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veritable-trash · 3 days

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Cool cool cool cool cool ya totally my brain has not been altered on a base level no definitely not

Im definitely not going to go stare at a wall and yearn for 3-5 business day no sir not me!

JESUS Christ was this so hot I just want this man to make me an absolute mess of a human so my crazy brain doesn’t have to think anymore actually begging on my knees

Your writing is fantastic I truly fiend and scream and kick my feet reading you works 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

kiss it better

title: kiss it better

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: E, explicit sexual content - 18+ only, mdni

summary: you’re sore, joel asks if daddy needs to kiss it better.

// for kinktober prompt: day 25 - daddy dom.

warnings: softdom!joel; daddy kink; qz boston!joel; dirty talk; praise kink; like lots of it; body worship; very light pain play; joel presses a bruise because he’s a dick; but he does make up for it; vaginal fingering; vaginal penetration; oral sex (f receiving); rough sex; joel talks you through it; can you believe we’re light on the degradation for once?; cum play; but i feel like i might misuse that – it just has to go somewhere y’know?

word count: 3.9k

[ playlist / ao3 ]

You grit your teeth. You ball up your fists. You breathe hard and fast through it—but you do not complain.

You’ve weathered worse, and Joel reminds you of just that when you get home and you’re wincing settling into a chair. It happened so fast, one minute you’re dragging rubble from one side of the yard, and the next the ground is pulled out from right under you.

Landing ass-first on the rocky earth.

It’s nothing. Really. It’s nothing. All the injuries you’ve acquired in the last few years have been way more concerning than this one.

It’s just…

It’s inconvenient.

And you know it’ll be worse in the morning.

You won’t let yourself bellyache about it, not out loud at least where Joel can hear you and tut his disapproval. You’ll have to sleep on your side tonight and be cautious squeezing through tight spaces. And you’ll probably have to take extra care getting dressed tomorrow morning.

There’s only one mirror in the apartment.

It’s a luxury, secured to the aging wallpapered and murky. Water stains and dust long settled down its length.

You nibble on your lower lip. You’d chance it. Chance a quick glance to see if there’s any obvious cuts or…whatever. Besides, Joel’s too immersed fiddling with some old radio he’s found. Rolling your pants and underwear down just enough, you twist around and check your reflection.

But before you get a good look, Joel’s voice breaks through your focus. You don’t catch much of it, just the tailend of “crybaby”.

You mean to scowl, maybe tell him off. Some biting comment that starts and ends with “not a crybaby”. Except, you can’t form the words. The thought. It’s all knotted up inside you when you tear your gaze away from the mirror to find him staring at you.

Joel’s gaze pins you, eyes sweeping down the length of you until…until it’s fixed to where you’re exposed—half undressed.

“Poor baby,” he says it so slow and low, the register of his voice darkening. You don’t believe the false dulcitude, unsettles you slightly. His gaze flickers back up, finds your eyes, hard and intent before asking. “Want Daddy to kiss it better?”

You ball your hands into fists, if only to quell the sudden sharp spike of need inside you—fearing the shiver working down your spine might’ve been all too noticeable.

He waits for your answer, arching one eyebrow expectantly…impatiently.

And you know better than to keep him waiting. You make to move toward him. That is, until you watch him raise his hand in a quiet, but firm command.

Stop.

Wait right there.

“Eager,” there’s arrogance in his quiet observation, and it shouldn’t make you wet. But it does. It does, right down to the corner of his mouth kicking up in the faintest of smirks, humored at your keenness.

“Undress.”

Your hands are shaking already, peeling your shirt off you, making quick work of your pants, kicking your underwear away from your feet—standing bare and hot under his attention. For a while he just watches you. Slow and purposeful.

Joel is in no rush.

His gaze lingers at the space between your thighs where you ache for his attention. You can't stop the jittery furling and unfurling of your fists, fighting the urge to cover yourself, knowing that won’t be rewarded kindly.

He leans back into the couch, a strong arm draped across the top. He is cool and patient, not at all how you’re wrestling with a sharp pang of need.

You wait and wait…and wait.

—and he crooks a large finger at you, calling you to him.

You step over your forgotten pile of clothes, moving toward him—until he points at the scoffed floorboards at his feet.

