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pedropascalsbbg · 1 year ago

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AREYOUJOKING this is OHMYGOD.

need to know that i want you (joel miller x reader) 18+

this fic is part of my soft!dom joel universe; each fic can be read as stand-alone for the most part but there is an ongoing story that can be found on my masterlist. this one takes place after "for what it's worth". summary: joel calls you his good girl for the first time. rating: 18+ explicit (minors do not interact) warnings: fem!reader, age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 50s), dom/sub dynamics (joel is dominant but not degrading or aggressive), praise kink (excessive use of 'good girl'), dirty talk, mutual masturbation, squirting, if i forgot something pls lmk word count: 3.3k ao3

"So you do actually know how to do as you're told."

About ten minutes ago he'd told you to sit in the chair by the fireplace again like you had last week, this time angled so you were looking directly at him. In a quiet murmur he'd asked you to take off your jeans and sit there in your panties until he told you what to do next. In the meantime, he'd sat back against the couch to look at you, cupping himself through his jeans and telling you softly not to move, not to touch yourself.

You'd obeyed.

You don't know how or why but his words somehow have a power over you, his orders deep and smooth, voice slightly rough around the edges with arousal. If he were anyone else you doubt you'd be so obedient. If he were anyone else you'd probably already be grinding yourself in his lap, panties discarded on the hardwood floor.

But he's not anyone else. He's Joel. Mysterious Joel who lives a few houses down from you but whom you rarely see, quiet Joel who eats his meals in the dining hall and slips out every evening before anyone notices, grumpy Joel who rolls his eyes at you when you don't listen to him.

The Joel who suddenly wants to look at you while he jerks off, which you're certainly not complaining about.

"Only when it's you who's asking," you reply, trying not to let any breathlessness or nervousness slip past your lips; you're not sure what his plan is for tonight. Last week was the first time you'd done anything like this with him so you have no idea what to expect. It's thrilling and nerve-wracking at the same time.

He rolls his eyes but you can tell he's not mad or irritated, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "So if I told you to go outside and check the perimeter..."

You grimace, "Okay, there are exceptions."

He laughs then, shaking his head and giving you a sexy half smile, "You're somethin' else, aren't you?"

"Don't pretend you don't like it," you reply with a smirk.

His eyes find yours and darken slightly, "I do like it," he says quietly, almost a soft growl, "Wouldn't be sittin' here if I didn't, would I?"

Your cheeks burn, a pleased smile playing at your lips.

"What do you want to see me do for you?" you ask quietly, gauging his reaction. To your relief he smiles again, his eyes trailing down to your panties and back up to your face.

"Let me just ask you one more time... do you still want this?"

"Yes," it's probably the fifth time he's asked you in the past few hours. He'd literally started out the patrol by telling you that if you wanted to forget about what happened it would be okay, that he would forget about it too and never talk about it again. You'd been very quick to assert that you didn't - under absolutely any circumstances - want to forget about it. He'd nodded, but it hadn't stopped him from asking you again once you'd reached the top of the mountain, and a few more times throughout your patrol.

"And you want what we talked about?" he continues, voice serious but tender, "You want me to take control?"

"Yes, please," you tell him for the fifth time, "That's what I want."

He nods slowly, exhaling and leaning back further on the couch until he's in the position he wants; head back, legs open, hand on the solid length of his cock through his pants.

"Open your legs," he says quietly, eyeing you hungrily once again.

Without any hesitation you do as you're told, spreading your legs in the chair and showing him the dark and wet spot on your panties. You'd picked these ones out specifically for this occasion, arguably your sexiest pair. You haven't had a reason to wear them in probably three or four years due to their impracticality and discomfort, but those reasons hardly matter in a situation like this.

"Those are pretty," he murmurs, and you can't help but feel a rush of pride at his words. Exactly the reaction you'd been hoping for.

"Wore them for you," you reply and look down at them, eyeing the sheer white lace and the little pink bow at the front, "Wanted to look nice."

"You always look nice," he says, and you blush redder.

