old-logan-and-old-joels-slut - Tumblr blog

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 15 days ago

Text

dad!Joel x f!reader

summary: You ask your dad for money to go to the movies… but he has a different idea: making your own movie together at home.

cw: smut, no minors, DDDNE, incest, dubcon, dadcest, daddy kink, rough oral sex, deepthroating, throat fucking, sex tape, pervy and icky!joel, brat!reader. Don’t fucking read if it’s not your thing. No, I don’t wanna fuck my father. Yes, I’m aware Joel wouldn’t do this, been a fan of the game for ten years, this is just fiction.

You found your father in the living room, sprawled back on the couch with one arm over the backrest, a beer bottle dangling from his other hand, like most nights. Any other ocassion you'd make fun of him "Drinking beer and watching TV isn't gonna help you with that beer belly, old man." But tonight you had to be extra nice.

The TV was on, with some sports game he wasn’t really watching. You battered your eyelashes, swaying a little on your feet. “Daddy?”

Joel’s eyes slid lazily to you. He knew that tone, he knew how you'd call him daddy when you wanted something from him. “Mmm?”

“Can I get some money to go the movies with my friends tonight?” you asked, keeping your voice extra sweet, the way you knew he liked.

He hummed before taking a slow sip of beer. “What bout your allowance?”

Your bit your lip. “Already spent it all, daddy.”

Joel arched his brows. “On what?” He scoffed.

“I don't know, daddy! On stuff. Now, can I get some more money or not?” You tried to remain sweet but Joel was getting on your nerves.

“Well, that depends,” Joel tilted his head, smirking, and before you could ask him on what, he already answered. “On whether or not you’re feelin’ generous.”

You knew exactly what he meant, but you still made a face. “Generous?”

“Mm-hm.” He patted his thigh. “C’mere.”

You crossed the room, standing in front of him. “Ugh. You’re so annoying,” you muttered, even as he set the beer down and spread his legs wider.

“Yeah, but you still want somethin’ from me,” he said smugly, reaching for the waistband of his jeans. “If you wanna go watch a little movie. You're gonna have to make one with daddy too first.”

You blinked in confussion. Usually what your dad wanted when you asked for money, or permission to go somewhere was a quick messy blowjob fifteen minutes before your friends picked you up, maybe just a handjob if he was feeling generous that day. “What? Dad, I just want some mone—”

“On your knees,” he said, hooking two fingers under your chin. “I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around daddy's cock. And this time…” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. “…we’re gettin’ it on camera.”

Your head snapped up. “What? No. Gross, dad. I’m not letting you record me so you can be some weirdo jerking off to it later.”

He chuckled, he always found your initial objections and that bratty attitude of yours amusing, and hot as hell. “Babygirl, I don’t need a video to get off to you. You’re walkin’ around this house all the damn time, keepin’ me hard without tryin’. But I want this. I want proof of how fuckin’ good you are f’your dad. And you’re gonna give it to me.”

“Ugh. Why do you have to be such a creep, dad? I don't want that on your phone forever. It grosses me out.”

Before you could protest again, his big hands were already on you, yanking you with force by your arm, pushing you down until your knees hit the rug under you. One of his hands dragged you forward by the back of your neck until your face was right between his spread legs. The big bulge straining against his jeans was right in front of your face, and your cheeks heated despite yourself. You hated how your dad, even being so disgustingly gross, still made your pussy ache with just seeing the outline of his prominent cock.

“Daaad—” you started, but he was already unbuckling his belt, and when he did you knew nothing would make him change his mind.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered roughly. “And don’t you dare hide that pretty face from the camera.”

You groaned, and couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “Ugh, you’re so disgusting. Such a perv.”

He just grinned at your insults. Every time you called him a “perv” or a “creep,” it only made him harder, more desperate to fuck the sass out of you. It wasn’t just the words, it was the attitude behind them, the way you acted like you didn’t want him, like you find him gross, when he knew your tight little pussy was already soaking wet every time he was around you. And that’s what drove him absolutely insane, the thought that he was the only man allowed inside your pretty little body, just daddy. The only one who would ever look after you, who always knew what was best for you. Your resistance only made him hunger for you more, it made him want to claim you, to have you forever, only for him. No other guy could ever give you the love your father gave you.

He held the phone now in his left hand, and he aimed it down at you, the bright flash light almost blinding your eyes. “Say that again to the camera. Go’head, tell em what I am."

“Daddy’s a perv,” you muttered, trying to hide your eyes behind your hand. Joel didn’t let you get away with it, of course not, you’d cooperate, and he’d have your pretty face on close-up chocking on his cock, so with a firm grip, he grabbed your hair, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail, and he tugged your head up so your eyes met his, getting you fully exposed to the camera.

“That’s right,” he said, pulling his cock free from the confinement of his pants. That cock that you already knew too well, was hard ever since the moment you walked into the living room, he couldn’t help it, that was the effect you had on daddy’s body, seeing you with your pouty glossy lips, with your little tank tops that showed your pretty nipples, or little skirts that he’d love to lift just to fuck that tight pussy like he owned it. His cock was thick, his heavy balls hanging below it. He took hold of his shaft and brushed the head agaisnt your lips, smearing his pre-cum all over your pink lipgloss, coaxing your mouth open so he could plug his cock inside you. “Now open up, babygirl. Show the camera how good daddy thaught you to suck cock.”

With a shaky huff, you parted your slick lips. There was no point fighting it, you wanted the cash for those tickets, and your dad was aching for his girl to worship his cock. He’d told you a million times already he’d never had a woman suck his cock so good like his babygirl did, maybe part of what turned him on so much was your initial resistence, maybe it was how you’d always start lazy, like you’d rather be watching paint dry instead of sucking him, that until he’d start fucking your face, and he definetely loved how you’d always take it, you’d complain, but you’d take it. The moment your lips spread, he wasted no time, sliding his thick, pulsing length into your waiting mouth. The phone hovered close, the lens capturing every detail as your tongue swirled, coating him in wet saliva.

“Fuuuuck, yeah, just like that,” he growled, loving that first moment of feeling your mouth around him. “Look at her, fuckin’ perfect, takin’ her dad so damn good. Prettiest little mouth in the whole damn world. Made it especially to suck this cock.” His hips rocked forward, pushing deeper into you, his groans filling the air as your throat tightened around his invasive girth, a slick gag escaping your mouth. “That’s it, babygirl, choke on it. Let ‘em hear how much you love this.”

Your muffled whimpers vibrated around his cock, a desperate sound that might’ve been a complaint if your mouth wasn’t so stuffed. The tears started to spill from your eyes, making your cheeks glisten as you struggled to take him. You tried to pull back, gasping for air, maybe to spit out another “gross old man” at him, but his rough hand clamped harder at the back of your head, pinning you in place, making it impossible for you to move, or to do anything else but to keep sucking his cock.

He kept talking into the phone like some depraved narrator. “She’s actin’ all bratty, tryin’ to squirm away,” he told the camera, arrogantly, “but this little slut loves when daddy fucks her pretty mouth raw. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You managed to pull back just enough to gasp, his grip loosening for a split second. “No, s’gross, daddy, I—” Your defiance was cut short as he thrust forward again, his cock plunging deep, the swollen tip ramming the back of your throat. You gagged hard, the wet, choking sound filling the air as your body jerked. Saliva dribbled down your chin messily, as you fought to breathe through your nose.

“Mmhm,” he drawled delighted. He loved watching you struggle, savoring the way your face contorted, your cheeks hollowing, brows furrowing, tears streaking down your flushed skin, your throat spasming around his length, the obscene gluck-gluck of each thrust echoing as he pushed past your gag reflex, forcing you to take every inch. “Fuck, look at that. Love those little noises you make when you choke on daddy’s cock. Say it now. Tell me you’re daddy’s filthy little cocksucker.”

You glared up at him with defiance, managing a muffled, “Mmmgg, n-no,” the sound garbled around his shaft. But his grip tightened, fingers digging into your scalp, and he tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze, you broke, voice trembling as you choked out, “…’m d-daddy’s… l-little c-cocksucker,” each word punctuated by the wet, sloppy rhythm of his cock sliding deeper into your throat.

“Attagirl,” he said, and his phone caught every second as he started thrusting harder into your mouth. He moved his hips fast and deep, like trying to bury his cock deep down your throat, punishing you with every stroke. You could hear his breathing getting heavier, hear the slick noises of your spit coating him and dripping down his ballsack.

“Fuck, look at this filthy mess she’s makin’,” he growled for the camera, tilting it to capture the glistening strings of drool dripping from your swollen lips, your mascara streaking down your cheeks in dark rivers, your jaw quivering as you gazed up at him, utterly defenseless, like you had no choice but to let him fuck your mouth raw until he was done with you. “She’s a perfect messy thing. So fuckin’ perfect f’me.”

His thrusts grew more brutal by the second, giving you no chance to catch your breath. His thick cock slammed against the back of your throat, bruising your palate, the raw ache spreading with every punishing stroke. Your throat tightened, saliva pooling and spilling over, making wet sounds as he used you. When your face flushed a deep red, gagging too hard on the slick mess of your own spit, he yanked your head back by the hair, his grip rough and unyielding, forcing you to look at him.

“Mgggh… daddy… enough,” you rasped, spit clinging to your chin. “You’ve got your stupid video already.”

“Just a bit more, babygirl, ‘m almost there,” he cooed, as he pushed your head back toward his throbbing cock. “Be good f’daddy, and he’ll finish real quick.”

You rolled your eyes, but complied, letting him guide you back. Your tongue slid deliberately along the underside of his shaft with every thrust of his hips, the wet drag of your mouth pulling low moans from him. You hummed around him, cause you knew how much he liked the vibrations, they made his cock twitch. He shoved himself deeper, burying himself to the hilt, until your nose was crushed against the coarse hair at his navel, his balls heavy against your chin. He held you there, grinding shallow, cruel thrusts into your throat until your lungs burned, your hands clawing at his thighs, desperate to pull away.

With a harsh tug on your hair, he ripped you off his cock. You choked, gagging violently, spit stringing from your lips to his glistening tip as you gasped for air, your chest heaving after being suffocated by his length.

“Gonna give you somethin’ to remember this by,” he rasped. You whimpered, shaking your head weakly, knowing exactly what was coming, but he didn’t care. His hand pumped his cock furiously, as he aimed the swollen tip at your tear-streaked, spit-slicked face. The first thick, hot rope of cum splattered across your cheek, followed by another across your chin, your nose, your parted lips. It was a flood that felt endless, so much cum dripping down your face in sticky streaks. “Ahhh, Ahhh yesss, ffffuck yeah… take it, babygirl. Take all of your daddy’s cum,” he groaned, making your stomach twist with a mix of disgust and heat. You hated how vocal he was, his filthy words made you cringe, his ragged breaths, the way he moaned, it all sounded gross out of his mouth.