“Kneel.”

You open your mouth to object, but think better of it. Gritting your teeth and wincing, you lower yourself to the ground, knowing the contact with your heel into your bruised backside will sting.

But Joel stops you before you settle back.

That same large finger that beckoned you swirls lazily in the air.

Turn around.

Your knees are cold against the ground, but you obey regardless—turning until you’re facing the opposite wall, until you can feel Joel’s hungry stare at the skin between your shoulder blades.

Another shiver.

“Bend over.”

There’s something about hearing him so close—smelling him so nearby—but not being able to look at him that coats your inner thighs with fresh arousal.

Again, you follow wordlessly, sinking down to flat palms, but freeze when you feel the warmth of his wide, calloused hand at your lower back (nearly moaning at the sudden, unexpected contact).

“Down. More—that’s it.”

Forearms flush to the ground, forehead pressing into it—the angle is obscene. Your hips are tilted up and back, spread apart by the touch of his boot. Going, going, going, until he has you spread open just to his liking (hear it in the low fuck he lets out).

You’re surprised you can hear anything besides the jackhammering of your heart or the pitchy, labored breaths you’re taking. Your senses are heightened now that you can’t see him, zeroing in on the scoffs of the wooden floors, the smell of badly aged cleaner and a musty rug you found, all mingling with your skin and breath.

Fuck. It’s embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing that you feel yourself clench around nothing…and knowing Joel watched it happen. Bared to him, letting him take in every little intimate inch of you.

—you moan.

Caught off guard once again by his touch, Joel caresses a cheek—your non-injured one.

Tentatively, he strokes down your bruised one but you tense up instantly.

“Shh…” Joel pacifies you, clucking his tongue in the most tender way—like you’re some wounded animal that needs soothing, calming. “Poor thing.”

He repeats his previous motion again—

—you harshly suck air through your teeth, pain blooming suddenly then subtly from where you’re most sore. Joel pressed down on the area, humming thoughtfully at your response.

“Here?” He asks brushing a palm, following the curve of your sore cheek. “Want Daddy to kiss you here?”

You whimper with a slow nod.

Joel urges you forward a little, hearing him shift from the couch to kneel behind you…between your legs.

You give a small jump at the sudden press of skin. You…you think it’s the tip of his nose, the graze of his skin and breath against yours.

You wait and wait—

—and he puts his mouth to it. Right where you hurt, a hot kiss and beard tickling. His tongue laves over the spot, rough and wet and strong.

“Joel,” you sigh into the floor.

“How’s that?” he asks, pulling away.

Your skin is so sensitive, cooled where his tongue licked a wet stripe. You’re on fire and Joel’s mouth is just the thing to raze you to nothing.

“Mhmm,” you nod eagerly, eyes squeezing shut.

“Feelin’ better?”

All you can offer him is more nodding and impatient mewling.

“Then I should stop,” there it goes again. The slight arrogance in his voice.

“No,” and you, with your pathetic eagerness. “No. Don’t—please. Keep going.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, perhaps that your politeness would have earned you exactly what you wanted, but Joel tuts disapprovingly.

And you feel his thumb press down on the bruised area again.

You jerk up from your forearm and gasp—sharp pain bringing you back to the present.

“‘Keep going’, what?”

The sudden pinch of pain only just about steals your breath, panting and blinking until the living room comes back into view.

“Please,” you remember yourself, you remember the game. “Keep going, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” and you’re instantly rewarded with another kiss.

Joel drags his tongue across your skin, and then it’s his teeth nipping lightly. The coarse hair of his untidy beard prickles and rubs you delicious. He skims up the back of your thighs, large and warm hands settling to cup you near the undercurve of your backside and legs. Your hips twitch—wiggle, really. It’s all desperation while you seek out relief.

It hurts. Hurts to be this wet and untouched. Aching for a brush of his finger, the brush of his lips. Just thinking about it makes you twitch again, doing your best to direct Joel’s mouth where you need it most.

“Quit,” he says roughly against your ass, and this time his teeth do pinch your skin. “Or you’ll have two sore ass cheeks if you keep that up.”

You still immediately, half-garbling an apology you’re not sure makes any sense. But it’s too late. Joel’s pulling away and you’re holding back your disappointment.

