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daimyosprincess · 18 days ago

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pretty baby (joel miller x f!reader)

summary: working as a nanny for joel miller is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

warnings: age gap (28/50), infidelity, divorce, power imbalance, soft!joel, rich!joel (lmao), cursing, joel is taller than reader, mention of alcohol, marriage angst, smut, pussy pronouns, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, kinda dom!joel ig, praise kink, 18+ mdni.

notes: this is my first time writing this kind of thing, and truthfully i’m not sure if it’s any good, but enjoy :) most importantly: if it’s not for you, that’s fine! you can scroll away and forget you ever saw it. please be kind, always ✨ and finally, i obviously don’t condone any of this shit in real life ✌🏻

big huge thank you, as ever, to my wonderful beta @macfrog 🤍 you know i couldn’t do this without you, babe. love you with my whole heart.

A strip of light shines from beneath the door of the study, obnoxiously bright in the darkness of the house.

Mr. Miller never works this late.

After a year of working for the family, you know their habits, the way they lived. You know that Mr. Miller — call me Joel, darlin’ — always drinks an iced espresso with an insane six shots to get him ready for the day. You know that Melissa — his wife — likes to finish the week with a ludicrously expensive bottle of rosé, often hosting her friends around the ornate marble countertops in the kitchen.

You also know that their marriage is not a happy one.

As a nanny to their two children, not much manages to creep past you about the inhabitants of the luxurious home you shared, and there’s one thing you’re absolutely certain of: Melissa Miller was growing to resent her husband. The two of them had worked hard to make their millions, but Mr. Miller, it seems, hasn’t stopped.

You barely see him outside his study or away from his office downtown. Sure, he makes time for the kids, but that’s when you aren’t needed. They love him, clamouring for him whenever he walks through the door, showing off their latest school work or dance routines they’d picked up from their friends.

That’s when you clock out for the day, watching him shed his suit jacket and tie, his offspring using him as a climbing frame. You retreated to your bedroom in those situations; listening for the terse exchanges you’d hear between husband and wife in the hallway after dark.

Melissa’s words from the previous Friday come back to you as you stand outside the study: swirling the blush-coloured liquid in her glass, stem held delicately between expertly manicured nails. Her friends had nodded and pouted in sympathy, her dissatisfaction towards her husband quite apparent as you made your dinner quietly in the corner.

Fantastic father, you guys know that. He’s a truly great guy. But, he’s married to his career. Not to me. Not for a long time.

The look on her face told you everything you needed to know. You’d seen it before with your girlfriends, felt it before yourself when your relationship with your college boyfriend had run its course.

She’d checked out mentally already.

You’d overheard her again one day when you’d been doing laundry, whispering on the phone about her plans. There’s a guy at work, she’d giggled. James from Accounting. Is this what it’s like to have someone actually want you?

You weren’t getting involved. It wasn’t your place.

Besides, Mr. Miller is always good to you; paying you more than you’d ever dreamed of, asking how your day was going on the odd occasion you see him around the grand home they’ve invited you to live in. For the most part, he simply stays out of your way.

You just admire him from afar.

You know he’s fifty: you’d helped the kids sign his birthday card last year, heard his sarcastic comments about being an older father. He’s a whole twenty-two years your senior, but the fact he was incredibly fucking handsome was never lost on you. Dark hair threaded with silver, same as the scruff along his cheeks. A thick moustache over his full upper lip, beautiful curved nose, brown eyes kind and warm. Taller than you, but never imposing.

A crush on the much-older man who employs you to work in his own home? A fucking terrible idea, to be honest. So, you don’t indulge it; ignoring your daydreams about him in the other wing of the house, sharing a bed with a wife who no longer loves him.

You shift from foot to foot, now, as the floorboards creak beneath you. Melissa hasn’t been home all day, a note left to say Mr. Miller and the children were the only ones who’d need dinner. You wonder, idly, if she’s with James from Accounting right now, drawing up divorce papers and planning how to split the childcare.

So, you’ll simply knock on the study door, just to see if Mr. Miller is okay, let him know you’ve finished for the day.

That’ll be fine, right?

Your fist connects lightly with the smooth oak, and you hear his low voice telling you to come in.

“Hey, Mr. Miller. The girls are sleeping, so I’m gonna turn in for the night. There’s chilli already made, if you wanted anything to-”

“Can I ask you a question?”

His interruption comes as a surprise, until he turns in his chair. He looks.. Defeated. His thick-rimmed glasses in one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. White shirt unbuttoned with his chest exposed, tie pulled loose, shoulders slouched dejectedly.

“Uh, sure.”

Chewing your lip, you stand in front of his desk, his gaze bloodshot and broken. You twist your hands, feeling your palms begin to sweat.

“Did you know about my wife wanting a divorce?”

///

He’s never been this direct, never really asked you any other questions than how was your weekend?

This is new.

Apparently, Melissa had called him. It was over. There was someone else; had been for a while. She’d taken a bag of clothes to her mom’s, would come by in the morning to see the children. He tells you the facts, tone laced with bitterness as he scrubs a hand across his face.

You feigned innocence; gasping and grimacing at all the right times. It truly was a mess: she’d clearly blindsided him, and it showed.

“I know I shouldn’t have been workin’ so late all the time, that I probably should’ve paid her more goddamn attention,” he sighs. “I guess we were strugglin’, but I thought that just came with being parents, y’know?”

You nod encouragingly, even though you don’t know. This is the most Mr. Miller has ever spoken to you; pouring his heart out to the girl he pays to look after his babies. You’re not even sure he knows your surname.