“God damn, babygirl…” he panted, finally lowering the phone, the flash blinding you as it lit up your cum-drenched face. His other hand gripped your chin, tilting your head up to show off the mess he’d made. “Stay just like that. Wanna get a good shot of my baby.”

Your cheeks were flushed from the heat of it all, your hair a wild tangle from where Joel’s fingers had gripped and yanked, tugging hard as he’d used your mouth. The makeup you’d spent hours doing to look pretty for the movie date with your friends was now a wrecked mess, your chest heaved, each breath was a shaky gasp as you tried to steady yourself after he’d finished. Thick ropes of his cum clung to your face, dripping down your cheeks, pooling at your chin, some already drying in sticky streaks.

“Hold still, babygirl,” Joel rasped. His free hand was now wrapped around his cock, fisting it lazily, he moved it so the swollen tip of it would brush your jaw as he smeared his release across your skin, dragging it toward your lips. The other hand held his phone steady, angling the camera to capture every inch of your ruined face in the frame.

You turned your head, whining, you already hated his cum, the smell, taste and texture of it, but now he was ruining all your hard effort, “Ew, Daddy, gross—stoppp. You’re ruining my makeup even more.”

“Darlin’, makeup’s the least of your worries right now,” That little smirk of his was there across his face. He tapped the head of his cock against your cheek, leaving another sticky smear, ugh, it felt so thick and warm. “Look at that. Prettiest fuckin’ mess I’ve ever made.”

You groaned dramatically, squeezing your eyes shut when he dragged himself across your mouth, the wet tip catching against your bottom lip. “Ugh, dad! You’re seriously so disgusting. I can feel it sticking to me.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed amusingly, “and now every time daddy jacks off to this, he’s gonna see you sittin’ there, takin’ it like a good girl.” He tilted the phone closer, zooming in on the mess he’d made, his tip rubbing his cum into your skin in circles. “Look at that. Daddy’s cum paintin’ my girl’s pretty face. Not a damn inch of you I ain’t claimed.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes toward the camera, so annoyed at the fact that sucking him wasn’t enough, now you had to put on a show for him too. “Don’t call me your girl, dad, especially when you’re… ugh… smearing it all over me like some perv.”

Joel chuckled, his thumb coming to tilt your chin up so you had to look directly into the phone. “Say it,” he ordered.

You frowned. “Say what?” You already knew, just enjoyed playing dumb to try and piss him off

“Say whose cum it is.” His tone left no room for argument. With dad his words was always final.

You squirmed, glaring at him through your lashes. You knew daddy loved the attitude and the sass, maybe that’s part of why you did it, you internally wanted to please him. “I don’t wanna—”

The sharp slap of his cock against your cheek cut you off, followed by another lazy drag down your nose, he was really smearing his cum and dragging his cock all over yur face. “Say it, babygirl.”

You sighed heavily, your voice dripping with reluctant sass. “It’s yours, dad. Obviously. It’s all yours. Happy now?”

“Real happy,” he smirked, leaning in to press the head against your lips until you parted them. He pushed just enough to smear the taste onto your tongue before pulling back. “Now tell the camera you love it.”

You groaned, feeling your face hot. “I hate it.” You did hate the taste, it was always salty and bitter, but there was something about knowing that it was you, not any other woman, but you, his baby, making your daddy’s cock hard, and making him cum so much, that made you ache between your legs.

“Try again.” He always knew he had to insist a little with you before you gave in,

You gave him an exaggerated pout but muttered, “I love it,” in the most unconvincing tone possible.

Joel chuckled, and he finally lowered the phone, satisfied with the result of his little homemade movie. “That’s my girl.” His hand cupped your jaw, smearing one last streak of cum along your cheekbone. “Gonna keep this one for a long, long time.”

You wrinkled your nose, part of you disgusted with the idea of your father jerking off alone with the video of you sucking him off, but another part secretely turned on by it, of course you wouldn’t let him know, you had to keep up the act. “You’re literally the grossest man alive.”

“And you’re the prettiest mess alive,” he shot back, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, smearing even more of himself there, enjoying how much it bothered you having his seed on your face.

“Can I have the money for the tickets now?” you huffed impatiently. “Need to go fix my makeup again.”

Joel let out a chuckle, as he reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans.

331 notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 16 days ago

Text

𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐩 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He calls you kiddo when he’s feeling playful. If you roll your eyes, he just smiles, runs a rough hand down your cheek, and drawls, “What? Ain’t my fault you’re still green.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He loves it when you get excited about something you care about. Doesn’t matter if it’s an old book, a scratchy tune, or some trinket from before. He loves the sparkle in your eyes when you talk too fast, pouring out more than he can keep up with. He’ll just sit there, nodding along, catching that light. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says. “I like hearing you go on.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You make him feel younger, whether he admits it or not. He’ll do things with you he wouldn’t otherwise, and he laughs more freely than he has in years. If you point it out, he’ll deny it adamantly, but his smile gives him away. You’re good for him, and he knows it.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel gets insecure about the age gap sometimes. Once, catching sight of gray at his temples, he sighed and asked, “You really don’t mind havin’ an old man wearing down on you?” The only way to respond is with your mouth against his. That shuts him up quickly.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Once, you told him you worried people didn't take you seriously because of your inexperience. Joel tipped your chin up, fixed you with that steady stare, and said, “Far as I see it, you've been through the trenches, same as me. Same as any of us. Don’t you let nobody measure your worth by years, you hear?”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel’s patience runs thin when someone makes smart remarks about your relationship. Once, a man smirked and accused him of fishing in the shallow end. Joel’s hand clamped down on your thigh under the table. He didn’t raise his voice. He just leaned forward, the lines in his face drawn out. “Say somethin’ like that again,” he warned, low and steady, “and I’ll make sure you regret it. Best choose your words carefully.” You know damn well you’re the only thing keeping him from following through.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Once, after patrol, you curled up beside him on the couch and asked softly, “Why me, Joel?” He was quiet for a long while, thumb brushing over your knuckles, before he finally said, “’Cause you make me want to stick around. That’s all there is to it. Reckon you’d say the same about me.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He teases you about your stamina when you’re breathless, sprawled out over him. His lips curl into a smile, sweat shining on his brow “Thought you’d be the one wearing me out, sweet girl. Was I wrong?” Then he’s all over you again, proving he can’t get enough.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Obviously, all of us contraversially younger gfs are the age of majority. Now, let's go get our man!

973 notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 17 days ago

Text

Some Older!Joel thoughts bc i am overly✨feraaaaaal✨ today😌

Warnings?: smuuuuut ofc, handsy AND mouthy Joel, he yaps bc he cant move, creampies and therefore unprotected sexy times, the LIGHTEST of mentions of ass play, joel thinking your fucking yourself dumb when its really him; poor guy :((

Masterlist

Older!Joel Miller who's pulled his back working and cant do much but lay there and take it as you fuck him. Who insists hes fine as his soft tummy collides with your pubic bone with each grind of your hips. Your hands anchored between his knees or chest.

Older!Joel Miller who's own hands are everywhere all at once. Large calloused palms filled with doughy flesh; swatting, tugging, gripping. Anywhere from your thighs, tits, hips, waist and ass- his hands are always roaming since he can do little else in this state.

Older!Joel Miller whos hips are desperate to buck up but cant do so properly without putting a strain on the ache in his back. Who grumbles and whos brows pinch with the effort of keeping still as your pace wavers. Who's fists are white knucked in sheets or on skin.

Older!Joel Miller who verbally eggs you on, drawling everything from soft degradation to praise and begging. His voice begining to ho hoarse the long you fuck yourself on his growing spent cock.

"Doin- oh fuck- so good. Feelin b-better already with that pretty pussy wrapped around me"

"All that cock so deep itd emptyin that pretty head huh? I know, my dumb baby- fuckin that brain out"

"Grippin me so- oh god- so tight again sweetheart, you gonna cum? Gonna cum on your old mans cock again?"

"O-oh shit.. babygirl m' not gonna l-last if you keep doin shit like that-"

"F-fuckin milkin me dry sweetheart- oh fuck.. Cant stop fuckin cummin.."

Older!Joel Miller who, when you turn around to ride him in reverse, grips your bouncing cheeks so tightly it leaves marks. Who spreads em wide and uses the creamy wetness of at least two mixed orgasms to slip his thumb gently over your other hole. Not pushing in, just offering a soft pressure against the puckered skin.

Older!Joel Miller who moans deep and gutteral as you fuck him even when his own thighs begin to tremble from the overwhelming pleasure of your pussy wringing orgasm after orgasm out of him. Oversensitive and barley hard anymore, his sounds still rumble. Ragged and rough, low and harsh.

Older!Joel Miller who makes sure his glasses are on as and not fogged up so he can watch his spent, soft cock slip free from your pussy. A soaked squelch filling the bedroom walls as copious amount of creamy cum immediately follows suit to drip across his pubic area and down the seam of his thoroughly emptied balls.

Unrelated but im thinking about writing a unable to get it up/trying to fuck soft cock joel drabble.. What'd we think?

985 notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 23 days ago

Text

dad!Joel x f!reader

summary: You broke your curfew, you’re mouthy, bratty, and love to make fun of your dad. Now, he’ll have to punish you.

cw: smut, DDDNE, incest, dadcest, borderline dubcon, daddy kink, unprotected piv, rough sex, blowjob, humiliation, impotence. Don’t fucking read if it’s not your thing. No, I don’t wanna fuck my father. Yes, I’m aware Joel wouldn’t do this, been a fan of the game for ten years, this is just fiction.

You knew you were in trouble the moment you checked your phone and saw it was forty minutes past your curfew. Your dad never liked it when you were late. Joel’s head would start spinning, imagining you with boys your age, giving them your attention while your poor father stayed home alone. But lately, you didn’t care if he got pissed.

You caught his frown the second you stepped through the door. “Babydoll,” Joel drawled. Yep, he was pissed. “It’s forty minutes past your curfew.”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking toward your room, chin tipped up. “It’s just a few minutes. Sorry for having friends, daddy.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. He pushed off the couch, closing the distance between you in two slow steps. “Friends don’t keep you out this late. Makes me think you’re forgettin’ whose girl you are.”

You snorted. “I don’t forget. You remind me every time you—”

“—stuff you full’a me ’til you’re walkin’ funny?” he cut in.

Your face heated instantly. “Joel!”

“Mm.” He cupped your chin in one big hand, tilting your head back so you had to look at him. “Gonna keep talkin’ to me with that smart little mouth, or you gonna behave for daddy?”

You opened your mouth to sass him again, but the way his eyes dropped to your lips made your pulse skip. Joel never looked at you like boys your age did, all shy and hesitant. He looked at you like a real man, like he’d already had you in every position possible… because he had. He always said a dad knew how to take care of his girl best, and no boy would ever care for you the way he did.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured when you stayed quiet, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You’ve been out with boys, huh? Let them all look at you so pretty like this.”