You don’t know what’s worse.

Being teased or knowing Joel’s looking at you. At the obscene wetness, the drip from your cunt down—or up, you guess. You wonder if you’re dripping on him, on his jeans, on the floor.

“So fucking pretty like this,” Joel’s voice is gravelly low. “Ass in the air. Pink pussy swollen and wet.”

You keen again, at a total loss for words as your need fights to consume you. Teetering dangerously close to doing something stupid like not following the rules and chasing relief for yourself.

“Think you just needed some attention,” Joel continues and you’re bowled over by his touch, pressing your forehead into your arms. He runs a finger—no, it’s the thickness of his knuckle—right from your soaked entrance to your clit. You can’t help it. Your hips tip further back into his touch, gasping for more. “Think all that cryin’ and bellyachin’ was just a ruse to get me to make you come.”

You shake your head.

The blood is starting to rush to it, and it’s heightening your arousal. You feel like you took something, limbs light and loose and your senses at their peak. Every pass of his knuckle only leaves you wanting more.

You think you hear the pop of his finger from his mouth.

It’s too much.

The thought of him back there, tasting you off his fingers, while staring at the way you gape for him—squeezing around nothing.

“But you’ve been sucha brave girl,” another taunt—fuck, you’re too eager, too close to getting everything you want to bite back. “How ‘bout Daddy takes care of it?”

“Mhmm.”

Joel shifts, his jeans brushing the inside of your legs and he’s petting you. He’s…so gentle.

“‘Mhmm’, what?” he repeats. “What do you want?”

“Touch—anything,” you can’t form the words. It’s all butchered sound to you, blood pounding in your ears.

Joel chuckles, but it’s dry and humorless.

Yet it makes you squirm, makes you molten from the inside out.

“Need to hear you say it, baby,” Joel ventures too close to your inner thighs—getting close and yet not close enough.

You open your mouth but you don't know where to begin. Every sweep of his hand, every cup of you in his palm makes you blank.

“Come now. Try,” he starts. “Say, ‘Daddy, want to fuck your hand’.”

You could cry.

You try to focus on a spot on the floor, where the sun is casting its last shadow of the radio perched up on the window. You follow its outline, try to focus enough to manage the words.

You take a shaky breath. Then two.

When you open your mouth, you realize it’s gone dry.

“Daddy, want to fuck your hand.”

“Shit.”

An odd sense of relief floods you that it’s not just you, punched out by crazy desire—that Joel is just as man, craving you the way you’re craving him.

He runs his fingers through your slick slit, tracing your entrance before dipping a single digit in you. You nearly wobble up on your elbows, unsure what to do with the sudden fullness.

“Easy, easy,” and Joel slowly starts to pump his finger in and out of you, but it’s not long before he’s adding another.

Too full, too soon and stretching around his thick fingers, just on the precipice of uncomfortable but not quite. Joel must sense it because he coos another string of encouragement. His free hand rests along the curve of your ass, keeping you spread open and then you feel it—the gentlest coax, urging you to move.

To fuck yourself back into his hand.

So you do, moaning and pliant to his every little demand.

“Atta girl,” he says, sounding so profoundly pleased you think you could come right then.

You could. You could take your pleasure like this, could easily bear down on his hand from the angle and pace he sets with the hand on your ass.

But you know better than to let it run away from you—run away from Joel’s instruction.

Your wiggling is starting to get embarrassing. It’s wormy and impatient. Frustrated that you can’t speed up the movement, to get to the place you want to most.

And—fuck, he’s curling his fingers just right.

You squirm and pant and your tongue feels heavy, face hot from the blood rushing and the heat of what you’re doing, of how you’re getting the fullness of his fingers right at the bundle of nerves inside you.

Joel’s hot breath meets the inside of your thigh. “What a mess you’re makin’,” and he runs his teeth along the skin there—licks at the wetness that’s starting to get everywhere. “Want Daddy to clean you up?”

“Oh fuck,” a choked out noise from your throat as you fight not to come right there, useless against his filthy mouth. Your shoulders and elbows ache, legs shaking at the intensity of it all.

He stills your sudden jerky movements, withdrawing his fingers and it hurts to lose his touch.

