lie, and Joel knew it. “Y’sleep curled up in a ball anyway, so what’s it matter if your feet dangle off?”
You and Joel went back and forth on the bed issue as you led him to the shoe department. With him knelt in front of you with his thumb pressed on your toes, and in between telling you to wiggle ‘em, you argued your case. Something about you being too old for your room, and wanting something more ‘adult’. The other girls at school don’t have Care Bear and Disney princess rooms. You wanted a whole redo, top to bottom.
“Mm…I’ll think about it, kiddo.”
“So that’s a no, then. Awesome.”
Some fucking nerve you had at that age, snapping like that at your dad with a cart full of new clothes, and $80 Nikes on your feet Joel was going to buy you for gym, only for you to walk the mile run because you fucking hated that class so much. “‘Scuse me?” Joel shot back, his eyebrow raised.
“Sorry, Daddy.”
You were wrong, by the way. Joel ‘thinking about it’ wasn’t an outright no, it was him cooking up ideas for a room remodel for your upcoming birthday. It’d be a matter of taking measurements, getting Uncle Tommy on board, setting aside money for you to pick out new decorations and furniture.
And on your fourteenth birthday, Joel woke you up with a trip to Home Depot. “Ugh, Dad. I don’t wanna go with you to Home Depot,” you whined.
“Really? Don’t wanna pick out paint for your new room?”
Your precious face lighting up, god. Joel will never forget it.
“Suit yourself. Guess I’ll pick out paint on my own. Been meanin’ to redo the bathroom…”
“No! No, I’ll come with. Just give me like, five minutes to get dressed.”
“Alright, sweetheart. I’ll give ya like, five minutes to get dressed.”
Twenty minutes later (quantifiably more than five), you were on your way to Home Depot with a pillowcase in your hand to match the paint swatches to. And about a week after that, Joel was accidentally smearing paint on his face as he wiped his tears and sniffling nose while painting over the hand-done pink and purple flowers and butterflies that had bordered your wall since he brought you home from the hospital.
It wasn’t all bad. Joel was relieved to be getting rid of some of your junk, to be donating unused toys and so on. He wasn’t so relieved to be getting rid of Teddy. “You don’t need ‘im?” Joel asked.
“Nope.”
“But what if you miss him?”
“I won’t,” you replied, and ouch. Just like you didn’t miss Joel on your first day of seventh grade, either. He remembers that all too well, how you wouldn’t let him wait with you at the bus stop.
“What if you have a nightmare?”
“Well, I’ll just get in your bed, then.”
“Oh, is that so? I thought you were a big girl. Too cooool to sleep in Daddy’s bed,” Joel smiled, ruffling your hair as he put the stuffed bear into his closet. Maybe you didn’t need Teddy anymore, and that was okay. Joel liked knowing you still needed your daddy. “You still kinda like me, huh? Little bit?”
“No, I don’t,” you murmured, smiling shyly.
He won Teddy for you at Six Flags when you were younger. You and he made a whole date of it, daring each other to do scarier and scarier rides, getting sick off of greasy fair food. “Wimp,” Joel teased you in line for the haunted house.
“I’m not the wimp, Daddy, you’re the wimp.”
When you’d done all the rides and your feet were tired, you wanted to do games with him. “No can do, sweet pea. M’ready to go. ‘Sides,” Joel said, “They’re rigged anyhow.”
“Please? Just one game.”
Joel sighed. “What game?”
You pointed to the ring toss, and Joel saw what your eye was on. A big ass stupid teddy bear. Oh, what the hell. “Fine. Just the one game, then we’re leavin’.”
Tossing rings at the glass bottles, you managed to miss every damn one of them. “What’s over there?” Joel would say, chuckling as you managed to toss a ring behind yourself. “Gotta work on that aim, kiddo.”
Joel decided to play next, and to his surprise, he wasn’t doing half bad. By the end of the game, he had tossed all his rings onto all of the bottles. His prize, he decided, was the teddy bear you wanted.
You grinned on the walk back to his truck, holding one arm of the bear as Joel held the other, Teddy bouncing between you oth. “Whatcha smilin’ about over there, sweet girl?”
“Nothing,” you murmured.
“S’my teddy, ya know,” Joel intoned. “I won him fair an’ square, kiddo, so don’t you be gettin’ any ideas over there.”
