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daleyeahson · 3 months

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Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help.

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

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"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp.

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time”

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort.

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out.

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily.

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along famously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies.

It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea.

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself.

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back.

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm.

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod.

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt.

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing.

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body.

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek.

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.”

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment.

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way”

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.”

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again.

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.”

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile.

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists.

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt.

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing.

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly.

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer.

“I sure do.”

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can.

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath.

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit.

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him.

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now.

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically.

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge.

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth.

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again.

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him.

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless.

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him.

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans.

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick.

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!

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daleyeahson · 4 months

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The DJO spinning charms are here!! 🎱💙

Super happy with how these came out, and they’re still available for pre 0rder in my bio!

#HOW CUTE IS THAT #I love it #djo

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daleyeahson · 4 months

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WHAT THE FUUUUUCK

creep it real! | joel miller x f!reader

summary: a masked angel. a rugged cowboy. you're the answer to joel's prayers...until he realizes who you are.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 9.8k warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] smut, age gap (20s/50s), dbf!joel comes with his own warning, a bad case of hidden identity leading to what one could maybe call dubcon*, semi-public sex, just a smidgen of degradation (joel calls reader a slut), hints of mean!joel, brief daddy kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (we're living in a make believe world in this one, folks), mirror sex, creampie, use of a gag, one (1) pussy slap, spit in places it doesn't need to be, reader has hair and wears make up, hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, alcohol, reader's family celebrates halloween, allusions to past parental trauma. no use of y/n. *reader deceives joel by concealing her identity up to the point of kissing. consent is knowingly given for everything thereafter.

a/n: for mimi @mrsquill, who gave me this idea and for being the biggest dbf!joel whore i know. happy belated birthday, angel. also thank you to @joelscruff for accidentally beta'ing this.

my kofi | updates blog: @swiftispunkupdates

It's cooler than it should be.

The end of October has brought with it a chill you don't recall from your years growing up in Texas. Or maybe it's just been too long since you've been home.

You stare yourself down the mirror of your vanity. The light blue wood of it is faded with time, sticky drawers barren save for the remnants of memories from days gone by; letters from now-dead grandparents, Polaroids with now-lost friends, empty tubes of now-out-of-fashion lipstick shades.

Everything around your reflection is the same as it was when you'd left this place five years ago, a frame of youthful innocence. The person staring back at you, however, is anything but innocent, even if she is donning the wings of an angel.

No. Surrounded by the leftovers from your childhood, the angel in the mirror is all woman.

And she looks good.

A white, boned corset hugs the curves of your upper body, pushing your tits up high on your chest and accentuating the slopes of your waist. The strapless sweetheart neckline shows off your collarbones deliciously, the long line of your neck accented by a thin, white choker. A flowing satin skirt fans out over your hips, cutting off at the midpoint of your thigh, just a hint of skin showing between the hem and the lace edge of your white thigh-high stockings.

You adjust the ribbony straps that hold the feathered, white wings in place over your shoulders, fan your hair out and tousle it slightly, testing out your very best smile before letting it fall, satisfied.

You debate whether or not to even wear the stupid mask. Gaudy and ornate, you have to admit it matches the rest of your costume beautifully, with silver gems glued to one side and a sheer, white veil that you know will conceal most of your face. Perfect for the masquerade bar crawl your high school friends are dragging you to later this evening. A bit much for your father's annual Halloween Bash you feel obligated to attend first.

Resignedly, you slip it on - practice that smile again. It's the only part of your face still visible.

Just one piece remains, sitting on the vanity, white and dainty and looking up at you somewhat menacingly. You slip the garter over your leg and wedge it high up on your thigh, concealed under the flouncy fabric of your skirt like a secret.

You take one last look at the obnoxious cleavage spilling out over the edge of the corset and decide, at least for now, to opt for modesty. You carefully remove your wings and follow the scent of naphthalene to your closet, fish out an old cardigan and throw it over your exposed shoulders. A relic from another life, it's a few sizes too small, fuzzy and a shade of ivory that doesn't quite match the perfect white of the skirt. The sleeves hit just below your elbows and the fabric clings a little too tightly to your form but it's better than the alternative.

Pearlescent buttons line its front, and you seal them right to the top, so only a hairsbreadth of flesh is poking out below the silver cross at the centre of the choker.

Better.

You slip your wings back over your arms, smooth out the straps and finally leave the woman in the mirror behind.

Creep it real!

The words line the banner that hangs above your father's front door, just one of many cheesy puns and hokey decorations that litter the main floor of his home.

It's too fucking much. It's always too fucking much. Your dad's favourite holiday for as long as you can remember, Halloween is always a bit of a production.

You help string cotton cobwebs from the ceilings and stick cartoonish bats to the wood-panelled walls. Your mother, dressed as the perfect Bride of Frankenstein, makes punch and fills bowls with chips and candy while your father, dressed as her perfect monster, puts the finishing touches on the lawn display, all gravestones and skeletons and intricately carved jack-o-lanterns. You watch him through the front window with a dubious smile as he gets the smoke machine going. Easily his most prized possession, it had been a lucky find at a yard sale from a neighbour who'd once worked in set direction.

It's funny how, after all these years, your parents haven't changed a bit. It's also funny how seemingly easy it is for them to pretend you hadn't left on bad terms.

"Thanks for helping out, kiddo," your dad's saying as he makes his way back inside, snatching a black plastic spider from your hand and reaching up over your head to the corner of the window pane, lodging it into place in a tangle of cotton. "Nice to have you home."

You give him your best smile, that one you'd practiced so much it probably looks as phony as it feels.

"It's nice to be back," you tell him even though it's a lie. "Thanks for putting me up."

He frowns. "We're not putting you up; this is your home."

It's a nice sentiment but it's not really true. This hasn't been your home in years and you've been more than content to keep it that way. Even now, you've got no plans to stay beyond this weekend, already bored and tired of the life you'd left behind.

"I know it is, Dad, sorry," you amend for his benefit.

"You're a good sport stickin' around for the party, too," he adds.

"Sure," you shrug, although you're selfishly much more interested in getting to the bar and finding someone who will hopefully make it so you don't have to spend the night at your parent's house.

"I think some folks'll be surprised to see you," he goes on. "Dropped in so last minute, I didn't get the chance to tell anyone you'd be home."

Yeah - you know. It had been a somewhat intentional move on your part, knowing all too well how your parents would make a thing out of your return. Plus, you hadn't really planned to be here, either; the timing had just worked out as you'd happened to be passing through the Austin for work. It had felt almost wrong not to stop in for a few days. Try to put appearances and make nice.

"It's fine, I probably won't hang out too long anyway." Best not to get his hopes up.

He grins warmly, tells you to stay as long as you want, and then your conversation is abruptly cut off by your mother blasting 'Monster Mash' through the living room speakers.

Twilight fades into dusk fades into night and the party is in full swing.

The sound of music and a cacophony of voices fills the air, clinking beer bottles and thrumming bass echoing loudly in your ears where you stand against a wall, mostly keeping to yourself unless otherwise spoken to. The living room is dimly lit by a superfluous display of electronic tea lights, casting an orange glow over the crowd of faces that you assume would be familiar if they weren't obscured by smatterings of fake blood, glitter and silicone.

One figure stands out among the throng though, perhaps because he doesn't seem to have put much effort into his costume at all. The dark plaid that stretches across the expanse of his back unleashes a flood of memories (or more accurately, a distant collage of schoolgirl fantasies). You recognize him beyond a doubt, even before he turns to the side and reveals that unmistakable hooked nose and strong jaw, patchy facial hair that's a little greyer now than it was when you used to daydream about how it would feel brushing against your cheek.

Joel Miller.

Your father's oldest friend from down the road, he's broader than you remember him, thicker in the arms and midsection, the latter especially noticeable in the way his belly strains over the waistband of his jeans, confined by plaid tucked into well-worn denim, all accented by an ostentatious belt buckle. His face is partially cast in shadow by the off-white cowboy hat he's wearing, the ensemble capped off by a faded red bandana tied clumsily around his wide neck.

And fuck, if it doesn't suit him. There's something almost natural about the way he tips his hat at passing partygoers, the way he leans against the wall opposite you and hooks a thumb over the massive belt buckle, the engraved metal shining faintly in the low light. Gripping the neck of a beer bottle with his other hand, he's a man plucked straight from a Marlboro ad, even more beautiful now than the last time you saw him - years ago now.

Your heart nearly stops when his eyes suddenly flit upwards and catch yours across the room. He smirks, a lop-sided, curious thing and it's only then you realize you're fucking staring.

You avert your eyes, scan the crowd without seeing anything, only to land your gaze on him again. He hasn't looked away. You stiffen where you stand, hold his stare for a second too long. You swallow harshly and his smile widens.

Christ, you need a drink. Your heart's pounding as if there's anything more to that smile than an old family friend politely recognizing his best friend's daughter.

But then his eyes rake over your front, not-so-subtly fixating on the skin above your stockings. He tilts his head to the side, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he were assessing you. Even from here, under the low glow of synthetic candlelight, you see a muscle in his jaw click, plush lips pursing as his dark eyes trail back up your chest, landing on your masked face before he brings his beer bottle back up to his mouth and takes a long pull. His eyes don't leave your face.

Okay, maybe you're not imagining it. Sweet, reserved, respectful Joel (a single dad if your memory serves) is definitely eye-fucking you from across the room right now. In your father's home. Like he doesn't care at all that he once knew you as a child.

You resist the urge to pinch yourself.

Instead, you decide to test the waters. Bite your lip and flit your gaze to his mouth, watch him as you turn towards the kitchen and catch the moment he decides to follow.

Not imagining it.

It's lighter in the kitchen, the sound of the party dulled but not entirely silenced beyond the wall. Safer, private.

You feign nonchalance, crouching to retrieve a beer from the fridge, blissfully aware that the boots you hear against the linoleum a moment later belong to Joel without needing to look up and see for yourself.

Sure enough -

"S'a nice costume," a gruff says from behind you. You jolt upright, beer in hand, to face the source of the sound. And there's the Marlboro man in all his glory, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a playful glint in his eye and a devilish smile plastered to his face.

You grin, cheeks warming at the way he looks you over in the light of the kitchen, so much brighter here than in the living room, staring at your chest as though he could see right through the thin fabric of your cardigan.

You work to play it cool, even as your skin burns under the weight of his stare.

"You think?"

You twist to the side, giving him a better view of the entire ensemble, wings and all. You figure there's no need for subtly at this point; wrong or right, the way he's looking at you now tells you he hasn't just followed you into the kitchen for a quick hello.

"Yeah, I do," he says, inching further into the room. "Go on, let me see all of it."

Jesus. Joel's apparently given up on subtly too. You suppose it could be interpreted as harmless. But then you spin for him, all the way around so the soft fabric of your skirt flutters around your thighs. You come to a stop facing him, watch his smile fade to something darker when you daringly lift the hem of your skirt to reveal the garter with a smirk.

And if there was going to be a moment for him to decide that you'd taken things too far, that would be it. But he doesn't. Instead, he stalks even closer, eyes fixed on the edge of your skirt, almost entranced in the way he shakes his head.

"So fuckin' sexy," he marvels quietly.

"Oh my god."

The words escape you almost like a laugh because there's just no fucking way. Every fantasy you've ever had is being brought to life before your eyes. A moment imagined in a thousand different ways. Joel Miller finally seeing you as an object of desire. Joel Miller undeniably wanting you.

