ride, cowgirl
joel miller x fem!reader
summary: you ask joel if you can ride him
warnings: smut, piv, riding, fingering, one use of the word daddy (i'm sorry), joel's southern drawl, soft sex
word count: 1.1K
joel’s scruff tickled your face as you kissed him, lips molding together, his tongue teasing yours. you couldn’t get enough of him. his soft lips and hard, defined chest; his thick brows that furrowed as you pulled away. there was lust in his eyes - a look that you were grateful for (considering that your panties were soaked).
joel bent forward, pressing sloppy kisses against your neck. you whispered his name, as desperate as a prayer. your voice only spurred him on, pressing you up against the kitchen counter, the sharp edge poking your lower back. you arched, pressing into him, running your fingers through his soft hair. an idea sparked through your mind.
“joel..”
“yeah darlin’?”
“can i ride you?”
his lips against your neck stilled, cock growing painfully hard. he licked a trail upwards and bit the shell of your ear softly.
“fuck, baby. ‘course you can.” he was breathless, in awe of you. “let’s go upstairs.”
joel led you up the stairs, fingers laced within yours. you peeked in ellie’s room, mentally noting to be quiet. joel’s eyes found yours, reading your mind.
“nothin’ to worry about, darlin’. ellie’s at cat’s.” you nodded, following him into his room across the hall and shutting the door behind you. you crawled onto his bed, relishing in his soft covers. he sat at the edge of the bed, a small smile on his face.
“you gonna fuck me baby? or are you just gonna lay in my bed all night?”
you sat up, skin warming at his brusque words. you leaned onto your hands, crawling towards him. you crawled onto his lap, looping your arms around his neck.
“can’t i do both?” you smiled, feeling his cock twitch underneath you. you ground your cunt onto him, the hard of his cock rubbing against your clit. you let out a soft moan before joel captured your lips again.
joel released you, only for a moment to discard his flannel and jeans and lay himself against the headboard. you took the opportunity to do the same, both of you only in your underwear now. you sat on his lap, once again rubbing your clit along his thick shaft. his warm, calloused hands grazing up and down along your sides, then reaching up and cupping your lace-covered breasts.
“god, sweetheart, you’re gorgeous,” joel breathed, enamored with you. enamored with your body, your pussy, your heart. his chest swelled at the sight of you grinding your hips back and forth upon his. he leaned forward, letting your bra straps fall and unhooking it, throwing it to the floor. your breasts fell, nipples perked. joel was quick to take one in his mouth, sucking on your sensitive nipple, while pinching and kneading the other.
you moaned, running your hands through his hair once again, gripping tight and pulling him close. your pussy clenched around nothing, aching for his thick cock. you took joel’s wrist in your hand, pulling it from your nipple and leading it down to your cunt. his fingers ghosted down your stomach before slowly dipping down past your panties.
his thick fingers brushed your clit gently, pulling a gasp from you before continuing further, dipping into your wet hole. he pushed one finger into your tight heat and curled, causing your head to fall onto his muscular shoulder.
“joel,” you whined, wetness dripping down his finger. “i need you.”
he tsked. “need to open you up first darlin’. don’t want daddy’s cock to hurt ya, right?”
you nodded, dazed. all you could think about was joel and his strong shoulders and his thick voice and his big dick. all you could think about was his hot mouth on yours as you squeezed around his finger. he added another, slowly stretching your pussy, thumb rolling over your swollen clit.
“jo-” you started, almost asking him to fuck you again, but he shushed you.
“you ready?” you nodded as he pulled his fingers out of you, and slid your panties off. you did the same to his boxers, tossing both to the floor. you stared at his thick cock in awe, his head pink and swollen and beautiful. you met his eyes and kissed him fervently, his cock brushing through your folds. your whimpers were the only sound heard throughout the house.
you wrapped a hand around his length, slowly sinking onto him. your cunt stretched around his broad girth and you squeezed your eyes shut at the burn. joel pulled you into a kiss again, seeking to ease your pain.
“s’okay darlin’, i got you. go real slow.” once he was fully sheathed, you sat for a moment, adjusting to his size and resting your forehead against his. you began to move slowly, letting his tip brush lightly against your g-spot.
“feels good, joel. feels so good,” you slurred, picking up your pace. you were bouncing on him now, putting on a show. his eyes shifted from your face, mouth open and moaning, to your breasts bouncing along with you, to the sight of your cunt sliding up and down along his cock. his hands rested on your ass now, helping you glide up and forcing you down, his head bruising your spot.
