#joel ask | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gutsby · 6 months ago

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Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.

Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.

Word count: 8.3k

It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.

And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.

Okay, it was definitely porn.

But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.

You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.

Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.

Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.

By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.

At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.

If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.

TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.

The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.

Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:

TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!

TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?

It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.

TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)

You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.

The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.

Not here…not here…not—

You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.

Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.

“Fucking…CUNT.”

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.

The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.

Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.

You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.

You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.

Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.

“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”

“Help me,” you hissed.

You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.

“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”

The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.

“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.

You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.

“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.

You could smell him.

That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.

You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,

“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.

When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”

Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.

“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”

Your finger was kind of fucked.

Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.

The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.

Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.

“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.

By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.

Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.

“Cool your pits, kid.”

For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.

“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.

Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.

Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.

“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.

He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.

You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.

But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.

Gross.

“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.

If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.

“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”

“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”

He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.

“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”

That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.

Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.

What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.

An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.

A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.

Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.

And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.

“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.

The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.

“Joel.”

That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?

Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.

“Good?” Joel said.

Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.

It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—

“Please.”

But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.

“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”

It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”

Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.

“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.

You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.

“So that means I’m—”

“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.

Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.

Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.

Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”

You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.

“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.

“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.

Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.

Joel whistled.

“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”

Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.

And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.

A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.

“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.

“No one.”

Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.

And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.

“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.

“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.

Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.

You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.

So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.

In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.

“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.

And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.

Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.

Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.

Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:

“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”

You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.

“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.

Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.

“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.

The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper

“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”

“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.

“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.

‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.

He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.

And then he stopped.

Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.

He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.

“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.

“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.

Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.

“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.

You nodded, not knowing why.

Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.

It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.

“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.

You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.

This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.

It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.

‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.

“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.

Or, rather, it—your finger.

Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.

‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.

Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.

His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.

Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.

Safe.

“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”

Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”

“I—”

Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”

‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.

Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.

“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.

You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.

Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.

“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”

For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”

But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.

“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”

His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.

An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”

“Please. Please.”

You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.

You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.

“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”

“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.

Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.

“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.

And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.

And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.

The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.

Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.

It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.

Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.

Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.

As if remembering something.

In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.

“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.

“What? What is it?”

His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.

“What?”

“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.

You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”

At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.

“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”

Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.

You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.

Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.

Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:

“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”

—

Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️

#‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING STEP BRO????’#BUT IT’S JOEL #AND HE’S VERY CONFUSED BUT ALSO VISIBLY ER*CT #don’t ask me to elaborate because i have no idea what i just wrote #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou #stepdad joel #hotdilfsummerchallenge

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celiababy · 7 days ago

Note

already in love w ur page! i would love to see dads bestfriend joel from you!!

hi! thank u sm!! and ofc coming right up on a very hot and steamy platter 😛

Not Your Daddy

Pairing: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You're back from your first year at college. You've changed and Joel is quick to notice.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (36/19), swearing, p in v, size kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem!recieving) no Sarah, alcohol

Celia's note: Heres jus a lil something :) (not proofread sorry) also part 3 of ain't right is coming so so soon I promise!!

Joel Miller and your father were good friends.

When you and your dad moved in next door a little over three years ago, they hit it off quickly. Their tendency to take on random jobs for cash is what bonded them. Also sports.

You were shy then, never able to hold eye contact and always avoiding him whenever he was around.

But thankfully, you've grown into a woman. Your first year at college changed you.

Now, you were back for the summer, eager to sleep in your own bed and spend time with your home-town friends.

But honestly, you were most excited to see Joel.

You wanted him to see how much you've grown. See how mature you've become, how confident.

You always had a little crush on him—mostly because he was the kindest out of all your dad's friends.

You also wanted him to be the one to pop your cherry.

You were a virgin, and kinda always fantasized about Joel being the one to take it from you.

Sure, you’ve done some stuff with guys, but never gone all the way. You were saving that for him.

You knew it wouldn't take long until he made an appearance.

Your dad had offered to host a small get-together to celebrate you being back. He would barbecue in the backyard and hold bets for the basketball game.

It was really just an excuse for him to break out the grill and gamble, but you didn't care. Only because you knew Joel would be there.

You even put on your shortest white sundress and blew out your hair for the occasion.

Your body was buzzing with the idea of seeing him again.

You wondered if he had changed at all.

Your mind started spiraling at the thought.

What if he had changed? What if he was dating someone now? What if he was engaged?

You glanced in the mirror at your nearly perfect reflection and suddenly felt so silly. What if this was all for nothing?

You didn't have long to ponder that thought because the doorbell rings.

You peak out your window and see Joel's truck in the driveway.