When you got home late that night, Joel carried both you and the stuffed bear inside, and he laid you down in your twin sized bed, then placed the bear next to you. “Night, Peanut,” he whispered, kissing you on the forehead.
You shut the bathroom door, careful to make sure it’s locked before turning on the shower. You undress yourself and leave your pile of clothes on the floor, then step into the tub and let the hot water wash all over you for a few minutes or so.
Yawning, you reach for the bar of soap, frowning at the hair your dad left on it, from god only knows what part of his body. You rinse it off and then lather it in your washrag, scrubbing yourself. Neck, armpits, belly. The mess you made between your thighs last night.
There’s been this…thing, lately, and you’re not sure what to do about it. An ache at your most private area that throbs and makes you dizzyheaded, all hot and tingly. You’ve done your best to tend to it yourself but no matter how much touching, rubbing, or other stimulation you give to it, nothing changes.
The ache is always there. It gets better and worse, but it never quite leaves you. It’s distracting, irritating, and almost painful, even. But what are you supposed to do about it? Talk to your dad? Yeah, you know how that’ll go down. He’ll turn beet red and stutter his way through helping you with your “girly stuff” as he calls it, and then you’ll eat dinner in awkward silence at the dinner table.
That’s how it went when you got your first period anyway. It happened in the summer at the waterpark, when Joel noticed blood dripping between your thighs. You were complaining about a tummy ache that morning, after all, so it did make sense.
And he knew people had seen. God, you poor thing. Joel grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you aside, wrapping his own damp towel around your waist as he fumbled his way through telling you that you had a little issue that needed to be dealt with. He deputized some generous woman in helping you manage the bleed, but she only had tampons. And you were what, twelve? If that? Joel knew he shit the bed by not talking to you about it or preparing you at all, but fuck…it sure did sneak up on him.
By the tears in your eyes he saw when you left the bathroom, he knew it didn’t go well. You kept the waterpark’s towel and told Joel sternly that you needed to go home, and he didn’t argue. The drive back was silent, and Joel’s house was too, as you’d locked yourself in the bathroom and refused to come out until he knocked on the door an hour later, a Walgreen’s bag rustling in his hand.
He cleared his throat, “Gotcha…supplies, Peanut’.”
“I already tried. Go away,” you huffed, wiping away your tears.
“Pads, honey. Not tampons. Wouldja let me in so I can show you how to use ‘em? Please?”
The door unlocked. Joel set the bag down on the bathroom counter, then grabbed a pair of panties from the top drawer of your dresser and returned to you, all wrapped up, sniffling and bleeding in that white towel. You poor girl, god. His heart still aches.
“S’easy peasy, alright? Ya just…peel it…and put it on like a sticker, see?” Joel demonstrated how to use the pad, then crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it in the trash bin as he handed you your pad-covered underwear. “There ya are. I’ll leave you to it.” Joel left the bathroom and shut the door.
You changed out of your bloody bathing suit and into the underwear, then frowned as you looked in the mirror.
“Dad,” you deadpanned.
“What?”
“You put it on backwards.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit…never was any good at arts an’ crafts. You do it then, sweetheart. You got the gist of it. And I am tellin’ ya right now, if you flush them things, girl, so help me god…”
You rolled your eyes. “I know, Dad.”
“There’s some extra goodies in the bag for ya.”
And then Joel left. You figured out your pad, then looked in the bag for the goodies your dad had mentioned. There was a bag of Sour Patch watermelons, which were (and still are) your favorite. How could he forget?
There was a trashy magazine, a couple of Lip Smackers, and a little Beanie Baby keychain that Joel knew you liked to collect, as your backpack was completely decked out in those things. And a little note written on the yellow legal pad paper Dad kept in his truck that read:
Sorry if I embarrassed you. Pizza for dinner later ok? I love you Peanut. - Dad.
You met Joel downstairs afterward, which he was not expecting. He’d figured you’d wanna keep to yourself the rest of the day, but instead, you wrapped yourself around his torso on that old ass couch, allowing yourself to be loved and held by your dear old man. He kissed your forehead and didn’t say much beyond that you didn’t have to talk about it if you didn’t want to, and you could write him a note when you ran out of supplies and if you had any questions. He’d do his best.