"Wanted my pussy to look nice," you correct yourself, and you watch him inhale sharply, hand curling firmly around the shape of his cock. He may have control but you're already learning what makes him tick, what makes him come apart.

"It does," his expression fades back into one of calmness, steadiness, "Although, I think somethin's wrong with them."

You frown, looking down at yourself and back up at him, "What?"

"There's a big stain," he says with a smirk, "Wonder what that could be from?"

You shiver at the words. You could come up with some kind of comeback to keep him on his toes like you normally would, but somehow you know that the argumentative part of you doesn't belong here. Instead, you bite your lip and look down at yourself again, eyeing the large spot on your panties you've completely soaked through with arousal.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "I guess I got 'em all wet."

He inhales deeply and tugs his zipper down, and you can't help but hold your breath as you watch him pull his cock out of his jeans, long and thick. The image of it from last time has been etched in your mind all week but seeing it in person again is simply incomparable. It's curved slightly, straining alongside the buttons of his shirt, the head wide and plump, already wet and sticky. You feel yourself begin to salivate, gaze rooted in place as your lips unconsciously fall open.

"You got me all wet, baby," he says softly, pressing his thumb gently against the tip and smearing his own wetness down his shaft, "Look at that. That's what you do to me."

Your skin is suddenly on fire and you realize that while you may know how to tease him, how to turn him on, he ultimately has the upper hand. His words have you swallowing back a moan without even being touched.

"Lean back," he orders quietly, and you obey, shirt riding up as your back comes in contact with the plush frame of the chair, "Open your legs a bit wider for me, that's it." His eyes stay trained on the wet spot of your panties, "Wider, baby, lemme see."

You spread your legs as wide as they'll go, ankles dangling off the armrests of the chair.

"Pull those pretty panties to the side," he murmurs, "Let me see that pussy."

You bite down hard on your lip, another involuntary moan threatening to slip out. You reach down and yank the material to the left, showing him exactly where you're dripping for him. Your fingers tremble, pulling your panties taut against your thigh, waiting for him to tell you what to do next. He just keeps staring at where you're leaking, pumping his dick slowly up and down while he gets his fill. You use your other hand to open yourself slightly, fingers still trembling as you show him the inner most part of yourself.

"What do you think of it?"

"Of what?" he asks, voice low and sultry, his brown eyes looking at you with a dark desire that makes you squirm.

"My pussy," you scissor your fingers a bit more, opening yourself wider for him, "Do you like it?"

He groans, fisting his cock again, "Jesus."

"Do you?"

"I do," he murmurs, eyes still dark as his gaze trails along your aching center, staring directly at where you're open for him as he fucks himself slowly, "So wet and pretty. All for me."

"It is," you breathe, "It's all yours."

He closes his eyes and tosses his head back, still stroking himself at a steady rhythm. You can't help but feel another flush of pride at how much you're wrecking him just by sitting there.

"Take 'em off," he says, still looking at the ceiling.

You make quick work of shimmying in the chair and tugging your panties down your legs, discarding them on the floor. You lean back into the same position, legs wide and open, totally exposed.

He tilts his head back down, skin red with arousal, "Touch your clit, pretty girl."

You shiver at the pet name and do as you're told, rubbing slow circles into your most sensitive spot and keening at the sensation, biting your lip. Your middle finger teases your entrance, hole pulsing at the tiny intrusion.

"No fingers yet, baby," he says immediately, and you feel yourself pout, removing your middle finger and continuing to stimulate your clit, "I know, it's just aching to have something in there, isn't it?" he breathes, words sending goosebumps across your flesh, "So empty."

"Can you touch it?" you whisper, trying to keep your voice even, "Want you to touch me so bad, Joel."

"Not tonight," he replies, voice strained, and you want to ask him when? Next time? The time after that? "You just keep touching yourself, okay? Be a good girl for me."

The words stop you in your tracks, fingers stilling on your clit for just a second before resuming their steady circular motion, not long enough for him to notice. Your mind is suddenly running wild with thoughts, a warm and fuzzy sensation trickling from the top of your head and down your back. Good girl.

