Daddy
Pairing: Joel x f!reader
Blurb: Joel comes over for dinner but disaster strikes when secrets are discovered.
Warnings: 18+, sexually explicit, use of Daddy and other pet names, age gap, and slight violence.
Authors note: It’s been a while since I’ve written anything but inspiration struck and I wrote this silly little blurb to ease back in to things. Enjoy :)
Main Masterlist
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Tonight marks two months of sneaking around with your dads best friend.
Two months of lying about plans, sneaking out of Joel’s house at the ass crack of dawn, and crawling back through your bedroom window before your parents wake up.
So far, your web of lies hasn’t been tangled and no one suspects a thing. Both of you have been diligent about covering your tracks and avoiding slip ups.
Tonight you set the dinner table with your mom, nonchalant, though listening around the corner as your dad greets his buddy Joel Miller at the door and welcomes him in for dinner.
“The hell happened to you man” your dad asks Joel as he ushers him inside, questioning him about something you can’t see.
Joel answers with a nervous cough but recovers quickly. “Rough day at work, some idiot wasn’t paying attention.”
You play it cool when Joel rounds the corner, joining the cozy dining room behind your father.
Your eyes immediately note the faint purple bruise on the side of his neck, just below where his dark stubble ends.
Shit.
Joel’s eyes find you immediately, an “I told you so” simmering in their depths.
Your face heats and your eyes dart to the floor, nervously tucking a stray stand of hair behind your ear.
You wear your hair up tonight, tendrils framing your face but swept back back into a a ponytail that exposes the length of your neck.
A ponytail like the one Joel had wrapped around his fist and yanked back on less than 24hours ago while he was fucking you deep into the mattress, sweaty and hard.
Growling filthy, toe curling, atrocities in your ear the entire time.
“Come on angel, ” he rasped between labored breaths as he thrusted into you, “tell daddy how good it feels.”
“Fucky, daddy,” you whined into the pillow, voice punctuated by each snap of his hips into you, “so fucking good. I’m so wet, give me more, more, more,” you pleaded until he unloaded into you before collapsing into the sheets together, legs tangled, bodies sweaty and heart rate thundering.
You snap out of your flashback.
Currently, the four of you gather around the table, plates stacked high with a lovely dinner, potatoes, veggies, and a steaming hot roast.
Dutifully, you bow your head and close your eyes as your dad says the prayer, thanking his God for the meal and welfare of his family.
“Amen” you say, like the good girl you are, in unison with everyone else as the prayer comes to an end.
“Daddy, can you pass me the salt?” You say, nodding toward the shakers out your reach.
Your dad reaches for the salt.
So does Joel.
Their fingers brush, coming into contact as they each try to grab the small salt shaker.
Your stomach drops.
Joel stops breathing, freezing in place as he realizes his mistake.
Your dad blinks and you watch as the realization strikes. First, confusion pulls between his brows. Then his eyes dart from Joel’s big brown eyes to yours. Then finally he looks back at the suspiciously small bruise on the side of Joel’s neck. That’s when your father’s face reddens and eyes go wide.
Your mothers fork clatters loudly as it drops onto her plate, the sound piercing the now silent room.
Oh, shit.
Joel’s hand go up, palms facing you father across the table from him, as he attempts to keep the peace. Before he can come up with an explanation your father interjects.
“What the fuck is that on your neck Joel” your father asks, pointing at the now obvious hickey on his neck as he stands up from the table.
Joel rises from his own seat to meet him in stature.
“I told you it happened at work”
“Don’t give me that bullshit Joel” your dad says louder now, hands clenching.
You and your mother watch in silent, awkward horror.
Then your dad’s stare pins you next.
“Didn’t we raise you better than this,” he spits, voice booming. “Running around behind our backs like a tramp. Whoring yourself off to someone old enough to be your fucking father!”
The raised voice and vile language raise Joel’s hackles. He steps ever so slightly infront of you, his body a ready barrier between you and your father.
“Baby” Joel says to you calmly, eyes trained on your father, “why don’t you take your momma into the other room. We’ve got some things to settle.”
You and your mother barely make it out of your seats before your father flies across the table, that pet name his final straw.
Plates clatter, drinks spill, and vegetables go flying across the table and floors of the dining room as the two men collide.
Joel takes a surprise first to the jaw but his sturdy build and sheer mass eat the punch before he throws himself at your father.
As the two of them begin to brawl, your mother wails in shock at the disaster unfolding.
And despite the poor timing, your stomach growls and you can’t help but mourn the fact that you didn’t even get to taste the mashed potato’s tonight.
Damn, you fucking love mashed potatoes.