While rinsing out the shampoo you’ve lathered in your hair, you hum. The dull, constant pressure against your scalp feels nice, doesn’t it? It doesn’t take you long to figure out where else it’d feel nice, too. After conditioning your hair and rinsing that out as well, you take the showerhead off the wall, then point it between your thighs and let your eyes close.
It’s easy to relax into the sensation, the hot gentle stream of water against your aching pussy. You move it up and down, rotate it around in a circle…but more is needed.
You push the setting toward the jet stream instead of rain, then angle it toward your clit. “Oh, fuck.” The vibration is hard enough to make your knees buckle, so you ease yourself to the floor of the tub, legs spread wide as you rest your head against the tile and find the right positioning all over again.
You breathe deeply, focusing on what feels good. The pleasure’s a little sharp yet, sort of surface level and too intense. You’ve learned that’s how it usually goes at first, until you relax into it, feel it a little deeper inside. There’s an ebb and flow that comes next - finding that pleasure, that sweet spot, and letting it build and build until…until it vanishes, or you shy away from the sensation entirely, and what is it that you’re afraid of?
God only knows how much time passes as you’re breathing in the steam, hips and knees aching from the awkward way you’re sitting in the tub, focusing so hard on trying to reach…something, something significant. It’s been hours, hasn’t it? Days, even. And you know it’s right there. It fucking has to be. Every nerve in your body is lit on fire as you work for your orgasm, despite not knowing that’s what you’re working for, and you’re exhaling hard when you lose it, then hold your breath as you try to find it again. That obsessive cycle. At least using the showerhead, your fingers aren’t aching.
You feel it again, that electricity deep inside you. Flutter, tingle, whatever you could call it. It takes a concerted effort not to shy away from it, to lean into it and feel, even when it’s new and a little scary. You wish you had a hand to hold.
Like when you were on top of that roller coaster at Six Flags. You remember it all, don't you. How Dad made you promise him at the back of the line that you wouldn’t wimp out. And, he said, you weren’t allowed to hold onto the handles at all. Arms up the whole time, kiddo. Them's the rules.
And how at the top of the ride, the cart paused. Building excitement, anticipation. Your little heart pounded as you looked down at the ant-sized people below, the booths and food stands that looked like dollhouses from where you sat. Right before the cart descended, you reached for Joel’s hand. He looked at you and smiled, gave you a squeeze, and down you went.
On the other side of the door, Joel knocks twice, startling you. “Everything comin’ out okay?”
Jesus fucking Christ, your father. You drop the shower head and thud your head against the tile, frustrated as you groan to yourself. “Oh my god, Dad.”
“Jus’ askin’,” Joel shrugs. “You’ve been in there a while.”
“I just like to take long showers! Just - oh my god. Can you leave me alone? Please?”
“Uh huh. Take long showers all you want when you’re outta the house an’ payin’ your own damn water bill,” Joel shouts over the sound of the rushing water, loudly tapping on the door. “Now wrap it up, you.”
Your father has uncanny timing. The water’s beginning to turn cold anyway, so you shut it off and step out of the shower, still with an ache between your thighs and a fuzzy head, irritated that you can’t figure yourself out.
You dress yourself and fix your hair, then head downstairs to join Joel on the couch. He’s in the spot he’s always sitting in, wearing the Levi’s jeans he’s owned since before you were even conceived. Legs spread wide, arms outstretched too as he watches his Cowboys play. He pats the empty place next to him, but grunts when you choose to sit on his lap instead. And Joel could complain, say something to you about how you’re too big to be doing this and you’re gonna break his back and this, that, and the other…but he’ll never. He’s luckier than most fathers are, lucky that his girl still wants to love on him and cuddle him. So Joel scratches your back instead, and he kisses you on top of your head, right where your soft spot used to be. His heart is beating right next to yours.
He smells good. Dad always did, anyway. Like the laundry detergent he’s always used, which you can hardly smell on your clothes anymore, so used to the scent over years of use. He smells like Old Spice too, and just…himself. His skin, his sweat, his breath. All comforting and masculine.
You shouldn’t be thinking about him like that, and you know it. You feel guilty when he slips into your mind during private moments, like last night and just before now in the shower. You don’t know. You don’t know what it is. Wires crossing, whatever. You really don’t know.
But it’s hard not to, right? Especially when he’s absentmindedly bouncing his knee, your restless father. Jerking when one of those good-for-nothin’ receivers misses a touchdown that might as well have been fucking handed to him. You feel his leg press right against where it aches and throbs, and it relieves a little bit of pressure. It makes you sigh, and almost moan if you’re not careful.