You rolled your eyes once again. “None of your business, dad,” you shot back.

“Oh, but it is my business when all of those punks are tryin’ to get into my baby’s panties,” he said, as if the thought of anyone else but him having you repulsed him. “You haven’t been havin’ fun with those boys, have you? You don’t let them fuck that pretty pussy, do you?”

“Ugh, gross, dad. Don’t talk about it,” you said as you began to make your way to your bedroom. Just as you crossed the door, Joel came up behind you, big hands sliding under your sweater to cup your tits. “Cold hands, daddy!” you squealed, squirming.

He chuckled against your ear. “Better get you warmed up then, huh?”

“Dad, I just got here—”

“You been gone all day with your friends. Think I’m waitin’ any longer?” He turned you around, backing you toward the wall. “Mm-mm. Daddy’s been hard for hours thinkin’ about you runnin’ that mouth.”

“You’re so disgusting,” you huffed. “Not in the mood, dad. Just got home, I’m tired.”

“Don’t care.” He leaned down to kiss you softly, then deeper when you gasped. His tongue pushed past yours, one hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you there when you tried to squirm away, the other already sliding down to squeeze your ass.

Joel’s mouth tugged into a slow grin. “Come on, babygirl. Just suck your daddy. Just a little of that mouth, and I’ll let you mind your own stuff later.”

Your head whipped toward him. “No, dad. I don’t wanna.” You didn’t mind sucking Joel or fucking him most of the time. It was good, it felt good. But Joel always wanted to fuck at the most inconvenient times, and he was so icky about it.

“Didn’t ask if you wanted to, babydoll. Said you gotta.” He was a stubborn man, and when he needed his baby, nothing else would do but her. “On your fuckin’ knees now. Make it up to dad for bein’ late.”

“Ugh… gross,” you muttered, crossing your arms. You glared at him for a beat, but when he crooked a finger toward the floor in front of him, you sighed and knelt down.

He was already leaning against the wall, unbuckling his belt. “C’mon, babygirl. Let daddy see that pretty mouth.”

You mumbled under your breath, something along the lines of “ugh, so annoying,” but your hands still moved to pull him out, thick and half-hard in your grip. Joel’s cock was huge. He didn’t know you’d seen other guys’ dicks, but those were nothing compared to Joel’s long, veiny cock.

“That’s it,” he said, watching you from under heavy lids. “You love your dad’s cock, don’t cha?”

You didn’t answer, just leaned in and wrapped your lips around him, giving one slow bob of your head before pulling back with a sigh. No little teasing before sucking him, no kitten-licks around the shaft, no soft kisses on his tip like he liked. Just going straight at it like it was work.

Joel frowned. “The hell is that? You usin’ that mouth or just restin’ it on me?”

You rolled your eyes but kept going, though your movements were lazy. You kept your mouth closed around his cock, bobbing your head up and down, but not bothering to do any tongue play, not moaning around it or looking up at him. You really weren’t in the mood to suck him right now just because you got home late and your dad, being the perverted man he was, thought this would be your punishment. You’d rather be chatting with friends or watching a show on Netflix, but when dad needed help, you needed to provide.

He reached down, gripping your hair tight. “Don’t half-ass it, babygirl. You do it right, or I’ll bend you over your bed ‘til you’re cryin’. That what you want?”

You shook your head around him, your cheeks were heating at the way he was staring down at you like you were just there for his pleasure. Joel always cared about you, but when he was really horny or angry, he’d just take you like you were his little doll.

“Good. Then make daddy feel it,” he ordered, guiding your head down until you gagged lightly on it. “Gotta make it up to him for bein’ so late whorin’ around with boys.”

You pulled back with a whimper, wiping the drool off your mouth after he’d made you choke on his cock. “Ugh, daaaad…”

Joel just smirked. “Don’t go ‘ugh, dad’ on me. You misbehaved, so now you gotta make it right. I’m bein’ nice here.”

“I don’t think it’s nice,” you muttered, shooting him a glare. “It’s gross, dad.”

He just chuckled, reaching forward to hook a finger under your chin and tilt your face up. “Y’know what I think’s gross? A brat who won’t use her manners when I’m bein’ generous.” His thumb swiped across your cheek like he owned it. “Now, open up that smart mouth again and suck like you fuckin’ mean it.”

You whined. “Enough, daddy. I’m tired. And I’m not in the mood. Can’t you just, like, do it yourself?”

“Alright,” he said slowly, his hands gripping your hair into a tight ponytail. “Since you’re gonna give me attitude, you’re gonna stay down there till I’m satisfied. And I don’t give a damn if it takes all night.”

“Dad—” you tried once again.

“Nope. Mouth open. C’mon, babydoll. Gimme that sweet mouth. You know I love watchin’ you try to fit me in.”

You hesitated, so he guided you forward, pressing the blunt, heavy tip of his cock, still wet from your saliva, against your lips. With an exaggerated sigh, you parted your lips, letting him inside your mouth again, but still moving your tongue in the laziest way possible.

Joel groaned, but not in a pleased way, more like frustrated. “Mmh, you’re really doin’ the bare minimum, huh?” His grip tightened in your hair, forcing you down further, making your lips stretch wide around him. “Feels like you’re just sittin’ there lettin’ me do all the work.”

You pulled back enough to glare up at him, spit and pre-cum glistening on your lower lip. “Maybe ‘cause I am. You’re the one who wanted this, dad.”

That earned you a sharp push down his length until you gagged and your eyes watered. He held you there for a beat, letting you choke on his thick cock, feeling the way your throat felt against the sensitive tip of his cock.

“Mm, that’s better,” he rasped, finally letting you come up for air. “Nothin’ I hate more than a lazy little mouth. Suck it like you mean it, or you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

Your cheeks burned hot as you gasped for air, still feeling the ghost of his cock down your throat, cutting off your air. You hated how that threat worked. With a grumble, you sucked him harder, letting your tongue swirl just to show the bare minimum interest, but still doing something.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek in mock affection even while his other hand kept your head in place. “Knew you could behave if dad reminded you who’s in charge.”

You felt his hand cup the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair just enough to grip. “Mm-hm. Uh-huh. That’s real nice, babydoll,” his tone turned sharp, “‘cept you’re actin’ like you’d rather be scrubbin’ floors than suckin’ your daddy’s cock.”

You glared up at him, mouth stuffed full, cheeks hollowing around him. You tried to pull back, make some bratty retort, but Joel kept you there, pushing his hips forward until you gagged again. Oh, how you hated when he fucked your mouth like this.

“Nah, sweetheart. Don’t even try to pull back. You’re gonna learn to do it right with some goddamn enthusiasm.” You mumbled something garbled around him, like “screw you, dad,” but it only made his eyes narrow in an amused way. “Uh-uh. Don’t talk with your mouth full. Work for it.”

His grip tightened, and he started guiding your head at his pace, deep, slow drags that forced you to taste him all the way. He was watching you, every little tear spilling down your eyes, every time your throat worked. The wet, messy sounds filled the room, and the more you tried to make it quick, the more he slowed you down.

“There you go. Nice an’ deep. Don’t you dare pull off.” His voice was low; he loved having this control over you. Everything he did was for your own good. This was just to teach his baby to have some manners and respect. “You think I don’t notice you slackin’? Not givin’ daddy what he needs? Uh-uh. Keep goin’ until that pretty little jaw aches.”

Your jaw was screaming by now, a dull ache all over your chin, but Joel was relentless. His hips rocked just enough to keep you on the edge of choking, pulling back only so you could suck harder on the way up. He kept you there until your eyes were glassy, your lips shiny with spit.

You whimpered, hands resting on his thighs for balance. He didn’t let up. “Mhm, finally startin’ to look like you mean it.”

And then, when you thought maybe, finally, he’d let you stop, Joel’s hand in your hair tightened again. “Don’t even think about pullin’ off, baby. I’m gonna cum down that pretty throat.”

You gave him a muffled, miserable whine, trying to push away before he filled your throat, but it was swallowed up when he pushed deeper again. His breathing changed, his thighs and ass tensed, and you knew he was close.

“Keep your mouth open… yeah, just like that… gonna fill you up, babydoll.”

And when he came, his release was hot and bitter, he kept you there choking on him, forcing you to swallow around him. You squirmed, making little noises of protest, but he only groaned, “Swallow it. Every bit. You love your Joel, don’t ya? Then take it.”

Only when he was sure you’d swallowed did he let you pull away. Your jaw was aching after being wide open for so long, your lips swollen after sucking him, and his smug grin told you he was more than satisfied.

“Mmm,” he murmured, thumbing your spit-slick cheek. “Now that’s better. See? It ain’t so bad when you try.”

You grimaced, your distaste evident on your face. “Ugh, daddy! You know I hate when you cum in my mouth,” you complained. “Ick, your cum tastes so bad. It’s gross.”

“Gross?” Joel chuckled. “Sayin’ it’s gross, but you swallowed every last drop,” he said, pleased with himself.

“Yeah, ‘cause you were holding my head,” you whined.

“Quit complainin’, or you’re in for a lot worse, babygirl,” Joel said roughly. “What has dad told you about being a little brat?”

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do, daddy? You gonna fuck me?” you laughed, amused, looking at his soft cock resting between his thighs. “Your dick looks like a little worm, I doubt you’re gonna fuck anyone anytime soon.”

“You better watch it now,” he said, and instantly he spit on his hand, moving it down to his length, closing his fist around it, violently stroking it, trying to bring it back to life. “You don’t know who you’re messing with when dad gets angry.”

“Yeah, I’m messing with an old man who can’t get it up more than one round,” you laughed, your eyes fixed on the way his hand gripped his cock hard, moving up and down, but still not getting hard. “It’s so sad to see you try, daddy. Maybe you should go and take a nap.”

“Shut your mouth,” he muttered. The muscles in his forearm were flexing as he pumped himself harder, it was as if he was almost punishing himself with every stroke, desperate to get himself hard again so he could fuck you and knock the attitude out of you.

You giggled. “Oh my god, you’re really trying. Need me to get you one of those little blue pills, dad? Look at it, it’s all soft and squishy.”

He groaned, angry at himself for being so old, for his body not responding like it used to, because he had his daughter on her knees in front of him, with traces of his cum on her mouth, and still he couldn’t coax his cock hard again. He thrusted into his fist with frustrated thrusts, but nothing yet.

“Look at you, daddy. You’re red in the face. You’re gonna pop a vein before you even get it up,” you teased him, leaning forward so you could watch his soft cock up close.

You enjoyed so much being a brat and getting on Joel’s nerves. Joel let go of his soft cock and grabbed you by your arm, yanking you up and throwing you over your bed, climbing fast on top of you. He grabbed your knees and pushed them apart, settling in between them. His hands moved to push your skirt up, hauling it around your waist, and sliding your panties to the side, baring your pussy for him. You were soaking wet; even when you complained about sucking him or about how bad his cum tasted, your body still wanted him to fuck you stupid.