“‘f that’s what she really wants, I won’t stop her. It’s just — the kids. I don’t want ‘em thinkin’ badly of me.”

You fight a strange urge to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows, take his face in your hands. You’re unsure what’s come over you; you know he’s a grown man — much more grown than you.

“Mr. Miller, they’d never think that. You’re the best daddy ever — that’s what they tell me, every single day,” you babble, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “It’s probably for the best, in the long run. If — if she isn’t happy.”

Fuck. You’ve said too much.

He blinks slowly up at you, eyes shining in the reflection of the low lamplight. “‘f you say so, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

You try to shift your focus away from how the name makes you feel, the butterflies that begin to drift in your belly. He’s so fucking handsome: you like being his darlin’, his sweetheart.

You wonder what else you could be for him.

“Been tryin’ to guess how long she’s been screwin’ some other fucker behind my back, too. Makes me feel like a damned fool.” He pinches the bridge of his nose again as he talks, elbows set on his thighs.

In truth, Melissa and her paramour couldn’t be further from your mind: he’s here, and you want to help him feel better, in any way you can.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Miller? To make it easier?”

He chuckles, then. “Stop callin’ me that, maybe?”

“‘Least I made you smile,” you tease, eyebrows raised. Your hand finds his shoulder, and he moves his to rest over it. His palm all but swallows yours whole; warm and rough as he squeezes. Despite yourself, and his obvious anguish, a buzz of desire claws at your spine.

You’re standing over him, now, watching as his eyes find your waist, the curve of your chest. You squirm a little, unsure of how to feel. Something changes in his gaze: a decision being made. You’re rocked by the realisation of how badly you want him, and how much you probably fucking shouldn’t do.

“You really wanna help me, huh?”

His voice is barely a murmur, and you know he’s offering you a choice. Something tells you that Mr. Miller would never make you do anything you didn’t want to do — that you’re safe with him. Eyes falling to the broad expanse of his chest, the thick biceps in his white shirt; you know you want this. Just as much as he does.

“Yes,” you breathe quietly. “I really do.”

Something passes between you both: unspoken, but shared in its secrecy. You’re confident he’s doing this out of spite, a form of payback towards the woman who’s left him for someone else; but your panties are wet, and you’re past caring.

“Lock the door, darlin’.”

///

Never in a million years did you think you’d find yourself here when you woke up this morning: rolling your hips over Mr. Miller’s thighs in his office chair, his teeth in the column of your throat. Dress hiked up around your waist, his hands grab at your ass, and he’s devouring you like a man starved.

“You’re real fuckin’ pretty, baby. I ever tell you that?”

A giggle bubbles in your chest, the absurdity of the situation finally permeating your consciousness.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“No,” he repeats back to you softly. “That wouldn’t have been right, would it?”

You shrug your shoulders, dragging his lips to yours. This isn’t right either: his wedding band cool against your skin, his name on the paycheck that goes into your account each month. The thrill of it all is heady, but you find it spurs you on even more.

The sensation of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating; he tastes faintly of whiskey, his cologne almost overwhelming. He’s touching you gently, softly; but each gesture is full of intent, unbridled lust spilling over on both sides.

Mr. Miller plays with the straps of your dress, thick fingers pulling at the dainty bows that hold it in place. He breaks away from you, your chin in his hand as he seeks permission.

“I think you’re pretty all over, baby girl. You gonna let me find out? Let me see if I’m right?”

He’s hard, and huge: you feel the solid shape of him against your core. His words make you shudder in his arms, warm wetness pooling in your underwear.

“Y—Yes, yes, Mr. Miller. I want you to —“

He slides the thin fabric down your forearms, tutting under his breath. “It’s Joel, baby. ‘m just Joel.”

You nod in submission, chest heaving as he exposes you in an agonisingly slow fashion. It’s worth it, though, to watch his pupils dilate as your tits spill free, feel his intake of breath as his hands squeeze and tug at you mercilessly.

“Joel.”

His name is a strangled curse on your tongue, his head dipping to spread messy kisses across your collarbones, tongue dragging lower, kissing the peaks of you reverently. Your back arches of its own accord, pushing you further into his warm, wet mouth.

Your mind is empty of any coherent thought save for the indescribable way Joel’s making you feel. You want to touch him, too, whining as you scrabble for his belt buckle, his bulge prominent and mouth-watering. That laugh rumbles through his chest again, and he pries your fingers away, kissing the tips individually.

“Next time, sweetheart, y’can have it. I promise. Get up on the desk f’me, now.”

Next time.

The idea of it makes you dizzy, leaning on his forearm as Joel helps you onto the priceless antique. He drags your dress from under you, panties falling to the floor, sneakers following with a thump. You’re fully bare for him; dripping onto his facts and figures, his spreadsheets and contracts.

Joel’s throat bobs at the sight of you, his fingernails scratching at his jaw.

“Oh, baby. She needs me, huh? She needs me real bad.”

He deftly hooks your legs over his shoulders, heart beating out of your chest as he lowers himself to your centre. Gripping his silvered curls, his tongue slides over your core, and you buck your hips eagerly into his mouth. He’s so fucking good at it: one huge hand flat on your belly, the other linked with yours.

Joel takes his time, moving to slip his fingers inside you slowly, telling you you’re doin’ so good for him, that you can take ‘em, that he knows you can. It’s all you can do to hold onto him for dear life as you come; reduced to nothing more than a pliant plaything for him, in awe of how you’re responding so impatiently already.

“Joel.. Please. I wanna feel you. More of you.”