You rock a little, chasing that feeling again. Can’t be too rhythmic about it, but you can be slow, careful, shifting from one side to the other, or rolling your hips in the tiniest way.
“Settle down, hon. You’re bein’ squirrely,” Joel says, and you freeze. You pull away, and he’s giving you a suspicious look.
“Sorry. I’m gonna be right back.”
Without an explanation, you slide off of Joel and rush back up the stairs, desperate to take care of this - whatever it is, now. You fling your door open and strip naked, then grab your teddy and push him between your legs, his threaded nose pressed right against your wet seam. You grind against him urgently, so desperate to find a remedy to your ailment. Fingers clutching the edge of your mattress as you move your hips, eyes squeezed tightly shut. You moan into your pillow, less out of pleasure and more out of frustration, frustration enough to make you cry and grit your teeth as you hump that stuffed bear, hoping to god that whatever it is that hurts you like this, it’ll stop hurting soon. You need relief so fucking badly.
Joel looks up at the ceiling as it creaks, wondering what in god’s name you’re doing in that bedroom of yours. Probably trying to rearrange your furniture again, and how many goddamn times has he told you to ask for his help? He doesn’t want you scratching the paint off the walls or worse, hurting yourself.
So Joel sighs and his knees crack as he pushes his body off the couch, ready to scold you for attempting to do this shit all by yourself again. He walks up the steps, turns the corner, and his jaw drops.
With her door wide open, Joel’s daughter is completely naked and writhing on the teddy bear he won for her, moaning into her sheets and pillows. His hands shake and his heart pounds so hard he can feel it in his throat, fucking nauseated at the sight of you, and nauseated that his cock is hardening anyway. When Joel says your name, his voice is quiet and wavering.
You turn your head over your shoulder, face dropping at the figure standing in your doorway.
“Dad!”
You quickly cover yourself with a blanket at the same time Joel turns away and shields his eyes, willing away his hardon, too. “The hell are you fuckin’ doin’?” he hisses. Once you’re decent, Joel snatches your bear and looks at your mess in utter disgust. “Got anything to say for yourself?”
“I don’t know! It - it hurts, so I like…I don’t know. Don’t be mad, Dad. Please.”
“Don’t be mad?”
Joel’s standing there in front of you, seething as you stare back at him. Eyes all wide, looking so small and ashamed of yourself. He pauses for a second and looks at the bear again, then lets out a shaky breath.
You’re…just…doing what comes natural, same as Joel did when he was your age, same as anyone does. In fact, Joel was even younger, flipping through magazines he stole from his father, and his father wasn’t even supposed to have those. You’re not doing anything wrong, not really. And if Joel thinks about it, it’s probably his fault for never talking to you about all this…girly stuff. He gave you the basics when you were a kid, and that was that. Nothing more. He kind of figured you’d, well. Figure it out.
Joel rubs the wet spot on the bear with his thumb, then speaks.
“M’not…fuck, I’m no good at this. I ain’t mad, kiddo,” he murmurs, pausing to collect his thoughts and take another deep breath. Lightheaded, Joel sits down on the edge of your bed, refusing to look at you. “Just…I don’t know. Guess I still thought you were too young for all that shit. You scared me.”
Joel rubs his forehead and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply. He’s still hard, and hoping you never saw. It’s not like - not like it means anything, you know? He’s a man, and dicks have a fucking mind of their own. Jesus.
And he’s sad, too. Scared. You’re growing up - you have grown up. Every coming of age moment is bittersweet but fuck, this one…it’s doing a number on your poor old man.
“I’ll leave ya to it, then. Just - please close the door next time, kid–”
You grab Dad’s shoulder before he can leave. “Help.”
“Help?”
“It hurts,” you tell him again, urgency in your voice. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“You’re all worked up, hon. Gotta…ya know. Go deal with it.”
“But I don’t know how, Dad,” you complain, pressing your hand against your throbbing center. “I’ve been touching and I tried - with the shower head, earlier. But it didn’t work. It just really fucking hurts, Daddy.”
“Sweetheart–”
Joel looks at you and sighs. He knows it hurts. Lord, how he knows, what with the way you’ve your hand between your thighs, those baby rocks of your hips as you whimper at the friction. And Joel knows he could walk away, that he probably should walk away.
