thewalkingdilf

[thewalkingdilf]

for a good time, call…| jm

pairing: contractor!joel miller x phone sex operator! reader

summary: turns out your favorite client, mr. miller, was also renovating your parents kitchen.

warnings: phone sex, MDNI 18+, needy!joel, sub!reader, masturbation, mutual masturbation, voyeurism (slight), age!gap, pinv, FINGERING, f!reader, bossy!joel, lots of dialogue, SWEATY CONSTRUCTION JOEL, dirty talk, smut with 0 plot

word count: 7,6k

a/n: just thought joel would love phone sex and had to write about it (didn’t proof read ughh!)

Joel wasn’t the kind of man who went looking for things like this. Hell, he’d barely even used his damn cell phone for more than work calls and the occasional “you need anything?” to Tommy. But work had been slow, evenings long, and his bed cold for far longer than he cared to count.

It started the way everything bad always does— by accident. He’d been working late on a kitchen remodel for an older couple across town, staying after to make sure the grout set right. When he finally packed up for the night, he was sore, tired, and just needed something to take his mind off the gnawing quiet of home.

Stopped at a corner store on the way back— needed smokes, a drink, maybe a snack. That’s when he saw it. A little card by the register. Neon pink with black print. “Lonely tonight? Call now.” The girl on the front wasn’t real— he could tell. Too glossy, too airbrushed. But the number was real. He thought. He’d shoved it in his back pocket without thinking.

That night, the house was too still. He sat in his recliner, TV on low, beer sweating on the side table, thumb rubbing over the edges of that card like it was something dangerous, giving himself a little poke at the corners. He wasn’t lonely, he told himself. Just… curious. Which was probably worse.

By the time he dialed, he already felt foolish. A grown man, calling a stranger for God knows what. He almost hung up when the ring clicked over, making him freeze with the phone hovering over his ear.

“Hello,” came a warm, easy voice. Not too high, not too sugary. Like you were smiling without even meaning to.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh… this the number from the—”

“Yes, baby,” you cut in smoothly, like you’d done this a hundred times. “Do you want me to tell you how it works, or do you want to tell me what you need tonight?”

Joel’s mouth went dry. He could hear the smile in your tone. You weren’t rushing him, weren’t fake-giggling. Just… waiting.

“Not sure,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair. “Ain’t never done this before.”

“That’s alright,” you said, and God, your voice was soft. “You can just talk to me. We’ll go slow. You can tell me what you like… or I can help you figure it out.”

Something in him— the part that had been tight and knotted for months— loosened at that. Maybe he can make this work, maybe he’d like this. Maybe he needed this.

“What do I call you?” he asked.

“You don’t have to call me anything, if you don’t want,” you said. “What do you want me to call you?”

He hasn’t done this at all. Fuck. Without even fucking thinking much of it, really, he says, “Mr. Miller.” Like he has nothing to hide. But what kind of rookie mistake was that.

“Mr. Miller,” you repeated in that same soft voice, like velvet. Seductive. Thank you.

That did something to him, the hum that left him gave him away. “Alright then,” he said slowly.

“Now, Mr. Miller… what do you like? What gets you going?”

The bluntness caught him off guard. His ears went hot. “Uh—don’t really… talk about that kinda thing.”

“You’re not used to it,” you said gently, “but you can. There’s no right or wrong answer. You can be as detailed or as vague as you want. Just… tell me something.”

Joel let out a slow breath. “Guess I like… softness.”

“Softness,” you repeated, like you were tasting the word. “You mean… the way someone talks to you? Or their body?”

He thought about it, thumb rubbing the edge of the phone. “Both.”

You hummed. “What about right now, Mr. Miller? If I were in front of you, what’s the first thing you’d notice?”

His mouth went dry. “…Your mouth.”

You let out the faintest little sigh, and Joel felt it low in his gut. “Would you touch me?”

“Yeah,” he said before he could think. He hadn’t even seen you. But fuck.

“How?”

His throat bobbed. “Gentle. At first.”

You smiled in your voice. “At first.”

There was a pause, and Joel swore the silence was heavy with something that wasn’t just talk. You let it stretch before asking, “What are you doing right now?”

Joel shifted in his chair, heat prickling the back of his neck. “…Think you know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

He huffed a laugh, low and self-conscious. “Touchin’ myself.”

“Mm. That’s good. Think about my mouth, then. Think about me on my knees for you.”

Joel’s eyes shut. The sound of your voice in his ear was more than he expected — less like a stranger, more like someone who already knew how to get inside his head. The image of someone he doesn’t quite know, on her knees in front of him. The feeling of soft hands pressed on his thighs, squeezing gently– anchoring themselves to better take his hard cock.

“You can take your time,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he did take his time. You kept him talking— little nudges, gentle questions, painting pictures in his head until his hand was moving without thought, until his breathing had gone heavy into the receiver.

When you finally whispered, “That’s it, Mr. Miller. Just like that. I want you to let go for me,” Joel bit down on a groan and came hard, shuddering in his seat.

For a moment, the line was nothing but his breath in your ear. Joel’s head was tipped back against the recliner, eyes shut, his voice rough with the kind of pleasure he hadn’t felt in years. His thick release dripping down his knuckles, making a mess all over his jeans. Then—“Goodnight, Sir,” you said softly, smirk obviously on your lips. And before he could answer, the line went to the automated payment system you had in place, leaving Joel staring at the phone while he pulled out his card from his wallet, wondering why he already wanted to hear you again.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

Joel had told himself it’d be a while before he called again. Weeks, maybe. Let it cool off. It’d been four days. He’d spent those nights trying not to think about the sound of your voice— the way you’d called him Mr. Miller, not like everyone else did. Just the way you did. Like it actually needed to be pronounced that way always.

So by the fourth night, he caved. Sat on the edge of his bed, card in hand, number already burned into his memory. The ring was shorter this time.

“Hello,” you said, voice warm like you’d been expecting him.

Joel swallowed. “Yeah… it’s me.”

A smile slid into your tone. “I know.”

That shouldn’t have hit him like it did. “That right?”

“Mhm. You sound the same— like you’re not sure if you should be calling me.”

Joel huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to.”

“…Yeah,” he admitted.

“Then let’s not waste time, Mr. Miller. What do you want tonight?”

He shifted on the mattress, rubbing the back of his neck. “You start.”

“Mm,” you hummed, “I want to tell you how wet I am for you.” The breath left him sharp. “I’ve been thinking about your voice. The way you sounded when you came for me the other night. Bet your face gets all soft when you’re close… bet your mouth parts and your eyes close real tight. I think about that while I touch myself.”

Joel groaned low— a deep, unsteady sound— hand already pressing at the front of his jeans. “Tell me what you’re wearing,” he said, voice rough.

“Black panties,” you said immediately. “They’re soaked right now. And nothing on top.”

He inhaled hard through his nose. “…Jesus.”

You smiled in your voice. “Do you want to touch me, Mr. Miller?”

“You know I do.”

“How would you do it?”

Joel shut his eyes, breathing heavier now. “Slide my hand between your thighs… thumb on your clit. Gentle at first, then harder ‘til you start whinin’ for me.”

“I’m already whining for you,” you murmured, and Joel’s head tipped back.

“Good girl,” he rasped.

You let a few beats pass before asking, “What about your cock? Is he hard for me, sir?”

Sir. Holy fuck. He grunted— deep, strained. “Yeah… fuck… he is.”

“I want you to take him out. I want you to stroke him for me. Slow.”

Joel obeyed before he could think, his hand wrapping around himself, shuddering at the contact.

“That’s it,” you coaxed. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back for me.”

And he didn’t. His breath was rough now, his chest rising and falling faster.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard. “Your mouth… around me.”

“Mhm. I’d suck you slow. Lick you from the base all the way to the tip… take you so deep my eyes water, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s groan cracked in the middle, his hips shifting up into his hand.

And then you fucking say, “Would you fuck my face, Mr. Miller?”

“…Christ, sugar…”

“I’d let you. I’d take every inch of you, choking on your cock while you tell me how good I am for you.”

His breathing was ragged now, the slick sound of his hand unmistakable.

“Mm, I bet you taste so good.”

He grunted. His hand pumping up and down his length faster, squeezing just that bit of precum out. His thumb flicks across his glistening bulb.

“I’d swallow every drop. I wouldn’t waste a thing. I’d be so good for you, sir.” You’re a little breathless– you know they like when you sound spent.

That tore a deep, guttural sound from him— one he didn’t even recognize as his own.

“Come for me,” you breathed. “I want to hear it.”

Joel’s fist tightened, his hips jerking, and he came hard with a broken groan into the phone. For a long moment, the line was nothing but his breath and the faint hum of your satisfaction.

“You sound so good when you let go,” you murmured. The truth. You usually lied at most men. But not this one. Not Mr. Miller.

Joel swiped a hand over his face, trying to steady his breathing. “…You’re somethin’ else.”

You laughed softly. “Goodnight, Mr. Miller.”

After hearing his payment go through , Joel sat there with the phone still to his ear, wondering if he’d make it more than a couple of days before calling again. He’d give you all of his damn money to just hear you breathe.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

By now, Joel didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t going to call. He’d learned your schedule— or maybe you’d learned his— because every time, you picked up on the second ring.

“Hello, Mr. Miller.”

His chest loosened at the sound. “Evenin’, sugar.”

“How’s my favorite caller tonight?”

He smirked faintly. “Don’t know ‘bout favorite… but I’m here.”

“You’re always my favorite,” you said easily, and Joel felt heat curl low in his gut — and not just from the words themselves. There was a pause, then you purred, “You hard for me yet, Mr. Miller?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, already palming himself. “Think you know the answer to that.”

“Mm. Take him out for me.”

He obeyed, boxers shoved down just enough, his hand wrapping around himself with a hiss of breath.

“That’s it,” you coaxed. “Stroke yourself slow. I wanna know what you’re thinking’ about.”

Joel’s head tipped back again. “Your tits,” he said, voice low. “Thinkin’ about havin’ ‘em in my hands.”

“Mmh, yeah? I’d let you squeeze ‘em, play with my nipples… would you suck them for me, sir?”

“Hell yes.” His voice was already fraying at the edges.

“I’d put your mouth to work,” you teased. “Make you suck ‘til they’re aching. Make you beg me to let you fuck me.”

Joel groaned, hips twitching. “You’re filthy.”

“That’s why you keep calling.”

“Yeah…” His breathing deepened, the slick sound of his strokes faint but steady. Then, almost casually, he asks, “What’s your name?”

You laughed softly. “You know I can’t tell you that, Sir.”

“First name. Just a first name.”

“Mm-mm. We’re not doing that,” you murmured, voice still smooth but laced with a smile. “You’ll just have to keep calling if you want to know me.”

Joel grunted. “Already do.”

You let a beat pass, then shifted the tone right back to filth. “Bet your cock’s leaking for me, isn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply. “…Yeah.”

“I’d lick it up. Run my tongue over your slit, suck you into my mouth… make you watch me swallow him.”

Joel’s groan was deep, almost a growl. “Jesus Christ.”

“Would you pull my hair while I do it?”

“Hard,” he rasped. “Hold your head still while I fuck your mouth.” His breathing heavy. He’s close.

“That’s it. Just like that, Mr. Miller. I want you to come for me.”

His strokes sped up without thought, his breath ragged in your ear until he spilled over his hand with a long, low groan. You waited until his breathing slowed before saying, softer this time, “One day, I’ll tell you my name.”

Joel blinked at the ceiling, pulse still thundering. “…Promise?”

“Mhm. But not yet. Goodnight, Mr. Miller.”

Joel sat there with a knot in his chest that wasn’t entirely about what just happened. He hadn’t meant to ask that. But god, he wanted to know so badly. Wanted to moan your name off his lips when he came. Wanted to feel how easy it would be to say it.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

Your parents’ kitchen had smelled like coffee and fresh paint, the air thick with the noise of men working. You’d barely set your bag down before you heard it— deep, gravel-warm, wrapping around your ribs like a hand you knew too well.

“Yeah, hand me that drill, would ya?”

Your breath caught. It couldn’t be. But it was. Even muffled through walls, even casual, even directed at someone else— it was him. Your favorite client. Mr. Miller. You didn’t see him. Didn’t dare peek around that corner. You just stood frozen, heart pounding, before excusing yourself early with some flimsy reason.

That night, your phone rang. Joel was sitting at his kitchen table, jeans loose around his hips, the card with your number worn soft at the edges.

You answered with a steady, “Hello, you.”

“Evenin’, sugar,” he drawled, always the same, and your stomach flipped because God, it was definitely the same voice you’d heard by daylight in your parents’ kitchen.

You forced a smile into your voice. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight.”

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he said, and you could hear him shifting— the faint scrape of a chair, the creak of wood under his weight. “Been a long day.”

“I bet it has,” you murmured. “What were you doing?”

“Workin’ on a house. Old place. Lotta repairs.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Did you finish?”

“Not yet. Gotta go back in the mornin’.”

You swallowed. “Bet you’re tired.”

“Tired,” he agreed, “but not too tired for this.” His breathing deepened, slow and steady. “You touchin’ yourself yet?”

Your thighs pressed together. “…Not yet.”

“Start,” he ordered, voice dropping into that tone that always made you melt.

You slid your hand down, fingers parting your folds. “Mmh… wet.”

Joel’s exhale was sharp. “Good girl. Wish I could see her. Put my fingers in you, feel how warm you are.”

Your breath hitched. “You’d like that?”

“Hell yes,” he groaned. “Push two fingers in, slow. Stretch that little pussy for me.”

You obeyed, biting back a sound that still slipped into the line.

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Fuck yourself nice and slow. I wanna hear every bit of it.”

You let the wet sounds carry through the phone, and Joel’s groan cracked in the middle. “Think about me,” he said, voice rough. “Think about me right there, thumb on your clit while I fuck you with my fingers.”

Your body clenched hard around your hand. “…Fuck—.”

“Come for me, sugar.”

You did, shuddering into the receiver, and Joel let out a deep, broken moan, chasing his own, that made your head spin all over again When it was over, you were breathless, heart still racing from more than just the orgasm.

“Sleep good, sweet girl,” he murmured.

And when the line went dead, you just lay there in the dark, your body still humming, knowing you’d see him tomorrow— for real, this time.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

You smelled the coffee before you smelled the sawdust. The low hum of men’s voices drifted in from the kitchen— your father talking to someone, laughing about something. You froze in the hallway because there it was again… that voice.

“Yeah, we’ll get the backsplash up today. Should be done by the end of the week.”

Your stomach tightened. You knew that tone. Knew that slow, easy cadence and the grit in it. Last night, you’d heard it thick with need, telling you to spread your legs wider. Now it was broad daylight, grounded, businesslike— and still warm enough to slide right down your spine. You smoothed your hair, took a breath, and stepped into the kitchen.

Your father looked up first. “Morning, sweetheart. Mr. Miller and his crew are here renovating our kitchen.”

And there he was. The man whose name you don’t know. The man who’s been paying you to get him off over the phone. The man you begged to come for you a few nights ago. Joel– Mr. Miller.

Broad shoulders under a faded flannel, work jeans worn white at the knees, a rag in one big hand. You’re mesmerized. Nothing at all what you envisioned. Handsome. Dear fucking god, so handsome. He straightened when he saw you — not because he recognized you (he didn’t, not yet) but because… damn. You were pretty. More than pretty. Something in his chest gave a little pull he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Joel,” your father said, “this is my daughter.”

Joel’s hand twitched before he set the rag down and stepped forward. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice a touch lower, his posture straighter, like he needed to square up in front of you.

You slid your hand into his— warm, calloused, strong— and looked him right in the eye. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Miller.”

Something flickered in his gaze at the way you said it — maybe pride, maybe something darker. Every hair on his arms stood on end. He knew that voice.

Knew the way you let Mister slide like a tease. Knew the lilt at the end, the hint of a smile curling around the words. It was you. The girl who’d made him groan into the phone six times in the last month. The girl who’d told him, in that same sweet tone, that she’d take his cock down her throat until her eyes watered. And you were… young. You couldn’t be more than twenty-five. Jesus Christ.

His hands were big and warm around yours, mind scrambled. Images he’d only ever built in his head flashing in real life— except you were smaller, prettier, softer than he’d imagined. But you knew. Oh, you knew. The faint squeeze of his palm, the way his eyes darted over your face like he was matching the sound of you to the sight of you.

“I’m sorry,” he’s watching you intently, “didn’t catch your name.” There it was. Fuck, this guys good. He watches your lips curl into a small smile, cheeks blushing. You tell him. He repeats it, nodding almost as if he’s confirming the thoughts he had– yes, it sounds like he’s supposed to say your name. Sounds like it belongs to him. And it’s true, you hearing your name fall from his lips, it’s perfect. And you begin to wonder why the hell you hadn’t told him sooner. To make him tell you who exactly he’s cumming for.

Joel released your hand slower than he should have, rubbing his palm against his thigh, like maybe he could wipe away the memory of how you’d sounded moaning his title into the phone.

“Joel’s the best in town,” your father went on. “We’re lucky to have him.”

Joel shrugged, but his eyes kept finding yours, like he couldn’t quite help it. “Just doin’ my job.”

Your father kept talking, but Joel barely heard him. His first clear thought in that haze was dangerous and heavy: Christ, she’s even prettier than I pictured. His second was worse: I’m in trouble. And you? You smiled sweetly, Oh yeah. You need him.

Your father moved toward the coffeepot, talking about tile colors, but Joel barely heard him. He had a pencil in one hand, a clipboard in the other, and his brain was still back on the moment you’d said Mr. Miller in that sweet little voice— the exact same voice that had purred Yes, Sir into his ear more times than he could count.

He bent to check the edge of the countertop, mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at you, but his eyes found you anyway— leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a polite smile that he could already tell was trouble. You didn’t speak, but your eyes said everything– I know you know.

He shifted his weight, straightening up, rolling his shoulders like he needed to remind himself to breathe. “We’ll have the backsplash prepped by this afternoon,” he said to your dad, voice even, hands steady. But the second he glanced your way again, that steadiness frayed.

You tilted your head, eyes dropping briefly– deliberately, on his work belt sling around his waist, then back up at him with that little smirk he’s heard behind the phone more often than not. Joel’s grip on the pencil tightened.

Your father handed him a mug of coffee, oblivious. “You take sugar?”

Joel shook his head. “Black’s fine.” He took a sip, burning his tongue, and set it down harder than necessary.

You stayed quiet, almost prim, as you walked to the counter where he stood marking measurements. “Need help with anything?” you asked lightly.

Joel’s jaw ticked. “Nah. We got it handled.”

But your father piped up behind you. “You can hand him those brackets, sweetheart— top of the box over there.”

You crossed in front of Joel, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your shampoo, and bent slightly to grab the hardware. He looked away, but his ears burned.

“Here you go, Mr. Miller.” You handed him the brackets, your fingers brushing his just a little too long.

He swallowed. “Thanks.”