“C’mere,” he growled, wrapping his hand around his cock again to try and stabilize it enough to get it inside you.

You yelped and pulled back. “Dad! You’re not even fully hard yet, look, it’s all floppy. Just go have a nap and leave me alone.”

You saw a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You think you’re funny, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” You bit your lip, feeling cocky. “Can’t even get it hard twice in a row, poor daddy. Go on, give it a try.”

His hands snapped to your thighs, pulling them open. “I’ll get in. Don’t need it all the way hard to fuck you.”

He shoved his half-hard length between your folds, trying to grind forward and push inside your hole. But even as he tried hard, it kept slipping out, smearing his pre-cum all over your clit and entrance.

“Feels like a wet noodle, dad,” you mocked him.

That was the last straw. Joel grabbed you by your hips and turned you around, pushing your face down against your pillow, and his other hand pulled your ass up. “Daaaddy!” you tried to complain, but your voice was muffled by the pillow. Suddenly, as if by magic, his cock started to stiffen.

You could feel the thick and now hard head of his length pressing against your entrance, threatening to push in. “D-dad,” you mumbled.

“Ohhh, no,” he mocked you this time. “What happened to that smart mouth now?”

He pushed barely an inch inside you; your heat enveloped him instantly, your tight walls clamping around it, and oh, it felt so good. Joel was sure you were made for him, because no other woman he’d ever fucked before, not even your mother, had ever felt so good wrapped around him.

“Fuck… dad—wait!” you gasped, but Joel just shoved your face harder against the pillow until it was pressed flat against it.

He took hold of your hips and pushed all the way in, in one rough and hard thrust. You felt every single inch of him now spreading your little hole open; the intrusion made you whimper against the pillow, your hands grasping the bedsheets.

“Ohhh yesss… Oh yes, baby, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Feels so fuckin’ tight today,” Joel grunted. And you could only think about how icky he sounded when he dirty-talked and moaned like that. “Mouth shut, ass up, fuckin’ perfect pussy around me, mmmm yeah.”

The mattress was groaning under both of your bodies, as Joel set a brutal pace, fucking you through the slick mess between your legs, a combination of your fluids and Joel’s pre-cum. He was going as deep as he possibly could, the tip of his length hitting your cervix every time he bottomed out, his balls slapping against your ass.

You tried to lift your head, at least to catch your breath, but Joel just pushed it down again with a firm hand on the back of your skull. “Mgghhh, ddd-dad, oww,” were all the little sounds and words that escaped your mouth.

“My perfect girl… oh shit, makin’ daddy feel so goddamn good,” he gritted out while his hips kept slamming into you with that relentless rhythm, each stroke making your toes curl. “You complain so much, but this cunt is eatin’ my cock up.”

Joel’s arm reached under your body for your swollen nub, and once he found it, he started to thumb it. His thick digit moved in circles around your clit until you began to sob on the pillow, your thighs shaking in pleasure.

“Mphhh… ahhh,” you tried to say. And even if the words and sounds made no sense, Joel knew, by the way you were clenching around him, that you were getting close.

“Soundin’ real nice like this, babygirl,” he drawled, punctuating every word with a hard thrust that made you scream into the pillow. “Now you’re gonna cum on dad’s cock. Gonna soak it real fuckin’ good.” He said it as if he wasn’t giving you a choice, and by the way he kept fucking you and rubbing your clit, he wasn’t.

His free hand gripped your ass cheek roughly, spreading you wider so he could bury himself to the hilt, even deeper than before. His cock was diving deep enough that your thighs tried to close, but the grip on your ass kept you wide open for him.

The pressure on your clit intensified, and you felt a jolt of pleasure ripping through your body as Joel made you cum. He felt the way your pussy walls spasmed around him, gripping him tighter than before, fluttering insatiably.

“Fuck—baby. Look at you takin’ it like that, so perfect. Shit—gonna…”

He heard you muffling something that sounded like “mmmg—no, n-not inside—ghh.” But it was too late, and he didn’t care, there was nothing he loved more than stuffing his girl full of his seed. He felt the climax taking over him, and with your pussy milking his cock, thick and warm ropes of his cum painted your walls.

Finally, Joel let go of your head, and you came up to breathe. Your face was red after being pushed down for so long, your eyes were also red from sobbing so much. And you felt the hot, slippery trail of cum running out of your pussy and dripping down your thighs.

“Ahhhg, daaaad, you’re the worst,” you whined, but Joel was too far gone to care, he was lying on his back next to you, trying to catch his breath after exhausting himself. “I hate when you cum inside me. You leave me all messy, it’s so sticky and gross.”

“Mmm, you look so pretty with my cum in your little pussy,” he said as he grabbed you and pulled you against his body, forcing you to cuddle with him. “C’mere with dad.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you tried to move away, but his grip on you was tight. “It’s disgusting. I feel it coming out of me, uggghh, it’s so slippery. Feels awful.”

Joel kissed your forehead. “Daddy’ll clean you up in a second, baby. Just let me catch my breath.”

You sighed in annoyance. “Don’t want you to clean me up. Want you to stop cummin’ inside me.”

“No can do, baby,” he said and laughed as if the idea was ridiculous. “No can do.”

I have a main blog where I post my fics, so I won’t be active on this account other than to post fics like this one if I write any more. I decided to create this blog due to how toxic the fandom has been. I don’t want this reaching the wrong public and have them come at me, but I still want people who enjoy this kind of fics to maybe be able to find and enjoy it, since there’s not a many dad!fics.

The dividers I used are from @/leilakittya and @/chilumitos

236 notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 1 month ago

Text

Kitten Fur

Tommy takes a deep breath, groaning as his cock stirs in his denim. “S’just a big secret to keep,” he says. Tommy continues, “An’ I can keep quiet for ya, but I gotta know what’s in it for me, right? S’all I’m askin’.”

You can’t get anything past Joel, but that won’t stop you from trying.

Tags - one shot, smut, unprotected piv, creampies, uncle tommy blowjobs/facefucking, cum swallowing, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking/violence, Joel gets dark, then comforts you, cat scratches, wound care, coercion/manipulation/blackmail, dark/icky daddy themes, daddy kink, dark fluff, girthy legal age gap. 8.5k words. A/N - thanks for all the love and patience 🩷🫂 thank you L who edited, i love you sweet friend

The flowers are blooming nicely.

In the spring, when the snow was all but melted, dirty and icy on the brown grass, you were depressed. It was still cold outside and there wasn’t much to do. Joel took you out to pick out some seeds, give you something to care for, to keep yourself busy. Touching soil - it’s good for a person, you know?

You water Joel’s flowers first: roses, daisies, tulips, and his favorite, lilies. There are honey bees buzzing about, worms wiggling through the soil. You like your flowers better, your snapdragons and gardenias. You love how your honeysuckle smells, so sweet and sugary you could almost taste it.

Joel joins you in your shared garden, wearing a gray t-shirt and some weathered jeans. His curls are combed back, and he looks handsome in the sunlight. He reaches up and pulls a birdfeeder off of the hook of a post that’s taller than you can reach and fills it with seed, then fills a hanging glass container with sugar water for the hummingbirds.

Joel dampens a rag with some oil and runs it along the metal post, top to bottom, all the way up and down.

“What’re you doing, Daddy?”

“Tryin’ somethin’ out…” Joel puts the cap back on the bottle of oil. “Gonna see if this won’t keep away the goddamn squirrels.”

“I like the squirrels.”

“I know you do, Pumpkin, but they’re stealin’ all my birdseed.”

You make a face. “Maybe I’ll put peanut butter out or something for them, then. So they don’t steal your birdseed.”

“Oh, will ya?” Joel sounds less than impressed. The critters are giving you trouble too, snacking on your flowers you’ve worked so hard to grow. You don’t mind, though. It’s a joy to watch them frolic through the garden, chasing each other. You like seeing familiar faces, but your favorite part is seeing the babies. If you’re quiet, and if you’re lucky, you’ll catch glimpses of the sweet baby animals.

Like you’re doing right now. Under the rocking swing you and Joel sway on is a little black kitten, hanging out all alone. It’s cleaning itself, pink tongue darting out to lick its paw before swiping it over its ears. “Joel - Daddy,” you hiss urgently, tugging on Joel’s shirt.

“What is it, Punk’n?”

“Shh.” Joel makes a face in mock offense that disappears when you point to the kitten, and then he tilts his head. “Ahh. Kitty cat, huh?”

“Mhm. Can we bring it inside?”

Joel sighs. “No, sweetheart.”

Ouch. He’s inspecting his work, considering if petroleum jelly might be a better move. Those fuckers are crafty. “Hon, do we still have some Vasel - oh, don’t you give me that look.”

You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows. “M’not giving you a look.”

Joel knows better than to get into an argument with you about whether or not you’re giving him a “look”. He’s learned to pick and choose his battles with you, and he’ll gladly lose that one, but this one, absolutely not.

“Honey, he’s probably got worms an’ fleas and whatnot. He can’t come inside, baby.”

“But it’s hot out,” you argue. “And - he’s black.”

“Look at ‘im,” Joel says, pointing to the kitten, which is now laying in a shady patch of dirt. “He’s coolin’ off in the shade. He’s alright, sweet pea. Look - why don’t ya go an’ play with him, okay? Tell him ‘bout what a mean old man I am. I’m gonna go make us some lunch.”

“I’m really not hungry.”

“Ya really are,” Joel says, parroting your tone. He gives your shoulder two quick squeezes and heads inside to make you both some sandwiches, give you some time to spook the kitten and get your mind un-addled from this thing before you’re in too deep. He hopes that this stray will keep its distance from you, letting you know itself that it wants nothing to do with you. Tough love, Pumpkin.

You approach the kitten slowly, who looks defensive at first. Eyes all wide and alert, on edge. You sit down gently, careful not to make any sudden movements, and hold out your hand for the kitten to sniff. You wonder what it is. Joel kept calling it a he.

The kitten sniffs you cautiously, tickling your skin with its quick little breaths. It seems to approve of you and rubs its cheek along your finger, tail curling left and right. “Hi, kitty,” you smile, using one digit to scratch the kitten right between its ears. You pluck a dandelion and wiggle it in front of the animal, giggling as it bats at the flower. “Shit,” you swear when it scratches you.

The little kitten climbs into your lap and purrs happily at you, letting you scratch its little body all over. You lift it for a moment to raise its tail and take a peek, and yep, Joel was right. “You are definitely a dude,” you laugh.

Joel pushes the curtain of the kitchen window to the side to look at you and the kitten. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head when he sees you smiling, as beautiful as that is, watching your little friend chase a white butterfly. He cuts your sandwich on the diagonal per your standing request, then slides open the window and calls your name. “Lunchtime,” he says.

