𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Tired of silence, safety, and being Hershel Greene's innocent middle daughter, you traded prayer for provocation on a watchtower shift with Daryl Dixon. You pushed him, taunted him, and tried to force him to see the survivor you'd become—but what you got was more than acknowledgment...
A secret he made sure you'd carry back inside the prison.
The Georgia heat didn't give a damn that the sun had gone down hours ago. It just made your shirt stick to your lower back and your hair curl slightly at the ends. You were up in the watchtower—the one overlooking the field where the walkers tended to herd up like cattle waiting for a slaughter that never really came.
Usually, this was Maggie and Glenn's shift. You'd see them heading up here with that look in their eyes, the one that said they weren't planning on doing much… watching. But Glenn was on a run, and Maggie was helping Beth with Judith, so the usual shift had changed.
Tonight, it was yours and Daryl's.
There wasn't even a chair up here, just the cold concrete and a scratchy blanket you'd thrown into the corner. You were sitting on it now, knees pulled up slightly to your chest, fumbling with the rifle Rick had given you earlier. It felt heavy in your hands, even though you'd been carrying weapons for months now.
Your thumbs traced the scratches on the stock, a nervous habit you always had when you were feeling uncomfortable, though somewhere between the fall of the farm and the discovery of the prison, it got worse.
Shifting the rifle again, you stole another glance at Daryl.
He wasn't looking at you. At least, not openly. But every few minutes, he moved his gaze sideways, and while pretending to adjust your bootlace, he looked again.
Not obvious. Not even enough that anyone but you would notice. But you'd spent enough time watching him since the fall of the farm to recognize his tells: the slow blinking, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his fingers gripped the crossbow stock. Measuring distance, threats… and you.
"What?" You asked under your breath, though you knew he wouldn't answer.
And he didn't.
It should've irritated you, but you were a little too tired already to care right now. Blinking slowly, you tried to fight the urge to just let your head fall back against the wall and drift off to sleep. However, your main problem was that, in the silence, your brain began to wander to places it shouldn't. Back to the farm.
Back to home.
God, it felt like a lifetime ago… A different universe entirely.
Trying to distract yourself, you looked up, watching the silhouette of the man standing at the window. Daryl hadn't moved in almost thirty minutes. He was just as still as a statue, his shoulders tight under that leather vest he seemingly never took off. He even held his crossbow like it was an extension of his arm, not a weapon he could just set down if he wanted to.
It was quiet up here. Too quiet. And again… it gave your brain too much space to wander back to places it shouldn't go.
It went back to the barn. Back to the porch, the smell of tea, and the sound of your dad's voice reading scripture in the living room. You were so different then. You remembered that girl as if she were a stranger—Hershel's middle daughter. The innocent one. The one who wore sundresses and braided Beth's hair and prayed for forgiveness if she even thought a curse word. You were obedient. And you were terrified.
Looking down at your hands, you noticed that there was dirt under your fingernails that no amount of scrubbing could get out and even calluses on your palms from knife handles.
You hadn't prayed in months. Maybe God had stopped listening when the barn burned down, or maybe you just stopped talking when the world started eating itself alive, and you realized there would be no cure.
The time on the road had beaten the obedience out of you, ripped it away bit by bit, until all that was left was this exhausted, tired girl in a new world that was never meant to be.
Shifting on the blanket, you felt it itching against parts of your skin, making you snap out of your thoughts, and you let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, trying to adjust the rifle so the barrel wasn't digging into your hip.
Daryl still hadn't moved an inch.
He didn't look tired like you, and it was almost annoying, honestly. How could he stand there, perfectly alert, while you felt like you were too tired to even stand up, fumbling with your weapon like a child playing soldier?
To keep your eyes from sliding shut, you focused on him again. It was the only thing to do, really. There were not a lot of walkers at the fences right now, and there was no wind rustling the trees, but only the silence and the shape of Daryl Dixon standing guard.
You watched the way his weight shifted from one foot to the other, some kind of restless movement that gave him away.
Everyone else in the group treated the prison like it was the promised land. They had the bunk beds that didn't smell like mildew and the walls that kept the dangers out, as well as a quite regular food supply. You were all settling in, just not Daryl. You'd think he'd finally unclench that jaw of his, but if anything, the prison seemed to make him worse.
Out on the road, he had a purpose—hunt, track, kill, protect. In here? Between the concrete walls, the schedules, and the Council meetings? Well, he looked like he was itching to crawl out of his own skin.
The walls didn't make him feel safe; they made him feel trapped. You'd seen him pacing the cell block at three in the morning when he thought everyone was asleep, checking the locks, checking the perimeter, looking for the threat that his gut told him was always coming.
He couldn't settle and didn't know how to just be without looking over his shoulder.
Now he checked his crossbow again. Probably the fifth time in ten minutes.
It was almost funny, watching him be so careful. Especially in the way he was now with you.
Since you'd arrived here, since you'd survived the time on the road, he'd started treating you like you were made of glass. Like one wrong move, one loud noise, and you'd shatter into a million pieces right there on the concrete.
And he was always near you, or at least close by. Opening doors. Checking corners twice before he lets you walk down a hallway. Checking out your weapons after you cleaned them. And he always made sure you were in the middle of the formation on runs, shielded on all sides.
It was pissing you off. Because it just wasn't how it used to be.
Thinking again, he had been such an asshole back then. Loud and angry white trash. But looking back, with everything you know now, maybe that was just... him.
You swallowed hard, and your eyes looked back at him.
"Daryl?" You said his name softly, but he still didn't move.
"Daryl!" This time, your voice was louder.
His head twitched—but it was not enough to count as acknowledgment or an answer.
"You used to talk to me," you continued. "Even if it was just to annoy me."
Silence.
You remembered one afternoon by one of the wells, the summer heat beating down. You'd been trying to carry a bucket of water, struggling with the weight because you were much weaker then. Daryl had walked past, with a string of dead squirrels hanging over his shoulder. He didn't offer to help. Instead, he'd stopped, spat on the ground near your boots, and smirked.
"Need a hand there, sugar?" He'd drawled, his voice sounding more than just sarcastic. "Careful, 'cause ya don't wanna break a nail. Bet yer daddy won't like it."
He'd stood there and watched you struggle, smirking at you, until you'd gotten so mad you hauled that bucket up out of pure spite, splashing water all over your dress. And Daryl had just huffed a quick laugh—dry and mean.
He used to mock your prayers, leaning against the porch railing while you tried to read your Bible outside, something you always liked to do in the early morning sun, making comments about Jesus and God just to see your face turn red in anger. He'd even make fun of your clean clothes and your quiet voice. If you tripped over a root, he wouldn't help you up; he'd just snort about how girls didn't know how to walk on dirt. He'd even toss gross parts of whatever he was skinning in your direction just to hear you squeal when you were walking to the chicken coop.
Daryl Dixon was mean. He was rough. But he looked at you, and he saw you. He didn't treat you like a porcelain doll that needed to be put on a high shelf; he treated you like a human being and not as if you needed any protection from the world that was about to drag your beliefs down to hell with it.
Now? Now Daryl wouldn't even look you in the eye for more than a few seconds.
It was like he was terrified that if he talked with you, if he acknowledged that you'd toughened up, that you were harder now, he'd lose the only version of you he knew how to handle. Maybe he wanted to keep you innocent. Maybe he wanted to keep you as the farmer's daughter, because that girl might need him sooner or later. This new version of you—the one fumbling with a rifle in the dark, the one who didn't flinch at the sound of a skull cracking—confused him. Scared him, maybe…
But right then and there, you decided that the silence was enough. If Daryl wasn't going to look at you or talk to you anymore, if he wasn't going to acknowledge that you were now a living, breathing person capable of killing a walker just as fast as he could, then you were going to force him to.
You were bored. You were annoyed. And honestly, looking at his back while your own brain replayed the burning barn, the walkers, and everything else you'd lost back then was driving you crazy.
"You know," you started, your voice sounding too loud in the small space. You didn't bother to soften it. "For a guy who acts like such a loner, you sure do stand there like decoration whenever Rick isn't around to give you orders."
Smirking to yourself, you realized that Daryl still didn't turn around. He didn't even tense up. He just tilted his head a bit of an inch to the side, a small movement, and his eyes still looked down on the dark yard below, completely dismissing you.
"Ignore me all you want," you grumbled, feeling a little irritated again. You shifted your legs, letting your boot kick the concrete wall on purpose. "Doesn't change the fact that you look ridiculous. You're trying so hard to look dangerous, but honestly? You just look like a dog."
Still nothing. Just the rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath he took.
It was making you angry. It was like talking to a brick wall that breathed. And Daryl not even trying to react stung more than an insult would have. Standing up, you let the rifle fall away completely to the floor, not wanting to pick it up as you finally walked over to him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to be even more annoying. You could smell him from here—the dirt, the sweat, and his own personal scent that clung to his vest.
"Is this really it?" You then asked, leaning your hip against the window frame, turning your back to the danger outside just to watch his face. You stared right at his profile, searching for any hint of rage. "Is this Daryl Dixon now? Just… standing? Staring? Acting like the group's favorite guard dog?"
You saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Gotcha.
"I remember when you weren't," you continued. "Back home, at the farm. You were such an ass. Always spitting on the ground and looking at us Greenes like we were religious little idiots who would've tried to go to church with a walker if we found a prayer that sounded as if it might've helped! But at least you were… I don't know. Alive."
Nothing… Daryl was doing a good job of pretending you weren't there.
"Now look at you," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's pathetic. You are pathetic. I bet you don't even remember how to be anything else but a babysitter for Judith."
Pretending to check the perimeter, you turned and leaned forward so your arm brushed right against his vest. It wasn't an accident, and you both knew it. You even felt the muscles in his back stiffen, which was quite a hard, involuntary flinch, but he didn't step away.
"And it's not just with Rick's daughter," you continued, right near his shoulder. "I see the way you trail after Carol. It's sweet, really. Like a little lost puppy that finally found someone to care about. Does she scratch behind your ears, Daryl? Does she tell you you're a good boy?"
He let out a sharp breath through his nose, a sound like a bull getting ready to charge, but you pressed on.
"You used to walk around with that crossbow like you're some kind of dangerous animal," you laughed. "Scowling at everyone. Only grunting instead of speaking. And then I saw you with Judith. 'Little Asskicker…' God, you were practically so happy to hold her! But the vest, the anger, the attitude... Yeah, you're just some white trash redneck playing pretend."
You moved again, stepping around him slightly so you were in his vision, blocking his view of the treeline, and looked at him with pity, though not real pity.
That—somehow—hit. His head jerked to the side, and it wasn't a full turn but a clear sign that was meant to send you a message.
"Ya gotta lot t'say, Greene," he finally spat out, and it sounded like a full, genuine threat, but he still didn't move his body. "Maybe ya shoulda go back t'readin' that damn bible of yers."
You felt a thrill of victory but also a genuine bit of fear. The old Daryl was finally showing up. At least you hoped so.
"Why?" You asked him, refusing to back down. "So I can pray for you? I'm all out of prayers, Daryl. And frankly, the prison is boring. You're boring."
Moving your hand on his back, lower this time, you let your fingers trace part of his belt.
"Honestly, it's embarrassing," you continued, letting your fingers play with the edges of it. "I bet you wouldn't even know what to do anymore! You've probably forgotten how to touch anything that isn't a crossbow or a baby bottle."
You heard his breath hitch, only a little, but enough.
When you stepped an inch closer, blocking his view further, his body reacted before he could think. One hand moved off the crossbow stock, and his fingers flexed like he was about to reach for your arm—to grip you or push you back, you couldn't tell.
But he stopped himself.
"Embarrassin'," he repeated, and he finally, finally turned his head to look at you. Not a glance, but a full-on look. "That what ya think?"
"Looks like it from where I'm standing," you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest.
"A'right. Let's talk 'bout embarrassin'." He turned his body fully towards you now, crowding you without even taking a step. "Let's talk 'bout yer ass. Followin' me 'round since the farm... Think I ain't seein' that shit? Yer hoverin' when I'm cleanin' my kill. Lurkin' 'round me all damn day."
Your face turned red, proving how ashamed you actually felt now. "I never—"
"Yer a bad fuckin' liar," Daryl cut you off, his voice dropping to a growl. "Worse than ya are with that rifle. Ya been waitin' for a fight for weeks. But ya don't wanna fight, do ya? Yer just fuckin' bored. Daddy's little girl ain't got no fences to mend and no dumbass porch t'pray on, so she's gotta find somethin' else to feel useful for once."
Every word was a slap in your face. He saw right through you, past the pretending act and the rifle, straight down to the girl underneath. It was humiliating.
"You don't know anything about me," you hissed back at him, your voice trembling with a bit of shame.
"The hell I don't," he snarled in response, leaning in so close you could feel a few strands of his hair against your forehead. "I know ya still flinch when a damn twig snaps too loud. I know ya can't look at the walkers near the fence for t'long 'fore yer hands start shakin'. Yer ain't shit."
That was what pushed you over the edge somehow, even though you knew Daryl was right. With a choked cry, you swung your hand, aiming to knock that sudden smirk right off his face.
But you never stood a chance.
His hand moved faster than yours, and his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping the slap an inch from his cheek and making you gasp at the sheer force of his grip.
"Thought so," he grunted. "All talk."
Daryl yanked you forward, using your confusion against you. You stumbled into him, your free hand flying up to brace yourself against his chest and to push back.
"Ya wanna fight, Greene?" He asked, his face only inches from yours. "Fine! Let's fight."
He shoved you back then, not hard enough to make you fall, but enough to make you stumble. Your boot caught on the edge of the scratchy blanket, and you went down, your ass hitting the cold concrete with the rifle sliding away and toward the wall.
Scrambling back to your knees as fast as you could, you launched yourself at him. But you didn't aim for a slap this time; you went low, trying to tackle him down by his waist.
A grunt of surprise was forced out of him as you pushed him back a step, and for a second, you had him off-balance. Then his arms closed around you.
Daryl didn't even need to try to throw you off; he just squeezed, lifting you off your feet. You kicked and thrashed, your elbows digging into his sides, but it was still like trying to fight a brick wall.
Not being able to do anything to stop him, he dropped down, taking you with him. You both landed on the tangled blanket, the impact knocking the wind out of you. He was on top of you in an instant, his knees pinning your thighs, his weight keeping you from moving, but you still bucked around, trying to throw him off, your hands clawing at his arms, his vest, anything you could reach.
One of Daryl's hands caught not only one but both of your wrists, slamming them down onto the concrete above your head. The hold was rough, painful even, and you were trapped.
"Done?" Daryl growled, his chest heaving, but you yelled at him in response.
"Go to hell, Daryl!"
At your answer, he leaned down, his mouth close to your ear. "Been there m'whole goddamn life..."
You then tried to headbutt him, but he jerked his face back, avoiding it easily, now genuinely annoyed. Adjusting his grip, his hips were pressing yours harder into the floor, stopping your thrashing, and the hard edges of his belt buckle dug into your stomach. You were panting, your chest rising and falling ever so fast against his, but Daryl was breathing just as hard.
He was staring down at you, his eyes searching yours in the near-darkness before he finally felt your body go still beneath his.
"I ain't pretendin' nothin'," he grumbled. "'M just seein' what's gotta be done. And what's gotta be done is for ya t'shut yer fuckin' mouth and watch that damn fence."
"No!" You challenged him back, pushing against the weight of him with a tiny movement of your hips. "What's gotta be done is that you stop treating me like I'm still that innocent girl from the farm! I can handle this new life! And I can handle you!"
The lie was out, but Daryl's reaction was immediate. The hard pressure of his body intensified, pressing you down against the floor with a slow, grinding buck that wasn't intentional but was enough to make you gasp.
"Yeah? Ya can handle me?" He scoffed, though the sound was a little shaky. His gaze dropped, moving across your face, down your throat, where your pulse was jumping, and stayed near your tits still trapped beneath his chest. "Ya wanna prove that, Greene? Ya got a real stupid way of goin' 'bout it."
He didn't loosen his grip on your wrists even once. Instead, he twisted your hands just slightly, enough to make you wince, forcing your arms to stretch higher and making your back arch slightly into his weight. You were pinned down, completely under his mercy, completely pissed off, but also terrifyingly captivated by him.
You wanted this. You wanted him. Now. But what you didn't want was to give him the satisfaction of knowing. Of Daryl really knowing how much you desired him. No… You just wanted him to take you. Right there. Right now.And without any hesitation.
"What's wrong, Daryl?" You then taunted, trying to get your feet back on the ground. To win. "What? Is this more excitement than your little Carol-and-Judith daycare duties allow?"
His knuckles went white again, and he moved his head back, giving you a snarl of pure frustration, but he ignored your baiting question.
"When I tell ya to shut up, ya shut up. I ain't havin' ya annoy my ass 'cause yer bored and lookin' for trouble."
"And if I'm not looking for trouble?" You whispered, your heart now pounding so hard it felt like your ribs might crack. "What if I'm looking for you?"
Daryl froze. Every bit of anger left his eyes, replaced by a sudden confusion and then a shocking realization.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, he just stared down at you, his chest heaving against yours, his breath hot on your face. You could see it in his eyes, how the words you'd just said made him think too much and yet not enough all at once.
