Summary: Joel and reader have been together for a few years now, and live in his house in Jackson with Ellie. You forget to lock his truck after driving it, and he gets a little upset.
OR you call him Daddy, Joel melts, and Dina walks in at literally the worst time.
Notes/tags (16+): Age gap (Joel is late fifties, reader is mid twenties), established relationship, domestic fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort, soft smut, teasing, banter, Joel is kinda mean, no use of y/n, daddy kink (reader literally says it once), glasses!joel, oldman!joel, Dina walks in but it's not exhibitionism, TLOU season 2 spoilers (not really just characters from that are used), Every Breath You Take by The Police (song is played, cause the reader likes it), protective Joel, no smut just sensual stuff. Hopefully I got it all!
Word Count: 2.5K
A/N: Okay! Here we go! First one shot so please be nice to me, okay? No smut, just all fluff and sensual talk, since I've stated that I feel weird about writing smut (for now.. mwehehe). Reader is not described apart from having hair long enough for Joel to comb his fingers through it, and that she likes music.
Joel was busy in the house, working on some circuit board. His glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes squinted slightly. He needed a new prescription, his vision has been getting worse over the years, but he always brushed you off when you commented on it.
You watched him through the window, coming back from a small patrol. The only kind Joel would let you go on were the ones around town or right outside the walls. You weren’t scared exactly—just nervous.
Earlier, you’d driven his truck, and forgot to lock it once you got back home. You came out of the garage just in time to see Joel unlocking the truck with his spare keys. He paused, sighed, and chewed his bottom lip—fourth time you’d forgotten.
Sure, Jackson was a pretty safe town, but you know Joel. Doesn’t trust most people. Plus, men. With their trucks. You never understood that. Maybe it was a boomer thing.
His frustration–already high from construction– was only heightened when this happened. Which only resulted in a ‘stern talking to’ –as Joel called it–. You hated getting lectured. Made you feel like a kid. Which, compared to him, you are.
Regardless, you ended up nodding along to his words, tears forming in your eyes.
“I’ve told you, as soon as you get out of the truck, you lock the damn door.” Joel held up his keys, dangling them, “You insert, twist, and double check. Ain’t complicated.”
You nodded, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn't cut it this time, hun.” He scratched his beard. “Show me how you lock it.” He nodded at the truck.
You scrunched your nose, and sniffled as you walked over to his truck, grabbing the keys from his rough hands, fiddling with getting them into the lock. Swallowing thickly, you lock it, then tug on the handle to show him it’s locked.
“Good girl.” Joel murmured, patting your hip and pressing a kiss to your cheek.
That was about two hours ago, and you still feel weird going back inside the house. You have no reason to be. Joel wasn’t scary, except for when he had to put you in your place, but that was years ago. You knew his boundaries and he knew yours. Mostly.
But apparently his therapy sessions with Gale were helping. Which you didn’t know about until a week ago.
You sniffled, your nose running from crying the cold. Then you open the front door quietly, hoping Joel wouldn’t hear you come in, considering he was working on that circuit board, and was half-deaf anyway.
You take off your jacket, put it on the coat rack, then wipe your nose with your sleeve.
“Hey, darlin’.” Joel says, looking up briefly.
You swallow, your gaze low. The guilt from not locking his truck again shouldn’t be this severe, since he seems to have forgotten about it already.
“Where abouts you been for the past coupla hours?” Joel asked, poking and prodding with some tools you had no idea what the purpose of them was.
“Out.” You mumble, busying yourself with the fridge—nothing inside but water, a whiskey flask, and a half-eaten sandwich. You grumble quietly, then shut the fridge, leaning back against the counter, gazing at Joel’s hunched back.
“Out.” Joel echoed. He’s silent for a long time. He sits up, looking over his shoulder at you, “What’s the Ellie stance for?” He asked.
You fix your stance, uncross your arms from your chest, “I’m not-” You defend yourself then Joel tsks.
“Tch, no, you are. Acting like a damn teenager.”
You huff, he knew you hated being called that. “I’m not.” You argue.
Joel stayed quiet. Ever since those damn therapist appointments started he’s stopped picking up your arguments. Or he just stays quiet until you decide to engage with him. The whole ‘I’m not responsible for someone else’s emotional state’ had you surprised but also a little upset. Especially with how dependent you’d become on him.
He didn’t mind of course, you’re his girl. But the frustration and slight guilt or the damn hormones you had, made your mood swing like no other.
After a few minutes of nothing but the tapping of the tools against the circuit board, you walk over to his chair, and sit on the floor next to it. Joel paused, sighing through his nose.
“The hell are you doin’ on the floor?” he asked.
You sit on the floor in silence, fiddling with the laces of Joel’s boot, your fingers slow, almost absent-minded. The clinking of the tools fills the space, but it doesn’t cover the ache in your chest. You’re still carrying the guilt, the weight of disappointing him—even if it was just about a damn truck lock.
But maybe guilt isn’t the only thing pressing on you.
You shift closer, resting your cheek on his thigh, under the table. You feel him pause. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets out a soft sigh through his nose. Then—
“Tch,” Joel tsks, his tone low. “No, darlin’. Not right now.”
Your fingers trail up, finding the buckle of his belt, toying with it lazily. His breath catches. You smirk a little to yourself.
“Honey, I said no.” His voice is firmer this time, but his hand never moves to stop you. That familiar tension in his body tells you everything.
You sit back on your heels and chuckle softly, gaze dropping to the front of his jeans. Your hand still fiddles with his belt, not unbuckling it, but more tapping against the buckle. You nudge your nose against his inner thigh, shutting your eyes at the feeling of the denim against your skin.
Joel groans under his breath, setting his tools down with a small clink. He looks down at you, kneeling, his glasses sliding off his nose a bit, but he catches them with his index finger, pushing them back up.
“I hate when you’re mad at me,” you whispered, voice small.
“I ain’t mad.” he replied gruffly, but the way his hand makes its way to thread through your hair says otherwise. “Just worry about ‘cha.”
“I’m sorry.” you muttered.
Joel furrowed his brows, “Sorry don’t mean crawlin’ under tables and actin’ like a brat.”
You huff, “You like when I act like a brat.” You joke, hoping the crease between his brows would relax.
Joel huffs a breath that would’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so focused on you knelt before him, “Ain’t the point.” He runs his hand through your hair, being careful not to snag any fingers on potential knots.
He reaches down with a low grunt, his hands going under your arms to help you up off the floor, “Don't want your knees bruisin’.”
You let him lift you, despite feeling bad for the way he grunts as you settle into his lap. Joel noticed, of course, and just tutted at you, leaning back into his chair, his hands settling on your hips. You lean forward, chest to his, then nuzzle your face into his neck. He smelled like work, he always did, even before you got to Jackson. The musky smell of pine and leather, or as you called it, ‘the old man smell’ just to get a rise out of Joel.
Joel noticed your silence, which meant you were fighting with your thoughts on what to say, “You’re mine to look after.” He started, then cleared his throat, the vibration going through his chest to yours.
“You don’t have to worry so much.” You muffled against his neck, shutting your eyes tightly.
“That’s like tellin’ the sun not to rise.” He gently grabs your face with one hand, then kisses your forehead. “Just… lock the damn truck next time,” He muttered, though there was no malice to his tone.
“Yes, sir.” you mumble, your cheeks squished between his fingers.
Joel chuckles, releasing your face, then pressing another kiss to your forehead. His hands settle back onto your hips, rubbing up and down your sides slowly, feeling the curve of your waist.
You study his face, seeing the more prominent crows feet up close, and the crease between his brows from concentrating too hard. Your thumb comes up to smooth the crease and Joel huffs.
“That’s permanent, I know. My fault,” Joel started, already knowing you were about to say he worries too much. Again.
You only hum, leaning closer, your nose brushing against his, and breath hitting his lips. His hand slides up to your back, pressing down so you’d arch into him.
“C’mere.” He grunts lowly, and you do. Your lips connect with his, gentle and slow.
Your hands come up to the collar of his jacket, tugging him closer, though there was already no air between you two. He groans against your lips, a hand sliding into your hair, the other still on your back.
He gently tugs at the hair at the base of your neck, pulling back, just enough to take a breath, “Damn things are foggin’ up.” He muttered.
You open your eyes, cheeks flushed, as Joel pulls back with a huff of annoyance. He takes his glasses off with one hand, setting them on the table behind you without looking. You whine quietly; partially from not thinking about his glasses getting in the way, but also because you liked when he kept his glasses on.
