get some on my love
QZ!Joel Miller x f!reader
my masterlist | joel fic recs
This is for @justagalwhowrites' Birthday Celebration for Joel. I picked the prompts for QZ!Joel and breeding kink. It, uh. It got away with me. Title from "Gasoline" by Seether because that's what made this get so feral. Please read the warnings.
dedicated to @covetyou bcus it's your tumblrversary bb! and also because of SWAT, the ultimate slutty qz joel fic that lives in my head and pays rent
words: 1.6k
summary: You visit Joel Miller to get what you need.
warnings: dub-con, dubcon due to sex in exchange for drugs, and he kind of springs the breeding kink on her (but there's not a risk), abuse of prescription medications, QZ!Joel Miller, dealer!Joel Miller, smuggler!Joel Miller, filthy!Joel Miller, breeding kink, creampie, menstrual sex, inappropriate uses of period blood, spitting, pussy pronouns (she/her), vulgar language, god i don't even know it's just nasty and they like it, kind of hate fucking, no y/n, no betas no proofreading no nothing lol
dividers by @saradika-graphics
also on ao3
“Well, well. Look who’s come crawlin’ back,” Joel drawls when he opens the door.
You scowl. “You gonna let me in or not?”
He leans against the frame, a lazy smirk curling. “Gee, I don’t know. You had some mighty strong things to say ‘bout me last time.” He does step back, though, ushering you in.
“Pretty sure you said you were never gonna look at my ugly mug again,” he adds as he shuts the door behind you.
“Yeah, well,” you mutter.
He tips your chin up with two fingers. “Yeah, well,” he mocks. “Well, what? No one else want that sloppy pussy as payment?”
“You like my pussy, jackass,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Yeah, I do,” he says, cornering you against the door, your back hitting it with a thump. He leers, leaning in. “You know why it’s so sloppy? ‘Cause I fuckin’ ruined it, and you loved it.”
You scowl again, turning your head sharply to the side so you don’t have to look at his smug smirk. The worst part is how right he is.
“Look,” you mutter, heat rising to your cheeks, “I-I can’t pay today. But I need them, bad. I’ll… I’ll make it up to you.”
It nearly kills you to say. The only thing worse than dealing with Joel Miller is owing Joel Miller.
“Whaddya mean you can’t pay today? Cunt closed for construction or somethin’?”
You shove him away roughly, ducking out of his grasp to stalk into the living room. “No, dumbass, I’m… bleedin’, you know.”
His responding grin is feral and full of teeth. “I don’t give a shit. Go bend over the bathroom sink.”
“Are you fuckin' serious?”
“You want the fuckin’ pills or not?”
You could scream. Of course you do. There’s not a part of your body that doesn’t hurt. It’s settled into every joint and crevice, an ache you can’t stretch out or shake loose.
You’d know. You’ve tried. But you’re losing sleep, and the pain makes you too nauseous to eat. His drugs will only take the edge off for so long, but god, you’d do nearly anything for a few hours’ respite.
“Fine,” you whisper finally, and make your way to the apartment’s tiny three-piece.
He follows, watching you with amusement. “Strip,” he says.
You glare, and he shrugs.
“Or don’t. But I ain’t responsible for what happens to your clothes.”
Oh, fuck him. Fuck him. But you strip—all the way, even though you could have left your top on, but because mother nature has you on her shit list, your usual pain is compounded when you’re menstruating. And when you’re ovulating. Really, so many women don’t even have a fucking cycle anymore from all the stress and malnutrition, but noooo, you were cursed with a fertile fucking uterus.
The point was that your titties were sore and aching, and the thought of his warm hands groping and pawing at them sounded nice, so off goes your shirt.
He chuckles when he enters the bathroom. “Well, look at that. Eager?”
“Hurry up,” you snap. “It’s cold, and there’s gonna be a mess.”
“Gonna be a mess either way,” he taunts, his hands rough against your hips.
And ain’t that the kicker? There’s gonna be a mess. Your cunt is already sore, and he’s gonna leave a trail of destruction in his wake.
“Don’t look so grossed out, sugar,” he says, cupping your breasts and looking at you in the mirror. “It’s all natural. Plus, I gotta say, it’s been a long time since I got to do this.”