But as a parent, it isn’t easy to see your child in pain.
And Dad’s a fixer, right? He’s the man who sticks those overpriced, patterned Band-aids on you (Band-aids that he buys you, mind you), even when he tells you they won’t do a damn thing to fix whatever’s hurting. He’s the one who pulls out your splinters with his pocketknife, ices the ankles you twist. Threatened the shithead teenage boys that toyed with his baby girl’s heart. And Joel felt like a failure when he couldn’t ease the pain of your aching appendix, waiting in emergency room triage with his rapidly bouncing knee, hands squeezed together as he prayed straight to god you’d be alright.
So Joel thinks about what he should do here. He sure as shit doesn’t like the idea of sending you into a sex shop full of perverts to what, buy yourself some plastic cock that’s way too big for you? Pass. And he doesn’t like the idea of your girlfriends filling your head with heaven only knows what fucking ideas. God forbid you end up in the arms of some guy who’ll do nothing but take advantage of you like this. Unlike…Well, himself.
For a fleeting moment, Joel considers it. Being the one to take care of you. He’s always taken care of you, after all.
If he’s being honest with himself, Joel’s thought about it before. Sliding his dick into you, his sweet fucking girl. Not that he ever thought about it a lot, you know? Just…in passing, and he’d shake away those thoughts immediately, scold himself. But things are quite different now, aren’t they?
He knows how wrong it is, but he’s got a decision to make: he can keep you like this, aching and desperate for relief, but pure. And you’ll resent him for it, just like all little girls do to their daddies who are just trying to look out for them, who have their best interest in mind.
Or, Joel decides, he can keep you all to himself.
And would that be so terrible? You’ve experienced all your other firsts with him, anyway. First word, first steps, first day of school, first period, first time driving a car. Safe in your father’s arms, would it be so awful to experience this first with him, too?
Because realistically, what happens if he doesn’t hold you through this? You’ll go off and fuck somebody else - somebody who doesn’t care about you the way your dear old dad does, somebody who’ll use you to get their rocks off and leave you heartbroken and confuses. Somebody who’ll never love you the way Joel does.
Daddy will make it nice. Special. As painless as can be, and as pleasurable. He’ll make you cum and he’ll hold you tight against his chest, your heart against his heart.
Joel turns around and looks at you, and his expression softens. He reaches out and cups your chin, then whispers, “Oh, Peanut. What’m I gonna do with you?”
“I don’t know, Daddy.”
“I know, sweet pea. I know.”
“I was up all night,” you tell him, and Joel nods in understanding before you can finish. “–And it’s been hurting since–”
“Guessin’ for a while now, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” It all makes sense now. That little wiggle you were doing on his lap downstairs. And then the shower, obviously. “Alright, kiddo. Let me see. S’okay,” Joel says, his voice soft. “M’gonna fix it.”
You pause, and Joel looks at you. You did ask for his help, but you meant something like…you don’t really know, exactly. Consciously or not, it seems as though both of you were dancing around the idea of crossing that line. Here’s said idea is at the surface, and what are you supposed to do with it?
“I mean, I don’t think we’re supposed to. Right, Dad?”
“It don’t work like that, sweetheart. M’the parent an’ you’re my child,” he murmurs. “You’re my responsibility. Let me worry about it.”
“But I - Aren’t we? I don’t know, like…I don’t think–”
Joel puts his hand on your knee, stopping you. “Hey. Do you trust me?” He looks at you earnestly, and your face is a near-twin image to his own, not that either of you can see that in the moment. He rubs your knee with his thumb, gentle, patient.
You do. You do trust him. Because Dad has always, always had your back. Is he a perfect man? No. He never claimed to be, either. He could be a little firm, a little strict, a little flawed. Do as I say, not as I do. Sometimes, not always. But Dad’s fair, and he’s loving and tender. Not every man is.
And so you nod and lie back, doing as you’re told, the good girl you are. Still covered in the blanket, you’re shy. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but it’s different like this.
“Know you’re nervous,” Joel murmurs, taking your hand in his larger one, weathered and scarred from years of work. “Gonna make you cum,” he tells you, punctuating the sentence with a few squeezes to your palm, Joel himself nervous. “You know what that is?”
You shrug. “Kind of. Sorta.”
“Well, you’ll know it when ya feel it. That’s what’ll fix it, sweetheart.”