Your dad answers the door downstairs, the faint murmur of voices distracting your ears.

The anticipation was gnawing at you like a hungry dog.

After collecting your nerves, you slowly descend the stairs to meet them in the kitchen.

The loud cussing gave away their location. "You've lost your damn mind if you think there's a chance in hell the Privateers of all fucking teams are gonna beat—oh, hey darlin'," Your dad greets you, clearing his throat like he wasn't just cussing out Joel.

His back is to you, but when he turns around, your heart fucking ignites.

He's just as handsome as the day you left. He looks momentarily stunned by you, his eyes flickering all over your figure. God—how was it possible for someone to change so much? You looked more than amazing.

He immediately feels ashamed for basically checking you out in front of your dad, his eyes snapping back up to your face.

"Christ kid, they feedin' you up there at A&M?" He teases before stepping in for a hug.

He even smells the same as he did all those months ago, pine and smoke. You feel relieved.

It seems like the only thing thats different about him is a few gray hairs.

"Hey Joel," you greet with a giddy smile, hugging him back and relishing in his warmth. "How are you?"

Joel is very surprised. He almost doesn't recognize you. You're so much more...more.

"M'alright, aside from the fact that your dad's gonna give me a fuckin' aneurysm one of these days."

You laugh and shake your head. "Fighting about the game tonight?"

"Yeah, this fuckin' asshat thinks the longhorns might lose tonight—messin' up the whole fuckin' mojo," Your dad rambles, his voice beginning to raise before the doorbell rings again. "I'll get that, need to get away from this traitor." He snorts before heading to the door and leaving you both alone.

Joel rolls his eyes before landing his gaze back onto you and your cute little sundress. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face you with his body.

"You behavin' up there at school?" He asks light-heartedly, though you find it excruciatingly hard not to reply in some suggestive way.

"Mhm," You hum unconvincingly with a charmingly guilty smile, holding back a laugh.

Joel cocks a brow, pretending to look at you judgmentally. "Lyin’ is a sin, y’know." He huffs, a smile creeping on his lips.

“I’ve been good, just a lotta temptations s’all..” You murmur softly, your body naturally drifting closer to Joel by swaying on your feet.

The tension in the room is palpable.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head the tiniest bit to the side, his voice dropping what seemed like several octaves.

In fear of your voice cracking when giving a verbal response, you opt for a nod of your head, but then shrug just to tease him.

He glares at you but then scoffs, shaking his head.

"When'd you become such a little shit-stirrer, huh?" He chides, reaching over to ruffle the top of your hair.

You laugh before pushing his hand away, your fingers lingering on his wrist for longer than it needed to.

His skin is warm, he's almost hot to the touch. You're having a very hard time tearing your eyes away from his face.

All the sudden, your father calls you into the other room.

"Get in here! Max and Ruby wanna hear about your classes." Max and Ruby being your neighbors who had undoubtedly stopped by for the party.

You peer up at Joel, your eyes almost begging him to ask you to stay. But instead, he gestures with his head for you to listen to your dad.

"Go on now," He husks out, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Reluctantly you leave him behind in the kitchen, your body still whirring with the adrenaline high you got from just talking to him.

***

It was nice seeing everyone that stopped by for the party. You hadn't realized how much you missed your people.

But Joel was making it hard to concentrate on conversation when you guys were playing eye-tag the entire night.

He really couldn't help himself. There was just something so magnetic about you now—it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

He watched you talk to some of your high school friends, then get up to fetch something from the kitchen.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to your ass once you turned around, his cock twitching in his pants because of the way your dress taunts him with its length.

He clears his throat.

Fuck was he thinking.

This was you he was ogling for christ sake. His best friends daughter.

These thoughts were not allowed. He needed to shut this down.

But the night goes on anyway, people getting more drunk and rowdy with each passing second.

Especially your father, who was currently in a screaming match with his work buddy about the game. They're all crowded around the small box tv in the kitchen, intently watching the tiny screen.

You're watching them from afar, amused by your father and the absurdity of it all.

"Ah fuck, we're outta ice," your dad groans, lifting up the empty bowl in annoyance. "Alright, one of you sons of bitches needs'ta make an ice run, m'not missing this game."

Joel groans out, dragging his hand down his jaw. "We're obviously gonna win—the team's up 46. Make the damn run yourself." He berates your father, who in turn just shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand at Joel.

"Every time I don't watch the game to completion, we fuckin' lose. M'staying riiiight here."

"Fuckin' superstitious bastard." Joel groans from under his breath, picking up his truck keys from the counter. "You want some more beer while I'm out? Maybe my liver too? God knows you need a new one, goddamn alcoholic."