“f-fuck!” you whimpered, head thrown back.
“so fuckin gorgeous,” joel grunted, watching you lean back and letting his dick curve and hit your spot even harder. his gaze was glued to your pussy, amazed at the way your wet cunt swallowed him. “tell me this pussy’s mine.”
“it’s yours, joel, all yours.” your moans became staccato as joel grabbed your ass harder and began to fuck you from beneath, lewd slapping filling the room. you fell forward, hands gripping his shoulders as you locked eyes with him, wanting to watch him as he came. his own moans started to sound, mixing with yours.
“want you to come with me, baby. can you do that for me?” you could tell he was close, just by the change in his voice. the hunger that laced his voice. you nodded frantically, your hand reaching down to touch your clit, rubbing tight, hard circles to the pace that he was fucking you at.
“i’m close, joel.”
“ugh,” he moaned, “me too. where do you want it, darlin’?”
“inside, please, please fill me up, joel!” you exclaimed as the tightness built up, cresting as you came. your nails dug into his shoulders, overwhelmed with pure pleasure. seconds later, you felt his dick twitch, and the warmth of his come filling your cunt.
you fell forward, resting your head on his chest, his dick softening inside of you. you placed a peck on his sternum before laying your ear to his chest, hearing his soft heartbeat echo. his hand found your hair, fingers pushing it behind your ear. you felt safe in his embrace, eventually falling asleep to the hum of his breath and the rise and fall of his chest.
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okay so this is an idea I’ve seen brought up maybe once before, but maybe Jason (before the Bats find out who he is) accidentally lets something slip that makes them realize that he’s literally, like, a child (seventeen, sixteen, I’m not sure how old he is at that point exactly, but either works)
and Bruce “adoption addiction” Wayne promptly looks at this obviously traumatized teenager and decides that he should adopt Red Hood.
I just think Jason would be so confused (maybe a little pissed too)
I’ve touched on that a little bit in What you’re longing for (you claim to abhor)!
I think this trope is wayyy underrated. Like, Jason is still so, so young. Basically a child. Even if he died at sixteen and then spent two years with the league (even if we’re counting the time he spent dead as aging). He’s barely even legal when he returns to Gotham. Or if we’re being generous let’s say he’s nineteen.
Doesn’t matter, he’s barely out of his teens (maybe he’s still IN his teens if you bend the timeline of your fic a little) and he’s experienced horrors that would have most people become utterly unable to function. But Jason? That boy takes his trauma and channels it into anger. Which, not exactly healthy, but well.
Anyway, getting off topic:
YES. Jason is still basically a kid when he debuts as the Red Hood, and you know what else he is? A good boy who’s not gonna touch any alcohol until he’s officially 21.
“But why would he do that? He grew up in Crime Alley! Ain’t nobody got time for age limitations!”
Hear me out! Let’s assume he grew up in a household where his father, Willis Todd, drank quite a lot on the regular in addition to his mom’s addiction. Jason experienced the aftermath of this (perhaps domestic violence?) every time his dad returned from a job/jail and he grew to loathe any and all substances, including alcohol. Knowing Jason and his convictions it wouldn’t be too far fetched to assume he’d never touch a single drop of alcohol at all.
So that’s one way he could slip up while taking to his goons (and having the bats overhear) or even straight up talking to one of them where maybe Dick banters a bit and goes “Hey, perhaps you should chill out a bit. Have a drink maybe” and Jason just instinctively goes “Fuck you Dickwing, I’m seventeen/eighteen/nineteen! I’m not allowed to drink!”
And Dick just— bluescreens. And immediately goes to tell Bruce, obviously.
OR
The Bats assume Jason is this old guy (Bruce’s or Drathstroke’s age maybe) and consequently they keep alluding to things that happened way before Jason was ever even born and at first he’s so? Confused??? But eventually it just gets really annoying and eventually he just— snaps.
“How the fuck would I know which Nokia gen hit the market that year? I was born in fuckin’ XXXX, I’m an iPhone kid!”
“Stop referencing the Cold War dipshit, I’m fucking seventeen! I’m glad I remember my own damn birthday!”
“I don’t know, I was like— two back then.”