The realization didn't come gently; it literally crashed into him. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth, then back up, and the look there was no longer about winning a fight when his free hand suddenly moved to your face, cupping your jaw, his fingers roughly stroking the skin of your cheek. His touch felt dirty, without any gentleness, but it felt overwhelming at the same time.
"Shoulda shut that fuckin' mouth now, Greene," he breathed, his eyes seeing you not as the innocent farmer's daughter, but as the complicated, annoying woman who had just brought him to the edge.
Without giving you any time to answer, Daryl closed the final distance. His lips were on yours—slightly dry, rough, and tasting like cigarettes. He moved his head, grinding his lips against yours, wanting a response that you instantly and violently gave.
Freeing one hand of yours, it shot up, grabbing the back of his neck, holding him to your body as hard as you could, and Daryl finally let go of your remaining wrist, only to move one hand and grab the fabric of your pants, tugging at it.
"Off," he grunted against your mouth, his fingers fumbling with the button.
How could you deny a voice so deep and demanding that it made you shiver?
You didn't hesitate. While Daryl fumbled with your pants, your hands went to the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one quick move, along with your bra, throwing it aside into the darkness of the watchtower.
The cold concrete hit your skin, giving you goosebumps, but you couldn't care less.
Daryl broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, just to look at you with eyes wandering over the naked skin of your stomach and your tits. It felt as if for the first time he'd truly look at you—the new you, the actual survivor—and his gaze felt more intense than any touch so far.
"See?" You panted, your voice trembling a little, even though you still wanted to prove yourself. "Not so innocent now, huh?"
Daryl didn't answer with words. He just shoved your pants and panties down your hips in one rough, fast movement, dragging them down your legs and off, throwing them somewhere near the rifle. You tried to kick your clothes away, your movements just as desperate as his.
While you were freeing yourself from your clothes, Daryl worked on his own, his fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. He never took his eyes off you, watching you beneath him, naked and waiting, until you heard his belt opening, followed by the sound of his zipper. He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, his cock springing out, hard, thick, and leaking already.
Leaning himself slowly back over you, his mouth found yours again in another rough kiss as he moved and positioned himself between your thighs.
You could already feel the head of his cock nudging against your pussy, which only made you wetter—if that was even possible. A choked gasp escaped you, your hips bucking off the blanket, desperately wanting more.
But Daryl pulled his lips away from yours again, his forehead resting against your own. "Look at that," he growled, pushing his face a little bit more toward yours, wanting to make sure you were listening to him. "Fuckin' soaked for me. After all that bitchin'…"
Rocking his hips, he was letting the head of his cock slide through your pussy folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing you with what was about to come. The feeling was maddening—so close to what you needed, but not enough.
"Please, Daryl..."
That's when his hand came up again. Not to hold your face like before, but to wrap it around your throat.
Your eyes flew open wide, but there was no fear—only excitement. And Daryl's grip wasn't painful now; it was just right, his thumb pressing against the pulse pounding in your neck. He squeezed, just enough to make the blood flow louder in your ears, to make the world shrink to just his expression above you, his eyes looking into yours, and the slight pressure of his hand.
"This what ya wanted?" Daryl growled, his grip tightening a bit more, stealing your breath away while he stilled his hips, holding himself right at your pussy. "This what ya been followin' me 'round for? T'get yerself fucked by some white trash dick?"
You couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but nod frantically in response, your own hands coming up to grab at his wrist, not to pull him away, but to hold him still again.
Shit… His hands… They were so big and rough… And that one hand was feeling more than perfect around your throat.
Daryl released the pressure just as your vision started to blur ever so slightly, allowing you to gasp and breathe in air again. He watched you quietly now, seeing the effect he had on you, only to do it again—a slow squeeze, holding you on the edge, his thumb stroking almost gently over your pulse on your throat. And each time he tightened his hand, your body would twitch, your hips bucking up to finally get him to take you.
"Ya really ain't that innocent girl no more, are ya?" He smirked down at you, but you knew it wasn't really a question. Then he finally, finally, notched the head of his cock against your pussy properly, applying the slightest, most torturous pressure.
You shook your head, sobbing a little out of frustration that he wasn't fucking you already. "No... Guess I'm not."
Daryl leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his hand then relaxed around your throat. "Good..."
That was a promise and a threat all in one. And then Daryl began to push inside.
It wasn't the fast, punishing thrust you'd expected, no… hoped for. It was slow. The thick head of his cock pressed into you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your back arched off the cold concrete, with a broken, whimpering moan torn from your throat, and your nails dug into the bare skin of his forearm, but he didn't speed up. He didn't even flinch.
Daryl just watched you.
His eyes were still fixed on your face, studying every twitch, every flutter of your eyelids, and every helpless gasp. He was buried to the hilt now, so deep you were panting, your body waiting and begging for his movement—for more.
But Daryl didn't move.
He stayed perfectly still, with his weight holding you down and his forearms right beside your head next. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant, indifferent moan of a few walkers outside.
"Fuck… Daryl… please," you begged, your voice a choked whisper. You tried to roll your hips to get some kind of movement, but he pressed down harder, pinning you completely.
"'Please' what?" He grunted in amusement, giving you a tiny, circular grind with his hips that made you see stars already. "Thought ya could handle me. This it? This all it takes?"
He pulled out just as slowly as he'd pushed inside, the drag of his cock inside your pussy a different kind of torture, and you whimpered in response, a sound of pure desperation.
"Just—" You whimpered again, trying to adjust, trying to move once more.
But his response was a hissed inhale of breath through his teeth. "Did I say move?"
"P-please…"
All of a sudden, he pushed back in with that same torturously slow pace, filling you up all over again. "Yeah, 'please what,' huh? Use yer damn words, Greene. Y'had so many of 'em 'fore!"
"Please... fuck me," you begged, your voice cracking with need. "Just... move."
"'M movin'," he huffed, pulling back slowly again. His eyes were devouring you, watching the pure frustration in your eyes and the way your mouth fell open, only to close with every dry swallow of air.
One of Daryl's hands moved away from the side of your head, trailing slowly down your trembling side, along your ribs. He watched his own hand as it moved, his calloused fingers scraping a little over your skin, making you shiver. He slid up along one tit next, his finger brushing over your nipple, and you arched into the touch with another gasp.
"Ain't even doin' nothin'. Just bein' inside ya. Y'like that? Like havin' my dick in yer cunt?"
The words from his mouth, so… honest, should have made you feel ashamed. But you could only nod, your ability to form words completely gone by now.
"I asked ya a question."
"Yes! Fuck!" You sobbed in return. "Yes, God, Daryl, please! I'm sorry! Just—"
He rewarded you by pushing deep again, a single, hard thrust that would make you beg for every single inch of what he was about to give you.
And you were. Oh God, you were.
"Daryl... please," you begged again, your voice trembling. "More... shit, just... do it."
He stopped again, his whole body tensing above you. "What was that?" He asked, wanting your words, wanting to hear them louder, once and for all. "Didn't quite hear ya."
"I said, 'Fuck me!'" You cried out, the words tearing themselves from your throat, making your mouth feel dry. "Just fuck me, Daryl, please! I—"
A low, deep growl was his answer—a sound of his satisfaction. It was the sound of him winning and you surrendering, and both of you knowing this was exactly how it was supposed to be in the first place.
Then his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any other plea you might have had. And the way he thrust back into you with a force that stole the air back from your lungs, the wet sound against the silence of the night, despite the few walkers outside still clawing at the fences, made your choked scream sound muffled against his palm.
Each thrust was moving your entire body, pushing you up the blanket with every buck of his hips.
Daryl's mouth left your ear, moving down your throat next. But he didn't kiss. He bit. A sharp, quick bite on the skin where your neck met your shoulder that made you twitch and cry out against his palm. It was going to leave a mark, a blue and purple bruise you'd have to hide soon, and the thought alone made you shiver.
Daryl was everywhere—his smell, his taste, the weight of him, and the sound of his own ragged grunts in your ear.
"Y'know why I was nice to ya?" Daryl suddenly said, not even stopping his movements. He was teasing you. "Huh? Ya wanna know why I stopped spittin' at yer feet, Greene?"
Wanting you to answer him right away, he gave you a deep, grinding thrust that almost made you go crazy. You nodded, desperate for any piece of him he'd give you, even if it was just words.
"'Cause I saw ya," he answered, his hips never slowing their pace. "Saw ya that day we cleared C-Block. Walker had ya cornered. Ya didn't scream. Didn't cry. Just stuck yer knife right through its eye." He smirked, nipping at your jaw. "Wasn't yer daddy's little girl no more."
He shifted his weight, angling his thrusts differently, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your legs tremble and your eyes roll back.
"Started thinkin'... 'bout what Hershel'd say," he breathed. "Seein' his good, church-goin' daughter... takin' a redneck's dick. Bet he'd pray for yer damn soul."
Those words, the sheer blasphemy of it, with the image of your father, only made your pussy clench around him tighter.
Daryl groaned at the feeling, his rhythm breaking for a second. "Shit... feel that? Y'like me talkin' 'bout yer daddy while I'm fuckin' his little girl's cunt?"
The leather of his vest scraped against your hard nipples with every one of his thrusts; it was almost painful, but you loved it. You loved every moment of it. This was him—all of him that you'd wanted—the dirt and the sweat and the anger, and it was terrifying, but everything.
"'N I had t'be nice, didn't I? Wantin' t'fuck Hershel's daughter. As if ya were a damn preacher's kid. Gotta be a gentleman... Opened doors for ya. Checked yer goddamn weapons. Even made sure ya ate." He said, and suddenly fucked into you faster as if it was nothing. "All I was thinkin' 'bout was this. 'Bout how yer cunt would feel. 'Bout how fuckin' pretty ya'd look with my cum drippin' outta ya."
Daryl had cared, in his own way, while he'd been protecting you because he wanted you for himself, and the thought of anything else touching what he'd already decided was his was unacceptable. This was the man you'd been trying to provoke. And he was fucking you like he was trying to exorcise his own demons right into you.
You could still only moan in response, your body arching and bucking beneath his, desperately meeting his thrusts as best you could.
"Got so damn hard always watchin' ya…"
He finally ripped his hand away from your mouth, needing both hands to grip your hips, his fingers digging in hard as he yanked you toward him with every deep thrust.
"Yer damn daddy," he panted further. "Shit… if he ever looked at me? Would kill my fuckin' ass."
"God, Daryl," you gasped, your head moving from side to side, completely lost in him.
"Shut up," he growled in response. "Needa make sure tomorrow, when yer walkin' past me, all ya can think 'bout is how I feel inside ya."
You were beyond words, beyond any reasonable thought. And it only pushed you closer to the edge. Embarrassingly fast.
"Y'close?" He growled, and it wasn't really a question. He could sense it, the way your body was feeling around his, tightening, ready to shatter like glass. "Yeah, y'are… Gonna come all over my dick, ain'tcha? After all that..."
You swallowed in air, your voice wrecked as you tried to confirm his suspicion. "Daryl... Yes! I'm about to—"
"Yeah," he growled, panting louder as he got closer to the point of no return himself, losing his control. "C'mon. Let me feel it."
And you did.
Your back arched off the blanket, a silent scream stuck in your throat as you came around him, with your fingers gripping uselessly against his vest, your pussy clenching down around his cock in quick pulses. It felt like dying and being reborn all at once, and the only thing holding you back from crying out too loud was the weight of Daryl on top of you.
He was fucking hard into you now, his rhythm completely gone. There was no way he would stop.
"W-wait… Daryl…" You whimpered anyway, your hands pushing weakly at his chest. The reality of what was happening—where you were, what he was about to do—crashed down on you. "Don't… don't, please…"
It was too late.
His body was already tensing up above you. With a final, deep thrust inside of you, he let out a broken groan against your neck. You felt the sudden twitches of his cock and the pulses of his cum shooting into you, making his whole body shudder violently, with his hips giving a few last, helpless jerks as he came inside you.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing. And as a tear you didn't even know you'd cried escaped, Daryl, still buried deep inside you, went still. He felt the tiny, wet tear against his cheek where his face was pressed against yours now and pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face and noticing the tear.
"Hey," he started, his voice still rough but quieter now. Still, he didn't try to wipe the tear away with his hand. Instead, he lowered his head and swiped his tongue over your skin. He was tasting your emotion, taking that too for himself.
"Shut up," he growled against your skin, his lips moving to your jaw, then to the corner of your mouth. They weren't kisses, not really. They were more like bites—soft, nibbling bites meant to calm you down and mark you at the same time. "Yer okay… Promise."
You could feel his heart hammering against your own, but it was beginning to calm down when you nodded. A tiny, shaky movement, and your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now came up to grab at his shoulders, holding him there.
He growled in approval, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing starting to even out completely. The distant moans of the walkers outside were louder now, making you realize that the new world was still there, waiting. Only then did Daryl's hips give a tiny, involuntary buck, a reminder that he was still inside of you.
"S'alright," he then said, staying like that for a while longer until your trembling finally began to go away too.
But the reality of what he'd done—filling up Hershel's daughter with his cum right there on the watchtower floor—seemed to hit him the second his head cleared.
He pulled out of you slowly, and the feeling of him leaving, followed by the warm dripping of his cum, made you gasp. Your eyes, wide and a little shocked, went right away to his face.
Daryl saw it again. He saw the farm girl in your eyes, the girl who'd cared for him after Andrea had shot him, the girl who was always so kind and nice, but also the one who'd probably never had a man finish inside her, let alone without a second thought. Right now, he looked quite guilty and ashamed. But that was gone fast, leaving only a somewhat defensive scowl on his face.
"Shit," he scoffed, looking down at where his cum was already starting to leak out of you, unable to look you in the eye. He wiped his softening cock with one hand on the edge of the blanket, standing up just as fast. "Hell are ya lookin' at?"
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your body still trembling a little. "You… you just came inside me!"
"Ya got a problem with that?" He shot back, challenging you as he tucked himself away and started fastening his belt. "Ain't like yer damn daddy's gonna find out. 'Less ya run and tell him his good girl got herself filled up by—"
That was it. The mention of your dad again, the sheer audacity of him throwing it in your face now, made you lose control.
With a cry of pure rage, you launched yourself at him, still naked, but furious. You didn't care that you felt his cum slowly slide down your thighs or that your legs were shaking. You just moved.
One of your fists found his shoulder, but it was a weak, pathetic punch that didn't even make him flinch. It just pissed him off.
"Goddammit, woman!" He snarled, and his arm shot out, his hand catching you easily.
The fight was over before it even started. Daryl spun you around, your back slamming against his chest. One of his arms slid across your upper body, pinning your arms to your sides, while his other hand moved across your lower belly, holding you against him.
"Let me go, you bastard!" You yelled, thrashing in his grip, your bare ass grinding against the hard edges of his belt buckle.
But Daryl moved his head, his mouth finding your ear, growling and whispering into it. "Fuckin' stop it," he said, but his voice was not full of anger. The hand on your belly slid lower, his fingers digging into the skin just above your pussy. "Y'want 'nother fight? This how ya wanna get it?"
You went still, panting, and he took full advantage of it. His head moved lower, his teeth finding the same spot he'd bitten into earlier on your shoulder. You cried out, and your head fell back against his shoulder, your eyes closed, and your lips parted on command.
"That's it," he growled against your skin, keeping his lips pressed against it. "Just like that. Fight me all ya want. Just gets me all hard again."
Daryl's hand on your lower belly moved, his fingers sliding through the wetness between your legs, through the mess he'd made that was dripping out of you, and he groaned deeply. "Fuck… Yer daddy's gonna kill my ass."
"Stop… stop talking about him," you begged, but your words sounded way too weak. Your body was betraying you, arching back into him, seeking the feeling of his fingers.
"Why?" He breathed out with a smirk, his middle finger finding your clit, rubbing ever so softly over it, until you jerked in his arms, moaning. "Ya still wanna go prayin' in a church, just t'be spreadin' yer legs for a damn redneck who pisses you off next?"
Daryl's words stung a little, but you knew he was right. He was right in a way that made you want more of this—of him.
"Bet he's sleepin' right now," Daryl whispered, his other arm tightening around your chest, holding you up as your knees began to tremble again. "Dreamin' 'bout his sweet, innocent daughters. Never woulda dream 'bout how I got my cum drippin' outta one of 'em."
You were sobbing now with little broken whimpers, your hands gripping his forearm as the lust was building again.
"Y'gonna come again?" He grunted, his finger moving slightly faster and pressing a little harder.
You couldn't speak. You could only nod frantically, your body twitching in his arms.
"Damn right y'are," he snarled, and that was all it took. Your orgasm came fast, silent, and violent this time, your body tensing in his grip as you shook against him, a long, broken moan finally escaping you. Daryl held you through it with his face buried in your neck, his lips sucking and kissing your skin, bruising it further.
Once it was over and done, your legs gave out completely, and you both sank down to your knees on the scratchy blanket, his arms still locked around you, holding you against him.
"Yeah…" He then said, with his face still nuzzled against the back of your neck. "Ya can handle me."