“What’s it feel like?”
Joel makes a face as he searches for the words, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Jus’ feels good,” is what he settles with. “Promise you’ll like it. Now, show me where it hurts.”
“Okay.”
With shaking hands, you uncover yourself, bare before your father, goosebumps decorating your smooth skin. “I’m cold.”
“I know, baby. Gonna warm up real soon.” Joel rubs a hand up and down your shin, then speaks again. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, sincere as ever.
It’s so profoundly intimate that you don’t quite know what to do with yourself, what to say. “Daaad.”
“Don’t know where in the world those looks came from. Sure as hell didn’t get ‘em from my ugly mug,” he jokes, and you don’t know what to say to that, either. Do you tell him he’s handsome?
Joel removes his shirt next, then undoes his pants and slides them down his legs, along with his boxers. If you can be naked, so can he.
If you had to eat all of your veggies, Joel had to eat all of his, too. That was the rule.
He closes and locks the door, then pulls down on the blinds he woke you up with. Those added layers of privacy make all the difference, as does the darkness. Not pitch black, just…a less color and light saturated room is calming. It tells your body that it’s time to be quiet now, time to relax.
“Scooch, kid.” Joel gives your ass a gentle swat to urge you toward the other side of the bed, making room for his body. He groans as he lays down, pulling the covers up and over the both of you, though he’s not cold.
You can’t help but giggle at the awkwardness, the newness of it all. Skin against skin, Dad’s rubbing your body, tracing the lines of those beautiful curves of yours. The dip in your waist as you lie on your side, the rise of your hip, and the slightly less exaggerated dip that follows as he drags his knuckles down your thigh. “What’s funny?”
“I don’t know,” you answer quietly, still smiling nervously.
“Knucklehead.”
Joel kisses your forehead then, still just touching you gently, getting you used to his hands being in places he’s never touched like this before. Over your stomach, between your thighs, your breasts. He kisses your cheeks, your nose, and your heart pounds at the prospect of kissing his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Such a different kiss than you’re used to sharing with him.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“Mmm...nah. Don’t think I like ya enough to kiss ya.”
You roll your eyes. God, your father. But Joel goes for it then, kissing you gently. His lips move against yours, his tongue teasing your own. He smiles as you moan, tilting your body back against the mattress. He tastes like he smells, so perfectly comforting and familiar.
You didn’t ask if you could touch him, but you find yourself squeezing Joel’s bicep, the bicep of his that you use as a pillow. Where you wrap your arms around his, then press your ear to his shoulder and let your eyes flutter shut.
You gasp when you feel his fingers make contact with your seam, and Joel groans, too. So fucking wet.
“Y’alright?” he asks, his dark eyes searching yours.
“Yeah,” you answer quietly. Your lips part as his middle finger, just the one, presses between your lips. He moves it slowly, introducing you to the feeling of himself being there, that most private and special place. How intimate that he gets to be the one to first touch you like this, to walk with you through this act of love?
Joel finds your clit and rubs it with two fingers now, just experimenting. What do you like? What do you not like? What with the way your body fucking melts underneath him, Joel guesses you like it all. Fucking kid in a candy store.
“Yeah, you like it there, huh?”
“I like…little circles.”
Joel lifts his eyebrows and shakes his head, amused by your request. “Little circles. Ten four on that, Peanut.” He circles you just as you’ve asked him to, your swollen clit throbbing under his calloused fingertips.
“Gonna let me show you somethin’ cool?”
You nod. Joel moves lower, “F’I put my fingers right here,” he muses, dipping those fingers into your wet hole. You squeeze him a little, which is to be expected. “Takes a lil’ finaglin’ sometimes, but I’ll getcha.”
He pumps his fingers in and out of you, slowly, allowing you to feel the bulge of his knuckles knuckles. “Relax your muscles, honey. Let Daddy in,” he coaches, shushing you as he encourages you to let go of your tension. “Easy, now. M’just workin’ her open, is all.”
You knit your brows together, doing your best to unclench. There’s a bit of pain there, a little stretch. Dad praises you when he feels you loosen your muscles, and he rewards you with another kiss. “How’s it feelin’?”
“Hurts a little.”
“Hurts a little?” he parrots, and you nod. “Gonna feel good in a second, kiddo. Real good. Y’want me to kiss it better?”
Your eyes fly open and you give Joel an incredulous look. “What? No way.”