He instantly flushes at your reaction, setting his empty beer bottle down on the counter and removing his hat to run a nervous hand through his hair. And it's the first sign you see of the Joel you think you know - polite, charming. Disarmingly good-mannered.

"Sorry, comin' on a bit strong, I guess," he chuckles. He holds his hat to his chest and reaches his other hand between your bodies. You stare at it in confusion. "I'm Joel. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Oh."

Another involuntary reaction, whispered and soft as realization smooths across your features.

No wonder he's being so callous with his advances; Joel doesn't know who you fucking are.

Faced with a dilemma, you very quickly work through your options. You know what you should do, what the morally right decision is. You should be honest, tell him your name, remove your mask. Watch him grapple with embarrassment and politely leave you to it. You can't imagine he'd carry on with you if he had any idea you were his friend's daughter.

But then again...he already wants you. Right? And you wholeheartedly want him. So what if he doesn't know who you are? Maybe part of you likes it that way. You're not the same person you were the last time he saw you anyway.

You will tell him the truth, you decide. Just...not yet.

You take his hand in yours and shake.

"Tonight, cowboy, you can just call me Angel."

Joel grins, cocks his eyebrows and chuckles. "Oh yeah?"

You don't get a chance to respond because then he's bringing your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your knuckles and the words die on your tongue, your mind temporarily going blank at the feeling of his scruff scratching at the back of your hand and his dark gaze peering up at you from under his lashes.

"Alright, then Angel."

No. You're definitely not telling him the truth yet.

He lets your hand fall and puts his hat back on before leaning an elbow casually against the kitchen counter. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, revealing thick forearms and tan skin. Unconsciously, you gravitate closer.

"S'quite the party, huh?" he grins, cocking his chin in the direction of the music and orange light emanating from just around the corner.

You shrug. "It's fine. I'm not staying long. Going out to a club soon."

You don't miss the way his smiles falters just the slightest bit.

"You live in the neighbourhood?" he asks. "Don't think I've seen ya around before."

"Haven't you?"

"Woulda remembered, I reckon."

You have to bite back a laugh at that.

"Well, I used to live around here, but I moved away a few years back," you shrug. It's technically not a lie.

"But you're back in town," he says. States it. Not a question.

"For now."

Joel smirks, drags his eyes over you again, contemplative. Still, no sign of recognition passes over his features, only unbridled interest that makes your cheeks burn and your mouth water.

"What made you leave?" he wonders after a moment of charged silence, his wandering gaze finally landing on the one part of your face he can see.

Now there's a loaded question. Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead as you consider how best to answer him, attempting to bide yourself some time as you ease your body closer to his with a pointed sway of your hips.

"You know, I don't really like to think about the past," you land on and right now it couldn't be more true.

Joel chuckles, brows knitting together somewhat dubiously at the response. Thankfully, he doesn't push it.

"What are you drinkin', Angel?" he asks, his eyes darting down to the beer bottle in your hand.

"Oh - beer," you tell him. "You want one?"

"Won't say no to ya," he smiles.

You turn back to the fridge, bending at the hip rather than crouching this time, fully aware of the view you're offering him. If he reacts, you don't hear it, but when you face him again, beer in hand, his arms are crossed over his chest and his cheeks are painted a faint shade of pink.

Good.

You extend one of the bottles out to him, eyes fixed on the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. His fingers ghost against yours when he takes the bottle from your hand and it shoots an electric tingle down your spine.

"Bottle opener's in there," you tell him, nodding towards the drawer he's currently leaning against. He follows your gaze and seems to consider moving for a moment. Then he grins.

"I got it," he says, placing his own bottle on the counter. Your brows furrow and then your jaw drops as Joel then begins to fiddle with his belt buckle, undoing the notches so it hangs loose around his waist.

Your pulse quickens and you nervously look over your shoulder, suddenly terrified of someone walking in on you.

"S'alright," Joel assures you, redrawing your attention. When you turn back to him you he's holding a hand out to you. "Let me see."

He nods towards the bottle and you silently hand it to him, entranced. Then you watch as he deftly hooks the edge of the silver buckle under the lip of the bottle cap. He flicks his wrist upwards and with a sizzling pop, the cap goes flying, landing with a quiet clang onto the tiled floor.

"Wow," you murmur, genuinely impressed and suddenly unable to tear your eyes away from his fucking crotch.

Joel seems to notice the response, taking you by surprise as he places the bottle on the counter and wraps his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling you into him. Your bodies don't touch but you can feel the heat radiating off him from here, the static buzz that fills the remaining space between you.

"Old party trick," he jokes, voice low.

You find yourself peering towards the kitchen door again. Joel notices that too.

"Hey," he murmurs, catching a finger on your chin to turn your face back in his direction. You swallow against the nerves suddenly bubbling up in your throat.

"S'this alright?" he asks as he traces his fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You nod.

"Yeah," you decide, throwing caution to the wind and pressing your hips forward till you feel the hard metal of his loosened belt buckle jutting into your stomach.

He hums, a sound deep in his chest, and it's all you can do just to stand there as he curiously runs his fingers over your shoulder, smirking as he fiddles with the feathers of your wings and inspects the costume up close, dark brown eyes scaling hungrily up and down your body. His hand moves downward then, over the fabric of your cardigan, thinly veiling the bones of the corset beneath and you wonder if he can feel them, if he knows what you're hiding when he rests his palm against your waist and pulls you in just that little bit closer.

His gaze lands on your parted lips and there's a moment of heated anticipation where you're certain he's going to kiss you, the smell of him so close and inviting.

"No halo?" he whispers instead, cocking his eyebrows and lifting his gaze to the top of your head. "Shouldn't a good little angel have a halo?"

Oh, fuck.

"Well, maybe I'm not such a good little angel," you purr, only the hint of a shake in your voice as you widen your eyes and bat your lashes for good measure. You swear you hear his breath stutter before he's shaking his head in near-disbelief. You smirk; it's exactly the reaction you'd been hoping for.

"Anyway, the halo felt like overkill," you shrug.

Joel scoffs, glancing down to grab at the fabric of your skirt. Your brain short-circuits as he hikes it up your leg, revealing the white lace garter sat high on your thigh.

"And this?" he questions darkly. "You're tellin' me this ain't overkill?"

You laugh even though it's not funny, even though arousal is steadily pooling at your core and coursing through your burning veins.

"Well, at least I put some effort in," you attempt to tease him lightly, answering the unrelenting grip he has on your skirt with a tug at the fabric of his shirt, fisting the plaid at his sides and trying not to think too hard about the fact that it's first time you've ever touched Joel Miller like this. That you're only here because of a shameful lie. "Bet you just had all this lying around the house, right, cowboy?"

Joel's lips twitch and he watches in wonder as you reach up and grab the cowboy hat off his head, planting it atop yours with a wink. Joel snakes a hand behind you to tip the rim back, showing him more of your masked face as you stare up at him expectantly.

"Now that's pretty," he marvels softly and then he's entwining a hand around the back of your neck and leaning in closer and there's no mistaking it now; he's going to kiss you and you want so badly to kiss him back but -

"Not here," you stop him with a firm hand on his chest. You don't know what the fuck you're doing, but it can't happen in your parent's kitchen. You give him his hat back and he groans as he yanks you in closer when you try to pull back.

"What exactly are we doin', honey?"

"Just come with me?" you suggest breathlessly, untangling yourself from his grasp and grabbing him by the hand. He doesn't argue, just nods and lets you lead him out of the kitchen. You cautiously watch your back, make sure no one sees you dragging Joel Miller up the carpeted stairs and into the concealed darkness of a second-floor hallway.

There's a beat as you size each other up, eyes adjusting to the lack of light. Then Joel is crowding you against the wall, his gaze flitting over your masked face curiously.

You know in that moment the question he's asking. And you know in that moment what your answer should be. Take off the mask. Tell him the truth. Watch him walk away.

But instead, you hook your fingers into his belt loops and tug him into your body, crane your neck upwards and whisper, "Kiss me," praying to the heavens above you'll be forgiven for this.

You'll tell him. You'll tell him.

But right now you just want to kiss him.

Joel exhales sharply, hums a quiet assertion and then he's crashing his mouth into yours. Your head hits the glass of a framed photo behind you, a sting quickly remedied by the feel of his lips moving on yours, his hands cupping the sides of your face with a tenderness you wouldn't have expected.

His kiss is far from tender though, and for that, you're grateful. It's rushed and breathy, toothsome when his tongue invades the space between your lips. He tastes like beer and mint, and the masculine scent of his skin takes up the air around you as his broad frame encages you against the drywall. Your mind goes blank with the headiness of it, the coarse drag of his moustache along your skin soothed by the plush softness of his lips. Dreams of how that aquiline nose would feel bumping into yours, material at last.

His hands move lower then, traversing the line of your body, making you moan into his mouth while his touch ignites a fire inside you. You don't think, just impatiently begin to unbutton the pearly confines of your cardigan to reveal the corset beneath.

Joel breaks the kiss to glance down at your exposed chest and groan, his upper lip curling at the sight. His hands hover over the scratchy fabric, fingers twitching with another endearing flash of uncertainty. You stamp it out with an overly-confident graze of your palm over the bulge in his jeans, grinning when it makes his breath hitch, when you realize with a sick sense of triumph that Joel Miller is hard for you.

"Shit," he curses softly as he watches your hand work over him and you feel his cock come alive under your touch.

"Touch me, Joel," you quietly plead when his eyes finally find yours again.

He shakes his head.

"Wanna see you," he insists breathlessly, reaching up to toy with the edges of your mask.

You let your hand fall from his cock to swat his fingers away. Joel frowns.

"Where's the fun in that?" you ask innocently.

"Well," Joel hums, ducking forward to press his lips into the space below your ear. "I usually like knowin' who it is I'm about to ruin."

An involuntary shiver courses through you and when you speak, it's with a shake.

"You want to ruin me?"

His low chuckle echoes into the hollow of your ear while his teeth graze gently over the lobe. "Ain't that what you want, Angel?"

Oh, god. Fuck it then. It's now or never.

In a flash of movement, you tear the mask off your face and quickly clutch at Joel's curls, pulling him back into a bruising kiss before he can properly take you in. You take charge as best you can, languidly licking into his mouth and pressing your hips forward till they collide with his. Joel's response is swift, his arms wrapping around you and holding you prisoner against his body while his tongue begins to dance messily with yours.

And fuck, it's perfect. Your hips grinding against his is an almost unconscious thing, pure hunger taking over every other emotion until you feel it.

The way his body goes rigid and his lips still on yours.

Then the sudden, quiet grunt of protest against your mouth that has your eyes flashing open in response. It takes your brain a second to catch up, to notice that he's not looking at you but rather something right behind you.

Only then he does look at you and at last you see it click.

"Fuck - wait," Joel gasps, prying your mouths apart and pushing himself off you with two firm hands on your shoulders. Pathetically, your lips chase after his.

"Joel - " you whine, attempting to yank him back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. But those firm hands encircle your wrists and tear you away, forcing space between your bodies.

"You..." Joel shakes his head, glancing between you and whatever he's seeing behind you, his expression some mixture of shock and outrage. You peer over your shoulder and finally understand; your high school graduation photo is tacked on the wall beside your head, the beatific smile of a younger, more-optimistic you staring you both down in the quiet darkness of the hallway.

You sigh exasperatedly. "Joel, it's okay. It's fine."