He smirks, popping the button of his slacks. He pulls his cock free: it’s big, just like you thought it would be; stiff in his hand and leaking over his thick fingers. You swallow, bracing yourself a little. Joel notices your hesitancy, his thumb on your lower lip, tugging it from your teeth.

“You still wanna do this? Hey, s’okay if not,” he says gently, kissing your forehead. The tenderness is unexpected, but you welcome it anyway, reaching down to wrap your fingers round the sheer width of him. His breath shortens deliciously as you stroke him, and you spread your legs a little wider.

“I want you to fuck me, Mr. Miller.”

The deliberate use of his name pulls a groan from him, brown eyes turning to black. He feeds you it slowly: hand wrapped round your throat, tongue in your mouth. Your nails pierce his skin as he stretches you exquisitely, bare feet digging into his ass to feel him even deeper.

“Attagirl,” Joel tells you through ragged breaths, and you note the pride in his voice. It makes you grin, urging him on as pens and paper fall to floor, desk shaking with the snap of his hips. His pounding is relentless, and before long you’re coming together, his hand over your mouth to subdue your cries of fucked-out bliss.

His spend splashes over your belly, damp foreheads pressed together as your heart rates settle. Joel tucks himself away after a beat, roots around in the draws for some tissue. Your thighs are still shaking, hips sore from his solid grip, but you’re smiling.

You’ve never felt this good after sex: even though it was with the man who employs you, over his desk in the home he shares with his soon to be ex-wife. The absurdity of it all, again, almost makes you giggle.

He dabs at your stomach, throwing the tissue in the trash. Joel wraps one strong forearm round your middle, tipping your chin to look up at him. He searches your face, and you’re glad you don’t see regret in his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Never better.”

His lips against yours are soft now, the earlier hunger dulled by mutual orgasms. You decide not to worry about what comes next, attempting to forget the fact you’re probably jobless for sure. But you know you’d do it all over again, that you’ll go to sleep tonight dreaming of him inside you.

Joel slides your panties along your thighs, helps you wrangle your dress over your head. You’re only just noticing he’s still got all his fucking clothes on; you didn’t get to see him, not the way he saw you.

Next time, sweetheart, y’can have it. I promise.

You wonder whether there’ll ever really be a next time.

He clears his throat, pulls you to your feet. The moonlight curves against his nose, moustache still slick with the remnants of you. You know you probably should feel awkward or ashamed, but you don’t want to flee. You want to stay right here, rooted to the spot beneath him.

“Listen.. I, uh, I don’t know what the arrangements are goin’ to be movin’ forward, but I’d like it if you stuck around.”

His hands settle on your hips, and you blink up at him through your lashes. Just having him touch you again — so innocently, with no real intent behind it — has you wondering what took this so long to fucking happen.

“Me too, Mr. Miller. I’d like that very much.”

///

divider by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

#i am an old man's whore #zwei's reading list #joel miller x reader #fanfic

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daimyosprincess · 23 days ago

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Ad Astra Per Aspera

Pairing: Joel Miller X fem!Reader | W/C: ~6.3K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: You give Joel a birthday gift to remember before the world falls apart.

A/N: This will probably rip your heart out…but in like a sexy way. Missed you all.x

Artwork credit (far right): Refael Suissa | Irefaels

Warnings: Set it in the TLOU TV universe / follows the show’s timeline and locations (Austin / Jackson). Heavy sexual tension. Frustrated / grumpy Joel. Reader is a bit of a minx. Latin language (duh). Flirting / seduction. Alcohol / scenes take place in a bar. Sarah / Ellie / Tommy are in this. Good Dad!Joel. Implied canon-typical violence. Slight age gap (make it your own, but in my mind reader is about seven years younger than Joel). Joel get’s explicit consent. Raw, passionate smut. Smut with implied but undiscussed feelings. Oral (M / F receiving). Fingering. Praise kink. Dirty talk. Slight size kink. Unprotected P in V. Cum eating. Cum on face (a.k.a. Joel turns you into his birthday cake). Chair sex. Implied violet!Joel. No use of Y/N. No use of daddy. Use of good girl. Reader has female sex anatomy and has slight implied feminine descriptors. Could be seen as a happy or un-happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything!

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Ad Astra Per Aspera ~ “Through Hardship to the Stars”

++++

Austin, Texas – September 26, 2003

"Damn it, Dan! This delay's gonna cost us a whole week—we're already playing catch-up," Joel barks into his Nokia, barely catching the muffled murmurs coming from the other end. "Look, just fix it. I'm done here. Bye." With a snap, he ends the call and tosses his phone into the faded pocket of his jeans, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in sheer frustration.

The annoyance is written all over his face, but it's nothing compared to the storm brewing inside. Delay after delay has catapulted this job to the top of his 'worst-ever' list.

And to top it off, it's his birthday – a day he hasn’t really ever been fond of, mostly because it just means he’s getting old. He doesn’t need his birthday to remind him of that, though. His back does a fine job of it every morning.

"Screw it, one beer won't kill me," he mutters under his breath. Seeing your smile might even help, too.

Joel jumps into his truck, his toolbox landing on the passenger seat with a puff of dust. He notices a pack of Tommy’s cigarettes on the dash and toys with the idea of lighting up, but he can already hear Sarah’s nagging if she catches a whiff. It’s just a short drive to the bar.

"Must be a full moon or something," he grumbles, trying to drown out the constant wail of sirens with Hank Williams' twang. Alone, he belts out a lyric or two, a guilty pleasure he’d never share in company.