Your smile was polite for your dad’s sake, but Joel saw the glint underneath— the same glint he’d heard in your voice when you told him you’d lick him clean. He turned back to his work before anyone could notice the way his breathing had gone deeper. His mind betraying him, putting a face to all those words you’ve told him. He’s dying. Dying to fucking talk to you. Touch you. And he will, even if it kills him.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

You were waiting for it. You’d been waiting since the moment you walked out of that kitchen and left Joel standing there with a handful of brackets like he didn’t know which way was up. The phone rang late— later than usual. Almost as if he was fighting with himself if he should call you or not. Or maybe it was embarrassment. That maybe you thought he was too old for you and maybe you thought it was digusting and you’d probably not answer. But the way you looked at him? He couldn’t deny that.

You answered slow. “Hi, Joel.”

Silence for a beat. Then, that low voice, he says your name, “fits you.”

You smiled against the receiver. “Told you I’d tell you my name someday.”

You could hear him breathing, heavier than usual, and imagined him sitting in the dark, elbows on his knees, phone tight in his hand. T-shirt tight around his biceps. That scruff on his face, jaw tight. Those brown eyes dark with lust.

“You didn’t tell me you were…” He trailed off, exhaling hard. “…younger than I thought.”

“How young did you think I was?” you teased.

“Old enough I didn’t feel like a fuckin’ pervert.”

“Mmh.” You shifted on the bed, letting your voice go silkier. “So now you do?”

“Don’t start,” he warned, but his tone was already slipping.

“You stood up straighter for me today,” you said. “Shook my hand like you wanted me to think you were impressive or something.. I noticed.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was a faint groan in it. He dragged his palm down his face.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, Mr. Miller,” you whispered. “About how big your hands looked holding those tools. About how they’d feel between my thighs.”

Joel inhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ…”

“Do you want to know what I did when you left?”

“Yeah.”

“I got in the shower… and I touched myself. Thought about you behind me, work jeans still on, pulling my hips back onto you. That handsome face watching me come undone for you.”

He let out a sound that was more growl than groan. “Fuck… keep talkin’.”

“I pictured you telling me to keep quiet so my dad wouldn’t hear. One hand over my mouth, the other on my clit while you fuck me.”

Joel’s breathing had gone ragged now, his faint grunts carrying through the phone. “You dirty little thing.”

“You’d like that though, wouldn’t you? Getting me all messy while we’re just a room away from my parents.”

His groan cracked. “Goddamn it—” The thought of that getting him even harder than he’d thought.

“Are you touching yourself for me, Joel?”

“…Yeah.” His voice came out breathless. The way you say his name wrecks him.

“Faster. I want you to come for me thinking about bending me over your workbench in the garage.”

That did it. His moan came deep and rough, drawn out until his breathing slowed, the silence stretching between you.

“You’re trouble,” he said finally, voice low.

“You like trouble, Mr. Miller.” He didn’t deny it.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

It was late again when your phone lit up with Mr. Miller in your mind.

You smiled as you answered, stretching out in bed. “Joel.”

“Didn’t see you today.”

The way he said it— low, almost accusing— made your smile widen. “Oh? Were you looking for me?”

Joel grunted softly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe you missed me.”

“…Maybe,” he admitted after a beat, voice rasping like he didn’t like being caught.

You rolled onto your stomach, twirling the cord of your phone charger between your fingers. Little butterflies. “Well, that’s sweet.”

“You around tomorrow?”

“Nope,” you said lightly. “I’m already home.”

“…Home?”

“Mhm. I don’t live there. Out of state, actually.”

There was a pause, a low sound in his throat that almost sounded like a frown. “So when’s the next time I’ll see you?”

Your grin turned wicked. “Oh, you wanna see me, Mr. Miller?”

His inhale was sharp. “…Yeah. I do.”

“What do you wanna see me do?” you asked, voice soft and dangerous.

“Christ…” He let the word drag, like he was chewing on the thought. “Wanna see you smile like you did yesterday. Wanna see those pretty eyes lookin’ right at me while you—”

“While I what?”

Joel’s breath came heavier now. “While you’re sittin’ on my lap, skirt pushed up, no panties on.”

You bit your lip, letting a beat pass before murmuring, “You’d like that?”

“More than like it,” he said, voice dropping, “I’d fuckin’ need it.” Then a pause. “How old are you?”

You smiled into the receiver. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Just… curious.”

“Old enough, Mr. Miller.”

“Yeah, but how old?”

“Twenty-four.”

There was a quiet grunt on the other end, followed by a long breath. Then you say,“Is that a problem?”

“Problem?” His voice dipped lower. “No. Just means I should be careful with you.”

You laughed softly. “Careful? Who says I like careful?”

He shifted, you could hear the faint creak of a chair. “Do your folks know what you’re up to?”

“Mmm… no.”

Joel exhaled slowly, the sound thick. “I wanna see you.”

Your pulse skipped. “And do what, handsome?”

“Things I can’t do over the phone,” he said, voice gone rough. “Things I’ve been thinkin’ about since I saw you in that kitchen.”

You let the silence stretch, your tone almost playful when you answered, “I don’t usually sleep with my callers.”

He made a low sound— something between a groan and a chuckle. “Yeah?”

“But…” you went on, softer now, “I might make an exception for you.”

Joel’s breath caught, his voice dropping to a rasp. “…Careful, sugar. You keep talkin’ like that and I’ll be in my truck before the night’s over.”

And you felt it. That familiar ache. You have a crush. And when he called you again, it confirmed it. It was only two nights later when your phone buzzed with that familiar number.

“Joel,” you said sweetly.

“Been thinking about that exception you said you’d make.”

You smiled. “Oh? Losing sleep over it?”

“Maybe.” His voice was heavy. “Figure if I’m gonna do this… I oughta know the rules.”

“The rules,” you repeated, leaning back against your pillows. “Alright, Mr. Miller. Let’s talk terms.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Terms.”

“Mhm. First one— you do exactly what I say when we’re together.”

Joel grunted. “You think you can boss me around?”

“I don’t think, sir,” you teased. “I know.”

A beat of silence, then: “…Alright. What else?”

“If you do it right…” You let your voice slow, silk over steel, “I’ll pay you.”

Joel actually laughed — that deep, warm rumble you’d never heard from him before. You heart fluttered. “Pay me?”

“Mhm. Contractor rates, even. You are the best in town, after all.”

“You’re trouble,” he said, but you could hear the grin in it. “And what if I don’t want your money?”

“Then I guess you’ll have to make sure I can’t stop thinking about you,” you murmured.

There was a pause, then his voice dropped. “You put me on a job like that, I’ll work you over ‘til you can’t walk straight.”

“That’s the idea,” you whispered.

Joel exhaled like he was picturing it right then. “When?”

You hummed, letting him hang for a moment. “Soon. If you’re good.”

“Baby…” his voice was low, almost dangerous now, “you have no idea how good I can be.”

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

You spotted him before he spotted you.

Joel was out by the back porch, leaning against the railing, talking easy with your dad — one hand curled around a bottle, the other resting in his pocket. The golden evening light hit him just right, making the silver in his hair gleam, his flannel stretched across his shoulders. You stepped outside, all smiles. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, just for a second, but in that second there was the tiniest smirk, the barest flicker of memory from every call. “Evenin’,” he said, voice even.

You lingered just close enough to be part of the conversation, tossing in little remarks, laughing when Joel said something— leaning forward when you laughed so his eyes had somewhere to go.

Your dad, oblivious, clapped Joel on the shoulder. “You oughta stay for another drink or two. Long week like yours, you’ve earned it.” Oh, he definitely has, you wanna scream.

Joel almost glanced at you— almost— but kept his eyes on your dad. “Yeah, I could do that.”

And so he stayed. Beer after beer, the sun sinking low until the porch light was the only glow outside. Your dad was a stickler about no drinking and driving, and you knew exactly how to nudge the evening toward that inevitability.

“Another one?” you offered from the kitchen doorway, bottle dangling between your fingers. Joel’s gaze met yours — a silent, I know what you’re doing. But he took it.

By the time the night had stretched well past sensible, your dad was leaning back in his chair, satisfied with the evening, and saying exactly what you’d been waiting for: “You’ve had a few, Joel. Stay here tonight. Sofa’s free.”

Joel didn’t argue. “Appreciate it.”

You smiled, leaning against the wall like it was just another Friday night. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

The house went quiet after that. Joel lay on the sofa for maybe twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sound of you moving around upstairs. Every shift of the sheets, every creak of the floorboards, tightened something in his chest.

Eventually, he sat up. Stood. His boots were off, footsteps soft as he made his way down the hall and up the stairs. He didn’t knock. Just eased your bedroom door open, the dark spilling around him. You were sitting up in bed, like you’d been waiting.

“Mr. Miller,” you whispered, a smile curling slow and knowing.

Joel shut the door behind him, the dim light from your bedside lamp painting everything in soft amber. He looked bigger in here, the space making his shoulders seem broader, his presence heavier. “You gonna invite me in proper,” he murmured, “or you just plan on starin’ at me like that?”

You tilted your head, your lip tugged between your teeth. This man was so beautiful. “I was just wondering… how many times you’ve pictured me in here.”

His jaw flexed. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, come on.” You slid out from under the covers, padding toward him barefoot. “You’ve pictured it, haven’t you? Me in bed, hand between my thighs…”

Joel’s throat worked as he swallowed, his voice low. “Yeah.”

“I bet you’ve imagined me finger-fucking myself for you every night.”

His breath hitched, his eyes darkening. You stepped around him and pointed to the chair in the corner— the one angled just enough toward the bed. “Sit.”

Joel didn’t move right away, his gaze fixed on yours like he was deciding if he’d let you have this. But then he obeyed, lowering himself into the chair, elbows on his knees, watching you like he could eat you alive.

You dragged yourself to the edge of the bed— right in front of him — and sat with your knees parted just enough to make his breath deepen.

“I bet you like to watch,” you teased, fingers skimming up your thighs. “Don’t you, Mr. Miller?”

His eyes tracked your hand like it was prey. “You’re pushin’ it, sugar.”

“You’re the one who called me every night to hear me touch myself,” you said sweetly. “Now you get the real thing. Lucky you.”

Joel’s hands flexed on his knees, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Your little voice ringing in his ears. “You like this, don’t you?” You slid your fingers beneath your panties, dragging a slow circle over your clit. “Pervert.”

Joel let out a sound— low, almost a growl— leaning forward but not quite reaching for you, like he was giving you the chance to keep going.

“Keep talkin’,” he rasped. “Wanna hear you ruin me.” Joel was already leaning forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees like he couldn’t stand the distance. His eyes were locked between your thighs, tracking every slow, lazy drag of your fingers. Watching you slide off your panties and toss them aside.

You let your knees fall open wider, silk camisole slipping over your hips as you tilted back on one hand. The thin straps barely covered you, your nipples pressing against the fabric, tight and aching under his stare.

“Look at you,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles over your clit. “Just sitting there, watching me make myself feel so fucking good.”

Joel’s chest rose and fell heavy, his jaw tight. His eyes flicked from your hand to your breasts, back to the wet heat between your thighs, and he swallowed hard.

“I imagined you watching me. How hard I’d get you just from touching myself.”

“Jesus Christ, sugar…” His voice was already breaking.

You slid two fingers lower, parting yourself so he could see everything — the slick stretch, the way your folds glistened. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

Joel’s hands fisted on his thighs. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

“I’m so wet for you, Mr. Miller,” you whispered, your hips lifting to meet your own touch. “And you’re just sitting there. Bet your cock’s so hard right now.”

His gaze dragged up to your mouth, back down again, and the bulge in his jeans twitched under your words.

You bit your lip, moaning softly. “Mmh… I’m so close. My pussy’s so fucking needy for you. You like watching me work her open?”

Joel’s breath shuddered out. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“Maybe I want to,” you teased, curling your fingers inside yourself, your free hand coming up to squeeze your breast through the camisole. The thin fabric darkened where your nipple rubbed against it, peaked and hard.

Joel made a low, guttural sound, like it had been ripped out of him. His knees spread wider, one hand shifting to the bulge in his jeans without even meaning to.

You watched him touch himself and smiled wickedly. “You gonna come just from watching me, sir?”

His head tipped back, eyes shut tight for a second before finding you again. “Keep talkin’, pretty girl.”

“I’m so fucking wet,” you breathed. “My fingers are dripping… wish it was your cock instead. Wish I could ride you until I can’t take anymore.”

Joel’s hand flexed on himself, his breathing gone ragged, and you could see the restraint starting to slip from his face.

“You can’t touch me yet,” you warned, curling your toes as your orgasm started to crest. “Not until I make myself come for you. Not until you watch me do it right.”

“Goddamn…” Joel’s voice was hoarse, his eyes wide, glued to you. “You’re… fuck, you’re perfect.”

It hit you hard. A soft, quiet moan escaping your lips. Your back arched, your knees trembled, and your fingers worked you through it, hips jerking as the heat rolled over you in thick, pulsing waves. You were still catching your breath, still trembling, when Joel moved.

One second he was in the chair, the next he was between your knees, his big hand wrapping around your wrist to yank your own fingers out of your pussy— replacing them with his.

Two thick, calloused fingers drove deep, knuckles pressing against your swollen entrance. You gasped, chin dropping to your chest, propped up on your elbows, your mouth hanging open. “J-Joel—”

“Sound so fucking sweet moanin’ my name like that,” he growled, eyes locked on where you stretched around him. “Feel how you’re flutterin’ on me? How you’re suckin’ me in?”

You whimpered, nails digging into the sheets, eyes blown wide and fixed on his. “Goddamn, sugar,” he rasped, curling his fingers until you moaned, your slick running down his hand. “All this for me? All that drippin’ just from showin’ me what’s mine?”

Your breath hitched, your hips rolling into his palm without thinking.

“That’s it,” Joel murmured, his thumb pressing against your clit now, his fingers fucking into you deep and filthy. “Milk my fingers, baby girl… fuckin’ wring ‘em dry.”

You were half-gone, body clenching around him in desperate pulses, and Joel’s eyes burned into yours, dark and hungry.

“Pretty little mouth hangin’ open… you got no idea what you’re doin’ to me,” he panted, voice gone rough with it. “Gonna fuck you so full you’ll still be leakin’ tomorrow.”

Your head tipped back, a raw moan ripping from your throat as you clenched down hard, his fingers buried to the hilt. He feels around the bed for your discarded panties and stuffs them in your mouth, “shh, sweetheart. Don’t wanna wake your daddy now, do we?”

You knit your brows together, shaking your head. The ache in your core so unbelievably heavy.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he whispers. You moan. Eyes rolling back at how the words innocent as “pretty” can be coming from a man knuckle deep inside your pussy. Your head falls back, chest heaving up and down, feeling that orgasm creeping in.

“Yeah,” he grunted, watching every twitch, every flutter. “There she is. That’s my girl.”

Joel didn’t give you a chance to breathe. The moment your body stopped quaking around his fingers, he pulled them out, slick coating them to the knuckle, and shoved them into his mouth with a low, wrecked groan.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted,” he rasped — and then his belt was hitting the floor.

Your eyes went wide, heartbeat slamming in your ears as he tore his jeans open, the heavy line of him springing free. Thick. Flushed. Veined. Bigger than you could’ve even conjured up in your little head.

You yank the panties from your mouth to say,“Joel—”

“Shh,” he cut you off, his voice low and dark as he pushed you back onto your mattress, head hitting your sheets softly, one big hand sliding up your thigh. “I’ve been dreamin’ about this since the first night I called you, sugar. Since the first time you said sir in that sweet little voice.”

He dragged your hips to the very edge of the bed, his cock slapping hot against your swollen folds, smearing you open with every slow grind.

“Look at that,” he muttered, eyes locked where he was lining himself up. “Pussy so wet for me she’s beggin’.”

And then he pushed in. The stretch burned in the best way, forcing your mouth open on a gasp as he bottomed out, thick and deep and there.

“Fuuuck,” Joel groaned, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snapped to yours. “Tighter than I imagined. You’re squeezin’ me like you don’t wanna let go.”

Your nails clawed at the sheets, your eyes locked to his. “Y-you feel—”

“I know,” he rasped, hips pulling back only to drive in harder, deeper. “Been thinkin’ about this every goddamn night, baby girl. Every moan, every little gasp I heard through that phone—” He punctuated each couple words with a thrust that shoved you up the bed. “—I pictured this.”

His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face so he could watch your expression as he fucked into you. “That’s it. Let me see how good I make you feel.”

You bit your lip, but a moan still slipped out, high and helpless. Joel’s eyes went darker. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m not gonna last, baby girl.”

He slammed in again, groaning low, his other hand sliding down to your clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucked you deeper. “You’re gonna come for me,” he growled. “Gonna make this cock all messy while I’m still inside you. Do it, sugar. Give it to me.”

Your back arched, the tight coil in your belly snapping hard, and you came with a strangled cry, clenching him so tight he cursed into your neck and buried himself to the hilt.

“God—fuck—”

Joel held you there, hips pressed flush, filling you in thick, pulsing ropes until his jaw went slack and all that was left was the sound of your panting in the dark. He stayed inside you a moment longer, his hand still cupping your jaw, his eyes still drinking you in like he couldn’t believe you were real. Joel stayed buried, his hips pressed flush, one hand heavy and warm at your hip, the other still cupping your jaw like he didn’t want you to turn away.

His breathing was slowing, but his eyes… his eyes were still roaming every inch of your face like he was memorizing it.

Your cheeks were hot and pink, your lips swollen from biting back moans, hair a little messy against the pillow. You looked wrecked — and dreamy, and soft, and younger than you’d let on with your words over the phone. Innocent, almost.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your cheekbone, rough against the softness of your skin. “Pretty little thing,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Look at you… all fucked out for me.”

You swallowed, your voice small, almost too shy for the room you were in together. “I’ve… never done that before.”

His brows pulled together slightly. “What d’you mean?”

Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his chest, then down to where you were still joined. “Never… had sex with a client.” A pause, your breath catching. “Never had sex with an older man, either.”

Joel went still, his hand at your jaw tightening just slightly. “You tellin’ me I’m the first for both?”

You nodded, your blush deepening. “Mm-hm.”

Something shifted in his eyes — softer, heavier, like the words were settling somewhere deep in his chest. “Christ, sugar…”

You let your lashes lower, voice barely a whisper. “Was I… any good?”

Joel’s head tipped, like he couldn’t believe you’d even ask. “What?”

You bit your lip. “Did I… live up to the person I was on the phone for you?”

For a beat, he didn’t speak — just looked at you like he wanted to burn this exact moment into his memory. Then his hand slid from your jaw into your hair, tugging gently so you’d look right at him.

“You were better,” he said, slow and certain. “Nothin’ I pictured even comes close to the way you feel… the way you look right now.”

Your chest tightened, the sincerity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. Joel leaned in, brushing his lips over your temple. “You were more than good, sugar. You ruined me.”

Joel still hadn’t pulled out, his weight heavy and grounding between your thighs, his hand threaded through your hair like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go. He still felt hard, somehow. You could feel his heartbeat in the press of his chest against yours, the way his breath was still warm on your cheek.

“This ain’t gonna be a one-time thing,” he said low, almost like it was a decision he’d just made aloud.

You blinked up at him, eyes still hazy. “…No?”

He shook his head, lips curving just faintly. “Not a chance in hell. You think I’m lettin’ you go after this? After the way you just milked me and looked that pretty doin’ it?”