You're laughing at them in the corner, finding their banter extremely amusing.

Then, you suddenly realize this might be your chance to spend more alone time with Joel.

You lurch forward, quickly blocking his path. "Can I come with?"

He looks down at you, a barely noticeable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He's just about to reply to you before your drunk father cuts in.

"Ya, go with him, he can't carry the ice by himself or else his back’ll give out."

Joel turns his head to yell at your dad. "Shut your damn mouth," he barks, then turns back around to face you, placing his hand on your lower back. "'Course sweetheart, c'mon."

The drastic change in his voice when he talks to you versus your father makes your heart flutter.

He guides you outside to his truck, only dropping his arm from your back when he opens the passenger door for you.

Hopping inside, you settle yourself into the worn down bench seat. Your eyes follow him as he rounds the front of the vehicle, swinging open the driver side door and cranking the engine.

His old country music starts blaring from the speakers of the car, accompanied by the loud drum of his engine.

He’s quick to whip out of the driveway, steering with one muscular arm on the wheel.

You want to drool at the sight—you know your other lips most certainly are.

"So, you got a boyfriend up there at school?" He asks after clearing his throat.

He wants to subtly test the waters, whether he knows it now or not.

You smile, the thought of dating any guy besides Joel was laughable.

"Nope. They're all kinda gross."

"Gross? Yeah, well, most guys your age are." He mumbles, thinking back to his late teens, early twenties—Yikes.

"What about you? Got a woman yet?" You ask, following his line of questioning.

Joel scoffs, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “Does it look like I got a woman in my life?”

He looks down at himself for a second to get his point across, making you follow his gaze.

His wrinkly navy shirt had paint stains on it, his jeans were so old, they looked one wash away from disintegrating, and his beard needed a trim.

You try to stifle your giggle by turning your head away. “Yeah, guess not.”

Your mind starts wandering off, imagining what being Joel's woman would look like...having dinner together...sharing a bed...showering together...

God you wanted to be his girl so bad.

You hear yourself speaking before you even know what you’re saying. “Maybe I can help you—y'know, find a woman n’all.”

Joel casts you an assessing glance, cocking his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? N’how would you do that?”

He doesn’t even mean to sound sexy but the way he talks makes you wanna melt.

“Well, for starters, a haircut might do you some good.” You tease, scooting closer to him on the bench seat to fiddle with the overgrown hair by his neck.

The way your body is turned to face him gives Joel a clear view down the front of your dress, the skin of your breasts making his cock twitch.

“What’re you talkin’ about? My hair looks great.” Joel knows he’s lying, but he just wants to see you laugh.

Which you do. “Yea, maybe to a blind chick.”

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” Joel chides, using his free hand to come up and playfully tug at your hair.

You erupt in giggles, swatting his hand away while simultaneously trying to tug his hair back.

Eventually, you two stop messing with each other, but you reiterate that you're serious.

"I mean it—it’d be super fun giving you a make-over."

Joel pulls into the gas station and shifts his truck into park.

"You've lost your damn mind if you think I'm gonna let you get anywhere near my head with clippers."

You roll your eyes and giggle, following him out of the vehicle.

"C'monnn, it'll be fun!" You squeal, trailing behind him as he walks into the store, the bell chiming as you both enter.

He pretends to ignore you, walking along the isles to the freezer section.

"I'll be super careful," You muse, snagging a bag of skittles from off one of the shelves before he can notice.

“I promise I won’t fuck up your cut.” You joke, laughing at yourself.

“Hey—watch it.” Joel warns when hearing your profanity, snapping back to look at you, only half-joking.

You roll your eyes—it's ironic coming from him who cusses like a sailor. You brush past him as he opens the freezer, letting your back lean against one of the glass doors, facing him.

"You're not my daddy, y'know. Can't tell me what to do." You purr, a shit-eating grin beginning to form on your perfect face.

Joel feels his blood pressure spike.

You're making this impossible for him and you know it.

His body moves for him before he can stop himself.

After he grabs two ice bags, he closes the freezer and subsequently steps closer to you, popping your personal space bubble.

"You're right. M'not your daddy." He husks, looking down at you and your parted lips. Your chests are centimeters away from each other, and you find yourself holding your breath. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The way he’s looking down at you like prey yet speaking so nonchalantly has your brain spinning. There was definitely an underlying threat in his words.

Before you can respond, he’s turned around and walking up to the register, throwing down a 10 dollar bill and telling the cashier to keep the change.