“Should’ve left them on,” You whisper, your fingers combing through the gray curls at the nape of his neck, “I like them.”
Joel chuckles lowly, rough and breathy. “Can’t see shit when they steam up like that.”
You peck the corner of his mouth, then trail down to his jaw, his beard scratching at your lips, “Still think you look good, Daddy.”
You reach back to grab his glasses, using your shirt to clean them.
His hand stills against your waist.
“Haven’t heard that in a while.” Joel says gruffly. Which only makes you giggle quietly.
“Nuh uh,” You argue, putting his glasses back on his face.
“Jesus,” he breathes before kissing you again – deeper this time.
Joel pulls back after a moment, just enough to speak, his voice low and breathing a bit labored. “Go put somethin’ on. You like that one with the creepy stalker singin’ about love, right?”
You blink, lips red and swollen, “Every Breath You take? That is not creepy, it’s sweet.”
Joel scoffs, giving your hip a pat. “Baby, the man’s talkin’ about watchin’ her every move. That’s not love, that’s a restrainin’ order.”
You slip off of his lap and sigh. “Whatever. You’d stalk me if I left.”
Joel snorts, picking his tools back up, “I’d just follow the sound of you talkin’ shit under your breath.”
You glare at him over your shoulder as you walk into the living room, flipping through the stack of vinyls he had gotten you over the years. You hum happily as the needle drops onto the spinning record, the guitar riff filling the house as you turn it up.
“Goddammit, girl.” Joel put his tools back down, realizing you turned it up way too loud for his liking despite his half deaf ass.
You flop onto the couch, laying on your stomach, using your forearms as a pillow. You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps as you’re met with his thighs in your face, standing by the couch.
“You know it’s creepy, right?” He murmurs, moving your hair out of your face.
“And you know you’re old, right?” You shoot back, which only earns you a playful swat on your ass. You squeal and giggle, but huff when Joel turns the turntable volume down.
“I still got you.” Joel said, walking over to the couch, moving your legs so he can sit down.
“Barely. All I get is beard trimmings in the sink and grunts now.” You huff, even if you’re only teasing him.
“Grunts, huh?”
“Mhm. And that one look you get when you’re about to say something mean but decide to kiss me instead.”
Joel rubs your thigh, making you turn to lay on your back, and coax your head into his lap, “Such a terrible way of livin’.” He teased.
You only hum, turning your head in his lap, to be faced with his stomach, starting to play with the buttons of his flannel. He kept talking.
“-and Maria wants so many things done before Spring, I also reckon Tommy’s been lyin’ to me lately,” Joel rambled. Shit, was he talking? Too late, you’re focused on something else right now.
You manage to unbutton about three of the buttons at the bottom of his flannel, lifting it up to kiss his stomach, making Joel stop his talking and look down at you, keeping his glasses on his nose with his index finger.
“Y’keep doing that,” He warns, “and I’m gonna take it as an invitation.”
You sit up a bit, “What if it is?”
Joel takes his glasses off, “You wanna start somethin’ right now, sweetheart? While that creepy-ass record’s still playin’?”
You chuckle, “I don’t hear you getting up to change it.”
“Shit,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss you, more hungry this time. Your hands are in his hair again before you realize it, and he groans. His hands trail under your shirt, warm and slow as he traces your spine. You lift your arms, and Joel rolls your shirt up, tossing it to the floor.
He lays you back on the couch with a short grunt, settling between your thighs, his flannel almost completely open. Oh, how did that happen? The sight made you giggle
“Goddamn-”
Knock knock.
The front door swings open.
“Hey, Joel, you – OH MY GOD.”
Joel freezes. You blink, lifting yourself up to look over his shoulder, hair a mess, and shirt gone, but it was enough to give the full picture.
Dina stands in the doorway, her hand over her mouth.
Joel sighs like he just aged another five years, “Dina, for the love of-”
“Nope! No, no, nope,” she says, already backing out, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t see anything, swear to God.”
The door shuts with a clatter.
For a second, you both just stare at the now-shut door. Your heart’s still racing, not just from being caught half-naked, but from the warmth of Joel’s body pressed against yours. He hasn’t moved. Neither have you. And maybe that’s the funniest part; how normal it feels to be interrupted like this.
Joel rests his forehead between your breasts, and groans into the skin, “She’s never gonna let me live that down.”
You chuckle, your hand still tangled in his hair, “She’s gonna tell Ellie, too.”
Joel groans louder, his cheeks dusted pink as he rests his chin on your sternum, “Goddammit.”
The before and after.
Or, Joel fucks his friend's daughter for the first time.
my masterlist!
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+ [mdni]
tags/warnings: daddy kink, baker!reader, age gap (20s/40s), (sort of) dbf!joel, daddy dom!joel, soft!joel, angst, self-loathing, waxing poetic about eating pussy, unprotected piv (wrap that shit up like a pastry), creampie, cream pies, dirty talk, pet names, forbidden romance, tw for occasional stylistic omission of quotation marks, moodboard for aesthetics only
word count: ~ 6k
read on ao3!
a/n: hi, all!! please, as always, mind the tags for this fic - it's quite a departure from what i typically write, but daddy joel has set up shop in my brain and he won't leave. if this isn't for you, that's cool - you don't have to read it. i hope you'll be kind, and as always, i hope you enjoy!! xoxo
thank you HUGELY to my dear mya @cavillscurls for the absolutely stunning moodboard!!! i love you and i'm obsessed with you and you're crazy talented 🫶 and thank you endlessly to my parents sam and el @tieronecrush and @northernbluess for being AMAZING betas and always supporting me and my silly fics!!
CANDY GIRL
What have I done, he thinks, parting your dewy folds with two fingers and sliding his tongue through the glistening mess between your thighs, to deserve this?
He certainly can’t think of some good-enough deed to warrant him being here, tucked warmly in this apex, kindling a fire, rubbing his hands over the red of the flame, breathing sighs and gasps and groans into the sweet-smelling flesh of your thighs as if he were destined to arrive here. As if it were a mere quirk of fate, and now everything is gently settling into motion.
Your fingers are curled in his hair and your chest—bare, smattered with a faint sheen of sweat and reflecting moonlight, illicit—is heaving. You have no instinct to steer him. Your hand knows no guiding push or pull. Your back is bowing off the mattress and your mouth is emitting needy little whines and whimpers and pleas for mercy, more, please, Daddy.
And he’s acquiescing, toppling slowly into that heady pull of sticky wet warmth between your thighs, and all he can think is that you smell like cherries.
And you are messy. Fuck, you’re dripping onto his chin as he licks through you, languishing in the prickling taste as if he's guiding his tongue along the salt rim of a glass. His fingers absently dimple your thighs, bruising, forcing them to fall open, part wider, for him.
Let me in, baby girl.
Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. My pretty girl.
So goddamn beautiful like this.
You just relax, baby, and let me in. C’mon, now.
You obey every muffled order like it’s law, letting him shoulder his way between your legs, his hand pressing firm on your belly, pinning you. The answering mewl he hears from your parted lips is the sweet slide of your strawberry icing along his taste buds. He buries his tongue between your wet folds and holds you tighter, dizzied with the smell and the taste and the feel of finally taking what he wants. What you've given him.
Joel licks self-indulgently through your slit until your pretty cunt is slathered in his spit and glistens with your own juices. When he sees your clit, puffy and fucking needy and shining at him like a goddamn pearl, he licks his lips.
Look at her. She’s fuckin’ cryin’ for me, baby girl. You need your Daddy to kiss it better?
You whine, grasping his locks, still never quite urging or pushing, but begging: Daddy, I’ll do anything. Please, I’ll do anything.
Shh, sweetheart. Don’t have to do anything. Just keep ‘em open for me. I’ll make it good. Hear me?
A frantic nod. A reflexive squeeze of the hand on your belly. Eyes, watery and butter-soft in the darkness—wrong, risk—meet his own.
Yes, Daddy.
It didn't begin this way.
Some of the edges are blurred with time. He vaguely recalls the time before you—mornings alone at the breakfast table, intermittent calls to Sarah all the way in College Station, long days on the job site because he had nothing else to come home to—and he’s bitter. It tastes nothing like the after: strawberry icing, vanilla perfume, cherries.
It must have begun when Chris slapped him on the back after the scaffolding on the Queen Street job was taken down and said, “Couple of us are grabbing coffees at the Morning Star. You should come along, man. Get outta the house.”