A little rush of heat rolled through you, your blush deepening again.

He studied your face for a long moment, his thumb stroking lazy along your jaw. “Gonna see you again before you leave.”

You hesitated — and then your voice came soft, testing the waters. “Joel… did you ever imagine kissing me?”

His eyes sharpened, the line of his mouth tightening like you’d just pulled something from deep inside him.

“More than I should’ve,” he admitted, voice rough. “Had to stop myself plenty of times, even just over the phone. Always figured if I got the chance, I wouldn’t stop.”

You swallowed. “So what’s stopping you now?”

Joel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his hips pressing forward just slightly, like he could remind you exactly where you were still joined.

“Nothin’, sugar,” he murmured— and then his lips were on yours, slow but deep, tasting you like he’d been starving for it since the first call Joel’s mouth was warm, sure, and slow at first — the kind of kiss that sank straight into your bones. He kissed you like he was claiming something, his thumb brushing your jaw while his other hand stayed heavy at your hip, keeping you anchored beneath him.

You sighed into it, lips parting, and the second his tongue slid against yours, his hips shifted— a deep, unhurried roll that reminded you he was still inside you, thick and hot, filling you in a way you could feel in your ribs. A quiet, broken sound slipped from your throat. Joel swallowed it, groaning low into your mouth like he’d been waiting weeks to hear it up close.

You shifted under him, your thighs widening just a little more, and his grip on your hip tightened. “Mm, baby,” he murmured against your lips, “you keep movin’ like that and I’m gonna make you cum again.”

“Maybe I want you to,” you breathed, kissing him again, slower this time, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck.

His chest rumbled with a half-laugh, half-growl. “Goddamn insatiable.”

Another roll of his hips had you gasping into his mouth, your nails curling into his hair. You could feel the way he shuddered when you clenched around him, his cock twitching to life, his kiss turning hotter, filthier— his tongue sliding deeper, his teeth catching your bottom lip before he soothed it with a soft suck.

You pulled back just far enough to whisper, breathless, “Do you like kissing me, Joel?”

His eyes were dark and locked on yours, his mouth slick and swollen from you. “Sweetheart… I fuckin’ love it. Might love it too much.”

And then he kissed you again, harder this time, hips starting to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your toes curling and your mind going hazy all over again. “Gonna gimme another one?”

“However many you want, Mr. Miller.”

“That’s my girl.”

[thewalkingdilf]

Who got him like this twice

[thewalkingdilf]

just found out that em dashes and semi colons are a sign of ai writing?? do people just not use those anymore or?😭

[thewalkingdilf]

ugh i love old men😭

Lisa Frank

summary: joel doesn't like you poking fun at his age. you make it your mission to prove to him that his age isn't a point against him.

warnings: unprotected piv, lil makeout sesh, reader is afab & able bodied but otherwise not described, pet names (angel, little girl, kid (once... dont look at me), baby, etc.), joel smokes, lowkey sub!joel for a second before he finds his voice lol, creampie, im probably forgetting some sorry folks

word count: 3k

note: this is truly just pure filth and a very small teenie weenie bit of plot surrounding joel's insecurity about his age. im horny for old peepaw joel what can i say. also i havent posted fic on tumblr in like 6 years so,,,, hello? ++ no beta we die like men or whatever they're saying now.

The ground between the small, square plots in your neighborhood became soft and jagged with fresh grass in the late spring, absent only in the shadows of the trailers and in the places where kiddie pools filled with hose water flattened the growth against the earth. You had a kiddie pool against your will– when your air conditioning had gone out, Joel had dropped a pink, plastic one at your front door with a sticky note inside that read, “DON’T DIE OF HEAT STROKE”.

And as trashy as it looked in your front yard between the orange picnic table and the rusted wire clothesline, you couldn’t help but stumble into it most mornings when you woke up sweating. You liked it even more when you had the willpower to drive to the liquor store and get a bag of ice to dump into it. This morning in particular, you’d even grabbed yourself an ice cream sandwich.

The freshly risen sun projected a yellow-orange hue through the high grass and onto the soles of your bare feet as they poked from the edge of the pool, the angle at which it shone reminiscent of six-ish-AM. Joel would be leaving for work soon, you knew, and your eyes rested on his front door as you slid your ice cream sandwich out of its wrapper.

He was one of the only neighbors you (sometimes) got along with. There was something about a stranger in town that gave folks the creeps, he had said, though you’d lived there a year already and no one seemed to be getting any friendlier.

As if you’d made it happen with your mind, a few seconds after you’d glanced in the direction of Joel’s trailer, the door swung open and smacked against the wall. His work shirt waved through the air like a flag as he tossed it over his shoulder, descending the steps in only a white undershirt and a pair of jeans that had absolutely seen better days. The jingle of his keys as he shoved them into his pocket was the only sound, save for the soft trickle of the hose into your pool.

You grinned as he stepped out from beneath the overhang and into the light. He put a cigarette into his mouth, looking you over.

“This is gluttony if I’ve ever seen it,” he said, fishing a lighter out of his pocket.

You forced a frown, flicking water onto his pant leg with your toe. “You bought the pool.”

“Yeah. Just didn’t expect the ice cream sandwich.” His lighter was red and dented, glinting in the sun as he flicked it beneath his thumb. Bending at the waist, he shielded his smoke from the breeze with a broad hand and rolled the sparkwheel in a continuous tempo, clicking and clicking and clicking as the sound of the hose dripping into the pool droned on.

You huffed, pushing yourself up on your arms. “C’mere. I got one.”

And boy, did you. It was a gaudy thing encrusted with purple rhinestones and a ripoff-Lisa-Frank decal, and it reflected the sunlight from the green, metal table that sat beside the kiddie pool. He knelt in the grass as you reached for it, watching your nearly bare body stretch and your wet hand tighten around the lighter’s bedazzled surface.

Resting his arm over his knee, he offered his hand, palm-up, and you placed the lighter into it with a grin.

“I think it’s your style,” you chirped, biting your ice cream sandwich as he looked the thing over.

He shook his head and lit his smoke, biting down on the filter like an amputee would bite down on a scrap of leather. “How’d you know? Think it goes with my outfit?”

“Oh, yeah. Pink brings out yer eyes. Makes you look younger.”

“Younger?” Joel wiggled his eyebrows, puffing out a ring of smoke and placing the lighter back into your hand. “How much younger, you reckon?”

Mocking thought, you pressed your finger to your chin, looking him over through your eyebrows. “You could pass for seventy five, give or take a couple’a years.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, little girl.”

“Okay, fine. Sixty.”

He shook his head, glancing back over his shoulder as the sun rose steadily over the hill behind the parking lot. It must’ve been nearly seven by then, making him nearly late to work.

You wiggled your toes, thumbing ice cream from the corner of your mouth and then licking it off. “Maybe fifty nine, if you’re lucky.”

“I am fifty nine.”

“Yeowch. Sorry.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched, sweat reflecting the morning light and accentuating the nearly invisible motion as he suckled the filter of his cigarette. When he glanced back at you, brown eyes blinking slowly in true kicked-puppy fashion, you giggled.

“‘M sorry. Didn’t know your age was a sore subject.”

“‘S not a sore subject.”

“Seems like it is.”

Joel exaggerated his pout, batting his eyes as he took a slow drag and blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “You’re just kickin’ an old man when he’s down, sweetheart.”

“Oh, you poor baby.” You cupped his jaw with your wet hand, soothing the coase facial hair beneath your thumb as a faux sob fell from his lips. His acting was a little sub-par (and he was much less funny than he realized, carrying on like he was) but Joel knew how to pull on your heart strings. Clicking your tongue, you said, “I don’t think you’re too old, honey. You’re just right.”

The pretend look of devastation remained on his face even as his eyes opened, both sides of his mouth contorting downwards into a pathetic glower. “Just right for what?”

But then you were too close to him, and his face was in your palm, and he was realizing that you hadn’t really touched him before this as you took a slow bite of your ice cream sandwich with your free hand. He could feel the bit falling away for a moment, face falling as you inched closer, heat pressing down on the both of you from all sides as the sun continued to rise.

You clicked your tongue again, grinning. “For a Lisa Frank lighter.”

Joel’s face faltered yet again, wide eyes blinking at you as you started to laugh. He cleared his throat, blinking. “Oh. Real funny.”

Your shoulders vibrated and you hung your head as you giggled, tossing the half-eaten ice cream sandwich into the grass beside the pool. “Wait–” you said with a smile in your voice as he started to stand, the hand on his face trailing down to his collar to pull him back down.

Joel, who had stopped thinking this was funny several moments ago, swallowed hard, watching as you flicked your sticky fingers in the water. He met your eyes again sheepishly when you said his name, sweat reflecting the blinding sun at his temple.

“Joel,” you said, still smiling. “I’m kidding. I’m sorry.”

And as needlessly embarrassed as he felt, he still couldn’t help but relish the feeling of you cupping his face, holding him with one hand as, with the other, you fidgeted and flicked beads of water into the air. You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“Let me show you what I think you’re just right for, hm?”

And that was how he ended up in your trailer, sitting on the edge of your bed, becoming more and more late to work as the minutes crawled by. You straddled his lap, facing him, holding his jaw in your hands and looking him over with exaggerated admiration.

Joel was sweating, and he was sure that even if your air conditioning hadn’t been broken and even if it hadn’t been over a hundred out that day, he still would’ve felt feverish. His hands held your hips in a vice grip, nervous twitch entirely evident as his left wrist vibrated against you.

You gnawed on your lower lip, fingers moving up to thread into his hair.

When you breathed out a hushed “You’re so pretty”, it elicited from him the smallest of chuckles, only slightly audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. As if testing the waters, he slid his hand from your hip to your waist, squeezing you there instead.

“Oh yeah?” He dug the tips of his fingers into your damp skin, blunt nails and calluses pressing just a bit too hard, surely leaving marks.

Your bathing suit was an old red one, something you’d bought for yourself before you’d moved to Austin, something loose and outrageously easy to untie. Joel’s tremor was the only thing keeping you from tearing it from your body and tossing it to the floor– you didn’t want to scare him off. “Yeah,” you parotted, petting the scruff on his cheek with the gentlest pressure. Then, impatiently: “You wanna kiss me, cowboy?”

Joel swallowed, body becoming tense again beneath you. His face warmed beneath your fingers as he nodded, fingers drumming at your side. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, meeting your gaze. “Yes. Please.”

You’d pictured kissing him before– it was something you did in secret, watching him from the window beside your bed in the evenings when he’d get home late from work, waiting for him to come back out with a beer and sit on his front steps. It was something you were embarrassed of and something you would never ever tell him about, but your fantasies stirred in the back of your mind as you finally did kiss him, pressing up onto your knees with his face in your hands.

He was more timid than you’d imagined, but you weren’t surprised by this. Anyone would seem timid compared to the way you’d pictured him– rugged, aggressive, uncaring as he took what he needed. That was the Joel you made up in your head when you touched yourself at night.

This Joel was visibly nervous, hand still trembling against your waist as he returned the kiss, soft lips drinking you in. This Joel pressed you against him like you might fall away, kissed you back unsteadily at first, but quickly gained confidence. This Joel, as the moments dragged on, brought his shaking hands up to hold your head, to steady the both of you.

You could feel him relaxing as you licked into his mouth and pride swelled in your chest, pressing out of you like steam escaping a whistling kettle. Your hands found his shoulders and, breaking away, you squeezed them, ensuring he was entirely real.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathed against his lips, eyes flicking open, searching his features for any hint of hesitation.

He met your gaze with a small smile and, to your surprise, gripped the back of your neck with an unyielding fervor, pressing you towards him again and laying a wet kiss at the corner of your mouth. “Oh yeah?” he said again with a grin seeping through his features.

The tremor in his wrist had calmed somewhat, you noticed as you reached back and took his free hand from your waist, threading your fingers together. He guided you with this hand, pushing you gently off of him and onto your bed where you landed flat on your back. Your wet bathing suit surely left spots of water on the quilt beneath you, but no part of you cared enough to pay it any mind.

As Joel crawled over you, callused hands running over your bare stomach, you smiled at him.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” you asked, reaching for his face again as he dipped down to kiss you.

His fingers ran down your middle, gingerly dancing over your bikini bottoms. “Been thinkin’ about you since the day you moved in, darlin’.” The tips of his fingers dragged tortuously lower, splitting the seam of your cunt with his knuckles through the fabric. Gently, he cupped your mound, pressing his palm against you as he buried his face in your neck. “Spread your legs, angel. Be good f’me.”

You did as he said, even as a smirk crossed your face. It took everything in you to mutter “Be good?” as he pressed his thick fingers against your slit again, bikini bottoms digging against your little nub with the most delicious friction. Attempting to regain your composure as he worked you, you continued: “Don’t get cocky, old man.”

“Oh, none’a that,” said Joel as one finger ventured beneath the fabric, exploring your slick. The timid Joel seemed to have disappeared completely, having been replaced by whoever the hell this was. “You speak to your elders with respect, you understand?”

You keened, partly at his words and partly at the feeling of his callused fingertip brushing over your clit, pressing the bud in what seemed to be an experimental manner. As he began to prod your button, movements jerky and desperate, his free hand gripped the back of your neck.

“Come on,” he said, meeting your eyes with a self-satisfied grin. “Tell me you understand. Say ‘yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” you complied immediately.

“That’s what I wanna hear, kid. That’s it.”

He worked you for a minute or so, enjoying the feel of your little bud beneath his fingertips, and a frankly pitiful whimper escaped you when his hand retreated from between your legs. Squirming, you brought your knees to your chest, watching as his hands found his belt.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked as he slid the leather from the loops on his jeans, discarding it on the dirty carpet and fishing for his zipper.

“Please, Joel.” Your voice was nothing more than a harsh whisper, floating from you as you watched him jerk his jeans down his hips.

He was leaning over you again before you could get a glimpse of his cock, pulling himself out of his boxers as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it– slipping between your wet lips, bulbous head pressing against your clit. “So polite,” he said, trembling as he ran himself up and down your slit. “Say it again.”

“Please.”

You must’ve asked nicely enough because then he was inching forward, pressing the fat head of his cock into you with no regard for the painful stretch, relishing in the pull of your little hole around him. A strangled sound left his mouth, whimpers pouring out of him like water from a broken tap.

You winced at the stretch, gripping his shirt in two closed fists. He gave you a distracted glare when a “fuck” escaped you, leaning over you and caging you in with both broad arms.

“Language,” he said, though as close as he was to bottoming out, your curses didn’t deter him.

When he was fully inside, pulsing length filling you entirely and stretching your poor hole to oblivion, he only paused for a moment before he began to move. Sweat gleamed off his forehead, reflecting the morning light from your bedroom window like soft, slick glitter and accentuating the concentrated twitch of the muscles in his jaw.

The pull of his cock dragging slowly out of your hole had you scrambling for purchase, arms looping around the back of his neck. “Joel. Jesus–”

“I know, I know,” he cooed, shushing you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “You can take it. Just ease into it.”

“Want it so bad,” you panted as he moved back in, feeling his tip rip its way through you again on its trajectory to your cervix. You shook, feeling his lips trail down your jaw. “Want you to force it in, Joel.”

This made him laugh under his breath, a deep chuckle that reverberated against the low ceiling. He met your eyes with a grin as he pressed himself deeper, enjoying the way your face contorted. “You’re real fucked up, you know that, baby?”

“You like it,” you breathed, gnawing on your lower lip.

“Yeah, I do.”

As you relaxed around him, Joel found a pace somewhere between painfully slow and forcefully ragged, something steady that made you keen and squirm beneath his broad form. He pumped himself into you like every stroke was the most important one, brows knit together in concentration, feeling every bit of you drag up and down his massive length.

“So tight, angel. Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. The big arms that pressed the mattress down on either side of your head tightened and relaxed, pulsing in time with his strokes. “Not gonna last too long, little girl.”

The look that you gave him made him shake his head, gritting his back teeth. “Not gonna cum in you,” he said sternly, though the slam of his hips said otherwise.

You bit the inside of your cheek, brows knitting together. “How come?”

“What do you mean, how come, girl?”

“‘M on the pill.”

“‘S the principal of the thing, kid,” he hissed through his teeth, hanging his head as he fucked into you. His strokes were becoming sloppy and forceful, body slapping against yours with reckless, cacophonous abandon. “Fuck, ‘m close. Where do you want it?”

“In me.”

“Not funny.”

“I’m not bein’ funny.”

Each time he thrust into your little hole, a whine left you, fingers threading uncoordinatedly through his hair. Meeting his eyes, you craned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, tongue darting out to lick into his mouth. “Please, Joel,” you whimpered, watching as his face lost any look of composure. “Want your cum in me.”

“Angel.” A warning.

“Please.”

Joel hung his head once more, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck, hands coming to grip your waist so tightly that his fingers would leave faint bruises. His resolve was slipping; his hips twitched, jerking as he pressed into you.

“Fuck. Okay, baby. Okay.”

And then his orgasm was ripping through him, making his muscles spasm and his face go slack. His cum was thick and hot, shooting from his cock like a medication drip and filling your hole to the point of overflow. Each time you thought he was done, another spurt hit your insides, ripping a low whine from deep in his chest.

When he finally collapsed on top of you, cock softening, he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. His grip on your waist still hadn't loosened, still holding you in place as he panted.

You watched the muscles in his back rise and fall, moving with his rapid breath, heart hammering against you. His greying hair caught the morning light, compelling you to put your fingers in it, to brush it back tenderly from his face.

“Thought you had work,” you said quietly, fingers dancing at the base of his neck.

Joel snorted. His eyes were closed. “Thought you thought I was too old.”

“You know I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

[thewalkingdilf]

Like Father, Like Son

Pairing: bfd!Joel x Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend won’t, his father will.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Dad[dy] kink. Infidelity — Reader cheats on her boyfriend with Joel. Pervy!Joel. Cocky!Joel. Subby!Reader. Finger-sucking. Spitplay. Joel c*ms on your tummy then fucks it back in.

Note: I was about to take a nap today, and this thought popped into my head. Couldn’t rest until I wrote it out LOL

Word count: 1.3k

The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, apparently.

At a staggering 6’4, Jimmy Miller is the single tallest boy in your class; his father, Joel, is scarcely an inch taller. Both of them prefer to keep their hair cut pretty short. Their shoulders are broad, and their jaws have a square-ish set—Jimmy’s chin and neck are dusted in the darkest black stubble imaginable, and Joel’s is all salt-and-pepper, thanks to the passage of nearly fifty years.

Jimmy plays football and lacrosse, and Joel runs the equivalent of a 5K on a daily basis, in addition to more strength training and core exercises than you’d think possible for a man even half his age. They both are able to boast physiques that are fit, taut, toned, and strong.

The only area where the elder Miller might have your boyfriend beat is in the way the tip of his cock can reach your cervix—and keep hitting it, repeatedly, in just the way you like it, to make you cum quicker than anything.

You shouldn’t have known what that felt like.

Your first instinct when Jimmy rolled off of you tonight and collapsed into the space beside you in bed should not have been to wait until he fell asleep and then sneak off silently to his father’s room. That was wrong of you.

This is borderline evil, what you’re doing with your hips in the heat and comfort of this oversized bed. Joel is smug.