"It ain't - " Joel scoffs lightly and drops your wrists, steps back out of reach. A painful knot of rejection curls in your stomach, made worse by the burning heat of guilt over your stupid, stupid lie. "It ain't fine."

"Joel, please, you wanted me just a second ago," you whisper and you hate that it sounds so broken, so needy. Your words seem to affect him though, his features softening into something almost pained. "Please, I-I'm not some little girl anymore."

His jaw tightens, conflict etching the weathered lines of his face. "I don't think that's how your old man would see it."

"You think I give a fuck what he thinks?" you demand, stepping forward. He doesn't touch you, but he doesn't move either. You sigh.

"You asked why I left town."

Joel frowns. "Yeah?"

"It's because of him, Joel. Both of them," you nod in the general direction of the stairs, to the place where music is thrumming and your parents are obliviously mingling. "I mean, we - we hardly even speak. You have no idea what they put me through."

Joel's eyes stay fixed on the stairs, to the light of the party shining up from below. You see it clear as day - that part of him telling him to run as fast as he can from this. But he doesn't. So you go on.

"They don't know me, Joel," you insist, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist. He turns back to face you and that pained look is back in his eyes. But he's drifting closer to you, hands stretching out in front of him like he wants so badly to touch you.

"You don't know me either," you breathe and at that, Joel scoffs. The pained look on his face gives way to something else and there's a shift behind his eyes as he frees his wrist from your grasp to press his hand into the wall beside your head.

"Actually, I think I do, little girl," he spits, leaning in close, the change in atmosphere taking you aback as your heart pounds violently in your ears. "You think I didn't hear it all from him? All your sneakin' around and actin' out? Runnin' away at eighteen? I know you."

"Who did you think I was running away from?" you bite back, petulant.

Joel shakes his head and chews on the inside of his lip, but you can see it, see the way his resolve is fading before your eyes.

"You're just - you're just a kid. He's my best friend."

You scoff.

"I hate him, Joel."

His eyes narrow and the sound of your pulse in your ears is almost deafening as Joel takes up all the space around you, something darker taking over his gaze, something menacing and delicious and promising.

"You know, that really ain't no way to talk about your daddy," he snarls.

You should flinch away from that tone, shrink and recoil from its threatening edge, its condescension. Instead, you gravitate towards it like a magnet, something warm and achy pulsing between your legs at his words.

"Maybe you need a little discipline," Joel grits out, grabbing roughly at your waistline, other hand still braced against the wall beside you.

And - oh. That really shouldn't turn you on as much as it does. Petulance quickly fades and you find yourself nodding frantically, overwhelmed as arousal swiftly burns through you, when you realize what you're on the precipice of.

"Maybe, I do," you breathe, crashing your pelvis forward into his and craning your neck up higher so your mouths are only an inch apart. Joel doesn't back away anymore. "Are you going to put me in my place, Joel?"

At that, his head falls forward and he's whispering, Goddamnit but it's too fucking late now.

Because his strong hands are clutching at your face as he presses his body weight into yours and he kisses you again, hungrier now and decidedly rougher. You whimper as his mouth moulds into yours, his hands moving to draw the silken fabric of your skirt up your thigh. His knee invades the space between your legs and forces them apart, while his lips greedily begin to trail below your jaw, sucking and nipping at the delicate skin of your neck. You curl your leg up over his waist and pull his body in closer, grind your clothed heat into the strong muscle of his thigh and hear him groan into your skin.

You claw at his back, clutching him to you as he plunges a hand between your thighs and cups your sex through your panties. The lacy fabric, wet with your arousal, scratches dizzyingly against your folds and your head falls back into the wall with a strangled sigh.

"This what you want?" he coaxes, strumming at your clit over your underwear.

"Yes - yes, Joel."

He bites down on your clavicle, pressing harder against your pussy, the tips of his thick fingers moving lower to brush your clothed entrance and cloud whatever is left of your judgment as you melt into his touch.

"Beg for it," he growls, taking you by surprise yet again. His free hand grabs you firmly by the jaw, and when his eyes find yours, there's a desperation burning in his blown-out browns, the lewdness of his request dulled by the impression you suddenly get that he needs to hear you tell him you want it. "Beg."

You don't deny him.

"Please, Joel," you plead pathetically, wriggling on his fingers and clutching desperately at fistfuls of plaid. "Please don't stop. I want this. I want you."

"Yeah?"

In lieu of an answer, you very quickly make a decision. Perhaps the stupidest of your life.

You bite your lip and unravel yourself from his embrace, tugging him hurriedly down the hall to your bedroom before you can think any better of it.

You pounce on him the second the door is locked behind you, throwing your arms around his wide neck and knocking his hat to the floor as you kiss him with newfound fervour.

"What're you doin'?" he demands but his hands are warm at the small of your back, holding you close.

"I said I want you," you repeat, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Joel swats your hands away, tearing his mouth from yours abruptly.

"Here?"

He glances around the room, seemingly well aware you've led him directly into your childhood bedroom, eyes raking over the juvenile details that remain here; flouncy wallpaper and patterned bed sheets, *NSYNC posters and a corner full of discarded stuffed animals.

You palm at his cheek to redraw his attention, marvelling at the feel of his scruff beneath your fingers.

"Here," you assert.

Joel sighs, long and ragged, almost tortured as he quietly curses under his breath. You stare back at him dolefully, daringly ducking forward to kiss the corner of his mouth and run your fingers through his greying curls.

"Fuckin' Christ," he snarls.

All hesitance fades as his fingers coil firmly around your wrists, pinning them to your sides and guiding you into the room till your lower back hits the edge of your vanity.

"Angel, my ass," he grits, big hands meandering below the hem of your skirt, stealing your breath as he hooks his fingers under the lace edge of your panties. "You're a bad fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

You barely manage a soft, "Mhmm," before he's shimmying your underwear down your legs, taking care not to disrupt the garter around your thigh. He encourages you up onto the vanity, trinkets and make-up and perfume bottles clattering underneath you as you spread your legs for him and wrap them around his waist.

"Wanna taste you," he whispers urgently, like he's afraid he'll change his mind. You shudder as he ghosts his lips down your chest, laying open-mouthed kisses over the exposed skin above your breasts.

"Oh fuck," you whine as Joel falls to his knees between your legs and pushes your thighs further apart, making space for those broad shoulders. He positions your left leg over his shoulder and hooks his arms beneath your knees, dull fingernails digging into tender flesh. "Please."

"Shut up," he growls as his teeth come down on the skin of your inner thigh, chastising. And you know he's right, know you have to find the will to stay quiet. You curl your bottom lip between your teeth and let your head fall into the mirror behind you while Joel hungrily kisses his way closer to the apex of your thighs, groaning when he tastes the sticky slick that's already begun to coat the skin there.

You're throbbing - aching - for him to touch where you need it most and Joel doesn't tease you for long.

"Pretty fuckin' cunt," you hear him say and then his tongue is swiftly licking through the seam of your folds, sending an electric shock through every nerve in your body. Your mouth falls open in a gasp but Joel doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath, closing his lips around your clit and sucking harshly before pulling back with a lewd smack.

Your fingers are in his hair then, desperate to force him back onto you. Joel chuckles, glancing up at you with pink cheeks and wet lips.

"When's the last time someone ate your pussy, sweetheart?"

Too fucking long, you want to say but your brain can't form the words so instead you just whine and furiously shake your head from side to side.

"Oh, she's a needy thing, ain't she?" Joel murmurs darkly, eyes glinting with lust. "Been that long, huh?"

Now you nod, biting down harder on your lip to stop yourself from begging. Though Joel seems determined to make you.

"Poor little pussy," Joel says, making you shudder as he frees one of your legs from his grasp to press two fingers against your folds. He caresses you, languid swipes over your aching hole and your puffy clit, spreading your arousal tortuously till you meet his gaze, pleading.

"Please," you finally break, voice cracked. Joel smirks, triumphant.

"There she is," Joel smirks. Then you watch as he parts your lips with two fingers, exposing you fully to him before spitting onto your clit. Your eyes widen and you squeal at the sensation, watch him marvel at the sight of his own saliva mixing with your arousal as it drips down to your cunt before he catches it on his tongue and begins to devour you.

And fuck - the urge pinch yourself returns full force. Joel Miller, a man you've known most of your life, consumes your pussy like it's his last meal on Earth.

His mouth is hot and wet, eager with his efforts as he sucks and puckers over your folds. He teases you with his tongue, fucking it into your tight hole and making you writhe beneath him. Joel hums approvingly at the response, sending a fresh wave of sensation searing through you as you curl your leg around his shoulder and pull him in closer. His nose bumps against your clit and it's so good but it's not enough; you can't help it. You whine, high-pitched and broken as you wriggle your hips in search of more.

"Quiet now," Joel chides you, using the hand he'd been using to part your folds to lay a swift slap against your pussy. A wet smack fills the room and you arch your spine at the sudden, harsh contact on your sensitive cunt. Your knees instinctively come together but Joel holds them firmly apart, already diving forward to lap at your core once again.

You hiss through clenched teeth, nearly falling apart completely when he at last begins to carefully circle your clit with the tip of his tongue. Tight, practiced, impatient swirls that make your vision blurry and your toes curl. Your fingers slacken in his curls as you give in to him, let the sweet ministrations of his tongue bring you closer and closer to the edge.

Wetness gathers at your core when he flattens his tongue and lets you grind lazily against it, another quiet hum of approval encouraging you as a knot of pleasure begins to pull taut at your insides.

"More," you find yourself moaning softly.

You can feel his smile against you. "Yeah?"

"Please," you keen, rutting up into his mouth, not even entirely sure what it is you're asking for. It's so hot in here you can hardly think straight; your skin burns in the confines of your bedroom, under the heat of his mouth, layers of fabric and feathers clinging sticky to every part of you.

Joel cocks an eyebrow at you. "You gonna keep that pretty mouth shut?"

"Yeah - yes, I will, I promise," you ramble, grabbing wildly for his wrist, guiding it towards your centre.

"You want my fingers?" he asks like he doesn't already know.

"Please."

He shoos your hand before you can even get the word out, pinning it on the vanity beside you before sinking a thick finger into your heat, grunting as the warm, wet of you engulfs his digit. The back of your head collides with the glass behind you as Joel begins to fuck his finger in and out of you, quickly adding a second. You keen at the stretch, some strangled noise getting stuck in your throat as Joel chuckles lowly.

"You like that," he comments matter-of-factly as he hooks his fingers inside you and nudges at a spot seldom found by boys your age.

"Joel!" you gasp, too loud, and the fingers he has curled around your wrist tighten, a warning. You curse yourself, covering your mouth with your free hand in an attempt to contain the noises threatening to claw their way out of way.

Joel doesn't seem to be paying much attention anyway, enraptured as his mouth finds your clit again, fingers still working you open in shallow thrusts and beckoning little motions. His tongue flicks and sucks at the bundle of nerves and you don't know when or how but the hand that conceals your lips falls to clutch as his curls again, your hips grinding into his hot mouth and pushing his fingers deeper. You're so close now, can feel release ready to snap inside you.

"M'gonna stop f'you don't shut up," Joel murmurs against you, muffled wetly into your heat.

You hadn't even realized you'd been making any sound.

You think you whisper, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry but you don't know for sure because then Joel is pulling his fingers from you and gripping your ass under your skirt to hold you flush against his face, softly moaning around your clit as he laves at you, his tongue and mouth insistent, greedy.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," you're chanting and Joel hums a noise that sounds like a question as his eyes flash up to meet yours. You can only moan and nod, telling him without words, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop before your muscles tense and you're coming with such force your entire body preens with it, spine arching and slick pooling where his chins meets your pulsing core.