The Morning Star. A slightly weathered pink awning and a varnished oak interior, a couple small tables (occupied), a flurry of activity in front of and behind the counter. A glass display case brimming with cakes and croissants and macarons. Glass vases filled with pink roses whose stems have been neatly trimmed. A pretty girl working behind the counter, tending to customers with an irradiating smile, a tender hand, the blinding glint of a bracelet, a pair of earrings, glowing.
“What can I get for you this morning?” you asked him, like it was some secret spilling from the torso, a heart lurching from its cage, spread out on the ground.
Petal-pink flowers painted on your fingernails. The aching attentiveness of your stare. Ekphrastic turns of phrases pasted to the wall behind the counter, in the form of a mural, crowd-sourced poems and letters and works of art. Lived-in, loved. The smell of cherries as you approached.
And then it was Chris, clapping Joel on the shoulder, a jolt of good-natured violence turning to torrent as he said, “The usual for me, honey.”
It's been wrong since that moment. Maybe it's been wrong all along. That doesn't stop him from ending up here. And it doesn't stop you from following.
On your back, in Joel’s bed, your legs spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders, welcoming the face-warming intrusion of his mouth between your slick folds. Bold in the way you curl your pretty polished fingers in his greying locks—he’s too old, much too old for you—and receptive in your soft moans and your uttered hexes of yesyesyes.
Bewitched, he flattens his tongue against your pulsing clit and latches his lips around it, his eyes fixed on the way your head falls back, the length of your throat exposed, the evidence of your beating heart laid bare for him in the tremble of your pulse.
He sucks on your clit until your legs begin to shake, and it’s the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his shoulders, the way you reflexively kick his back with your heel. But he’s pulling away, crushing his nose in the flesh of your thigh, nipping your soft skin, and the cry that leaves your mouth carves a tremor down his spine.
Your tight little hole flutters with the need to be filled, to take him inside you, to make him wholly yours, the way he already is, the way you can never know.
So he slides his tongue over your clit and lathers you in his spit and digs his fingertips into your thighs as if he owns you—because he never can.
The flickering burn of regret and shame soothes when he's between your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth and making you come so hard that you weep—leg kicking out, shackled by a firm hand around your ankle, back arching, fingers grasping, flexing, at whatever you can touch. You pour into him, molten gold, recast in his likeness, and he doesn't deserve this but he will take it.
Instinctively, he pushes deeper, lapping your release from your messy hole, his nose pressed against your oversensitive clit—and he can’t resist, has never been able to, gently coaxing you through it, Poor baby, so goddamn needy for Daddy, sweetheart. Taste so fuckin’ sweet.
You’re whining, finally pushing at his head as the pleasure notches too high, and he presses a soft kiss to your clit before dragging his lips up your belly, between your tits, pulling you upright to sit you in his lap. You grin lazily and drop your forehead against his.
Fuck, he's so proud. He smooths his hand down the crown of your head and skates his fingers down your sweat-slick spine.
You tired, baby?
You nod, and he nips at your pouting bottom lip.
Hmm, but you ain't a quitter. You can give me another, can't you? You wanna be good for me.
He whispers it all against the curve of your throat, into your collarbones, fitting his rough palm against your lower back and pulling your body flush to his. He sweats through all his layers and bleeds his warmth into you, but you don't care, grinding down on his lap, sliding your wet pussy along the hard length in his jeans.
Your hand is slippery at the back of his neck and your eyes are lidded, sleepy, near-black, as you take what you need because you're a greedy girl when it comes down to it, and he's holding your bloody beating heart in his palms.
I’ll be so good, Daddy.
He knows. God, he knows—his lips find your temple, hair matted with sweat, and he can feel your tits pressing up against his chest, the erratic melody your heart sings to him, for him, through him. And he doesn’t deserve this.
Gonna need to take me out, baby girl. Go on, now.
You scramble, reaching between your bodies and unbuttoning his jeans, your hand teasing down the waistband of his boxers. Joel groans when you squeeze him, his teeth catching on your earlobe, nibbling from your jaw to your chin. He watches your manicured hand with its pretty pink polish wrap snugly around the base of his cock—you give him a firm, slow stroke, and he curses at the sight of your oh-so eager gaze.
Shit, baby. You're grinding your hips, smearing your wetness along his length, and he kneads your hip like dough while you grasp his shoulder, your head lolling. He bares his teeth, growling and snapping like a dog at the hot, slick slide of your cunt, his eyes a pendulum between the joining of your bodies and the heavy gaze you give him. That’s it, that’s fuckin’ it, take what you need.
Your legs are trembling, too weak to hold yourself upright, and he knows, as always, exactly what it is you want.
You’ve always been spoiled, because he’s let it happen.
“Just a coffee,” he said, his third consecutive day in the Morning Star. “Please.”
He felt the twist of your lips in his ribcage. “I promise we have more than just coffee.”
“‘s good coffee,” he said. “Why spoil a good thing?”
He liked your pale pink hat and apron and the colour of your nails. He liked the way you feathered your fingertips over the till while you waited patiently for orders, the way you dealt so kindly with indecisiveness, the way your heart-shaped pendant glimmered when the sun dipped low in the western sky.
He only knows it glows like that because you let him stay one night, long after close, to fix the hinge on the front door.
He’d known the Morning Star for a month. He knew it better than he knew you.
“You don’t have to do this, Joel.”
An anxious shifting of your weight from one foot to the other, an intermittent four-fingered tap of your nails on the countertop, a soft weariness blurring the edges of your irises, as you tried to tell him you were fine, you could call your dad in the morning, please don’t worry about me.
The gentle in-and-out of your chest as you breathed, the golden near-evening light trickling the sun into the whites of your eyes, where it belonged. When you inhaled, he exhaled, the rhythmic pulse of life dancing between you, twirling carelessly on the edge of something neither of you could explain.
“I wanna help,” he said. “And you should let me.”
You sighed, little of the charging bull and more of the huffing kitten, and his stomach lurched painfully. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to rest his hand at the crown of your head, soothe the tension in your shoulders with a measured press of his fingertips, unearth the blood-flecked bones that heralded emotions he could not yet name. Later, he would know them intimately; later, he would set his teeth in the white marrow and lick the blood from his chops.
He wanted to ask all of his questions with his fingers, not his mouth, let you answer them the way you saw fit, giving that silent, haptic space the power it needed to pry open the parts of your life he could only guess at.
But he did not touch you.
Then, a time firmly lodged in the hazy somewhere of before-and-after, he could only pretend. And he could fix the door.
Now, he’s gazing in disbelief at the way your tight little hole wrenches open around the weeping tip of his heavy cock, his sweaty body sliding along yours as you hastily shove the buttons of his flannel out of their slits and shuck off his shirt. Skin-to-skin, he feels your pulse ever stronger, licking and sucking at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His palm is flat between your shoulder blades as he eases you open, helping you take his big cock.
Daddy…
I know, baby girl, I know. Just a little more. That’s it—keep holdin’ onto me, baby.
Petting you like a domesticated cat, fitting his fingers in the grooves between your ribs, feeling his own heartbeat settle into the rhythm of yours. You grasp his shoulder, the nape of his neck, your lips parting against his forehead, pressing feverish kisses to the space where his greying curls stick to his skin.
You can take me, sweet girl. My baby. So good for me—
—the way you always have been.
“When my mom left, she gave the bakery to me.” Guiding the pink icing onto the small fluffy cakes, you moved seamlessly. Second nature, like laying mortar and brick. Your hands were speckled with flour and frosting.
The vanilla cupcakes, robed in white paper, were a commission for a young girl’s sixth birthday. “Pink was Sarah’s favourite, too,” he’d said when he walked in that morning—perhaps too needy for a reason to connect. Blindly tossing a fishing line into a murky lake.
But you still glowed when you had beamed up at him: “And now? She still a pink lover?”
“Haven't asked in a while,” he’d said, “but I’d reckon so.”
“She’s smart.” You had slid the black coffee across the counter and placed a cupcake next to it. Joel frowned.
“What's this?”
You had lifted your brows, your eyes telegraphing a challenge. He had sunk neck-deep into your emboldened gaze. “This is a cupcake.”
“Smartass,” he’d huffed. “You got a reason for givin’ me a cupcake?”
You’d gently pushed them closer to him and given him that blinding, tempting grin, and how could he ever hope to decline you when you looked at him like that?
“I value your opinion, Joel,” you’d told him, “and if you don’t eat it, you’ll hurt my feelings.”