Slick with your wetness, he clutches at the side of your leg as he moves behind you.

“Here,” you feel the puff of hot breath tickling where you’re wettest, the single word ghosting over your pussy. “This where you need to be kissed, baby?”

You nod and twist impatiently, your forehead rolling over the back of your forearms. You’re sure you’ll be sore there tomorrow morning too. He makes those shushing noises again, and you start to feel like some wounded bird he’s come across—powerless and wondering if he’ll put you out of your misery.

“Fuck,” more choked noises from you throat. “Fuck y-yeah. Th-there.”

“Ask nicely.”

You nearly tell him to fuck off, but thankfully all you manage it a gargled sound of frustration. It almost sounds like a growl. The thing, tight like a fist in your belly, is viscous—unrelenting. Craving, demanding fullness where you flutter and clench.

Fucked out to the point of vexation, it makes you more primal and less you.

“Please.”

Tears start to prick the corner of your eyes.

“So close,” and you think that’s the arch of his nose nudging your lips apart. “Try again.”

You shake. Tremble. Muscles crying out from the strain. Desire splits you from your body, until you’re rendered to just an aching, hapless thing. A thing that craves, and craves, and craves.

And it craves Joel.

“Repeat after me,” Joel says softly, and this time you can’t sense the arrogance in his tone—no matter how tight you squeeze your eyes shut.

You nod. It’s all you’re going to manage on your own.

“Please, Daddy…”

“P-lea—” you’re cut off by another unexpected moan, but you persist. You try again, angry nails against the wood under you. There’s a drop of something on the floor. A tear? Spit? Sweat? “Plea-please, Daddy.”

“Let me fuck your mouth.”

“Let-let m-me f-f-fuck your mou-mouth,” it comes out in one rushed breath. It takes so much out of you your chest is heaving hard against the floor beneath you, pressing hard into your tits.

“Now…” Joel massages—teases—the muscles nearest your inner thigh. “All together, darlin’.”

You don’t know where you source the strength from, how you manage to get through it.

“Please, Daddy, please—let me, let me fuck your mouth, please. Please, Daddy.”

You think you’ve babbled the same seven words over and over and over, until they fall out of order and turn into a gaudy sound that starts off as a moan but quickly unravels into a scream the moment Joel presses his mouth to your cunt.

His strong tongue runs through your folds, hitting the underside of your clit and pulls another one of those vulgar screams out of you.

You tip your hips back into his face and he encourages it once his tongue finds your entrance. Fucking you with it.

You can’t control the way your hips start moving back against his mouth, his face—the same way you eagerly fucked his fingers.

And the noise…

The noise is fucking lewd.

But you need to hear it.

You muffle your moans and cries into your forearm, drooling against it as the focus point in front of you (the shadow of the radio) blurs and blurs.

You need to hear it, Joel licking through your wetness, at the way he laps at your cunt until you’re closer and closer and—

He pulls away.

And you do collapse a little, unsure how much longer you can keep up with his games. You hear the rushed sound of his belt clicking open and the swift slide of his zipper.

You chance a glance back at him. Tense, tired limbs and blurred vision. You can feel the trail of spit snapping between your arm and sore mouth.

Fuck.

Maybe you shouldn’t have looked back. Because you’d only seen him like this a few times before.

He looks…drunk. Strung out on the sight of your pussy, mouth and beard wet and darker. You watch as he fishes out his cock—hard, drooling.

You don’t think you can cant your hips any further in offering.

Joel strokes himself, unhurried and slow while staring at the mess he’s made between your legs. You muffle a moan by biting down on your swollen bottom lip and his eyes find yours.

“Eyes forward.”

You do as you're told. You do as you're told because you’re so close. So close to getting what you want.

“Good girl. So obedient,” Joel says. “Gonna show me what a good girl you are? Gonna take all of it?”

“God, yes,” your cheek meets the floor, arms bracketing your face. “Yes, yes—want your cock, Daddy—”

The air is punched out of you.

Joel sinks into you with one forceful push, no other choice but to stretch around the size of him—and Joel is not a small man. All broad and strong statured.

You wince through it, doing your best to breathe through it. Trying your hardest, by some sick impulse, to make him proud of how you can take all of him.