You’re busy meeting his eyes in the mirror and pulling a face, not catching his last words. He rolls and pinches at your tender nipples, but it’s the kind of pain that sits on the right side of pleasure. As expected, his meaty hands grope unmercifully at your breasts, and you moan in relief at the free massage.
“That’s it. That’s what I like to hear. You ready for me, huh? That greedy pussy o’ yours ready?”
“Uh-huh,” you say distractedly. “Wait—”
“I didn’t forget,” he murmurs in your ear. “Open.”
You open your mouth obediently, sticking your tongue out. He sets a round, white pill on it and turns your head with a firm grip on your chin, his spit landing right on the pill.
You swallow and avert your eyes as he watches your reflection.
“Get on with it,” you rasp.
One hand wanders down between your thighs and strokes through the folds, working you open with two thick fingers scissoring side to side. He doesn’t spend long there, dragging them up to rub at your clit for a moment.
“Make some fuckin’ noise; I can’t tell if you’re wet or not with all this goin’ on,” he grumbles, withdrawing his hand and showing you the slick blood coating it.
You wince, and he laughs. “Y’ain’t scared of your own period, are ya?”
“Fuck off, ‘course I’m not. Doesn’t mean I wanna look at it.”
He grins. The expression is always unnatural on him and usually heralds something vulgar.
You’re not wrong. He brings his hand up to cup your breast, leaving a smear of blood on your tit.
“Somethin’ kinda hot about it, don’tcha think?” he muses.
“If you say so,” you mutter, but you can’t look away. It’s striking, blood against your skin that isn’t borne of violence.
The thick tip of his cock interrupts your thoughts as he pushes down on your shoulder. You bend, gripping the sides of the vanity as he buries himself inside with one slow thrust.
He groans, gripping hard on your shoulder. “S’better than lube.”
“You’re so gross,” you say, shaking your head.
“Yeah? Then why’re you clenchin’ around me like a goddamn vice, huh?”
“You always talk this much when you fuck, or am I special?”
“Oh, sugar, don’t flatter yourself,” he says with a slap on your ass. “Y’ain’t special.”
“You—ahh—you hate-fuck all your customers?”
He snorts. “You ain’t even special enough to hate, honey. And you can hate me all you like, but we both know you’re gonna keep comin’ back.”
As you scowl up at him in the mirror, you almost wish looks could kill. But he’s right. He’d be no good to you dead because no other dealer in this godforsaken QZ will dose you in exchange for sex.
As it is, he only lets you once a week. You need more than that? Gotta pay like everyone else. Even when you can afford it, you find yourself back here or on your knees or however he wants you every fuckin’ Friday, because a free pill is a free pill. It’s 3-4 hours you can nap without nearly killin’ yourself to afford it.
Today’s pill hasn’t begun to set in yet, but that’s the other thing about Joel. He’s good at making you forget.
Real good.
His hands are on your body, roughly gentle. He’s not careful with his touch, but not careless, either. He wants you to come, wants you to shake and fall apart on his dick, so he can flash you that little self-satisfied smirk borne of bravado he’s rightly earned.
And you do. You come for him, with his hands on your breasts and your clit. You tremble and moan and your pussy tries to stake a claim on his cock, clenching and hoping to never let go. But it will, and you will. In the end, you always let go.
He’s a different kind of beast tonight. Panting and grunting in your ear, teeth on your neck, sweat dripping and blending with yours. After he’s rung pleasure from you, he settles one hand on your hip and another on your shoulder and ruts into you like a jackhammer. Like he can’t get deep enough, can’t stop until he’s carved a spot for him within you.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters, pushing you down further. “Fuuuck, darlin’, you want this, huh? You want me to fill you up?”
“Wh-what?” you gasp, air knocked from you with each punch of his cock against your cervix.
“Gonna fill you up good, gonna—nnng— gonna make it stick.”
You reach back and smack him. “The fuck are you—”
But he doesn’t let you finish. He holds on tight and grinds his dick deep. “That greedy pussy, sugar, she fuckin’ wants it. Oh fuck, I-I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy ‘till she’s full o’ me. And you’re gonna take it, right?”