He has a firm hold on your thighs watching you ride him.

“That’s it,” he drawls. He lifts his right hand and swiftly brings it down to smack the skin, and then he kneads. He nods, like this is something that he taught you to do. “Up an’ down, darlin’. Give that pussy what she needs.”

You really wish he wouldn’t say it like that.

Like you were in some way wanting. Deprived.

Like your boyfriend—his son—couldn’t make you moan and whine in the same way you’re doing it right now, cunt split in two by Joel’s big, thick, throbbing cock and your juices leaking out all over his belly. Jimmy’d been inside you, too, no more than twenty, twenty-five minutes prior, so Joel clearly wasn’t the only one responsible for this mess. He just helped finish it.

“I love him, Mr. Miller. I—I—I really do,” you whimper. With one shaky set of fingers, you squeeze your breast, and you feel a web of pleasure blossom down from your chest to the wet, greedy hole where you have him deep.

“‘M’sure you do.” Joel grins. “Gonna get hitched, buy a nice, big house, and have a boatload of kids? Is that it?”

“That’s what it’s gonna be.”

You bite your lip staring down at him, bracing your free hand on that broad, hairy chest, and then you nod your head, as if to convince yourself of what you just told him.

Then Joel flips you both.

He folds you in half, so your knees are pressed up against your chest and your feet are poised in the air, pointed to him. Joel hums, and he keeps on fucking you, not seeming to take issue with how loud the sounds of your cunt sucking him in happen to be. If anything, he likes it.

Your walls clench around him for what feels like the fiftieth time, and you writhe underneath him. You moan.

“Gonna leave this dick alone, too? Once you’re married, I mean.” Joel’s tone is teasing. It’s steeped in incredulity, as well as the experience of being decades your senior.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he simpers.

Then he pulls a long, sad face like this is the worst news that he’s heard all day, and he leans forward until his chest is flush with the backs of your legs and his cock is driven in to the hilt. He cups your face with his big hands.

“I’m gonna miss this pussy,” he says. Sighing. “Bad.”

“Daddy.”

You can’t help but say it when one hand drifts down and starts to toy with your nipple, and the thrusts keep coming in. The bed shakes with every stroke, and you can tell that you’re close to coming apart at any second.

Joel slides the touch that was cupping your cheek to stuff fingers in your mouth. He makes sure that it’ll stifle your cries—he knows you like to scream when you cum, and though he normally loves to hear it, along with all the noises your pussy makes getting stuffed, tonight he’d rather not have to fight his son. He fucks you harder.

He smiles.

“So when it’s late at night—” Another thrust. Another short, sharp intake of breath as you bite him and whine. “—and my son gets what’s his and leaves you needy—”

You bare your teeth and practically keen as Joel fucks you so deep that you can feel him in your lungs. His length drags in and out, in and out, until the imprint of every vein must be seared into your wet, velvety walls.

“Mr. Miller,” you moan, words garbled.

Joel shoves those fingers even further in your mouth at the same time he bottoms out inside your cunt, and both orifices leak with moisture. He licks the spit trickling out at either side of your lips, the old, sick bastard that he is, and you feel that silver-flecked beard tickle your chin. You can sense a little twitch in his cock from root to tip.

Your eyes roll, and your toes curl tight, the same as they’ve done for him the last three nights in a row.

No, this isn’t Jimmy.

Try as you might to pretend that it is, it just—

“—ain’t enough for ya, is it?” Joel must read your mind. “Jimmy ain’t doin’ ya like this, an’ he never fuckin’ will.”

The fingers slide out. They cup your chin hard instead.

“Mr. Miller, I’m gonna…” Your eyelids flutter back open.

It’s happening again. Your boyfriend’s father is balls deep, pounding you relentlessly into his bed, and your legs are pressed to either side of his neck, taking him in.

“Need a real man to make you cum, huh?”

You look up at him, eyes wide.

Between your thighs, your cunt is as stretched and sore and washed in a deep, heady pleasure as it’s ever been.

Then, you’re about to peak.

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Yes, yes, yes—Mr. Miller, make me cum.”

Joel beams. “Gonna let me fuck it in her, too?”

“Please.”

And he does.

Well, in Joel Miller’s own, particular way, he gets it inside—you cum around his cock, bliss rolling and pulsing and squeezing in time, and he lets you milk him all through it. Your walls constrict, pushing him right over the edge. Then he pulls out. Jerks his cock furiously. Lets his sticky-white spend paint your belly in the thickest, warmest ropes, until he’s completely spent. Then, no doubt thanks to the help of a Cialis or a Viagra taken earlier that night, your middle-aged man is able to stay hard for a good while longer. Keep his hypersensitized shaft in play just to make sure that he can stuff you full.

Unlike his son, Joel doesn’t do rubbers.

Unlike his son, Joel loves to play fast and loose with the term ‘pulling out,’ and when he unloads his seed all over your stomach, he makes sure that he fucks it all back in.

So, holding his still-pulsing dick by the base, Joel swipes it over where he came. Smears the stuff messily. Then, with jizz sticking to the tip and all down its length, practically soaking the whole underside of his shaft, he angles it down. He meets your gaze and slides it back in.

He pulls out, takes a little more, and pushes in again.

And again.

And again.

Eyes never leaving your own, smile growing on his lips, hips pistoning back and forth, gently, and a bevy of obscene thoughts no doubt filling his head, Joel leans in. He doesn’t stop until his nose is hovering less than an inch from yours, and then his hands slide to your thighs.

He sinks in.

He grins.

“Think my son will mind if I fuck you one more time?”

[thewalkingdilf]

oh wtf 😭

[thewalkingdilf]

need daryl dixon so bad RAHHHH

[thewalkingdilf]

the gutsby collection

after @gutsby 's recent disappearance, i decided to compile all of her fics that i could find, originally for my own reading purposes because i, too, loved her fics. in light of all of the distraught posts and comments that have followed, i have decided to create and post this list for easy access (through compiling already existing findable reblogs, i haven't copied, downloaded, or reposted anything, i'm just putting everything in one place). discovering that you're suddenly unable to reach a favorite blog or never got to finish a well written fic sucks, so i hope y'all are able to find what you're looking for here. if you have any fics of hers reblogged that i've missed feel free to send them my way so i can add them here.

please note these might only be expandable/readable on desktop.

Waiting Game: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Extras More Extras Even More Extras Another Extra

chapters 1-8 can also be found on her ao3 which is still up!

Make It Stick: Prequel Part 1 Part 2 More Old!Joel Even More Another

🌸 Seeing Pink: "Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take."

📺 My Body, His Choice: "After a long day, Joel just needs some relief."

🌡️ Cabin Fever: "Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price."

💧 Brighter Times: "You've always been Joel's favorite. Always."

🚸 Love Tap: "Old habits die hard with your husband–touching you at inappropriate times is one of them."

📚 Wants and Needs: "Bills are high; your dad's boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him–for now."

🍼 Cry, Baby: "Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That's all."

🧺 Who's Your Daddy?: "You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out."

🍑 Just Peachy: "Joel's got a jealous streak and a bold idea."

🍺 Cowboy Killers: "On a mission to find–and fight–your best friend's lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair."

💵 Easy to Please: "Months pass, and you can't make rent–again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again."

🍍 If You Like Piña Coladas: "You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn't need one."

⚾️ Heavy Hitter: "A kick in the dick is a strange way to get a man's attention, but Coach Miller doesn't mind at all."

🎬 Too Close for Comfort: "You've been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you're surfing the web on her dad's computer, and you find some...unusual things in his search history."

🇺🇸 Bigger in Texas: "Joel won't fit."

[thewalkingdilf]

i get notifications for this all the time so i finally decided to go back and look, and why does it have so many likes omg😭

can we all just agree that daryl would definitely love to smoke a cigarette while you ride his thigh.

his sex drive hasn’t always been able to compare to yours, and him being a decent bit older than you definitely doesn’t help, but he could never deny a little angel like you the pleasure that you craved so badly.

so there you were, propping yourself up in his lap excitedly, getting yourself settled in the perfect position on his denim-clad thigh, with help from daryl’s strong arms keeping you steady while you adjusted yourself, of course.

the cigarette not only helped him relax in his own way, just as you were relaxing by making a mess of his strong thigh- it also served as a way for him to stall, to test your patience, a sort of timer if you will.

you’d rut yourself against him, whining and blubbering about how bad you needed him, meanwhile he’d continue to sit back in his chair, gripping your waist with one hand while the other would be raised toward his mouth, taking a long, deep draw from the cigarette, gently blowing the smoke toward you.

occasionally, if he was in an extra good mood that day, he’d flip his cigarette around in his fingers, resting it between your lips for you to take a couple puffs as well. he was typically against you smoking; he didn’t want someone like you falling into such a bad habit like him, but he couldn’t deny how much he loved to see you like that in the moment; fucking yourself against him so desperately while you blow the smoke in his face, the small nicotine buzz making you feel a bit lightheaded and dizzy, adding to your overwhelming pleasure.

“don’t worry baby, i’ll make you feel good, just lemme finish my smoke, yeah? you can be patient and do that for me, can’t ya’?”

“daryl, please.”

“not yet baby, yer being so good f’ me, i know you can wait a lil’ longer.”

[thewalkingdilf]

Atta Girl

old jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel miller discovers the world, yes, the same world that has gone (been for a while) to shit, can still have surprises. like you, his sweet naive unexperienced girlfriend, being everything but that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (old joel miller my GILF!), smut, sighs this is pwp who am i lying to, inexperienced!reader (yet for some reason she's a pro sucker lmao i'm a virgin don't come at me besides this is a fanfic who gives af if it's realistic or not), dirty talk, fingering, breast play, pussy pronouns, oral (m. receiving) (need that geriartric cock inside my mouth), some fluff bc we gotta balance this thing or i'm going to hell (okay he's not mean i baited y'all. mean jackson joel miller piece is still in draft dungeon)

word count: 4,722 words

side note: hell-fucking-o????? 2K CITIZENSHIPS APPROVED!?! ,, ok gonna be honest when i started writing in here and my first fic (an old man logan one, do u guys see a pattern?) i never thought i'd make it this far and it's all thanks to you my lovely citizens :,) you may think this is silly but your support means a lot to me (especially comments n' rb I'M A WHORE FOR THEM). now, yapping aside, as promised, this won the poll for the celebratory piece, so here you go !!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Joel Miller is a man hard to surprise.

Years of weariness, trust and spirit broken by things that would kill anyone else, and overall, just surviving, you'd think that a man that was hardened by a rough past and of his age had seen it all.

Joel liked to think he was prepared for whatever life threw at him. Enter Ellie: how she had managed to break his shell, from cargo to soothing balm to heal old open wounds he refused to even speak of. But he was ready to burn the world for her, picking guns and taking lives to bring her to a home. His home. He settled, filial terms silent but felt, ready to take the second chance life had given him. Until the bond that united them turned fragile, loose ends tensing the silver string of found family.

He fell down the path of a familiar ache he hadn't felt in a long time, dormant, waiting for him to fuck up to show again with it's dull and hollow torment. He always did. So now he's spending too much time at the Tipsy Bison nursing a glass that could have his name by now, all to avoid going to a eerily quiet home where the room at the end of the hallway lies empty.

And then life decides to startle his track, albeit destructive, with a third chance: you.

Just thinking about you brings a certain tingle that an old rugged man like him should be embarrased about. One he shouldn't even feel.

But Joel loves you, he thinks. From the moment you showed up on his front door, rambling about some reparations at the school, were you volunteered.

"They were all scared of you" your sweet voice had said, some of that unreasonable fear laced within it, "so I came"

He scoffed at Jackson's ridiculous antics. Rumors spread fast in the small town, and suddenly, the hanging threat of who he was followed him everywhere like a shadow, which, given the dark nature of his now put to rest violence, seemed a proper description.

"They sent 'cha?"

You were clearly intimidated, given your shaky frame despite spring and the light tremble in your tone. But you were still here, gaze set on him as a determined child who wants to win the best prize.

"No. I chose to come"

His stomach does a flip at the stillness of your words, security etched in the statement as if you hadn't been in the verge of stuttering seconds ago.

Like you wanted to show him this is what it is, and whatever that was, you weren't running. But he testes the water, skin prickling intensely.

"And you ain't scared, kid?"

He laughed, the type of laugh that shakes your body with unease, but the one that shot across you didn't come from a place of distress, rather a more hidden one, between a pulsing press between your ribs, like it'd swallow you whole if you kept thinking about it too much.

"I am" you answered truthfully.

Something about your quiet admission made him falter the tiniest bit. Maybe it was how you had no problem voicing out loud any of your thoughts, or how you weren't afraid to be seen for what you were, the quiet of your answer out of a gentle place and not dread.

"Then why are ya' still here?"

Brows furrowed, like he, for some reason, expected you to yell at him for all the sins that colored his calloused hands red. Instead, you had looked at him as if he had all the answers in the world, big sparkling eyes staring deep into his tainted soul.

"Because I need you"

Yet, when you said it, Joel felt you weren't talking about the creaky drawers and old stairs anymore, but of the anchor you just found for yourself in the shape of Jackson's most respected and troubled resident, unknowing that, in that moment, he had chosen you too.

So, Joel may have forgotten about what feelings that feel too before world-ly feel like, but the quiet steady beat of his heart, mingling into a peaceful symphony with each soft breath past your rosy lips, head laying over his rising and falling chest, warm, feels exactly like love is.

He knew from the very first time you were his. Yeah, he loves you.

Joel just wants to give you the world, his world: the quiet afternoons, his rough limbs and aching joints, his face covered by spots and sun kisses that compliment his wrinkles, hair that gets curlier and softer and greyer, every figure he makes in his little shop and, of course, his bed.

Your Joel isn't exactly a pleaser, used of doing what he deems best without asking, yet, the moment you uttered those three words, he knew it was because he hadn't met you.

"Be my first"

He remembers the surprise on his face, how it grew red as the silence stretched on. The door bursting open, bed creaking under combined weight and your giggles. He too remembers the sweet cries past your lips, your taut muscles, the little strained breath you let out when he slipped inside of you. It all belonged to him because you let him, and that day, Joel Miller became the luckiest man in the world.

And yet, he still hadn't been as surprised as he was today.

The routine was the same from the past year: pick you up from the school after he was done at the office, taking some minutes to watch you with the toddlers, making voices as the same tender hands you used to jerk him off booped noses and carried children who made him think of getting one of your own, one with your grace and beauty, getting him painfully hard at images of filling you silly and your body changing to carry his seed. Fuck. He was a psychopath for such lewd thoughts on a place destined for education and infancy innocence, and here he was, cock uncomfortable inside his pants.

But then your mouth gets too greedy when your sickenly honeyed voice whispers his name, robbing him of air and only pulling away when his lips get swollen and his face a little flustered.

"Need help down there?"

There's always that problem and you're always the solution.

"Let's go home, sugar. Then ya' can help 'tis ol' man fix it"

Walking back home is always a hassle, hands intertwined, Jackson seeing a cute couple. But you're both aware of the throb that settles in between you like the tension, nobody noticing how hard you're trying to not just fuck on the middle of the street like two eager bunnies.

It's his fault, he thinks as you push the door of his house open, for making you like this.

The truth is, after taking your virginity, Joel's taught you things your unexperienced mind couldn't even imagine, and this past six months, you've complied with that sweet disposition that clung to you like the floral of the soap you used. And Joel loved that: how, despite having his dick stretching your tight pussy, you looked at him with those big eyes from the very first night, still round and innocent, like a doe and not a siren.

Which was surprising, because Joel, in a way, had corrupted you. Tainted the naive angel. And still, it was like he couldn't get rid of quiet shy you. Worst of it all was, instead of filling him with shame from robbing pieces and pieces of your integrity everyday, the older man felt some wicked sense of satisfaction and pride, to see how, despite his age and your soft nature, he was yours as you were his, and that he had taught you exactly how to enjoy that.

He knows you like the palm of his hand and the littered scars across his chest. The pattern you call stars, holding into a beauty only you see in the ugly marks, yet make him feel with each delicate trace, making such blunt and rough marks a galaxy; exorbitant. The same ones he thinks hide behind your adoring warm eyes. Joel just knows you, so even when things go the same way they have for a while, he's aware something is different when your fingers fiddle with his belt, trembling hands now struggling to free his aching cock.

He knows better than to think it's your arousal and impatience. No, this is something else.

"Sweetheart..." he warns. "Somethin' wrong?"

You shake your head, hands ready to take his underwear down.

"I'm fine"

He won't take that clipped sentence for an answer. Instead, his hands slowly remove yours from his hips before going to grab you by your chin, fingers pressing not enough to bruise but to make a point. His thumb presses lightly over your mouth, your bottom lip tugged down, parting your lips. You let out a little sigh, closing your eyes, eyelashes kissing your cheekbones. What a damn sight, he thinks.

"Talk to me"

"I want to suck your cock"

He almost chokes on nothing. Joel coughs a little, red painting his cheeks as a surge of lust and desire crashes through him. His eyes go wide at your bold and eager request, because one: it wasn't like you to talk like this, and two, you had never done it before.

Sure, you had jerked him off so many times he's lost count, but your lips wrapped around his length, mouth swallowing his aching cock? Just the image of it going past your pretty lips, the sensation of your spit mixed with his liquids... He already has a special place in hell, the blood rushing to his already hard member.

"Fuck, sugar. You wanna have this dick 'nside y'r mouth so bad? That eager and needy y'are?" he asked, voice reduced to a low rumble.

You nod, a little too excited as he sits in the edge of your shared bed, letting out a huff of effort. Old man sounds, you would tease. But not today, it seems, when your eyes are too busy looking at the pulsating silhouette under the grey cloth. He smirks, removing the layer, and he swears you begin to salivate like a starving dog.

"Y' think y' can take it?" his hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, giving it a few slow pumps as he watches you with a drowsy gaze. "Ain't it too much for a pretty lil' thing like y'rself?"

Wordlessly, you fall to your knees, looking up to him with those eyes of yours that drove him crazy. You caress his thigh, and despite being the one in control, Joel's eyelids feel heavy, fluttering at your soft and tender touches on his thick muscle, every hair rising at the reverence of your every move. You leave a little kiss in his inner thigh, making his heart skip a beat, breath a little ragged.

"I can" sounding so sure. Oh, his little angel.

"You gon' be a good girl then?" he whispers, voice hoarse and thick, looking down at you.

You nod, slowly.

"Let me taste it" you murmur, voice soft and breathy.

Your tongue darts out, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. You savor the salty taste of his arousal, moaning softly at the flavor. Joel's brown eyes darken in seconds.

"Quit 'da teasin'. 'M too damn old for that"

You smile a bit. "Impatient"

"Minx" he replies, voice thick.

It is indeed big, especially now that it was hard, and you do wonder for a second if you're biting more than you can chew.

"Y'asked for 'tis" like he can read your mind, "don't grow shy on me, doll"

He groans when your hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly, teasingly as you always do. He feels the heat building in his gut as you work him over, letting out a little groan.

"F-feels so good, sugar" he voices out, strained. "But I need'a know if y'r made fo' 'tis. C'mon, princess. Show me what'a good lil' cock slut y'are"

You lean in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of his big cock, making him shudder.