You come walking, and Joel opens the door for you, stopping you before you can make it inside. “Ah, ah. Put the damn cat back outside. Nice fuckin’ try, kiddo.”

It was worth a shot. You set the kitten down, mumbling something Joel can’t hear, and you’d better thank your lucky stars for that. The fuckin’ mouth on you, Jesus…

“Wash up. Soap an’ water.”

After washing, you sit at the table with Joel, eating your sandwich. He made an extra for himself, but you’re still working on your first half. You swallow a bite of food, sip your water. “I didn’t see any fleas on him but I’m gonna give him a bath,” you tell Joel casually.

“Uh huh, good luck with that.” Joel takes another bite of his sandwich. “An’ then what?”

“Then…I think I’m gonna keep him.”

“Yeah? That so?”

“Yep.”

You eat the rest of your first sandwich, feeling Joel’s eyes on you in the quiet room, the tension hovering like fog. You know your choice of words was bold. Gonna. A choice you made on your own.

“Pumpkin.”

You pull at a loose string on your shorts.

“Look at me,” Joel says, “‘Fore you get any ideas,” and you look at him. “No. You are not gettin’ a cat.”

“Why?” you whine, dragging out the syllable.

“Because,” he explains, “Y’eat me outta house an’ home already. I don’t need another mouth to feed.”

“But I’ll take care of him!”

Joel scoffs, then sucks food off of his thumb. “Yeah, you’ll take care of him?”

“I take care of my flowers,” you shoot back. “And yours.”

Joel gives you a look, lips pulled in a frown and his eyebrows raised. You’re testing him, and by god you’ve got him, sharp fucking girl. “Uh huh. When’s the last time you did your chores, huh? Dishes? Remember those?”

You cross your arms and push your plate away, upset with the direction of this conversation.

“And you’re tellin’ me you’re gonna keep up with a cat? Scoop his shit out of a litter box? I don’t think so, darlin’.”

You look at Joel, then back at your plate. And back to Joel again, who’s still staring you down. He’s not budging, and you don’t think you’ll be able to get him to, either. Finally, you sigh in defeat. You lean forward and rest your head in your hands, frowning.

“Oh, enough with the poutin’. He’s got a mama who’s gonna come lookin’ for him anyway, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. You don’t think so.

“Look, honey,” Joel says, “You can go out there an’ play with him as much as you want, but he’s stayin’ outside. That’s my compromise.”

Compromise. Joel’s been trying to work on that, little by little. The give and take of it all. He’s got you tied on a short leash and he knows that, so he’s been trying to give you more freedoms and privileges here and there.

As soon as Joel says it, you’re out the door with your other half of the sandwich. You find the kitten right where you left it and you tear off little bits of chicken and bread, watching as the kitten happily eats. All those little noises it makes, its little ears wiggling. Joel follows behind you, then stands with his arms crossed as the scene plays in front of him.

“What?”

Joel raises his eyebrows.

“It’s my sandwich, Daddy. And I’m not even hungry.” Lie.

“You know damn well what, sweetheart. He can fend for himself.”

You ignore Joel, and feed the kitten a little more food.

“Fine. You can fend for yourself. Don’t come whinin’ at me when you’re hungry later.” Joel spins around and heads for the kitchen to rinse off the plates, keeping a watchful eye on you as you play with your little friend.

Joel watches you spend the entire day with the little guy, and how gorgeous you look lying in the grass in your shorts and pink shirt, teasing the kitten with sticks and flowers. You lie on your back and cover your eyes with your forearm, and the kitten curls up on your chest, the both of you basking in the sun for an afternoon nap. Joel loves these sounds of your sweet giggle, your real giggle. But you, sweet fucking girl, are going to break your own damn heart.

When Joel calls you in for supper hours later, he has to stop you from sneaking the kitten into the house under your shirt. He tells you you’re walking funny, and you tell him your back hurts. When Joel calls bullshit, you tell him that he walks funny when his back hurts too, Daddy.

You don’t make it far before Joel has you putting the kitten back outside. You and Joel eat in silence, and he notices you staring out the window, your eyes following the kitten the whole time. He also notices the food you hide in your cloth napkin.

“I don’t see his mama,” you mumble.

“She’s out there, honey.”

You don’t like that you can’t see the kitten when the sun goes down. Anxiety nags at you as Joel reads to you while rocking in his chair. You’ve hardly paid attention to the story.

Joel yawns loudly, stretching his back as he does so, then puts his heavy hand on top of your head. “Ohh, I’m beat, baby. Let’s go to bed,” he says, gently scratching your scalp. You melt under his touch for a moment before he’s patting your ass, urging you up. You slide off of his lap first, then spin around and offer him your hands. Joel groans as you try to pull him up, deliberately making you do the lion’s share of the effort. It makes you both laugh. C

You follow Joel toward the stairs, but stop as he continues up. “Daddy?”

“What-y?”

“Can I have like, five more minutes?”

“Whatcha need to do?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, lying, and Joel knows it, too.

“Uh huh. No funny business, Pumpkin.”

You head back for the living room and open Joel’s blanket chest to retrieve an afghan for the kitten. You take Joel’s vinyls out of the crate they sit in and place them neatly on the floor, careful not to break anything. It’s not like Joel will care, right? He doesn’t even use his turntable.

Although…Uncle Tommy might. He likes to play music when he sneaks over and plays with you.

Outside, you set up a little bed for the kitten, and you leave food scraps out for him, too. You call for him, making kissy noises and pss pss pssing into the dark. You’re relieved when he comes running and snacks on the meal you’ve made for him, and you take care to make sure he likes the blanket you’ve picked. It takes him some time to get comfortable. “I can get you a different blanket, bud–”

“Pumpkin!” Joel shouts with his mouth full of toothpaste through the screen window above.

“Coming, Daddy!”

But you don’t. Joel can picture the scene as he spits out his toothpaste and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, you tickling that flea-ridden cat. He goes downstairs in his pajamas and joins you outside, watching with his arms crossed as you care for your fuzzy little friend.

“Hey.” Joel tilts his head and squints. “That my record crate?”

“...yeah.”

“So where are my records?”

“The floor, I guess,” you answer quietly. Joel rolls his eyes, then snaps and points to the door. “Gonna throttle you, kid. Alright. You kiss your little buddy goodnight and get your ass upstairs. S’bedtime.”

Joel watches you tenderly kiss the kitten, right on its forehead and between its ears that are a little too big for its head yet. He ushers you inside with a hand on your lower back, and he gets snapped at by you when he closes the door too loudly. When he kisses you on the forehead and whispers to you goodnight, he knows what’s running through that restless mind of yours. “Hey,” he murmurs. “He’s gonna be alright, okay?”

You check on the kitten every morning and night, and you spend the majority of your days with him as long as he’s around. Joel watched you empty an ice tray into a bowl once, rolling his eyes as you filled it at the sink. “I’m just making sure he has water,” you said.

“Uh huh. Does he really need ice water, Pumpkin?”

“It’s his favorite, Daddy.”

Because he likes to bat around the ice cubes. He paws at them and splashes around a little, then licks his paws.

You gave him a name after about a week. Snoopy. It just fit the little guy.

Joel says goodbye to you one morning, telling you that he’s stopping at the market to pick up some eggs real quick, but that he’ll let you stay outside while he’s gone. It’s only a few minutes anyway, and Joel knows you’re fixated on your little friend. You won’t be getting up to much trouble, so he gives you this inch. “Been goin’ through ‘em awful quick. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya, Pumpkin?”

“Mm-mm,” you lie, holding a handful of scrambled eggs behind your back as Joel kisses you on the cheek. “Can you get feathers, though? From the chickens? I want to make him some toys.”

Joel rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he returns to you with feathers anyway. You’re a very crafty girl, fashioning some sort of teaser toy out of said feathers and a stick. Joel notices the kitten’s been getting bigger.

You and Snoopy have a whole routine. Every morning when you greet him, you sing his name. “Snooopyyyy,” you call, and Snoopy emerges from his crate or a patch of flowers. “Big stretch,” you’ll smile, watching as the kitten leans back on his paws, then forward, wiry little tail flinching while he yawns. Snoopy sings back to you as he greets you, and he’s got the sweetest, chirpiest little meow.

You’ll spend the afternoons playing with him, and when he tires, he naps on you while you read or doodle or something. Sometimes you’ll bring a blanket outside and nap in the grass with him, enjoying the smell of his sunlight-warmed kitten fur. His eyes are turning green now. They were blue when you first met him.

If Joel’s not home, you’ll sit by the window and play with him through the screen. You wish he’d stop locking the fucking doors. There hasn’t been an incident in a long time, but Joel says that trust has to be earned. But he also says you’re getting there, though…he’s been saying that for a while, hasn’t he.

Joel makes a deal with you. He stops arguing about you sneaking the kitten your dinner and instead prepares Snoopy-sized portions on a small dish so long as you eat well and take care of your chores without Joel asking you to. It seems to be working well.

But Joel still won’t budge on letting Snoopy stay. No cats, he says.

You kiss Snoopy goodnight each night, wishing so badly you could go to sleep with him safe in your arms instead.

You haven’t seen such an ugly sky in so long. The clouds are green and purple like shades of bruised skin, a front rolling in quickly. You felt iffy all day when it was just gray and teasing a storm, but the storm’s here, now.

It looks bad. There’s lightning and thunder, though it’s not yet begun to rain. Wind blowing through the screen knocks over papers in Joel’s house. Snoopy’s not by the window with you, and you can’t quite see him, but you can hear him. The kitten cries in anxiety, all alone as he hides from the storm. God, you fucking hate this. You call out to him and promise him that everything’s okay, but it probably does little to comfort the creature.

Everything’s worse after the first few drops of rain pour from the sky. It begins pouring, then stops for a second. You mop up the mess inside with a towel. There’s a ping…ping…ping, ping against the gutters, hail then slamming against the side of the house as thunder roars. They’re large pieces of hail, too, and you worry Snoopy’ll get hurt, or worse as the storm escalates. Jackson saves its alarms for infected only, so there’s no way for you to know what’s ahead.

You try opening a door. Then another, and another. Joel’s locked them all at multiple points.

There’s a strange feeling that comes with punching out the window’s screen. You’ve done it before and faced the consequences, god. That awful day in the forest, being hunted down by Joel with Tommy’s dog. Joel terrorized the living fucking daylights out of you that day, scared you from ever pulling that shit again. But here you are, climbing out the window, just as you did before. You remember the mistakes you made that led you to Joel finding you. You wouldn’t make them again.

Thunder claps and snaps you out of your train of thought. Snoopy cries and you run to him, he’s hidden under his blanket in his crate. Rain soaks you as you run to him and quickly gather him, ignoring his frightened scratching as you hide him under your clothes. What compels you back inside is Snoopy’s safety more than your own, truth be told.

