Joel Miller One Shot - Tumblr Posts

joel miller | survive

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 4.7k

warnings: 18+! not for minors! please please please read the warnings and skip this one if you're uncomfortable with the subject matter.

episode eight reimagining with the same hard-hitting themes: blood, violence, cannibalism, sexual assault, killing, abduction, vomit. reader takes the place of ellie. angst. hurt/comfort. no happy ending as requested because i wasn't sure that could exist in these circumstances, but there is now a part two where joel takes care of reader and the fic ends on a lighter note.

prompt: Hi! Would love to request something for Joel Miller 🥰 Angst but with a happy ending, after seeing episode 8 I thought maybe reader is with Joel and Ellie, but this time Ellie stays back to keep an eye on Joel so reader gets kidnapped and is the one Joel basically comes back from the dead to save? hahshxdjfbf I just imagine them reuniting and UGH 🥹❤️ Feel free to ignore this if inspiration doesn’t strike!

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld

You’re terrified of losing Joel. So terrified that instead of watching him shiver and sweat on an old, bloodied mattress as his infection spreads, you opt to go out and hunt. It isn’t solely selfish. You need food, and Ellie needs to rest. At least this way you’re doing something productive rather than waiting for a miracle. 

Still, it’s difficult to concentrate on anything but the knot in your stomach, the one that keeps asking “what if?” What if Joel doesn’t make it? How will you survive past that grief for long enough to keep Ellie safe? How will you go back to Jackson and tell Tommy that his brother is gone?

You’re lost in those thoughts when you hear the crunching of snow, and you try to shake them away, readying Joel’s shotgun as you search for the source. 

A deer. It’s so beautiful that for a second, you forget that it’s supposed to be your next meal. You’d forgotten beauty still existed in a world so broken, forgotten that nature can still be kind. 

But humans can’t. Not if you want to survive; not if you want Joel to survive. 

You take a deep breath. Adjust your posture. Shoot. 

The bullet doesn’t hit where you want it to; where you know you should have been aiming if only you weren’t so distracted. The deer darts away. Whispering a curse, you follow the trail of blood —

And find more than you bargained for. Two men wait with the dying deer at their feet. They look… clean. Comfortable. Not people struggling to find food or clothing. You raise your gun again immediately, and theirs point back at you. 

“Put your guns down,” you order, trying to sound braver than you feel. You did alright before Joel came into your life, but it’s been a while since you’ve been alone and it’s hard to summon the strength that used to come so easy. 

“You first,” the darker-haired man says, narrowing his gaze. 

The fairer man glances warily before slowly lowering his. Good. At least one of them is smart. 

“Not going to happen. On the ground. Kick it away.” You shift on your feet, gripping your gun tightly and readying your finger on the trigger. You don’t enjoy killing people, but you will if you have to. If it means getting back to Joel and Ellie. 

“James,” the unarmed man says, calm authority firm in his voice. The one in charge, then. “Do as she says.” He holds up his hands in surrender as his friend, James, finally puts his gun away. “We mean no trouble. We’d just like to talk.”

“So talk,” you bite out, making no move to lower your own gun. 

“Alright.” His breath is visible in the cool air, nose pink and runny. “My name is David. This is James. We’re from a town just south of here.”

“Good for you. Maybe you should go back now.”

An amused smirk twitches at his mouth. “Thing is, we have a lot of mouths to feed down there, and this deer… it would keep us going for a week. Maybe two.”

“Shame it isn’t yours,” you say.

A short sigh escapes him. “Right. It is a shame. But if I could offer you warm shelter and good food, a welcoming community, why couldn’t we share?” 

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not interested in negotiating.”

“With all due respect, ma’am… as far as I can tell, you’re all alone in these woods. There’s no reason why you have to be.”

It’s clear the other man, James, isn’t in on David’s kind offer. His mouth is pursed in a thin line, jaw grinding as though he’s holding back from saying something. Welcoming community, my ass. 

Still, an idea strikes. You need something else more than you need the deer, and if this town has supplies… “You have medicine in this town of yours?”

David hesitates before dipping his head. “We do.”

“Antibiotics?”

“Yes…”

Hope swells in you for the first time since Joel was injured. 

“If you put the gun down, we’d be much more open to discussing what it is you need,” he continues. “Please?”

Gulping, you slowly lower your gun — but you keep it in your hand just in case, stomach still filled with unease. Not every settlement will be like Jackson, and there’s something… off about these two. 

“If you get me that medicine, you can have the deer.”

“We can do you one better. We have a nurse down in the village who can help you with your injury. If you just come with us…”

“No,” you say. “You’ll bring the medicine here, to me.”

Another strange smile. “You’ll be much more likely to survive the winter if you let us help you.”

Impatient, you raise your gun again. “Bring it or stop wasting my damn time.”

David lifts his hands again. “Okay. Alright. James, go and fetch what the lady needs.” 

“David—” James begins to protest, but is quickly cut off. 

“Go on now.” 

Reluctantly, he does, and then it’s just the two of you. 

“I know a place you can get warm,” he offers. “It’s just through the trees. An old greenhouse. No need to wait out here in the cold.”

It makes your gut twist, how he seems to be determined to get you moving, to take you out of these woods. And there’s a glint in his eye, something untrustworthy there — even his right-hand man seemed to see it. Nobody follows orders like that with pure reasons. He’s… scared, or at least threatened. 

“I’m fine just here.”

“Okay. What’s your name?”

“I’m the one holding a gun, which means I’ll be the one asking questions. How many people are there in this town of yours?”

“Forty. Like I said, there’s room for one more. Perhaps it was God’s will, us meeting today.”

Oh, good, you think. He’s a God botherer. You didn’t particularly subscribe to religion before the world turned to shit, and you sure as hell have better things to do than pray now. 

“Unless you’re not alone.” His voice seems to lower as though he knows something, and you stiffen instinctively. “Is the injury yours?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He no longer seems to be staring down the barrel of your gun, but right into you. “Because a few of our men had some trouble a few days ago. A man, a woman, and a young girl. Man was thought to be badly injured, you see. If he lived… well, I’d imagine that kinda wound would be susceptible to a nasty infection.”

He knows. He always knew. The raiders you crossed paths with, the ones who hurt Joel… 

You no longer feel like the one holding the gun. You feel like the deer bleeding on the snow between you. Prey. Still, you set your chin. “I don’t know what you mean. I travel alone.”

“See, I believe you, but the thing is… my friend, James… he’s not so certain. I’d imagine that once he comes back with that medicine, he’ll be rounding up a few men to go hunting for these people. If what you’re saying is true, I wouldn’t want you to be caught in the middle of that. That’s why it’s much safer you just come with me now, see?” 

Your upper lip curls into a warning snarl, finger twitching on the gun’s trigger. But if you kill him, you won’t get Joel’s medicine. You’ll lose him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” 

“Hmm.” He debates this. “There’s a third option.”

“Not interested.”

“I think you are,” he pushes. “I think you’re one of them, and I think you’re trying to help your man. Very noble, but strange. You don’t seem a good match. You’re so… young, so calm, and from what I hear, he’s dangerous. Ruthless, even. A cold-blooded killer. Maybe if you come into town with me now, we can arrange for that medicine to be delivered without my brigade charging in and doing some damage. There’s a place for you. Your daughter, too. You don’t need to be tied to him anymore.”

You want to scoff, or else laugh in his face. Does he believe you’re that simple, that stupid? Does he believe you’re a fucking damsel in need of saving?

Anger simmers in you at the thought. “I think it’s about time you shut up.” You point the barrel at his head now, right between his brows.

He doesn’t balk, doesn’t tremble, doesn’t so much as blink, and you’re beginning to understand. He’s the type of man who uses religion to veil whatever monster lies beneath. He isn’t some small-town do-gooder, though he might believe it. 

You dread to think what he might be capable of. 

“I think it’s about time you drop your weapon.” The voice doesn’t belong to David. It comes from behind along with the feeling of cold metal against the back of your skull. You risk a glance over your shoulder to see the man from before, James. You should have heard him creep up, should have seen, but you were so focused on the one in front of you.

Your heart thunders as you realise you might not get out of it this time. 