"And you couldn't just—" You laughed with an exhausted tone in your voice. "You couldn't just... let it be. You had to... had to prove a point, huh?"
Daryl huffed against your back, but what you didn't see was his smirk when he held you tighter. "Point was proved when ya came on my dick the first time."
"I'm—" You answered, trying to squirm, but his arms kept you from moving. "I'm just saying! You didn't have to be such an asshole..."
"Y'started it," he shot back before he shifted behind you, and suddenly, he moved you both once more, back down on the scratchy blanket, your naked skin scraping against it. Daryl then leaned down over you again, trapping you with his body, but that made you angry again.
"Y'shoulda've just asked for it from the start. Woulda saved us both the helluva trouble that ya are."
You tried to kick him somehow, but your leg flopped back uselessly onto the floor. "Go to hell already, Daryl."
"Told ya. 'M already there." He didn't even try to deny it.
You opened your mouth to respond, to call him every name you could think of, but he was faster. His head dropped, and his teeth were finding the already bruised skin of your neck again. Gasping, that sharp bite of his was silencing you instantly while he was kneeling between your legs, and when he pulled back, his eyes were still focused only on you—the bite marks on your shoulder, the sweat on your stomach, and the trail of his cum on your inner thighs.
That's when you saw it. Daryl's one hand was moving past your face, searching for your discarded panties from the tangle of clothes on the floor. He held them up, letting you look at them, before bringing them to his mouth, putting the fabric between his teeth, his blue eyes locked on yours.
"What are you doing?" You asked, trying to sound defiant but only managing to sound confused but ever so curious.
He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned back down lower over you.
What the hell was he doing now? And what exactly was he about to do next?
You found out a second later. Daryl's other hand, the fingers still wet from playing with your clit, moved down your throat next. You thought he was going to touch you there again, to tease you further. But he didn't. His hand slid slowly down your body, right to the sticky wetness on your inner thighs. You felt his fingers, two of them, press against your pussy.
And they didn't tease. They pushed inside you in one move, burying themselves deep.
It was an overwhelming feeling. Daryl's fingers inside you, pushing his own cum deeper, stretching you open all over.
"Feel that?" Daryl growled, the words muffled around the fabric in his mouth as his fingers pumped into you once, twice… several times, making you moan and squirm. "Makin' sure it takes... That it stays in ya."
"Stop—" you begged, but it was a lie, and he knew it. Your body was arching into his touch, your hips making tiny, helpless circles. "Stop… talking like that."
Before you could even form another reasonable thought, his fingers slid out of you, dripping and wet. Your mouth fell open, but he didn't give you the chance. His hand moved to your face, and those same two wet fingers pressed against your lips, making you stare up at him in shock until he tilted his head ever so slightly.
For a second, you resisted with wide eyes, your lips pressed shut in a rather pathetic attempt, thinking you could escape this. Him.
Hesitantly, your tongue darted out, tasting yourself and his cum on his fingers. Then, driven by the shiver that went through your whole body, you opened your mouth and took his fingers in, sucking them clean.
Leaning in closer to you, not to kiss you, but to bury his face against your chest, his nose was brushing along your tits, watching as your nipples hardened again, so close to his lips where he still held your panties between them. But Daryl continued to only watch, though his own breathing was already growing heavier again.
When he was truly satisfied, he slowly pulled his fingers away from your mouth with a soft, wet pop. Still holding your gaze, he dragged those now-clean fingers down your chin until he finally leaned back, pulling the panties from his teeth with his other hand.
"Told ya t'shut yer mouth," he said, his voice rough but still amused. "Now y'know how. And y'ain't bored no more, are ya?"
Daryl's eyes immediately dropped from your face to between your legs. He still held your panties in one hand, looking at them, then back at your pussy, so wet and only his.
With a grunt, he shifted down your body, and you thought he was going to fuck you again, making you tense up in anticipation. But he didn't. He only moved lower until his head was between your thighs, his strong shoulders pushing your legs apart.
"What are you—" You started, but the words died in your throat when he buried his face in your pussy, his mouth letting go of your panties.
It was a rough press of his lips and tongue against it, making you cry out when his tongue licked through the mess as it still leaked out of you. The feeling was so shocking that your hands flew to his hair, not knowing whether to push him away or hold him there forever.
"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hips bucking slightly off the blanket. "God…"
He growled against you, the sound a clear command for you to be still. His hands came up to grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you open for him before his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it, trying to clean you out, or at least you thought so.
Then you felt it. The fabric of your panties. Daryl had balled them up in one of his fists and was now pressing them against your pussy with his thumb. His mouth then worked your clit, his tongue circling it, but his thumb was there, trying to push the fabric into you.
The shock of it—the feeling of the fabric—made your body seize up. Your legs, acting on pure instinct, clamped shut around Daryl's head, trapping him there and making him curse against your clit. He struggled for a moment, his shoulders bunching, but you held him tight between your thighs. For you, it was a stupid and powerless attempt to stop whatever was happening, an embarrassing move to get back some tiny bit of control.
To no avail, it all just lasted a few seconds.
With a snarl, Daryl ripped his head free, coming up over you fast. His face was wet and his eyes wild. Before you could even take a breath, one hand was around your throat again, not to choke but to hold you still, to force you to look at him.
"Tryna suffocate me, huh?" He asked, his breath hot against your face. "That what ya wanna try now?"
You shook your head, the tone of your voice only a desperate whisper. "No… I just… Look—"
The next thing you knew was that his mouth was on yours again.
This kiss was different. You could taste yourself on Daryl's lips, on his tongue—it was the taste of what he'd just done to you, and he was forcing you to share it. Moaning into his mouth, your hands, which had been in his hair only moments before, now clawed at his back, pulling him closer.
He kissed you like he was trying to win a fight all over again, his tongue moving against yours, stealing your breath and your sanity. All the while, his other hand—the one not holding your throat—was still busy.
It was almost embarrassing when you felt the fabric of your panties again, pressed against your pussy. Daryl broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged.
"Gonna plug ya up," he whispered with a smirk. "Keep my cum inside ya where it belongs. 'Til we get back inside. Ain't gonna waste a drop."
Your eyes widened. "Daryl, you can't—"
His hand tightened on your throat, just a little, cutting off your response. "Can… 'M doin' it already."
And then he pushed.
The feeling of your panties was a strange pressure, not like his cock or his fingers. It was dry against your wetness, feeling so unnatural, but Daryl worked only a tiny part of it into you with two fingers, shoving the fabric not too deep but still stuffing you with your own underwear.
It felt wrong.
It felt insane.
It felt so fucking good, you thought you might come again from the sheer wrongness of it.
Daryl pushed until a small part of your panties was deep enough inside you, and he held his fingers there for a moment, feeling your pussy clench around it, watching your reaction closely.
"There," he smirked as he slowly pulled his fingers away, leaving the plug of fabric behind. "Now y'ain't leakin' all over the damn place. 'N yer gonna keep that in 'til we get back."
He finally released your throat, his hand coming down to move along your waist, almost tenderly if you ignored the fact that he'd just stuffed your pussy with your own panties.
Every tiny shift of your hips, every clench of your pussy, reminded you it was there. Reminded you of Daryl. His cum that he'd left behind.
Then he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear one last time.
"Shift's almost over," he whispered. "Get yer ass dressed."
That was all he said when he stood back up, adjusting himself once more, only to grab his crossbow in silence. And of course, a nasty little voice whispered in your head…
What did you expect? He got what he wanted. You were just a distraction from the boredom.
The Daryl who had just owned every inch of your body, who had whispered into your skin, and who came inside you earlier was gone. In his place was the grunting hunter, already turning his back to you. There was the quiet statue again, the brick wall.
The feeling of shame came back. Daryl had gotten what he wanted, and now he was done. You were just… Hershel Greene's middle daughter again. The one he'd fucked on a dirty blanket.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pushed yourself up as well. Your body felt used, sore in places you didn't know could be sore. But every movement sure was a reminder. The scrape of the blanket on your bare skin, the bite marks on your shoulder, and most of all, the strange pressure deep inside you. Your panties.
Moving quietly, with your legs buckling as you reached for your clothes, every step you took as you gathered your bra and shirt, as well as the discarded rifle, felt awkward. But pulling your pants on was the actual, and new, kind of torture. The fabric rubbed against the panties sticking out of you, creating a feeling that was anything but comfortable. It made you walk with a slight, awkward hitch in your step, making you squirm in a way you couldn't control, almost making you let go of the rifle.
Daryl heard you dressing up, but he didn't turn, though you saw the way his head tilted a bit, listening to your unsteady movements and fumbling with the weapon.
A while later, you both went down the watchtower in silence, and the second your boots hit the ground of the prison yard, he was moving, not waiting for you, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.
You followed, trying to walk normally, but the panties shifted now and then with the motion, a maddening friction that made it impossible to forget what he'd done. You still felt part of his cum, warm and trapped, the fabric holding it all in.
Suddenly, Daryl stopped. He must have heard the frustrated sigh you let out, but he didn't turn around and just stood there, waiting for you to catch up. When you were a step behind him, his hand shot back, not to grab yours, but to shove you forward a little.
It made you let out a cry of shock, with you jumping a foot in the air at the sudden contact.
"Quit squirmin'," he growled at your reaction and kept walking as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, with your pussy slightly pulsing around the fabric inside you.
Hurrying to get inside, to clean yourself up and to pretend nothing ever happened, you were quickly falling into step beside him this time, forcing your legs to move as normally as you could manage. Just as you reached the threshold of the main door to the C-Block, putting the rifle down, his hand shot out again. But this time, it wasn't him grabbing your arm. His fingers hooked into the back belt loop of your pants, yanking you to a stop just outside the circle of light from the inside of the prison. You stumbled back against his chest with another small, surprised gasp.
"Yer walkin' funny, Greene," he growled quietly into your ear. "Like ya got a damn stick up yer ass."
Your face turned red, and you didn't really know how to answer. "I told you, just go to hell!"
"And I—" He started, but you cut him off with a glare.
"I swear to God… If you say that 'you're already there,' I will—" You didn't even try to finish your sentence, shaking your head in annoyance.
Before you could react, Daryl's other hand came around your front, his hand moving down flat and low on your belly as he pulled you back against him. He held you there for one endless, heart-stopping second. And his hand moved. It was so fast, so casual, how he reached down and touched you between the legs, his palm pressing against the seam of your pants, right over your pussy.
Your eyes opened wide, looking around the empty yard, terrified someone might be watching anyway, somehow.
But Daryl just held his hand there, feeling the slight bulge of the fabric inside you.
"Still there… Still mine."
The words were simple, but they made you shiver.
Suddenly, his body shifted again. His hips pressed against your ass, grinding and pushing you against the cold door in front of you. He held you there, not caring if someone might come out, letting you feel his belt buckle just like he did in the watchtower, as well as the undeniable strength of him.
Letting you feel that he was, unmistakably, already hard again for you.
Then, as suddenly as he'd pinned you, he pulled back, one hand grabbing his crossbow while his other hand moved from your body to the handle of the door, pulling it open for you, like all the times he'd done it before.
Quickly taking the rifle back off the ground, you walked inside, your legs shaking and your face still burning. You didn't even dare look back at him anymore. But as you headed towards your cell, the strange, full feeling between your legs felt like a secret only the two of you shared, and you knew one thing for certain now...
Daryl Dixon was nowhere near done with you. And despite everything, a terrified but also excited part of you hoped he never would be.
hii i just wanted to say your writing is so so good and is keeping my love for writing him alive 💜
thank you SOSOSOSO much this means the world to me!! i know i haven’t been super active lately in terms of writing because i just get in these slumps where everything feels hard and i’m just so unmotivated, BUT i promise i still check this account every day and i have plenty of drafts, so i will be back!!
need a part 2 of sweet scent with pervy daryl trying to explain it to you but you couldn't get it cuz you'd never done anything like it so he says he's gonna show you how good it feels and has to muffle your screams so no one in the house hears you as his cock practically splits your tiny cunt in half and he uses his thumb to rub ur clit to try and make u relax.........
I'm crazy but I'm free
masterlist and other infos || MDNI
sweet scent pt2.
perv!daryl x innocent!fem!reader
summary: after getting caught sniffing your panties by you, daryl persuades you into giving your precious virginity away to him while your dad's just in the next room.
warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl's is in late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18 [or older, it's up to you]), 18+ smut, praising, dubcon? (reader lacks enthusiastic consent at first and daryl has to do some convincing), panty gagging, p-in-v, blowjobs, cunnilingus, masturbation, manipulation, petnames, daddy kink, orgasm denial, mentions of dumbification, mentions of degradation.
word count: 6.2k
a/n: the following content contains some extreme fetishes and kinks that some readers might find disturbing, so if you're not comfortable with any of those, please do not proceed. click here to read part 1.
<previous chapter>
[...] His movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. He sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. He opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.
Then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...
You. Standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.
"U-uncle Daryl?"
---
Shit.
You definitely weren't what Daryl expected to see when he opened his eyes, the remains of his freshly busted nut all over his hand and his cock out, fully on display. For a good 5 seconds, he just freezed, completely unsure of what to do. But then, it hit him. He freaked out.
His eyes got as big as they possibly could and he immediately pulled his cock in his pants back again, clumsily trying to regain his composure, taking a little longer than usual due to his nervousness. Meanwhile, you just stood there with an unreadable expression. You didn't look exactly shocked, or angry, or anything like it. You looked strangely curious, with your head slightly tilted to the side.
Daryl shook his hand to get rid of some of his essence that was still sticking to it and then rubbed it on the side of his pants, on the hip area. Still not capable of looking you in the eyes, he quickly glanced at your frame and finally broke the awkward silence.
“Y/N? W-What'r'ya doin' here?” Stuttering was very unusual for Daryl, considering that although he was a man of very few words, he was always very direct and precise with them. Maybe playing it cool as if you hadn't just caught him in the act was the way out of that unpleasant situation.
“Well...” You let out a small chuckle and took a step closer to him. “This is my room.” His awkward smile immediately faded away.
“Oh, uh... I was jus’...” He looked around the room, searching for anything to use as an excuse for being there. But before he could start, you interrupted him.
“I didn't leave with the others, daddy told me to stay here to take care of you. He's in his room.” Your sweet girly voice had a way of calming Daryl, making him a bit more relaxed despite the current scenario and the shame he was feeling. But at the same time, just hearing you enunciate that one little word 'daddy' had him taking a deep breath to control his urges and not have another erection right there and then. You said that so innocently, because, well, it was in fact innocent since you referred to your actual father Hershel, but still, Daryl's twisted mind made it sound suggestive in his head.
“Take care'a me?” He pondered. Daryl wondered why your reaction was so calm considering what you had just witnessed. Maybe you didn't see much.
“You know, somebody's gotta change your bandage.” You smiled and pointed to his head that still had the bandage around it. “Actually, can you step to the side a bit? So I can...” You gestured to the dressing table behind him. He didn't say anything and just did as you said, moving to the side a little so you could approach the piece of furniture. In that moment, Daryl was the definition of what they call a standoffish.
“I was expecting to find you in your bed, resting. As you should, uncle Daryl.” Your voice carried a hint of playfulness along with a sincere worry. But the way you called him uncle for the second time that day gave him mixed sensations. He wasn't sure if he was aroused or weirded out by it. Or both.
You extended your hand, meaning to pull the drawer open to collect the items needed to change his bandage, which included the gauze, antiseptic wipes, medical tapes, sterile dressing and other kinds of medical stuff your dad had taught you how to handle, but you had to stop your hand midway when you noticed a white slimy thing dripping down the furnishing.
He followed your eyes, noticing how stared at the liquid. The farmer's sweet young daughter had just noticed the results of Daryl's arousal while it coated the dressing table. His mind started rushing with apprehension, you could tell your dad and everyone else how much of a perverted old man Daryl actually was, and he could be kicked out of the group, being left alone in the woods to fend for himself. It's not that he wasn't capable to make it on his own, but his family was important to him, he didn't wanna lose them over that type of thing that could change the way they looked at him forever.
“What's this?” You bended your knees a little, leaning forward and squinting your eyes to take a better look at the unknown substance. Now, you had completely forgotten the reason why you came into that room that was changing his bandage. Daryl lifted one of his eyebrows out of confusion. Did you really not know what that was? If that was the case, it kind of made sense.
Of course. Living on a farm far from the city, you had a close-knit relationship with your family in a way that they were pretty much all the people you would interact with. You had never had boyfriends, or kissed, or anything remotely romantic like that due to your dad's overprotectiveness, after all, you were his youngest daughter. All you knew about the existence of sexual stuff had been taught by him, when he mainly warned you about the terrible consequences of that type of action and that you had to stay innocent.
You didn't really know what he meant by all that, since he was very vague in his descriptions about sex. Hershel just used to say that there were certain areas on your body that you should never let a boy get near and you knew better than to disobey your father's orders, being aware that he always knew what was best for you. Not even your own hands had ever darted down your body to meet those spots more than once or twice before quickly pulling away. You wanted to remain innocent, whatever that meant.
But Daryl was the observant type, and he quickly caught up that you knew nothing about that type of thing. He knew you had always lived in that farm, away from the perverted hands of boys your age (or older like him) so connecting the dots wasn't tricky at all.