He pulls into the Whiskey Ward parking lot—only one other car there. Yours.

Joel instinctively glances at his wrist, remembering too late his watch is out of commission. Need to fix that thing, he thinks to himself as he steps out, his work boots hitting the pavement. He runs a hand through his just starting to grey hair and pushes open the wooden door.

Inside, the bar is quiet, and there you are, perched on the bartop, legs crossed, engrossed in a textbook with a CD-player by your side. You haven't noticed him yet, so he takes a moment just to watch you, finally easing onto a leather stool at the far end of the bar. After a few moments, he clears his throat to get your attention.

"Oh, shit – Joel! Hi,” you exclaim, pulling off your headphones and sliding off the bartop with a graceful hop. The move briefly reveals a flash of your midriff, smooth and unexpected. Joel's hands clench into fists at his sides, a jolt of surprise tightening his grip.

"Rough day?" you muse, sliding a napkin across the bar to Joel with a casual grace, offering a fleeting glimpse of your figure as you pour him a Coors—his usual.

"Yeah—somethin' like that," he grumbles, reaching for the glass. His fingers brush yours, causing your skin to flush a bit. He notices.

"Quiet in here for a Friday, huh? Didn't expect to be the only one," he comments, sipping his beer to quench the heat of the day, yet feeling the alcohol's warm embrace relaxing his muscles.

"Odd day, really. Barely had two customers," you lean back against the bar, your stance casual yet poised, "Or maybe I did it just for you."

Joel looks puzzled.

"Maybe I cleared the place out, kept it just for you... seeing as it's your birthday and all," you add, inching closer to his side of the bar.

"Hm," Joel hums, another sip hiding his smile. "You know about that, huh?"

"Of course – remembered the first time you flashed your I.D.," you wink, sending a warm rush through him like a dip in a hot tub.

“And here I was thinkin’ you thought I was some kid tryin’ to sneak in a beer,” he teases.

Your laughter fills the air, more refreshing to him than the beer itself. Leaning in, he wonders if you're this close with everyone or just him.

"What's that you're reading?" Joel nods toward the textbook still open on the bartop.

Caught off guard, too absorbed in the features of his face, you blink. "Huh?"

"Your book," he gestures again.

"Oh, right—it's for my Master's in Latin history," you explain nonchalantly.

Joel whistles lowly, clearly impressed. "Learn anythin’ good?"

"It's Latin," you quip, matter-of-factly.

"So? Teach me something, Darlin'."

Darlin'. He rarely uses it, but when he does—you feel it in places you think you maybe shouldn’t.

"Well, I’m currently reading about the Roman poet Seneca. Kinda reminds me of you, actually."

"That so?"

"No." You tease, smiling. "You might be a bit grumpy sometimes, but he’s got you beat there—even on your birthday."

Joel's smirk grows. "That obvious, huh?"

"Just a bit," you tease back, your voice playful yet laced with an undertone that makes his heart beat a bit faster. You lean closer, your arms crossing nonchalantly on the bar, but every move calculated to draw him in.

The space between you seems charged with electricity; the air thickens palpably, as if every breath you take is shared. His gaze, intense and unyielding, drifts from your eyes down to your lips, lingering there, tracing the curve with an almost tangible thirst.

"Another?" you whisper, the words barely more than a breath, a soft, inviting caress against his face.

"Sure," he replies, his voice a low rumble, smooth but noticeably thick with anticipation. His eyes hold yours a moment longer, burning with a mixture of desire and curiosity, before you pull away.

As you move to refill his glass, the distance feels like a sudden cold snap, and the absence of your nearness leaves him oddly bereft, eager for you to return and cut through the growing tension.

You fill his glass carefully, less foam this time, and return.

"Ad Astra Per Aspera," you say, placing it before him, his confusion mirrored in his smirk.

"You havin’ a stroke or something?" he teases.

You laugh, "No, it's Latin. It means 'through hardships to the stars.'"

He contemplates the phrase, letting it seep in. "Is that your way of saying my day will get better?"

"Not exactly," you draw nearer, voice lowering to a sultry whisper. "But I can think of something that will..."

It’s now or never, you think.

Your lips hover just over his.

"Kiss me."

His stomach feels like a lead ball just dropped into it. He pauses, contemplating his next move. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't resist. His hand finds the nape of your neck, pulling you in, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that promises more than just a better day.

It's not the type of kiss the prince gives a princess at the ball. No. It’s needy. A fierce, messy little thing.

The scratch of his stubble sends a thrilling tickle across your skin, igniting a warm flush that spreads deliciously through you. You catch his lip gently between your teeth, releasing a soft moan as he draws you closer, your toes barely touching the ground. When the kiss breaks, your fingers instinctively touch your lips, as if to preserve the sensation that's transformed them.

With a playful smile, you begin to retreat, your fingers curling in a seductive beckon for him to follow. Joel's eyes track your every move as you flip the bar's sign from 'open' to 'closed'. Does this mean what he thinks it means?

His hopes surge as you stride confidently to the front door, locking it with a decisive click. The sound of metal securing into metal seems to seal not just the door, but the promise of what’s to come.

You lean back against the solid wood, hips cocked slightly, your stance an open invitation as you catch his gaze with a daring, expectant look.

He catches your drift and takes a few large strides forward.

Faster than a blink, he’s on you, one hand on your hip, the other firm on the back of your neck. He crowds you back, pinning you harder between the door and him. You knew he was a big man, that much is obvious, but with the way he’s on you right now, he’s all you can see, feel, hear – it’s intoxicating.