"Let's see what y'r pretty mouth can do" while tracing your lips, idly.

For the first time ever, the warmth of your mouth takes him. He can see it dissapear past your lips, stretching around his girth. Joel can only watch with a breath he forgets to take how every inch of his thick cock is gone past your lips. Entranced, like this was a magic trick of some sorts.

"S' that all?" he lets out a tense chuckle. You narrow your eyes, feeling a bit of a gag and spit drool past your lips. "Don't worry, princess. I can be of help on that"

He moves a bit, groin almost on your face as he's dangerously close to fucking your face. Instead, you feel how it reaches the back of your throat, making you pause at the feeling of your eyes watering slightly as you adjust to the intrusion.

"S'okay, sweet girl. I know ya' can take it deeper" he encourages, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Relax, baby. You're doing so good-" his voice cuts off with a strained grunt. Then, he voices out in a more huskier tone. "Use y'r throat and take my cock like'a good girl"

You push forward, taking him deeper until Joel feels the head of his cock bump the back of your throat. He throws his head back, curls combed slicked now starting to dampen and fall disheveled, drops of sweat sliding down his forehead, muscles of his thighs taut with trepidation.

You gag slightly yet quickly recover as if to prove something.

"That's right. Why did we wait s' long to do 'tis? Fuck, baby, ya' were born for 'tis. Keep goin'. Y' mouth's drivin' me crazy"

Joel groans as you take him deep, nose pressing against his groin, his fingers tightening in your hair. Your throat constricts around him all while you fight your gag reflex. Then slowly, you pull back, lips sliding along his shaft until just the tip remained in your warm mouth.

"Don't be such'a tease" his voice reduced to a hoarse rasp. You just give him what appears to be a shrug and an apologetic smile, right before diving back in, taking him to the hilt once more. His hips rock involuntarily at the feel, your head bobbing. A guttural moan cuts through his throat, the only other sound in the room aside the wet sounds of your suckling. "S' real bad girl, hun. Wouldn't think a docile lil' doll like ya' would be s' mean"

But he watches you with such adoration in his eyes, completely captivated as you work him over, that you know his words carry no malice behind them. Without a word, he takes your hands, guiding them to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"Let's give 'em somethin' to do, don't 'cha think?"

Suddenly, the pressure ties his stomach in knots, his belly strained under his flannel shirt, slightly protruding in the middle, buttons as tense as his muscles. Joel feels his legs become shaky, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks down at you, taking in the sight of your sweet disposition. If he wasn't one lucky man.

"Y/n" he gasps your name in a choked breath, followed by a strangled grunt, his release building fast as he doesn't dare to . "I'm gonna..."

Joel tries to pull off, thinking having you wrapped around his shaft is enough sin for the day, but then your hands find their way to his legs, keeping him grounded. His eyes widen slightly at the insistent glaze in your determined eyes.

"God damn, doll. What're ya'-"

He doesn't get to finish, his words dissolving into a low, animalistic growl as his orgasm crashes over him. His cock jerks and pulses in your waiting mouth, spilling thick ropes of hot, salty cum down your eager throat, painting its back white.

"Baby, don't" Joel says through a worn down rasp, trying to pull out, but you, his sweet little girlfriend, grips his thighs with an unknown force, keeping him buried deep as you greedily work to milk every last bit of his cum.

"'S 'tis what ya' want, huh? You dirty dirty girl" his voice grows lower, a filthy snarl as his eyes darken a bit more. "Swallow it, then. Take all ma' fucken seed"

He holds your head in place, fingers tangled in your damp hair as he rides out the intense waves of his release. Joel's so inside of you, he can feel your throat working, gulping down every drop he had to give.

Finally, as the last spurts of his climax taper off, he releases you, his chest heaving with exertion. You pull back, a strand of saliva and cum connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his spent cock.

"Like that, dirty girl?" he grabs you by your chin, thumb wiping some of your saliva and his cum off. "Did ya' like the taste f' ma' cum?"

You lick your lips, savoring the taste of him. "I did"

"'S that right? What happened to my angel?"

You laugh, the sound tired and hoarse. "I'm still here"

He pats his thigh, so you sit in there, wrapping your arms around his neck. With a free hand, you remove some curls that have fallen over his worn face.

"Hard'a believe"

You click your tongue. "You were never a believer, Miller"

He lets out an exhausted chuckle. "I believe in you"

Joel revels in the delicate pink hues coating your cheeks. He's so weak for you.

"Now, doll. Be honest with y'r ol' man" he brushes a stray strand off your face, tucking it behind your ear with a delicacy so contrary to the roughness of his hands. "I know when ma' girl's goin' through somethin'"

You seem to grow shy all of the sudden. "You'd be right"

Needless to say, he's intrigued now.

"Care to tell?"

You hide your face on his shoulder, inhaling his sweat and natural odor, even the faint traces of soap. He combs through your hair, lazily.

"Promise you won't laugh" you say as you pull back, to face him.

He raises a hand, expression curious.

"I'd never make fun of 'cha, doll"

"I want you to cum inside me"

The room grows quiet for a minute, an by each second of silence that stretches so is the red across your face. Joel blinks slowly. Once and twice. By the third time, the crease between his brows has become prominent.

"What?"

Your face grows hot as you try to run away, but he stops you.

"Woah, hey. Where ya' goin'?"

"I told you you'd laugh" you pout your lips, flustered.

"I ain't even let out a goddam laugh" he defends himself. "'M just tryna process in here"

You huff. "What's so hard to understand?"

Joel looks at you like you've grown a second head. "Y' really gon' ask me that?"

"Maybe I want to try different things" you play with your fingers, avoiding his gaze.

He obligues you to look by taking you by your chin, gently. A small warm smile adorns his face.

"Different's good"

You reciprocate his smile. Maybe it's that or the fact he can still see his cum glistening your lips, or the thrill of his seed seeping out of your tight walls. Either way, Joel surrenders.

"Ya' know I'll give 'cha anythin' you want" he says, voice low. "Just say da' word"

You gulp. "Yes"

Joel lets out a low, animalistic growl at your breathy acceptance. It was all the permission he needed. He crashes his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire as he grabs you by your hair, right at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and tighter. His other hand roams your body greedily, slipping under your shirt to caress the smooth, warm skin beneath.

"We gotta take 'tis out"

He shoves the fabric up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside.

"It's my shirt"

"It's a nuissance"

He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of your naked torso, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each anticipating breath.

"Told ya'" he murmurs, voice rough with desire. "'S fuckin' perfect to be hidin' all that"

Joel leans down, capturing one rosy peak in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, suckling and teasing until it pebbles under his touch. You let out a breathy choked moan, loving the wet of his tongue against your warm skin. Then, his hot breath ghosts over as he utters a simple word that has your core clenching at nothing.

"Mine"

His hand slide down your stomach, slipping under the waistband of your jeans. Joel can feel the heat of you, the damp patch that had formed on the fabric of your panties. He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding lower, brushing against your clothed sex.

"Can tell she missed me. That ya' weren't lyin', baby. She's fucken wet" he rasps, his voice muffled against your skin.

Joel's fingers slip under the fabric of your panties, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his fingertips. He groans, his cock hard again, throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, sugar" he mutte4red, his voice rough and low. "S' ready for me already"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, feeling it swell under his touch.

"Ain't she know me s' goddam well..."

Then, he dips a finger inside your tight, clutching heat, groaning at the way your walls flutter around the intrusion.

"God, you feel s' good" Joel says, voice strained. "S' fucking tight and perfect. I can't wait to feel ya' wrapped 'round my cock, doll. Can't wait any damn longer fo' y'r sweet lil' cunt"

He pumps his finger in and out, thumb still circling your clit. He can feel you getting closer, your hips starting to buck against his hand.

"That's it, baby" he encourages, his voice a low, filthy rumble. "Fuck yourself on ma' fingers. Show me how much ya' want it"

He adds a second finger, then a third, making you yelp as he stretches you open.

"Relax, doll. We've done 'tis before. 'M just preparing her to take ma' dick. You gon' be a good girl and stop fucken squirmin'?"

You nod, pliant, your body starting to tense.

"'Tis ya' reward. Come on ma' fingers like a good girl, and then I'll give 'cha what ya' really want. I'm gon' fill 'tis greedy cunt with my cum an' pump 'cha s' full of it 'til 's drippin' outta ya'"

Joel curls his fingers inside you, rubbing that all too well spot that brings you to tears. He feels you clench down hard, crying out as you come undone. Your orgasm crashes over, body convulsing as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, he's bringing them to his lips, sucking off your essence from the digits, groaning at the taste of you.

"'S sweet as always"

After that, Joel is quick to shed what's left of his clothing, nearly tearing the old flannel in his haste. He lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, his tummy pressing lightly over your abdomen, his weight sinking you down on the mattress.

He then looks down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, glistening parted kiss-swollen lips, and heaving chest.

"I love ya', sweet girl" Joel blurts out, eyes are dark and intense.

He settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

"Say y'are mine" voice a low, demanding growl. "Say ya' belong to me, y/n, baby. Say it"

He pushes forward slightly, just the tip of him slipping inside your tight heat. He groans at the feel of you, at how your walls stretch to accommodate him. You let out a small whimper, yet still unable to form coherent sentences.

"I want to hear you say it, angel" Joel presses nonetheless, his voice strained.

He rocks his hips slowly, pushing a little more of his thick length inside you with each thrust. He can feel you getting wetter, core glistening as if your body yielded to his.

"Please, y/n" he begs, voice rough and desperate. "Please, baby... say it. That 'am your first an' last. The only man who ever fucks 'tis sweet cunt"

"I'm yours, Joel" you choke out. "Only yours"

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the feel of you, letting out a long low groan.

"Fuck, doll" he gasps, hips starting to move, pistoning in and out of you. "She's just made f'me, ain't she? Gon' make ya' feel good. Give ya' what y'asked for. Lemme take care of it. I like to take care of's mine"

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under you, headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust.

"Take it, sugar. Just like ya' wanted. 'Tis dirty mouth n' greedy pussy" Joel growls. "Take ma' cock like a good little girl. Fuck, y' were made f'r 'tis. Made't be fucked hard and deep and full of my cum"

He feels the tight coil of heat in his gut winding tighter and tighter; knows he won't last long.

"Please, Joel" you mewl, desperately clinging to him.

Joel lets out a feral growl at your plea, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He can feel you clenching down around him, body trembling as another orgasm builds deep inside you.

"Ya' want my cum, baby?" he snarls. "Want me t' fill her 'til it's drippin' down y'r legs?"

You nod, too eager.

"Look at that" he chuckles, pounding harder into you, forgetting for a moment he's sixty one. "Such a slut, beggin' for me to flood 'tis sweet pussy with ma' load. 'M gon' give ya' s' much you'll be leakin' for days. Gon' fill her up nicely. I know you gon' make sure not'a single drop goes to waste"

Joel reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Come with me, doll" he demands, growling. "Come on my cock like a good girl n' milk every last drop 'f cum. Show me just how much ya' want it"

With a final, brutal thrust, Joel buries himself balls deep inside you. He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as his orgasm rips through him.

"Take it, baby. Let me make ya' mine" His cock jerks and pulses inside you, spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum painting your insides. "Atta girl"

He collapses against you, hips still rocking slightly as the aftershocks of his release roll through him. He can feel you coming around him, pussy clenching and milking his spent cock, trying to pull every last drop of his seed deep inside you, just like you asked for.

Joel's chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, heart pounding against yours as he cradles you close.

"Not so bad for an old man"

He snickers, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his chest, head pillowed on his arm.

"Brat"

He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you close as he nuzzles into your hair, traces of lavender up his nose.

"But you love me"

Joel sighs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then temple and finally shell of your ear. In that moment, he knows he'll never let you go.

"That I do"

You softly comb his hair, his eyelids fluttering.

"I love you too, Joel"

A beat of silence goes by.

"So..."

"So?"

Joel offers a tired smile, glint of mischief laced somewhere.

"Any other ideas ya' wanna say outloud?"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @iamasaddie

[thewalkingdilf]

i hate coming on here to do this, but i had to take my car to the shop last week and the total ended up being $390. i’m linking the ko-fi i just set up to try to recoup my losses. anything at all helps! i’ll even write a little daryl drabble for u if u want :,) (as long as it doesn’t fall under any sort of hard limit for things i’ll write ofc)

[thewalkingdilf]

gaining new followers and interactions every day even during the phases when i struggle to be super active on here, i love y’all so bad😭

[thewalkingdilf]

coming home all excited about finding a new vibrator at an old drug store while out on a run so daryl holds it on your clit and makes you cum through your panties until you’re overstimulated

“everyone’s out there all day lookin’ for necessities and all yer thinking ‘bout is finding something to make that pretty lil pussy cum, hm?”

“let’s see how many i can get from ya’. gotta get plenty of use out of it since ya’ needed it so bad, yeah?”

im so normal about him

[thewalkingdilf]

ROUGH COMFORT

BFD!JOEL MILLER x F!READER

SUMMARY : you should be hurt, heartbroken, even that after such a good relationship your boyfriend has turned into a grade-a piece of shit. Yet you just couldn’t find it in you to be all that upset, specifically because an unexpected comfort comes in the form of his father, Joel miller, and his rough hands.

WARNINGS : infidelity (mutual, DONT DO IT), age gap (readers in her 20’s, joel’s approaching 50), morally conflicted!joel (kinda), smut!!, having to be quiet, unprotected p in v (BREEDING!), morning sex, honestly fluffy, kinda size kink, theyre lowkey in their own little world, fingering, mostly readers pov, regular smut especially for my page but, enjoy:)!!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You hadn’t slept this peacefully in months.

The stress of whatever had been going on between you and Jacob had left you with endless, restless nights. So this was a big change — one that only seemed to happen on the rare occasion you fell asleep in the same bed as Joel Miller. That, and the mind-fogging orgasms from the night before.

The large western Airbnb, tucked away on slightly isolated land, created an atmosphere that calmed you. It stripped away the weight of everything with Jacob and just let you be.

Just be you and Joel — for the night at least.

Now here you were, bare bodies tucked under a thin sheet. His thick arm was draped over your skin — warm, heavy, and comforting — as his steady breaths fanned the back of your neck. Your face was buried partially in the pillow, sleep slowly starting to slip away.

The sheer, lace-like white curtains did nothing to block the sun, now beginning to beam across your face as you took your first slow blinks into consciousness.

Your body automatically shifted more onto your stomach, face pressing into the pillow as a slight stretch pushed its way into your joints.

Only as you went to move again you felt his arm tighten around your waist, tugging you back into him with a playful nip to your shoulder.

“Mm, you tryin’ to run off before I get my good mornin’ kiss?” Joel drawled against your skin, voice thick with sleep and smug satisfaction. “That’s rude, sweetheart.”

Your face shifted toward him, taking a moment to study the ruggedly handsome features so close to you. A shy smile graced your lips.

“Wasn’t running,” you huffed, eyes flickering over his face. “Just didn’t wanna wake the grumpy old man clingin’ to me.” You teased, fighting off a grin.

Joel squinted at you smugly. “Hmm.”

He leaned in slowly, letting his nose brush against yours before pressing his lips to your soft ones.

A gentle kiss — warm, easy, and willfully ignorant.

As if the two of you weren’t lying there naked together… while his son — your boyfriend (albeit a piece of shit) — slept drunkenly just a room over.

He could feel your soft grin into the kiss — a kiss that lingered longer than it should have. Soft, slow, but heavy with remnants of something neither of you dared name.

Something the two of you had delved into deeply, yet still left unnamed — a secret only shared in these moments of willful ignorance.

Joel’s hand slid up your side, fingers brushing the curve of your waist. His touch lingered, roamed, like he’d already memorized every inch of you but still needed the reminder.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded and unreadable.

You blinked up at him, raising a light, delicate finger to trace his stubbled jaw. Joel leaned into the touch, his gaze scanning your face like it held every answer he was too afraid to ask for.

“You sure you weren’t runnin’?” he murmured, voice low and rough now — like gravel soaked in honey. Buried beneath it, though, was fear. Fear that you’d finally realize just how fucked up he was.

Falling into something deeper than a fling — with his son’s girlfriend. He should’ve been disgusted with himself.

But when your expression shifted — soft, knowing, yours — he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Your fingers slid into his curls, grayer than they used to be, a quiet smile playing at your lips.

“We both know I wouldn’t get far,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

That made him smirk — and then he was on you again, mouth firmer this time, hands bolder, like he’d been holding back since the second he opened his eyes.

His kiss deepened with an unspoken desperation — not rushed, but intense. Like he was trying to memorize you all over again, tongue sliding against yours with slow purpose.

You reciprocated, spewing the intensity of whatever was going on between you two without saying a single word.

His hand roamed up your back, fingers tracing the line of your spine before tangling gently into your hair, coaxing you to shift closer, onto your side. His body pressed against yours — skin warm, chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own.

He kissed you like he had all the time in the world. Like no one else existed — not even the boy passed out one room away.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured between kisses, lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Every time you look at me like that…” he didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to know what he was going to say.

I forget I’m not supposed to touch you. Not like this.

You were just as guilty. Every time Joel looked at you like that, the rest of the world disappeared. It was just the two of you — messy, wrong, and inevitable.

You swallowed hard, the air thick with heat, guilt, and want. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, voice trembling just slightly, hand buried in the side of his graying curls as you settled fully on your back beneath him.

Joel stilled for a beat — then exhaled, slow and heavy. His chest ached in that same warm, welcomed, gut-punch way it always did when you reminded him that you too wanted this. In a way that seemed more than lustful.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Joel dipped his head again, kissing you slower this time — but deeper, more deliberate.

Your hand tightened slightly in his hair as you kissed him back with same, aching deliberation — not just giving, but meeting him.

Matching every press of his mouth with your own need, your own quiet confession.

The two of you pulled back as he shifted above you, a slight smirk on his face as you blinked up at him with raising suspicion.

Thumb running over the slight saliva under his lips, wiping some of it away while you squinted in him. “What’s that look?” You muttered and Joel’s eyebrows raised as innocently as a man like him could get.

“Dunno what you mean, sweetheart.” He muttered as his head dipped lower, nose grazing your cheek as his other hand grabbed onto the thin sheet covering you.

“Y’know,” he murmured, dragging his nose along your cheek, “I used to think you were shy. Thought maybe I scared you a little.” He teased as he began to strip away the sheet, your body trembling momentarily at the act.

You scoffed, breath hitching as he suddenly jerked the sheet away. Hand sliding up your leg teasingly. “You definitely didn’t scare me.” It wasn’t a total lie, when you first met him you were intimidated — but more so from the intensity of what you felt when you met him for the first time.

He smirked, his voice low and warm as he pressed a chaste kiss against your pulse point. “No?” He inquired as his hand cupped your knee.

Subconsciously you adjusted, legs spreading to make room for him in between. “Even when I’ve got you all spread out like this?” He asked, eyes falling on your perfectly spread folds.

Slick beginning to make itself known and he couldn’t help the smug look he shared with you. “Please,” you breathed out, body shuddering and nipples hardening as his hand began to trace a line towards your inner thigh.