Joel eats you through it, offering no reprieve even when you begin to squirm and flinch with the come down, stars still bursting behind your eyes.

"Joel, fuck," you whine when it begins to feel too much. "Can't - "

He grunts, finally detaching his mouth from you. You shiver at the loss of his warmth, cry out without meaning to when he licks a parting stripe through your sensitive folds.

When your vision refocuses, you find he's staring up at you wrecked, pink lips swollen and slick staining his cheeks and chin. There's something else there too - that stupid, pained look, that unmistakable conflict.

"Goddamn," Joel groans softly, turning his face to bite at the garter around your inner thigh.

"Joel, it's okay," you find yourself saying. You grab at the bandana around his neck, try to force him to look at you again. "Fuck me. Please. I want you to fuck me."

Joel sighs, shallow and tight, shakes his head against your leg. "You're bad fuckin' news, kid."

You can't contain the smile that spreads across your face at that. "But you want me, too? Right?"

You pet his scruff till he finally meets your gaze. There's a resignation there, in that tortured stare he gives you. But there's also lust. Wanting. He wants you.

He nods.

"Then take me," you tell him.

There's a final moment of pause, of hesitance, as Joel looks over his shoulder towards your bedroom door. You follow his gaze, pussy aching with emptiness. Joel considers the door for a moment, then looks back at you, staring at him beseechingly.

Please don't leave now, you plead with your eyes.

Joel sighs and shakes his head. You watch with curious fascination as he then begins to tug at the bandana around his neck, loosening it enough to lift it over his head.

"Sit up," he orders you, and you do, Joel moving to stand over you. You can see how hard he is now, cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. He doesn't let you ogle for long though, tilting your chin up with a strong hand under your jaw and smushing your face under his calloused fingers as he hinges down to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue when he forces it into your mouth, his kiss all spit and slick and commanding dominance before he pries you off him.

"You're gonna behave," he tells you simply. Not a request, but an order as he drops his hand from your face.

"Yes, daddy," you say coyly with a big, toothy smile and Joel groans, exasperated. It makes you giggle.

"Christ," he growls with a shake of his head. "'Course you're one of those. Turn around."

He doesn't wait for you to obey, rather, he manhandles you down off the vanity and spins you away from him, bringing you face to face with your own reflection before a firm hand between your shoulders is pushing you down into the faded blue wood.

You go perfectly still, waiting, feeling the rough drag of denim against the back of your thighs and the hard metal of his belt buckle digging into your flesh. But Joel's not done.

He tugs at the straps of your wings, wriggling you loose from them along with your cardigan and leaving them discarded on the floor, all traces of innocence abandoned.

"Fuck," Joel breathes, eyes flitting wildly between the you before him and the you in the mirror, running a hand roughly down your spine, grabbing at every ridge and curve before landing on your hip and pulling you into him.

"Joel..." you whine and then you jolt, gasping when the tender hand on your hip makes harsh contact with your ass.

"What'd I say?" he chides you.

Before you have time to react, he's moving over you, leaning in close so his lips are right at your ear.

"You're gonna behave," he repeats. You nod but it makes no difference because then there's a flurry of red in the mirror, as Joel slips his bandana over your head. With rough but certain fingers, he tilts your chin upwards and hooks his fingers under the fabric.

"Open," he tells you and your lips part without argument.

You watch him in the mirror as he then pulls the makeshift gag up over your chin and forces it into your waiting mouth, soft, washed cotton pressing down on your tongue and scratching at your molars with how far he pushes it in.

"Bite down," he says and you do, lips straining around red, compelling you to breathe through your nose so all you can smell is the masculine scent of him embedded into the bandana's fibres, woodsy and salty and all-encompassing.

"Good girl," Joel offers and your eyes flutter at the praise. "God, look at you. Look."

His hand in your hair tugs your neck up, giving you no choice but to appraise your reflection as he hikes your skirt up to your waist and begins to unzip his jeans behind you.

You have to admit you look a mess, hair tousled and mascara smudged around your eyes, your mouth stretched obscenely around the bandana, involuntary drool already turning red to dark brown. If you'd thought the person staring back at you in this very same mirror was all woman before, now she is all girl, all mouldable and pliant and dutiful. All Joel's.

Your pussy clenches around nothing and you moan at that thought, impatiently pushing back into him when you hear the metallic clang of his belt hitting the floor.

"Yeah - gonna fuck you now," Joel vows, pressing down between your shoulder blades so your chest is flush with the vanity. Again, he yanks at your hair to keep your eyes up, keep you focused on your reflection when the hard line of cock notches at your entrance. "Watch."

You do watch, watch him as his brows furrow and his nose scrunches in concentration, staring at the place where your bodies are nearly connected before spitting a slow stream of saliva down on to your already drenched hole. He runs the tip of his cock up and down through your folds and you feel like you might go insane with want until finally, finally, he begins to sink inside with a hushed groan.

Your hands brace against the edge of the vanity as you writhe at the stretch, the burn of him filling you. It would almost be too much, you think, if the twinge of pain you feel at the intrusion wasn't one you found so delicious, wasn't a reminder that you don't think you've ever had something this big inside you before.

"Tight little pussy," Joel mutters through gritted teeth, voice strained. "Fuck me."

You whine, wish you could repeat his words right back to him. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

"What?" Joel goads, bottoming out inside you, stilling with two firm hands on your waist. "What do you want?"

You can only wiggle your hips and moan softly, a silent plea. Joel chuckles once.

"Yeah, I know," he purrs and then at last, Joel Miller is fucking you.

He wastes no time, starting a hurried pace, accented by the dull smack of skin on skin and laboured grunts passing through Joel's teeth. The vanity shakes beneath you, and you wish the rush of panic you feel at someone downstairs possibly hearing its incessant scraping against the hardwood didn't make your head spin with arousal, but it does. Or maybe it's just Joel's thick cock pounding into you, nudging at your cervix with each unforgiving stroke.

"This is what you needed, huh?" he's murmuring, voice low and dark. "A big, fat cock fillin' you up?"

Oh, god. You nod, whine around the gag, find his eyes in the mirror again and your knees go weak at the sight of his form looming over yours, the collar of his shirt askew, sweat dampening his forehead.

"Yeah? Dirty - fuckin' - slut."

You keen at that, push back into the place his hips meet yours and moan. Slick dribbles between your thighs and your pussy flutters around his length and of course, of course Joel notices the response.

"Oh - you like that, don't you?" he grunts, tugging at your hair once again and making your spine arch for him.

"Look," he repeats, coaxing you to lock eyes with your own depraved reflection, a fallen angel spilling out of a corset, willingly split open by her dad's best friend. "Look what a bad girl you grew up to be."

Another muffled moan is swallowed by his bandana, his words sending a lick of heat down your spine as something wild and heady begins to scratch at your nerves. His frame engulfs yours again, lips back at your ear as he whispers,

"Daddy's cock'll fix you."

Oh fuck. Your eyes roll back into your skull and you think you hear him laugh, a mocking sound that only drives you crazier, only makes your brain go foggier when he pulls back and clutches at your hips, fucking you so hard you feel tears prick at your eyes and a tightness start to build in your core all over again.

"Yeah, that's right," Joel rasps softly, breathless. "You wanna be good, don't you? Wanna be a good girl and come again for daddy? Go on, baby - come on daddy's cock."

You want to - fuck, you want to come again. You want to be so, so good for him. To show him you always could be. Your eyes begin to flutter closed as you crane onto your tippy toes to take him deeper, feel the drag of him against the sweetest part of you, hurtling towards release with each thrust of his hips against yours.

"Don't," Joel orders you, tapping your cheek with gentle intent till you open your eyes. "Want you to look at yourself when you come on my cock."

You immediately flit your gaze up to meet your reflection, see your cheek pressed into wood, eyes wet and mouth full of fabric. You barely register Joel reaching around you to toy sloppily with your clit before you're falling apart, coming with a silent scream and clenching down around his length.

"Good girl," Joel grants you raggedly as your body quivers under his and then goes limp, waves of your come gathering around his girth and dripping down his balls. "Fuck - that's so good, baby."

Joel fucks you relentlessly as your second orgasm crashes over you, chasing his own high as he begins to ramble wildly under his breath, his voice echoing hollowly in your pleasure-drunk mind as though he were speaking from very far away.

"Gonna fuckin' ruin you, baby girl. Gonna use this little pussy up. You're not gonna wanna take another cock for weeks."

You whimper tiredly, nod obediently. You're not sure you want to take another cock besides his ever again.

"Maybe I'll send ya out to that club with my come drippin' outta ya."

And you know it's stupid and careless and wrong to want that but you make a noise that sounds like yes please all the same. Joel groans.

"Say that again?" he presses you, the rock of his hips coming faster, more erratic.

Yes please, you try again, words turning into mumbled nothings against the gag.

"Shit," Joel curses lowly, and you're jolted back to almost-reality when he forcefully tugs the bandana from your mouth and air fills your lungs in a cool rush. "One more time."

"Please," you say, voice broken and hoarse. "Yes, please. Come inside me."

You think you catch him smirk in the mirror but it's quickly replaced by something else entirely, his jaw slackening as his breath begins to stutter and his chest begins to heave, a whispered chant of, oh shit oh shit oh shit your final warning before he's spilling deep inside you.

He hardly makes a sound as his big hands come down on the vanity beside your head, thick arms all around you as he pumps his load into you. He's biting down hard on his lower lip, doing a far better job of staying quiet than you are, tired little whimpers pouring from between your lips until he's folding over your back and covering your mouth with his palm again.

You stay like that, your breath hot against his hand and his lips in your hair, until he's emptied himself completely. He frees your mouth once it's over but stays glued to your back, a heavy weight above you as both your breathing levels out.

You both shiver when he pulls out, and there's a softness in the way he tilts your face towards his now, in the way he lazily licks into your mouth at the same time that his fingers reach between your bodies to catch the come dripping out of you and push it back inside.

Eons seem to pass before he's sighing and hoisting himself off you with a gentle, "C'mon, baby." He taps your sides as he steps away but you stay where you are. You're not sure you have it in you to move just yet.

You hear the buzz of his zipper and the clang of his belt buckle and then his hands are on you again, tentative as he pulls your skirt down over your ass and smooths out the fabric.

"Hey," he murmurs, and you're pleasantly surprised at the feel of his lips pressing sweetly into your upper back. "Come on."

He tugs at your arms, gently helping pull you upright and sighing again as he takes in the sight of you. You smile, almost bashful about it, Joel carefully lifting the bandana up over your head and adjusting your hair for you with a sigh. He crouches to retrieve your cardigan and fits it back over your shoulders before slipping you back into your angel wings.

"Look up," he says, and you do, holding perfectly still as he rubs his thumbs under your eyes, caressing away drying tears and smears of black make-up.

He tuts.

"You might wanna..." He makes an errant gesture with his hand at your tarnished visage, and you understand.

The ridiculousness of it all seems to catch up with you then and you giggle breathily, shaking your head as if to wake from some perfect, lucid dream.

"Thanks," you tell him. "Joel, I'm - I'm sorry for lying to you."

Joel licks his lips and you think for a moment he's going to tell you off, scold you like you probably deserve. But then he grins and there he is again - the Joel you remember from before.

"Guess I can't really complain," he concedes, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "You're, uh - you're somethin' else, sweetheart."