“We only want you to come with us,” David says, eyes round with feigned innocence. “That’s all. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“The gun to my head says otherwise. What would God say about this?” you retort, dripping venom because it’s all you have left. 

A strange sadness crosses David’s face. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

Before you can pull the trigger, something heavy slams into your skull, and then darkness swallows you whole. 

***

You wake in a cage, the taste of blood on your tongue and your wrists bound by rope. David is on the other side of the bars in what looks to be a kitchen, utensils hanging on the wall. Great butchers’ knives and cleavers wink at you in the watery daylight. You go cold with fear, crawling to the furthest corner of the cage. 

“Let me go,” you say. “Let me go!” 

“I’m sorry. It’s for your own good,” he says. “You were corrupted, but I can help you see the light again.”

“Why are you doing this?” You’re choking on a sob, thoughts of Joel and Ellie running through your mind. What if they found them? Joel is in and out of consciousness and Ellie can’t fight on her own. 

David curls his fingers around the bars. “It’s God’s will. I was meant to meet you today. This is where you’re supposed to be.”

“In a fucking cage?” you spit, voice echoing around the kitchen. You pull at the rope until your skin splits, crying out when you realise this is it. There’s no way out. You’re trapped, and you have no idea what this man truly wants with you. 

“This is merely a precaution,” he says. “I was wrong about you before. You are dangerous too. You have a dark heart, just like me. If you would just surrender, you could be part of this community.”

You squeeze your eyes closed, clamping down on a plea. You doubt it will do any good. Still, tears roll down your cheeks. “Fuck you,” you whisper. 

“You don’t understand yet. You will.” David takes a step back, and somehow the prospect of him leaving you here causes your stomach to turn to water. 

“Don’t do this,” you say. But he walks away with a glint in his eye that promises he will be back, and you’re left alone. 

Dizziness rattles through you as you pull yourself onto your feet, testing the sturdiness of the bars in hopes you’ll find a weak spot. But it’s padlocked closed and the screws are in tightly —

Something catches your eye, pale and fleshy on the kitchen tiles. 

An ear. 

In the kitchen. 

You vomit without warning as it all comes together. You wonder if the community even knows that their leader feeds them people. Wonder who was last in this cage and how long it took for them to become a meal. 

You scramble against the ropes again and pray — not to whatever fucked up God David worships, but someone — that you find a way out. 

***

“Joel!” Ellie shakes him frantically and finally he comes to. Sweat glistens on his forehead, his face drawn and pale, but he finally ate something earlier and she’s been keeping him hydrated as he drifts in and out of sleep.

Now, he frowns and hums in question.

“Y/N isn’t back. She didn’t come back, and now people are here.”

The sound of shuffling outside is only growing louder, and she keeps her voice to a whisper as fear grips her. It’s not like you to go more than two hours without checking in, even if you haven’t caught anything for dinner yet. That four hours have passed means something is wrong, and Ellie doesn’t know what to do, how to find you. She needs Joel. She needs you. 

“What?” Joel struggles to sit up, the mattress groaning under his weight as he clutches his injured stomach. But he’s alert, awake, and that’s better than he’s been in days. 

“She isn’t back,” Ellie says again, voice trembling now. “Someone’s here, Joel. They know about us.” 

Understanding clears through the fog in his eyes slowly, and he looks up as he hears the floorboards creak above. “Shit,” he curses, dragging himself slowly to his knees. Ellie watches, pulling out her own gun. “Hide somewhere. Let me deal with it.”

He’s in no fit state to deal with anything, but when Ellie protests, he shushes her and orders her to do as he says, so she does. And as he readies himself for a fight he can’t win, panic rushes through him. You’re not back. Somebody is here. 

He’s failed again, or at least is about to, and this time it’s you he’s afraid to lose. 

He summons that anger when the silhouette slowly stalks down the stairs. Summons it a lot more when he’s throwing an arm around the idiot’s neck to squeeze the life out of him. 

***

Joel has forgotten his injury. He’s forgotten anything but you; the thought of you alone, in danger, afraid. His fingers curl into fists at his side, and when the attacker finally rouses, he orders Ellie to leave the room. He doesn’t want her to see what comes next; who he becomes when he’s trying to protect the people he loves. 

Nausea twists through him, but it mingles with anticipation. Some sick excitement. He’s good at being violent. Better at being vengeful. 

“Where is she?” he asks, voice just steady enough to be assertive. 

The attacker mumbles something, and Joel’s patience quickly dwindles. 

“Who are you?” he asks, louder now. 

The attacker shakes his head. Doesn’t want to play. 

Joel brandishes his knife. 

The attacker’s eyes widen in fear as he presses the point into his finger, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach. “You want to do this the hard way?”

“I'm not telling you anything.”

Joel tilts his head and clenches his jaw. Then in one swift motion, he’s gripping the arms of the chair the attacker is tied to, quivering with anger as he towers over him. “Last chance.”

The attacker purses his lips, and Joel steps back, watching him sink in relief — relishing in that false sense of security. Then he throws the first punch, the impact of fist to jaw singing through his bones. He shakes out his hand, punches again. Blood splatters, but he goes again twice more just for good measure, growing weaker with every blow. He stops when he realises that, knowing he needs to conserve his energy to get to you. 

“Where the fuck is she?” he bellows.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” 

He plunges the knife into the attackers knee, the sound of bone crunching and flesh squelching as blood dribbles down his jeans and the attacker cries out. That’s when he begins to beg. That’s when Joel knows he’ll tell him anything. 

“Alright!” he’s whimpering. “Alright, please!” 

“Tell me where she is or I swear to god, I’ll pop you’re fucking kneecap off.” Joel drives the blade deeper, thirsty now. Desperate. He can’t do this without you. He needs you safe. If he finds out you’re hurt…

“With David!” he blubbers. “She’s with David in town!” 

“What tooooown?” (oh, you thought I wouldn’t?)

“Silver Lake!” 

“Who the fuck is David and what does he want with her?” 

“He…” the man chokes on his own sobs again, and Joel tugs on the knife, earning a piercing scream. “I don’t know what he wants, okay? He’s the leader! He… he took to her, I don’t know!” 

A chill crawls down Joel’s spine and his vision blurs as he pauses. His blood-drenched fingers tremble, and he doesn’t know how to make them stop. “What do you mean, he took to her?” 

The man spits out blood. “He likes her. Wants her to join him. I don’t know, man. I don’t know. I told you everything.” 

Joel wants to tear him apart then and there, but he pulls out his map, yanking the knife from the man’s knee to put the hilt in his mouth. The attacker howls, tears streaking down his cheeks. Joel wants to tell him he’ll do a lot fucking worse if he finds you harmed. He wants to say a lot of things, but cotton fills his mouth and he needs to find you. He needs to stop wasting time. “Point it out to me.”

“It’s not a real town. It’s just a fucking community. I don’t know.”

Joel grips the man’s collar, and his voice falls deathly low. “Point it out to me or I’ll make sure your other knee matches.”

It’s enough motivation for the attacker to pinpoint a spot. His blood stains the map, highlighting a small valley between the forest and mountains. 

Joel puts the map in his back pocket and slits the man’s throat before he can beg for his life. He’s not feeling merciful today. 

***

David comes back for you an hour later. “Have you reconsidered?” 

You only glare at him, your wrists bloody and your eyes gritty from so many shed tears. To your surprise, he unlocks the cage. Despite your better instinct, you stay seated, stay calm. You won’t get out of this if you try to run now. He has the upper hand, and you’ll let him have it, hoping his arrogance, his underestimation of you, will be his downfall. 

“You must be hungry,” he says. “Come. Let me show you what I can offer.”

Shakily, you rise from the ground. “Will you at least untie me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He leads you out of your kitchen. When he’s not looking, you lean your back to the table and snatch an abandoned knife, slipping it up your sleeve. 

The front of the building is laid out like an old, cheap restaurant and bar, candles burning and booths lining the windows. 

“I’m glad you’ve calmed down,” he says. “Now we’ll get a chance to know each other properly.”

Slowly, you begin to saw at the rope with the knife as he leads you to a booth. Two plates are set at the table, a candle lit in the middle, and you think about the ear on the floor. Wonder if the meat in the stew is not animal, not your deer. You want to throw up again, but you swallow down the bile in favour of relief: the rope has snapped. You keep your hands behind your back as you shuffle in your seat, trying to avoid looking at the meal. The smell of it makes your stomach turn. 