He'd taken the cupcake and sunk his teeth into its pillowy flesh right there in front of you.
“And your dad?” asked Joel, on his knees under the counter, replacing the latch on the display door’s hinge. “He help you out a lot?”
An intrusive figure, playing unwitting God in the budding flower bed, picking petals before they were dead. He would always inflate the distance between you, assert his right to decide who you wanted, dated, fucked—he would always be Joel’s judge and jury.
The executioner’s axe he’d take up himself.
You topped off a row of cupcakes with little candied cherries. “He couldn't afford to quit, so I’m running the place. So much for school.”
Joel didn't like that. He didn’t like the way you let it all slide gently down your spine. There was a quiet defiance in the way you spoke—some simmering anger you buried deep in the earth where the colours weren't bright and your heart wasn't so naked. He could feel its veins as if holding it in his palm, the gentle ba-dum, ba-dum of a vulnerable organ so acquainted with disappointment.
“What do you want to study?” he asked.
“Don’t know. Never got the chance to think about it.”
Never got the chance to find yourself. To learn. To grow. You had simply stepped into another’s body, a ghost, occupied endlessly with the next task and the next and then one more. You should've been spending your early twenties partying and studying and crying your eyes out over idiot boys who didn’t know how good they had it. You shouldn't have to be here, decorating cupcakes for a six-year-old while some old man fixed yet another broken hinge, latch, bulb.
“I became a dad pretty young,” said Joel. “Thought I was gonna lose my whole life, all my opportunities, not that I had any.”
He did not deserve the empathetic shimmer in your waterline. “Joel, that's not true—”
“But,” he said with a faint groan as he rose, “I got to make a life of my own, with my kid, and I was happy.”
“You were happy?” you said wearily. “You aren't anymore?”
“I’m…”
He caught your eye and felt the plates far beneath his feet dislodge. Quantum shift. You held his gaze as if you were waiting for some truth to crawl from his sockets—like he was your answer. And Joel did not know what to do with that, but if you would keep looking at him this way, he would tell you any false truths you wanted to hear.
“I’m lonely,” he said at last. Joel reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. A shiver coursed through your heart which lay in his palm, warm crimson blood trickling down his wrists. “And you shouldn't have to be. You’ve got so much life ahead of you, sweetheart.”
Some glacial melt keeled the weight of your head toward him, and your cheek was resting in the pool of his palm. Joel did not care for the hand of God whose fingers would inevitably squeeze the life from whatever this was. The jigsaw fit of your bodies felt so right in this incomprehensible sliver between before and after.
“You're not old, Joel,” you said softly.
“Too old for you.”
He didn't know why he said it, but it made you smile.
“You keep lying to me, Mr. Miller, and I’m not going to trust you anymore.” A wry twist of your lips. “You don’t want that, do you?”
Is this flirting? he thought to himself, so fucking out of practice that the concept felt altogether foreign. But you were giving him that foxlike look and his hand was still cupping your cheek and he could feel the flutter of your pulse, and he didn’t want to stop.
“No, baby. I don’t want that.”
Flesh meets flesh. Your hips drop, and you’re sitting so prettily on his cock, the whole of him buried inside you, stretching your capacities, shifting the dichotomy of right and wrong. He stares up at you—lips parted, eyes lidded, heart beating JoelJoelJoel—and pleasure pinballs down each knob of his spine. He’s locked in the tidal push-and-pull with your body, gravity sucking him into you, or sucking you down onto him. It doesn't matter.
This is the after, and you're drunkenly nudging his nose with yours, trying to kiss him, and he's taking you. Running with the diamond. Sliding his tongue into your mouth, tasting cherries and frosting and giving you a piece of what he's already taken from you. You're sighing and moaning and greedily opening your mouth into him to swallow down your own taste.
His hand slides up your spine to the sticky nape of your neck as he presses you to him, joined by every joint, every pound of flesh.
And when he begins to move, to grind up into you and draw gooey, cloying gasps from your mouth, Joel thinks he briefly sees white.
Jesus. Been waitin’ so goddamn long for this. You're so fuckin’ soft, baby girl. So fuckin’ beautiful.
His teeth in your throat, around your earlobe, scraping your jaw, pleasure pinching, recapitulating, recovering only to start again. Your name on his tongue, passing from his mouth to yours, the anchor of your hand around his neck, the other on his shoulder, reciprocal re-stabilising.
He needs you just as much as you need him, and he shows you in the way he pulls you firmly to him, because he cannot bring himself to whisper it into the barely-there space between your bodies.
“Joel, I’m sorry to call you so early, but I’m out of options, and the party starts in two hours, and my delivery guy flaked, and—”
“Honey, slow down. Lemme wake up, okay? I’m comin’ to you.”
“Oh, God, just forget I said anything. Go back to sleep. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
He still remembers the break in your voice, the fragile warble of your resolve cleaving down the middle. He remembers the sting in his own chest like it was his wound, not yours. He was awake before the sun began to climb.
You had to personally drive the cake you’d made for a ten-year-old’s birthday party all the way across town now that your delivery service had fallen through. You didn’t even have a car; you took the bus everywhere, which Joel had chewed his tongue to pieces over for months. Things could happen in the dark. Public transport was no different. But your own father didn’t seem to take issue with it, so how could Joel?
“Don’t say a word,” he told you when you hopped up into his truck and opened your mouth to apologise. “I don’t mind. You know damn well I don’t mind.”
“You should mind,” you said, instinctively picking a piece of lint from his flannel with that miserable little pout on your face. “All I’ve ever done is ask you for things.”
“And if I like doin’ things for you?”
“Then I’ll put you on my payroll,” you countered.
Joel shook his head fondly. You cleaned when you were anxious; grooming and picking at him like a monkey should not have surprised him. “Well, I got a birthday comin’ up, if you wanna thank me.”
“Yeah?” You bit your lip and some of the heaviness sitting on your shoulders lifted, the promise of getting to repay him for his altruism at last eliciting the smile he wanted. “What would you like?”
You take me so well, baby girl. Goddamn meant for me.
The hot, wet slide of your cunt up and down the length of his steel-hard cock has him doubling over, mouthing sloppily at your tits, sucking and nibbling on your stiff nipples as you cry and whimper: Oh, Daddy, please… fuck, that feels… I can’t—
He’s blinking hard to squeeze the bleeding edges of fantasy away—because this is real, and he cannot know if he will ever have this again. I know you can. You can take me.
A nod, frantic and sick with desire, slips against his temple. I can take it. Please—let me be your good girl. I’m good, good for you.
I know you are, baby girl. So good for Daddy.
“Joel!”
He had never heard his own name infused with such thrill. It settled in the pool of his gut and oozed out past his ribs.
You beckoned him to the counter and placed a steaming mug between the pair of you. The umber liquid sloshed gently in the cup. “It’s a macchiato. And don’t worry”—you caught him before the gash between his brows could deepen worriedly—“it’s nothing like that sugar heap you'll get at a Starbucks. Two shots of espresso, balanced with the milk foam.”
Joel tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. “Milk… foam.”
“I know you're a coffee purist, Joel, but hear me out.” You scurried to the large black boards on the back wall and flipped one over to reveal the bright white writing—stark, vibrant, a proclamation you should’ve had no business making, not when it was so bold as this.
NEW, it read in a pretty, looping font. THE MILLER.
His heart leapt to his throat. And there you were, gesturing to the board with his name—Joel’s name—on it, and he was lifting the confounding liquid to his lips.
Some of the foam accumulated in his moustache as he tentatively sipped and rolled the flavour over his tongue. It wasn't… bad. Not at all. A little too sweet where he preferred the bitter drag of a dark roast. A few too many frills. But—
“It’s good,” he said. Your answering smile decided it for him. He would never go back to black coffee.
Fuck, baby, that's it. Keep on ridin’ me just like that. Oh, Jesus—
The slow, rhythmic slap of your thighs against his as you lock your arms around his neck and lift yourself up and down on his dick. Your head lolling around your shoulders, your brows drawn up in the middle. The squelch of your creamy cunt as you take him to the hilt and bring your hips down in measured, grinding motions.
You’re getting yourself off, too, your clit rubbing against the hairs at the base of his cock, and Joel groans, Fuckin’ hell. Christ, that’s good. That’s it, that’s—
“Think I’m gettin’ fat on all these sweets, baby.”