A teasing game of skimming back and forth watching the goosebumps rise on your soft skin. “The only thing I’m scared of is how much you think you can handle.” A let out something mixed between a yelp and a giggle as he lightly smacked the inside of your thigh.

His head dipped into the junction of your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth, before moving lower. He grinned up at you as you shuddered when he skimmed across your chest — a light tug on the swell of your breasts. “Oh, baby, I don’t think. I know.”

He assured as you felt his hand get closer and closer to your know, aching and dripping cunt. Your back arching in an attempt to get him there faster - but he just gave you that same look and pulled his hand back an inch.

“But I’m more than happy to let you find out for yourself.” Without waiting for a response he finally let his fingers slip through your slick, his fingers coated in it from the brief swipe.

Your hips jerking from the slight friction and you let out a little whine. “Joel.” You whispered looking up at him in desperation, the man glancing down at you with faux confusion.

“S’matter baby?” You tilted your hips towards his hand but he just grinned down at you while adjusting himself so one of his legs held one of yours down.

His body on the side of you now as his hand began feather light grazes against your weeping cunt. “Need something?” He mused as your head turned, needy breaths fanning his neck as your glazed over eyes pleaded with him,

“Please,” you whimpered, fighting to keep your voice steady, “need you, want you.” He chuckled, low and satisfied, though the admission made him give up on the drawn out teasing and shorten it more than he planned.

“Yeah?” He cooed, head dipping down as you nodded and he finally let his fingers — firm and heavy glide through your folds. Capturing your lips in a raw, needy kiss.

Full of tongue and his teeth grazing your lower lip as he swallowed the sound you made as his fingers bumped your clit, once, twice before a small but loud enough noise that his gaze snapped up to yours.

Eyes dark with warning but lips still curved in that maddening smirk. “Uh-uh,” he murmured, voice low against your ear. “S’much as I love to hear you cry my name baby, Gotta be quiet remember?”

You nodded, hand wrapping around his large bicep as best as you could for something to ground you. “Walls are thin, baby. You want him hearin’ how good I make you feel?” You’re breathing hitched and you shook your head slightly.

Head tilting to look up at him and you pressed a harsh kiss to his lips making the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

“Then you’re gonna have to be a good girl for me,” he whispered, “and keep those pretty sounds to yourself.” You bit your lip hard, nodding, your hips twitching toward his hand.

Joel smeared your leaking arousal over your clit once more before sliding his two fingers towards your painfully empty hole — your thoughts trembling slightly.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pleased, almost reverent — like he wasn’t just touching you, but owning every second of it. “Nice ‘n quiet while I ruin you.” You let out a far quieter whimper, sucking in a breath as he pushed in slightly.

A small dip in before pulling both of his fingers out, eyes flickering between the enchanting sight between your legs and the expression on your face that made his erection far more painful.

Your nails dug into his arm as he swirled his fingers around, your chest heaving before you sucked in a sharp breath as he pushed in. You’d had his cock multiple times the previous night — but it wasn’t as often enough to make even his fingers not sting just a bit.

Joel gauged your reaction, the faces you made when he’d give into you — it always had him right at the line of nearly making him cum without you even touching him.

His fingers pushed in, welcomed by warmth and slick, your walls holding onto him tight. Scissoring his fingers slightly he began to slowly pump his fingers, small gasps leaving your lips and he took pity on you.

He knew you really were trying to be quiet.

“That what you needed? Hm?” Joel asked, head dipped down to skim his nose along your jaw. He felt your head nod shakily as your hand slid up to his shoulder, trailing down his face to pull him towards you.

Eyes following his lips in silent questioning, he eased you further into the mattress as he pressed his lips to yours. Swallowing the moan you let out as his thumb fell onto your swollen and slick bundle of nerves — Joel himself letting out a grunt as you bit down on his bottom lip.

You pulled back trying to catch a steady rhythm of breath as he began to curl his fingers in that spot he knew made your thighs tremble. “Doin’ so good f’me sweetheart. So good.” He spoke against your lips.

The praise making you whimper, thighs twitching to shut but his own leg prevented you from doing so. His fingers pushed at a particularly sensitive point inside of you and your hips canted mouth parting.

The fire had already been sparking in your gut, but as his fingers rubbed and pushed against that spot you felt it begin to ignite — already pleading to spread. Your hips beginning to try and find the pace of his fingers to release the building pressure.

Joel knew, whether from the way your walls tightened to the point where he could barely move his fingers — or from the pinched expression you made. Either way his fingers began to slow and you nearly cried out but bit down harshly on your lip to stop the reaction.

You felt his lips against your temple as he slowly began to slip his fingers from your dripping core. “I know sweetheart, I know. But I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

You nodded watching as he shuffled between your legs, his cock girthy, long and in aching pain. Beads of pre-cum dripping down the prominent veins — it was a mouth watering sight.

“Want it Joel, want you. Please.” You breathed out, welcoming the warmth of him soft and large on top of you. His painfully hard cock sliding against your sensitive cunt, your hips twitching and a soft mewl leaving your lips.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice low and thick with tension as his lips brushed yours while he guided his cock through your folds. Coating it in your copious amounts of arousal before teasing you a moment by tapping your clit with this heavy tip mailing you gasp.

“That desperate for me, baby?” His hand dropped his heavy erection, letting it sit pretty against your cunt. Moving his hand down and he gripped your thigh, holding you open for him.

You squirmed beneath him and huffed. “I’m not the only one.” Your eyes moved down, eyes glazing over at the sight between you both and he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Don’t worry sweetheart.” He hummed, guiding his tip between your folds, down, down, until it caught the slight dip where your hole was. Desperate and clenching around nothing — always willing and eager for him.

“Gonna give it to you, baby’. Gonna fuck you just how you need. Make you feel every inch of me.” He promised, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips as your hand found his that was wrapped around your thigh holding you open.

His hand let go of your thigh, letting it fall open as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Look at’er all ready for me. Y’ready baby?” You nodded eagerly and he smirked smugly, hand tightening around yours as he began to sink inside of you.

Thick tip plugging you full already and you let out a shaky gasp, Joel letting out a soft moan. “Always feel so good.” He praised sinking in, inch, by inch, until you were stuffed full of him.

“Fuckin made for me, aren’t you baby?” Joel muttered, eyes flickering across your face, lips parted but the rest of your face pure bliss. “Only you.” You agreed breathlessly.

Joel’s face pinched, and he pulled back — almost pulling out fully. “Say it again.” He grunted, eyes swallowed by his pupils at the admission. “I’m made for you Joel, only y-mgh.” You were cut short by Joel shoving his cock back inside of you.

The feeling of his thrusts, not to rough, enough to let you feel the thick vein that ran along the side of his cock rub against your walls. A feeling that made your toes curl and back arch.

You were panting, fighting everything in you so you wouldn’t let the noises out. A cry fighting its way to the tip of your tongue and it seemed Joel sensed it as he grasped your own lips in a harsh kiss.

His hips ground into yours while his cock plunged in and out, a lewd squelch being one of the main noises in the room. His hips tilted, smirking against your lips when he felt you cry out against his lips.

He pulled back, leaning back slightly to glance at the way your needy cunt swallowed his cock. Creamy rings of arousal coating his base as he continued to push until the hilt.

Joel glanced at your face, your eyes already on his and the hand that was holding yours let go so he could grab your wrist. Broken, quiet moans escaping you when he thrusted particularly hard — tip pushing a spot inside of you that made you blank.

“Feel that?” You blinked watching as Joel dragged your palm towards your lower belly, pressing down slightly and you could feel the rise of flesh each time he thrusted. Nodding you peered up at him with glossy and glazed eyes.

Nothing could’ve really prepared you for the feeling of him pushing down on it, the feeling making your thighs tremble — eyes watering as he leaned over you. “Let me all the way in here.” He hummed in satisfaction. “Think I should fill’er up as a reward?”

He watched you nod rapidly and he tsked. “That’s dirty baby, lettin’ me pump you full’a my cum?” His voice was distant, your other hand scrambling for purchase on his shoulder.

“Keep it deep inside while you walk around actin like it’s not there?” You found yourself nodding, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. “Y-mhm.”

“Can’t speak? Tell me. Tell me sweetheart, y’gonna let me pump you full?” Joel went on, hips smacking against yours and you felt a tightening in your belly. Like a coil, rapid and heated. Your walls beginning to tighten against his cock at the words he spoke though distant in your foggy mind.

Joel gripped your chin in his hands, shaking slightly. “Hey, hey- there she is.” He cooed as you blinked rapidly for a moment. Eyes focusing on him. “I want you to f-agh-fill me up. Please”. Your voice trembled, but the weight of your words made Joel believe you.

“My sweet girl likes that doesn’t she?” He pushed your damp hair from your forehead. Pressing a kiss against your lips while you nodded. You hadn’t felt his thumb slip lower until you felt it press heavy against your Clit and you let out something akin to a silent sob.

“Joel-“ you whined, back arching as he practically whimpered at the feeling of being nearly trapped inside of your sopping cunt from how tight it gripped him. “Gonna cum -fuck, hm? I can feel’er grippin me tight.”

You nodded, mouth parted in trying to catch a breath while your head lolled to the side and your lips pressed against his arm. “I’m- gonna- fuckfuckfuck.” You cried, unable to hold it as he continued to angle himself to a point where your thighs shook and your hips twitched.

“Come for me baby, wanna feel you.” A tight, coiling pressure had been building low in your belly, and with every grind of his hips, every filthy word he rasped into your ear, it crept closer—hot and uncontrollable.

Then it snapped.

The orgasm hit you in a crashing wave, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. Your back arched off the bed, toes curling as white heat spread through your entire being. Trembling and vision blank as he continued to fuck you through it — the squelch loud and lewd in a way that added to your feeling pleasure.

You couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from your mouth—raw, wrecked, needy. Keeping them as quiet as you could, Joel’s lips hovering incase you were a bit too loud. Pleasure pulsed through every nerve ending, sharp and overwhelming, until all you could do was cling to him, fingers digging into his arms like an anchor.

Joel held you through it, whispering, “That’s it, that’s my girl. I gotcha — just like that.” Your body trembled in sensitivity, Joel’s hips faltering at the feeling of you coming undone around him — chafing his name like a prayer as you clung to him.

You felt the tension coil tight in every muscle of his body — arms trembling where they caged you in, jaw clenched as a low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest.

Your eyes on him as his eyes squeezed shut, before his forehead pressed against yours and he pushed in deep and held — buried to the hilt as the first wave of his release tore through him.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” he choked out, voice ragged, like he was unraveling in your hands. His cock pulsed inside you, his hands tightening around you as you too trembled at the feeling of thick spurts of warmth began to fill you.

His lips finding yours as he thrust, once, twice more before staying there. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders urging him down and he rested his head on your boobs, hands caressing your hips as you both panted.

He looked up at you when you tapped his forehead, and he watched a shit-eating grin splay across your face. “You were talkin’ a lotta shit earlier. Think I handled you just fine.”

“Handled me? Baby’, I was holdin’ back.” He teased, nipping at your boob playfully and you let out a giggle.

Pulling his face up to yours you placed a soft kiss on his lips, one, then another, until a third kiss was interrupted—his body still on top of yours, his breathing heavy. The kiss faltered, and both of you froze.

“Dad!! Have you seen the fuckin advil?!”

[thewalkingdilf]

im still alive and writing!! just super busy and have writers block😭

[thewalkingdilf]

Do It For Dale

I do it for my daddy and I do it for Dale I'm doing what I want and, damn, I'm doing it well

Summary: As Sarah’s best friend, you’re determined to give her the perfect 21st birthday—even if it means going behind her grumpy old dad’s back. But when the night spirals and you end up stranded, you’re forced to call the last person you want to face. And once Sarah is asleep, he shows you exactly what happens to girls who misbehave. || smut MDNI 18+, cheerleader!reader, bratty!reader, overprotective!joel, grumpy!joel, sarah's best friend!reader, sbf!reader, bfd!joel, wtf are these acronyms my god, college au, brattamer!joel, no outbreak, pinv, reader is on birth control, blowjob, f!receiving oral, no use of y/n, riding, dirty talk, tiny bit of degradation but also praise kink, spanking, big girthy age gap reader is 21+|| Inspired by Ethel Cain's American Teenager. "Do it for Dale" is a saying in memory of the nascar driver dale earnhardt who was known for his risky driving. basically 'take risks, make dale proud" the southern version of ‘you only live once’ >> thank you to my angels @dixonsdarkelf & @dixons-sunshine for looking this over / beta reading when it was just mere scraps on a page and giving me the confidence to keep going!!

“I don’t care what your dad says,” you snap, wedging your phone between your shoulder and ear as you bend to tie your pristine white sneakers. The laces cinch in your fingers with the kind of practiced precision that only comes from years of repetition—pure muscle memory.

The locker room is chaos. There are voices shouting across aisles, lockers slamming, pom poms rustling like restless birds. The low thump of stadium bass rattles up through the concrete floor, humming in your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s electric.

On the other end of the line, the voice is borderline panicked. “I’m serious—he said no going out. Just the two of us, nice dinner, low-key—”

“Sarah.” You switch the phone to your other ear, and tug a stray piece of hair back into place as you catch your reflection in the mirror screwed to your locker. “You’re turning twenty-one. Twenty. One. That’s the last birthday that matters until you hit, like, fifty and buy a boat.”

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters. “You don’t have Joel Miller for a father.”

You grin. “No, but I know him. Man’s all bark and no fun. Somebody needs to shake the dust off him.”

“Oh god,” she groans, “he’s coming to the game, by the way. So whatever you’re planning? Don’t make it weird.”

“Please.” You dig through your duffel for your lipstick. “Give me two minutes, and he’ll be begging to let you out of the house.”

“That sounded disgusting. Never say my dad and ‘begging’ in the same sentence again.”

You laugh as you swipe the red across your lips, smooth and practiced. In the background, Coach Peña barrels through the locker room doors like a storm system, barking out the countdown to kickoff. The girls start filing out around you, all pep and nerves.

“I gotta go,” you say, “Coach is foaming at the mouth.”

“Fine. Just don’t get me grounded before the third quarter.”

“No promises. Love you, mean it, bye.”

You toss your phone into your bag, zip it shut like sealing a vault, and pause for one last look in the mirror. Bright smile, flushed cheeks, and candy-glossed red lips. The kind of lashes that get you out of tickets. The kind of uniform that falls somewhere between school pride and a pin-up calendar hanging in a mechanic’s break room.

You lean closer to fix a clump of mascara and rub a smudge of red off your tooth. That smile curls back again—not the sweet one from halftime routines, but the other one. The one that gets you into trouble.

Then you grab your pom poms, swing your locker shut, and strut out of the locker room with the confidence that gets you into bars for free and banned from Student Council meetings. 

Game on.

The air is electric—crisp with that first snap of fall, leaves crunching under boots in the parking lot, the smell of cheap beer and burnt hot dogs drifting in from the tailgaters who’ve been posted up since noon. The stadium’s packed, a blur of school colors and screaming faces, everyone high on spirit and spite and way too much booze and energy drinks. There’s nothing quite like the high of a homecoming game.

If this wasn’t American football, you’d swear the crowd was here for blood.

You kick your leg up high, pom poms shaking like fireworks in your hands, your grin sharp enough to slice through the October air. Your thighs burn with the repetition, but you don’t stop. You feed off of this: the roar, the stomping feet, the chanting, the band playing at volume in the field behind you. It’s chaos, it’s magic, it’s everything.

You spin into another high kick as the running back punches into the end zone, and the crowd erupts. Your ponytail bounces, your lipstick still flawless despite the sweat, the screaming, the adrenaline thundering through your veins like rocket fuel.

This is what you live for.

You cartwheel, hands and pom poms catching the ground before your squad forms into a pyramid with practiced ease, launching into a cheer that gets the whole section yelling along.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Sarah posted up in the stands—her dark hair pulled up with school-colored ribbons woven in, ends tied off in bows like she just walked out of a Pinterest board. And next to her, arms crossed and jaw set in his signature I hate fun expression, is the man you plan to convince to let his perfect Honor Society daughter get blackout drunk tonight: Mr. Miller.

Flannel. Scowl. Zero sense of humor.

As if he can feel your stare from the top of the pyramid formation, his eyes flick from the players taking a timeout on the field—to you.

Even from this far away, you can see the way his brow furrows just a little deeper, the lines on his face etching like fault lines, like he can read every debaucherous plan in your head about tonight.

And it only makes your grin widen.

After your halftime performance—which included you seeing your entire life flash before your eyes when Ryan, one of your catchers, stumbled as you came flying down from a basket toss—you found Sarah at the bottom of the bleachers, about to head back up with a charred hot dog in one hand and a Gatorade in the other.

One second, you were airborne under the stadium lights, all grace and clean lines, the crowd roaring like they’d never seen a cheer squad stick a toss before. The next, you were dropping way too fast, Ryan’s hands scrambling to catch your left leg as the whole formation wobbled.

You landed hard, your shoulder slamming into someone’s chest, your breath punching out in a sound that definitely wasn’t choreographed. Half the squad gasped. The other half kept smiling. Coach screamed something incoherent from the sideline.

But you popped right back up, beamed like you hadn’t just bruised half your spine, and finished the routine.

Showbiz, baby.

“Hey!” Sarah calls when she spots you weaving through the crowd. “I seriously thought you died when Ryan almost dropped you.”

Her face is twisted in a full-body cringe as she looks you over, like she’s checking for bruises.

You swipe some sweat off your brow with the back of your hand, catching your breath as you lean against the metal railing. “Tell me about it. If he thinks he’s copying my chem homework next week, he’s got another thing comin’.”

She snorts. “He hasn’t passed a test since freshman year.”

“Exactly. He’s one C-minus away from being kicked off the team,” you grimace, then lean in a little on the railing with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Though I heard he and a bunch of the guys are hitting up The Tipsy Bison later. I know it’s a dump, but the drinks are cheap and the bartenders don’t card if you tip them, like, a couple bucks and wink. We’d only need to wait it out til midnight anyway since–”

“Uh-huh,” Sarah says, but her eyes are already shifting—because someone else is approaching.

“Evenin’.” A low voice cuts in from your left, and the air instantly shifts. 

You look in the direction of the voice, and there he is. Joel Miller, in all his glory. Holding a hot dog and Miller Lite (ironic that the man likes his own namesake beer, no?), wearing that same dark green plaid he probably wore to every barbecue and grocery run. His expression is set in granite. The man looked like he hadn’t smiled since the Bush administration and he was damn proud of it.

“Enjoyin’ the game, Mr. Miller?” you smile sweet as can be up at him. The breeze shifts, carrying the scent of his cologne—all woodsy and dark. There’s something you can’t place but hate how much you like.

He grunts, then looks at his daughter, “You ready?”

“So–” you cut in quickly as she nods, ready to turn around and head back to their seats, “word on the street is Sarah’s got a very important birthday tonight. Twenty-one’s a big deal. Life-changing, even. Seems like something worth, I don’t know… celebrating?”

“She’s not going out to your Tipsy Bison bullshit,” he said flatly.

So he had heard everything.

“Not even for one little drink?” you asked, eyebrows raised in mock innocence, “C’mon. She’s practically a senior citizen in college years. You gonna keep her locked in the tower forever, or what?”