Science can’t explain the drastic acceleration your heart rate just experienced—but you can.

Joel fucking Miller.

He had to be insinuating something, right?

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body, stumbling to catch up with him as he walks out the store.

He lugs the ice into his trunk like nothing happened, the tension in his muscles catching your eyes.

Yet, he still comes around to the passenger side, opening the door for you.

Now was your chance to get him back.

You lift yourself up in the truck, purposefully climbing into the bench seat in a way that gave Joel a clear view of your ass—as well as your thong that wasn't really covering much.

His hand clamps down so hard on the car handle that it nearly crumbles under his grip.

You hear him clear his throat before the door slams shut next to you, making you jump a bit.

When he passes in the front windshield, he's shaking his head and dragging a hand down his scruffy jaw. You can't help but giggle at his exasperated expression.

His takes longer to get into the car and start things up this time, trying real hard not to meet your instense gaze.

When he refuses to make eye contact, you huff out a breath and rip open your skittles bag.

This catches Joel's attention.

"You pay for that?"

"...sure." You murmur unconvincingly with a shrug, trying not to smile. "Want some?"

He watches as you pop a few in your mouth, holding out the bag for him.

Begrungingly, he grumbles out a 'yeah' and holds out his palm.

***

The party had fizzled out when you guys returned. There were a few stranglers sitting around and chatting, but for the most part, things seemed to be dying down.

So much for the ice.

Your dad and his friends had migrated to the living room and once Joel put the bags away, he joined them.

He sat on the couch with a grunt, his legs immediately settling into the manspreading position.

You tried not to drool but your mouth was definitely salivating. To avoid moaning just at the sight of him, you head upstairs, the old wood boards creaking beneath your feet.

You don't see it, but Joel's got his eyes on you, following you with his gaze till you're out of sight.

He feels guilty thinking about how much he wants to fuck you when he's literally sitting right next to your father, but he can't help himself.

It's a while before you come back down, when you do, theres a razor in one hand, clippers in the other.

"No." Joel instantly says, shaking his head.

"Yes." You squeal, beaming down at him.

"Awh, go on Joel, you been needin' a clean up." Your dad chimes in, smacking his shoulder. His other buddies encourage it until he has no choice than to give in just so everyone would shut up.

"Fine—fine. Y'all gon' get yours, thats for damn sure." Joel grumbles, stomping up the stairs.

You're laughing all the way up, bubbling with excitement.

"Come down and give us the reveal when you're done!" Your dad screams to which you giggle.

You basically shove Joel into your bathroom, pulling in a stool for him to sit on.

"You better know what yer doin'." He grunts, sitting down on the stool and looking at you with weary eyes.

"Anything I do to you would look better than what you have now."

Joel promptly stands back up when hearing your words, trying to walk away, but you grab onto his arm. "I'm kidding, I’m kidding! I promise I'll do a good job."

You press on his shoulders to sit him down again, your throat running dry when you see the way he’s glaring up at you.

He’s not actually angry—just a bit peeved that he doesn’t have enough self control to stop thinking about fucking you against the bathroom sink.

You start working, none the wiser, bringing the electric razor to his jaw.

Your bodies are close, Joel can smell your delicious perfume and it makes him wanna eat you up.

You start to notice how sometimes his eyes will flicker to your chest, before abrupdtly looking away and clearing his throat.

Your boobs did look great in this dress, maybe you should give him a better view...

The devilish thought pops in your brain and you're acting it out before you know it.

You set the razor down and grab the clippers, stepping around to the front of his body. "May I?" You murmur, not even waiting for his answer before straddling his lap.

You sit on his thighs and Joel feels himself straighten like a board.

“Kid—what do you think yer doin’?” He immediately sputters out, his expression stern.

He’s trying so hard not to look down at where your dress had ridden up from straddling him. He can almost see your cunt, for christ sake.

“Nothin’.” You murmur, bringing your shaking hand up to trim the hair on his jaw. You curse at yourself for not even having the wits to keep calm, you just know your flushed fave is giving you away.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel reiterates, completely unbelieving as his eyes drag down your body slowly.

Then, everything shifts.

There’s something more assertive in Joel’s demeanor that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s there.

You feel his calloused hand on your thigh, your body erupting in goosebumps when he travels it up dangerously high. Using his other hand, he grips your wrist, pulling it down and away from his face.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me.” His voice is a low murmur.

You’re both locked in eye contact now, hearts beating in sync.

He hears your breath hitch and sees how your eyes are flashing between his gaze and lips. He knows what you’re after—he’s just not sure if he wants to give in yet.