Oh, the things he could show you. That thought alone brought a somewhat creepy smirk to Daryl's face as he stared into the wall, contemplating the opportunity he had in hands to finally have his way with you. He knew he still had to be careful though.
“Daryl?” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. You turned your head to look at him before turning your entire body to face him. Your gaze was curious.
“This?” He motioned with his chin towards the dripping substance on the piece of furniture, looking out of place. “Ya don'... know wha' it is?” He double checked, wanting to make sure you were actually unfamiliar erotic nature of what you saw him doing.
“Well, I saw where it came from.” You revealed, not sounding accusing at all, just simply stating a fact.
“...How long 've ya been watchin' me?” He asked with an almost audible gulp. Though he was considerably excited about teaching you all that new stuff, he was still unsure if he should or not. It'd been so long since his last sexual interaction with someone else that he could barely remember it. And doing it with the daughter of the man that gave him a roof to put over his head in times like these? That was risky.
“A while.” You stated. Now, Daryl could notice how you started staring at his crotch area with a renewed sense of interest. That meant you had definitely seen his dick despite his efforts to hide it when he first got caught just moments ago. He wondered if you knew what it was or its purpose.
You stepped even closer to him and he couldn't help but step back slightly. “I've never seen somebody pee like that. Are you... Sick?” You raise an eyebrow. “The bathroom's just in the next room, you know...” Your worried tone was awfully adorable to Daryl. And well, he was indeed sick, but not in the way you meant it. Nonetheless, the amusing way you mistook his semen for urine made him share a light chuckle.
“Nah, tha's... Tha's not piss.” He bluntly let out. You walked across your room and over to your bed, sitting on its edge. Daryl followed you until he was standing in front of you. He crossed his arms.
“How so?” You tilted your head to the side with a sincere curiosity displayed on your face. You had seen the way he rubbed that one thing of his that you weren't sure how it worked until that slimy liquid started oozing out of it, deeply stimulating your curiosity.
“Ya sure ya wanna know?” His tone sounded more dark and his voice turned hoarser, however, that didn't seem to faze you. You nodded frantically. “Aigh', i'll show ya.” Once again, a smirk creeped onto his face. Your eyes were all sparkly as you attentively listened to him. “Sometimes people touch themselves ta feel good, ya know?” You shrugged, not really sure of what he was talking about.
As he spoke, he took light and slow steps towards you, like a predator preparing to hunt its prey, until his knees was almost touching yours. “Ya ever touched yerself, darlin'?” Despite the raspiness in his voice, it was now rather calm, with a surge of some sweetness to it.
“Like how?” You asked.
“Like here...” He extended his hand with a gentle movement, his finger tracing a path from the valley between your breasts down to your bellybutton. The slightly ticklish sensation made you flinch a little. Then, his finger continued making its way down to your lower belly, stopping inches above your clothed pussy. “'N here...”
Your breath hissed, and you started remembering how your dad told you those parts were sacred and shouldn't be touched by anyone, no matter who. The uncertainty was obvious in your face as you discreetly pushed his hand away. “Uncle Daryl...”
“Ya can call me jus' Daryl, sweetheart. 'M yer friend, remember?” He tried his best to sound convincing.
“Yes, Daryl...” You corrected yourself with an awkward chuckle. “I... I think I shouldn't.” You avert your gaze from his.
“Why not? Dontcha wanna know wha' it's like?” He leaned in a little closer, resting his hands on your thighs. You made a motion to try to push him away again, but he insisted on his touch. “Don' be scared, doll. 'M not gunna hurt ya. Quite the opposite.” He smirked while practically whispering the last part, making sure to sound extra coaxing.
You weren't really sure what you were afraid of, exactly. You just knew that you wanted to make your father happy and proud of you, since he'd always been so caring towards you and your family. In the end, you just wanted daddy's approval.
“I'm... I'm not sure. I don't know, it doesn't feel right.” You confessed, your voice filled with worry. Daryl knew how to be intimidating when he wanted to.
“'S okay, doll.” He spoke the way one would speak to a puppy. And giving you no time to protest, he used one of his hands to tug at the hem of your white tank top and pulled it up in one go, revealing your bare tits to him. He bit his lips, noticing you weren't wearing a bra. As quick as he did so, you felt so ashamed of your sudden nudity that you lifted your arms up to try to cover yourself up from his hungry eyes. “D-Daryl...”
“Shhhh...” He shushed you against your ear, making shivers run down your spine. Although you were uncertain, the way he spoke to you made certain parts of your body warm up, an unusual sensation for you. “Ya got such pretty tits... Ya shouldn't hide 'em away from me.” As he said that, he gently grabbed one of your breasts, giving it the slightest squeeze not to startle you. You couldn't help but let out a small squeak at the unfamiliar sensation. Weirdly enough, it felt good in a way you had never felt before.
“Ya like tha'?” He whispered. “It's nice, but... Daddy wouldn't like that. I just wanna make daddy happy.” You just wanted to be a good girl. Perhaps, you could find a different way of doing that.
“Yeah?” He muttered practically to himself as he got an idea. “Well, I can be yer daddy for today. Like tha', ya could make yer daddy happy in a way. Yer jus' gotta lemme lead ya, aigh'?” He didn't feel guilty in the slightest for making you engage in one of his twisted fetishes while you were barely aware of it.
“H-huh?" You were uncertain about the reason behind his suggestion.
“Ya can pretend 'm yer daddy.” He continued playing her mind. You weren't really sure if you liked the idea to depict him as your old man, but you tried to convince yourself to play along.
“But... What will he think of me when he finds out?” You fidgeted with your fingers. Meanwhile his grip on your breast continued to intimidate you.
“He don' have ta know. C'mon, dontcha wanna make daddy happy?” He conveyed in a hush against your ear, his thumb now grazing your sensitive nipple, making you feel that one funny sensation again. You couldn't help but lean into his touch.
You closed your eyes, darting your tongue out to lick your lips. The nervousness in you due to the newness of it all made your lips dry. The way Daryl was making you feel was curious, and you just wanted more of it. He took your silence as a confirmation.
“Good girl.” He cooed before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, very gently sucking on it. The feeling made you arch your back instantly.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
You just wanted to be a good girl. And if following Daryl's lead was a way to do it, you were all in for it. Your senses awakened as a cascade of unfamiliar yet electrifying sensations coursed through you, a dance of pleasure that tingled on your skin. In that moment, a subtle warmth enveloped you, as if you had discovered a secret realm of bliss previously unknown.
You reached for his head, the feeling of your delicate fingernails scratching against his scalp and pulling him closer sent tingling sensations all over his body. Instinctively, you slightly opened your legs at the pleasure and that drew a smirk onto Daryl's face.
“Eager fer daddy, huh?” The way he referred to himself like that made a faint blush spread across your cheeks, although you couldn't wrap your head around the reason why. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.
“I need ya to trust me, 'kay?” He said as he pulled your shorts down and then tossed them aside, revealing your white cotton panties. Once again, you felt to urge to hide, not knowing how to deal with someone else seeing you naked for the first time. But before your legs could involuntarily close, his big hands groped your thighs, keeping them spread apart. “'S okay, sunshine.” He practically manhandled you, gently but firmly pushing your body downward so you rested you back on the mattress.
The new position made you feel strangely vulnerable, but it wasn't exactly a bad feeling. Your doe eyes had a mix of unsureness and curiosity as they meet his. Sensing the mixed sensations within you, Daryl leaned in to place a small peck on your plush lips, aiming to make you more comfortable. The feeling of his rough lips against your soft ones so suddenly almost made you flinch, but they felt rather inviting. As he pulled back, a confident smirk could be seen displayed on his face.
The archer's rugged fingers traveled their way down your body once again until they found the soft fabric of your panties, making your breath hiss. He brushed his index and middle fingers against your clothed pussy lips. Just with that, the dampness was so obvious that a small wet spot could be seen on the cotton fabric right where your slit would be. He dragged his fingers across it until they reached your clit.
“This lil spot righ' here...” He kept his hand there. “...is magical." For now, he just added a small pressure, testing the waters and watching close to your reaction, but that was enough to draw a whimper from you, the unknown sensation making you grasp his forearm. It indeed felt magical. You bit your lips and though you couldn't see it, Daryl shared a satisfied smile at the way he was able to get you all hot and bothered with just a simple touch.
Your legs squirmed a bit and he took that as a good sign, so he continued. Now, he started slowly rubbing your clit in circular motions over the fabric of your panties. Your back arched again, and you accidentally let out a dangerously loud moan.
“Nuh-uh.” He brought his other index finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be quiet. “Ya gotta be quiet, ya hear me?” His tone was mostly reprimanding, which strangely excited you. You nodded, enjoying the authority he guided you with through those new sensations. You had touched yourself there before, but never like that. The sensation always felt somewhat wrong, but with Daryl, it was totally different.
You were still kind of upset at yourself for disobeying your dad, but the way Daryl worked his fingers so skillfully had you seeing stars. You never thought you'd be handing out your innocence for some old redneck you met just a while ago, but there you were, completely given to him.
In the beginning, Daryl used to always kind of avoid you, despite your attempts of trying to get to know at least a little bit about the mysterious archer. He knew that deep down, those desires towards you were always there, since the very first time he saw you. At first, he tried to brush them off, but now, all he wanted was to be the one to feel your tight virgin cunt for the first time.
In a swift motion, his big hands tugged at the hem of your underwear. “Up.” He ordered, gesturing for you to lift your hips so he could pull them down. You didn't argue at all and promptly did as he said, reveling in the control he had over you. It was like he dominated your weak mind. “Good girl.” He cooed once again. Oh, if only he knew what that did to your little inexperienced pussy.
After tossing the piece of fabric aside, he reached for you knees, gently spreading them apart. The sight of your glistening bare cunt had his mind rushing through all the things he could do to it. He wondered if he would be able to hold himself back and be gentle or if he would end up losing control. After all, he hadn't done anything like that in such a long time that his whole body was aching for it. He stared at it in an almost scary way, you'd never seen his eyes so hungry.
If his cock hadn't awaken until that moment, now it was hard as a fucking rock. He had to really fight the urges to pull it out his pants and dick you down right there and then, but he knew he had to take it easy on you at least for now and get you nice and ready for him, even though you were already visibly dripping wet.
“Is this all fer me?” His tone was almost mocking. You weren't sure what he meant by that, not fully understanding the concept of natural lubrication, but you just nodded with your eyes closed. Something about being in that position felt so right, so freeing that it had you wondering why you never did that before, and why you were so afraid of trying it in the first place.
Daryl's hands sensually traced their way down your body, exploring your every contour until they reached the back of your thighs, pushing them back until your wet cunt was all over his face. He tried his best to control himself, but his own arousal was practically taking over his mind, so he buried his face on it like a starving man. As soon as his wet tongue made contact with your sensitive little clit and he lapped at your abundant juices, you immediately gasped, gaining a look of disapproval from Daryl.
“I warned ya.” That was all he mumbled before taking your panties he had just took off you and sticking them into your mouth almost aggressively. You could taste yourself on the white fabric, and although it felt strange, it turned you on even more. Now, your little sounds were muffled by the piece of clothing as he resumed eating you out, flicking his tongue on hour clit and burying it between your folds. You never thought a feeling like that could actually exist as you experienced that overwhelming rush of pleasure, a novel sensation coursing through you sending shivers down your spine as a delightful warmth enveloped your entire being. You tried your best to hold back your sounds since your dad was home and could hear you if you slipped, but Daryl's skilled tongue and lips made it an extremely difficult task, even with your panties stuck in your mouth.
He continued working your clit with his mouth, and maybe a little sooner than it should, a tingling sensation forming in your lower belly caught your attention. Daryl noticed the obvious shift in your demeanor and took the panties out of your mouth so you could speak. “D-daddy...” You experimented the honorific he had previously suggested. “I-I feel funny.” You whimpered, squirming a bit harder than before as it started feeling as if you were gonna burst at any moment. Daryl smirked against your skin and gave your pussy a last peck before pulling away, making you whine in disapproval. It had only been seconds but you immediately missed the sensation. You craved it.
“Not yet, sweetheart.” He said. Not yet what, you wondered. But you still wanted to be good for him, so you nodded as the good girl you were. You couldn't think of anything you wouldn't do for him in that moment, considering how desperate you were to feel that pleasure again.
Your curious eyes followed his hands as they reached to unbuckled his own belt, setting it aside. He undid his pants and pulled them down just enough to reveal his boxer briefs to you. There. There was the place where you saw that sticky white thing shooting out from. Now, the excitement in you was unbearable as you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch his movements closely. Your eyes visibly lighted up and that didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.
“Yer gunna love this, lil' girl.” He bit his lips. Something was very obviously bulging in his boxers, which you found odd since it didn't seem to look so obvious when it was in his pants even though now it looked so big. Either way, you were completely drawn to it. You glued your eyes to his crotch while he pulled his underwear down.
You had heard about it, but you had never actually seen one of those before. In the aftermath of the apocalypse, his pubic hair had grown wild and untamed, a reflection of the makeshift survival and the absence of the once routine grooming practices. Not that he used to care a lot about that kind of thing before the outbreak. In a way, you thought it looked charming, suiting his rugged looks and personality.
You could feel your mouth starting to water at the sight of his cock standing tall and proud in front of you. Since the archer had touched his mouth to your cunt, you wondered if you could do the same to him in that same area on his body. As if he could smell your thoughts, he brought a hand to your head, gently pulling you closer to his crotch while he held it by the base.
“Ya wanna have a taste?” He slyly suggested and chuckled at your frantic nodding. Leaning closer to it, you felt the musky and raw scent that emanated from it, which made you even more drawn to the possibilities that ran through your mind. But at the same time, you didn't know what to do or how to handle it.
Bringing his hand to his mouth, he collected some saliva from it and rubbed the wetness on the tip of his cock to lubricate it. “Gimme yer hand.” He reached out his hand, and instantly you complied, allowing him to direct it towards his cock. He enveloped your hand around it, keeping his atop yours, slowly starting to move it up and down. It felt warm and hard against your soft fingers, and the way he threw his head back and quietly groaned made your stomach churn with butterflies. “Fuck baby, tha' feels good.” He had to whisper due to the dangerous presence of your dad in the house threatening to put your little playtime to an end.
You smiled proudly at yourself. You liked the way he sounded and you wished to draw more of those grunts from his lips. And Daryl, being just as eager as you, removed your hand from his length, holding it by the base. His other hand found its way to the back of your head, his touch almost feeling impatient as he pulled you closer to his cock. “Open yer mouth.” He didn't have to tell you twice. Therefore, he guided his swollen tip to your awaiting tongue, smearing his salty pre-cum all over it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back any compromising sounds.
Your lips instinctively closed around his tip, trying to mimic the way he sucked on your clit, aiming to make him feel as good as he previously did to you. The act not only gave him pleasure, but it also brought you a deep sense of satisfaction, making you hum against his sensitive skin. The vibrations from your vocal chords sent a chill through his body and he couldn't hold back this time, the warm sensation of your mouth being so tempting and promising that he pushed his hips forward a bit too much, causing it to hit the back of your throat and you to gag on it.
He immediately retracted his body, removing his cock from the velvety confines of your mouth. Your eyes got a little watery but you smiled either way. “Sorry, princess.” He said with a hint of awkwardness in his voice.
“It's fine, I liked it.” You confess, looking up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, sitting at the edge of the bed while he stood in front of you. Your innocent expression contrasting with the dirty nature of your encounter made him impossibly hornier, and he didn't feel like waiting any longer. “Fuck” He almost whined. Eagerness to feel you wrapping around him filled his body, so he grabbed you by the arms, not too rough so he wouldn't hurt you, and put on your feet against the pink wall of your room.
He brought a hand to your head, pressing it against the wall. You gasped a little at his roughness but soon you felt him brushing the tip of his cock on your slicky slit and clit. “'S gunna feel good, I promise.” He mumbled against your ear, making your body hair stand on end. The sensation had you biting your lips to try and not make any sounds, but your efforts were proven useless as you felt the pressure of his tip carefully going in your cunt, causing a burning sensation and you accidentally let out a loud cry.
Daryl's hand went immediately to your mouth, forcefully pressing his palm against your lips to muffle your sounds, your dad shouldn't hear Daryl using his sweet daughter in his own home after all. “Shhh, shhh.” He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head for a moment. You wrapped around him so tight even though he only had his tip in yet that he couldn't restrain himself from pushing his hips forward a little more, intensifying the burning sensation while he stretched your virgin cunt out.
“'S okay, ya can take it.” In that moment, you were confused at why he was making you feel so good just a moment ago, and now he's ripping your little pussy apart. But even though it hurt, it was somewhat pleasant to feel so full in such a new way, so you stuck your ass towards him, inviting him in. While still keeping his hand pressed on your mouth, he brought his other one to your hips, gripping them a little too tight.
Without warnings, he buried his entire length in you in one swift motion, filling you up to the brim and worsening the burning to a whole new level. The only thing that kept you from letting out a scream at the sudden invasion was his hand muffling your pathetic sounds and the fact that you'd be in deep trouble if your dad found out about that, but even so, Daryl couldn't help but quietly grunt at the intense sensation. He didn't know he missed fucking a warm cunt so badly until he was completely inhumed inside you. “Good girl. Yer being so good fer daddy.” He praised you. His words had an immediate effect on you, making your pussy even wetter, if that was even possible.