You don't know why but the words ring repeatedly in your ears for a few moments after he says them, your cunt throbbing and dripping even more. Such a simple little phrase, something he probably didn't even think much about as he said it, but your body has never reacted to two words like this. Immediately, all you want is for him to say it again.

"Where'd you go?" he asks quietly, and you bring your attention back to him quickly; he'd noticed your reaction.

"N-nowhere," you reply breathlessly.

His hand has stilled on his cock, brow furrowing as he peers at you from the couch, "Do you want to stop?" he asks.

"No," it's almost a squeak, a panicked sound that you're sure you've never made before, "No, keep going, please."

Good girl, it repeats over and over in your mind as you rub yourself, Good girl, Good girl, Good girl. Suddenly all you want is to be Joel's good girl, do whatever he tells you to do, obey his every whim. You don't know where this is coming from; you're such a stubborn and strong person, never taking shit, always standing up for yourself, so why do you suddenly want to belong to him? You feel ridiculously close to your orgasm at the very thought, slowing your movements for fear of pushing yourself over the edge.

"You're distracted," he says, bringing you back to reality again, "Did I do something?"

"I'm just..." you whimper, closing your eyes tight and feeling your skin burn, "I'm so close, Joel. This is..." you moan, releasing your clit and trailing your fingers down the soft skin of your inner thigh to center yourself, "This is too much, I'm gonna come."

"Jesus," he says, voice rough, "It doesn't take much, does it?"

You shake your head, eyes still closed, "It really doesn't, not with you."

You open your eyes to see him adjusting himself on the couch, leaning back and spreading his legs almost as wide as yours, though his thighs are constricted by his jeans. You want him to take them off but you don't say anything, wanting to keep this power dynamic the way it is, want to keep being his good girl.

"Then just keep rubbing that pretty little clit for me," he murmurs, and you swear you can see his cock throbbing in his palm, the veins running along the girth of it pulsing under his fingertips, "Show me what makes you feel good."

"You make me feel good," you whimper, prodding your clit again gently, trying not to be too rough.

"I know I do," his voice is wrecked, those familiar red splotches you love beginning to bloom on his collarbone, "But you gotta be patient, baby. Gotta be a good girl for me."

"Oh fuck," you take your fingers off your clit again and bring your hands up to your face, trying to hide the pure ecstasy you're experiencing just by hearing him say those words.

"What is it?" you hear him ask, then hear the slap of his palm against his belly as he strokes himself harder, getting turned on by your shyness, "Don't hide, baby, tell me."

You shudder, biting down hard on your lip "I really like when you say that," you bring your hands down from your face and you're sure you must look completely debauched, ridiculously close to falling apart after barely any effort on his part at all.

"Say what?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, genuinely curious, "What did I say?"

You shiver as you quietly whisper, "Good girl."

His brows unfurl, recognition appearing on his face as he exhales heavily and breathes, "Yeah? You like me callin' you a good girl?"

"Yes," you whine, "Oh my god, say it again please."

He smirks, glad to be in on your little secret, "Good girl," he breathes, "That's my good girl, my special and pretty girl, so wet and swollen for me."

Oh fuck.

"More," you whimper, "More, please."

"You really want me dead, don't you?" it's almost a laugh, shaky and broken.

"No, I just want you to keep calling me a good girl," you should be embarrassed at the very notion, but those pesky emotions don't exist in this space with him.

"You're a good girl," he groans, fisting himself roughly with barely any hesitation, "You're such a good girl for me, doin' exactly what I say, showin' me that pretty little pussy, touchin' it just the way you like," he groans then and you know he's close, just needs another push, "Shove two fingers in, baby. Get that pussy all full for me."

With a gasp of relief you push your middle and index fingers inside your throbbing hole, breath hitching at the sudden fullness. You squirm in the chair, keeping your eyes on Joel as he pumps himself over the edge.