“Oh, c’mon. Be brave. It’ll feel good,” he urges, pulling his fingers out of your pussy to taste you now. An impatient man, he is. Ignoring your stammering because father knows best, Joel spreads your legs and moves between your thighs, pulling you closer to him by your hips.
“Dad–”
“Cut ya a deal,” Joel offers, looking you in your eyes. “F’ya don’t like it, I’ll stop. No questions asked, you just say the word.”
He proposed the same deal when it came to new foods. You don’t have to like it, he said, but you at least have to try it. One bite.
“Fine.”
Joel rolls his eyes. You. And all it takes is one kiss against your pretty little clit to make you gasp, and a single long lick of Joel’s tongue along your slit to have you crying out, hands flying to tug on his hair.
“Want me to stop?”
“N - more, Daddy.”
“Whatever happened to those manners I taught ya, huh?”
Joel laughs to himself and continues licking you, using his tongue to make you squirm and arch into his mouth. You taste so fucking good, so sweet and so yourself. He licks you from bottom to top, swirling in figure eights around your clit before traveling lower, dipping his tongue into your dripping hole.
He licks his middle two fingers again, and it’s easier to push them inside of you now. There’s no resistance and in fact, you pull him in. Flicking his tongue against your clit, Joel shows you that something cool he mentioned earlier. He curls those thick fingers upward while inside of you, rubbing against that most special of places. You moan loudly, unable to keep still as Daddy fucks you on his fingers.
“Yeah, there she is. Pretty neat, huh?”
“Wh-what are you doing? Fuck, Dad.”
“Magic trick. Can’t tell ya,” Joel teases, going back to licking your clit. His combined efforts have you closer to release than you’ve ever had yourself, and so much more intensely. Like a fire in your guts, every fucking nerve in your body set ablaze. And then it ends.
“Dad!” you huff, frustrated.
Joel smiles all crooked and cocky. It’s a father’s right to piss off his babygirl sometimes, right? To tease her for her crushes, sing along badly to her favorite songs. Worse yet, making up his own incorrect lyrics. He just wants to get a rise out of you. Or maybe it’s that he wants to be inside you when you experience your very first orgasm. Maybe a little of both, honestly, though one significantly more than the other.
Joel hushes your complaints, moving up your body. It’s jarring to smell yourself on his skin, to feel your own slick when he kisses your cheek. The mood shifts, turning from playful to more serious as he swallows thickly, taking your hand in his again. You’re going to want to hold it.
“M’gonna make love to ya,” he breathes, pausing a second. “‘Cause I do. Love ya,” he clarifies, kissing your temple and nosing your hair. “That okay?”
It’s okay. You swallow too, heart pounding hard again, blood rushing to your gut. It’s hard to find words, and Joel knows that. He knows you well enough to know what a yes is and what’s a no, and what to nudge you on and what to let you do on your own.
This, however, you get to do together. Hand in hand, father and daughter.
Joel nods and you nod back, and you’re breathing shakily as he reaches between himself to pump his cock a few times, flinching when you feel the head of his cock against your cunt. He picks up on your anxiety, and rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. “S’just you an’ me. Just us.”
“I know.” Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “I’m just scared, Daddy.”
“Scared of what?”
“All of it. Of it hurting, too.”
“You’re a tough kid,” Joel counters. He drops your hand in favor of dragging the back of his knuckle along your cheekbone, and hushes you before you can start working yourself all up. “Hey,” he says, firm. Then, softer, “I know you’re scared. But you know what?”
“What?”
“M’not,” he shrugs. “Done it a million times. S’how you ended up here, anyway.”
You giggle. Gross. And Joel laughs too, then continues, “Ain’t scared of a thing. It’s gonna be just fine. Alright?”
“Alright, Daddy.”
Joel smiles kindly, crows feet decorating the sides of his eyes. He holds your hand again, pins it against the pillow. With his free hand, he spits into his palm before aligning himself with your entrance.
And he goes. Joel pushes himself inside you, ever so gently, every so slowly. That tedious slide into your body has him sucking in a sharp breath, and groaning on his exhale. You cling to your father, wrapping your arms and legs tightly around him as you bury yourself in his neck, whimpering at the feeling, the newness.
“It hurts.”