You didn't even care if it hurt or not anymore, so you just stood there, caught in the paradox of sensation — a mix of pain and pleasure etched across your face. The twinge felt like a sweet ache, and yet, an irresistible allure pulled her deeper into the experience, as if the discomfort held a hidden charm that she couldn't resist exploring.
Despite the pain, you found herself oddly drawn to the sensation, craving more as if the discomfort carried an inexplicable appeal that kept you coming back for another taste. So you slightly wiggled your ass against Daryl's body, moving his cock a little inside you. The feeling of being stretched out had you desperate for more.
Daryl's warm breath hit your ear as he let out a light-hearted laugh at your reaction, sending delicious goosebumps all over your body. His hips started going back and forth to meet yours in a sensual dance. He tried to be gentle at first, but your virgin cunt was just so wet and warm that he couldn't help it but succumb to his primal desires. “Jus' like tha', princess. Take this fat cock.” He whispered loud enough so only you could hear, making you weak in the knees.
His calloused hand let go of your hips to find your clit, starting to rub it with just the right pressure to make you squirm under his touch. The mixed sensations of intense pleasure and pain confusing your brain, making you melt like putty in his hands. Overwhelming waves of pleasure surged through you, leaving your head blissfully empty as if every thought had been swept away by the sheer intensity of the sensation, which was exactly what Daryl wanted, to turn you into a brainless little fucktoy for him.
If a few months ago somebody told you that you'd be letting some perverted older man take advantage of you in your own room, you would've laughed right in their face. Giving your innocence away to anybody used to feel like such a distant reality, and now there you were, pressed against the wall by Daryl's sweaty body while he mercilessly pounded your no longer virgin cunt, making you experience the most pleasurable pain you could ever feel.
As he continued bucking his hips like a desperate animal, you drooled against his hand, your brain now reduced to putty due to the overpowering sensation that dominated your every sense. “Nngh...” Your muffled moans stirred an even deeper desire within Daryl, turning him as primal as one could be. Your body language made it obvious that you were close to your orgasm, and this time, he didn't plan to deny you of it.
But you had never experienced something like that. You didn't know pleasure could get so extreme that could made you burst, so as the sensation built and grew stronger, it also made you unsure about where it was taking you, and you tried to fight the feeling. Daryl's skilled fingers working your clit only threw you even closer to the edge and you felt like your legs could fail at any moment.
Noticing the shift in your demeanor, he muttered against your ear. “Jus' let it go, baby. Trust me, don' hold it.” His tone was strangely sweet considering what you were both up to, but his encouraging words relaxed you a little, and as he intensified the rubbing on your clit, you knew you wouldn't be able to hold it in not even if you wanted to, whatever it was.
Then, it hit you. An entirely unfamiliar and intense sensation washed over you, catching you off guard. It felt like uncharted emotional and physical territory, leaving you completely stunned, wide-eyed, and grappling with the unexpected intensity of the experience, something that almost made you mad at your dad from convincing you of staying away from it for so long.
Daryl had to intensify the pressure of his hand against your lips, but even so, he wasn't able to muffle your cries completely as your body convulsed and you were sure you lost consciousness for a few seconds. “Good girl, cum for me.” You didn't know what that word meant, but considering the situation, you understood that it probably had something to do with the new type of pleasure you just experienced.
As the orgasmic sensation slowly faded away, it was replaced with an even more overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. You squirmed even harder and you swore you could cry if he continued using your cunt like that, not giving you any breaks to catch your breath. You'd been turned into a whimpering and drooling mess, a total slut for his cock. You wanted him to have his way with you and you knew that if he wanted to, you'd let him fuck you all day without arguing.
The intense clenching of your tight pussy around his length initiated his own orgasm, and now it was his turn to experience the compelling feeling of being right on the edge of pleasure. “Fuck, turn 'round." He desperately voiced, but he didn't even waited for you before decisively grasping your shoulders, swiftly turning you to face him. As he did so, he removed his cock from inside you and stroked it hard and fast for a few seconds with just enough pressure to make himself burst.
Your mesmerized eyes watched as the pleasure took over his body. And now, it all made sense as he started shooting his load aiming right on your bare pussy, just as he was doing earlier today when you first caught him in your room. The warm sticky substance coated your cunt and it was so much that it felt like it would never end, leaving you astonished. You couldn't help but smile at the sight before you.
You two stared into each other's eyes while desperately trying to catch your breaths, sharing a small chuckle and satisfied smiles. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead and now, you knew who to come up to when you feel that funny feeling in your lower belly again. You knew Daryl had what it took to take care of your needs.
Without saying anything else, he pulled his briefs and pants back up again, adjusting his clothes. Then, he reached for his pocket, pulling out those panties he had stolen earlier and putting them on you again, leaving his load smeary and sticking to your skin. “Leave it there.” He hoarsely voiced, ordering you to walk around with his cum inside your clothes while no one else knew of it except the both of you.
“And these...” He walked over to your bed and bended his knees a little so he could reach for the white cotton panties he had tossed aside right before railing you and put them in his pocket.
“...'M gunna keep these fer later.”
a/n: omg guys the first part of sweet scent got over 1.1k notes and that's like??? insane??? tysm for all ur support, that's crazy. it was so much fun to write both parts and i'm so thankful if you read it this far!! i hope y'all have a great and happy holidays xx
pairing: contractor!joel miller x phone sex operator! reader
summary: turns out your favorite client, mr. miller, was also renovating your parents kitchen.
warnings: phone sex, MDNI 18+, needy!joel, sub!reader, masturbation, mutual masturbation, voyeurism (slight), age!gap, pinv, FINGERING, f!reader, bossy!joel, lots of dialogue, SWEATY CONSTRUCTION JOEL, dirty talk, smut with 0 plot
word count: 7,6k
a/n: just thought joel would love phone sex and had to write about it (didn’t proof read ughh!)
Joel wasn’t the kind of man who went looking for things like this. Hell, he’d barely even used his damn cell phone for more than work calls and the occasional “you need anything?” to Tommy. But work had been slow, evenings long, and his bed cold for far longer than he cared to count.
It started the way everything bad always does— by accident. He’d been working late on a kitchen remodel for an older couple across town, staying after to make sure the grout set right. When he finally packed up for the night, he was sore, tired, and just needed something to take his mind off the gnawing quiet of home.
Stopped at a corner store on the way back— needed smokes, a drink, maybe a snack. That’s when he saw it. A little card by the register. Neon pink with black print. “Lonely tonight? Call now.” The girl on the front wasn’t real— he could tell. Too glossy, too airbrushed. But the number was real. He thought. He’d shoved it in his back pocket without thinking.
That night, the house was too still. He sat in his recliner, TV on low, beer sweating on the side table, thumb rubbing over the edges of that card like it was something dangerous, giving himself a little poke at the corners. He wasn’t lonely, he told himself. Just… curious. Which was probably worse.
By the time he dialed, he already felt foolish. A grown man, calling a stranger for God knows what. He almost hung up when the ring clicked over, making him freeze with the phone hovering over his ear.
“Hello,” came a warm, easy voice. Not too high, not too sugary. Like you were smiling without even meaning to.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh… this the number from the—”
“Yes, baby,” you cut in smoothly, like you’d done this a hundred times. “Do you want me to tell you how it works, or do you want to tell me what you need tonight?”
Joel’s mouth went dry. He could hear the smile in your tone. You weren’t rushing him, weren’t fake-giggling. Just… waiting.
“Not sure,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair. “Ain’t never done this before.”
“That’s alright,” you said, and God, your voice was soft. “You can just talk to me. We’ll go slow. You can tell me what you like… or I can help you figure it out.”
Something in him— the part that had been tight and knotted for months— loosened at that. Maybe he can make this work, maybe he’d like this. Maybe he needed this.
“What do I call you?” he asked.
“You don’t have to call me anything, if you don’t want,” you said. “What do you want me to call you?”
He hasn’t done this at all. Fuck. Without even fucking thinking much of it, really, he says, “Mr. Miller.” Like he has nothing to hide. But what kind of rookie mistake was that.
“Mr. Miller,” you repeated in that same soft voice, like velvet. Seductive. Thank you.
That did something to him, the hum that left him gave him away. “Alright then,” he said slowly.
“Now, Mr. Miller… what do you like? What gets you going?”
The bluntness caught him off guard. His ears went hot. “Uh—don’t really… talk about that kinda thing.”
“You’re not used to it,” you said gently, “but you can. There’s no right or wrong answer. You can be as detailed or as vague as you want. Just… tell me something.”
Joel let out a slow breath. “Guess I like… softness.”
“Softness,” you repeated, like you were tasting the word. “You mean… the way someone talks to you? Or their body?”
He thought about it, thumb rubbing the edge of the phone. “Both.”
You hummed. “What about right now, Mr. Miller? If I were in front of you, what’s the first thing you’d notice?”
His mouth went dry. “…Your mouth.”
You let out the faintest little sigh, and Joel felt it low in his gut. “Would you touch me?”
“Yeah,” he said before he could think. He hadn’t even seen you. But fuck.
“How?”
His throat bobbed. “Gentle. At first.”
You smiled in your voice. “At first.”
There was a pause, and Joel swore the silence was heavy with something that wasn’t just talk. You let it stretch before asking, “What are you doing right now?”
Joel shifted in his chair, heat prickling the back of his neck. “…Think you know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
He huffed a laugh, low and self-conscious. “Touchin’ myself.”
“Mm. That’s good. Think about my mouth, then. Think about me on my knees for you.”
Joel’s eyes shut. The sound of your voice in his ear was more than he expected — less like a stranger, more like someone who already knew how to get inside his head. The image of someone he doesn’t quite know, on her knees in front of him. The feeling of soft hands pressed on his thighs, squeezing gently– anchoring themselves to better take his hard cock.
“You can take your time,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And he did take his time. You kept him talking— little nudges, gentle questions, painting pictures in his head until his hand was moving without thought, until his breathing had gone heavy into the receiver.
When you finally whispered, “That’s it, Mr. Miller. Just like that. I want you to let go for me,” Joel bit down on a groan and came hard, shuddering in his seat.
For a moment, the line was nothing but his breath in your ear. Joel’s head was tipped back against the recliner, eyes shut, his voice rough with the kind of pleasure he hadn’t felt in years. His thick release dripping down his knuckles, making a mess all over his jeans. Then—“Goodnight, Sir,” you said softly, smirk obviously on your lips. And before he could answer, the line went to the automated payment system you had in place, leaving Joel staring at the phone while he pulled out his card from his wallet, wondering why he already wanted to hear you again.
. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧
Joel had told himself it’d be a while before he called again. Weeks, maybe. Let it cool off. It’d been four days. He’d spent those nights trying not to think about the sound of your voice— the way you’d called him Mr. Miller, not like everyone else did. Just the way you did. Like it actually needed to be pronounced that way always.
So by the fourth night, he caved. Sat on the edge of his bed, card in hand, number already burned into his memory. The ring was shorter this time.
“Hello,” you said, voice warm like you’d been expecting him.
Joel swallowed. “Yeah… it’s me.”
A smile slid into your tone. “I know.”
That shouldn’t have hit him like it did. “That right?”
“Mhm. You sound the same— like you’re not sure if you should be calling me.”
Joel huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“But you want to.”
“…Yeah,” he admitted.
“Then let’s not waste time, Mr. Miller. What do you want tonight?”
He shifted on the mattress, rubbing the back of his neck. “You start.”
“Mm,” you hummed, “I want to tell you how wet I am for you.” The breath left him sharp. “I’ve been thinking about your voice. The way you sounded when you came for me the other night. Bet your face gets all soft when you’re close… bet your mouth parts and your eyes close real tight. I think about that while I touch myself.”
Joel groaned low— a deep, unsteady sound— hand already pressing at the front of his jeans. “Tell me what you’re wearing,” he said, voice rough.
“Black panties,” you said immediately. “They’re soaked right now. And nothing on top.”
He inhaled hard through his nose. “…Jesus.”
You smiled in your voice. “Do you want to touch me, Mr. Miller?”
“You know I do.”
“How would you do it?”
Joel shut his eyes, breathing heavier now. “Slide my hand between your thighs… thumb on your clit. Gentle at first, then harder ‘til you start whinin’ for me.”
“I’m already whining for you,” you murmured, and Joel’s head tipped back.
“Good girl,” he rasped.
You let a few beats pass before asking, “What about your cock? Is he hard for me, sir?”
Sir. Holy fuck. He grunted— deep, strained. “Yeah… fuck… he is.”
“I want you to take him out. I want you to stroke him for me. Slow.”
Joel obeyed before he could think, his hand wrapping around himself, shuddering at the contact.
“That’s it,” you coaxed. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back for me.”
And he didn’t. His breath was rough now, his chest rising and falling faster.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” you whispered.
He swallowed hard. “Your mouth… around me.”
“Mhm. I’d suck you slow. Lick you from the base all the way to the tip… take you so deep my eyes water, Mr. Miller.”
Joel’s groan cracked in the middle, his hips shifting up into his hand.
And then you fucking say, “Would you fuck my face, Mr. Miller?”
“…Christ, sugar…”
“I’d let you. I’d take every inch of you, choking on your cock while you tell me how good I am for you.”
His breathing was ragged now, the slick sound of his hand unmistakable.
“Mm, I bet you taste so good.”
He grunted. His hand pumping up and down his length faster, squeezing just that bit of precum out. His thumb flicks across his glistening bulb.
“I’d swallow every drop. I wouldn’t waste a thing. I’d be so good for you, sir.” You’re a little breathless– you know they like when you sound spent.
That tore a deep, guttural sound from him— one he didn’t even recognize as his own.
“Come for me,” you breathed. “I want to hear it.”
Joel’s fist tightened, his hips jerking, and he came hard with a broken groan into the phone. For a long moment, the line was nothing but his breath and the faint hum of your satisfaction.
“You sound so good when you let go,” you murmured. The truth. You usually lied at most men. But not this one. Not Mr. Miller.
Joel swiped a hand over his face, trying to steady his breathing. “…You’re somethin’ else.”
You laughed softly. “Goodnight, Mr. Miller.”
After hearing his payment go through , Joel sat there with the phone still to his ear, wondering if he’d make it more than a couple of days before calling again. He’d give you all of his damn money to just hear you breathe.
. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧
By now, Joel didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t going to call. He’d learned your schedule— or maybe you’d learned his— because every time, you picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, Mr. Miller.”
His chest loosened at the sound. “Evenin’, sugar.”
“How’s my favorite caller tonight?”
He smirked faintly. “Don’t know ‘bout favorite… but I’m here.”
“You’re always my favorite,” you said easily, and Joel felt heat curl low in his gut — and not just from the words themselves. There was a pause, then you purred, “You hard for me yet, Mr. Miller?”
Joel exhaled through his nose, already palming himself. “Think you know the answer to that.”
“Mm. Take him out for me.”
He obeyed, boxers shoved down just enough, his hand wrapping around himself with a hiss of breath.
“That’s it,” you coaxed. “Stroke yourself slow. I wanna know what you’re thinking’ about.”
Joel’s head tipped back again. “Your tits,” he said, voice low. “Thinkin’ about havin’ ‘em in my hands.”
“Mmh, yeah? I’d let you squeeze ‘em, play with my nipples… would you suck them for me, sir?”
“Hell yes.” His voice was already fraying at the edges.
“I’d put your mouth to work,” you teased. “Make you suck ‘til they’re aching. Make you beg me to let you fuck me.”
Joel groaned, hips twitching. “You’re filthy.”
“That’s why you keep calling.”
“Yeah…” His breathing deepened, the slick sound of his strokes faint but steady. Then, almost casually, he asks, “What’s your name?”
You laughed softly. “You know I can’t tell you that, Sir.”
“First name. Just a first name.”
“Mm-mm. We’re not doing that,” you murmured, voice still smooth but laced with a smile. “You’ll just have to keep calling if you want to know me.”
Joel grunted. “Already do.”
You let a beat pass, then shifted the tone right back to filth. “Bet your cock’s leaking for me, isn’t it?”
He exhaled sharply. “…Yeah.”
“I’d lick it up. Run my tongue over your slit, suck you into my mouth… make you watch me swallow him.”
Joel’s groan was deep, almost a growl. “Jesus Christ.”
“Would you pull my hair while I do it?”
“Hard,” he rasped. “Hold your head still while I fuck your mouth.” His breathing heavy. He’s close.
“That’s it. Just like that, Mr. Miller. I want you to come for me.”
His strokes sped up without thought, his breath ragged in your ear until he spilled over his hand with a long, low groan. You waited until his breathing slowed before saying, softer this time, “One day, I’ll tell you my name.”
Joel blinked at the ceiling, pulse still thundering. “…Promise?”
“Mhm. But not yet. Goodnight, Mr. Miller.”
Joel sat there with a knot in his chest that wasn’t entirely about what just happened. He hadn’t meant to ask that. But god, he wanted to know so badly. Wanted to moan your name off his lips when he came. Wanted to feel how easy it would be to say it.
. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧
Your parents’ kitchen had smelled like coffee and fresh paint, the air thick with the noise of men working. You’d barely set your bag down before you heard it— deep, gravel-warm, wrapping around your ribs like a hand you knew too well.
“Yeah, hand me that drill, would ya?”
Your breath caught. It couldn’t be. But it was. Even muffled through walls, even casual, even directed at someone else— it was him. Your favorite client. Mr. Miller. You didn’t see him. Didn’t dare peek around that corner. You just stood frozen, heart pounding, before excusing yourself early with some flimsy reason.
That night, your phone rang. Joel was sitting at his kitchen table, jeans loose around his hips, the card with your number worn soft at the edges.
You answered with a steady, “Hello, you.”
“Evenin’, sugar,” he drawled, always the same, and your stomach flipped because God, it was definitely the same voice you’d heard by daylight in your parents’ kitchen.
You forced a smile into your voice. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight.”
“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he said, and you could hear him shifting— the faint scrape of a chair, the creak of wood under his weight. “Been a long day.”
“I bet it has,” you murmured. “What were you doing?”
“Workin’ on a house. Old place. Lotta repairs.”
Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Did you finish?”
“Not yet. Gotta go back in the mornin’.”
You swallowed. “Bet you’re tired.”
“Tired,” he agreed, “but not too tired for this.” His breathing deepened, slow and steady. “You touchin’ yourself yet?”
Your thighs pressed together. “…Not yet.”
“Start,” he ordered, voice dropping into that tone that always made you melt.
You slid your hand down, fingers parting your folds. “Mmh… wet.”
Joel’s exhale was sharp. “Good girl. Wish I could see her. Put my fingers in you, feel how warm you are.”
Your breath hitched. “You’d like that?”
“Hell yes,” he groaned. “Push two fingers in, slow. Stretch that little pussy for me.”
You obeyed, biting back a sound that still slipped into the line.
“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Fuck yourself nice and slow. I wanna hear every bit of it.”
You let the wet sounds carry through the phone, and Joel’s groan cracked in the middle. “Think about me,” he said, voice rough. “Think about me right there, thumb on your clit while I fuck you with my fingers.”
Your body clenched hard around your hand. “…Fuck—.”
“Come for me, sugar.”
You did, shuddering into the receiver, and Joel let out a deep, broken moan, chasing his own, that made your head spin all over again When it was over, you were breathless, heart still racing from more than just the orgasm.
“Sleep good, sweet girl,” he murmured.
And when the line went dead, you just lay there in the dark, your body still humming, knowing you’d see him tomorrow— for real, this time.
. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧
You smelled the coffee before you smelled the sawdust. The low hum of men’s voices drifted in from the kitchen— your father talking to someone, laughing about something. You froze in the hallway because there it was again… that voice.
“Yeah, we’ll get the backsplash up today. Should be done by the end of the week.”
Your stomach tightened. You knew that tone. Knew that slow, easy cadence and the grit in it. Last night, you’d heard it thick with need, telling you to spread your legs wider. Now it was broad daylight, grounded, businesslike— and still warm enough to slide right down your spine. You smoothed your hair, took a breath, and stepped into the kitchen.
Your father looked up first. “Morning, sweetheart. Mr. Miller and his crew are here renovating our kitchen.”
And there he was. The man whose name you don’t know. The man who’s been paying you to get him off over the phone. The man you begged to come for you a few nights ago. Joel– Mr. Miller.
Broad shoulders under a faded flannel, work jeans worn white at the knees, a rag in one big hand. You’re mesmerized. Nothing at all what you envisioned. Handsome. Dear fucking god, so handsome. He straightened when he saw you — not because he recognized you (he didn’t, not yet) but because… damn. You were pretty. More than pretty. Something in his chest gave a little pull he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Joel,” your father said, “this is my daughter.”
Joel’s hand twitched before he set the rag down and stepped forward. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice a touch lower, his posture straighter, like he needed to square up in front of you.
You slid your hand into his— warm, calloused, strong— and looked him right in the eye. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Miller.”
Something flickered in his gaze at the way you said it — maybe pride, maybe something darker. Every hair on his arms stood on end. He knew that voice.
Knew the way you let Mister slide like a tease. Knew the lilt at the end, the hint of a smile curling around the words. It was you. The girl who’d made him groan into the phone six times in the last month. The girl who’d told him, in that same sweet tone, that she’d take his cock down her throat until her eyes watered. And you were… young. You couldn’t be more than twenty-five. Jesus Christ.
His hands were big and warm around yours, mind scrambled. Images he’d only ever built in his head flashing in real life— except you were smaller, prettier, softer than he’d imagined. But you knew. Oh, you knew. The faint squeeze of his palm, the way his eyes darted over your face like he was matching the sound of you to the sight of you.
“I’m sorry,” he’s watching you intently, “didn’t catch your name.” There it was. Fuck, this guys good. He watches your lips curl into a small smile, cheeks blushing. You tell him. He repeats it, nodding almost as if he’s confirming the thoughts he had– yes, it sounds like he’s supposed to say your name. Sounds like it belongs to him. And it’s true, you hearing your name fall from his lips, it’s perfect. And you begin to wonder why the hell you hadn’t told him sooner. To make him tell you who exactly he’s cumming for.
Joel released your hand slower than he should have, rubbing his palm against his thigh, like maybe he could wipe away the memory of how you’d sounded moaning his title into the phone.
“Joel’s the best in town,” your father went on. “We’re lucky to have him.”
Joel shrugged, but his eyes kept finding yours, like he couldn’t quite help it. “Just doin’ my job.”
Your father kept talking, but Joel barely heard him. His first clear thought in that haze was dangerous and heavy: Christ, she’s even prettier than I pictured. His second was worse: I’m in trouble. And you? You smiled sweetly, Oh yeah. You need him.
Your father moved toward the coffeepot, talking about tile colors, but Joel barely heard him. He had a pencil in one hand, a clipboard in the other, and his brain was still back on the moment you’d said Mr. Miller in that sweet little voice— the exact same voice that had purred Yes, Sir into his ear more times than he could count.
He bent to check the edge of the countertop, mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at you, but his eyes found you anyway— leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a polite smile that he could already tell was trouble. You didn’t speak, but your eyes said everything– I know you know.
He shifted his weight, straightening up, rolling his shoulders like he needed to remind himself to breathe. “We’ll have the backsplash prepped by this afternoon,” he said to your dad, voice even, hands steady. But the second he glanced your way again, that steadiness frayed.
You tilted your head, eyes dropping briefly– deliberately, on his work belt sling around his waist, then back up at him with that little smirk he’s heard behind the phone more often than not. Joel’s grip on the pencil tightened.
Your father handed him a mug of coffee, oblivious. “You take sugar?”
Joel shook his head. “Black’s fine.” He took a sip, burning his tongue, and set it down harder than necessary.
You stayed quiet, almost prim, as you walked to the counter where he stood marking measurements. “Need help with anything?” you asked lightly.
Joel’s jaw ticked. “Nah. We got it handled.”
But your father piped up behind you. “You can hand him those brackets, sweetheart— top of the box over there.”
You crossed in front of Joel, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your shampoo, and bent slightly to grab the hardware. He looked away, but his ears burned.
“Here you go, Mr. Miller.” You handed him the brackets, your fingers brushing his just a little too long.
He swallowed. “Thanks.”
Your smile was polite for your dad’s sake, but Joel saw the glint underneath— the same glint he’d heard in your voice when you told him you’d lick him clean. He turned back to his work before anyone could notice the way his breathing had gone deeper. His mind betraying him, putting a face to all those words you’ve told him. He’s dying. Dying to fucking talk to you. Touch you. And he will, even if it kills him.
. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧
You were waiting for it. You’d been waiting since the moment you walked out of that kitchen and left Joel standing there with a handful of brackets like he didn’t know which way was up. The phone rang late— later than usual. Almost as if he was fighting with himself if he should call you or not. Or maybe it was embarrassment. That maybe you thought he was too old for you and maybe you thought it was digusting and you’d probably not answer. But the way you looked at him? He couldn’t deny that.
You answered slow. “Hi, Joel.”
Silence for a beat. Then, that low voice, he says your name, “fits you.”
You smiled against the receiver. “Told you I’d tell you my name someday.”
You could hear him breathing, heavier than usual, and imagined him sitting in the dark, elbows on his knees, phone tight in his hand. T-shirt tight around his biceps. That scruff on his face, jaw tight. Those brown eyes dark with lust.
“You didn’t tell me you were…” He trailed off, exhaling hard. “…younger than I thought.”
“How young did you think I was?” you teased.
“Old enough I didn’t feel like a fuckin’ pervert.”
“Mmh.” You shifted on the bed, letting your voice go silkier. “So now you do?”
“Don’t start,” he warned, but his tone was already slipping.
“You stood up straighter for me today,” you said. “Shook my hand like you wanted me to think you were impressive or something.. I noticed.”
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was a faint groan in it. He dragged his palm down his face.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day, Mr. Miller,” you whispered. “About how big your hands looked holding those tools. About how they’d feel between my thighs.”
Joel inhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ…”
“Do you want to know what I did when you left?”
“Yeah.”
“I got in the shower… and I touched myself. Thought about you behind me, work jeans still on, pulling my hips back onto you. That handsome face watching me come undone for you.”
He let out a sound that was more growl than groan. “Fuck… keep talkin’.”
“I pictured you telling me to keep quiet so my dad wouldn’t hear. One hand over my mouth, the other on my clit while you fuck me.”
Joel’s breathing had gone ragged now, his faint grunts carrying through the phone. “You dirty little thing.”
“You’d like that though, wouldn’t you? Getting me all messy while we’re just a room away from my parents.”
His groan cracked. “Goddamn it—” The thought of that getting him even harder than he’d thought.
“Are you touching yourself for me, Joel?”
“…Yeah.” His voice came out breathless. The way you say his name wrecks him.
“Faster. I want you to come for me thinking about bending me over your workbench in the garage.”
That did it. His moan came deep and rough, drawn out until his breathing slowed, the silence stretching between you.
“You’re trouble,” he said finally, voice low.
“You like trouble, Mr. Miller.” He didn’t deny it.
. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧
It was late again when your phone lit up with Mr. Miller in your mind.
You smiled as you answered, stretching out in bed. “Joel.”
“Didn’t see you today.”
The way he said it— low, almost accusing— made your smile widen. “Oh? Were you looking for me?”
Joel grunted softly. “Maybe.”
“Maybe you missed me.”
“…Maybe,” he admitted after a beat, voice rasping like he didn’t like being caught.
You rolled onto your stomach, twirling the cord of your phone charger between your fingers. Little butterflies. “Well, that’s sweet.”
“You around tomorrow?”
“Nope,” you said lightly. “I’m already home.”
“…Home?”
“Mhm. I don’t live there. Out of state, actually.”
There was a pause, a low sound in his throat that almost sounded like a frown. “So when’s the next time I’ll see you?”
Your grin turned wicked. “Oh, you wanna see me, Mr. Miller?”
His inhale was sharp. “…Yeah. I do.”
“What do you wanna see me do?” you asked, voice soft and dangerous.
“Christ…” He let the word drag, like he was chewing on the thought. “Wanna see you smile like you did yesterday. Wanna see those pretty eyes lookin’ right at me while you—”
“While I what?”
Joel’s breath came heavier now. “While you’re sittin’ on my lap, skirt pushed up, no panties on.”
You bit your lip, letting a beat pass before murmuring, “You’d like that?”
“More than like it,” he said, voice dropping, “I’d fuckin’ need it.” Then a pause. “How old are you?”
You smiled into the receiver. “Why do you wanna know?”
“Just… curious.”
“Old enough, Mr. Miller.”
“Yeah, but how old?”
“Twenty-four.”
There was a quiet grunt on the other end, followed by a long breath. Then you say,“Is that a problem?”
“Problem?” His voice dipped lower. “No. Just means I should be careful with you.”
You laughed softly. “Careful? Who says I like careful?”
He shifted, you could hear the faint creak of a chair. “Do your folks know what you’re up to?”
“Mmm… no.”
Joel exhaled slowly, the sound thick. “I wanna see you.”
Your pulse skipped. “And do what, handsome?”
“Things I can’t do over the phone,” he said, voice gone rough. “Things I’ve been thinkin’ about since I saw you in that kitchen.”
You let the silence stretch, your tone almost playful when you answered, “I don’t usually sleep with my callers.”
He made a low sound— something between a groan and a chuckle. “Yeah?”
“But…” you went on, softer now, “I might make an exception for you.”
Joel’s breath caught, his voice dropping to a rasp. “…Careful, sugar. You keep talkin’ like that and I’ll be in my truck before the night’s over.”
And you felt it. That familiar ache. You have a crush. And when he called you again, it confirmed it. It was only two nights later when your phone buzzed with that familiar number.
“Joel,” you said sweetly.
“Been thinking about that exception you said you’d make.”
You smiled. “Oh? Losing sleep over it?”
“Maybe.” His voice was heavy. “Figure if I’m gonna do this… I oughta know the rules.”
“The rules,” you repeated, leaning back against your pillows. “Alright, Mr. Miller. Let’s talk terms.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Terms.”
“Mhm. First one— you do exactly what I say when we’re together.”
Joel grunted. “You think you can boss me around?”
“I don’t think, sir,” you teased. “I know.”
A beat of silence, then: “…Alright. What else?”
“If you do it right…” You let your voice slow, silk over steel, “I’ll pay you.”
Joel actually laughed — that deep, warm rumble you’d never heard from him before. You heart fluttered. “Pay me?”
“Mhm. Contractor rates, even. You are the best in town, after all.”
“You’re trouble,” he said, but you could hear the grin in it. “And what if I don’t want your money?”
“Then I guess you’ll have to make sure I can’t stop thinking about you,” you murmured.
There was a pause, then his voice dropped. “You put me on a job like that, I’ll work you over ‘til you can’t walk straight.”
“That’s the idea,” you whispered.
Joel exhaled like he was picturing it right then. “When?”
You hummed, letting him hang for a moment. “Soon. If you’re good.”
“Baby…” his voice was low, almost dangerous now, “you have no idea how good I can be.”
. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧
You spotted him before he spotted you.
Joel was out by the back porch, leaning against the railing, talking easy with your dad — one hand curled around a bottle, the other resting in his pocket. The golden evening light hit him just right, making the silver in his hair gleam, his flannel stretched across his shoulders. You stepped outside, all smiles. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”
Joel’s eyes flicked to you, just for a second, but in that second there was the tiniest smirk, the barest flicker of memory from every call. “Evenin’,” he said, voice even.
You lingered just close enough to be part of the conversation, tossing in little remarks, laughing when Joel said something— leaning forward when you laughed so his eyes had somewhere to go.
Your dad, oblivious, clapped Joel on the shoulder. “You oughta stay for another drink or two. Long week like yours, you’ve earned it.” Oh, he definitely has, you wanna scream.
Joel almost glanced at you— almost— but kept his eyes on your dad. “Yeah, I could do that.”
And so he stayed. Beer after beer, the sun sinking low until the porch light was the only glow outside. Your dad was a stickler about no drinking and driving, and you knew exactly how to nudge the evening toward that inevitability.
“Another one?” you offered from the kitchen doorway, bottle dangling between your fingers. Joel’s gaze met yours — a silent, I know what you’re doing. But he took it.
By the time the night had stretched well past sensible, your dad was leaning back in his chair, satisfied with the evening, and saying exactly what you’d been waiting for: “You’ve had a few, Joel. Stay here tonight. Sofa’s free.”
Joel didn’t argue. “Appreciate it.”
You smiled, leaning against the wall like it was just another Friday night. “Goodnight, Dad.”
“Night, sweetheart.”
The house went quiet after that. Joel lay on the sofa for maybe twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sound of you moving around upstairs. Every shift of the sheets, every creak of the floorboards, tightened something in his chest.
Eventually, he sat up. Stood. His boots were off, footsteps soft as he made his way down the hall and up the stairs. He didn’t knock. Just eased your bedroom door open, the dark spilling around him. You were sitting up in bed, like you’d been waiting.
“Mr. Miller,” you whispered, a smile curling slow and knowing.
Joel shut the door behind him, the dim light from your bedside lamp painting everything in soft amber. He looked bigger in here, the space making his shoulders seem broader, his presence heavier. “You gonna invite me in proper,” he murmured, “or you just plan on starin’ at me like that?”
You tilted your head, your lip tugged between your teeth. This man was so beautiful. “I was just wondering… how many times you’ve pictured me in here.”
His jaw flexed. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, come on.” You slid out from under the covers, padding toward him barefoot. “You’ve pictured it, haven’t you? Me in bed, hand between my thighs…”
Joel’s throat worked as he swallowed, his voice low. “Yeah.”
“I bet you’ve imagined me finger-fucking myself for you every night.”
His breath hitched, his eyes darkening. You stepped around him and pointed to the chair in the corner— the one angled just enough toward the bed. “Sit.”
Joel didn’t move right away, his gaze fixed on yours like he was deciding if he’d let you have this. But then he obeyed, lowering himself into the chair, elbows on his knees, watching you like he could eat you alive.