You, on the other hand, are dying of anticipation. He’s not budging, so you’re left to drag your hips up his lap and press down on the bulge in his pants.

"Girl—" He growls out before his hands come up to stop your waist from moving any further. "You don't know what your doin'."

"Do I have to fucking spell it out for you, Joel?" You rush out, dropping the scissors and latching onto his shoulders. You're panting and your face is pink, a needy/irritated expression woven into your features.

He feels your nails digging into his shoulder blades and sees that desperate look in your eyes—he's done for.

"No, I won't make ya do that f'me, sweet heart." He murmurs before abruptly picking you up from under your thighs.

A squeak of surprise leaves your lips at his effortless display of strength. You swallow your nerves after he sets you down on the counter, lodging himself between your legs.

"But I am gon make you say it."

Is he teasing you?

No, his face looks too serious for him to be teasing.

Oh, maybe he just wants clear clarification.

Your heart swells at his consideration.

Sucking in a deep breath, "I want your dick in my vagina." You giggle out, knowing he was probably expecting sexier wording. Joel smirks, crashing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah? S'that what you want?"

You're nodding against him, smiling wide because you just admitted something that you never thought you would.

"N'have you done that before? Y'know, dick in vagina." He copies your candance, but you stop smiling.

Out of all the fucking questions, that was the one that you didn't want to be asked the most.

You had hoped if you came on strong and flirted like you had done it a million times, he would've just assumed you weren't a virgin.

But the bastard always had to be so careful.

You didn't want him to know because you figured it would turn him off—then all you'd become is his best friend’s daughter all over again.

You knew if you lied he would just sniff it out anyway, but you tried nonetheless.

"...Yea. Couple times."

You watch as Joel's face forms into a 'yea right' kind of expression before he sighs out.

"Why'a lyin' to me, kid?"

You groan, throwing your head back and hitting the mirror with the back of your skull.

"Thats why—I don't want you thinking I'm a kid anymore. M'not. I'm grown. I'm grown and I want..your dick in my vagina."

He scoffs, dragging a hand down in jaw in disbelief. "Lyin' ain’t a good way to show me your grown."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

Your face crumbles because you think you just ruined this whole thing. Yet, Joel's hands come up to cup your face, holding them there a moment before they drift down to rest on your neck.

"S'alright, you're alright. M'not mad at'cha." He reassures, making sure you're looking in his eyes before he continues. "M'flattered sweetheart, I really am but-"

"Please don't say some bullshit like you don't think you're the man for this job because trust me when I say this Joel, you're the only guy I've ever wanted to be with."

You gush out, your mouth a leaky faucet. But Joel still looks conflicted.

You figured now would be a good time to bring out the big guns.

"If you won't do it cus I'm a virgin, I'll just have sex with the first guy I see, how about that?"

Joel's eyes darken and his jaw clenches. Now you've just pissed him off. "Don't manipulate me like that." He says sternly, to which you immediately falter in your confidence.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it." You shake your head at yourself, biting down on your bottom lip. Joel sighs, leaning back but still keeping himself between your legs.

"Look," you start up again, bringing your hand down to hold his muscular bicep. "I've wanted to do this with you for so long. I really want it to be with you. Even if it's just one time, that's okay. Just need you in some way—Joel."

Your voice tapers off into a whisper because his stare intimidates you.

He exhales through his nose before running a hand through his hair and fixing his back to stand up straighter.

"Alright." He huffs, his face looking like he just surrendered in war.

"Alright?" You repeat, hopes high.

"I'll do it," He removes himself from between your legs and slides his grip down to your thighs. "But not right now."

Your heart drops.

"Why not?" You whine like a kicked puppy.

He brings one hand up to pinch your cheek. "Cus your daddy's down stairs, m'not a fuckin' monster." He grumbles before letting go and starting to walk out, but you grab him.

"Fine, but can we at least.." You hop down off the counter and pull him back, kissing him abruptly.

It starts slowly at first, you're both scoping out the scene, but then you get eager.

A tongue slips into his mouth and he returns the favor, his hands finding themselfs back on your hips.

In no time, he has your back up against the wall while he devours your mouth like a man starved. And just as his hand starts sliding up your dress and he's about to go back on his word, a voice comes from downstairs.

"C'mon down Joel, we wanna see the new cut!"

You groan as Joel slips from you, walking back downstairs while wiping his jaw and adjusting the boner in his pants. *** Now it was a waiting game.

Everyone but your dad's friends had left the party; they were just sitting around, watching TV and drinking beers.

You and Joel can't stop making eye contact from the opposite ends of the room. It was like torture not being able to fuck him immediately.