“What do you want from me?” you ask finally. 

David places a napkin on his lap. “I’m showing you hospitality. Hospitality you haven’t earned, might I add. Where is your gratitude?”

“Where the fuck is my medicine?”

Without warning, he stands and slaps you, and you can’t control your anger as the sting prickles along your cheekbone. You throw your plate at him, the food splattering his face and staining his shirt, and then you run. 

A mistake. He hauls you back quickly, and the two of you topple to the floor as he slams your wrist down, forcing the knife away. He pins your hands and then straddles you, and you know what comes next. You know, and you shouldn’t, and this isn’t happening. 

“You need to be taught some manners,” he croons, taking your chin in his hands. “A girl like you… you need to learn how to submit. Especially when we’re married. But don’t worry.” He leans down as you squirm, whispering into your ear, “We have time for that.”

“No!” You shout, slapping him away and doing your best to wriggle away. But he’s heavy on top of you, and he’s reaching for his belt, and there’s no way out. No hope. Nothing. “Get the fuck off me, you sick bastard!” 

He slaps you again, lash twice as hard this time, and you taste blood. 

You refuse to let it end like this. You refuse to let him destroy you. You let your body go slack as he unbuckles his belt, reaching out a hand and scrambling for the knife again. It’s under a chair not far from you — you just have to wriggle a little further. 

“It’s sad that you can’t accept that this is how it’s supposed to be. This is God’s will. You and me… we’re the same, underneath. We have the same violent heart,” David is muttering, and there, your fingertips brush the hilt. Determination renewed, you extend yourself again and this time the knife falls into your hand. 

You don’t have time to think; he’s unbuttoning his jeans, and like hell are you going to spend another moment beneath him. You drive the knife straight into his neck, and his eyes bulge as he gurgles on his own blood. As he goes limp, you push him off you — and stab again, again, again, spitting every bit of revenge into your movements as his blood covers his skin and your clothes. 

“You twisted fucker!” you’re yelling, tears rolling down your face as the shock draws in, the disgust. He’d been so close to taking you. So close to making you a victim after so long spent fighting to be a survivor. “Go to fucking hell!” 

You only stop when the fear numbs and you realise he’s no longer moving. Blood soaks both his shirt and yours, and you push yourself off him. His dead, milky eyes stare at you. When you catch a candle guttering in your periphery, you grab it. Crouch with it in your hand. Light him on fire. The flames spread along his clothes, and that’s how you leave him. 

Ashes. Bloodied, dead ashes. 

***

Joel and Ellie have fought their way through a blizzard. He’s surprised he’s still upright, but he saw bodies hanging in the stable and he can’t collapse now. Not for Ellie, and not for you. This community is built on something worse than infected or fascism, and when he found your jacket, your backpack, in that same room as the corpses… 

He can’t see anything but red and white. 

Ellie stops behind him suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” He catches his breath, looking around. There’s a long building close by, but he hasn’t seen any movement yet. 

A scream rents through the air, and he knows it’s you. His heart picks up, stomach plummeting as he runs around to find the entrance. And there you are, collapsing out of the doorway. 

He says your name as he catches your wrist, and you instantly cower away, screaming. “Please, no! Please, don’t!” 

He’s never heard you beg for anything before, and his world tilts on its axis. What the fuck have they done to you?

“Baby, it’s me!” He draws you close, cupping your jaw with his palms. Your eyes are haunted, face pale, and there’s blood. So much blood. You’re still fighting him, pushing on his chest, and he stumbles back. “It’s me. Look at me. It’s me, darlin’. It’s Joel!”

Your breaths are ragged as realisation finally dawns across your features. “Joel,” you whisper. 

“It’s me,” he says again, eyes filling with tears.

Your gaze moves to Ellie, and only then do you crumple. He catches you just before you fall to your knees, straining against his injury. “Oh, baby. Oh, baby girl,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m here now. You’re okay.”

Sobs wrack through you and he wraps his arms around you, holding on so tight he worries he might hurt you. But you clutch his shoulders just as hard, fingernails digging through his coat. You shake beneath him, and his own tears drip onto his cheeks. He pulls away quickly to look you up and down. Blood streaks through your hair.

“Where are you hurt, baby? Tell me where it hurts.”

You shake your head. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know, Joel. I don’t…”

It’s like you’re not even here with him, and he wants to break. But he has to stay upright for you. He has to be strong for you. He shrugs his coat off quickly and puts it around you, catching sight of your reddened wrists as you adjust the collar. Those bastards tied you up. Hatred drowns him, and he looks at the building you emerged from only to find orange flames flickering in the window. It must have been you, he knows, and he can at least feel proud of you for that, but still, the thought of what they might have done...

“Alright. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He pulls you to his chest, offering his other hand out for Elllie. She takes it, looking shaky as she carries both her bag and yours. 

“They were… They were eating people, Joel,” you say, voice thick and unrecognisable. “I just wanted to get medicine, and they took me. They took me. They were eating people and he was going to… He wanted…” 

“I know,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “I know.”

You stop without warning. “They said they had medicine. You… We have to go back.”

“No, no, hey.” He laces his fingers through yours. “We ain’t going back there for anything.”

“The infection—” you protest.

“Look at me. I’m here. I’m okay. I just needed to rest is all. We don’t need any medicine now. We just need to get you somewhere safe.” His heart pangs. The fact you’ve been through hell and are still willing to go back to help him… sometimes he wishes you weren’t so damn selfless. He should have been the one protecting you today. It’s his fault you’re here. His fault you’re hurt. 

You scrape your hair back and then, looking at your shaky fingers, seem to finally see all the blood. “His blood is in my hair.”

He can at least be relieved it isn’t your own, but the look on your face… he’s never seen so many scars written in one expression. 

“I need to get it out. I need…”

“We’re gonna. We’re gonna help you clean up soon, okay?” He tucks your hair away, lost, because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Doesn’t know how to make it all go away. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His voice cracks.

Your chest heaves with a stifled sob as you rub your hands and look out towards the lake. “Oh, god.”

Joel closes his eyes, wrought with regret. At his side, Ellie turns her gaze to the floor. It’s his worst fear come true. The reason he’d tried to get Tommy on board with taking Ellie the rest of the way. 

He’d failed again. Was always failing. 

All he can do is hold you close as you fall apart.

thank u for feeding my joel brainrot

may i request something a bit angsty where reader gets injured but still lives through it although seeing reader injured and joel having to carry her brought him flashbacks to sarah

AN | Pain! We have some pain - but also a whole lot of fluff! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.7k

Masterlist | PP Characters, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“We need to get back,” his gruff voice cut through the fleeting moment of happiness. You knew he was right, and he knew that you knew he was right. You bent down and plucked one of the few blooms that had actually managed to blossom in the barren field. It was a pretty, small thing, purplish blue with soft petals. 

You turned around to face Joel again and held the flower out to him, a gentle expression on your face compared to the hard look on his face. After a few beats of silence passed before he took it from your hands, twirling it between his fingers, “Joel-”

“It’s going to be dark soon,” he cut you off, bringing a pout to your face but you nodded in understanding. He studied the expression on your face before sighing heavily, his shoulders sagging with what felt like the weight of the world, “it’s not safe out here. I’d let you stay out here as long as you wanted if -”

“Things were different,” you finished for him and he caught your eye before offering a curt nod. It was a risk being out of the Quarantine Zone in general, and you weren’t lost on the fact that Joel put a lot on the line in order to get out, even if it was just for a few hours. Before you could say anything else, he tenderly tucked the flower behind your ear, his hand going to your jaw as he studied you. Wordlessly he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek, a mere ghost of a kiss. 

“Come on,” it took a moment to shake off the stupor his sweet gesture had thrown you in. It wasn’t that Joel wasn’t kind or loving, he was just…rough around the edges. You couldn’t blame him; you couldn’t blame anyone these days. He’d lost so much more than you had, and had experienced a full life before the outbreak. You were a fair bit younger, hadn’t had the full chance at life yet, and it had been easier for you to adapt. Which felt weird at best to say. He showed his affections differently, but you welcomed them how they came.