“She’s got class Monday.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice just enough to sound like a co-conspirator. “Good thing it’s Saturday.”

Still nothing. His silence is like a damn wall. An unreadable, infuriating, weirdly attractive wall.

You blinked up at him, mock-offended. “Wow. You really need to get laid, don’t you?”

That earned you a shift—a quick flick of his eyes in your direction, sharp and unreadable, his jaw tightening, but still not a word.

Joel Miller, the human embodiment of a steel door.

You smirked. “Ooh, that bad, huh?”

From a few steps above, moving out of the way like a storm was brewing between the two of you, Sarah groaned. “Dad, please don’t murder my friends!”

You took a step back, throwing both hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d ask. Y’know, on behalf of your adult daughter.”

Joel turned away, back up the bleachers, “Get back to your little song and dance, kid.”

And that was that. You watched his back for a second longer, half amused, half intrigued. Then you looked up at Sarah and surprised her with a grin as her dad began ascending the stairs.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

You didn’t bother texting first. Sarah would’ve found some way to talk you out of it, knowing her.

Still in your uniform, though the pom poms had long ditched, lipstick a little faded but your confidence entirely intact, you march right up the Miller porch and rap your knuckles against the tall wooden door.

It only takes a few seconds before it swings open.

Joel stands there, beer in one hand, jaw already clenched like you’d personally ruined his evening by breathing on his welcome mat. His eyes take their time sweeping over you—legs bare, cheeks flushed from the walk over, school jacket slung over your arm. By the time they land back on your face with that signature glare, there’s a smile on your lips.

“The hell you doin’ here, kid?”

Your grin widens, sweet as sugar, “Evenin’ to you too, Mr. Miller.”

He barely even blinks.

You shift your weight onto one hip, the skirt of your uniform shifting across your thighs. “Thought I’d come talk to you again. Woman to man.”

He exhales hard through his nose. “’Bout what, exactly?”

“You know what,” you say, rolling your eyes, “It’s your daughter’s birthday. I just want to take her out for one drink!”

“She ain’t goin’.”

“Ya know, Mr. Miller,” you say, eyes dancing as you lean in a little closer, voice syrupy, “if you’re gonna make me beg, the least you could do is pull my hair while you’re at it.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes, dark and dangerous as his lip curls up, his figure stepping close enough to cast a shadow over you. You hold your ground, grin tugging at the corners of your mouth, daring him to snap, to rise to it.

Just as he opens his mouth to retort, you hear footsteps on the stairs.

“Oh my god,” Sarah says, voice full of disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

Joel‘s eyes are still on you, but as if remembering himself, he scoffs, stepping aside just enough for her to poke her head out from over his shoulder. As you pull yourself on your tip toes to look over him, you see Sarah— hair still tied up in those bows, though they’ve fallen since you last saw her. Her brown eyes are wide as she takes in both of you standing together.

You lift your hand in a casual wave. “Told you I’d try. But your dad’s playing medieval warden again.”

Sarah groans, coming down a few steps. “Daaad…”

You raise a hand, cutting her off before she can jump in too. “Don’t worry, I had a feelin’ he’d be like this.” You reach into the bag slung over your shoulder and pull out a DVD, holding it up like a peace offering. She’s The Man. “If we can’t go out, we’re celebrating in. I at least want my best friend to enjoy her goddamn birthday.”

Joel’s eyes narrow. “You’re stayin’?”

You shrug. “Unless you’re plannin’ to physically remove me—yeah.”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t stop you, either. He just stands there, glaring, as Sarah appears beside him and grabs your hand to pull you inside. The two of you are already halfway up the stairs by the time he can manage to take a breath.

You glance back at him just before turning the corner. He’s still standing in the doorway, muttering something under his breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like you’ve given him a migraine in the span of two minutes.

“Don’t wait up, Mr. Miller,” you call with a grin.

He shuts the door with more force than necessary, and you swear you can hear him muttering as he takes a sip of his beer, something like, “Goddamn pain in my ass.”

You follow Sarah into her room, shutting the door behind you with a soft click as she drops onto her bed in a dramatic sprawl.

Your eyes scan the familiar space. The twin bed, with its purple-and-gray comforter, is pushed into the corner, the lineup of band posters curling at the corners on the walls. The old photo of her and her dad at a soccer match she won a trophy for with her team is still taped above the lamp.

“So,” you start, turning the lock.

Sarah immediately sits up, eyes narrowing. “No. Nope. What are you up to?”

“What?” you say, all wide-eyed innocence.

She points at you like she’s caught you red-handed. “That face. I know that face. You’re scheming.”

“Of course I’m scheming,” you say, manicured nails finding your hips once you drop your bag down. “Sarah, you’re twenty-one. You only turn twenty-one once, and you wanna spend it… what? Watching She’s the Man and ordering pizza?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say that.”

She groans. “I don’t know…”

“Look—we’ll watch the movie I brought, play it chill for now, and then once the old man crashes on the couch like he always does—boom. We’re out. You’re putting on your hottest jeans, I brought you Jason’s football jersey—”

“Why do I need a jersey?”

“Half-off beer for anyone wearing school colors,” you say, like it's obvious, “God, do you ever go out?”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead, “you really planned this all out.”

“Correct,” you grin, “and that’s why you love me. Now—either those jeans that make your ass look phenomenal or that little skirt I gave you last year. We’ll do your makeup, fix those ribbons, and then you’re hauling your ass out that window whether you like it or not.”

As you ramble on, you catch the smile forming on her lips, her fingers rising to hide it, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You’re insane,” she says, laughing.

“I’m a genius,” you correct.

“He’s gonna kill you.”

Your red lips stretch into another grin. “I’d love to see him try.”

God, you were good. You’re a humble girl—really. Scout’s honor. But the things you can do with a makeup brush…Honestly? It deserves scientific documentation. Because by the time Mr. Miller’s snoring echoes through the walls and drifts up the stairs, you were already at work.

And now, only half an hour later, the birthday girl is glowing.

Her eyeliner is sharp enough to cut glass, her lips gleaming with that pink gloss you found buried at the bottom of her vanity drawer, and her cheeks are flushed that perfect rosy tone that makes her caramel skin look like it belongs in a beauty campaign.

“Oh. My. God,” you breathe, stepping back to admire your masterpiece. “You are so getting us free drinks tonight.”

“Drink,” she corrects, holding up a finger. “Singular. I promised one.”

You roll your eyes, already heading for the window. “Uh-huh. One drink. One shot. One phone number. I’m flexible.”

“I mean it!”

You just grin over your shoulder. “I know. But I also know you. You’ll cave the second someone with a thick Texan accent says you have pretty eyes.”

She lets out a groan—half exasperated, half excited—as you push the window open. The Austin night air drifts in, dry and cool against your skin, the quiet hum of cicadas in the distance. The sky is dark and clear, moonlight pooling across the shingles like it’s inviting you out.

You duck through first, your legs swinging over the sill as you balance on the edge. “Come on, birthday girl.”

“You're gonna get us killed before my dad even has the chance.”

You glance back with a grin. “Relax, it’s just a little jump.”

“Uh-huh.” She squeaks, but still climbs out behind you, barefoot and holding her heels, a whispered shit shit shit under her breath as the two of you crouch low and begin the careful climb down the old lattice nailed into the side of the porch. It isn’t exactly stable, but it holds—like it always does when you’re the one sneaking in.

You land with a soft thud in the grass, then looking up, you reach a hand toward her. “Easy. I got you.”

She drops down next to you, a little breathless, a little wild-eyed, already grinning.

Your phone buzzes with the alert of your driver arriving.

You slip your phone into your purse and nudg her with your elbow as the two of you start toward the street.

“One drink,” she reminds you.

You just smirk. “Sure, babe. One drink. And if we end up dancing on tables by midnight?”

“That’ll be on you.”

“Yeah. I can live with that.”

And off you go, pulling on your sneakers, the stars bright overhead as you climb into your Uber.

The night had gone from rowdy to regretful real fast.

And now, sitting on the curb outside the bar, shoes dangling from your fingers, the soles of your feet throbbing, you’re realizing just how deep in shit you are. The air has cooled just enough for goosebumps to rise along your arms, the sweat and heat from the crowded dance floor long gone. Your other hand clutches your phone, the blue glow of the screen casting shadows across your face.

The Uber app spins. And spins. And spins.

“No. No, no, no,” you whimper, voice tight as the screen flashes: No drivers available in your area.

No Uber. No Lyft. And no way in hell are you spending fifty bucks on a yellow cab. Yeah, you waitress at the diner, but that’s damn near an entire shift’s pay. Just to get home in one piece? No thank you.

You glance sideways.

Sarah is slumped beside you, her head cradled in her hands, the ribbons that once sat perfectly in her hair now unraveling in limp curls. One of her earrings is missing. Glitter streaks across her cheek like a tear. She lets out a soft, pitiful sound—somewhere between a sigh and a groan—and you swallow hard.

“Hey,” you murmur, crouching down in front of her, trying to keep your voice calm, “drink some of this.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she mutters. She sips from your water bottle like it’s acid.

“Well,” you say, steadying her with one hand on her shoulder, “if not now, you definitely will be in a second.”

Your stomach churns. Not from the alcohol—from what you’re about to do.

You take a breath, swipe to your contacts, and tap the name you’ve been avoiding all night.

Joel Miller’s truck pulls up ten minutes later.

It rumbles into view like a warning—headlights sweeping across the sidewalk, engine growling low and loud in the silence of the early morning. You stand, heart in your throat, wiping your sweaty palms on your skirt.

He barely put it in park before he’s out the door and moving.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, soft as ever, sliding his arms under Sarah’s shoulders to lift her, “I got you. It’s alright.”

She whimpers something, an apology maybe, but he just hushes her gently and helps her into the back seat, tucking her in like a child and buckling her seatbelt.

And then he turns.

Gone is the soft-spoken dad. Gone is the cooing.

His face shifts in the dim streetlight—jaw locked, eyes hard, voice like gravel.

“Get in the truck.”

Your mouth opens. It closes again, then you say, “I can find my own—”

“I said.” He takes a step toward you, slow and sharp. “Get. In. The truck.”

He yanks the passenger door open.

You stare at him for a second too long, heart pounding, but you step up into the cab and slide into the seat without another word. Joel slams the door behind you, and the truck rattles as he gets back in, hands gripping the wheel hard enough to make the leather creak.

The house is quiet when you get back, the kind of silence that feels like it might shatter if you breathe too loud.

Joel doesn’t say a word as he parks the truck and gets out. He silently opens the back door and unbuckles Sarah, arms curling under her like second nature. She stirs with a small groan, burying her face in his chest, and he murmurs something you don’t catch—low and warm and so damn gentle it makes your throat tighten.

The whole drive, his jaw had been clenched, eyes fixed on the road, one fist pressed to his mouth like he was holding back something dangerous. But now all you see is the gentleness in him as he carries her inside.

He nudges open her bedroom door with his boot at the top of the stairs, and you linger in the doorway, half-hidden by the frame, watching him move.

He settles her onto the mattress like he’s done it a hundred times, pulls back the blankets, and slips her shoes off. You watch as he tucks her in with practiced hands, slow and steady, smoothing the covers up over her chest.

Then he kneels beside the bed and brushes the hair from her face. Just once. A soft tuck behind her ear. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. There’s so much love in that one motion, it feels like you shouldn’t be allowed to exist in it with them.

He stands, turning toward you only long enough to brush past you without a word. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge you. Just moves down the hall, shoulders stiff and set, and disappears into the bathroom.

You hear the cabinet open. The faucet runs, something rattles on the counter.

When he passes you again, it’s with a glass of water in one hand and two white pills in the other. Still no words. No glance. Like you aren’t even there.

Your jaw tightens as he ducks back into Sarah’s room.

A minute later, he’s back in the doorway, pulling it shut behind him until the soft click of it closing can be heard in the dim hallway. Then, he turns.

And finally looks at you.

His face is unreadable. Jaw set and eyes cold. His mouth is a hard line, and those eyes that were once holding warmth as he took care of Sarah are deep and dark as they look down at you.

“I shouldn’t have—” you start, your voice small.

“Don’t,” he says.

You blink.

“I mean it,” he adds, walking past you toward the stairs, “don’t start with some half-ass apology just ‘cause you feel guilty now.”

You follow him. “I do feel guilty.”

He stops short, turning back to face you before stepping down. His eyes catch yours, sharp and cutting.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You snuck out,” he snaps, the words cracking like a whip. “You took my kid into some shitty bar in your stupid little uniform and cheap perfume and thought that made you clever. Thought it made you cute.”

You feel the heat rise in your face—not from shame, but from something else entirely.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some little girl.”

“Then stop actin’ like one.”

You take a step toward him. Then another.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His arms stay locked at his sides, fists curled, shoulders tense. His jaw flexes once, twice, like he’s biting back something worse.

“You think I don’t notice the way you look at me?” Your voice softens, but only just. “You think I don’t catch the way you hover near the kitchen when I’m there, like you just happen to need something the second I bend over to grab something from the fridge?”

His eyes flash, but he still doesn’t speak.

So you keep going.

“The way you are at the games, pretending not to look. Pretending that you don’t think about me in this ‘stupid little uniform’?”

His breath comes a little heavier now, and his fists still haven’t unclenched, “You’re treadin’ on some mighty thin ice here, girl.” he says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re gonna wanna back up.”

You step in anyway, closing the last of the space. You lift your hand and press a finger to his chest, right over the line of buttons. You feel the heat of him through the cotton, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Just admit it,” you whisper. You tilt your chin up, just enough to meet his eyes. “You don’t see me as some kid anymore, Joel.”

His gaze drops to your mouth, lingering like he wants to watch his name fall from your lips. Then you watch as his eyes climb their way back to yours, slower this time. Measured. He looks at you like he’s still trying to convince himself this isn’t happening, but all you can see is the heat in his eyes. 

And then his hands are on you.

Large, rough palms grabbing you with more force than you were ready for—dragging you forward, only to spin you and shove you. Your body hits the wall with a muted thud, breath catching as your palms splay flat against the cool surface. His chest is pressed to your back in the next second, pinning you there, the heat of him burning through your shirt.

You gasp, your cheek catching against the wall, breath fogging the paint. “What’re you—”

“You are such a goddamn brat,” he cuts you off, growling in your ear.

Your legs nearly buckle. You’re breathing hard already, the adrenaline and arousal twisting into something dizzying, but still—still—you can’t help the smile that pulls at your mouth.

His hands drop to your ass, gripping a handful through your skirt, his fingers digging in possessively. You arch slightly, instinctively, and he groans low in his throat, pressing harder into you like he’s trying to pin every inch of you still.

His forearm slides across your chest, then wraps around your throat—not quite choking, but holding. His bicep rests against your jawline, elbow snug beneath your chin, tilting your head just enough to keep you in place as his free hand drags your skirt up.

“Damn shorts,” he mutters when he finds the line of spandex in his way, annoyed. And then he’s yanking them down in one rough pull, not gentle or remotely slow. You let out a curse under your breath as the fabric drags down your thighs, baring you to him.

“Mr. Mill—”

“Need to show you.”

Your voice shakes when you answer. “Sh-show me?”

He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice like gravel and heat.

“What happens when brats disobey me.”

You try not to picture what it would look like if Sarah suddenly walked in—if she rounded the corner and saw you like this. Bare from the waist down, palms pressed to the wall, thighs trembling. Her dad standing behind you, his hands still on your hips, the hard press of him straining against his jeans.

But then your thoughts are shaken loose when you feel it. His palm, warm and broad, resting on your ass.

“Count,” he says, low and firm.

You barely have time to ask what he means before the first smack lands.

The sound cracks through the hallway, and you jolt, a gasp ripping from your throat. Not just from the sting, but from the way it shoots straight down your spine, heat blooming through your core.

“One,” you whisper.

His hand is back on you, soothing for a second, then gone.

Smack.

You bite your lip, hips jerking forward instinctively.

“Two.”

He hums behind you, like he’s pleased with himself. Or with you. Maybe both.

Another smack. Harder this time.

Your knees wobble.

“Three.”

“Mm,” Joel mutters, his voice deep, lazy, “thought you’d get louder than that.”

You grit your teeth, fingers flexing against the wall, breath starting to come faster.

The fourth one stings, sharp and hot.

“Four,” you moan. You can’t help it. Joel chuckles darkly behind you at the sound.

And then his hand slides down lower, to the slick waiting for him between your thighs.

Fingers dragging through your folds, slow and unhurried, and when he finds you soaked, he hisses through his teeth.

“Well, would you look at that.”

You squirm, a breathy whine escaping before you can catch it. His fingers stroke through your arousal a little firmer, a little more deliberate. You whimper at the contact of his calloused fingers, so thick and warm against you.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear again, and you can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks.

“Bad girls don’t get to play,” he murmurs, “even if their pussy’s practically cryin’ for me.”

Joel tsks quietly. His hand cups your ass again, possessive. His fingers are still slippery with the feeling of you. “Spoiled little thing. Thinkin’ she gets a reward for sneakin’ outta my house.”

His hand falls from your ass, and you hear the low scrape of his boots on the hardwood as he steps back.

“Turn around.”

You obey instantly, cheeks hot, body still throbbing from the sting of his palm. You pivot slowly, heart hammering, eyes catching on the way he towers over you—jaw tight, eyes dark with something closer to hunger than anger.

“Down.” He says, nodding to the floor in front of him. “On your knees.”

You drop without hesitation, the wood floor hard beneath your skin, but you don’t care. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Not when the air between you is so thick it’s hard to breathe.

His eyes stay on yours as he lifts one hand, fingers twitching as they tilt your chin up.

“Show me your tongue.”

You blink up at him, heat rushing straight between your legs at the command.

“Now.”

You part your lips and slowly stick your tongue out, holding it there—wet, obedient, waiting. Joel’s gaze drops to your mouth, and his jaw ticks again.

“So…” he mutters, voice low, approving, “she does know how to listen.”

His hand under your chin turns your face from side to side, your spit beginning to gather at the sides of your mouth as you realize he’s…admiring the view.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl when you wanna be.”

You grin, just a little, tongue still out, but there’s mischief behind your eyes. You tilt your head the tiniest bit, eyes flicking down to the bulge in his jeans, then back up again—deliberate.

“I’m always good,” you say around your tongue, your voice smug, a little breathy. “You just can’t handle it.”

Joel’s jaw flexes. He lets out a slow breath through his nose, like he’s trying very, very hard not to lose it.

“Always gotta run that mouth,” he mutters.

Then his hands find his belt. You stay right where you are, tongue still out, eyes narrowed, but now there’s a smirk tugging at your lips, even as your breath hitches when the buckle comes undone. You watch him with that cocky little tilt to your chin, like you’re waiting to see what he’s working with. Like you know exactly what’s coming, and you’re not sure he deserves your awe just yet.

He unzips his jeans, pushing them down just far enough to pull himself free.

His cock springs out thick and flushed, already hard, already leaking for you. The head is a deep, angry red, and it twitches slightly in his hand as he wraps his fingers around the base. 

Your smirk falters. He’s huge. Bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, and your stomach flips at the idea of it going…anywhere.