“I gotcha, sweetheart. You’re okay.” Joel eases himself inside you the rest of the way, bottoms out with a soft grunt. He looks down, his belly pressed against yours, and his gaze travels up your body. Your eyes are squeezed tightly, as is your pussy around his length. You’re taking shallow breaths, all lost in your own head, not realizing what’s happening. What’s happened.
“Dad?”
“You fuckin’ did it, babygirl. Hey - look. Look,” he repeats in a sweet and soft tone, urging you to open your eyes and look at where your bodies connect. “See?”
Your face splits into a smile, and you instantly relax around him. “Atta-fuckin’-girl,” Joel praises, drawing out of you, watching as you watch him. “Tell me who loves ya,” he groans, pushing back in. “Huh? Who loves ya?”
“You do,” you moan, arching your back and tilting your hips as Joel builds a slow, easy pace. You gasp and whimper, nails digging into his shoulderblades as he moves. It’s indescribable, really. The fullness, the intimacy. The pleasure, that feeling of his cock brushing against the spot only reached once before by his fingers, just a moment ago.
“Don’tcha ever fuckin’ forget it, Peanut.”
Joel’s swearing in your ear, moving in and out of you at a quicker pace now. His hand slides up your body to squeeze your breast, then back down to grip your hip. He loves the noises you make, the most beautiful sounds of pleasure. And to think, it’s all him that’s doing this to you. The sweetest taboo there is.
You’ve waited long enough for release. Joel licks his fingers and wedges his hand between your bodies, simply pressing his fingertips against your clit. He does those favorite circles of yours, and there's an added sensation from his hips steadily rolling into yours, creating such a tremendous, powerful, impending release.
“Dad, Dad, Dad, oh my god, Daddy–”
“You got it, sweetheart. Let it happen. Cum for Daddy.”
You make the prettiest face when you finally cum, and it’ll be burned in Joel’s memory until he dies. Lips parted, eyes shut, moaning Daddy. Joel can’t help but smile and laugh breathlessly as you cum around his cock, completely awestruck by his girl. Look at her go.
All of that tension, all of that pressure culminates in the most excruciatingly pleasurable tensing and releasing of your muscles, of every nerve fraying as if it were a candlewick under a flame. Your legs shake around Dad’s hips and you moan, clinging to him for dear life as the sensation finally begins to subside.
“Lookit ya,” Joel breathes, fucking you through the final waves of your pleasure, gray hair falling in front of his face. “All grown up. How ‘bout that.”
He pulls your body closer to his, as if that’s even possible, and pounds into you. Probably harder than he should, but you can fucking take it, because Joel raised you to. Balls tightening and his cock stiffening, Joel lets out the most guttural noise as he finally spills into you, pumping you full of the very cum you came from. Just this once, he promises to himself, absentmindedly. Joel sees his climax through to the end, til he’s emptied every last drop of himself into you.
Breathing heavily, Joel pulls out of you, spilling his mess onto that special bedding. He flops onto his back and pulls you into his side, tucking you right where you belong as he whispers breathlessly praises about how good you did, how much he fucking loves you.
“I love you too, Daddy.”
Moments pass as you and Joel both come down, heartrates evening out. You shift uncomfortably, and Joel notices a look on your face. “What is it, sweet pea?”
“Just kinda sore,” you answer, and Joel sits up. He spreads your legs, brow pinched together as he checks you out, worried he was, in fact, too rough. You’re a little swollen, a little irritated. Nothing too bad.
“Won’t be forever,” he tells you, reaching for your pussy. He collects his dripping spend from your hole and pushes it back inside, making a mental note to put you on birth control. And he’ll have to shell out forty bucks for a Plan B. Jesus, he hasn’t had to do that since his twenties. The fucking pill probably isn’t forty bucks anymore, either.
Joel pats your thigh, then nods in the direction of the bathroom. “Go potty. Get cleaned up,” he tells you.
You sigh and shake your head. Already barking orders at you, your father. “Why?”
“‘Cause we’re goin’ out. Daddy-daughter date, huh? Like we used to.”
“Thought that was only for special occasions.”
“It is a special occasion, ain’t it?”
You smile. Yes, it is.
-
If you enjoyed, please, please, please reblog. I know people are hesitant to publicly engage with icky fics, but I’m asking that you step out of your comfort zone and leave a nice word in a rb. Thank you 🙏
Asks and smutty thots always welcome :) you never know, maybe you’ll inspire a fic.