He’d begun to come into the bakery on Saturday mornings, too, even though he didn’t work. With Sarah no longer in Austin and a dreadfully empty house whose groans and creaks only kept him up all hours, he had little to do but work, maintain the lawns, and, well…
Sat together at the table by the window, you shared a leftover slice of rich cherry pie. The awning outside fluttered gently in the breeze, cutlery and ceramic softly colliding as folks indulged in your treats. You beamed at Joel and reached out to swipe some foamed milk from his moustache.
“I like you this way,” you said, your thumb coasting along his jawline, your eyes like jewels. The pendant on your throat dipped as you swallowed, settling in the hollow like a perching bird.
Joel, white-knuckling his fork, felt his cock grow hard in his boxers, a heavy weight against his leg. The rapid shuttering of your eyes left him feeling inexplicably panicked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep—”
“No,” said Joel, his hand covering your knee beneath the table. You were wearing a little skirt that day. The silky fabric shifted under the coarse texture of the pads of his fingers and he wondered if the softness would be akin to the flesh of your thighs, your belly, your tits (sitting so pretty in that plain T-shirt: pink, of course). “No, you didn’t… You know I…”
And what could he say?
You know I’ve wanted to slip my hand down each one of those pretty skirts you wear since the first day I saw you. You know I take my cock in my hand and jerk off in the shower and I picture your lips around it. You know you’ve fucking infected me. You know I’m poisoned. You know I ain’t good enough. Youknowyouknowyouknow I can never have you.
“Joel, man, I’ve been calling your cell.”
His hand smacked the underside of the table in its hasty retreat as Chris rounded the corner and clapped Joel on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You mind if I have a bite?”
And because you were so goddamn sweet, because you were a smart girl and knew how to play it cool, you gave your father your fork with a big smile and said, “All yours. I should get back. Thanks for the taste test, Joel.”
Chris easily occupied your seat at the table and Joel, adjusting his pants discreetly, was struck by how wrong this had been. To sit with you, sharing a pie, touching, wanting—
He was fucked. And he didn’t care. He only wanted more.
“Cowboys kick off next Sunday,” said Chris through a mouthful of baked cherries. The warm, cloying scent reminded Joel of your perfume. “You want to come over for dinner? We’ll order takeout, grab some beers.”
Joel swallowed, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. He felt the phantom touch of your thumb lingering just above his Cupid’s bow. “Yeah, man. Be fun.”
Chris grinned over the pie—now his, no lingers yours and Joel’s. “Hope you don’t mind that I invited my kid, too. She needs the break.”
You’re close, baby. Can fuckin’ feel it. Feel you squeezin’ me.
Thighs trembling, muscles gooey, you struggle to lift yourself up, and it's Joel who scoops you up with a hand on your ass and lies you on your back, never once pulling out. He doesn't think he can. How did the first man to discover fire ever snuff it out?
He bends over you and thrusts deep, punching a sob out of your throat. Joel groans, nipping your chin as you toss your head back, his mouth trailing down the hollow of your throat, latching around one of your sore nipples, already abused by his attention. You rake your fingers through his tousled greying locks and lift your legs up around his hips as he fucks you slow, hard, deep enough that your heart begins to bruise.
Joel hisses when he feels your fingernails scratching down his spine, between his shoulder blades, pulling him close to you. He dulls his pain in your flesh, open-mouthed kisses soothing the biting bruises he's left on your throat.
Your cunt rhythmically pulses around his cock and Joel grunts, driving deeper, hand fisting your hair, and Daddy, I’m so close—!
Friday night. Joel’s birthday.
He’d spent it on the job site, laying brick, then at home, cracking open a cold beer and calling Sarah, whose gift hadn't arrived yet. She sang him “Happy Birthday” from her dorm room and Joel smiled. All things considered, it wasn't a shitty day. Just…
Lonely.
And you—
You were at his door at ten o’clock, shrouded in night in a way he'd never seen you. Not dressed in pink but black: sweatpants and a tight little tank top that made him swallow his tongue. You were holding a goddamn cake.
You'd had a stressful day. He could tell. Eyes a little sunken, shoulders a little rounded, but you were still smiling, still holding up that cake—chocolate, circled with candied cherries, of course—and singing a weary “Surprise!”
Joel laughed—in shock, maybe—and rubbed his hand over his beard. “Jesus, baby,” he said. “C’mon in; it’s cold out.”
He helped you secure the cake in the refrigerator and offered you dinner: leftover pad thai and a beer. You accepted the former with a grumbling stomach and politely declined the latter. Of course, you were a wine girl.
“I’m sorry it’s so late,” you told him, sitting across the couch while reruns of Happy Days idly played on the television. “Shit goes down at the Morning Star when you're not there.”
Joel shook his head. “I run a tight ship. You doin’ okay?”
“I’m strung-out, Joel, as ever. But fine.” Your conciliatory smile was so fucking cheeky he had half a mind to put you over his knee. “I hope your birthday wasn't a disappointment.”
“Couldn't have been,” he said. “You brought me a cake.”
You beamed. And the cord wrapped around both of your bodies jerked tighter. Joel was hiding his erection with the takeout container, too humiliated to let you see the hard band of his cock in his jeans. You'd run. You'd think he was a freak, a perv, a sleaze.
He was all three, of course. Didn't stop him from wanting—
His cock driving deep inside you, achingly slow, back screaming for relief. Daddy, please, I’m… nnngh, please let me come! Daddy, I’ll do anything, please!
Shhh, baby girl. He rises to his haunches and dips his hand between your joined bodies, rubbing your slick little pearl in fast circles. Your eyes roll back and your head collided with the pillow once more. Thaaat’s it, baby. You gonna come for Daddy? Be a good girl for me?
“Joel,” you said softly, your food forgotten on the table, your body inching closer to his, now two feet apart at best. Your eyes buttery in the darkness, lips dewy with some pinkish gloss you always wore, gloss he knew tasted like cherries. He licked his lips.
His hands flexed. “Yeah.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you said, bridging the gap, placing your hand on his knee, pink nails and soft skin and vanilla perfume. Joel sets his container aside, swallowing hard.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You were tentative at first, scooting closer, your hand gingerly exploring the length of his strong thigh, against the grain of the denim.
“Baby,” said Joel, more a long-bated exhale than a word at all. Gritting his teeth, hands at his sides, he watched in disbelief as you explored him, your manicured hand gently palming the hard length in his jeans. The moan he let out surprised himself.
“Tell me to stop,” you whispered, pulling yourself onto his lap, straddling his hips, your arms winding around his neck, perfumecherrieslipgloss—
“Tell me to stop and I will.”
Joel’s hands, no longer balled into fists, flattened against your arms and travelled their length, exploring your contours, dipping his palms into the curves of your shoulder blades, lodging himself firmly in the after with you.
You shivered, and he liked it.
“You need someone to touch you, too, baby girl.”
Not a question. You nodded anyway.
“Words,” he demanded.
Your lips parted and suddenly your noses were brushing, the pupils of your heavy eyes expanding, taking all of him in.
“I need you to touch me, Joel.”
“I know,” he said, one hand smoothing down the crown of your head, the other trailing featherlight up your spine. “I’m gonna kiss you, baby.”
You nodded again, a little feverish, pulling yourself closer to him, your thighs squeezing his. “Please.”
The after began with you, the way it will end with you. And he's kissing you now, too, swallowing the sounds of your orgasm as you hold him so tightly to you there's no escape. Not that he wants to leave. Not that he finally has this.
He's breathing life into your climax and burning it bright, hot, endless—that’s my good girl, coming so much for me, I know it's a lot, baby girl, just keep holdin’ me, that’s it, sweetheart.
And he's coming, too, grasping your hips so hard they'll bruise, nipping your earlobe and your jaw and leaving sloppy kisses on your neck, spiralling out of control, squeezed so tight by your hot, wet pussy. He comes with a pinch of pain in his lower back, groaning your name into you, pitching up into a near-whine as you milk him, guide him, coax him.
Fuck, fuck… goddamn—
Daddy, I need your cum. Please come inside me.
I will, baby girl, I will… Jesus—
It's so warm and slick where his cock begins to pulse inside you that he couldn't pull out if he wanted to. He empties himself, absolves himself, no longer a sinning man but one cleansed. Your body begs for it, your cunt pulling every drop from him, letting him make a mess of your used hole. Joel grinds absently until it's too much, until he’s sensitive and softening and trying not to collapse on top of you.
Your lip gloss is smudged. He licks his lips and tastes cherries.
“You okay, baby?”