“Think what you mean is can you handle it?” Joel asks, voice low, rough.

You blink slowly, playing it cool even as your thighs press together.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Joel chuckles as he strokes himself once, slow and firm, eyes on your mouth.

“Open wider,” he says.

You do—but not all the way. Just enough to be a little annoying. A little slow. You even raise your eyebrows like this what you wanted?

Joel’s smile fades as he guides himself to your mouth.

“God,” he mutters, sliding his cock along your outstretched tongue. He teases himself there, the thick, swollen head dragging slowly across the surface—coating your lips in precum, smearing it slow and slick.

You hate how intoxicating he smells. Hate how good he tastes. Hate how much you love this angle—kneeling between his thighs, watching him look down at you like this is where you belong.

“Gonna paint my cock with that pretty red lipstick, baby?” he asks, voice rough with amusement, a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You smile up at him—defiant, even now—before closing your lips around the tip. The moment you suckle, your tongue flicking at the salty bead of arousal, he lets out a sharp, broken breath like you knocked it out of him.

He growls and suddenly backs you into the wall. Your head bumps against the hard surface, and your hands shoot out, grabbing at his thighs—nails digging into the worn denim for something to hold onto.

You glare up at him even as he presses deeper into your throat, taking control. His fingers slide into your hair, tightening, holding you there against the wall. He watches with dark, hungry eyes as your lips stretch wide around him, spit glossing the corners of your mouth.

“I like you so much better when your mouth is full of me.”

And then he starts to move.

He fucks your mouth with steady, brutal thrusts—your throat flexing around him, gagging as he pushes deeper, harder. You choke, sputtering when he thrusts all the way in, tears springing to your eyes as mascara streaks down your cheeks.

“That’s it,” he groans. “Gooood girl.” He drawls it out low and thick before pulling himself from your mouth, bending to hover in front of your face, eyes drinking you in—wrecked, ruined, perfect.

Your lipstick’s smudged across your chin. Mascara tears drag down your cheeks. Your mouth is red and wet and trembling.

He leans in and kisses you.

It’s brutal and hungry. His tongue pushes past your lips with zero hesitation, and you open for him instantly, swallowing the kiss like you’re starving. He tastes like that stupid Miller Lite and something synthetic, waxy—and you realize it’s your lipstick on his mouth.

When he pulls back, it’s too soon, and you chase his mouth without thinking.

He grins down at you, wicked and wild, and pats your cheek. Not gentle, not quite a slap, but something in between. Like a good dog.

Then, standing tall again, he grabs the base of his cock, lines himself back up, and guides it back into your mouth. He’s slow at first, letting you feel the weight of it. The heat. The way it stretches your jaw until your lips ache, the base of him thick and veiny against your tongue.

“That's it,” he murmurs, his hand tightening in your hair, “all the way into your throat, baby.”

He starts to move again in controlled, steady thrusts that make your throat flutter and your eyes tear up all over again. You moan around him, and the vibration makes him grunt, hips stuttering forward like he wasn’t ready for how good it feels.

His other hand drops to your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he watches the slick shine building around your lips.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You moan again, louder this time, and your thighs squeeze together.

Tightly.

The pressure spikes, your breath shallow and high, and your hand flutters down between your legs before you even think about it. Your fingers find your soaked folds—so warm, so wet you could cry—and you can’t help it. You have to touch. Just a little. Just enough to take the edge off. You swirl two fingers over your clit, barely a brush, just enough to ease the pressure. 

Your throat tightens around Joel’s cock as you jerk against your fingers, and his eyes widen as he looks down at you.

“You touching yourself right now?” he asks, voice low. Disbelieving. His eyes drop to where your thighs are clenched together, to the subtle movement of your hand, and then back to your mouth wrapped around his cock. “Jesus fuck, baby.”

You moan around him again, your free hand bracing against his leg, nails digging into the muscle of his thigh.

“Couldn’t help it, huh?” His voice softens, but not with mercy—with need. “S’that good? That what my cock does to you?”

You nod as best you can, eyes fluttering, lips sucking harder, chasing that praise like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the floor. Your hand moves faster between your thighs, the pressure building hot and tight, a slow coil of need that burns through you like fire.

Joel groans above you, his hips starting to move again—deep, steady thrusts, like he’s savoring every inch of your mouth. You can’t help but moan around him again and again, eyes glazed, desperate.

But then, to your dismay, he slows.

And then he stops.

You whine, brows knitting together as he pulls out of your mouth, his cock heavy and flushed, spit-slick and twitching just inches from your lips. You blink up at him, lips wet and trembling, throat aching and still wanting more.

He doesn’t let you whine or complain before his hand is pulling yours away from yourself, tugging you up from your knees. Your legs are unsteady, muscles cramped and shaky from the floor, but he doesn’t give you time to adjust. In one swift movement, you’re off the ground, hauled up and over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“Hey!” you gasp, hands scrabbling at his back, your stomach squished against the hard plane of his shoulder.

He swats your ass—hard—the sound sharp in the hallway. You yelp again, and his voice drops to a low, lethal hiss.

“Quiet.”

He carries you past Sarah’s door, the floor creaking beneath his boots, his arm tight around the backs of your thighs to keep you in place. You bite your lip, breath catching in your throat as you pass the one room you’ve never dared to enter.

And then he opens it.

His door.

The space is dark and warm, and you only have a second to process it before you’re flung onto the bed.

You land with a soft grunt, arms propping you up as you sit up to look at the man before you. He takes off his shirt, shucking off his jeans with haste, and is on you in the next breath. 

“Ain’t about to let you come all by yourself on those fingers,” he says, reaching for your thighs and yanking them toward the edge of the bed with one rough pull.

His hands are already on you again, calloused palms spreading your thighs apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh until you gasp.

Joel groans in his throat, his eyes still on your glistening center, thighs shaking and slick with yourself. Your red cheer top is still on, bunched up slightly, your stomach showing and quivering under his touch. 

He grips your thighs harder and spreads them wider, dragging you to the edge of the bed until you can feel his breath against your skin. His eyes never leave your pussy—pupils blown wide, jaw slack and lips parted like in awe. 

And then he dives in, no hesitation, no slow teasing or light licking. No, Joel Miller devours you. Like a man possessed.

His tongue flattens against your folds and drags up, slow and deep, tasting everything. Your head is thrown back at the feeling, a moan escaping you before you have the wherewithal to keep yourself quiet.

“Christ,” he mutters, mouth slick with you, “tastes better than I ever coulda’ dreamed, baby,”

Your hips buck up, and he throws an arm over your stomach, pinning you down.

“Nuh-uh, you stay still,” he growls, nose nudging your clit before his mouth wraps around it, sucking. His tongue sends your vision white. 

“Oh my–oh my god,” you gasp, crying out, hands clawing for his hair, nails scraping his scalp as he eats you out like it’s the last fucking supper. He moans into you, beard soaked and eyes hooded, watching you squirm. But just as your thighs begin to shake, your moans getting high and choked and frantic–

He stops. Your hands fall from his thick hair, gripping the sheets instead as you whimper. You open your eyes to look down at him, nearly sobbing at the loss.

“What’d I say about bad girls?” he asks, voice gravel and sin. 

“I’ll–I’ll be good,” you stammer, breathless, “I’ll be good, Mr. Miller, I swear–”

He nips the side of your thigh, and your thighs still shake with the aching tension lost from them. “Come on now, baby,” he purrs, “call me Joel. Think we’re past the formalities when your pussy’s soakin’ my face.”

Your face burns red hot, stomach tightening and flipping on itself at the deepness of his sex drunk voice.

“Please,” you whisper, “please, Joel, let me come.”

But he’s already pushing himself up, stroking his pulsing cock in one hand, eyes on the slick mess between your legs.

“No,” he says, voice rough, “not yet.”

You let out a soft whine, your legs still twitching, your body begging.

He climbs over you, slow and deliberate, crowding your space. He nudges you up the bed with the weight of his body, palms guiding you like you’re something delicate. His knees cage your thighs, and his hand finds your ribs, broad and warm and steadying. His thumb curls under the hem of your uniform top.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?” he says, and you’re surprised when it’s said so gently, even if his eyes hold a hunger so deep they’re nearly black. You nod, lifting your arms up, and he pulls it over you swiftly, throwing it to the side of the bed. His eyes fall to your chest, and his hand is back on you, splayed wide against your skin.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he whispers, breath ghosting over your pebbled breasts. You shiver, hips lifting unconsciously, and you feel the pulse of his hard cock against your thigh.

He leans in, taking your peaked nipple into his mouth, so warm and wet. Your back arches at the feeling of his tongue lapping over you, teeth grazing until he releases your breast with a soft pop, kissing between the valley until he finds the other nipple, treating it to the same gentle worship.

His lips move up to your throat then, slow, hot, the kind of open-mouth kiss that's more tongue than anything else. You gasp as he finds the crook in your neck, goosebumps rising as your back arches into him.

You feel his wide, open palms slide beneath you, one pressing into the small of your back, the other across your shoulders. You feel the shift in his body before he moves. His muscles tighten as he gathers his strength, and then he’s rolling you over. 

He turns smoothly, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of movement, his hands still wrapped around you. But as you find yourself on top of him, in his lap, you sit upright.

“You wanna come so badly, baby?” he murmurs. “Then take it.”

Your eyes go wide as you look down at him, palms splayed across his chest, feeling the heat and sweat slick over taut muscle. He’s burning beneath your hands, every breath you take ragged and shallow.

Whatever you had been expecting tonight, whatever you had thought would happen the more and more you goaded him, it wasn’t this. 

Joel Miller was filthy and delicious and feral. 

“Go on,” he says at your hesitation, “show me how much you like when your best friend’s daddy touches you.”

Your breath shudders out of you, his hands finding your hips and gently brushing his thumbs against your heated skin.

You reach down, moving your hips back to make space for your hand to wrap around the base of his cock. The moment your fingers make contact, his eyes flutter shut, his breath hissing out of him. You watch his face as you position yourself above him, teasing the head through your slick folds, dragging it up against your clit. 

You take a deep breath as his cock catches the notch of your entrance, his eyes flashing open at the sudden feeling of you sinking onto him. You roll your hips, adjusting to him, his hands tight against your hips. 

“Fuck,” he chokes.

The stretch of him as you glide down him slowly, gently, nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s too much, way too much. But it’s so perfect, the sheer girth and stretch of him making your eyes roll back. Your mouth falls open as you inch your way down, down down, until you’re fully sheathed over him, your hips meeting his. 

You sit there for a moment, rolling your hips a bit back and forth, around, letting yourself feel every vein, every nook and crevice of him, and when you look up at your face, a breathless little smile grows on your lips.

“This got you all worked up, Joel?” you purr, “All that grumpy ass attitude, you just needed this, didn’t you?”

You move again, adding a little bounce, and his jaw slackens, his grip tightening on you.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, nearly wrecked.

“You’re so easy, Mr. Miller,” you hum, rocking over him again, “all that control, that stoicism, just…gone.” 

He narrows his eyes, something dangerous flickering there. He bares his teeth, voice tight and low.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, growls,  “Keep runnin’ that slutty mouth of yours, see where it gets ya.”

You lean in close, hands moving to his hair, lacing your fingers through his thick locks as your lips press to his ear, “Where, Joel?” you whisper, “What’re you gonna do? Punish me?”

His grip on you shifts, he moves his hands up your body, mirroring your hands and pushing his through your hair, wrapping tight at the nape of your neck. He yanks your head back, exposing your neck. Your breath catches, somewhere between surprise and delight. Your pussy clenches around him at the feeling, and he groans beneath you.

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you?” he hisses, “I give you a little control, let you ride my dick, and you already have shit to say, huh?”

His hips thrust up hard, and you choke on a moan. The new angle makes you jolt as he drives into you, deep and unrelenting, hitting places he hadn't before.

You cry out when he keeps moving, hips grinding in steady, punishing strokes, each one pushing deeper, like he’s chasing something inside you only he knows how to reach.

“Fuck, Joel!” 

“There she is,” he says, lips kissing and teeth nipping at your jaw as he holds you in place by your hair, “there’s my filthy little girl. Pussy is so tight, practically drippin’ all over my cock. Still doesn’t stop that little mouth of yours, does it?”

You try to grind down on him, and he chuckles darkly, “You like the way my cock fill’s you, huh baby?” he mutters, voice thick, groaning at the feeling of you, “Like the way I stretch you, fill you up? S’like you were made for me, huh?”

You nod, your voice completely wrecked as you moan.

“Tell me..” 

Your cheeks burn, “Y-yeah,”

He tuts, fingers clinging harder to your hair, “Try again.”

“Feels so fucking—so fucking good, Joel,” you whisper, “please, please–want more,”

He hums in satisfaction, loosening his grip on your hair. Your neck aches, sore and stretched, but the second your eyes drop to his, his mouth is on yours.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs against your lips, voice low and rough. “Now ride me like you mean it.”

You sit back up, hips moving in slow, deliberate circles at first, testing what he likes, watching his eyes flicker with each shift and grind. Joel’s hands slide from your thighs to your waist, up your sides, palms rough as they settle there. 

“Look at you,” he says, “Ridin’ me so sweet now. Just needed a little direction, huh?”

You gasp as his hands drag up, thumbs brushing under your breasts before his palms cup them, fingers curling around your nipples. He rolls them slowly, tugging just enough to make your hips jolt, your mouth falling open in a broken moan.

“That’s it,” he groans, “Feel good?”

You nod, biting your lip.

“Show me,”

You lift one hand from his chest, one still bracing against him for balance while the other slips between your legs. Your fingers trace around your lower lips, feeling them stretch around his cock until they slide up and find your clit. The little bundle of nerves is still slick and swollen from the edge he’d pulled you off, and you start to circle it, starting to slowly build up the pace as he watches.

“Jesus,” he mutters, hips pushing up into you, “Touchin’ yourself on my cock like a good girl.”

You whimper, the pressure building up again so easily as you watch his face. His dark hair is all mussed and sticking to his forehead with a wet sheen of sweat, eyes on you, barely blinking as he watches your fingers.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he pants, voice rough and strained. “Gonna soak me like that pretty pussy’s meant to?”

“Kiss me,” you blurt out.

His eyes flicker up to yours.

You slow your fingers, breath catching, heart pounding in your throat.

“Want you to kiss me again, Joel,” you whisper, trembling. “Please.”

Something shifts in his expression, his hand moving from your breast to your cheek, cradling your face so gently it nearly aches. You lean into him, nuzzling his wide, warm palm as he begins to sit up.

As he leans forward, his cock still buried inside you, he uses one hand to prop himself up while the other holds you, and he presses his lips to yours.

It’s not filthy this time. At least, not at first. At first, it’s just a gentle press of his lips, soft and tender against yours. But as you moan and rock against his cock, his hand moves into your hair, pulling you closer to him, and his tongue breaches the opening of your mouth. You kiss him back hungrily, his mouth tasting like something sweet and heady, like you. 

As your tongue slides against his, Joel groans softly. He shifts his hips, just slightly, enough for you to feel him inside you, a reminder, still hard and thick and pulsing.

You begin to move again, grinding yourself faster and faster, your walls beginning to tighten around him. You open your eyes when his lips fall from yours, his jaw slack and brows furrowed tight. You clench around him, and a guttural groan escapes from his throat.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans, then his eyes open, looking up at you, “come on now, baby. Can feel how badly she wants to come all over me. Let me feel it, please. Let me feel you come all over me.”

He meets every one of your thrusts now, cock reaching the deepest parts of your cervix, hands sliding down your back, guiding your movement, your hips, and you follow the rhythm instinctively. His cock hits an angle inside you that has you shrieking his name.

“There it is, baby, can feel it right there,” he chants, “come on now, give it to me.”

Your breath stutters, your hand holding onto his shoulder for dear life as your fingers work your clit faster and faster. 

Suddenly, your vision pops with stars, head tilting back, mouth held open in the perfect ‘o’ as you gush around him. Your orgasm crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming, your body clenching and shivering around him. 

He holds you through it, one arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other gripping your thigh as you twitch and shudder through the last pulses of your orgasm. His hips start to stutter—uncontrolled now, jerking deeper like his body’s no longer listening to him.

“F-Fuck—fuck, baby,” he pants, voice ragged and unraveling, “I’m—Jesus—I’m gonna—”

“Yes, Joel,” you breathe, voice wrecked and sweet in his ear, “come inside me.”

He falters, choking on a breath, still thrusting helplessly as your words wrap around him as he pulls back to look at you.

“Wh-What?”

“It’s okay,” you whisper again, voice low and urgent, “I have an IUD, come inside me, please,” 

His eyes widen, glassy, and stunned, but you keep going.

“Wanna feel you when I fall asleep,” you murmur, hips rocking gently into his, “when I wake up tomorrow. Want the reminder. Want it dripping out of me. Please, Joel.”

That’s it.

He lets go with a broken sound, the muscles in his abdomen tightening as he drives into you one last time—deep and hard and final. His cock throbs inside you, and he comes with a low, brutal groan into your neck, his whole body shaking against yours.

He stays buried deep, breath hitching in your ear as he presses his chest to yours, both of you slick and panting. His back finally hits the mattress, and he pulls you with him, your bodies still tangled, his arms never leaving your waist.

You collapse against his chest, cheek pressed over his racing heart, both of you trembling and silent for a long moment.

His hand finds the small of your back, tracing lazy circles against your damp skin as your breathing starts to settle. The room is quiet now, the storm of what just happened still buzzing faintly in the air between you. You shift slightly against his chest, and he pulls you closer.

Then, after a long pause, you hear him say, “You’re…you’re not drunk, are you?”

You huff a laugh against his collarbone “No.”

He waits, though, still uncertain.

“I had one drink,” you say, lifting your head to look at him. He lifts a brow at you.

“Okay, two.” You roll your eyes. “But I swear, not drunk. Not even tipsy.”

He nods, slow. His jaw’s tight again, but not in anger this time—more like restraint. Like he’s keeping something bigger from getting loose.

“Just didn’t wanna…” He clears his throat. “Didn’t want you to wake up tomorrow and…”

You blink at him, “Regret this?” you ask, and your hand moves up to cup his scruffy jaw, “how could I regret somethin’ that I’ve been thinking about every time you so much as look at me?”

Joel stares at you.

Like really stares.

And you just smile a little harder, curling into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, covering his face with one hand, the other still cradling your hip. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin into his chest. “Might be a good way to go.”

And Joel—tired, wrecked, full of you—just laughs.

Really laughs.

And that’s how the night ends. Not in panic. Not in guilt.

But with your legs tangled up, and Joel Miller already falling for you.

[thewalkingdilf]

daryl and a size kink. like... he's such a big boy. bulky, broad, strong. i want him to crush me while he absolutely ruins me.

Ohh absolutely 😩😩 the fact that he can manhandle you anyway he likes would turn him on even more. One of his favourite things to do would be to just sit and watch while your small naked form desperately grinded on his thick thigh. He loved that he could pick you up with a single hand and bend you in any position he wanted 😈.

No but him jackhammering into you while his weight absolutely crushes you, your nails scratching his back, legs hooked into his back pulling yourself closer to his large frame, yeah that's the dream

Please send more anon 🤤