You drip water onto Joel’s floors as you slam the glass window shut, then quickly bring Snoopy up to your room. The kitten is drenched, the same as you. He’s shivering and scared and you are too, but you dry him off before you dry yourself. You create a safe, warm space for him under your bed, which he seems to appreciate. He stays hidden as the storm rages on.

With Snoopy safe, you head back downstairs to assess the damage. The screen has blown halfway across Joel’s yard, so you open the window and sprint after it to fetch it. You are so deeply fucked if Joel sees what you did to his window - the screen is broken and coming apart, and you couldn’t begin to figure out how to fit it back into the window. Especially not in this storm.

“I’ll always come and getcha if you’re in a jam,” Uncle Tommy had told you once, like he was your guardian angel or something. He whispered it, actually, and tapped your nose with his long, thick finger. Wearing that crooked smirk of his, his eyes sparkling with something darker than mischievous.

“No questions asked?”

“Don’t know about that,” Tommy replied. “But if ya need me, sweetheart, I’m there. I know what it’s like to be your age, to find yourself in all sorts’a dicey fuckin’ situations.”

“Did you get in trouble a lot?”

“Sure did, honey.”

“What’d you do?”

Tommy chuckled and swiped at his nose, then shook his head. “Ohhh, darlin’. All kinds of shit a sweet girl like you don’t need to know a goddamn thing about.”

You think now’s about as good a time as ever to get Uncle Tommy and help yourself out of this jam you’re in. You race to his house through the storm, exhilarated as it’s the first time you’ve been out like this since…you don’t even know when. It feels fucking good.

You pound on Tommy’s door, praying to god he’s home and lucky for you, he is. You barely stutter out an explanation before you’re grabbing his hand and leading him back to Joel’s, then showing him the screen you need him to fix. “Jesus, girl. Your daddy’s gonna beat ya black and blue, you know that?”

“I know. I need your help,” you tell him. “Please, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy picks up the screen and opens the door, then gestures for you to move inside. “You up to no good?” he asks, only to be met with no answer. “I ain’t helpin’ ‘less you tell me what crime exactly it is that you’re makin’ me a goddamn accomplice of.”

“Fine. I’ll show you.”

“Show me, huh.” Uncle Tommy follows you up the stairs and into your room, where he takes in everything. The books you read, the clothes you wear, the locked window. The baby monitor Joel turns on at night.

You lift your bedskirt and scratch the floor, and out comes Snoopy. Cautiously, as he’s still frightened by the storm. You scoop him up in your hands and bring him to Tommy, who scratches the kitten between its ears. “This is Snoopy,” you introduce, “He’s been my friend for a while but Joel - Daddy won’t let me have a pet.”

“Mm,” Tommy hums, now scratching beneath the kitten’s chin. He can fill in the blanks himself - you broke out to rescue this kitten from the big bad storm, and now you need him to cover your tracks. “You sit tight and I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart.”

Tommy leaves you to go clean your mess. It’s an easy enough fix - staple the screen back into its frame, then fit the entire thing into the window. He could do it in his sleep.

He calls you downstairs to inspect his handiwork, make sure everything’s to your liking, and it’s as good as new. “Well, whaddaya say, kiddo?”

You push on the screen, smiling in both relief and mischief. It thrills you to get away with this, to have this little secret of your own. That alone is an accomplishment when Joel keeps you under the microscope the way he does, isn’t it? You don’t have much that’s just…yours. Joel takes it all from you.

“Thank you,” you grin, wrapping your arms around Tommy’s strong middle. You squeeze him so tightly and he hugs you back, kissing the top of your head while stroking your back.

“S’what I’m here for, darlin’. Always got your back,” he murmurs softly, then clicks his tongue. “Your daddy’s a fuckin’ hard ass, ain’t he?”

“He–” you stop yourself from continuing. Tommy laughs at that.

“You can say it, hon. Not gonna snitch on ya.”

“He’s a hard ass, yeah,” you laugh, and it feels good to get it off your chest. It’s hard to talk about Joel in that way when he tells you that he’s always right, and when he punishes you for questioning him. Daddy knows what’s best for ya, Pumpkin. Ungrateful ass spoiled fuckin’ brat. He gave you life and he can take it away, you know. Keep fucking testing, watch what happens. And quit with the fuckin’ waterworks before he gives you somethin’ to really cry about.

Tommy laughs too, swaying you from side to side in his warm embrace. It goes quiet, the only sound in the room being the rain splashing against the windows. It’s all but died completely.

“Guessin’ you’re wantin’ Uncle Tommy to keep quiet about this too, then, huh?” he asks quietly, pointing to the window. “Yeah?”

“Please,” you answer.

Tommy takes a deep breath, groaning as his cock stirs in his denim. “S’just a big secret to keep is all,” he says. Tommy continues, “An’ I can keep quiet for ya, but I gotta know what’s in it for me, right? S’all I’m askin’.”

You pull away, brows pinched in concern. Tommy shrugs and grins in a very matter-of-fact way, putting his hands in his front pockets. “C’mon. Fair’s fair, ain’t it? I do a lil’ somethin’ for you, you do a lil’ somethin’ for me?”

“What - what am I supposed to do for you?”

Tommy chuckles darkly. “What do you think, girlie?” He reaches for your hand and presses your palm against his bulge, sighing softly at the pressure. Even like this, you can feel just how big he is. “Got such a pretty mouth, sweet pea,” Tommy says, reaching for your face. He runs his thumb along your bottom lip and gives it a little pull, smirking in his wolfish way. “Why don’tcha get on your knees f’me?”

You kneel so pretty, Tommy thinks as he unbuckles his belt. He pushes some hair out of your face with one hand, then frees his cock using the other, resting his hefty balls on top of the elastic waistband of his boxers. His cock is too big and heavy to slap against his stomach, and bobs with the weight of itself. He holds it between his thumb and forefingers, guiding the tip toward your mouth. “Gimme a kiss, honey,” he says, pushing himself toward you.

His cock is so warm against your lips as you kiss him, and he smells so musky, slightly bitter. His pubic hair is less gray than Joel’s is, but getting there. It’s about as overgrown, though. And he’s markedly thicker than Joel is, though maybe not as long. He’s a fucking choking hazard, is what he is.

You’re happy to take Uncle Tommy’s cock in your mouth, truthfully, even if the whole act caught you off guard. It’s just another way to pull one over on Joel, after all. You’d probably be in big trouble if he knew what you were up to. Good thing he’ll never find out, huh?

You swirl your tongue around Tommy’s thick head, running your tongue over his wet slit, tasting that little bit of prejack that’s beaded there. Tommy holds your face with one of his large hands, stroking softly at your skin as you peer up at him. Uncle Tommy looks like nothing good for you, and you can’t help but feel absolutely intrigued by that. He’s the knife you do tricks with, the matches you play with.

You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, eliciting a deep groan from him. “Don’t you tease me, sweet pea. Ain’t nice.”

You part your lips and take his head into your mouth, then bob yourself on his length, about halfway or less. Tommy watches you, waiting to see if you’ll work your way down, nose buried into his thick patch of hair. “Ahem,” he clears his throat, “Lil’ deeper now, honey. All the way down. I know your daddy raised ya better’n that, huh?””

You pull off of Tommy, a string of saliva that connects him to your lips breaking. “Daddy doesn’t make me take him all the way,” you tell Tommy.

Tommy shrugs, makes a face. “But you ain’t suckin’ your daddy’s cock right now, are ya, girlie?” He positions himself back at your mouth, then begins pushing in. “Uncle Tommy plays by different rules.”

Tommy takes the reins here. Hand on the back of your head, forcing his way deeper down your throat. He’s not a brute about it, of course. He’s gentle, but firm, pushing his cock inch by inch into your warm, wet, welcoming mouth. He hushes you when you gag, choking on his girth. “Slow down an’ catch your breath,” he says. “Through your nose. M’not goin’ nowhere.”

His words soothe you. There’s a bit of panic that comes with him being so deep down your throat, but Tommy’s generous enough to give you the time to get used to him. Once you stop squirming, stop making those silly, cockdumb noises he loves so much, Tommy pulls out. And he pushes back in, and pulls out again. He repeats this until he’s steadily fucking your mouth, hand tangled in your hair. It’s less of something you do for him and more so something he does to you, reminding you of exactly who’s standing and who’s kneeling, here.

“Open wide,” he tells you. “Quickly, darlin’.” Tommy pulls out of your mouth and jerks his cock furiously, sticking his tongue out at you to indicate what he wants you to do. You follow suit, and Tommy paints you in his load, all over your tongue and the back of your throat. “And swallow. That’s it, honey. Good girl.”

You stand up, knees aching slightly. Tommy wipes a bit of his cum off your lip, then pushes it into your mouth. With a twinkle in his eye, he motions like he’s zipping his lips sealed; locks the key and tosses it over his shoulder and winks. “Pleasure doin’ business with ya, sweetheart, as always.”

And he’s off.

A week later, and you cannot fucking believe you got away with it. This kitten…god, what a clever, beautiful creature he is. Snoopy knows when to hide. He stays quiet, never arouses Joel’s suspicions. You’ve got a litter box filled with sand in an inconspicuous spot and you clean it daily, always when Joel’s not around.

You have the most special connection with him. He sleeps in the pocket of your hoodie and plays with anything he can get his paws on. He still doesn’t like the rain, but he’s so soothed by your touch. And each night after Joel reads to you and kisses you, Snoopy appears like clockwork. It’s the gentlest little jump, the slightest shift of weight on your mattress. He tucks himself right under your chin and stays there until early in the morning, then watches the birds every morning, hiding behind your curtain. He does the cutest little ek ek ek’s that cats always do, probably saying nothing nice to any one of those birds. Little punk.

Joel asked once about him. You told him that his mama probably found him, which isn’t entirely a lie. Joel says it’s better that way.

The old man fucking bought it.

Snoopy’s curled up on your lap and purring happily as you brush him, collecting little tufts of black fur you’ll set outside tomorrow morning. The birds will have nice, warm, insulated nests for their babies, you think, smiling to yourself.

Your nose tickles. You wipe it with your hand, putting more of his fur there. “Fuck,” you groan, scrunching your nose and wiggling your mouth. It’s in your eyes, too. It makes you sneeze, loudly, startling Snoopy. The claws come out immediately and dig into your bare thighs, and drag there as he launches himself off of you and darts under the bed. “FUCK! Snoopy, what the h–”

Blood is beading up on your thighs. Little kitten claws cut so deep, don’t they? Snoopy hasn’t quite figured out how to temper them, either, when to retract them. Blood is beading up on your thighs, dripping towards where gravity pulls it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How will you explain this one to Joel, huh? He’s gonna come in here tonight to fuck you and he’ll see your bloodied and scratched thighs, what’ll you tell him?

“Holy shit, okay. Ow,” you whine, hopping off the bed and hobbling toward the bathroom. The warm red dripping down your thighs makes you feel a little dizzy. It’s running toward your knees, now. “Ow, ow, ow, oh my god.”