You dragged yourself to the edge of the bed— right in front of him — and sat with your knees parted just enough to make his breath deepen.
“I bet you like to watch,” you teased, fingers skimming up your thighs. “Don’t you, Mr. Miller?”
His eyes tracked your hand like it was prey. “You’re pushin’ it, sugar.”
“You’re the one who called me every night to hear me touch myself,” you said sweetly. “Now you get the real thing. Lucky you.”
Joel’s hands flexed on his knees, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Your little voice ringing in his ears. “You like this, don’t you?” You slid your fingers beneath your panties, dragging a slow circle over your clit. “Pervert.”
Joel let out a sound— low, almost a growl— leaning forward but not quite reaching for you, like he was giving you the chance to keep going.
“Keep talkin’,” he rasped. “Wanna hear you ruin me.” Joel was already leaning forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees like he couldn’t stand the distance. His eyes were locked between your thighs, tracking every slow, lazy drag of your fingers. Watching you slide off your panties and toss them aside.
You let your knees fall open wider, silk camisole slipping over your hips as you tilted back on one hand. The thin straps barely covered you, your nipples pressing against the fabric, tight and aching under his stare.
“Look at you,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles over your clit. “Just sitting there, watching me make myself feel so fucking good.”
Joel’s chest rose and fell heavy, his jaw tight. His eyes flicked from your hand to your breasts, back to the wet heat between your thighs, and he swallowed hard.
“I imagined you watching me. How hard I’d get you just from touching myself.”
“Jesus Christ, sugar…” His voice was already breaking.
You slid two fingers lower, parting yourself so he could see everything — the slick stretch, the way your folds glistened. “Pretty, isn’t she?”
Joel’s hands fisted on his thighs. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
“I’m so wet for you, Mr. Miller,” you whispered, your hips lifting to meet your own touch. “And you’re just sitting there. Bet your cock’s so hard right now.”
His gaze dragged up to your mouth, back down again, and the bulge in his jeans twitched under your words.
You bit your lip, moaning softly. “Mmh… I’m so close. My pussy’s so fucking needy for you. You like watching me work her open?”
“Maybe I want to,” you teased, curling your fingers inside yourself, your free hand coming up to squeeze your breast through the camisole. The thin fabric darkened where your nipple rubbed against it, peaked and hard.
Joel made a low, guttural sound, like it had been ripped out of him. His knees spread wider, one hand shifting to the bulge in his jeans without even meaning to.
You watched him touch himself and smiled wickedly. “You gonna come just from watching me, sir?”
His head tipped back, eyes shut tight for a second before finding you again. “Keep talkin’, pretty girl.”
“I’m so fucking wet,” you breathed. “My fingers are dripping… wish it was your cock instead. Wish I could ride you until I can’t take anymore.”
Joel’s hand flexed on himself, his breathing gone ragged, and you could see the restraint starting to slip from his face.
“You can’t touch me yet,” you warned, curling your toes as your orgasm started to crest. “Not until I make myself come for you. Not until you watch me do it right.”
“Goddamn…” Joel’s voice was hoarse, his eyes wide, glued to you. “You’re… fuck, you’re perfect.”
It hit you hard. A soft, quiet moan escaping your lips. Your back arched, your knees trembled, and your fingers worked you through it, hips jerking as the heat rolled over you in thick, pulsing waves. You were still catching your breath, still trembling, when Joel moved.
One second he was in the chair, the next he was between your knees, his big hand wrapping around your wrist to yank your own fingers out of your pussy— replacing them with his.
Two thick, calloused fingers drove deep, knuckles pressing against your swollen entrance. You gasped, chin dropping to your chest, propped up on your elbows, your mouth hanging open. “J-Joel—”
“Sound so fucking sweet moanin’ my name like that,” he growled, eyes locked on where you stretched around him. “Feel how you’re flutterin’ on me? How you’re suckin’ me in?”
You whimpered, nails digging into the sheets, eyes blown wide and fixed on his. “Goddamn, sugar,” he rasped, curling his fingers until you moaned, your slick running down his hand. “All this for me? All that drippin’ just from showin’ me what’s mine?”
Your breath hitched, your hips rolling into his palm without thinking.
“That’s it,” Joel murmured, his thumb pressing against your clit now, his fingers fucking into you deep and filthy. “Milk my fingers, baby girl… fuckin’ wring ‘em dry.”
You were half-gone, body clenching around him in desperate pulses, and Joel’s eyes burned into yours, dark and hungry.
“Pretty little mouth hangin’ open… you got no idea what you’re doin’ to me,” he panted, voice gone rough with it. “Gonna fuck you so full you’ll still be leakin’ tomorrow.”
Your head tipped back, a raw moan ripping from your throat as you clenched down hard, his fingers buried to the hilt. He feels around the bed for your discarded panties and stuffs them in your mouth, “shh, sweetheart. Don’t wanna wake your daddy now, do we?”
You knit your brows together, shaking your head. The ache in your core so unbelievably heavy.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” he whispers. You moan. Eyes rolling back at how the words innocent as “pretty” can be coming from a man knuckle deep inside your pussy. Your head falls back, chest heaving up and down, feeling that orgasm creeping in.
“Yeah,” he grunted, watching every twitch, every flutter. “There she is. That’s my girl.”
Joel didn’t give you a chance to breathe. The moment your body stopped quaking around his fingers, he pulled them out, slick coating them to the knuckle, and shoved them into his mouth with a low, wrecked groan.
“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted,” he rasped — and then his belt was hitting the floor.
Your eyes went wide, heartbeat slamming in your ears as he tore his jeans open, the heavy line of him springing free. Thick. Flushed. Veined. Bigger than you could’ve even conjured up in your little head.
You yank the panties from your mouth to say,“Joel—”
“Shh,” he cut you off, his voice low and dark as he pushed you back onto your mattress, head hitting your sheets softly, one big hand sliding up your thigh. “I’ve been dreamin’ about this since the first night I called you, sugar. Since the first time you said sir in that sweet little voice.”
He dragged your hips to the very edge of the bed, his cock slapping hot against your swollen folds, smearing you open with every slow grind.
“Look at that,” he muttered, eyes locked where he was lining himself up. “Pussy so wet for me she’s beggin’.”
And then he pushed in. The stretch burned in the best way, forcing your mouth open on a gasp as he bottomed out, thick and deep and there.
“Fuuuck,” Joel groaned, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snapped to yours. “Tighter than I imagined. You’re squeezin’ me like you don’t wanna let go.”
Your nails clawed at the sheets, your eyes locked to his. “Y-you feel—”
“I know,” he rasped, hips pulling back only to drive in harder, deeper. “Been thinkin’ about this every goddamn night, baby girl. Every moan, every little gasp I heard through that phone—” He punctuated each couple words with a thrust that shoved you up the bed. “—I pictured this.”
His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face so he could watch your expression as he fucked into you. “That’s it. Let me see how good I make you feel.”
You bit your lip, but a moan still slipped out, high and helpless. Joel’s eyes went darker. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m not gonna last, baby girl.”
He slammed in again, groaning low, his other hand sliding down to your clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucked you deeper. “You’re gonna come for me,” he growled. “Gonna make this cock all messy while I’m still inside you. Do it, sugar. Give it to me.”
Your back arched, the tight coil in your belly snapping hard, and you came with a strangled cry, clenching him so tight he cursed into your neck and buried himself to the hilt.
“God—fuck—”
Joel held you there, hips pressed flush, filling you in thick, pulsing ropes until his jaw went slack and all that was left was the sound of your panting in the dark. He stayed inside you a moment longer, his hand still cupping your jaw, his eyes still drinking you in like he couldn’t believe you were real. Joel stayed buried, his hips pressed flush, one hand heavy and warm at your hip, the other still cupping your jaw like he didn’t want you to turn away.
His breathing was slowing, but his eyes… his eyes were still roaming every inch of your face like he was memorizing it.
Your cheeks were hot and pink, your lips swollen from biting back moans, hair a little messy against the pillow. You looked wrecked — and dreamy, and soft, and younger than you’d let on with your words over the phone. Innocent, almost.
Joel’s thumb brushed over your cheekbone, rough against the softness of your skin. “Pretty little thing,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Look at you… all fucked out for me.”
You swallowed, your voice small, almost too shy for the room you were in together. “I’ve… never done that before.”
His brows pulled together slightly. “What d’you mean?”
Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his chest, then down to where you were still joined. “Never… had sex with a client.” A pause, your breath catching. “Never had sex with an older man, either.”
Joel went still, his hand at your jaw tightening just slightly. “You tellin’ me I’m the first for both?”
You nodded, your blush deepening. “Mm-hm.”
Something shifted in his eyes — softer, heavier, like the words were settling somewhere deep in his chest. “Christ, sugar…”
You let your lashes lower, voice barely a whisper. “Was I… any good?”
Joel’s head tipped, like he couldn’t believe you’d even ask. “What?”
You bit your lip. “Did I… live up to the person I was on the phone for you?”
For a beat, he didn’t speak — just looked at you like he wanted to burn this exact moment into his memory. Then his hand slid from your jaw into your hair, tugging gently so you’d look right at him.
“You were better,” he said, slow and certain. “Nothin’ I pictured even comes close to the way you feel… the way you look right now.”
Your chest tightened, the sincerity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. Joel leaned in, brushing his lips over your temple. “You were more than good, sugar. You ruined me.”
Joel still hadn’t pulled out, his weight heavy and grounding between your thighs, his hand threaded through your hair like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go. He still felt hard, somehow. You could feel his heartbeat in the press of his chest against yours, the way his breath was still warm on your cheek.
“This ain’t gonna be a one-time thing,” he said low, almost like it was a decision he’d just made aloud.
You blinked up at him, eyes still hazy. “…No?”
He shook his head, lips curving just faintly. “Not a chance in hell. You think I’m lettin’ you go after this? After the way you just milked me and looked that pretty doin’ it?”
A little rush of heat rolled through you, your blush deepening again.
He studied your face for a long moment, his thumb stroking lazy along your jaw. “Gonna see you again before you leave.”
You hesitated — and then your voice came soft, testing the waters. “Joel… did you ever imagine kissing me?”
His eyes sharpened, the line of his mouth tightening like you’d just pulled something from deep inside him.
“More than I should’ve,” he admitted, voice rough. “Had to stop myself plenty of times, even just over the phone. Always figured if I got the chance, I wouldn’t stop.”
You swallowed. “So what’s stopping you now?”
Joel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his hips pressing forward just slightly, like he could remind you exactly where you were still joined.
“Nothin’, sugar,” he murmured— and then his lips were on yours, slow but deep, tasting you like he’d been starving for it since the first call Joel’s mouth was warm, sure, and slow at first — the kind of kiss that sank straight into your bones. He kissed you like he was claiming something, his thumb brushing your jaw while his other hand stayed heavy at your hip, keeping you anchored beneath him.
You sighed into it, lips parting, and the second his tongue slid against yours, his hips shifted— a deep, unhurried roll that reminded you he was still inside you, thick and hot, filling you in a way you could feel in your ribs. A quiet, broken sound slipped from your throat. Joel swallowed it, groaning low into your mouth like he’d been waiting weeks to hear it up close.
You shifted under him, your thighs widening just a little more, and his grip on your hip tightened. “Mm, baby,” he murmured against your lips, “you keep movin’ like that and I’m gonna make you cum again.”
“Maybe I want you to,” you breathed, kissing him again, slower this time, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck.
His chest rumbled with a half-laugh, half-growl. “Goddamn insatiable.”
Another roll of his hips had you gasping into his mouth, your nails curling into his hair. You could feel the way he shuddered when you clenched around him, his cock twitching to life, his kiss turning hotter, filthier— his tongue sliding deeper, his teeth catching your bottom lip before he soothed it with a soft suck.
You pulled back just far enough to whisper, breathless, “Do you like kissing me, Joel?”
His eyes were dark and locked on yours, his mouth slick and swollen from you. “Sweetheart… I fuckin’ love it. Might love it too much.”
And then he kissed you again, harder this time, hips starting to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your toes curling and your mind going hazy all over again. “Gonna gimme another one?”
summary: joel doesn't like you poking fun at his age. you make it your mission to prove to him that his age isn't a point against him.
warnings: unprotected piv, lil makeout sesh, reader is afab & able bodied but otherwise not described, pet names (angel, little girl, kid (once... dont look at me), baby, etc.), joel smokes, lowkey sub!joel for a second before he finds his voice lol, creampie, im probably forgetting some sorry folks
word count: 3k
note: this is truly just pure filth and a very small teenie weenie bit of plot surrounding joel's insecurity about his age. im horny for old peepaw joel what can i say. also i havent posted fic on tumblr in like 6 years so,,,, hello? ++ no beta we die like men or whatever they're saying now.
The ground between the small, square plots in your neighborhood became soft and jagged with fresh grass in the late spring, absent only in the shadows of the trailers and in the places where kiddie pools filled with hose water flattened the growth against the earth. You had a kiddie pool against your will– when your air conditioning had gone out, Joel had dropped a pink, plastic one at your front door with a sticky note inside that read, “DON’T DIE OF HEAT STROKE”.
And as trashy as it looked in your front yard between the orange picnic table and the rusted wire clothesline, you couldn’t help but stumble into it most mornings when you woke up sweating. You liked it even more when you had the willpower to drive to the liquor store and get a bag of ice to dump into it. This morning in particular, you’d even grabbed yourself an ice cream sandwich.
The freshly risen sun projected a yellow-orange hue through the high grass and onto the soles of your bare feet as they poked from the edge of the pool, the angle at which it shone reminiscent of six-ish-AM. Joel would be leaving for work soon, you knew, and your eyes rested on his front door as you slid your ice cream sandwich out of its wrapper.
He was one of the only neighbors you (sometimes) got along with. There was something about a stranger in town that gave folks the creeps, he had said, though you’d lived there a year already and no one seemed to be getting any friendlier.
As if you’d made it happen with your mind, a few seconds after you’d glanced in the direction of Joel’s trailer, the door swung open and smacked against the wall. His work shirt waved through the air like a flag as he tossed it over his shoulder, descending the steps in only a white undershirt and a pair of jeans that had absolutely seen better days. The jingle of his keys as he shoved them into his pocket was the only sound, save for the soft trickle of the hose into your pool.
You grinned as he stepped out from beneath the overhang and into the light. He put a cigarette into his mouth, looking you over.
“This is gluttony if I’ve ever seen it,” he said, fishing a lighter out of his pocket.
You forced a frown, flicking water onto his pant leg with your toe. “You bought the pool.”
“Yeah. Just didn’t expect the ice cream sandwich.” His lighter was red and dented, glinting in the sun as he flicked it beneath his thumb. Bending at the waist, he shielded his smoke from the breeze with a broad hand and rolled the sparkwheel in a continuous tempo, clicking and clicking and clicking as the sound of the hose dripping into the pool droned on.
You huffed, pushing yourself up on your arms. “C’mere. I got one.”
And boy, did you. It was a gaudy thing encrusted with purple rhinestones and a ripoff-Lisa-Frank decal, and it reflected the sunlight from the green, metal table that sat beside the kiddie pool. He knelt in the grass as you reached for it, watching your nearly bare body stretch and your wet hand tighten around the lighter’s bedazzled surface.
Resting his arm over his knee, he offered his hand, palm-up, and you placed the lighter into it with a grin.
“I think it’s your style,” you chirped, biting your ice cream sandwich as he looked the thing over.
He shook his head and lit his smoke, biting down on the filter like an amputee would bite down on a scrap of leather. “How’d you know? Think it goes with my outfit?”
“Oh, yeah. Pink brings out yer eyes. Makes you look younger.”
“Younger?” Joel wiggled his eyebrows, puffing out a ring of smoke and placing the lighter back into your hand. “How much younger, you reckon?”
Mocking thought, you pressed your finger to your chin, looking him over through your eyebrows. “You could pass for seventy five, give or take a couple’a years.”
“You’re not as funny as you think you are, little girl.”
“Okay, fine. Sixty.”
He shook his head, glancing back over his shoulder as the sun rose steadily over the hill behind the parking lot. It must’ve been nearly seven by then, making him nearly late to work.
You wiggled your toes, thumbing ice cream from the corner of your mouth and then licking it off. “Maybe fifty nine, if you’re lucky.”
“I am fifty nine.”
“Yeowch. Sorry.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched, sweat reflecting the morning light and accentuating the nearly invisible motion as he suckled the filter of his cigarette. When he glanced back at you, brown eyes blinking slowly in true kicked-puppy fashion, you giggled.
“‘M sorry. Didn’t know your age was a sore subject.”
“‘S not a sore subject.”
“Seems like it is.”
Joel exaggerated his pout, batting his eyes as he took a slow drag and blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “You’re just kickin’ an old man when he’s down, sweetheart.”
“Oh, you poor baby.” You cupped his jaw with your wet hand, soothing the coase facial hair beneath your thumb as a faux sob fell from his lips. His acting was a little sub-par (and he was much less funny than he realized, carrying on like he was) but Joel knew how to pull on your heart strings. Clicking your tongue, you said, “I don’t think you’re too old, honey. You’re just right.”