You wince as he pulls out of you, globs of cum pooling at your hole and dripping onto the bed sheets. “Mhm.” You pull him closer, asking for a kiss he happily gives you.
“I feel good. I feel happy.”
He grins into your throat, littering meagre kisses in the junction there. “Did so well for me,” he mumbles.
“Tell me something,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair.
He purrs at the satiating scratch of your nails, his head resting on your chest. “Mmm.”
“Do you really like the Miller Macchiato, or are you just ordering it to make me happy?”
Joel chuckles, playfully taking your nipple between his teeth. “It's grown on me.”
From here, where he can feel the thrum of your settling heart reverberate through his skull, Joel gently tucks the beating organ back between your ribs for safekeeping. Here, in the clear-blue space of after, he doesn't need to hold it to know he's got it. He only needs to lower his ear to your chest and hear it sing his name.
tagging some friends who showed interest in the wip!!: @casa-boiardi @swiftispunk @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cool-iguana @morning-star-joy @party-hearses @5oh5 (i love you all 🫶)
18+ . Joel Miller x fem reader, no outbreak , lots of smut, daddy!Joel, oral, face fucking, slapping, p0rn barely any plot
First time writing for Joel but lord have i consumed too many fics about this man. I hope this satiates you while I finish chapter 4 of Chained hehe
You shouldn’t do this. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. You need him like a drug. It started many months ago when you innocently asked him to help you check the oil in your car. Truly you were clueless about such things, but it also may have helped that Joel was so fucking hot you could barely breathe when you were around him.
You chuckle thinking about how nervous you were to talk to him at first, scared to offend him by wearing your low cut tops and short shorts when walking the short distance across street to his driveway to ask for his help - you didn’t know he would eat it up.
The thing is, Joel was not a gentlemen. He kept to himself the best he could when you and your friends started renting the house across the street. He kept his eyes low and didn’t even complain when he would see random people leaving at all hours of the night, loud as all hell. He swears he wasn’t the one calling the cops when parties were thrown. No, he didn’t get anyone in trouble, but he did allow himself to enjoy the sight of drunk girls stumbling around with the dresses riding up too high. The giggles were like music to his ear.
But it all remained a distant stare until you came bouncing up his driveway, tits spilling out of your shirt as he worked on the hood of his car.
He smirked. Of course he would help you - for a cost. And you definitely didn’t mind paying.
That started the months long escapade of you sneaking over to Joel’s house under any circumstance, just dying for his touch, his attention, anything. It didn’t matter if he was happy, mad, sad, or asleep, he would find a way to use you. Whether it was having you crawl into bed with him so he could slowly touch you under the covers, or if it was being pushed up against the kitchen counter roughly, all hands and teeth and a fuck so hard and fast you couldn’t see straight after, you needed him.
It’s been almost two weeks now since your last meeting with Joel and you were getting desperate. You don’t know exactly what happened, maybe something to do with a neighbor recognizing that you were wearing Joel’s shirt, or the sideways glances you started noticing you were receiving at the grocery store, but you didn’t give a fuck, you needed him. And you know he needed you too.
It was late but there was still a feint light on inside his house. You put on a cute crewneck, baggy and innocent, and the tiniest little blue sleep shorts you could find, your ass hanging out with every step you took, no panties in sight. You almost didn’t even put on shoes, but felt that was pushing it so you slipped on some slippers and marched over.
You knocked gently at first, but after a few minutes of no response you quickly lost your resolve. You felt like you were already practically dripping down your thighs and you needed relief badly. You pounded on the door. “I know you’re in there Joel, you can’t avoid me forever,” you said. You could hear his footsteps behind the door.
You waited. Still he didn’t open the door.
You sighed. You know he can’t do this - he can’t just ignore you.
“Daddy please, i need you,” you whined through the door.
It opened immediately, and the disheveled Joel looked at you with heat behind his eyes. You pouted up at him, faking your innocence as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside, slamming the door behind you.
“Finally,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck. But Joel is quick to remove them and pull you into the small living room, throwing you on the couch as he stands tall over you.
You stare at him, his hair is a mess and his eyes look more frantic than you’ve ever seen him. What’s going on? He put his hands on either side of you and leaned down, closing distance between you two.
“We can’t keep doing this darlin’,” he muttered, his lips dangerously close to yours.
You pout. “But I need it - need you,” you whine, resisting forcing your lips on his own as he breathes into your mouth.
His hand comes to the back of your neck, gripping hard as he stares down at you. “People are talkin’. Don’t wanna ruin your reputation as the town’s little princess, sleepin’ with an old man,” he says.
You chuckle slightly. He’s concerned for you? “I don’t care what they think,” you say honestly.
He sighs, his forehead touching your own as he hand moves frmo the back of your neck to the front of your throat, choking you as you gasp under him. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters.
You smile under his grip and he groans. “If you’re so fuckin’ desperate, show me. On your knees baby,” he demands. You move immediately, almost too quickly as you get on your knees in front of him looking up at him expectantly. His hand moves to caress your cheek and you nuzzle into his touch. “Too fuckin’ pretty,” he says, then brings his hand back and down for a quick slap to your cheek.
You stay perfectly still, letting your brain shut off as he takes over - exactly what you want. “Prettiest girl in town and she just needs her Daddy’s cock huh?” He mocks you, his hands unzipping his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers, his half hard cock springing free. You nod at him eagerly, your hands twitching in your lap as you resist reaching out and grabbing him.
“Open up f’ me,” he mutters. You open your mouth and he slides his half hard length past your lips, immediately groaning as you wrap around him and suck, reveling in his musky taste. You love this more than you can even admit, being used and coddled by him makes you feel so good.
He groans as you slowly bob your head, your hand wrapping around the thick base of him, the curly hairs at the base tickling your fingers as you begin to pump in time with your sucking. He grows even bigger, making it hard to take him all the way down your throat, but you do your best. Joel pulls his shirt off, his hands moving behind his head as he relaxes into letting you pleasure him.
Seeing him tall above you makes you drip down your thighs and whine. The vibrations from your whine has him immediately grabbing the back of your head and starting to thrust.
“Yeah you can take it honey, hold it, hold,” he instructs you as he forces his cock down your throat. You try not to move, rejecting the gag that tries to force its way up.
He keeps you there for a moment, groaning as your throat constricts around him. “Little fuckin’ whore just needed me so bad huh,” he grunts, pulling back and forcing himself back in, facefuckng you slowly. Your eyes are watering and your breathing is staggered as he makes an absolute mess of you.
He forces his cock down your throat again, bending over as he holds your jaw open, your nose touching his pubic hair as your hands grip his thighs. You gag around him and he groans deeply. “Stay still,” he demands, slapping your ass as he continues to force himself on you. You whine, starting to get light headed as you struggle to breathe.
Just as he thinks you’ve had enough he pulls you off of him, leaving you a gasping drooling mess. He pats your cheek, collecting the spit at your mouth and rubbing it around your face as you look up at him with blown out eyes. “There she is,” he chuckles at your fucked out state.
He moves to sit on the couch, pulling you up with him by your hair. You move to straddle him and his free hand dips under your shorts. “No panties?” He chuckles, his fingers immediately starting to rub circles around your throbbing clit.
“No Daddy, need you,” you whine, your head falling to his shoulder as he makes your insides pound with desire.
“Yeah you do,” he grunts, pulling your shorts off of you roughly. He positions you so you’re straddling his cock, the tip of him prodding at your entrance. You look at him wide-eyed as he begins to pierce you - you’ve never fucked him raw.
You whine as he breaches your entrance, so fucking big, and your head falls to the space between his throat and shoulder, kissing at the tender spot there. He forces you fully down onto his cock, sending a sharp pang through you as you adjust to his size, moaning and whining against his skin.
“Nuh uh ,” he says, pulling your head off for his shoulder by your neck. “You wanted it so bad, you ride it,” he says, not moving his hips.
Your eyes water. “It’s s-so big,” you whine, feeling him deep inside of your tummy.
“Can’t get shy for me now baby,” he explains, his deep brown eyes looking into your own. He leans in and kisses your lips quickly before sending a sharp spank to your ass.
“Bounce on me,” he demands. You start to raise your hips, your knees pressing firmly into the couch as your hands come to his shoulder to steady yourself. The movement feels so fucking good, both of your heads falling back as your raise and lower yourself onto him slowly.