“Pumpkin?” Joel calls from his room. “You hurt yourself, baby?”

Shit. Joel’s home? “No - I’m fine, Daddy.”

“What’s ow?”

Silence. Joel knows you should have an answer for him. “Pumpkin…”

“I’m fine! Don’t–”

Too late. Joel’s already out of his room and staring you down in the hallway, taking you in. Your bloodied thighs, the deer-in-the-headlights look. He counts the scratches on your thighs - four that are visible, all in irregular patterns. “What did you do?”

You purse your lips, squeezing your eyes shut as the cuts throb, and Joel knows you’re lying. You’re doing all your usual tells, hemming and hawing while looking to the side. “What did you do?”

Snoopy emerges from your room at that exact moment, and Joel pieces it all together. Fuming, he marches past you and down the stairs. Your stomach drops when you hear a drawer in the kitchen open, and then Joel’s stomping up the steps, wooden spoon in hand. “Again,” he spits. “Lyin’ t’me, a-fuckin’-gain.”

“Daddy, no. Please d–”

Joel ignores you and drags you by the arm into your bedroom, where he sits on your bed. He forces you over his knee and tugs your shorts and panties down your ass, ripping them a little in the process. That fragile, old fabric.

He hits you with the instrument, hard. He does it again, ignoring your cries of pain. Joel hits you until he can see the outline of the wood on your ass, “Tell me, Pumpkin. How’d ya pull this one off, huh?”

Hit. You scream, then answer him. “I don’t know!”

“You better fuckin’ speak up, girl.”

Nothing from you, and another smack. It’s hard to think up another lie as Joel beats you raw, but you manage to. “You left the door unlocked,” you sob. “Daddy, please. I’m so sorry.”

“When was this?”

“Like - like a week ago!” you cry.

“Didja go anywhere?” he asks, raising the spoon to hit you again. That’s Joel’s main concern - you’ve been getting in and out? How long has this been going on? Who are you seeing, and what do you tell them? Joel’s blind and sick with rage and you, Pumpkin, you did this to him. And you did this to yourself.

“I didn’t! Daddy, I did - listen to me, please. I’m telling you the truth. Daddy–”

“You better spit it the fuck out, then. Go.”

“It was storming, you left the door unlocked. I didn’t know it until I tried it. And I was scared for him, so I got him and brought him inside. And that’s all that happened, Daddy, you have to believe me.”

“Yeah? Why should I, kid?” he pants, red in the face. “Fuckin’ lied before, haven’t ya?”

“Yes, but–”

“But what?”

But nothing. You break down and sob, waiting for more hits to come. Joel lets you cry it out for a moment, then drops the spoon. When he stands up, you’re afraid his belt is next.

Joel walks away. He returns moments later, a basket of medical supplies in his hands. “Flip over,” he barks, still pissed off as ever. You do so immediately, and Joel sits on the edge of the bed. He spreads your thighs and inspects your scratches, then dabs some isopropyl alcohol onto a few cotton balls.

“Don’t–”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, wiping your injuries with the cotton ball. It hurts worse than the spankings did and makes you scream, but it distracts you from the pain of your raw, swollen, throbbing ass. “S’posed to hurt. It’s a punishment,” he says, moving onto the next one, and the one after that.

Joel fans air on your thighs, then unscrews the cap off some antibiotic ointment. He dabs a little on his fingertip, then runs the ointment over the scratches. “Don’t look at ‘em,” he warns, though you’ve already seen them. “I need ya to be honest with me.” Joel inhales deeply, then reaches for a roll of gauze and some medical tape, both half-used. “Is this whole kitten ordeal,” he asks, gesturing to wherever the hell Snoopy ran off to, “The only stunt you pulled?”

“Y–”

“Do not lie t’me again, so help me god.”

“It’s the truth,” you answer, convincing yourself that it’s not a lie, and that you didn’t go and see Uncle Tommy, or suck his cock and swallow his cum on his brother’s kitchen floor. It’s not hard to do when your head feels as swollen as it does, sinuses all congested, cheeks puffy and raw from your tears. Anything to get through, you know…this.

Joel feels like he could fucking puke, knowing you escaped. He feels stupid for leaving a door unlocked. He feels stupid for trusting you, too. “Why don’tcha listen to me? Hm? Why d’ya have to buck me every goddamn step of the way? I put a roof over your head and give ya food and clothes an’ all I ask is that you just fucking listen.”

“I do listen,” you argue, searching for the words. “I’m trying - I really do try to, at least.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” You’re defensive. Dishonest. You’re just like your daddy, aren’t you? Oh, you know the truth. You know you crave the fight and the challenge. The feeling that comes from winning against Joel…but that never seems to happen, does it?

“Am I…bad, do you think?”

Joel tilts his head, frowning, intrigued. “In there?” he asks, tapping gently where your heart beats and you nod, sniffling. “Oh, not at all, sweet girl. You’re not bad,” he says. He dabs some antibiotic ointment on one of the deeper scratches on your thighs, then covers it all with some gauze. “Not by a longshot. I think you’re trouble, Pumpkin, but you’re the furthest goddamn thing from bad. I love that heart of yours.”

And Joel means that. You’re soft, tender, sensitive. Brave when you need to be. Stubborn as all get out. Joel’s special girl, always getting herself into messes he’s gotta clean up. It’s all part of parenthood.

“You’re a good kid,” he says, “But you cannot keep doin’ shit like this to me, baby. My fuckin’ heart can’t take it.”

Joel says it softly, in a pained way, knowing his words’ll eat at you, knowing that they already are. And they do - guilt is such an awful, nagging feeling, and it might just be the perfect motivator to get you to fucking obey. And sure, you like to hurt Joel, make him ache like he makes you ache. But causing him anxiety, deep upset…knowing what memory tugs in the back of his mind when you remind him that you can disappear if you really want to, as much as he tries to stop you. The little girl he told you about.

Joel inhales deeply, then changes the subject. “M’gonna keep an eye on this. Cat scratches ain’t nothin’ to mess around with,” he murmurs. He lays you down on the soft mattress and brings his face close to your thigh, then gently kisses over the bandages he wrapped you in.

Daddy’s always gonna do that, you know. He’ll always kiss your hurt all better, yes, even when he’s mad at you, yes, even when he’s disappointed in you. What else are daddies for, if not that very thing?

Joel kisses over each of the covered scratches, coincidentally kissing his way toward your center, causing you to soak your lily-white sheets beneath your ass. You whine when he pulls away from where you need his kisses the very most. You always need him after your fights, to remind yourself that he loves you, and things can feel good with him. “Please, Daddy.”

“No can do, Pumpkin. ‘F we screw up your bandages m’gonna have to do the whole thing all over again.”

“Even the alcohol?”

“Reckon so,” Joel answers, laughing to himself when you pout at that. “Mmhmm, I know, sweetheart. We gotta make good decisions, don’t we?” he whispers, running his knuckle delicately along your cheekbone. “Daddy’s here to help ya make good choices. You know that?”

“I know that,” you reply softly.

Joel caresses your jaw softly, gently. “C’mere,” he says, but he brings himself to you. He kisses your forehead, both of your cheeks, your chin, and your nose…your lips. It’s something you don’t do enough, is kiss Joel. It’s a gentle peck at first, then deepens into something more than that. Joel’s tongue mingles with yours as he cages your body with his own.

His hands on your neck, trailing down your breasts, pausing to gently squeeze at them. His hand goes lower and lower, fingers dipping into your heat to gauge just how badly you need this. If it’s worth the risk or not.

And Christ, you’re soaked to the fucking bone, kid. You moan into Joel’s mouth, rutting your hips into his palm. “Ohh, fuck. Goddamn, honey,” Joel says. “I think we can do it, Pumpkin, but Daddy’s gonna go real slow and careful.”

“Okay,” you nod, biting down on your grin. Joel will tease if he sees it.

“Which means,” he adds, “You can’t get mad an’ throw a fit like usual when things don’t go your way. Right? Gotta be patient w’me.”

“I’ll be patient, Daddy.”

“Uh huh.”

And that’s all Joel says before pulling away from you. He brings you with him momentarily, just to lift your shirt off and toss it elsewhere. Off comes his clothes next, one at a time. Joel’s in no rush.

He lowers himself between your thighs, spreading them wide. He continues those kisses from earlier, working his way toward your center, and each one makes you throb. He kisses your lips, your mound, your belly. Joel inhales deeply, your gorgeous, warm, sugar-sweet scent. He can feel the heat radiating from your pussy on your skin, feel you thrumming with a need, a hunger only Joel - Daddy - can satiate.

If it were a different day, if you weren’t already blemished by violence, he’d probably squeeze you hard enough to bruise. You’re soft like a peach, after all. But as promised, Joel’s gentle with you. Joel’s gentle with you as he licks a long stripe from the bottom of your pussy right to the very top, drawing a figure eight around your clit. “Guess the shape, Punk’n.”

You giggle, “Circle.”

“Nope!”

Joel does it again, and again, and again. “I don’t know, Daddy,” you breathe, “Figure eights?”

Joel laughs. “Attagirl,” he praises. He dips his tongue lower, nosing your clit while dipping his tongue in and out of you, tasting you. You make all the same sweet little noises you always make, quiet moans and soft whimpering. You soak his chin and the bedsheets beneath you, fingers tangling around Joel’s gorgeous, silvery curls.

Joel savors you, like you’re syrup on his tongue. He inserts two fingers into your heat, rubbing against that special place inside you, steadily guiding you toward your release.

Like when you lie, you have tells. Shaking, trembling thighs, a quiet voice. Joel licks and licks and licks, and there it is - cumming hard on Joel’s fingers, pulsing around them, gushing into the palm of his hand.

Joel licks the mess, then pulls himself forward. He fits his hips between your thighs, cock bouncing between your bodies, red and swollen, beating in time with his heart. “Ready, kiddo?”

“Can I put it in?” you ask.

Joel guides his tip toward your slit, “Mm-mm. Daddy’s doin’ it this time, baby. Maybe another time, ‘kay?”

“Can I help, then?”

Joel rolls his eyes and smiles. “Oh, yeah? You can help?”

“Mhm.”

He’s only a man, after all. Only a daddy. Who’s he to deny his pretty girl of such a thing? “Hold me right here,” he says, wrapping your hand around his shaft. You hold him as he fits himself inside you, then let go when he swats your hand away. He enters you quicker than he used to, testing you. Seeing how you handle him. “Lookit how good ya take it, baby,” he coos, looking down to see himself fully sheathed in your warmth. He pulls out, and he’s coated in ribbons of your creamy arousal, then pushes back in. He finds a pace, then saws his hips into you. “Yeah, nice an’ easy,” he whispers, making good on his promise to fuck you gently. And like a good girl, you take it, and you don’t complain. Not for more, not for less. You moan for Joel, making all of his favorite sounds, whimpering his name in that special way nobody else gets to hear.