He’s not giving you a second to adjust to the sudden fullness. You writhe back against him, trying to find an angle that doesn’t make you feel like the air is strangled out of you—but Joel doesn’t set a soft and easy pace.

When he slams back into you the second time the line between discomfort and pleasure become so tightly intertwined all you can do is cry for more. Worsens when his hand reaches around and finds your clit, rubbing against his calloused fingers with each powerful stroke.

The angle. The dizziness. The pace. You don’t have much hope you’ll hold out very long.

“That’s Daddy’s good girl—takin’ it so fuckin’ good,” he punctuates each word with a thrust, pressing something so deep and other inside you it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Joel fucks you into the floor, free hand gripping hard at soft flesh of your hips and driving the side of your face against the wood under you. Your forearms, slick with spit and marred in your teeth marks—a feeble attempt to deafen the noise.

The way he’s slamming you back into his hips, the raw rub of denim, you’ve long forgotten about the soreness on your ass. Instead, you hear yourself begging: “Harder”.

You feel it.

The tense, tight build up. Starting slow and dull, and quickly becoming something sharp and brutal that works to claim all of you.

You have no way of warning him.

“Shit, shit,” Joel growls behind you. “Ge-gettin’ wetter—how’re you—s-so fucking wet. Makin’ a mess all over Daddy’s jeans.”

That does it.

It tips you straight over the edge. The free falling feeling crashes all around you. Sucks the air right out of your lungs as you cry out Joel’s name, losing control of your hips, riding out a messy rhythm that serves no purpose other than to prolong your pleasure.

You claw at the floor, nails sinking into the cracks as you cry and sob your way through the orgasm wracking through your body—pussy clenching down on Joel’s cock.

It might be a second. It might be a full minute. But eventually you start coming to, blurry outline of the radio’s shadow in sight.

Breathless and loose limbed, you fight to keep your balance. But Joel is unforgiving, pounding into you, walls overly sensitive to his deep strokes.

A little whining noise comes from your raw throat.

“That feel good, baby? Comin’ all over Daddy’s cock?”

You nod into the ground, trembling, another pathetic little noise of affirmation. He makes that thoughtful, tongue-clucking noise again and strokes you from your lower back down the curve of your sore ass.

Makes you shiver and moan.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop stroking your clit. Doesn’t stop his hips slamming into the fullest part of your ass again and again—and it’s…

Your eyebrows knit tight, face screwed up and hot as you try to let him know—let Joel know that you’re going to—

“Fuckgonnacomegonnacome—”

It’s faster this time, tugged out of you without warning. Your orgasm is ruthless as you pulse around Joel’s cock once more, until you’re rendered to nothing but ragged breathing.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Joel grounds out, his voice strained as he picks up the pace. “Gonna come, sweet girl…go-gonna come all over your pretty pussy.”

Nodding, voice hoarse as you whisper “please,” right before Joel pulls out, and the first splashes of hot cum hit your cunt.

You hear the harsh scrape of his groan as he comes, deep from within his chest, grunting his approval of how good you are, how perfect you’ve been—leaves you sticky and warm between your legs.

Exhausted, muscles cramping and tense from being held in your position for too long, Joel eventually eases you (slowly and carefully) back into him as he settles against the edge of the couch. You nestle into his chest, trying to keep your weight off your sore cheek, his legs on either side of yours. Your let your head fallback against his shoulder, eyes shut tight as a swell of dizziness overcomes you. His heart is hammering in his chest, and so is yours.

The two of you sit there for what feels like hours but is really only a handful of minutes before Joel starts grumbling about something…something about his knees. You grin and tip your face forward, until you can graze your teeth down the edge of his bearded jaw.

“Crybaby,” you croak.

He scoffs. Or, at least he tries despite his exhaustion (and wincing about his knees).

You try for a grin. “Want me to kiss it better?”

note: omg this was so rushed but booya, i did it. i wrote something for kinktober and proved to myself that i can finish a prompt/fic.

if you liked it, consider being better and more powerful than my meds and give me reblog thanks!!

also i'm so tired, i never say booya...

#it’s just so hot #like its all I want #like this man give to me now I beg #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut

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