You smile and Joel sighs, finally letting his hand fall. You watch him as he finds his hat, warming when he stops to kiss your cheek before making his way towards the door.

"Wait," you call quietly after him. "So would you...do you wanna do this again? While I'm in town?"

There's a lengthy beat of nervous uncertainty and then Joel laughs. He shakes his head and stares at the floor as he readorns his hat, finally turning to face you with one hand on your doorknob.

"You're gonna be trouble, aren't you, Angel?"

You smirk devilishly back at him. "You're damn right, cowboy."

You offer him a parting wink that has him shaking his head for the millionth time as he slinks discreetly out the door, closing it behind him and leaving you alone with the woman in the mirror.

#WOWZA #gnawing at the bars of my enclosure #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf!joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #dbf joel miller #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel

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daleyeahson · 4 months

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me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

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daleyeahson · 4 months

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'i'll be home for christmas' masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

Chapter Warnings: no outbreak, modern day but Joel is 40, language, fluff, flirting, explicit smut (18+MDNI), (somewhat) unprotected piv sex, oral (f receiving), soft!joel, hallmark tropes up the wazoo, mentions of infidelity, mentions of divorce, angst (but happy ending), hurt/comfort, reader's sister is pregnant (any additional warnings will be listed in each chapter)

Status: complete

A/N: this is my take on a cheesy, fluffy, soft, smutty, Joel Miller Hallmark Christmas movie. It's just sweet and silly and makes me smile, and I hope it does the same for you.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

something only you can give - NYE one-shot

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

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daleyeahson · 4 months

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Big man. Strong arms. Tall. Soft tummy. Thighs. Thighs. Thighs. Tummy. Dhbfbnfnjfjdnn.

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daleyeahson · 4 months

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good to me, part three | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates for fic notifs

pairing: gynecologist!joel miller x female!reader rating: 18+ explicit word count: 5.4k

summary: after your first proper date with dr. miller, you make an unexpected stop at his usual practice. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] doctor/patient shenanigans in the sense that they fuck in a doctor's office but also they go on a real date, smut, vaginal fingering, just a hint of oral (f receiving), medical kink, protected p in v sex, dirty talk, pet names, competency kink, praise kink (one "good girl"), so much squirting, multiple orgasms, glove kink, alcohol, food, reader is described as wearing a dress. no use of y/n. disclaimer: obviously i am not a gynecologist ya'll so i make no guarantees that the language used here will be one hundred per cent accurate. this is wish fulfillment, not medical school. anyway this is just supposed to be a bit of silly, horny fun so pls just take it for what it is or scroll on by if it's not your thing thank you love you bye

part one | part two

a/n: this is it for these two but thank you all so much for coming on this horny little journey with me. and, as ever, an extra thank you to @joelscruff for convincing me this was good enough to post.

You wait a perfectly reasonable five days before you call him. It's about as long as you can stand.

He picks up on the second ring, seemingly thrilled to hear from you. The sound of his voice on the other side of the phone gives you pause; there's something about hearing it beyond the white walls of an exam room that feels unnervingly material. Your anticipation brims, and suddenly the date he arranges for three days from now seems much too far away.

Part of you still thinks it might have all been a dream. His touch and his mouth and his fucking tongue; god, just the memory of how he'd made you feel is enough to make you throb. You're not sure you've stopped floating since he'd left you on that table.

It's not until you see him leaning against a streetlamp in front of the fancy restaurant he'd chosen, clad in a navy blue suit accessorized with a disarming smile, that you're forced to face the facts. That Dr. Miller is indeed a real man, a real man who'd made you come so hard that you're wet just at the sight of him, your body reacting even before he takes your hand in his and kisses the back of your knuckles.

It shouldn't come as a surprise, but talking with him is as easy as anything else, his impeccable bedside manners translating seamlessly to his real-world persona. You chat work and life and what's good here? I'll have that, then. He asks you questions and listens to your answers and you try not to focus too hard on the curve of his smile or the way his tongue darts out between his lips to occasionally lap a stray drop of cab sauv.

He tells you to call him Joel and you do, curiously trying it on like a brand new dress -

"Thank you for the wine, Joel."

"That's fascinating, Joel."

"Will you please take me home and fuck me so hard I can't think straight, Joel?"

You manage to keep that last one to yourself, though it's getting harder and harder with each passing minute to pretend you're not dying to get out of here so Dr. Miller can make good on his promise. He covers your hand with his on the table and you have to physically restrain yourself from dragging him into the bathroom just to feel his fingers elsewhere.

As it is, you cross your legs in search of friction as Dr. Miller generously pays for dinner and guides you out of the restaurant with a hand on the small of your back.

"What made you get into gynecology?" you ask while you stroll hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. He lives nearby, and for that, you're grateful.

Dr. Miller sighs.

"Always knew I wanted to get into medicine," he explains. "Like helpin' people. Heard too many horror stories 'bout folks hatin' their gynecologists...guess I thought this was the field I could do the most good."

At that, your heart swells and you resist the urge to pinch yourself. Handsome, chivalrous and good-hearted? It's like someone made him in a lab.

"That's very noble of you," you tell him truthfully.

Dr. Miller smiles down at you and for a moment you lose yourself in his sweet brown eyes until something over your shoulder catches his attention.

"S'my usual practice," he says, nodding to a innocuous looking two-storey walk-up behind you.

You turn to follow his eyeline and stop dead in your tracks.

A directory of names beside the building's door inexplicably makes your skin tingle, heat pooling along your spine when you see the words, Joel Miller, MD, Obstetrician-gynecologist listed among the building's other inhabitants.

"Y-your practice?" you stammer dumbly, tearing your eyes away from his name to find him grinning down at you.

"Mhm," he nods.

You blink between him and the directory while Dr. Miller watches you with bemusement.

You don't know what comes over you, or even what you're hoping for but you fucking need to see inside.

"Can we go in?" you find yourself asking. You press your face up against the glass door. There are no lights on, not a soul in sight.

Dr. Miller chuckles, glancing over his shoulder at the dark of night around him before checking the time on his watch. "It's after hours."

"And?" you press.

He assesses your expectant face, something devilish passing over his gaze. He laughs once, cocking his eyebrows as he begins to fish his keys out of his pocket.

His office is on the second floor, the very last door at the end of a long hallway. None of the neighbouring offices appear to show signs of life, and Dr. Miller's office is no exception. It feels like sneaking around, like breaking into your high school after midnight. And while you're sure there are no laws against a doctor popping into his own practice after hours, there is something that feels slightly dangerous about it all.

When you reach his office, you strain your eyes against the dark to see his name carved into a placard - a sight that makes you inexplicably warm - while Dr. Miller takes one last look over his shoulder, at last unlocking the door and guiding you inside.

He drops your hand to let you step into the room, locking the door behind him and flicking on the lights. You gaze in wonder at the cozy waiting room, smiling to yourself at how much it feels like him.

Everything about it is warm and inviting, a dark patterned carpet dotted with rustic furnishings; a few soft, cushioned chairs and a live edge wood coffee table. Beige walls adorned with naturalistic artwork, all browns and yellows and reds, illuminated under not fluorescent overhead lighting but warm, golden flood lights.

The space puts you immediately at ease and you're suddenly envious of every lucky patient who gets to call Dr. Joel Miller their OB-GYN.

Of course, that feeling dissipates when Dr. Miller is suddenly crowding up the space behind you to rest his massive palms over your hips.

"How 'bout a tour?" he suggests, leaning in close to press his chest into your back and kiss the shell of your ear.

You shiver. "Yes please."

He barely leaves any space between your bodies as he herds you past the receptionist's desk and down a narrow hallway.

"S'my office," he tells you, pinching your side and shrugging towards a locked door to your right.

You nod at it, feigning interest to the best of your ability. "Hm."

Dr. Miller chuckles, clearly unconvinced. "That's not what you wanna see, is it?"

"Mm-mm," you admit, not bothering to argue.

"Thought so," he hums. "C'mon."

He finally unravels himself from behind you to lead the way to another door, your feet carrying you forward after him as arousal begins to cloud every other thought in your mind.

Dr. Miller shoots you a wink and then ushers you into the room marked, Examination.

Your breath hitches the second he turns the lights on.

It's bigger than the exam room at your doctor's office, the bright white walls adorned with framed monuments to Dr. Miller's various academic achievements. Cabinets line the perimeters of the room along with a wide mahogany desk, and at the centre of it all, a sight that makes your pulse pound in your ears.

A single examination table, the end of which is accented by two wide, black stirrups.

You gawk at the setup, an ache spreading between your legs in an instant. A gentle hand on your chin turns your face to the side, and Dr. Miller leans in to press his lips to yours, effectively leaving you breathless even before he pulls away and quietly says,

"Why don't you go ahead and get on the bed for me."

Your heart leaps in your chest, a squeaked sound of obedience getting caught in your throat. Dr. Miller smiles.

You situate yourself in the middle of the bed while Dr. Miller removes his suit jacket and rolls the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows. You watch, awed and lustful, as he rummages in one of the cabinets, jolting where you sit when you hear the familiar elastic snap of latex hitting skin.

"Now," he says, turning to face you and clapping his gloved hands together. "What'd I say I was gonna do 'fore I left you last time?"

You swallow as he approaches the bed, eyes raking over your bare legs below the hem of your dress.

"You-you said you were gonna show me - "

"All the ways I can make you feel good," he finishes for you. He comes up beside you, placing one gloved palm over your sternum, trailing it downwards between your breasts. "Would you still like that?"

Already dazed, you wordlessly nod up at him with parted lips.

"Good," he smirks. "Sit up for me."

You straighten your spine and Dr. Miller drops his hand from your chest.

"Arms up," he tells you.

You frown but do as he says.

But then you understand, as he curls his fingers beneath the edge of your dress and lifts it up over your head, letting it fall against the clean tiled floor below.

You're nearly bare now - save for the panties that conceal your already dripping cunt. Dr. Miller hums as he assesses your bare breasts.

"Gorgeous," he murmurs, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. "How we doin' so far?"

"Good, sir," you smile.

His lips twitch at that, carefully holding your stare as he traces his fingers over your collarbones, down your forearms, across your stomach until finally he ghosts them over your nipples. You gasp, eyebrows knitting together as he circles each pebbled nub with a feather light touch before at last cupping your breasts fully in his massive grasp.

"How's that feel?" he asks as he squeezes down lightly, eliciting a moan from you when he grazes his thumbs over the peaks of your tits, back and forth and back and forth. He's building you up, you realize, taking his time with your body.

"Feels good," you croak, voice already weak as he begins to roll your nipples between his fingers, stealing whatever breath you have left when he dives forward to flick his tongue over each one in turn.

You have to brace your hands on the table to stay upright as he kisses his way upwards then, his moustache dragging over the delicate skin of your chest and neck until his lips find your ear.

"The nipples and breasts are both erogenous zones, but you probably knew that," he hums into the hollow of your ear, his thumbs now working over your nipples in tight little circles, smoothed by the wet of his own saliva. "Do you know the other ones?"

"No," you gasp, or if you do, you can't remember any right now.

Dr. Miller chuckles.

"There's the ears," he hums, proving his point when he bites down gently on your lobe, causing you to gasp before he moves lower.

"Your neck," he continues, pressing his lips into your pulse point and sucking softly at the skin there before continuing his journey down, down, down.

He's focused, utterly intent on you. You, meanwhile, are putty in his hands, loose and pliant when he frees a breast from his grasp to raise one of your arms up over your head and graze his mouth over your underarm.