He turned around and set off back towards the QZ, leaving behind only the crunching of gravel under his boot. You made quick work of grabbing a few more flowers and gently stuffing them into your backpack before turning to follow him, “Joel?”

He made a sound of acknowledgment but didn’t turn around, expecting you to catch up with him. When he noticed that you weren’t right there, he turned around, hands on his hips accompanied by a heavy sigh, “you better hurry up or I’ll leave you here on your own!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you flung the backpack over your shoulder before running to catch up to him. You were laughing now and you could see the tiniest of smiles on his face. It was a rare occurrence and you tried to make it come out as possible; he had the loveliest smile, even if he didn’t agree. When you finally caught up to him, you stopped and almost skidded onto the ground, breathless but happy, “you love me too much for that.”

“Whatever you say kid,” you knew him well enough by now to know that tender affection laced his words, “c’mon. It’s probably going to rain on top of it.”

“I like the rain,” you mused as you fell into step with him. He didn’t say anything, but you knew that he was listening intently, “when I was a kid…we had this huge pond right near our house. Whenever it rained all the frogs would come out, and they’d be so loud, especially the bullfrogs. It was like they were singing, in their own froggy way. I used to go out there and sit and listen to them. My mom would always have to drag me inside and insisted I would get a cold from being out in the rain, even though she knew that wasn’t how it worked. I miss that…I miss being able to just do things and not have to worry about anything.”

Joel was silent, but you knew he’d listened to every word you said. Sometimes he wasn’t a man of many words. But you felt him reach for your hand, taking it in his and threading your fingers together. He let out a world-weary, tired sigh, “me too.”

It was silent for a lot of the walk back, but it was a comfortable silence, a lot of understanding flowing between the two of you. It wasn’t until you reached the hill you’d have to climb down to get back that you worried about anything. Climbing up had been one thing, easy, even if it left you breathless. Getting back down seemed like an entirely different challenge. 

“You alright?” he noticed your hesitation as you swallowed thickly, but only nodded, “follow after me.”

You watched as Joel tossed his backpack down, before slowly traversing through the uneven ground to get back down. In reality, it wasn’t that huge of a drop, but it still made you nervous. Once he was safely back on the level ground, he waved for you to go. You tossed the backpack down, letting it land next to him. You grabbed onto a thin tree trunk, trying to stabilize your footing before going down. 

But fate seemed to have another plan. A very painful plan. As soon as you’d let go of the tree, you went to shuffle down but the uneven soil  caused you to slip and start to tumble. It all happened so fast, that it seemed to be over before you knew it and you were on the ground, the air almost knocked from your lungs as you landed on your side. 

You knew something was wrong almost immediately as you felt pain shooting up your leg and saw the odd angle it was bent at. A shaky breath escaped your lips, tears already welling up, an involuntary reaction to the pain your body was experiencing. 

You whimpered as you tried to move your leg, but Joel was already at your side, hands on your biceps as he helped you to sit up. A look of sheer panic was written all over his face, “oh baby. What happened? What…fuck. Fuck.”

“It hurts,” you cried trying to move so you could inspect the damage. There was a nasty, gnarly looking gash running down your left leg from knee to ankle. Your ankle was already swelling and bruising, and you knew that something was wrong. Your breathing was ragged and you knew that all you needed to do was calm down and everything would be alright, “‘m scared.”

“I know, baby. But it’s okay. I’ve got you, okay? Don’t look at your leg,” he cradled your face in his hands as he turned your face up to his, “just look at me. Look at me, okay?”

“Okay,” big, fat crocodile tears ran down your cheeks and you saw him close his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself. You could tell he was nervous, and trying to keep it together; one of you had to be calm and strong right and it had to be him. He brushed your tears away before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Joel…”

“Eyes on me,” he repeated as you only managed to nod. He reached into his backpack and grabbed out some of the first aid supplies, which he thankfully always brought, before getting out some antiseptic liquid, clean gauze, and some bandages, “this is going to hurt a little bit, okay? Just hold onto my arm, squeeze as tight as you need to.”

Despite his warning, you were not prepared for the pain that the liquid was going to bring out. It was a deep cut, you could tell from the blood and agony, but fuck. It was extremely painful and you gasped wildly as you clutched onto his upper arm tightly, “it hurts. It hurts, Joel. Please.”

“I know,” he whispered softly, his own voice thick with tears. This was one of his worst nightmares - that something would happen to you, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He’d been through this same situation before and his heart couldn’t handle having to go through it again, especially if something were to happen to you. He quickly wiped away the tears that blurred his vision with the back of his hand. He knew that he’d be all bruised up from where you were holding him, but he didn’t care, “almost done. You’re okay, baby.”

You weren’t able to form any coherent words, only making small sounds of pain as he worked to clean the wound, slapping on some antibiotic spray, and wrapping it up as tightly and securely as possible. The sting and pain slowly started to subside and your breathing slowly started to even out and the next time you looked down, all you could see was white bandaging. You loosened your grip on his arm, still shaky and worried, “i-is it going to be okay?”

“It’ll be okay for now,” he promised, tenderly brushing your rogue locks of hair out of your face, “and it will be okay. I think you’re going to need stitches, but that can be easily done when we get back.”

“Thank you,” before you could think about it, you wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, trembling in his grasp. He held onto you just as tightly, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breathing, “thank you.”

He held you for a few minutes longer before reluctantly pulling back and standing up. Joel held out his hands towards you, and slowly helped you to your feet - foot - catching you as you stumbled slightly. His frown deepened when he saw you struggling to put any weight on it, “can you walk?”

“No,” you sniffled and the memory of his daughter in the same situation flashed in his mind. This time though, he swore it to himself and to the universe, there would be a different outcome, “‘s bad. It hurts. You have to leave me. Go back and I-I can wait a bit until it gets better.”

“No,” he insisted firmly, leaving absolutely no room for discussion, “I am not leaving you out here on your own. Are you crazy?”

“Joel, I can’t walk!” you tried to keep yourself from panicking, trying not to imagine every horrible thing that could happen, “you have to leave me.”

“I am not leaving you, and that’s final,” he grabbed both of your backpacks and threw them on. He turned to you with a hard look on your face and you knew in that moment that it wasn’t anger or annoyance - it was fear. He was scared, “I’m going to carry you.”

“I-”

“It is not up for discussion,” there was no amusement anywhere on his face as he gently scooped you into his arms, cradling you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, closing your eyes as you listened to his breathing, the sound of his heart as he started to head back. After a while of silence, both of you on edge for different reasons, he whispered to you, “I’m going to keep you safe. I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

You weren’t sure if he expected a response or even wanted one, but you couldn’t let his words die in silence, “I love you, too.”

He didn’t need to say the words in order for you to know exactly what he meant. You already knew; everything he’d ever done or said told you so.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d fallen asleep at some point, whether from sheer exhaustion or the overwhelming, or a combination of the two, you didn’t know. The last thing you really remembered was coming Joel sneaking back in, extremely careful since he was carrying you. As soon as you’d gotten back to his place, you passed out. But you were home and safe - just like he’d promised.

Your eyes were dry and heavy by the time you opened them up, slowly sitting up as you looked around. It was light outside, but rain was slowly falling outside, gently tapping against the window. You made a small sound as you rubbed at your bleary eyes. You could smell fresh coffee and you knew that Joel was there. 

Before you could even call for him, you felt the bed dip at your side. You smiled softly when you found Joel on his knees at your side, eyes nervous and expectant. You laid back down, burrowing into his pillow and inhaling his familiar scent that clung onto the fabric. You reached over and put your hand on his face, stroking your thumb over his cheek, “my hero.”

He scoffed at that but you grabbed his chin and forced him to look back at you, to look into your eyes. He wrapped his fingers around your wrist before, squeezing delicately, “baby.”

“I mean it Joel,” this time you made sure he knew that you were leaving no room for discussion. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes before you could feel him nod lightly into your touch, “thank you for saving me.”

“As if that was ever a question,” he pulled your hand away, holding it in his before squeezing gently and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “you had me scared, kid.”

“I had me scared,” you laughed softly, the sound causing his heart to melt slightly, “I’m sorry, Joel.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he insisted, wishing he could find all the words to properly convey how he was feeling. It was so many things all at once, and almost overwhelmed him, “your leg is stitched up but the ankle...it’s not broken, but it's a bad sprain. You’re going to have to take it easy for a while.”