He lowers his head to your neck, his lips grazing the skin of your throat. The touch sends shivers down your spine, your pulse quickening under his mouth. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his breath warm against your skin. His grip tightens, his fingers digging into your hip, grounding you.

“You sure you wanna do this, darlin’,” he murmurs, “you can still say no.”

You feel the soft press of his lips against your erratic pulse, the slow drag of his teeth drag up the side of your neck.

A moan slips from your lips.

“Words, baby.” He sucks a mark on your throat, and you melt a little more under his touch, sinking deeper and deeper into all things him.

“God – yes, yes Joel, I want you, I’m sure,” you say, maybe a little too eager. Your words earn a small groan from him.

“Not doin’ this jus’ cause it’s my birthday,” he asks, his firm hand still on the back of your neck. You angle your chin to face him, and his lips find yours. He kisses exactly the way you thought he would – it’s deep, intense, commanding.

You moan into his mouth as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, and you twist your hands into the fabric of his shirt. Your fingertips graze the top of his belt, then drop lower, feeling the hard shape of him through the denim.

“No, Joel. I think you and I both know that I’ve wanted you for a long time,” you confirm, the sincerity evident in your voice.

His breath hitches at your touch, and he presses even closer, his hips grinding against you. You can feel his heartbeat, rapid and strong, matching the pounding in your chest. His lips leave yours, trailing hot kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

Your hand moves more boldly now, tracing the outline of him with your fingers, feeling him harden even more under your touch. He groans, the sound vibrating through you, and you can’t help but arch into him, seeking more contact.

“Nope, ” he purrs, “Wanna see you first��it’s my birthday, after all.”

His hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and dip. He finds the hem of your shirt and tugs it upward, breaking away from you just long enough to pull it over your head. He discards it carelessly, his eyes darkening as they rake over your now-exposed skin.

You toe off your shoes and work to take off your bra, all while Joel unbuttons your jeans. You wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare the thin lace of your panties.

“Fuck me,” Joel says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He looks at you like you’re a piece of art, prettier than anything he could have conjured up in his mind. Certainly prettier a man like him deserves, but he’s not in the mood to question or overthink things now.

He steps forward and puts his hand on your waist, using his thumb to trail over your soft skin. Goosebumps collect like pebbles on your skin from the cool air, and your nipples harden from his touch.

You push your chest to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. You can’t control the deep hum that escapes from your throat. Joel smirks at the sound, lips still attached to your breast.

“Joel,” you moan.

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, whispering praise against your skin as he goes. His voice is a low, soothing murmur, each word sending shivers down your spine. You drape your hands over his broad shoulders, fingers threading through the curls that gather at the back of his head, holding him close as he works his way down to the band of your panties.

On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. He looks up at you like a man starved, his pupils so dark they edge out most of the brown, his hooded eyes are almost a plea for you to let him continue.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, already hooking his thumbs in the band of them, awaiting your permission.

You pause with your mouth agape a bit, he wants to taste you. You’ve never had a man ask before, a fact that makes what he’s doing to you right now even hotter.

“Go on, birthday boy,” you tease. His prominent nose presses into your mound and groans.

“Thas’ right, being such a good little present for me,” he praises. His cock twitches against the confines of his jeans.

His hands are warm and sure as they slide beneath the fabric, pulling your panties down with agonizing slowness. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there.

He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him. The anticipation is electric, every nerve ending in your body alive and buzzing with need. His lips follow the path of his hands, kissing along the newly exposed skin, his breath hot against your thighs.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he praises before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. You let out a soft little sound at the feeling of his lips on your skin.

He gets bold with his kisses, and once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides his middle finger through your dropping folds before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole.

You look down at him with your lusty doe eyes that have been driving him crazy since he first saw you and bite your lower lip in anticipation. He looks at you and gently nudges the nip in, he holds it there for a brief second before fully thrusting it up into your core, holding your gaze as he enters you. You gasp.

“Tight little thing, too, ain’t cha’,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, his lips sealed around your puffy clit. His large finger pumps in and out of you as his tongue flicks and swirls where you need him the most.

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.

“I will, baby,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept.

He devours you, and eats you from the inside out. His tongue is precise and relentless, each flick and swirl overwhelming your senses. It's so good, so intense, that you feel like you're going to come apart at the seams.

“Joel,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “I—”

He looks up at you briefly, his eyes dark with hunger and desire, before doubling down on his efforts. The world narrows to the sensation of his tongue, the heat of his mouth, and the steady rhythm that drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and the world becomes fuzzy at the edges of your vision.

You moan as he sets a relentless pace with his mouth and fingers, slowly tightening the coil inside of you in a way you’ve never felt before. Time slows briefly, and your vision goes white, little specks of light dancing behind your eyelids, heat rushing up to your chest and cheeks.

Until –

“Oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. And when he’s satisfied that you’re satisfied, he gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to his full height.

“You look even more gorgeous when you’re cumming for me, you know that,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until his lips find yours. You taste yourself on them, feel the wetness in his beard. He slips his tongue into your mouth, and you moan. It’s so hot to taste yourself on him, dizzying that wants to taste you on his tongue.

“Can it be my turn now…,” you wink at him, hooking your fingers into his belt loops.

“It is your birthday after all.”

This time it’s your turn to press him back, and you do, guiding him until he bumps into the bar. You pull one of the stools out and he takes a seat.

On jelly-like legs, you begin to kneel before him, holding his gaze as you do. The look in his eyes is enough to make you forget the slight sting in your knees from the hardness of the floor beneath you.