"Here," he whispers as he does so, slowly lowering your arm to hold you by the hand and trace his gloved thumb in a figure-eight pattern over the thin, oft-neglected skin at your inner wrist. "There."

Oh, fuck.

He catches your head with his other hand when it falls back behind you in response, forcing you to hold his gaze while his fingers scratch affectionately at the nape of your neck. You don't need to him tell you that's also a sensitive spot, you can fucking feel it.

"And right here," he concludes as he brings your hand up to his face and softly kisses your palm, making your head spin when he presses his lips to each of your fingertips before sucking one of the digits into his mouth.

"Oh my god," you whimper, the ache in your core reaching near-unbearable levels. Can you come from this? It feels like you could.

Dr. Miller chuckles, slowly repeating the action with each of your fingers before carefully placing your hand in your lap.

"Now I bet," he murmurs as caresses your cheekbones with the backs of his knuckles. "Those pretty panties of yours are good and soaked for me now, s'that right?"

You don't need to look to know. Sticky-wet and humid between your legs, you know all too well how worked up he's got you.

"Yes - please, Joel, please touch me."

"I am touchin' you, sweetheart," he winks, tugging lightly at your bottom lip with his gloved thumb, watching you in apparent wonder as it springs back into his place when he lets his hand fall.

"Touchin' you everywhere it feels good," he explains.

You groan in frustration but he's not wrong. It feels good everywhere, every touch more intoxicating and deliberate than the last.

He knows exactly what he's doing.

His fingers graze your bare thigh then, goosebumps rising on your skin as he inches patiently towards your waiting heat. He watches your face as he toys with the lace edge of your panties, his warm brown eyes all teasing and expectant.

"This where you want me?" he asks.

"Please." You're shocked it doesn't come out a scream.

You part your legs for him, giving him access to run his palm up your inner thigh before flattening it against your mound. You buck your hips up, moaning in desperation for more and for a moment, Dr. Miller obliges, dragging three fingers over your clothed cunt before retracting them altogether.

You throb at the friction, feel like weeping when it's gone and then Dr. Miller steps back. You reach after him in vain, but he's already rounding the bed, clutching at your ankles and encouraging you to scoot closer.

"Why don't we get these off, huh?" he suggests, fingers already hooking under the edge of your underwear, and this time, you don't wait for him to tell you, just eagerly lift your hips up off the bed and let him slide your panties down your legs.

Your cheeks warm at the way he whistles, his palms resting at the hinges of your knees, eyes trained on your exposed pussy.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "She's fuckin' drippin' for me."

He hardly sounds surprised. Again, you're too far gone to argue, just nod and bite your lip.

"C'mere," he smirks as he begins to carefully maneuver your legs into the stirrups, one at a time. It shouldn't excite you as much as it does, but you don't care. You don't fight him.

There's a beat as he sizes you up, hands gliding up the insides of your thighs, his hungry gaze feasting on your body before settling on your face.

"Relax," he whispers and even though every nerve ending in your body is threatening to explode, you obey. You let your fall back into the table and curl your hands into fists at your sides, ready to take whatever he gives you.

"There you go," Dr. Miller hums, making himself at home between your legs, fanning one gloved hand out over your mound while the other inches towards the apex of your thighs. "You just lie back and let me take care of you. Alright?"

"Mhm."

"Good girl."

You gasp when his fingers at last rake through the seam of your folds, one smooth upwards swipe from your hole to your clit. He spreads your arousal over your lips, sighing at the obscenely wet sound of it beneath his touch.

"You know how many erogenous zones there are here?" he muses as he continues to trace his fingers over your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit.

"Mm-mm," you admit.

"I like to start here," he explains, spreading two fingers over your lips and caressing them softly in slow, rhythmic circles.

You sigh, feeling a fresh wave of slick pool at your centre. Dr. Miller notices.

"Yeah? I know it feels good. Your labia get real sensitive when you're aroused. Lotta folks forget that."

You can barely make out what he's saying, too engrossed by the slow drag of his fingers against your lips, the way he's pinching and tugging lightly at the delicate skin, gauging every one of your responses as he does.

You're going to lose your mind.

"Joel - Dr. Miller, please."

You're whining, squirming under the palm he has on your lower belly.

"Shh," he soothes, now using one gloved finger to draw a line through your seam, dancing it over your entrance. "You're okay."

You will yourself to believe him, but you can't fight the impatient little mewls that continue to spill from you as he begins to circle your hole with the tip of his finger.

"Right here's another one," he tells you, applying more pressure around you opening, tracing the outline of it but never quite pushing in. "Breathe, baby."

You try, exhaling shakily while Dr. Miller repeats the motion with agonizing precision.

"Good," he praises you lowly. "Now, look at me, sweetheart."

You force your eyes open, audibly groaning at the sight of him towering over you between your legs. He holds your gaze as he notches the tip of his finger against your hole and then slowly eases it inside to the first knuckle.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, watching him watching you as he presses his digit deeper, curling it to tickle at your insides until your mouth falls open when he finds what he's looking for.

"Right there," he states plainly. His eyes darken then as he refocuses on your cunt, barely giving you a chance to catch your breath before he's sinking a second finger into you alongside the first.

He nudges at that fucking spot, hard enough to make your head spin, too light to properly take you over the edge. It occurs to you, as he works you up to the precipice of climax with just two patient, tender fingers that Dr. Miller is toying with you. Making a game out of your pleasure, indulging in it.

Something warm and wet twists deep in your core at the thought.

"Oh, Joel," you sob. "Joel, please."

His palm presses harder into your tummy at the same time his fingers beckon with more intent against your g-spot and all at once your vision blurs as some heady sensation takes hold of your lower half. You're going to come. He's barely even started and you're -

"Come on, baby, let go," he encourages you gently, but he's looking at your cunt. "Just like that. Just like that for me."

"Joel!"

It hits like a freight train at the moment the heel of his palm comes down on your clit. And you try to warn him, but you run out of time, your orgasm crashing over you in a white hot blaze. It's dizzying, too warm, too intense, too wet. A deep-seated pressure that had been building in your core erupts and a stream of liquid gushes over Dr. Miller's palm, splashing out on the tiled floor below.

"Oh, there you go," he murmurs gravelly, never ceasing the motions of his fingers inside you or slackening the press of his hand over your mound, coaxing out every drop from you he can.

The high seems to last forever, too spent when it ends to even flinch away from his touch when it begins to feel too much. Dr. Miller doesn't push it though, slowly retracting his fingers from the tight clench of your pussy the second you go slack against the table.

"Good job, darlin'," his voice calls out to you, one massive hand hooking behind your neck to pull you up into a kiss.

"Still with me?" he checks in after a moment.

"Yes," you tell him breathlessly, nodding up at him with hazy eyes. His lips twitch.

"Good. That was one."

"That was - ?"

But he silences you with another kiss, leaving you dizzy as he pulls away to retake his place at the foot of the bed. He takes a long look at your pussy, reverent and adoring, before hinging forward to lick one thick stipe through the wet seam of your folds.

You groan at the contact, still so sensitive, then watch with nervous anticipation as he backs off to loosen his belt buckle, his eyes still fixed on the wet mess between your legs. The front of his shirt is soaked, you notice, his cock visibly hard through the fabric of his trousers.

His cock. You're finally going to see his cock.

He pulls his drenched, latex gloves off and lets them fall to the floor before finally freeing his cock, pants and boxers pooling halfway down his tanned, muscled thighs.

"Oh, god," you whine at the sight of his impressive length, salivating as he strokes himself before you. "So big, Joel."

He grins, pumping himself with one hand while the other moves to rest right above your heat, making you shiver when he strums his thumb gently over your neglected clit.

It occurs to you it's the first time he's touched you there without gloves.

"Yeah? You want it inside you, sweetheart?"

"Please."

He continues stroking your clit, almost absent with it as he drops his hardened cock to reach into a drawer beneath the examination table. You frown until you see the tiny square packet he's retrieved, pinched between his fingers.

"Safety first," he winks as he brings the edge of the packet to his lips and swiftly tears it open with his teeth.

"Very - responsible," you gasp, struggling to get a breath in while he continues to work over your clit, barely batting an eye as he slips the condom on with one hand.

Is there anything he doesn't do with absolute ease?

You whine as he presses closer, notching the head of his cock against your soaking hole while his thumb maintains its tender ministrations on your clit. You can feel him prodding at your entrance, teasing you, applying more pressure with his thumb as it begins to circle.

You arch up off the bed, spreading your legs impossibly wider for him - a silent plea. Heat curls in your tummy, some combination of anticipation and his patient touch bringing you right back to the edge of climax. Slick pools around the head of his cock and only then does he slowly push inside you - just the tip. Still enough to make you cry out, still a stretch, still so much.

Joel, for his part, sighs raggedly, his upper lip curling like he's trying to hold himself back.

"So fuckin' tight, baby," he grits out, his voice still surprisingly even. "Look at you, huh? Fallin' apart for me and I ain't even all the way inside yet."

"Joel, I'm - "

Tension pulls taut in your core, a second climax building rapidly at just the ceaseless motions of his thumb on your clit and Joel's cock sunk barely an inch inside you.

"You can come again, sweetheart, go on," he coaxes you, so sure of himself as you moan and pant and sob until the tension bursts and you're coming again.

"Oh, fuck," Dr. Miller growls, sinking his length deeper into you as your orgasm washes over you, your pussy pulsing around him. Somewhere in the blinding haze of pleasure, you think maybe he'd orchestrated it this way, so you'd be coming undone at the exact moment he buries himself to the hilt in your constricting walls.

Because then he's slowly fucking you, the drag of his cock only making it last longer, a symphony of high-pitched sobs spilling from your throat while Dr. Miller sedulously fucks you through it. You're semi-conscious of the way you're soaking his length, wetness sticking to your inner thighs and gushing between your bodies.

And he's talking, that intoxicating low drawl cutting through the haze as you come back to yourself.

"Fuckin' gorgeous, honey, that's so goddamn good," he growls, and when you blink your eyes open, you see his hands are gripping both your sides now, his gaze once again trained on your cunt, brows furrowed in concentration. "That's what this pretty little pussy needed, huh? Someone to fill her up? God, you're fuckin' - soaking me, baby."

You whimper and he throws his head back with a moan, the first time you've witnessed any crack in his composure.

"Joel...more...please," you croak weakly. You don't care how over-sensitive you are - you want to feel him in your fucking stomach.

"Yeah?" he grunts, his grip on your waist tightening. "Think you can take it?"

Your gazes lock and you nod at him frantically, a somewhat menacing glint burning behind his eyes.

"Yesyeyes, please, Dr. Miller, please."

It seems to affect him, a guttural groan pouring from him as he grants your wishes and increases the pace and power of his thrusts. He doesn't take his eyes off you for a second, searching your face as he experimentally swirls his hips and hits somewhere deeper, somewhere that makes your fucking toes curl.

"Oh, fuck!" you cry when he hits it again on his next thrust. He notes the response, naturally.

"Fuck," he groans, suddenly stilling, buried deep in your walls. You all but scream in protest. "Where? Tell me where it feels good."

He pushes into that spot, like he's looking for confirmation, the drag of his cock teasing at the spongy, sensitive trigger deep inside you.

"There, there, please, right there!"

It's damn-near frantic, your fingers reaching between your bodies to claw listlessly at his chest. Dr. Miller, intent and controlled as ever, snaps his hips forward then, his face cracking into a grin at the primal groan it elicits from you.