"That's it," he growls, tossing his head back, "Oh, Christ, that's it. Good girl, baby, good girl." You watch as thick ropes of come begin to spurt from the fat head of his cock, making a mess against the fabric of his shirt yet again.

You moan loudly at the sight and he looks at you, eyes bleary and half-open, lips parted and brows furrowed as he continues to pump himself through his orgasm, "Come, pretty girl," he groans, voice broken and husky, "Drench that fucking chair for me like a good girl."

You press your thumb to your clit and let out a strangled sound, a mix of a cry and a moan, letting your body ride out the perfection of this moment. There's something different about this orgasm, a wild release building in your belly that you can't describe, and without meaning to you lose your balance on the chair and find yourself slipping from the cushion, landing on the floor with a hard thud. Joel looks concerned for a moment but quickly realizes he has nothing to worry about, eyes widening at what follows.

"Oh my fucking god," you whimper, and you're absolutely shocked as you find yourself squirting for the first time, something you've never done and never thought you could even do, pussy spraying a thick stream of clear liquid onto the hardwood floor. You feel your eyes roll back and your limbs go limp, spots behind your lids as you twitch and writhe under Joel's gaze.

You're vaguely aware of him saying something to you but it's just white noise in your ears, mind foggy and body like jelly as you lay there on the floor with your eyes closed. You can feel your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths so you know he's not worried that you've passed out or something, but when he speaks again you finally open your eyes to see him standing above you.

"What?" you ask, voice faint and quiet.

"I'm gonna get a towel for you, just stay there," he says, and you notice that he's zipped his pants back up. You feel slightly disappointed that you didn't get one last look at his cock before he put it away.

"M'kay," you reply, and close your eyes again.

"Now that was filthy," Joel mutters a few moments later, mopping the floor with a towel as you continue to lay there still and satisfied, "Hottest fuckin' thing I've ever seen, but filthy."

You hum, smiling softly with your eyes still closed, "You know, I've never done that before."

"Really?" he sounds genuinely shocked and you open your eyes to catch his expression, looking at you in wonder, "Never?"

"Never," you reply with a cheeky grin, "And what about you? You ever called someone a good girl during sex before?"

He shakes his head, "Never."

You feel warmth rush through your body at the admission, trying not to smile too wide as you stretch your arms above your head, trying to bring your body back to reality. Joel finishes wiping the floor and stands over you once again, reaching his hand out to you. You take it, loving how strong and firm his grip is as he pulls you up from the floor.

He walks back to the couch and lays back down on it with a tired grunt, eyes on you as you pull your panties back on and peer over at him with pleased eyes.

Never. He's never called anyone a good girl but you.

"Call me that from now on," you say softly, tugging your jeans back on. He stares at you thoughtfully, nodding slowly.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you seat yourself on the end of the couch then, eyeing the wet cushion in the chair across from you, "You saying that made me squirt, Joel. I think it's safe to say I liked it." He still looks lost in thought, "You did too, right?"

He nods slowly again, "I did."

"Then that's that," you shrug, and he keeps looking at you, tilting his head slightly like he's analyzing you, "What?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just keeps looking at you, then shakes his head and breaks eye contact, looking at the floor, "Nothin'," he says quietly, "Let's go to sleep."

You desperately want to know what he's thinking but you know asking won't get you anywhere. He's probably the most closed off person you've ever met and you wonder if you'll ever get a proper answer from him about anything.

"Can I sleep on the couch?" you ask softly, "The chair's all wet."

You swear you see the hint of a smirk in his expression, "Yeah, 'course you can."

You lean back on your end of the couch and watch as he does the same on his end, extending his legs out along the cushions. Your legs squeeze in between his and the backrest of the couch, and you realize that this is the closest you've ever been to him. He's warm and large and safe, a guarding and protective force against your body in the quietness of the ski lodge.

"Goodnight," he says quietly, turning down the electric lantern and plunging the room into darkness.

"Goodnight," you whisper back.

You've never felt more relaxed.

thank you for reading 💖 i hope yall liked this one, please let me know your thoughts! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip.

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