“Ugh. That’s not-”

“For me?” he pulled out the one thing he knew you wouldn’t say no to, “please? Baby.”

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, causing the smallest of smiles to tug up the corner of his mouth, “will you get me my backpack, please?”

“I don’t think you-”

“Joel,” you pulled out your best puppy dog eyes, the very ones you knew he couldn’t say no to. He grumbled under his breath, the sound laced with affection as he went over to the door to fetch your pack. He set it next to you on the bed before nudging you over so he could sit at your side.”

You unzipped it and quickly reached inside for the flowers you’d collected. Luckily, for some reason, they weren’t terribly squished and you were able to pull them out intact. You bundled them together in your hand before holding them out to Joel. 

“What are you doing, huh?”

“They’re for you,” you smiled sweetly, “I picked them for you. Flowers always brighten my day and so do you. Who better to give them to?”

He immediately felt choked up at your kind gesture, slowly taking them from your hand, his fingers brushing over yours. He looked at them before looking back at your eager eyes, a smile, big and genuine, crossing his features. You would do anything to keep that smile on his face. He exhaled softly, taking one of your hands in his and meeting your eyes, “I love you.”

All you could do was match his smile as you tugged on his hand so he would join you on the bed. He gently set the flowers onto the nightstand and climbed in next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you into him, your back against his chest. You closed your eyes as you snuggled against him, putting a hand over his. In that moment, there was nowhere else you’d rather have been.

“I love you too, Joel.”

Real Love, Baby | Joel Miller

pairing: husband!joel miller x wife!reader

rating: none

warnings: no outbreak, lots of fluff, and some good ol’ joel miller lovin’ and a few kisses. no use of y/n.

word count: 904

synopsis: joel has a bad day at work, but seeing you dancing in the kitchen makes it all better.

a/n: based on the song real love baby by father john misty

divider by @saradika-graphics

Joel deeply sighed as he parked his truck in the driveway. He closed his eyes for a few beats, pinching the bridge of his nose as his bad mood kept festering in his chest, daring to settle into his aching bones. 

He had a terrible day at work. Though, terrible doesn’t even do the day justice. He knew you were going to ask about his day, which was routine now, but he truly didn’t want to talk about his day from hell. 

He knew seeing you and Sarah would make it all better, though. 

He groaned as he hopped out his truck, stretching his sore limbs before grabbing his toolbox and heading for the door. 

When he opened it, the aroma of dinner flooded his senses and a song playing mid-level from the vinyl player wafted from the kitchen. He set his tools down by the front door, toeing off his work boots before making his way to the kitchen. 

He paused when he saw you, totally enamored as you swayed your hips and sang along to the song. 

“I’m in love, I’m alive, I belong to the stars in the sky,” You sing unashamedly, never noticing the watchful eye of your husband. You stir the pot of what seemed to be noodles a few times before checking on the sauce cooking next to it, humming to the song as you swayed your hips some more. 

The horrible day Joel’s had rolls off of the weight of his chest and shoulders, dissipating into thin air as he leans on the wall, crossing his arms. A smile curls onto his lips, replacing the frown that’d seemed indefinite the whole day. 

His heart bloomed with warmth as you twirled, eyes closed, before focusing on dinner again. You opened the oven to take out the Texas toast, and Joel quietly hummed to himself as he realized what you made for dinner. 

“I want real love baby, oh don’t leave me waiting, I’ve got real love maybe, wait until you taste me,” You sang again, and he pushed himself off of the wall to make his way toward you, finally making his presence known. 

His hands settled on your hips and you gasped, laughing as you set a hand over your rapidly beating heart. 

“Scared me, baby.” You huff, smiling at the handsome man as you spun around in his grip. 

“Don’t stop dancin’ n’ singin’ now just cus I’m here, honey.” He teases, pressing a kiss to your lips as he starts swaying you to the song. You fold your hands behind his neck, leaning into him with a grin on your lips. 

“How much did you see and hear?” You quirk your brow, moving one hand down to rest over his strong heartbeat in his warm chest. 

“Just about enough to fall in love with you even more, darlin’.” He winks, and you playfully roll your eyes. 

“Such a sweet talker you are, Miller.” 

“What can I say? I’m crazy for my wife.” He grins before pressing his lips to yours, longer this time, before humming against your lips. 

“Where’s Sarah?” He asks, rubbing small circles into your hips with his thumbs. 

“Doing homework upstairs.” 

“Mm. Dinner smells delicious.” Joel says, jutting his chin toward the pots on the stove that sat alongside the sheet of Texas toast. 

“Thanks baby. Sarah and I decided on chicken alfredo. Hope you don’t mind.” You say, lightly scratching the back of Joel’s neck with your fingertips. 

“Not at all, baby.” He tosses you a saccharine smile, resting his forehead against yours. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest, always cherishing these intimate moments with Joel. Your love for him only grew by the day, always telling yourself how lucky you are you found a man like him.

He was your best friend, your life partner, your soulmate. You didn’t believe in any of that stuff before you met him, and now, you’re two years married and you still feel like you’re in the honeymoon stage. 

“How was your day, baby?” You ask, retracting your forehead from his in the slightest so you could kiss the tip of his nose. 

A groan rumbles in his sturdy chest and his eyebrows pinch together. 

“Rather not talk about it, darlin’. Wanna dance with you instead.” He separates himself from you, grabbing hold of your hands as they slip off his body. He sways you back and forth before twirling you into his chest so your back against his front, rocking you side to side before planting a kiss to your cheek. 

He twirls you again, and he can’t help but melt at your laugh and the way you look right now. So carefree, so full of love, so beautiful. 

He grins as he pulls you to his chest gently, dipping your body down in his arms. He holds you there as the song comes to an end, those beautiful brown eyes of his boring into yours. You can’t help the lovestruck look that crosses your face. 

He’ll never get tired of seeing that look. 

He leans down to kiss you once more. It lasts more than a few seconds as his free hand that isn’t holding your body up cups your cheek, calloused thumb gently swiping over your soft skin. 

“Oh– jeez,” Sarah’s voice startles you both, pulling apart from each other with a huff of a laugh. 

“Get a room, you two!” 

tags: @party-hearses ; @ilovepedro ; @punkshort ; @joelsgreys ; @nostalxgic ; @tinygarbage ; @bastardmandennis ; @pamasaur ; @cool-iguana ; @pascalpvnk

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

Sweet Thing | Joel Miller

pairing: jackson!joel x sunshine!f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

warnings: jackson!joel, smut (unprotected piv), sweet pet names, sex in a semi-public spot, sort of getting caught, no specified ages mentioned. no use of y/n.

word count: 863

synopsis: the most unlikely pair in jackson just can’t get enough of each other.

divider by @saradika-graphics

“J-Joel,” You whimper, gripping onto his impossibly huge biceps. The fabric of his flannel felt scratchy underneath your desperate touch, and the scrape of the wiry hair on his jaw set your skin on fire.

His teeth nipped at your ear as the heavy drag of his cock came to a nearly unbearable halt; the deep timbre of his voice, even when it’d dwindled down to a mere whisper, sent shivers down your spine.

“Gotta be quiet, sweet thing. Can’t have anyone catchin’ us now, can we?” You bite your lip as he starts to move his hips again, slowly thrusting into you once more.

The squelching sound was so obscene that if your moans and whines didn’t give you away, your arousal would.

It was ironic that you two had found solace in each other. Jackson’s token ray of sunshine and the ever brooding Joel Miller: the most unlikely match there was. It was never meant to happen, but it just… did.

Being around Joel was easy. The man had such a soft spot for you. You’d been nothing but kind and gentle with him when everyone else was afraid. You carried a sparkle in your eye every time you laid your eyes on him, and that’s when he knew. He knew he had to have you.

If the residents of Jackson found out the both of you had been sneaking around the past few months, they’d all lose their minds. There’s no way they’d be able to puzzle together the pieces of your so-called ‘relationship’ with him, but you suspected at least Ellie had a hunch. The girl was smart and had been onto you two for as long as this had gone on.