You place your hands on his thick thighs, gliding them up to meet his belt. You watch his face as you make quick work of unbuckling it. His breath hitches, eyes darkening with desire.

Pants next, you pull the zipper down, and he helps you take them all the way off. You pause to palm the length of him under the single piece of fabric left on him, feeling the heat and hardness beneath. His breath catches, and you see the muscles in his jaw tighten.

With deliberate slowness, you pull his boxers down, far enough for his cock to finally spring free. The length of him slaps against his soft tummy, leaving a little smear of pre-cum in its wake. You can’t help but take a moment to admire him, the sight of him fully aroused, sending a fresh wave of desire through you.

You wrap your hand around him, feeling his weight and heat, and his hips jerk slightly at the contact. You look up at him, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure, lips parted as he watches you intently.

You wrap your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, your grip firm yet teasingly slow as you begin to stroke him with a deliberate, rhythmic pace. The sheer weight of it in your hand sends a thrill through you, and you can't help but admire the size and power beneath your touch.

Joel’s head tilts back, his eyes fluttering closed as if he’s surrendering to the pleasure, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. His arms stretch out, muscles taut, until his hands grip the edge of the bartop, anchoring himself as you work him with skillful, unrelenting strokes.

You wet your lips, duck down to the base of his shaft, and plant a small kiss at the base of his cock.

“Shit,” Joel groans.

You hum as you flatten your tongue and lick a long, wet stripe up the underside of his cock and stop at the top with your mouth open wide. As you hold the tip of him in your mouth, your tongue darts out to taste the salty, musky flavor of his pre-cum. One of his hands frees from the bar to tangle in your hair, to guide you gently down as you take him into your mouth.

The sounds he makes as you begin to move are nothing short of primal. You can feel his thighs tense beneath your palms, his breath coming in ragged gasps as you work him with your mouth and hands.

You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, the feel of him against your tongue and the sounds of his pleasure spurring you on. His fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your movements, his control slipping with each passing second.

“Shit – shit, baby you gotta stop…gonna make me cum too soon,” he pleads.

He can’t have that. He needs to fuck you. He’s not sure he’s ever needed anything more.

You smile around him, the vibration of your laughter making him shudder. You ease off his cock, and look up at him with hungry eyes. He pulls you up by the back of your neck and brings his hands to your hips.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says, “think you might be prettier than all the stars in the universe.”

It’s cheesy. Too cheesy. He’d be more embarrassed if he wasn’t so fucked out.

“Need to fuck you,” he rasps in your ear. “Come here,” he demands, patting his lap.

You look at him for a moment. Does he mean on the stoo–

Before you can finish the thought, he reaches out and pulls you forward, aiding you on top of him. His cock is now nestled gently between your soaking folds, just waiting to be inside. He holds you close to his chest, tight enough for the both of you to keep your balance.

You tangle your fingers through his hair as he nips at your jaw.

“Feelings mutual, cowboy,” you rasp.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, a little quiet.

“I’m on the pill. Please, Joel, please fuck me,” you wiggle your hips a little on top of him, the thickness of his cock rubbing against your still throbbing clit.

With a firm but gentle touch, Joel lifts you just enough to position himself at the entrance of your slick, eager heat. As you begin to lower yourself onto him, you gasp when he fills you halfway, the stretch sending shivers up your spine. Sensing your need to adjust, he holds you there, his grip steady as your heart pounds in your chest, your eyes fluttering closed from the overwhelming sensation.

"Eyes on me, baby," he rasps, his voice thick with desire. You force your eyes open, locking onto his, and in that moment, he pushes deeper, taking you inch by inch. When he pauses again, halfway inside, he studies your face with a mix of concern and hunger.

"You okay?” he asks, his tone laced with restraint. You shake your head yes, breathlessly telling him you want all of him.

Once he's certain you're ready, he thrusts his hips up, releasing his hold just enough to let you sink fully down onto him. The sensation of him filling you completely, every inch buried deep inside, leaves you both trembling with a shared intensity, the connection between you electric and undeniable.

Your pussy clenches around him, your jaw going slack as he fills you completely. Joel fucks you with deep, deliberate strokes, each one slow and measured, giving you time to savor the way he stretches you, to adjust to every inch of his thick length. He holds you tight against him, the heat between your bodies building, making the little space that remains sticky with sweat and desire.

His breath is hot in your ear, whispering praises that send shivers down your spine. His hands grip your hips with a firm, guiding pressure, helping you ride him just the way he knows you need. Each movement is a teasing dance, his cock barely leaving the warmth of your cunt before you're slamming back down, taking him to the hilt again and again.

This position drives you wild—the way his thick, coarse hair brushes against your clit with every thrust, adding just the right amount of friction. It’s the perfect cushion, the perfect tease, amplifying every sensation as you move on top of him, your body attuned to his in the most intimate way possible.

“Holy fuck —” his words break with a moan again, “That’s it, baby, ride me, use me…god.”

His words ignite something primal within you. As his hands grip your ass, you brace yourself on his shoulders and start to ride him harder, letting him guide your movements with each firm squeeze. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you, the one that sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making your thoughts blur into a haze of raw, unfiltered need.

With every thrust, he pumps into you with a rhythm that drives you wild, your moans growing louder and more desperate. The room is filled with the obscene, intoxicating sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping against skin in a symphony of pure, unbridled lust.

“I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, your voice breathless and quivering, as the pressure inside you builds to an unbearable peak.

“Yeah?” he says, breath short, voice deep, “Such a good girl, want you to come for me, show me how pretty you cum.” You think you could come from just his words alone.

Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, your mind hazy and filled with nothing but the thought of the way he fills you just right.

His movements begin to slow, and his grip on your ass tightens. You can tell he’s close.

“Where do you want me?”

Part of you wants to say inside, but there’s something that you want more.

“Fuck. Fuck. Face. Want you to cum on my face.” Joel’s lips lift a little at the corner, finding your answer a bit unexpected.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. You take that as your cue to ease yourself off of his cock. He steadies you a bit with one hand, the other still pumping his thick length as you once again fall to your knees.

You bow at the altar of the man above you, your hands placed dutifully on your knees, watching, waiting patiently for him to cum.

“Gonna cum now, baby….can’t hold off an–” his words trail off as thick ropes of cum spurt out of him, landing warm and thick on your face.

Once finished, you stay where you are, opening your eyes to once again look at him. You smile as you watch his breaths, now coming a bit more ragged, and the way his drooling cock looks so good gripped in his hands.

He holds your gaze as you bring your finger to your face to gather the cum that’s gathered on “I’ve always wanted to be a birthday cake,” you tease with a wink, your playful tone hitting its mark. Joel blushes, a rare sight that makes you smile.

“You’re too much, you know that, darlin’?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of warmth.

“Too much, or just enough,” you counter, rising with a grin, accepting the free hand he’s offered to help you off the floor. You reach behind him for a cocktail napkin, handing one to him before using the other to wipe the rest of the mess on your face.

Once clean and redressed, the two of you stand there, the earlier momentum slowing as reality starts to creep back in. For a moment, neither of you is quite sure what to do next.

“Want another beer?” you offer, breaking the silence.

“Sure, why not,” Joel agrees, sliding into a nearby booth. He watches as you pour not one, but two beers, bringing them both to the table. Instead of sitting across from him, you slide in beside him, your thigh brushing against his as you settle in.

His hand naturally finds its place on your leg, the weight of it grounding and comforting. It feels right, easy, as if it’s always belonged there. With the bar still closed, the world outside forgotten, the two of you lose yourselves in conversation, flirting, kissing, laughing—everything flows effortlessly.

It always has with you.

“What time is it?” Joel asks, glancing around as if the hours haven’t slipped by unnoticed. He’s so caught up in you that he nearly forgets about the rest of the world, about Sarah waiting for him at home.

You glance at the clock behind the bar and feel a small jolt of surprise. “Oh shit, it’s almost 10 pm. We’ve been at this nearly all night.”

“Damn. I’m sorry, I really gotta get goin’. Sarah’s waiting for me,” Joel says, regret heavy in his voice. But you understand—he’s always spoken about Sarah with such love and pride. You know he’s a good dad, maybe even a great one, and it warms your heart to see it.

You both rise, walking together toward the door. Joel unlocks it, but before stepping out, he turns to face you. His eyes soften as they take you in, as if he’s trying to capture this moment, this image of you, and burn it into his memory.

God, you’re beautiful. You always have been. You shine with the light of a thousand suns.

He kisses you goodbye, and your stomach tightens, that familiar ache of knowing this could be the end of something special. But as he pulls back, he catches your gaze, and his expression reassures you.

“See you soon,” he promises, his voice a gentle vow.

His lips leave yours, and you watch him as he steps out the door, the night air cool against your flushed skin.

“Hey, Joel?” you call out just as he’s a few steps into the parking lot.

He turns back, his silhouette framed by the lights in the parking lot.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you say with a final wink, your voice carrying the warmth of everything unsaid.

He shakes his head with a small smile, lingering for a moment longer, taking in the sight of you—perched against the doorframe, hair slightly tousled, skin still glowing. It’s an image he knows he’ll remember forever.

As he drives away, he glances up at the night sky, the stars twinkling above. Maybe Seneca was on to something, he thinks, a small smile tugging at his lips as he heads home.

++++

The house is bathed in a soft, warm glow, the kind that only comes from years of memories and quiet evenings. Joel pushes the door open carefully, trying not to disturb the peace. Inside, the flicker of the television bathes the room in muted light, a newscaster’s voice droning in the background.

As the door clicks shut behind him, Joel’s eyes adjust to the dimness, and he spots Sarah on the couch, her attention absorbed in a magazine.

“You locked the door for once. Good job,” Joel remarks, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah,” Sarah replies softly, her voice tinged with the weariness of waiting up.

Joel collapses onto the couch beside her, the leather creaking under his weight, the day’s exhaustion catching up with him.

“It’s 10,” Sarah says, her tone flat, but the disappointment is unmistakable.

“I know. I’m sorry, bad day at work,” Joel admits, his voice heavy. He’s never been one to hide the truth from her, but he doesn’t burden her with the details, or the truth of why he’s really late.

“Where’s the cake?” she asks, a small reminder of the promise he made that morning.

“Shit,” Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Come on, man,” Sarah teases, though there’s a touch of hurt in her voice.

“I’ll get us one tomorrow,” Joel promises, his heart sinking at the sight of her slight frown. He hates letting her down.

“Swear, or you don’t get your present,” Sarah says, a playful smile brightening her face again.

“You got me a present?” Joel’s eyes light up, genuinely surprised.

“Swear,” she insists, her smile widening.

“On my life,” he vows, his voice deep and serious this time.

With a grin, Sarah reaches behind the couch cushion and pulls out a small gray box. Joel takes it, examining it with curiosity before carefully opening it.

“Fixed it for you,” Sarah says, watching him intently.

Joel lifts the watch from the box, admiring it for a second before holding it to his ear with a grin.