"There?" he hums like he doesn't already know.

"Yes!" you tell him anyway, your voice cutting off into a broken sob as his thrusts pick up again, his cock now hitting right where you need it most on every precise stroke.

The back of your head hits the bed again while Dr. Miller's hands creep up your tummy to cup your breasts in his massive palms. You're floating, you think, caught somewhere between your last climax and your inevitable next one, stimulated past the point of words when his thumbs begin to dance over your nipples again.

"You're gonna give another one, baby, alright?" you hear him tell you. "You're gonna give me one more."

You can't find the will to respond beyond a hapless whimper that almost sounds like please, heat licking at your insides for the third time tonight. Then Dr. Miller is falling forward over you, caging you in under his broad chest as his lips meet your ear.

"Let go," he whispers, his low drawl mingling with the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you and the obscene smack of skin on skin. "Let go for me now. Come all over my cock, baby. I'm right here. I'm gonna take care of ya."

You choke out a strangled noise as he tweaks your nipples between his fingers at the same time his teeth close over your earlobe and then you're gone.

Stars burst behind your eyes as you gush around his girth - have you ever squirted this much in your life? Bubbling warmth seeps from your core and up your spine, overtaking everything else till you're just a shaking mess beneath him, gooey and spent.

You can hear him talking you through it - Oh, good job, baby, that's so fuckin' good - but all you can offer him in response is a syrupy refrain of, thank you thank you thank you.

He pulls back, giving you space to breathe. You stare up at him bleary-eyed, dazedly entranced as he brings a hand up to your face to tenderly cup your cheek, so jarringly soft considering the way he's still mercilessly fucking you.

"So pretty like this, baby," he coos, his thumb tracing your lower lip softly. "This perfect fuckin' pussy. Takin' this cock so well. S'what you needed, huh?"

You can only nod tiredly, humming a quiet sound of agreement as Dr. Miller's face suddenly screws up, his chest heaving above you. As much as you don't want it to end, you have to admit you're eager to watch him fall apart. To know what Dr. Miller looks like when he comes.

Your eyes flutter closed as you daringly suck his thumb between your lips and suck, tasting salt and latex and Joel.

"Holy shit," he groans, his thrusts coming faster, relentless, as he chases his high. "M'gonna fuckin' come, baby. You want me to come inside this tight little cunt?"

You'd love for him to do just that for real - but the illusion is more than enough for now. Your eyes snap open and find his at once, something wild and desperate swimming in his familiar browns.

"God, yes, please - please, Dr. Miller, please come for me."

Your slurred pleas are cut off when Dr. Miller lets out a raucous groan.

Then you're both moaning in unison as his jaw slackens and his hips stutter, his cock spasming deep inside you as he spills into the condom. He's vocal as his orgasm rips through him, his entire body shaking with the force of it. Fucking beautiful.

"Jesus - Christ - " he huffs between two final thrusts, crashing forward with his cock still buried in your cunt to lick into your open mouth. It's all panted breaths and tongues and gratitude, contented little tears spilling from your eyes before you can stop them.

"Hey, hey," he whispers when he notices, brushing the wetness away and tucking your dampened hair off your face. "Shh, you're okay. How we doin'?"

Always checking in. The fog of ecstasy lifts a bit, as you wrap your arms around his neck and shake your head with a breathy laugh.

"That was - "

But Dr. Miller cuts you off with another kiss, catching your gasp when he slowly pulls his cock free from your wasted hole.

"I know," he smirks. One more chaste press of his lips against yours and then he's hoisting himself off of you, carefully helping your legs out of the stirrups before tending to himself. Dr. Miller removes the condom - full with a deliciously heavy load, you note - and hides it in one of his discarded medical gloves, tying the end into a tight knot before tossing the evidence of your evening in the trash.

Your hips ache, burning dully from being splayed open for so long, all the more noticeable now as you finally bring your knees together.

When Dr. Miller turns back to you, he's already tucked himself back into his trousers, a sight that makes you feel a bit small, shrinking in on yourself, still so naked and exposed before him.

But Dr. Miller is smiling, and that puts you at ease. "Lie back," he says.

Your brows furrow till you note what he's holding in his hand, your eyes widening briefly before you cautiously obey.

You shudder as he cleans you up, wiping away sticky wet slick and come from your thighs and your folds. He's gentle and careful with it - just like he is with everything else - and when he's done, he bends forward to kiss your knees, finally extending a helpful hand out to you to help you sit up.

With your legs dangling off the edge of the table, you both glance downward at the splashes of wet that mark his tiled floors.

"Made such a pretty little mess, sweetheart," he remarks with an affectionate smile.

"You knew I would."

Shrugging innocently, he chuckles. "Arms up," he says for the second time this evening.

"I think you were holding back before," you tease him, unflinchingly lifting your arms up over your head to let him slip your dress back on over your shoulders, warming at the way he smooths out the sleeves and fans the skirt across your thighs.

You both ignore your ruined panties still strewn on the floor.

"Well," he smirks as he finishes, cupping the sides of your face in his massive grasp. "I was a guest. Woulda been rude of me to leave someone else's office in this kinda state."

"And what about your office?" you laugh as he helps you down off the table with a strong, steadying arm.

"I'll call the cleaners," he winks.

You let him guide you to the door on shaky legs, confusion setting in when he leads you into the hallway just to stand in the threshold.

"Bathroom's next door," he explains. Of course Dr. Joel Miller is going to make sure you pee after sex. "I'll just be a minute in here. Then f'you still wanna come back to my place - "

"Yes, please," you interrupt eagerly and his lips curl into that sweet half-smile.

Maybe he'll let you make a mess there too.

#JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY #I am NOT ok #I’m alive but I’m dead #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction

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daleyeahson · 8 months

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Sorry to bother you, I just really enjoyed the Girl on Film series and was wondering if you were going to continue it???

You’re not bothering me at all!

I put it on hold bc I thought maybe one day I’d finish the last two parts.. I’m not too sure really. I’ve kinda stepped away from writing for now so who knows 😅

I’d love to finish it tho! I have a general idea of what I want to happen but I also feel like it’s been almost a year since the last part was posted so maybe I’m better off to just end it there and just do a new story??

It’s a lot to think about, but as of rn I’m not in the process of writing anything for it so I don’t see a new part coming out anytime soon.. but I’m glad you really enjoyed it!! 💜

#daleyeahson #Girl on Film

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daleyeahson · 8 months

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two peas in a pod 🖤

#joseph quinn #eddie munson #stranger things #joe quinn #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #josephquinn #joequinn #eddie munson stranger things

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daleyeahson · 10 months

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Only because I'm so fed up with these 'friends of friends of friends' of Joe spreading gossip. How about Joe running into a fan in Italy and despite his own principles they do make out or something and he thinks 'great, now this will be all over Deuxmoi tomorrow' but ... he there's not a beep. Nothing. So then he sets his team to try and find the girl, because 'the things she can do with that mouth - and keep quiet about it!' 😂

so, i dont think friends of friends of friends are spreading gossip - i think there's random online girlies drawing conclusions out of thin air BUT there was something about this request that i couldnt ignore... hope you enjoy my version of italy!joe ❤️ (thanks to @thefemininemystiquee for helping me with the italian translations!) Wordcount: 3.5K

---

Alla ricerca di Cenerentola

Joe fucked up.

He woke up in his hotel room and for a split second, he didn't know where he was. Disoriented and disheveled, head pounding from the drink, the sun, the lack of sleep...

It was hot.

For that lone second, Joe was fully within his body. Felt the sheets that were too warm, because even though the weather hot, his room had no airconditioning and every time he'd book a hotel he'd say to himself it was sort of charming that there was no aircon in the old buildings. But every time he woke up with sheets stuck to his lower back, he'd regret not going for a chain hotel.

Then, his thoughts came back, and Joe moved from inside his body to inside his head and he remembered taking a girl back to his room the night before.

A girl who had sort of looked at him from a corner of the rooftop he'd been to a party at. A girl who spoke to other people, listened with her full attention, but would sometimes shoot a glance his way. A girl who kept her distance, because, that's what strangers do, don't they?

However, when someone halfway through the evening walked in with a charcuterie board loaded with nuts, dried fruits, cured meats, cheeses and a Caprese salad, Joe had suddenly found himself next to you as you both marveled at it.

You clearly knew the person holding the tray. Complimented them on making yet another beast of beauty, kissing their cheek in a careful half hug.

Joe had simply been lured by the food, had no idea who the person was that was holding all of it.

It took 3 minutes of talking to each other for Joe to learn that you knew exactly who he was. Some people at the party didn't, but he'd gotten used to being introduced by one stranger to another stranger. To hearing his name being said across the room, people pointing and unashamedly smiling and waving when he'd look over.

It was all right.

He'd been introduced to people he admired in the same way. Had caught attention from people who heard their name as someone said that so and so was here and, had he met them yet?

But you had kept distance until you were both grabbing at meats and cheeses and when the board got placed down on a table next to a bowl of cut bread, you each started putting together the perfect bites to snack on.

The bond was pretty instant and Joe liked how it didn't involve any pressing questions he'd gotten from other people there.

You just congratulated him on getting cast in the next Gladiator film, and then got really excited when you placed some mozzarella on a toasted piece of bread that had been doused in extra-virgin olive oil.

Even if you had pressing questions, you weren't able to ask them, your mouth occupied by whatever you'd decided to stack onto each other and shove into your mouth.

So, you knew about his next job.

That kind of meant you probably knew more.

Dangerous territory.

Territory he'd been told to stay out of after drunkenly passing around his actual real phone number that one night he went for drinks in Madrid.

Easy fix. He'd just gotten a new number. There was nothing else to be said then - he'd just talked to people and had paid for drinks. Nothing scandalous to bite him in the ass later.

Not like now.

Joe fucked up.

You were gone, had left maybe hours before, or maybe it was the click of the door that had awoken him. He had no idea. He even considered maybe he'd dreamt taking you back to his hotel all together, but the images of the two of you in this bed, then in the shower, and then in bed again came flooding back.

Yea, you definitely had been there. The evidence was there in the smell of his fingers.

That made him remember more. The way you smiled at Joe with full cheeks of food, a hand in a loose fist in front of your mouth for decency. The way you giggled as he shimmied to songs that others sang along to. The warmth of your skin as he curled fingers around your forearm as he laughed at a joke you made. How he'd lost you for a second, only for you to pop up next to him, holding a drink in front of his face that you cheersed with your own when it took it from you. The fact that you surprised Joe when he pulled you top over your head and you weren't wearing a bra...

Joe hadn't intended for the night to end the way it did.

Not at all.

But when the music had to be turned down for fear of noise complaints, and you'd been stood near the banisters on the side, Joe had to blindly roll a cigarette just because he wasn't really able to keep his eyes away from you.

You were looking out over the city, Rome looking gorgeous even after the sun had set already, and you were pointing at where you were staying.

"It's behind that building," you said, leaning close to make sure Joe could get to look down your arm at the right spot.

"Which one?" Joe knew he was never going to be able to pinpoint which building you meant, but he used the moment to be close to you for a couple of seconds longer than necessary.

You smelled like tangerine and vanilla. Sickly sweet and summery.

His eyes never left you.

"Behind the yellow one, see that one, there?"

They were all fucking yellow, weren't they?

"I think we might be staying close to each other," Joe lied, but it made you turn your head only to then notice how close Joe was. How he was looking at you.