“That’s right angel, just bounce on Daddy’s cock, you can do it,” he praises you, watches as you struggle to set a pace you can keep. Your breathing is labored, rising and falling as you ride him. You lean forward slightly, your eyes on his face, your hand falling to his hairy chest as you stable yourself. The slight change in angle has you moaning loudly, “Oh fuck,” you whine.
Joel slaps your ass again and your bounce faster, the angle hitting inside of you just perfectly as the movement of your hips also makes your clit rub against his pubic bone. Joel barely moves his hips to meet your own, not giving you the satisfaction of him fucking you because of how desperately you acted.
Your pace starts to slow as the pleasure starts to overwhelm you, your head falling onto his shoulder again. “Gettin tired darlin?” He teases you and you whine, trying to continue.
“Please Daddy,” you beg, wanting him to help as you push yourself closer and closer to the edge.
He smiles and grips your ass harshly. “Yeah, need Daddy to do it f’ you huh,” he grunts, starting to thrust himself into you quickly and harshly. Your brain absolutely melt, his pace making it so you can’t keep your eyes open, all you can do is feel him hitting that spot over and over and over, his grunts filling your ears as your moans fill his own.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” you gasp, your hands gripping his arms. Joel’s hands move from your ass to grab your wrists and pin them behind your back as he ruthlessly pounds into you.
You nearly scream. “Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ me darlin,” he grunts. “You gonna cum? Gonna cum on your Daddy’s cock?”
You can’t hold it any longer, the pleasure is white hot as it takes over your entire body, making you yelp and writhe in his hold as Joel doesn’t let his pace up. Your entire body is high as he continues to pound, drawing your orgasm out so you can’t stop squeezing and pulsing around him even if you tried. You go limp in his arms, overwhelmed with pleasure.
He grunts loudly. “Feel too good honey,” he says through gritted teeth. “Gonna make me fill this cunt up,” he warns.
You know that’s your warning to hop off, but you can’t, you don’t want to. “Please,” you beg. “Please fill me up Daddy.”
And he does. You feel him shoot ropes of cum into your throbbing pussy, his groans loud in your ear as you squeeze around him.
Both of your breathing is labored, your heads spinning from the ecstasy. Neither of you move as you come back to your bodies. You enjoy the heat radiating off of you both, Joel’s hands rubbing circles on your back as you rest on him.
He kisses the side of your head and you lean up, wincing at the change in angle between your legs.
“I don’t care what they think,” you whisper vulnerably.
He sighs and kisses your forehead. “Jus’ gotta protect you honey,” he says, his sweet chocolate eyes finding yours. You smile at his words. “You do protect me Joel,” you reply.
“Hard not to want you all to myself,” he admits, and your heart pounds. It’s all you want, to be so wanted, protected, taken care of. And even if he doesn’t believe it, Joel is the best man for the job. He’s perfect, truly perfect, no matter what anyone else thinks.
You smile softly and it makes his heart burst. “You have me,” you whisper, connecting your lips to his own. “I’m all yours.”
In honor of Pedro's 50th birthday I'm wondering how would any of the daddies celebrate with their little ☺️
Joel's Birthday
Ask from a long time ago 🙈 i'm just getting to in time for Joely's birthday!!! Are you proud of me for writing bbs??? 🌟 🥰
warnings: fem!reader, pure fluff!, some ddlg
Joel hates his birthday for a multitude of reasons. It was a reminder of the worst day of his life, and the worst day for every survivor's life. Before the outbreak, he was never one to celebrate his birthday or really birthday's in general. Now he regrets not enjoying them more. The twenty plus years surviving merged into one.
In Jackson, each birthday felt momentous. Another year of survival when it didn't seem possible. Another year the town grew. Where the day used to be an unfriendly reminder of his growing age, time ticking down. Now he actually had something worth holding on for.
You discovered his birthday from Maria but kept it to yourself for a bit. You assumed correctly he would insist he did not want a fuss. Apparently last year he barely sat for cake and a song. This would be his first birthday with you.
When the first cool breeze hit, you brought it up. And because you were a little nervous for his reaction it was safer to bring it up this way-
"Daddy... it's your birthday soon."
"How do you know that, petal?" He pauses his reading, peering down at you lying on his chest.
"I just know." You supply. "Can I give you a gift, daddy?"
"I don't want nothin'." He brushes it off. "Got all I need right here." He kisses your forehead and feels it wrinkle.
"Please?" you try again.
He studies your face for a few long seconds. He sees how important this is to you. He gave you such thoughtful gifts on your birthday and made you feel like the most special girl in the world.
"Okay." He concedes. "But nothin' too big. And no grand surprises. You know daddy doesn't like surprises."
"Okay!!" You beam. Your mind was already racing with ideas.
By the next week Joel had forgotten the conversation. It was a busy time for the town as the prepared for fall harvest and began shoring up for winter.
When he wakes up he's greeted by your smiling face. You had already been awake. You were wearing a new dress, which fit you perfectly. He didn't get a chance to inspect further because you were pulling him to the kitchen. You made him eggs and toast and you garnished with your home-grown sun dried tomatoes.
You ensured he had the day off from patrol but it wasn't until midday that you managed to make it out of the house. You set up a picnic in a field just outside the walls of the town, where you often went with Joel. In your basket was an assortment of his favorite things: Jerky, apple tarts, cornbread... Tommy and Ellie were there as well, each getting a break from work to celebrate.
Ellie gave him a new saddle bag, which she made herself thanks to apprenticing at the tannery. Tommy came with new boots, barely worn, a real steal.
You couldn't stop looking at Joel, because he seemed so relaxed and happy. Truly happy. It's all you ever wanted.
On the walk back, you stopped short of the front door and pulled a blindfold from your pocket.
"More?" He huffed with a smile when you held out a blindfold.
"It's not a surprise-" You were quick to clarify. "but it would kind of give it away if you knew... so just... please?"
He obliges with a small roll of his eyes. You were nervous!
You lead him around to garage, giggling when he nearly bungs his head on a hanging pot.
"Okay you can look!" You reach up to help pull the blindfold off.
"Petal..." His eyes immediately fall on the parcel you've laid out on the work bench.
A shiny, top of the line, espresso machine.
"Is this-? Wh-where did you find it?" He runs his fingers of the top.
"Tommy helped." You beam, enjoying his reaction thus far. "When they salvaged the airport there was a star-buck store."
Joel chuckled at your pronunciation.
"-and the machine was still there. He brought it back and I cleaned it and fixed it but it still isn't perfect. The steamer-"
"It is perfect." Joel seemed to come out of his shock and pulls you into his arms for a hug. "I love it so much. You know how much I like my coffee. And this here machine will make really good coffee."
You giggle into his chest. "I know! I've never had Xpresso before."
"It's ten times better than stuff here. And I know how much you like your hot chocolates, just imagine what a mocha tastes like." He cupped your face.
"Mocha?" You lean into his hands.
"You'll see!" His mind already thinking of all the drinks he could make.
You check that it's plugged in before pressing the on button. The machine rumbled to life, buttons lighting up. "You'll have to check that it works, because I'm not too sure since I didn't want to waste any beans on a tester."
"Of course... You did so good, petal." Joel hugged you again, knowing that's what you needed to hear. He felt himself tear up but too tired and too happy to care. "What did I do to deserve all this huh?" He kissed the top of your head.
He felt you tense, ready to pipe up on his behalf. "You don't gotta answer that." He chuckled. "Just... I love you, my perfect girl."
"I love you, too!" You look up at him, matching tears in your eyes. "Happy birthday!"
joel miller and cockwarming and/or free use!?!? xx
y e s. anon ily. lmk what u think.
masterlist
0.4k/joel x fem! reader/18+ only
cockwarming drabble:
“Move again an’ you ain’t comin’ for a week, baby.” His low rasp in your ear made you shudder, your walls clenching harder around him. His hand came down on your ass, making you whine and arch your back as the sting on the already swollen and abused skin spread through you.
Your legs were shaking, slick running down your thighs. You were on Joel’s lap; impaled on his cock which was splitting you open, his tip spearing into your cervix. He’d had you here for the past four hours, unmoving. You were barely hanging on as the pain and pleasure swirled in your head, making you restless. You were squirming on top of him, desperate to relieve the sweet ache that had developed between your legs; trying something, anything to take the edge off.
Your vision swam with tears as you gulped harsh breaths, your desperation growing by the minute. Pressing your face into his neck, you fisted a hand in his shirt while trying to calm your shuddering breaths, erratic heartbeat. Joel watched you, so utterly wrecked for him, and chuckled down at you. “‘S wrong, sweetheart?” His deceptively sweet words reeked of condescension as cooed them at you, thumbing at your cheeks to wipe away the tear stains.