You whimper, holding tight to the sink while he loses his fucking mind or whatever is happening. You don’t know. It feels too good to question.
“Thas’ it,” he rambles. “Gonna look so good, stuffed up, and ev’ryone—everyone—will know you let me fuckin’ breed you.”
Oh god. It shouldn’t be hot. Those words should be stopping your heart, you should be pushing him away, but your dumb cunt has a mind of its own and holds tight to him, each thrust of his cock squelching as you come around him again.
“Jesus, baby, it’s been too long, too long since I got to fill up a cunt like yours,” he groans, hips stuttering, “oh shit, take it—fuckin’ take it.”
His cock pulses inside you, and you think maybe you die and go to heaven for a little bit—just a little, because when you open your eyes, you’re still in Joel’s grimy bathroom—but there’s a sweet moment where you think he’s right. It’s been too long. Far too long since a man’s come undone inside you, let you feel that hot burst and twitching, it’s divine, it’s—well, it’s making you come again.
When he pulls out, you stumble right to the toilet, glaring at him as you try to clean up the mess before it happens. “Gross,” you grumble.
When you look up, the way he’s looking at you makes somethin’ awful churn inside, and it’s not just the apparent buckets of cum he filled you with.
The silence between you is thick. Finally, he jerks his head to the shower. “Get cleaned up ‘n get out,” is all he says, and the door clicks shut in his wake.
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all the daniel stuff has really put a damper on my weekend and it seems like VCARB don’t even know and even if they don’t drop him it’s s horrible and cruel.
i had a pit in my stomach earlier cause i was so stressed about it i had to stop going on social media :/
he’s been doing a good job! vcarb just don’t know what they’re doing
i’ll be so sad if true cause daniel is the reason i got into f1 in the first place and last time there was a chance he was back but idk if it can happen again
(sorry for ranting in your inbox i just saw you posted about it and i’ve been so stressed lol)
no ur absolutely fine, im more than happy to discuss this kind of stuff! i may start making more posts about drivers and f1 politics and things tbh.
but yeah anyway. anyone’s personal feelings about daniel and his performance and whether or not he deserves his seat etc etc aside, it’s just appalling how redbull are handling this. they have clearly not made a concrete decision yet (ie: pen to paper. i think people know), but have been stringing daniel along on the hope that he may not get replaced. i just think its disgusting with how truly terrible vcarb has been re: his tyre strategy. this race was a mess? i don’t understand why they would pit him first like that so early on. it makes genuinely no sense to me. and it puts him in this awful position wheres he’s got to fight through the midfield every time he races.
i don’t get it. and i think its absurd to judge him off his race position when they shaft him every time.
and just yeah. throwing him to media wolves when he has been fucking loyal to redbull. sure he left. but they treat him like dirt under their shoe. for what reason??? especially when he came back on the hope of getting into the redbull seat. and fine if thats not an option okay. why has he seemed to think that he’s been safe and/or had hope up until the end of this race? where literally everyone is acting like its foregone conclusion that he’s gone and he has to grapple with that in front of everyone. without support from vcarb or rb.
i can see vcarb not knowing. i think max knows. i think h*rner knows. why doesn’t daniel know? why wasn’t he given an appropriate send off?? why haven’t they announced the swap with a race or two to go so he can be prepared for it, have people celebrate his career.
i love logan. but that sudden swap makes sense to me. he was causing damages that a team like williams can’t absorb. daniel is not crashing. i understand its the pressure of the wdc. but to me it looks like the reason daniel is not getting into points is because vcarb screw up his tyre strategy. perez is costing them money, perez is costing them points. i don’t think theres a big conspiracy to keep him in his seat, but i AM confused as to why daniel is unfairly bearing the brunt of that? thats what it feels like to me.
i will be very interested to see what they announce/how they announce it for daniel. and i will also be interested to see how they handle liam and his tyre strategy if thats what happens. because yeah whats the value in this swap is what it comes down to imo.
overall these mid season swaps are not a pattern that i particularly enjoy seeing. its not out of character for redbull of course, but it just reeks of disrespect for their drivers. especially someone like daniel who loves that team, clearly deeply loves driving and has been in the sport for a significant amount of time. a mid season swap is not unacceptable to me, but the lack of care in handling it is.
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