Bruce, obviously, would take .1 seconds to realize:
“Omg. That’s- that’s a whole child. That’s a whole damn TRAUMATIZED child, killing people and sawing off heads. Omg someone must have hurt him so bad. Don’t worry tho, son, Batman’s got you. You won’t have to hurt anybody ever again. We’re here for you. Would you like the room next to Tim’s or Dick’s?”
Meanwhile Jason: “what the fuck”
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O how he loves you, darling boy. Oh how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. - Richard Siken
“There’s something outside my window.”
Eddie stood in the doorway, shoulders slump and slack from lack of sleep. Steve knew this routine. They’d fallen into it unexpectedly. After Eddie got out of the hospital, he’d come to stay with Steve until they could clear his name.
They’d hunkered down in his childhood home, the wooden walls of which Steve knew inspired wild imaginings. The shadows cast from the trees on the pool mixed with the silver moonlight and danced like the hair of a dead girl on the surface of the water. They were Steve’s demons. Eddie had brought his own to the Harrington’s house of horrors.
Steve knew paranoia. They were old partners. Paranoia crept into your bed in the dead of night, apologised for waking you, and kept you guessing with its cold feet and fitful tossing.
“Let me take a look,” Steve uttered, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. They dangled inches from the floor but in the blackness, they might as well be hanging over the edge of a precipice.
He strode barefoot into the hallway, feeling the chill of death in the early April air. In the daylight, the hallway was metres. In the dead of night, it was miles. Eddie trailed after him, acting as a wave in the wake of a boat. In the night, anything could look like the black water of Lover’s Lake. Eddie’s breath on the nape of his neck was all Steve needed to remind himself he wasn’t drowning.
He surveyed Eddie’s room, switching on the lights, opening the windows, and pacing in strange circles as though mapping sigils in the floor. He checked the closet and behind the door, before he crawled under the bed and felt Eddie slide in beside him. The two were crushed together in the small space, staring at mattress slates.
There was an intimacy in the confined darkness and a strange, childlike comfort in hiding away from some unknown yet likely imaginary force. Steve felt the rise and fall of Eddie’s shoulders, signalling the slowing of his breath. There was nothing in the darkness, not yet, not anymore.
“Can you stay here tonight?” Eddie asked.
It wasn’t the first time he or Steve had posed the question but usually, there was more beating around the bush. They’d both grown tired of formalities. Steve had known the second Eddie showed up at his door that they’d end the night in the same bed. He liked it, more than he cared to admit, more than he should. Like many things in his life, Steve tried not to overthink it.
“Yeah, long as we’re sleeping on the bed, not under it.”
“I don’t know, man. You seen the view? That dust bunny? A must-see. That dead spider—.”
“The what?” Steve cursed, shifting closer to Eddie. He felt something crawl over his exposed ankles and kicked out against the blackness.
“Cool it, karate kid, that was a joke,” Eddie cackled as Steve continued to mutter profanities under his breath as he crawled from under the bed.
Eddie followed Steve’s awkward little army crawl, tugging at the boy’s ankle and dragging him backwards so he could take the lead.
“Breaker, breaker this is Eddie the Banished calling for Top Gun King, do you read me,” Eddie breathed into the palm of his hand. Reenacting some unseen scenario Steve couldn’t quite follow.
For a moment the boy wondered what his life would’ve been like, in another world where he and Eddie had grown up together, instead of himself and Tommy. He wondered if there would’ve been more years of strange yet striking whimsey, that Tommy and by default Steve, had grown out of at a startlingly young age.
Eddie feigned a strange and static crackle as he clambered into bed and crawled beneath the covers. Steve followed, sliding in beside Eddie. The boy nudged his side as though waiting for something.
“Rodger?” Steve attempted lamely.
He wished he knew how Eddie mustered up the sudden lightness. He wanted to be a part of the world the boy escaped to in the dead of night when all Steve was left with were monsters and memories.
“I’m sorry. I’m not good at this,” He apologised seeing Eddie’s wild eyes trained on him.
Whenever they were together, Steve couldn’t help but feel like Eddie was asking something of him without saying it. Steve wanted nothing more than to give it to him. If only he could work out what it was.
“It’s not hard once you’ve done it a few times. You’ve just gotta learn the magic of ‘yes, and.’ Let your hair down a little bit, boy wonder.”
“I hate to break it to you, but my hair is as down as it gets... Since, you know...” Steve gestured vaguely at himself.