“T-too big, daddy, ‘s too big” you sobbed, burying yourself into his embrace further. He tutted in disapproval before smoothing the hair out of your face.
“I know, honey, I see it, I do.” He brings his fingers down where you’re both connected, spreading his index and middle fingers to sit against the V of your swollen lips stretching to accommodate him, forcing another hiccuping sob out of you as you clutch his forearm. “Look at that.” He brings his other hand up to your abdomen, pressing down mercilessly and making you choke on you breath as a whimper escapes you. “Daddy’s stretchin’ you out, babygirl. Be good for just a little longer and I’ll take care of ya, okay?” You nod feverishly into his shirt, throbbing around him in need and whining at the feeling of your arousal dribbling out of you as a result. His words meant nothing to you, now. He’d said the same thing an hour ago.
He said it again two hours later, too.
hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings
Was doom scrolling and a post caught my attention…mainly cause it had Shaq on it but that’s a story for another time.. 😂
I’m not the biggest fan of the daddy thing myself, I won’t really read them but that’s only cause I’ve tried it and couldn’t get into it, no matter how many times we tried it was a turn off-I couldn’t keep a straight face-but I’d never give anyone grief about it or shame fics or the writers . Some may not understand it and that’s ok-it’s not your thing..just move on- seriously.
There’s honestly no point in moaning about it cause they’re always gonna be daddy fics because people want to read them - keep your opinions to yourself and stop shaming people.
warnings: ddlg, gender neutral little, daddy joel comforting you after your favorite character dies. i needed dis but it is a bit angsty
Joel places a lot of parental controls on your ipad and netflix account to make sure you don't watch anything too gorey when you're little. He'd prescreen some of the movies that were on the fence to be sure it was safe to watch. However when you're feeling big you and Joel would watch shows together, though they are usually pretty tame.
This show was pretty R rated but everyone in your life was watching it so of course you wanted to as well. There was a character who reminded you of Joel that you'd often jokingly call him by the character's name.
At first it irked Joel because the guy was kind of a grump and he hoped he wasn't that big of a grump. Plus the way you'd fawn over the character when he was on screen would occasionally make Joel a bit jealous. But overtime Joel came to like the character as well. He even dressed up as him for halloween just to make you smile.
And then... fuck... the character died. And it wasn't quick. Joel couldn't believe it. How could such a badass character just... Joel wanted to yell at the TV to motivate the character to fight back.
"Holy shit...They wouldn't right?"
"WHAT? no!" You cried out, burying your face in Joel's arm. "How could they do that!"
He went to shield your eyes from the gruesome visuals but the damage was done. By the time he shut off the TV it was obvious what happened.
"He-he-" You hiccup "He can't be gone!" You squeeze your eyes shut as the images flash behind your eyes.
"I'm sorry baby." Joel squeezed your thigh. He was still stunned.
"I don't think i can watch anymore." You push off the couch like you needed to physically escape what you were feeling.
"Hell no." Joel nodded standing as well. "Why don't we get some ice cream? Cleanse the palette. Don't think I'll be able to sleep otherwise."
"Yeah." You hug yourself and follow him into the kitchen. You watch Joel serve up the ice cream with his big gentle hands and you feel more tears falling. Because he looks just like him, the character that- the images flash in your mind again.
"Okay..." He turns to hand you the bowl. "Aw baby. I'm so sorry." He pulls you into his chest.
"I- I loved him, daddy!"
"I know." Joel kisses the top of your head. "I'm so so sorry. You got such a big heart baby. I know he felt it." Joel didn't think that was untrue. Definitely the actor knew how many people loved his character. It doesn't even occur to him to treat this like 'just a show' because right now it felt real.
"I want him to come back. Come back now!" You sob.
"He- he can't, petal." Joel sucked in a breath "It had to be like this to save everyone else."
"No!" You cried hitting your head against Joel's chest. "I hate dem!"
"I know I know, sweetheart. It's okay to feel like that."
Joel rocked you side to side, unnerved by this strong reaction. Maybe it was because the character was so much like him that it was affecting you so much?
"He didn't have to- didn't have to-"
"Mhm. Listen, baby-" He peeled your tear streaked face off his chest and saw the splotches of tears all over his shirt. "That's just who he is. He always did the right thing even when it was dangerous. He don't see himself as a hero but that's what he is baby. And sometimes heros save the day but they don't get to save themselves."
You just whimper squeezing your daddy joel harder as if he was going to slip away too.
"But- but you're my hero, daddy. Does dat mean dat- dat-" You can't even say it. The feelings are too much you feel like you're floating out of your body.
"Ain't nobody takin' me nowhere, baby." Joel cupped your face, grounding you to his eyes and the conviction in his voice. "It's you and me forever and ever."
"P-pwomise daddy?"
"I promise." He kisses you gently as if to seal it. "Here... come on..." He slowly led you outside to the backyard. The clear skies littered with stars. "He knows baby. How much he's loved. Just think about it and he'll hear."
You both stand in silence looking up at the stars.
Laying in bed after he rocked you to sleep, Joel looked up towards the ceiling like he could see straight through-
we can always pretend it was a really really bad dream 🥺 and daddy!joel is there to give us some comfort when we wake up.
yes! yes! that's perfect bb ♥️
ddlg below...
"Petal?" He felt you kicking his legs. "What's goin' on?" He opens his eyes and looks down to see your face scrunched up and eyes closed. And there are tears in your eyes!
"Petal... come on, baby, wake up." He shakes your shoulders lightly. When you don't wake up and instead let out a little whimper, he sits up and flicks on the small bedside light. "Petal..." he shakes a bit harder. "It's just a dream. Just a dream..."
You wake with a jolt, sitting up quickly. "What- I saw-" You come to your senses, seeing the familiar bedroom around you and not the cold floor where you thought you were.
"You were having a bad dream." Joel scooted over and brushed your arm gently.
"I thought it- it was you, daddy. They were hurting you! It was you and I-" You wipe away the tears as new ones take their place. "It was so terrible."
"Oh dear...Can-can I hold you, petal?"
"Mhm" You fall gratefully back into his arms. Joel felt a few tears on his bare chest.
"Tell me what you're feeling." Joel coaxes you gently.
"I felt so scared and I thought you weren't coming back!" You blubber.
"That's sounds so scary." Joel nodded, closing his eyes. He could only imagine if it were the other way around. He would fight to get to you but what if he couldn't? "You're safe... we're safe." He rocked you slightly in an effort to comfort both of you.
You breathe the familiar scent of his shampoo, the sheets. Your feet feel toasty under the covers. You were safe. You were safe. You tried to breathe but you still felt like it was caught in your throat.
"Feel daddy." You take daddy's big hand and place it over your racing heart.
"You're heart still racing." Joel felt his heart ache a little more. "Must'a been a real vivid dream, petal."
"But I don't wanna dream about that!"
"I know... We can't choose our dreams or our nightmares. It don't mean anything bad about you." After another moment of rocking "I wish I knew how to stop 'em. Daddy gets them too from time to time."
"Bad dreams?" You peer up at him. Finally calming a little.
"Mhm...dreams about losing you. 'Bout not being a good enough daddy for ya." Joel confesses. He doesn't think he's really opened up to you like this. When you're like this. He just felt like you needed to hear it right now.
Now you're really baffled sitting up and staring at your daddy's handsome face. You cup his scruffy cheek. "But das not true. You're perfect daddy!"
"I know it's silly but it still pops up every once and a while." Joel smiles. "Like I said we can't always control what we dream. But I promise to always be here to chase the bad dreams away."
"Me too daddy!" you nod emphatically feeling warm inside from his promise. You lay back down against his chest and try to relax.
"There ya go, petal. Just breathe with daddy. And with every breath imagine all those memories sliding down your head to your feet... and then gone..." With each breath joel rubbed your back as if to mimic the movement of the bad thoughts getting pushed away.
After a few minutes of this intentional breathing...
"Now do you think you can go back to sleep?" Joel brushes the last stray tear from your eyes before kissing the tip of your nose.
"I dunno..." You frown. "I'm worried i'll dream that again"
"Why don't we put on a story until you fall asleep?"
He pops one earbud in your ear and the other in his own and chooses an audiobook. One of your favorites that you've heard a million times. He situates you on his chest with your stuffie and flicks off the light.