The pretend look of devastation remained on his face even as his eyes opened, both sides of his mouth contorting downwards into a pathetic glower. “Just right for what?”
But then you were too close to him, and his face was in your palm, and he was realizing that you hadn’t really touched him before this as you took a slow bite of your ice cream sandwich with your free hand. He could feel the bit falling away for a moment, face falling as you inched closer, heat pressing down on the both of you from all sides as the sun continued to rise.
You clicked your tongue again, grinning. “For a Lisa Frank lighter.”
Joel’s face faltered yet again, wide eyes blinking at you as you started to laugh. He cleared his throat, blinking. “Oh. Real funny.”
Your shoulders vibrated and you hung your head as you giggled, tossing the half-eaten ice cream sandwich into the grass beside the pool. “Wait–” you said with a smile in your voice as he started to stand, the hand on his face trailing down to his collar to pull him back down.
Joel, who had stopped thinking this was funny several moments ago, swallowed hard, watching as you flicked your sticky fingers in the water. He met your eyes again sheepishly when you said his name, sweat reflecting the blinding sun at his temple.
“Joel,” you said, still smiling. “I’m kidding. I’m sorry.”
And as needlessly embarrassed as he felt, he still couldn’t help but relish the feeling of you cupping his face, holding him with one hand as, with the other, you fidgeted and flicked beads of water into the air. You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.
“Let me show you what I think you’re just right for, hm?”
And that was how he ended up in your trailer, sitting on the edge of your bed, becoming more and more late to work as the minutes crawled by. You straddled his lap, facing him, holding his jaw in your hands and looking him over with exaggerated admiration.
Joel was sweating, and he was sure that even if your air conditioning hadn’t been broken and even if it hadn’t been over a hundred out that day, he still would’ve felt feverish. His hands held your hips in a vice grip, nervous twitch entirely evident as his left wrist vibrated against you.
You gnawed on your lower lip, fingers moving up to thread into his hair.
When you breathed out a hushed “You’re so pretty”, it elicited from him the smallest of chuckles, only slightly audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. As if testing the waters, he slid his hand from your hip to your waist, squeezing you there instead.
“Oh yeah?” He dug the tips of his fingers into your damp skin, blunt nails and calluses pressing just a bit too hard, surely leaving marks.
Your bathing suit was an old red one, something you’d bought for yourself before you’d moved to Austin, something loose and outrageously easy to untie. Joel’s tremor was the only thing keeping you from tearing it from your body and tossing it to the floor– you didn’t want to scare him off. “Yeah,” you parotted, petting the scruff on his cheek with the gentlest pressure. Then, impatiently: “You wanna kiss me, cowboy?”
Joel swallowed, body becoming tense again beneath you. His face warmed beneath your fingers as he nodded, fingers drumming at your side. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, meeting your gaze. “Yes. Please.”
You’d pictured kissing him before– it was something you did in secret, watching him from the window beside your bed in the evenings when he’d get home late from work, waiting for him to come back out with a beer and sit on his front steps. It was something you were embarrassed of and something you would never ever tell him about, but your fantasies stirred in the back of your mind as you finally did kiss him, pressing up onto your knees with his face in your hands.
He was more timid than you’d imagined, but you weren’t surprised by this. Anyone would seem timid compared to the way you’d pictured him– rugged, aggressive, uncaring as he took what he needed. That was the Joel you made up in your head when you touched yourself at night.
This Joel was visibly nervous, hand still trembling against your waist as he returned the kiss, soft lips drinking you in. This Joel pressed you against him like you might fall away, kissed you back unsteadily at first, but quickly gained confidence. This Joel, as the moments dragged on, brought his shaking hands up to hold your head, to steady the both of you.
You could feel him relaxing as you licked into his mouth and pride swelled in your chest, pressing out of you like steam escaping a whistling kettle. Your hands found his shoulders and, breaking away, you squeezed them, ensuring he was entirely real.
“I want you to fuck me,” you breathed against his lips, eyes flicking open, searching his features for any hint of hesitation.
He met your gaze with a small smile and, to your surprise, gripped the back of your neck with an unyielding fervor, pressing you towards him again and laying a wet kiss at the corner of your mouth. “Oh yeah?” he said again with a grin seeping through his features.
The tremor in his wrist had calmed somewhat, you noticed as you reached back and took his free hand from your waist, threading your fingers together. He guided you with this hand, pushing you gently off of him and onto your bed where you landed flat on your back. Your wet bathing suit surely left spots of water on the quilt beneath you, but no part of you cared enough to pay it any mind.
As Joel crawled over you, callused hands running over your bare stomach, you smiled at him.
“You been thinkin’ about this?” you asked, reaching for his face again as he dipped down to kiss you.
His fingers ran down your middle, gingerly dancing over your bikini bottoms. “Been thinkin’ about you since the day you moved in, darlin’.” The tips of his fingers dragged tortuously lower, splitting the seam of your cunt with his knuckles through the fabric. Gently, he cupped your mound, pressing his palm against you as he buried his face in your neck. “Spread your legs, angel. Be good f’me.”
You did as he said, even as a smirk crossed your face. It took everything in you to mutter “Be good?” as he pressed his thick fingers against your slit again, bikini bottoms digging against your little nub with the most delicious friction. Attempting to regain your composure as he worked you, you continued: “Don’t get cocky, old man.”
“Oh, none’a that,” said Joel as one finger ventured beneath the fabric, exploring your slick. The timid Joel seemed to have disappeared completely, having been replaced by whoever the hell this was. “You speak to your elders with respect, you understand?”
You keened, partly at his words and partly at the feeling of his callused fingertip brushing over your clit, pressing the bud in what seemed to be an experimental manner. As he began to prod your button, movements jerky and desperate, his free hand gripped the back of your neck.
“Come on,” he said, meeting your eyes with a self-satisfied grin. “Tell me you understand. Say ‘yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” you complied immediately.
“That’s what I wanna hear, kid. That’s it.”
He worked you for a minute or so, enjoying the feel of your little bud beneath his fingertips, and a frankly pitiful whimper escaped you when his hand retreated from between your legs. Squirming, you brought your knees to your chest, watching as his hands found his belt.
“You want me to fuck you?” he asked as he slid the leather from the loops on his jeans, discarding it on the dirty carpet and fishing for his zipper.
“Please, Joel.” Your voice was nothing more than a harsh whisper, floating from you as you watched him jerk his jeans down his hips.
He was leaning over you again before you could get a glimpse of his cock, pulling himself out of his boxers as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it– slipping between your wet lips, bulbous head pressing against your clit. “So polite,” he said, trembling as he ran himself up and down your slit. “Say it again.”
“Please.”
You must’ve asked nicely enough because then he was inching forward, pressing the fat head of his cock into you with no regard for the painful stretch, relishing in the pull of your little hole around him. A strangled sound left his mouth, whimpers pouring out of him like water from a broken tap.
You winced at the stretch, gripping his shirt in two closed fists. He gave you a distracted glare when a “fuck” escaped you, leaning over you and caging you in with both broad arms.
“Language,” he said, though as close as he was to bottoming out, your curses didn’t deter him.
When he was fully inside, pulsing length filling you entirely and stretching your poor hole to oblivion, he only paused for a moment before he began to move. Sweat gleamed off his forehead, reflecting the morning light from your bedroom window like soft, slick glitter and accentuating the concentrated twitch of the muscles in his jaw.
The pull of his cock dragging slowly out of your hole had you scrambling for purchase, arms looping around the back of his neck. “Joel. Jesus–”
“I know, I know,” he cooed, shushing you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “You can take it. Just ease into it.”
“Want it so bad,” you panted as he moved back in, feeling his tip rip its way through you again on its trajectory to your cervix. You shook, feeling his lips trail down your jaw. “Want you to force it in, Joel.”
This made him laugh under his breath, a deep chuckle that reverberated against the low ceiling. He met your eyes with a grin as he pressed himself deeper, enjoying the way your face contorted. “You’re real fucked up, you know that, baby?”
“You like it,” you breathed, gnawing on your lower lip.
“Yeah, I do.”
As you relaxed around him, Joel found a pace somewhere between painfully slow and forcefully ragged, something steady that made you keen and squirm beneath his broad form. He pumped himself into you like every stroke was the most important one, brows knit together in concentration, feeling every bit of you drag up and down his massive length.
“So tight, angel. Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. The big arms that pressed the mattress down on either side of your head tightened and relaxed, pulsing in time with his strokes. “Not gonna last too long, little girl.”
The look that you gave him made him shake his head, gritting his back teeth. “Not gonna cum in you,” he said sternly, though the slam of his hips said otherwise.
You bit the inside of your cheek, brows knitting together. “How come?”
“What do you mean, how come, girl?”
“‘M on the pill.”
“‘S the principal of the thing, kid,” he hissed through his teeth, hanging his head as he fucked into you. His strokes were becoming sloppy and forceful, body slapping against yours with reckless, cacophonous abandon. “Fuck, ‘m close. Where do you want it?”
“In me.”
“Not funny.”
“I’m not bein’ funny.”
Each time he thrust into your little hole, a whine left you, fingers threading uncoordinatedly through his hair. Meeting his eyes, you craned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, tongue darting out to lick into his mouth. “Please, Joel,” you whimpered, watching as his face lost any look of composure. “Want your cum in me.”
“Angel.” A warning.
“Please.”
Joel hung his head once more, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck, hands coming to grip your waist so tightly that his fingers would leave faint bruises. His resolve was slipping; his hips twitched, jerking as he pressed into you.
“Fuck. Okay, baby. Okay.”
And then his orgasm was ripping through him, making his muscles spasm and his face go slack. His cum was thick and hot, shooting from his cock like a medication drip and filling your hole to the point of overflow. Each time you thought he was done, another spurt hit your insides, ripping a low whine from deep in his chest.
When he finally collapsed on top of you, cock softening, he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. His grip on your waist still hadn't loosened, still holding you in place as he panted.
You watched the muscles in his back rise and fall, moving with his rapid breath, heart hammering against you. His greying hair caught the morning light, compelling you to put your fingers in it, to brush it back tenderly from his face.
“Thought you had work,” you said quietly, fingers dancing at the base of his neck.
Joel snorted. His eyes were closed. “Thought you thought I was too old.”
Summary: When your boyfriend won’t, his father will.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Dad[dy] kink. Infidelity — Reader cheats on her boyfriend with Joel. Pervy!Joel. Cocky!Joel. Subby!Reader. Finger-sucking. Spitplay. Joel c*ms on your tummy then fucks it back in.
Note: I was about to take a nap today, and this thought popped into my head. Couldn’t rest until I wrote it out LOL
Word count: 1.3k
The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, apparently.
At a staggering 6’4, Jimmy Miller is the single tallest boy in your class; his father, Joel, is scarcely an inch taller. Both of them prefer to keep their hair cut pretty short. Their shoulders are broad, and their jaws have a square-ish set—Jimmy’s chin and neck are dusted in the darkest black stubble imaginable, and Joel’s is all salt-and-pepper, thanks to the passage of nearly fifty years.
Jimmy plays football and lacrosse, and Joel runs the equivalent of a 5K on a daily basis, in addition to more strength training and core exercises than you’d think possible for a man even half his age. They both are able to boast physiques that are fit, taut, toned, and strong.
The only area where the elder Miller might have your boyfriend beat is in the way the tip of his cock can reach your cervix—and keep hitting it, repeatedly, in just the way you like it, to make you cum quicker than anything.
You shouldn’t have known what that felt like.
Your first instinct when Jimmy rolled off of you tonight and collapsed into the space beside you in bed should not have been to wait until he fell asleep and then sneak off silently to his father’s room. That was wrong of you.
This is borderline evil, what you’re doing with your hips in the heat and comfort of this oversized bed. Joel is smug.
He has a firm hold on your thighs watching you ride him.
“That’s it,” he drawls. He lifts his right hand and swiftly brings it down to smack the skin, and then he kneads. He nods, like this is something that he taught you to do. “Up an’ down, darlin’. Give that pussy what she needs.”
You really wish he wouldn’t say it like that.
Like you were in some way wanting. Deprived.
Like your boyfriend—his son—couldn’t make you moan and whine in the same way you’re doing it right now, cunt split in two by Joel’s big, thick, throbbing cock and your juices leaking out all over his belly. Jimmy’d been inside you, too, no more than twenty, twenty-five minutes prior, so Joel clearly wasn’t the only one responsible for this mess. He just helped finish it.
“I love him, Mr. Miller. I—I—I really do,” you whimper. With one shaky set of fingers, you squeeze your breast, and you feel a web of pleasure blossom down from your chest to the wet, greedy hole where you have him deep.
“‘M’sure you do.” Joel grins. “Gonna get hitched, buy a nice, big house, and have a boatload of kids? Is that it?”
“That’s what it’s gonna be.”
You bite your lip staring down at him, bracing your free hand on that broad, hairy chest, and then you nod your head, as if to convince yourself of what you just told him.
Then Joel flips you both.
He folds you in half, so your knees are pressed up against your chest and your feet are poised in the air, pointed to him. Joel hums, and he keeps on fucking you, not seeming to take issue with how loud the sounds of your cunt sucking him in happen to be. If anything, he likes it.
Your walls clench around him for what feels like the fiftieth time, and you writhe underneath him. You moan.
“Gonna leave this dick alone, too? Once you’re married, I mean.” Joel’s tone is teasing. It’s steeped in incredulity, as well as the experience of being decades your senior.
“Y-Yes,” you stutter.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he simpers.
Then he pulls a long, sad face like this is the worst news that he’s heard all day, and he leans forward until his chest is flush with the backs of your legs and his cock is driven in to the hilt. He cups your face with his big hands.
“I’m gonna miss this pussy,” he says. Sighing. “Bad.”
“Daddy.”
You can’t help but say it when one hand drifts down and starts to toy with your nipple, and the thrusts keep coming in. The bed shakes with every stroke, and you can tell that you’re close to coming apart at any second.
Joel slides the touch that was cupping your cheek to stuff fingers in your mouth. He makes sure that it’ll stifle your cries—he knows you like to scream when you cum, and though he normally loves to hear it, along with all the noises your pussy makes getting stuffed, tonight he’d rather not have to fight his son. He fucks you harder.
He smiles.
“So when it’s late at night—” Another thrust. Another short, sharp intake of breath as you bite him and whine. “—and my son gets what’s his and leaves you needy—”
You bare your teeth and practically keen as Joel fucks you so deep that you can feel him in your lungs. His length drags in and out, in and out, until the imprint of every vein must be seared into your wet, velvety walls.
“Mr. Miller,” you moan, words garbled.
Joel shoves those fingers even further in your mouth at the same time he bottoms out inside your cunt, and both orifices leak with moisture. He licks the spit trickling out at either side of your lips, the old, sick bastard that he is, and you feel that silver-flecked beard tickle your chin. You can sense a little twitch in his cock from root to tip.
Your eyes roll, and your toes curl tight, the same as they’ve done for him the last three nights in a row.
No, this isn’t Jimmy.
Try as you might to pretend that it is, it just—
“—ain’t enough for ya, is it?” Joel must read your mind. “Jimmy ain’t doin’ ya like this, an’ he never fuckin’ will.”
The fingers slide out. They cup your chin hard instead.
“Mr. Miller, I’m gonna…” Your eyelids flutter back open.
It’s happening again. Your boyfriend’s father is balls deep, pounding you relentlessly into his bed, and your legs are pressed to either side of his neck, taking him in.
“Need a real man to make you cum, huh?”
You look up at him, eyes wide.
Between your thighs, your cunt is as stretched and sore and washed in a deep, heady pleasure as it’s ever been.
Then, you’re about to peak.
Frantically, you nod your head.
“Yes, yes, yes—Mr. Miller, make me cum.”
Joel beams. “Gonna let me fuck it in her, too?”
“Please.”
And he does.
Well, in Joel Miller’s own, particular way, he gets it inside—you cum around his cock, bliss rolling and pulsing and squeezing in time, and he lets you milk him all through it. Your walls constrict, pushing him right over the edge. Then he pulls out. Jerks his cock furiously. Lets his sticky-white spend paint your belly in the thickest, warmest ropes, until he’s completely spent. Then, no doubt thanks to the help of a Cialis or a Viagra taken earlier that night, your middle-aged man is able to stay hard for a good while longer. Keep his hypersensitized shaft in play just to make sure that he can stuff you full.
Unlike his son, Joel doesn’t do rubbers.
Unlike his son, Joel loves to play fast and loose with the term ‘pulling out,’ and when he unloads his seed all over your stomach, he makes sure that he fucks it all back in.
So, holding his still-pulsing dick by the base, Joel swipes it over where he came. Smears the stuff messily. Then, with jizz sticking to the tip and all down its length, practically soaking the whole underside of his shaft, he angles it down. He meets your gaze and slides it back in.
He pulls out, takes a little more, and pushes in again.
And again.
And again.
Eyes never leaving your own, smile growing on his lips, hips pistoning back and forth, gently, and a bevy of obscene thoughts no doubt filling his head, Joel leans in. He doesn’t stop until his nose is hovering less than an inch from yours, and then his hands slide to your thighs.
He sinks in.
He grins.
“Think my son will mind if I fuck you one more time?”
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