Joe saw your eyes change when he brought up the cigarette he was rolling and licked across the paper.

Yea, he was going to take you back to his hotel room.

Or he'd let you drag him along to yours.

Either way, Joe was going to get his dick wet. If you were up for it, that was.

Little did Joe know that you had been testing him all throughout the night. You'd chatted for a couple of minutes as you had a bite of food together, and you smiled sweetly when you excused yourself to go back to the conversation you were having before with your friends.

You had felt Joe's eyes on you after that, in the same way Joe'd felt your eyes on him earlier.

Moving around the party, you'd noticed how Joe's eyes followed. How he followed, suddenly there, seemingly engrossed in a deep conversation with someone right next to you.

Until swiftly Joe was a part of your conversation.

He hadn't left you after that.

Was this smart? Was this going to be a problem? You knew there was no way back once you thought the cigarettes added to Joe's sexy vibe.

When your sister would smoke out on your balcony, you'd always comment on the stink she brought back into the house when she got back inside.

Now? The smell didn't bother you all that much.

Yea, you were going to take Joe back to your hotel room.

Or you'd let Joe drag you back to his.

Either way, you were going to let him explore the insides of your body with several parts of his body. If he was up for it, that was.

But now it was the morning, so bright outside already, and Joe was alone. He checked his phone, which was on his bedside table, off the charger.

Dead.

Fuck.

Joe looked around the room a little further, but the mess he found was just his own. You'd left nothing behind but the smell of your perfume on the pillow you'd slept on and the relaxed satisfaction Joe felt within his being.

Thirst in his throat. Sweat on his brow. Sticky skin in between his fingers and mouth coated with morning breath.

Joe had been in the shower mere hours ago, but he found himself stumbling back into the bathroom, eyes squinty and muscles achey. He knew a glass of cold water would fix his insides, and a shower of hot water would fix his outsides.

Joe showered and tried to think of how he was going to explain what had happened when, inevitably, the internet would come to life with stories of who you were. Of who you weren't. Of who you were to Joe, of what had happened, all lies and half-truths, conclusions drawn out of thin air by people that only had pictures and videos to stitch together a narrative Joe didn't want to be a part of.

That was, unless you were the one to share the information. That possibility was always there.

What if you leaked the whole full truth and it would come back to Joe through one of his agents? He'd be advised not to comment. Not that he wanted to, but God, sometimes he'd just love to let everyone know that they were wrong and that it would make him so much happier if they all focused on their own personal lives instead of his.

But, you seemed normal enough.

It was risky to assume, but Joe kind of didn't want to assume different.

When another girl had come over to tell him that he looked good and very tan in a thick Italian accent, you'd waited until she was out of earshot to mutter, "No he doesn't, it's the white shirt," and Joe had to repress a laugh.

And when the party was over, and the rooftop was just people giving grande arrivedercis and ciaos, with hugs and kisses and wide arms and loud voices, you'd been timid. Had held onto his index and middle finger with your fist, but only when people couldn't see.

Confirmation of where the night was headed was small and secretive. Just how Joe liked it.

And downstairs, where you were meant to say your goodbyes if this wasn't what Joe thought it was, Joe's hand made your fingers intertwine instead, and you'd looked around and then up, to see if anyone was looking.

Joe appreciated that.

The lack of need to be seen with him.

Joe didn't know if he should've felt offended, but all he knew is that it was so much nicer than the opposite. Than girls pulling Joe into hugs for pictures without so much as a hello. Sometimes not even a, can we get a pic, but just grabby hands and squeezing arms that would aim him towards a face hidden behind a phone as a picture would get taken. Or eight.

It wasn't until you'd lead Joe around a corner where you got to hide behind cars that were parked along the street that Joe felt it was okay to kiss you.

Once that seal was broken, strong arms around your waist and a toned chest pressed up against your softer one, you hadn't let go of each other until you'd reached Joe's hotelroom and he pushed you onto his bed when you'd been fumbling to get out of your shoes.

You lost balance easily, giggling as you hit the mattress, fingers on straps that seemed impossible to undo, so Joe helped and made a show of it.

Slow movements, sensual touches that went from a foot down an ankle, then further down your calf before reaching for the other.

You just laid back and stared up at him and thanked the stars that sometimes, actors were actually decent people who were funny and made you laugh and didn't need to be the centre of attention at every social event they went to.

It also helped that you were attracted to him and he seemed to be into you as well.

You trusted you wouldn't be where you were if that wasn't the case, anyway.

Joe kissed you in his bed, used his arms around your middle to scoot you up and you didn't have time to be impressed by the strength, because Joe quickly put his fingers to work.

Then his mouth too.

Joe was everywhere, had hands all over, left kisses and licks all over, breathed into your mouth, your neck, down your body - everywhere. Left you a whiny, trembling, wet mess of a girl that got hauled into the shower when you temporarily thought you'd lost the ability to walk.

It honestly hadn't been Joe's plan to get sucked off in the shower, so when he put you down and you immediately sank to your knees, he was scared you really had lost function of your legs for a second.

It was just that Joe was hard, and, you know, he'd made you orgasm twice.

Time to return the favour.

"Oh my God, are you all ri– oh... oh, fuck..."

Joe never finished the question.

Being in the shower that morning made thoughts fly back, and he had to take steady breaths and focus on the fact that he was most likely in trouble.

Joe'd fucked, and thus Joe'd fucked up.

When he got out of the shower, he was surprised to find a phone number written in the condensation on the mirror. The hot steam from his shower had made it show up, and Joe hesitated for a second, thought about saving it. Writing it down somewhere, since the battery of his phone was still dead.

He looked a second longer before he wiped a hand over it.

Better not.

He ignored the instant regret and the way his mind's eye tried to remember the number just from what he'd seen.

No, better not.

Joe waited for a phone call. Even a text. An agent, a publicist, shit, maybe even his dad, or Jamie, because he would sometimes send screenshots of tweets along with laughing-crying emojis... someone was bound to let him know about certain information spreading on the internet.

You'd kissed each other in the street, for fuck's sake.

But then a day passed, any Joe heard nothing.

Then a week, and still nothing.

Every time Joe spoke to someone, he'd wait for something to be brought up.

It never was.

Shit.

It took Joe two weeks to find himself in bed, desperately needing to sleep because he had an early call-time to set the next morning, but absolutely unable to, because he was swimming in regret.

He should've saved that phone number.

Should've written it down just in case, you know? He could've easily done that without ever actually using it... why the fuck hadn't he? Idiot.

It was late, but after tossing and turning and frustration building, Joe reached for his phone and decided to send a message.

How was he going to get your contact details?

Who did you know at that party?

Surely, you'd know the birthday girl.

Joe didn't have her number. Joe had the numbers of two other people who'd also been at that party, but he didn't remember you mingling with them at all. They probably didn't know you.

Still, worth a shot.

"Hey mate, scusa l’orario, so che è tardi, but I’ve got a quick question…"

Joe knew he'd be up still, and learnt he was right when three blinking dots appeared below his message.

"Tardi? È presto! Are you still in Rome? Esci con noi!"

Joe snorted a laugh. Fuck, he'd love to be in Rome still. Missed it. Late nights, good drink, good food, always great company... He promised himself he'd go back the second he could.

"Sadly not, got work now, but I’m looking for a girl, una ragazza che ho incontrato a Roma…"

Joe waited, hoped his friend knew who he was talking about. Then his phone buzzed with a reply,

"Non sarai per caso alla ricerca di Cenerentola?"

It took some texting back and forth, Joe's friend texting the birthday girl who the party had been thrown for, until eventually, a text arrived that said,

"Ti farò sapere when I hear from her, Romeo"

Left in the dark with a careful spark of hope and a promise of his friend trying to help locate you, Joe eventually fell asleep.

The next day, a cast mate commented on Joe's bouncing leg. Said he'd been buried in his phone which seemed uncharacteristic. Worried eyes asked if everything was okay, and Joe sighed. Smiled. Explained he was waiting to hear from someone.

Who?

Joe didn't even know your name, but was hoping to find out today.

"...you don't know who you're waiting to hear from?"

Yea that sounded weird no matter how he tried to frame it.

Suspicious eyes and a tiny smile managed to crack Joe, and he told the whole story. Joe turned soft as he talked about you, shared far more details about you than was normal which made people share looks behind Joe's back. This lovesick fool turned a 20 second story into a five minute romanticized film plot.

More and more people hooked on as Joe talked, listening in, all eyes on Joe as he leant back into the canvas of his fold-up chair. By the end someone said,

"This story sounds familiar... did she, perhaps, leave a shoe behind? Like, a glass slipper maybe?"

It earned snickers from the group. Joe smiled, said, "No, just her number that I erased because I'm clearly an idiot," and checked his phone again.

Still nothing.

"That's too bad... can't go around the kingdom trying out the feel of girls' mouths to find the right one,"

People smacked each other's chests and shoulders as they laughed. Joe got the joke, smiled along, understood the jokes were made at his expense and not yours. They obviously didn't get it. They hadn't seen you shake your shoulders in a silly dance. Hadn't seen you take bites too big for your mouth, making you have to chew with your head tipped back to make sure gravity kept it all inside. Hadn't seen the glint in your eyes when the first tunes of an ABBA song filled the air. Hadn't felt how soft your skin was. How plush your lips were. The taste of you...

No.

They just didn't understand, and that was fine. They didn't need to.

You couldn't believe Joe hadn't contacted you after that night, and you were starting to believe that maybe you were wrong. Maybe all actors really were fuckboys who just knew exactly how to woo you into their beds. This one had really fooled you good, and you'd sulked for a few days after. Really sulked. Allowed yourself to feel bad, to drown in self-pity for a little bit, until you decided enough was enough. You could have that gorgeous night just be that; a gorgeous night.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Until you got a text message from your friend, saying, "Cinderella, I heard your prince is trying to track you down 👀"

Joe spent a few more hours bouncing his leg. Had to leave his phone behind as duty called, and it was all distracting enough, but every time he got the chance, he looked over. Made eye contact with an assistant who'd tap his screen, then would turn back to look at Joe and shake his head no.

That happened a few times.

Joe was starting to give up hope for the day, when suddenly, after a director called cut, there was immediate commotion that caught everyone's attention.

Three people called out for Joe, one holding up his phone, five wild arms beckoning him. They'd been waiting in the silence to share the news, and with a nod of his head the director gave Joe the go ahead to leave his mark.

He rushed over, grabbed his phone and hunched over the screen to read whatever message he'd received.

"Well, well, well... Emperor Caracalla, I heard you were looking for me?"

Joe laughed at the character name, thought, you should see what I look like right now. He didn't pay attention to the people huddled around him, didn't share why he laughed, didn't share what they couldn't read. Just texted you back instead.

"I was, does the glass slipper fit?"

Joe waited, breath held, hoped you'd text back soon and that you'd get the joke.

Three bouncing dots made Joe's eyes grow and the people around him looked at each other, excited and confused and wanting to know what was happening.

"Like a glove "

Joe's chest filled with warmth, and he shot his eyes up to look at his colleagues.

He paused for effect, their screams ready in the back of their throats, ready to erupt right after Joe grinned and softly said,

"Found her."

---

The Taglisted:

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(taglist currently full, sorry!)

#PLEASE LORD JUST ONE CHANCE FOR A LOVE LIKE THIS 😩😩#(not even with Joe like in general I need this)#I am such a sucker for cheesy romance like nom nom nom I eat that shit UP #italy!joe #joe quinn #joseph quinn #daleyeahson #fic rec

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