You couldn’t help yourself, though. Being with a man that only reserved his soft side for you and his fortuitous daughter had you falling faster than you could keep up with, and at first, it truly terrified you.

You succumbed to his pure charm and good looks, though, which is how you ended up here—fucking in a broom closet in the Tipsy Bison because you chose to wear the pretty dress you found on patrol one day that Joel loved oh so much.

The slow drag of his heavy cock had you muffedly crying out his name, the feeling of it too much and not enough all at once. The man was all-consuming, invading every single sense that you had. It was intoxicating and purely addictive, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of him.

“Fuck, baby. Pussy was fuck’n made for me. Y’feel so goddamn good.” Joel’s words are slightly slurred behind his clenched teeth, trying to control his own sounds of pure bliss.

“Joel—” You cry again as he picks up his pace, and he has to cover your mouth with his hand because you cannot control yourself. He made you feel good in a way that nobody else ever has.

“I know baby, I know. Hush up now n’ take what I’m givin’ ya like the good girl I know y’are.” He coos, kissing your temple as he begins to thrust into you skillfully, tilting his body up so his cock hits your g-spot every single time.

Your eyebrows threaded together as your legs started to shake, your impending orgasm licking a flame up your spine as it threatened to spill over. Just like a match to a matchbox, Joel kept dragging and dragging and dragging until you lit aflame. The devastatingly delicious euphoria that ran through your body was truly unmatched as you convulsed around him, cries now muffled by his lips on yours.

His thrusts became sporadic, pulling out of you before grabbing a rag from a shelf to come onto. Not his finest moment, but he didn’t want to ruin that pretty dress of yours or leave any evidence of your intimate endeavors.

Joel cages you in between his arms as his hands rest on either side of your head against the wall behind you. He buries his face in your neck, catching his breath as he leaves tiny pecks along your pulse point. You mindlessly wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, gently dragging your fingertips against his hot skin while he took some time to recollect himself.

You giggle softly into his ear, kissing his neck once.

“That was fun.” You say, and Joel’s face moves to be in front of yours again. A rare smile curls onto his lips as he rests his forehead against yours, rubbing his nose against your own.

“My sweet girl.” He whispers with a chuckle laced into his words, kissing you once more before tucking his cock back into his jeans. He bends down to pull your panties back up and pulls your dress down past your hips, straightening you out so you don’t look completely fucked out.

Joel turns the knob to the closet, opening the door slowly.

“We gotta stop doing that in public places though, or else we’ll get caught.” You huff.

“Too late.” Tommy’s voice snaps both of your heads in his direction, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as Joel’s burns bright red.

Shit.

tags: @party-hearses ; @ilovepedro ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @nostalxgic ; @cool-iguana ; @amanitacowboy

Diehard

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Erectile dysfunction. Daddy kink. Praise kink if you squint. Overstimulation. Cumplay. She/her pussy pronouns. Pushing physical limits with a pre-negotiated safe word in place for it.

Note: No more limp dick erasure. We die like [old] men.

Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse | Word count: 986

Joel just wanted to prove he could fuck like he used to.

He didn’t think he’d almost kill you in the process.

“JOEL!” you screeched, heels digging deep in the mattress as your climax came in seismic waves.

The stimulation was insane. Normally the much-older man would have been down for the count after two—and usually one—big O, but now his chest was heaving, hips relentlessly beating a punishing pace against your own.

Your walls were slick with not only your cum but his, milky ropes of his arousal making for an obscene set of sounds every time his dick slid in and out of your cunt. You could feel his balls tighten and twitch with every forthcoming spurt of him, practically reeling with the pulse of each new sticky gift inside you. His groans rumbled low, but the power and pleasure and outright primal fervor they conveyed were unmistakeable. You had to look down, feebly, to believe it yourself—Joel never fucked his way through your orgasm and his.

Then you felt a palm slide up the back of your head, and Joel held it up to make sure you watched him fuck you.

“J-Joel,” you whimpered, watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a half-dozen times as you did.

“Just a little more, honey,” he murmured against your forehead. The smack of each thrust was dizzying, “Want my pretty girl nice and full’a me before she leaves, okay?”

Joel never could let you head back to college without a few of his loads and a head full of filthy memories—something to hold you over until your next visit home. You would’ve liked to mumble back, ‘Okay,’ but then your pussy clenched around him, and his thrusts grew faster.

“My sweet girl,” he grinned, “She likes that, huh?”

You could scarcely manage a nod. The weight of your head was held fully by him, and if that wasn’t indicative enough of your fucked-out state, your face surely said the rest. When Joel leaned back to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he caught sight of your hooded, glossy stare and almost came all over again. He slowed his pace for once.

Then he dipped a finger between your body and his, just long enough to douse the tip of his digit with cum. He bottomed out inside you, watched you part your lips in a gentle gasp, and pressed his touch to that open space.

It was almost like you didn’t have the strength to suck. You just let him smear the sticky stuff along your lower lip, gaze plastered to his. Then Joel’s cock sank deeper.

“O-ow!” you whined, partly reanimated by the stretch.

“You can take it,” Joel grunted.

The double entendre wasn’t lost on you. You could, and would, take his finger and his cock inside. You suckled dumbly on the cum-drenched fingertip in assent.

But when Joel’s finger popped out of your mouth and his thrusts picked back up, you weren’t entirely convinced you would be able to hold up the second half of that deal.

It wasn’t fair. He took one magic pill, and poof, his dick stayed hard for half the fucking day. You had nothing but your youth and two shaking legs to ensure your survival. When Joel worked his cock back and forth a couple more times and it seemed your body was about ready to scream, you took hold of his biceps and squeezed tight.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

The tip of his cock nicked a soft ridge inside you, and you jolted back. Joel’s palm was still pressed to your head, holding you to him, and his hips had you pinned as well.

Instead of answering, you whimpered.

You didn’t want him to stop, but you also weren’t sure if you could handle any more. Your eyes met his, pleading.

“Can’t what?” Joel pressed, a little more sternly.

Another whimper. Inside, Joel’s cock was rubbing that pleasure point raw, and you felt another climax coming.

“Use your words.”

“Too— too—”

Each new thrust was sending stars before your eyes. Joel was one sick man if he tried to make you talk while he fucked you past the point of all intelligible speech.

“Too what? Tell me, baby.”

You’d get that fucker back someday. Joel just grinned.

“Too much,” you hissed when his hips delivered another mind-numbing push. Then, feeling pleasure threaten to peak at almost a painful degree, “Toomuchtoomucht—”

Joel continued thrusting, knowing damn well you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop. As if to underscore this point, he tipped your head back and made you hold his gaze, features creased with a frown.

“That sure don’t sound like the safe word to me.”

It wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t. He didn’t need to tell you twice, or even breathe a second word besides. With one more brush of Joel’s thick, throbbing, implausibly hard cock, he sent you over the edge and into your fourth orgasm of the morning, hitting that spot again and again.

And again.

And again.

Just like before, Joel fucked you through each wave, catching your lips this time to stifle your cries. You might’ve gone blind for a second or two, but that was alright; the pleasure, proximity, and then the sweet, erratic pulse of his cock sending rope after rope of his cum deep inside made the overstimulation worthwhile.

Your body went limp against the bed, held tight in Joel’s grasp, when you felt that sickly sweet dichotomy of soft, tender touches and a cock lodged between your walls that was as hard as it had ever been. Still trying to console you with kisses, still trying to warm you up for another round, perhaps, Joel almost laughed out loud in your mouth when you groaned into his and whispered:

“Please don’t ever take that fucking pill again.”

The Only Source of Light || Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: As you return home from the job you were involved in, you realize how much Joel feared losing you

Warnings: none

Word count: 1207

Authors: Cass & Fenrir

After throwing your backpack on the ground and closing the door, you sighed loudly. It was nice to be back home, but you felt like crap. You had dirty clothes stuck to your body. There were a number of problems with the job. The only thing you dreamed of was taking a shower. Announcing your successful return, you shouted, "I'm back... Still alive!"

Joel's exhausted state made him appear limp like wet laundry on a cold, still day. Every muscle in his body seemed to be giving way to gravity. The man wanted to sleep, to be warm in his bed, and to have a good night's sleep. Rather, he had chaos both outside and inside the shared space. 