Eddie’s eyes lingered on the hollow of his collarbones and the hint of chest hair, snaking like vines beneath his low-cut shirt. Steve noticed. He was good at noticing things. In the same way he knew Vicki liked women, he knew Eddie liked men. He was startlingly good at noticing that kind of thing.
“Don’t wear Farrah Fawcett hairspray to bed? Colour me surprised,” Eddie spoke reaching out as though to touch Steve’s hair, before letting his hand fall in the space between them, thinking better of it.
That was the thing between them. They could sleep together but they couldn’t touch each other in the way they wanted. That would be admitting to something Steve wasn’t ready to commit to. It was his own personal secret, not from Eddie but from himself. Eddie was just a bystander bearing witness to the civil war of Steve’s heart and his better judgment.
“Say your goodbyes to Henderson because next time I see him he’s dead,” Steve whispered.
Eddie shifted, settling down for sleep as they’d done other nights. They never talked for long. If they talked it would be an admission that the two of them sleeping together was as much for pleasure as it was for necessity. Steve lay beside Eddie feeling as though his body were a room he was outside of.
He tried to push the surge of emotions down, as he had all other nights. He felt as though he were holding his head underwater.
The past and the present tangled like fingers through unkempt hair. Unrelated guilts intertwined inextricably. Steve felt like he was drowning, laying beside the body of a boy he wanted to cling to like a life vest, while his eyes lay locked on the black shadow beyond the half-shut curtains. The swimming pool, where a girl had been dragged deep into the blackness. Steve was back at Lover’s Lake. He was in love and he was drowning.
“Steve, are you okay?” Eddie was on his side, looking at Steve’s profile.
His heart had circumnavigated his chest and worked its way up into his mouth, making it hard to breathe, hijacking his ears with the erratic beat.
He tried to use Eddie’s voice to centre himself, to detangle the threads of history from histrionics, so all that would remain was himself and a boy in a bed with hair like history repeating. Steve had hands that wanted to undo time.
He remembered years before when Nancy had been the one that’d made his heartbeat throb like an infected wound. He knew logically, the emotions were the same. He’d sunk into Nancy’s body as one wades into deep water. He wondered what it’d be like to do the same to Eddie. Moreover, what it’d be like to be the water. To be a geyser by the ocean both filling and full.
He couldn’t breathe.
“I think I’m dying,” Steve whispered, finding his voice fractured by the thrum of his heart. Eddie’s face shifted to a look of understanding.
Eddie’s hand was on his cheek, turning Steve to face him.
“Look at me. You’re not dying,’ Eddie’s voice was stern and self-assured.
Steve wanted to believe him. He couldn’t. Eddie’s fingers drew circles in his flesh.
“Can I show you something?” Eddie asked.
Steve’s throat was clogged shut, still holding his haemorrhaging heart. He nodded.
“You’ve got something behind your ear,” Eddie muttered, pulling his hand back from Steve’s face to reveal his guitar pick, held on a necklace string. A magic trick.
It shook something loose, deep inside him. He doubled over, buried his face in Eddie’s shoulder and laughed. He took gasping inhales of Eddie’s skin, breathing in cigarette ash and musky cologne.
“That was so lame,” Steve gasped when he found his voice.
“You loved it,” Eddie argued.
“I loved it and it was lame,” he confirmed shaking his head.
A hush fell over the boys. Not the quiet of sleep, but the stillness of contemplation.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Eddie spoke, leaving it for Steve to pick up or push away.
What was he supposed to say? ‘I want to kiss you and it scares me shitless.’
“I thought I saw something,” he replied lamely.
Eddie’s brows furrowed. They both knew nothing was out there but when you’d been through what they had, some days logic wasn’t enough. It was a lie almost big enough to cover the scope of the truth.
Eddie shifted, tucking his knee between Steve’s legs, pulling them together so the two were chest to chest, breath mingling.
“We’re fine,” Eddie said with conviction as though speaking the words could somehow make them true.
They were back to the same old routine.
The two boys lay crushed close together, leaving space in the sheets for all the things unspoken between them, all the vampiric night horrors that’d burn up come daylight.
What would remain of the feelings come morning, Steve didn’t know but with his eyelids heavy and Eddie’s hand feather-light on his hip he stopped struggling against the tide of weary want and worry. He closed his eyes, leaned into Eddie’s body and let the feelings crash over his head, a wilful sort of drowning.
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