“Did you? I don’t hear anything,” he jokes, enjoying the mix of confusion and disbelief on her face before he bursts into laughter.

“That was lame. You’re lame,” Sarah quips, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her affection.

“Yeah, I know,” Joel chuckles. “Where’d you get the money for this?”

“Drugs. I sell hardcore drugs,” she deadpans, causing Joel to scoff in amusement.

“It’s better than what I do,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“It was only 20 dollars…which I stole from you,” Sarah admits, flashing him a mischievous smile. Joel gives her a mock stern look.

“I could have stolen 60 but I put the change back ‘cause I’m an honest thief. Besides, it’s the thought that counts, and you were never gonna do it for yourself...so…” she trails off, her voice softening.

Joel looks at the watch again, carefully strapping it on, his heart swelling with gratitude.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely.

“Oh, there’s one more,” Sarah adds, reaching behind the pillow again and pulling out a DVD—Curtis and Viper 2.

“Borrowed it from the Adlers,” she explains.

“Ah, this is the one with the deleted scenes,” Joel says, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, imagine how bad those have to be,” Sarah replies dryly.

“Come on, pop it in, while it’s still your birthday,” she urges, snuggling up against him as he moves to the TV and slips the DVD in.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Joel warns, swelling at the feel of her head resting on his shoulder.

“Of course I won’t, it’s too riveting,” Sarah promises, even though they both know how it will end.

The movie begins, but it isn’t long before Sarah drifts off, her soft breathing a lullaby to Joel. His cellphone rings, breaking the quiet, and he answers it, careful not to disturb her.

“Hello,” Joel says quietly.

“Joel. It’s me. I’m okay,” Tommy’s voice crackles through the line, rough and anxious.

“Yeah?” Joel’s heart sinks, sensing trouble. His little brother always did have a knack for getting in trouble.

“But I’m in jail,” Tommy admits.

“God damn it,” Joel snaps, his voice low but tense.

“It wasn’t my fault this time. I was at the bar, some guy goes crazy, starts swinging at a waitress, I step in, knock him out, cops show up…but it doesn’t matter. You gotta bail me out. If you don’t get me out tonight, I’m in here all weekend,” Tommy pleads, a desperate edge in his voice.

Joel pauses, the weight of the situation settling on him.

“It’s a fuckin’ madhouse, Joel. I gotta get out,” Tommy presses.

“Well, which jail, Travis County?” Joel asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, on the 10,” Tommy confirms.

“God damn it, Tommy,” Joel mutters, frustration bubbling up.

“I’m sorry. Please,” Tommy’s voice softens, regret lacing his words.

“Okay,” Joel agrees, resigned.

“Fucking idiot,” he murmurs to himself after ending the call.

He thinks back to your comment about Seneca having the upper hand on frustration. What would you think if you could see him now?

With a sigh, Joel gently lifts Sarah from his lap, cradling her against his chest as he carries her to her bed. He tucks her in carefully, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

If he knew what awaited him the second he stepped out of the house, he never would have left.

Jackson, Wyoming – September 26, 2028 “Ellie!” Joel calls up the stairs, putting the finishing touches on her school lunch in the kitchen.

She descends the staircase, her focus completely engulfed by an ancient Latin history book. "Hey Joel, do you know what 'Ad Asturrah…Per..As..prurah' means?" Ellie’s attempt at the phrase is adorably muddled as she tries to wrangle the words from her mouth.

In that instant, Joel's world blurs, and time seems to stretch and thin.

He's suddenly no longer in their home in Jackson; he's whisked back to the last normal night he ever had, lying next to you, the comfort and closeness a sharp contrast to the bleakness that followed.

"Through Hardships to the Stars," Joel replies, his voice a quiet echo of times past. The words flow effortlessly, as if they've been longing to break free for years.

"Oh shit. Wasn’t expecting you to actually know that – where’d you learn that, smartie pants?" Ellie’s playful challenge pulls him sharply back to the present.

“No more questions now, off you go to school,” he says with a gentle firmness, a tone that Ellie knows means business.

“Fine, whatever, but only ‘cause it’s your birthday. Happy birthday, old man.” Her voice carries a teasing lilt as she scampers off.

Happy birthday, old man.

You had said that, too.

Joel moves to stand by the window, a freshly brewed coffee in hand, gazing at the morning sun that bathes the world in gold and promise, despite the gloom and grime that lines beyond the gates of Jackson.

His mind wanders through the tumultuous paths of his past—the dire situations, the desperate choices, the blood forever on his hands, nights spent on unforgiving earth—all underscored by the gentle cadence of your voice.

As he closes his eyes, darkness envelops him, but it's not void of light. He sees stars—luminous, unreachable, eternal. In that vast canvas of night, there you are, indelibly etched in his heart.

And there you will always be.

END

A/N Continued: Thank you so much for reading! As much as I'd love to say I don't care about the notes, I won't lie and tell you I don't need them for validation. If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

Tagging some moots for visibility since I've been MIA for so long:

@endlessthxxghts @syd-djarin @yxtkiwiyxt @auteurdelabre @morallyinept @mermaidgirl30 @survivingandenduring @morning-star-joy @merz-8 @alltheirdamn @chulopascal @sweetercalypso @xdaddysprincessxx @burntheedges @punkshort @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @ozarkthedog @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk P.S. Since I'm back from my hiatus, please tag me in your fics! I would love to read and support you all.x

#i am in another joel miller phase #i desire that old man carnally #zwei's reading list #joel miller x reader #fanfic

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