You're quick to conjure up a plan, though.

"Hey dad," you start, twirling a loose thread from your dress around your finger.

"Ya?"

"Didn't they reopen Chambers, like, two weeks ago?" You ask, trying to keep your voice as inconspicuous as possible.

Chambers was the local bar that your dad and his buddies loved to go to. You were just trying to plant a seed.

"Mm, yea, I reckon they did." He sighs out, eyes glued to the TV.

"S'been awhile since we've been there." One of his friends chime in.

"We should go grab a few drinks—I've missed picking up broads from there.." Another friend says, to which your dad promptly hits his arm because he doesn't like that kind of talk when you're present.

Nevertheless, he casts you a questioning glance. "You gon' be alright if we go?"

You try so hard to mask your instant glee. "Oh yeah, I'll be fine! Y'all go n' have fun."

"Alright punkin," They all stand, gathering up their wallets and keys—everyone except Joel. "You comin'?" Your dad asks him.

You glare at him to make sure he understands what you're trying to do.

Joel inhales through his nose before sighing out with a smile. "M'gonna call it a night, boys."

Thank god.

They all grunt and groan in protest, but eventually everyone filters out of the house.

You stand in the door jam and watch as your dad and his buddies file into the car, Joel standing on the porch to wave them off. Words are exchanged between everyone, mostly cussing, as they make their depature.

You both watch as they leave the culdesac, even waiting until you couldn't hear the car engine in the distance before looking at Joel.

Your breath catches in your throat when he turns around to look at you, folding his arms over his chest.

"Sly work." He murmurs, walking forward and forcing you to walk back into the house.

You're not sure why you're so nervous all the sudden.

Because you were pretending to be bold and experienced before, you had no choice but to mask your nerves. Now, that Joel knows the truth, you feel...vulnerable. But in the best way possible.

He backs you into the house before closing the door behind him, his head hanging to look at the ground.

"I had to get you alone somehow." You murmur with a shrug of your shoulders.

It was the truth.

You hear Joel chuckle and watch as he brings his head up to look at you. He's assessing you.

A beat of silence washes over you both.

"You said you would, Joel." You try to say sternly, although your voice wavers because you're scared he might've changed his mind.

"I know what I said." He steps closer, your torso's centimeters apart.

The eye contact is heavy—it feels like an avail against you. But you love it—love him. You're holding back from jumping his bones right by the front door.

"Good." You practically whisper, slowly taking his large hand in yours. You wait until he interwines your fingers before turning around and guiding him up the stairs.

Every creak under his and your feet sounds deafening in the silence between you both.

His hand is sweating, but so is yours.

When you make it to your bedroom, you walk inside and sit on the edge of your bed, gazing up at him.

"How many women have you slept with?" You hear yourself blurt before you can stop yourself.

His lips tighten into a line before he sits down next to you. Your sides are touching, his hands are resting on his knees.

"A few." He grunts, turning to face you. "Lot of 'em forgettable. But this," he gestures between the two of you. "ain't no comin' back from this, you hear me?"

You nod, your hand slipping over his knee. You're trying to trail it higher up his thigh, but he stops you with his hand.

"Need to make sure you know that before we do this. Don't want you regrettin' it later-"

"I won't." You say curtly, only because you know with complete certaintly that there was no way you'd ever regret this.

Everything is still for a moment, the only sound in the room is the both of your breathing. He's staring at you so hard, just waiting for even a hint of hesitation.

But it never comes.

In one swift movement, Joel's lips are on yours, pushing you back into the mattress and settling on top of you.

It makes you dizzy how effortlessly he's making out with you now.

He slots himself between your thighs and you moan at the feeling.

It's embarrassing how little he had to do in order to get you off.

But it's Joel, for christsake—he could just stand there and you'd probably find a way to orgasm at least twice.

It feels like he's engulfing you entirely; his musuclar arms wrapped around you, tongue down your throat, chests pressed together—pure bliss.

Suddenly and devastatingly, he breaks away for just a moment. "Sit up." He husks, to which you immediately oblige.

He lifts your dress up and off, momentairly stunned by the sight of your bare breasts.

"Christ, you're unreal." He groans before latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, using his hand to grope the other one.

You're a mess of moans, but you manage to speak in between. "Take your clothes off too," you whine, pawing at his shirt.

Joel grumbles, taking his time. He strips his shirt off and your hands are quick to latch onto his belt, fumbling with the leather strap but eventually yanking it out of the loops.

His hands come out to steady yours. "Slow down, no rush." He purrs in his texan drawl, making you shiver.