He nodded briefly at you, his bearded face displaying a look of tiredness. His politeness began to wane. "What the fuck, Y/N? Where have you been?" The stain on the leg of your jeans caught his eye. "What's that?"

"It's nothing," you said, shook your head, and went to the bathroom to wash yourself and remove dirty clothes.

There was no doubt that Joel would not give up and follow you there. "What happened?"

You groaned before removing your shirt and tossing it to the side. "Jesus, some privacy, please! The job got messy, so I had to shoot. Nothing bad happened."

Leaning casually against the door frame as you changed, he paraphrased, "Job got messy, I got shot. I've seen all that before, so don't be prude. Mind if I check this wound?"

"Mind if I change and clean myself up a little before we start?"

With an eye roll, Joel turned on his heel and hurried to the kitchen to retrieve the whiskey glass he had started before your return.

"Thank you!" You yelled after him, and you began to wash yourself as much as you could. You changed into more comfortable pants and Joel's flannel.

Leaning one hand against the counter, he glanced at you as you entered the kitchen. "Y/N, I am very particular with my words, aren't I? I warned you to be careful."

"I was careful. Things can get messy, you should know this." As you spoke, you hopped onto the counter and stared at him. "I am fine. Really."

As he approached you, he shifted another glass filled with alcohol along the counter for you to take. "The fact that things get messy is not an excuse for getting hurt so easily," Joel snarled a little, downing his glass.

"Do not treat me like a child. You get hurt too, and I do not lecture you." Accepting the glass with a smile, you took a sip while grimacing. The taste of alcohol was never appealing to you.

He didn't say anything more, just stared at you for quite a while before putting the glass into the sink. "Did you sell everything?"

Before taking another sip, you answered, "Everything, somehow. After being away for so long, I couldn't wait to get home."

Joel reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out a small plastic bag. "I think we still have some painkillers here," he said, pulling two pills out and handing them to you. "I want to see that leg, too."

You took the pills before showing him your leg, joking, "I think you saw it plenty of time." The wound wasn't serious, and you patched it up right away.

His brow cocked as he inspected the wound carefully. "Just a little graze, isn't it?" As it turned out, it was not deep, but rather superficial, so Joel reluctantly agreed with you.

"It was patched as soon as I could. You don't have to worry. I am a big girl."

Joel decided not to argue with you, so he only nodded. "It's going to be a long and hard day for us tomorrow, so come rest."

"Wait?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why will it be difficult?"

"There is something we need to do on behalf of Marlene."

Then you shook your head, groaning. "No. C'mon, Joel! I just came back. All I need is rest," you sighed. "And her? Really?"

He picked you up and carried you to the bedroom saying, "I trust her. Sort of."

Surprised, you grabbed onto him. "Well, sort of doesn't really make it better, does it?"

"You need to trust me, Y/N."

"Well, I can try, but I need to know what I'm getting into right after returning."

You were placed on the bed and the pillow was improved for you by him. "We're going to smuggle something outside of Boston."

"Oh, I see. So? It's business as usual," you nodded, getting comfortable on the pillow. "But you've always done it alone. Why do you need me this time?"

"I've got a feeling it won't be any of the usual goods. It's going to be a girl."

Girl? A child? He's never tried smuggling people before, so that's something new for him. "You've never done anything like this before."

"Marlene can only trust us in this urgent and unusual situation," he explained quickly.

You couldn't resist chuckling. "Well, then I guess I can tag along, just to make sure you don't get yourself into trouble."

"Don't worry about me. I am more worried about you."

You patted the mattress as you said, "Get your ass into bed or I'll pull you here myself." you said. "You know how worried I am about you, so as we see it works both ways."

As he lay down in front of you, he improved his own pillow, letting your arms wrap around his waist.

In a quiet voice, you looked at him and asked, "Did you miss me while I was away? I sure did."

"Yes. You know I always miss you."

As you stared at him, your head rested on his chest. Soon, your hand rested on his nape as you moved it through his hair. "That's why you were angry about the leg? You thought I wouldn't return this time, didn't you?"

A long moment passed without him saying a word. He stared intently at the dilapidated ceiling with his brown eyes. "I was afraid I had lost you forever.

"Oh, Joel!" Your voice was no more than a whisper as you hugged him tightly. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm not going anywhere."

"The only thing my life has taught me is to be uncertain of what the future holds," he replied emotionlessly. "The reason I got angry was because you were involved in something I was powerless to control. I hate such moments.”

As you played with his hair, you whispered, "I know. You know I didn't mean to worry or anger you. I always try to get back to you as soon as possible."

His hand was soon slipping into your hair as he massaged your scalp and stroked the curve of your spine underneath your shirt with his other hand. "I love you. "I love you too." As you cupped his cheek to pull him closer, you whispered a quiet, come here. The kiss you offered was gentle, as if you were afraid you might hurt him. “For me, you are the only source of light in this dark world of mine.”

The Zone Of Comfort || Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: As soon as Joel gets home, he has some concrete plans for what he'll do with you in his spare time

Warnings: SMUT

Word count: 1904

Authors: Cass & Fenrir

There was no way he could take his eyes off you, that was the truth. 

Upon returning home, he dropped his bag on the floor and locked the door; he didn't even think about getting refreshed.

The day had been filled with scummy, dirty work, and he was not only exhausted, but wanted to get relaxed first and foremost. He started considering other ways of dealing with his condition after realizing that the pills mixed with the old whiskey he had kept in a secret stash under the wardrobe were no longer effective.

Then there you were, bustling in the kitchen, in his kitchen, looking goddamn fine.

The world was hard to find yourself in, everything you knew one day crumbled to dust, leaving nothing behind, forcing you to leave in every way you could. Joel's side wasn't always easy, but it didn't change your love for him.

As soon as you heard his backpack hit the ground, you perked up. Finally, he was home. "Joel, you're back! I got some good food, so let's have a nice meal together."

"No rats' meat today, huh?" He laughed slightly darker than he intended to, while he approached you and wrapped his strong arms around your waist from behind. "Missed me?" As he shifted your hair aside to kiss the crook of your neck, his breath was a blend of cigarette scent and warmth. "Because I certainly missed you, Y/N."

The thought of it turned your face into disgust, but you soon smiled as he kissed you. Your hand moved into his hair. "That's what I always do, you know." Suddenly, you turned in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I always miss you and I’m worried every time you're out."

With a smug smirk, he buried his face in your neck's crook, still kissing you there, grazing his rough lips across your soft skin. "Oh, did you miss me?"

"I missed you so much," you giggled, stroking his hair. "I think you missed me too."

You were picked up and placed on the kitchen counter by Joel as easily as if you were a leaf. His hands began to stroke your legs through your jeans instantly. "Prove it then, little one," he dared.

It's not that you were surprised, just that you didn't expect this right now. You gasped and rested your hands on his shoulders. ”You missed me that much?”

The man did not reply, instead he drew his head back and looked at you, his eyebrows cocked, a cocky smirk dancing across his lips. "As you can see."

A smile spread across your face as you gently touched his chest. "I bet you missed my moans when you fucked me," you teased and slowly removed your shirt. "I bet that's all you come back for."

As you took off your shirt, he watched your boobs bouncing a little without saying anything. "What do we have here?" He murmured, cupping one of your breasts and gently squeezing it, strongly but lightly enough to not hurt you in any way.

"Something you really like." When he touched you, you couldn't help but moan. "Dinner can wait. Since you're back, you deserve dessert." Following those words, you tossed your pants aside. There was nothing else on you except your panties as you sat before him.

After stroking your waist with calloused hands, he slipped one of his palms onto your thigh to massage the flesh there. "The little one is so eager today. Are you already wet for me, hmm? Are you getting aroused thinking of me taking you on a dinner table?" Asked Joel, once again kissing your neck, he applied his thumb to your clit and rubbed you there through your panties. "Oh, yes. You are fucking wet," he grinned at you, gently biting the flesh on your neck, leaving a hickey there, and slipping his index finger beneath the fabric of your undies.

A quiet gasp escaped your lips as you shuddered. "Yes, I was eagerly anticipating your return. I couldn't wait for your touch and love. I imagined you touching me each night before sleep and each morning when I awoke."

Taking a step back, Joel started to unbutton his flannel shirt and removed it soon, not breaking eye contact with you for a moment.