You groan out in frustration, letting your back fall down against the bed again. "You gonna make me wait all summer?"

"If you keep bein' a brat, then maybe." Joel huffs, yanking you back by the legs so he can pull your thong off. He dangles the stringy piece of fabric by his finger, looking at it assessingly.

"Joel!" You squeal, embarrassed. He effortessly holds you down with one hand against your stomach, not letting you swat it away from him.

"This what you go 'round wearin'?" He teases, grinning sharply.

You shrug, all squrimy, prodding him with your legs. "Would it turn you on if I said I wore them for you?"

You almost don't notice when Joel stuffs your underwear into his back pocket because of how drawn you are to his eyes. He's looking at you like a man starved—you love it.

"You been plottin' on me, is that it?" His voice makes your wet hole clench around nothing. He's teasing, but you also feel like you've just been caught.

You definitely weren't as suave as you thought you were.

"Stop makin' fun of me. " You huff with a flustered face, narrowing your eyes at him.

Joel smirks, finally prying apart your legs and taking a good, long look at your dripping cunt. "Christ almightly..." He groans at the sight of you, his cock straining hard against his jeans. "Pretty lil thing."

Your back arches off the bed when you feel Joel's thumb brush against your folds, tantilizingly slow. "Nice n' wet, atta girl." He muses, spreading your lips apart with his fingers.

You wanted to make a joke about him inspecting you like some doctor, but the words died quickly on your tongue when you felt him stroke your clit.

"Joel," You moan, hips squirming impatiently. "Fuck, I need you,"

"You got me, babygirl," Joel murmurs before lowering his head and devouring your cunt completely.

His tongue laps at you with fever, primarily focusing on your aching clit. The sensation nearly makes you pass out, especially when he pushes a finger inside of your hole.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," You whine, fisting the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white.

Having someone eat you out and it being actually enjoyable is one thing, but having Joel Miller eat you out and it being amazing, was blowing your mind.

He didn't even take breathers.

Joel was consuming you like he didn't need air. Soon, you feel another finger stretch you open, then another, until Joel has three fingers smoothly pumping in and out of you.

It quickly becomes all too much for your little brain. "Hmph..fuck Joel m'gonna come," You whine, your hips staggering against his mouth.

He doesn't answer you, in fact, Joel just wraps his musclar arms tightly under your thighs, securing you in place. In this position, you were rendered completely immoveable.

He kept you right where he wanted you.

"Waitwait, shit, Joel," His tongue is relentless, drinking you up like he was dying of thirst in the desert. Tears are forming in the lining of your eyes, the stimulation overloading you.

"Fuck!" You cry, coming completely undone beneath him. Your entire body shakes with pleasure as you finish, thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Joel laps you all the way through it, humming contentedly against your soaked cunt.

When your body goes limp against the bed, thats finally when Joel lifts his lips off you. His entire face down past his nose is drenched in your juices; the sight makes your stomach flutter.

"Holy fucking shit Joel," You whimper, out of breath, chest heaving up and down. "That was amazing."

Joel lands a couple soft warning pats against your cunt, making you flinch and squirm from overstimulation.

"You cuss like a sailor, y'know that?"

"S'hard not to when you're makin' me feel so good." You're mumbling, wiping at the tear streaks on your face with the back of your hand.

"Mm, I know," He hums in that caring tone, crawling on top of you and placing a few chaste kisses on your lips.

It doesn't take long for your libido to rise again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kissing him back.

You bring a hand down to palm at his boner, giggling into the kiss. He groans at the feeling, rutting his hips into your hand. "Fuck me now please," You say breathlessly into his ear, nipping and licking at his neck.

He scoffs at your enthusiasm.

Finally, Joel pulls his pants off, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

You're enamoured by the sight of it. Long in length, even bigger in girth. You practically start drooling.

"You got a starin' problem too." Joel grumbles, grabbing you by the jaw and tilting your head up so he can kiss you again.

You chuckle into his lips, breaking away for a moment to speak. "I can't help it. It's handsome..you're handsome." You muse, getting a fist around his cock, managing to stroke it a few times before Joel stops you.

You don't have time to think or argue before he turns you over onto your side, situating himself behind you.

He's spooning you, except his left arm is hooked around your chest and his right has your leg lifted up, allowing his cock to slip between your folds.

Once again, he's got you right where he wants you.

"Joel," You bring your hands up to hold onto his forearm, pushing your ass back into him. "Put it in." You all but demand, trying to desperately grind your cunt on him.

He tightens his grasp on your collarbone, pulling you tighter against his chest. "Keep your leg up baby," Joel mutters lowly in your ear, letting go of your leg to guide his cock to your entrance.

His fat tip prods against your willing hole, making you dizzy with need. He runs his fingers along your folds one last time, gathering up your slick and using it to lubricate his cock.

Your heart is beating a million miles per hour. The moment you had been dreaming of for so long was finally here.

Joel, taking your virginity—your prayers were answered.

Slowly, Joel starts inching his way inside, the stretch making you gasp.

It feels fine at first, just a dull ache, but then it hurts—bad.

You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, trying to push through the pain. However, your body clenches down on the intrusive appendage, causing Joel to groan out.

It feels good for him, but he's been around the block a few times to know what's happening.

"You okay? I need'a stop?" He asks in that raspy voice of his, to which you immediately shake your head.

"Nonono, god no, don't stop. Just—just ram it in." You say foolishly, making Joel scoff.

"No, sweetheart, as much as I want to—bad idea." He brings his hand back down between your legs, rubbing a few slow circles into your clit. "Just relax and open up for me, thaaaats it," He encourages in that tone that lights fires in your core.

The perfect stimulation on the bundle of nerves made you forget all about the pain, letting your hole ease up a bit.

He takes the oppurtunity to keep breaching you deeper, peppering kisses to your neck and back in the process. His fingers stay glued to your clit, and before you know it, he's half way inside.

Your holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

But you're so full of him and it's perfect. You can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. Either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips and feeding Joel's growing ego.

"You feelin' good sweetheart?" He rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth till he reaches that half way mark. You nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for a kiss.

He satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

His dick in you, his tongue down your throat, his arms pinning you to him. Fuck.

But you still want more.

In a shocking move, you slam your hips back against him, burying him all the way inside.

Moans fill your little bedroom, both his and yours, and for a moment, a flash of regret hits you like a truck.

He's big, and it fucking hurts.

But once the initial pain subsides, it’s like ecstasy.

"Fuck—girl, what'd ya do that for?" Joel hisses, tensing up because he's trying not to come fast.

"Couldn't wait," you pant, tears spilling out the corners of your eyes. "Please move." You're pleading because being stationary is somehow even more painful. You squirm in Joel's strong grasp, trying to stop the ache between your legs.

He's no match for you.

In a gentle but swift motion, Joel situates himself on top of you, closing your thighs together and putting them on one side of his body—all while still inside of you.

He cages you in with his big strong arms, looking down at your needy expression as he gradually starts rocking his hips into you. You're twisting your torso to remain looking at him, clawing at his biceps with your nails.

"This how you like it?" He huffs out, the sweat evident on his brow. "Deep n' slow?"

You want to respond to him, but it's hard to because every other sound you make is a moan.

He's so deep and never fails to hit the one spot that just makes you melt.

Opting for a non-verbal response, you nod with fever, gyrating your hips to meet his thrusts.

He chuckles, the sound alone makes you wanna come.

His name slips from your lips like a prayer—Joel finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

But he's no better, he'd been groaning in your ear since the start of it. He really cant help it, your cunt is like a silky, wet vice molded perfectly for his cock.

Joel lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. He continues he's deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. He also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

Christ.

Your head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. The stimulation was insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

Your body wracks with jolts and spasms—your body trying to cope with everything it's feeling. Joel takes notice, a proud and lopsided smile spreading across his face.

"M'gonna cum," You whine, your body writhing against him with each thrust.

Your pussy is clenching down on him with each piston of his hips, Joel is not far behind you.

He rubs your clit in a way that makes you come undone, your back arching up off the bed and your toes curling from pleasure.

At the same time, Joel picks up his pace, only to pull his cock from inside you and pump it a few times before unloading his seed onto your naked torso.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing coming from the both of you. Joel's staring down at your pussy, entraced with the way your hole is constricting around nothing.

Then, he looks at your face. Your eyes are closed, your lips are parted, your chest is heaving up and down. He's admiring you and all your fucked-out glory.

He brings a hand up to your face, wiping off the tear stains with his thumb. "You alright?" He husks out, looking down at you assessingly.

"M'perfect." You coo, slowly opening your eyes and leaning up to kiss him. Joel returns it, loving the way your mouth opens so readily for him.

He'd have to try it out with his dick next time.

"Can we go again?" You murmur into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Joel scoffs because he thinks you're kidding. You're not. When he realizes this, he shakes his head in disbelief, pushing you down onto the bed by your shoulders.

"Don't worry, we got all summer."

#anon ask #first request yay #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller #tlou fic #one shot #drabble

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