"And you said I'm eager," you teased, swinging your legs innocently while watching him with the same innocent smile.

Having tossed his shirt on the floor, he returned to you, wrapped one hand around your waist and helped your legs wrap around his waist before picking you up, grunting deeply.

"Am I getting too heavy for you?" You raised an eyebrow, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Or are you getting too old for this?"

He placed you hardly on the top of the kitchen table and pushed the papers off before he stared into your eyes. "Just the smell of your wet pussy makes me crazy, baby."

Angrily, you huffed at the papers spilling on the floor, turning your attention back to him. "Then prove it, not just talk about it and ignore my work."

As soon as he unclasped your bra, he took it off. As soon as he finished, his lips locked around one of your erected nipples while his hand pinched the other.

"Fuck," you groaned, pulling his hair carefully with your hands. "I missed this so much, and I needed it so badly."

The hand that pinched your nipple slowly moved down your body, soon reaching your panties' fabric. As his lips continued working on your nipple, he slipped his hand beneath your panties and viciously rubbed your clit.

In an effort to get closer to him, you moaned and arched your back. After being away for so long, you craved his touch more than ever. "Joel! Please, I need you."

In an instant, he moved and started kissing your lips hungrily, slowly sliding his middle finger into your pussy, moving it back and forth while making out with you. His free hand unzipped his fly and unbuckled his belt.

You moved your hands to help him, while kissing him back just as eagerly. You weren't going to let him dominate the kiss so easily now that he was back.

It made Joel grunt loudly, as your tiny hands were helping him with his jeans. Having slipped his finger out of you, he brought his hand to his lips, licking and tasting your wetness while gazing at you, almost naked on the kitchen table, with your best deer-eyes fixed on him. By pushing your panties aside, he uncovered your dripping pussy, already glistening with the wetness he spread all over your clit with his hand moments earlier. With his eyes traveling back to your face, Joel smirked. "Who's a good girl, huh? Who's already dripping for me?"

While biting your lip, you replied, "I'm a good girl. I'm always waiting for you and thinking about you."

Joel spat on his open palm and jerked his already erected cock several times before spreading your legs wide. After sliding his tip past your pussy lips gently, he pushed hard enough to bury his shaft deeply inside your wet core, grunting at the long missed tightness. "Fuck."

As he filled you up and stretched your walls, you hissed in delight. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. As you kissed him, you murmured, "Fuck indeed."

As he kissed your lips briefly, he grabbed your waist, and quickly began fucking you, grunting and groaning at various times, looking at the place where your bodies were connected to see the bulge forming within your abdomen whenever he was pushing his cock in. "I'm so impressed with you, little one, taking me so well. You're a fine young lady, aren't you?"

As you pressed your hand against the bulge, you let out a loud moan at the pleasure feeling that sent shivers down your spine. "I always take your cock so well whenever you need it. Fuck, I love it."

As he increased his pace a little, he picked up one of your legs and rested it against his broad shoulder, massaging your calf a little while squeezing one of your breasts. "So tight, I love it," he praised within a husky tone. Soon, he pulled out of you, pulled you off the table, turned you around and pressed hard on your back, so you had to lay face down on the table. "Stick your sweet ass up, sweetheart."

As a good girl, you nodded and raised your butt in appreciation. Obviously, you didn't stop yourself from rolling your hips for Joel just to tease him.

He spanked you a few times, leaving red marks on your buttocks. He snarled, grabbing his cock and rubbing its tip against your slick folds. He grunted, "Did I tell you I love your fucking ass?"

Nodding, you grabbed the edge of the table. "You did. Many, many times."

Joel wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close as he slowly entered you once more. "Oh, fuck, I love it when you got so fucking tight." His other hand grabbed your left hip as he was slowly bucking his hips into you.

Your moaning became louder as you said, "And I am all yours to fuck however you want! I love this thick cock abusing my pussy.”

The hand slipped under your belly, holding you there, moved to rub on your clitoris as he fucked you in the steady pace.

It was impossible not to whimper in pleasure as he made endless promises and praises for how good you made him feel as you moaned his name so sweetly.

Your warmness mixed with wetness, and your pussy's tightness sent him on edge. Soon, his pushes turned sloppy, and he started grunting more and more. As Joel pulled out his throbbing dick from you, he turned you around and jerked his shaft several times before cumming on your belly. "Fuck, Y/N."

You sat up and used your finger to taste some of his cum while moaning sadly at the feeling of emptiness. Your arm encircled his hand as you hummed. "Feeling better, sweetie?”

He wiped the last drops of cum from the tip of his cock with his thumb and sucked it clean, glaring at your body, still shivering from the pleasure you both shared. As he rearranged his boxers and jeans and zipped his fly, he casually replied, "Yeah, of course, that's what I missed." It wasn't long before he touched your swollen pussy again, eliciting another groan from you. "I love you so much. You're my only source of comfort."

After getting off the table, you walked to the kitchen and found a rug there. Before returning to him, you cleaned yourself up and put on your clothes. Wrapping your arms around him, you looked up at his face. "I love you too, and I'm glad I can help you feel better."

One of his brows cocked up. "What the fuck are you doing getting dressed?"

You blinked, whispering, "Uhm... As I'm planning to finish the food now, I'd like to dress appropriately."

A smirk spread across his face as he touched your cheek and stared deeply into your eyes. "Food can wait," he told you. "There is still a lot to make up, and I am not done pledging you yet."

A small bouquet || Joel Miller x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: when Joel presents you with flowers, it reminds you of the good old days when the world was different

Warnings: none

Word count: 532

Author: Fenrir

A/N: today’s prompt: presenting them with a bunch of flowers

"Even a simple roadside bloom is a creation of love, hopefully," Joel thought as he prepared a bouquet for his girlfriend. In the end, they were two people who had fallen to the wayside of society, on the edge of a world that was already in a state of decay. Since they had seen each other as unique and special blooms, he knew his lover would agree that this Valentine's Day bouquet was perfect, even though people stopped celebrating this holiday of love when pandemics struck. 

He met your worried gaze at the door after returning from work later than usual that day. "I was worried about you, Joel, are you okay?" You asked him, walking straight to the hallway to see how he was doing.

Your cheek was instantly rubbed with his calloused palm as his thumb slid slowly across your soft, warm skin. "It's okay, babe. I promised you to stay outta trouble, and that's exactly what I'm doing," he assured, his tone somewhat husky.

You gave him a look that indicated you were far from believing him. It was clear to you that Joel was prone to troubles of all kinds, even if he didn't intend to be involved in them. You tilted your head again after noticing him hiding something behind his back carelessly. "What's that?"

His lips curled in a small, shy smile before he replied. "I have something for you."

The intrigue level had now reached a new level. Without asking any more questions, you waited for him to show you.

In a hesitant manner, Joel offered you the messy bouquet he had hidden behind his back. "You once told me that you miss the ordinariness of the old world, so I thought I would bring you some."

It was hard to believe what you were seeing. Joel, the toughest man you've ever met, gathered some flowers for you, and to do so, you were sure, he had to leave the quarantine zone. “Oh, Joel! You didn’t have to!” The bouquet was quickly accepted and brought close to your nose to smell the sweet, almost nauseating scent of those wild flowers. You mused sweetly, "Is there an occasion for them? Or was I just a good girl? They’re beautiful though." Joel placed one hand on your hip with a sigh. "If not for the fungus, today would be Valentine's Day."

As you parted your lips, an almost audible sigh escaped your mouth as you accepted Joel's explanation. He was more than right.

He rubbed your back gently and pulled you closer to his broad chest without saying a word. "I don't want to sound like an idiot or a wimp, but I will love you unconditionally, regardless of how tough times get. You are the only one who keeps me going."

While standing on your tiptoes, you kissed his stubbled jaw. "I love you too. I appreciate this beautiful gift, it brightened my day. Let me throw them in the water." Before heading to your tiny kitchen, you glanced at him over your shoulder. "I am grateful you have given me some kind of magic that I had thought had been lost for a long time."

Ideas

I have an Idea for a series of Tlou, but I still don’t know with who, its so hard to pick and base of which one is its a slightly different story.

Who would you like?

Or if you have someone else i would take it in consideration 🥹🫶🏻