Joel’s hands wander your body, squeezing whatever handfuls of your flesh he can. “Daddy!” you squeak, wincing when he grabs your thigh.

“Shit, baby. My bad. Lemme look–” Joel pauses to give your bandages a quick peek, then continues fucking himself into your tight cunt. “Easy, sweetheart. Easy.”

Joel fucks you gently, steadily, and you feel at home. It used to feel scary - and Joel made it scary - but there is something about it now that comforts you. Something about his body wrapped around yours, his nakedness, his weight and his warmth. Joel, finding himself closer to his orgasm, licks his fingers and massages your clit to coax your own along.

Pleasure ripples through you, washing over you in non-rhythm. Your pulsating walls have Joel coming just behind you, pressure building deep in his gut in the same way it does yours. Balls tightening, brow pinched together, Joel grits his teeth and growls as he cums, drowning out your pleasured noises with his own. “Oh, fuck Goddamn, fuck,” he grunts, milking the last of himself before he begins to soften.

Joel pulls out of you, then bends down and grabs his t-shirt, uses it to clean the mess he made of you. “Go potty, sweet pea,” he pants, catching his breath.

“Daddy.”

“Not arguin’. Go.”

He flops in your bed, watching as you walk naked to the bathroom, watching you relieve yourself, feeling his cock stir at that, despite having just orgasmed.

You flush the toilet and wash your hands, then join Joel in bed where he pats the space next to him. You snuggle him, inhaling his warm, sweaty skin, feeling at peace until…until you remember what’s coming after this.

“So, uh…”

“Hm, baby?”

“About the cat.”

“The rodent you’ve been feedin’ my eggs to, yeah, what about him?” Joel scoffs.

“Just wondering.”

“Uh huh. Heard ya named him, right?”

“Snoopy.”

Joel nods. “M’not mad at you for takin’ care a’ him, ya know. I’m mad about the lyin’, the disobeyin’.”

“Yeah. I know,” you whisper. Before it all feels heavy again, Snoopy jumps into bed with you and Joel, breaking the tension. He bravely walks over Joel like he’s not even there, then curls up into your side, settling right in that elegant curve between your hip and rib cage.

“So this is Felix, huh?”

“No, his name is Snoopy. I just told you.”

“Ahh, Snoopy. My bad.” Joel rests one hand behind his head, then scratches the kitten with the other. “Thing’s fuckin’ ugly,” Joel mumbles, using just one finger to tickle the creature. “Pretty screwed up lookin’ dog f’ya ask me, Punk’n.”

“Daddy,” you scold. Snoopy closes his eyes and purrs, tilting his head into Joel’s hand, leaning into his touch before betraying you by walking over to Joel. He lays on Joel’s chest, happily melting into those firm, warm strokes Joel gives him before settling against his neck. You hope Snoopy stays this snuggly forever.

“Please let me keep him, Daddy.”

“I dunno, kiddo. I’ll have to think on it.” Joel lifts Snoopy, ignoring his whines, then places him in your hands. He groans and lifts himself up and out of bed, then turns off the overhead light, leaving your lamp on. “You’re lucky I love ya,” he says, then kisses your forehead. “I mean it, honey. I do.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, and Joel kisses you again. It’s not quite bedtime but it’s getting there, and Joel’s ready to lie in a bed that actually fits him, maybe read a book. Give you time with Felix…Snoopy…whatever the fuck his name is before he’s gone for good. Because no, Pumpkin, you cannot keep him. Rules are rules, and that cat is going outside where he belongs.

Joel lies in his bed, reading glasses on as he flips through a book you’ve been asking to read, checking for pornography and other things of that nature, when a certain someone interrupts. Snoopy’s tugging on his comforter, clawing his way up the mattress to meet Joel, taking back his spot on Joel’s chest. “What are you doin’ here,” Joel mumbles, once again moving the kitten away. This time, Snoopy doesn’t just vocally protest, no. He swipes at Joel’s finger, nicking him right by the knuckle, then settles on his torso again. “Shit. Fuckin’ asshole.” Joel sucks his finger as he glares at the kitten.

Snoopy stares back at him, then lowers his head and rests his chin on his little paws. “Guess you’re kinda cute,” he murmurs. “Aren’t ya.” As if on cue, the kitten flips over, exposing its belly to Joel. He laughs.

“Bet your girl’s missin’ ya, knucklehead. Go bug somebody who actually likes ya. Scram, Felix.”

Snoopy must’ve learned his defiance from you. He closes his eyes and opts for a nap on Joel’s warm body instead.

There was never a definitive yes. Every time you asked about Snoopy, Joel would give you some half-hearted answer, followed by some snarky comment.

“Can we keep him?”

“Sure, kiddo.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh, gonna keep him and cook him up with onions an’ garlic for dinner. Since he likes to be on my fuckin’ counters so much, hm?” Joel gently pushes Snoopy off the countertop.

“He likes to be tall,” you argue from the floor, petting a Snoopy that’s doubled in size since you brought him in from the storm.

“Oh, give me a fuckin’ break. Likes to be tall.”

“I mean it,” you tell Joel, “I read that cats like to be up high. Maybe he’d stay off your counters if you made him a cat condo. Nice and tall.”

“A cat condo, hm? So it’s not enough I’m sharin’ my home with this asshole, I gotta make him his own special little house, too?”

“Well, yeah. You could make a scratching post and everything for him. That way he’ll stop scratching at your rocking chair.”

Joel stops, then narrows his eyes at you and your little buddy. “He’s doin’ what t’my rockin’ chair?”

More dark daddy!joel here

Ty for your patience and ty for reading. Nice words keep me motivated to write. Everybody take care.

2K notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 1 month ago

Text

Thinking about how grandpa!Joel’s back is so bad you almost only do cowgirl ༺♡༻

warnings: smut, minors DNI, creampie, infertility, delayed ejaculation

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel wakes up every morning feeling two things: the deep, killing ache in his lower back, and the throb of his thick cock, already hard in his briefs (and just as painful as his back), already forming a wet patch on them from how much he’s been creaming while he slept, unconsciously humping against your ass in his sleep.

༺♡༻ Grandpa!Joel’s back’s been shit during the last few years, and so he’s gotten accustomed to you riding him (not because he asks you to, he’s too proud for that, but because you know it’s what he needs). He lets you do most of the work while he lays back and takes it. It’s the most frequent position between you two now, but luckily for Joel, he’s always been a hardcore cowgirl enjoyer, both front or reverse, didn’t matter.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel, whenever he has you on reverse, he can’t stop himself from slapping that beautiful ass of yours to watch it jiggle. His eyes stay locked on where your hole stretches around him as you move up and down, your slick dripping down the base of his cock and soaking his big balls. He also loves seeing the little pouts you make when his cock hit that deep spot you swear no one else had ever touched, that furrow between your brows as you whimper his name like it hurt so good. The bounce of your titties always gets him going, his eyes stuck on the way they bounce in time with your rhythm. He never knows where to touch, he’s got his hands full of your tits, next, he’s gripping your hips and ass, helping you fuck yourself on him when you get tired.

༺♡༻ Grandpa!Joel won’t admit it out loud, but lately he’s been having issues cumming, not because of you, of course, but with age, getting an orgasm took him longer than before. He feels a flicker of frustration, being so close to cumming, only to have it slip through his fingers. He hates feeling that his body faltered, that he couldn’t finish when he wanted to. But you never complain, you just keep riding him, whispering how he’s the only man you’ll ever want, how no one else has ever made you feel like this.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel had lost any filter he once had, he has no shame left in that old body, not when you ride him like this. If anything, he’d only gotten more vocal, dirtier… Every drag of your soaked pussy along his cock makes him grunt and growl like a wild bear. “Mmhmm, attagirl, ride your old man’s cock, yeeahh, jus’like that.” “Look at’cha, little bunny, humping on it like you need it. You do, don’t cha? Fuckin’ need this ole’cock to fuck you stupid.” “Move those fuckin’ hips, baby, yeahhhh, nghhh, there you go makin’ your man feel so goddamn good.”

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel, on some sporadic occasions, fully ignores the pain radiating through his lower back, he’s a stubborn old bastard after all, and throws you down on your belly. He pushes you down into the mattress, your face smushed into the pillow, your ass raised and then he fucks the goddamn shit out of you. Even through his back is killing him, all he cares about in that moment is to empty his heavy balls into your tight little cunt. And fuck, when he feels you clenching around him (you’re already tight but when you cum you squeeze him so hard he swears you’re cutting off his circulation) he knows he’s not gonna last. Just one or two more thrusts, and then he’s spilling inside you.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel fills you so full it leaks out around the edges while he’s still inside. He might be old, but that load is still just as big as when he was young. He can feel it shooting out of him with force, and you feel the warmth of it coating your insides. The stupid instinct of his body is still trying to breed you, he wished he still had the capacity to knock you up, but he doubts there are any good swimmers left in his seed. But a man can dream, can’t he?

Wrote this silly little thing (a recurring thought, honestly) before taking a nap, so sweet dreams to me, hehe.

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

Join the tag list: @unforgivemn @puduvallee @gorzelnia-blog @conrzd @applebloom928 @glitterspark @imjustaprettyyprincess @mani-pedro @jettia @sunnyssimming @sethell @thescxrpio @cowboylikejoha @dugiioh @crimsonxcobra @twigleektribute23 @alexxavicry @thievin-stealing @tearsweetenedtea @serenity-1221 @lover-of-books-and-tea @joelsgoodgirl @nightbornangel @millersweetheart @spacemooi @bbyanarchist @nixiaw @dlwrish @yeswhale456 @mxyjailer @uncassettodiricordi @looking1016 @Ghostlover19 @sofisweb @lanasdolll

2K notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 1 month ago

Note

I am so turned on with the same feelings and emotions of my dad taking me which we have done and it was just like being with Joel, have you tried it yet in irl?

Jesus Christ no i don't like my real dad that way but I like to think of Joel that way in a fantasy setting

0 notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 1 month ago

Text

Koshka's Works

Series:

• No One But Me - dark Jackson era Joel Miller (completed, DDDNE)

• You Are Mine - fluffy AU Joel Miller (haitus)

• Yours For The Night - fluffy AU Joel Miller (haitus)

• Honey - Jackson era soft Joel Miller/dark Tommy Miller (ongoing)

One Shots:

• Training Day - AU dark Joel Miller and dark Tommy Miller (DDDNE)

• Bad Neighbours - AU dark Joel Miller (DDDNE)

• Hunt Down - dark raider Joel Miller (DDDNE)

• Thirsty Work - AU perv Joel Miller

• Stay Safe - AU dark Joel Miller (DDDNE)

• Spoils of War - dark Marcus Acacius (DDDNE) Spoils of War 2 - dark Marcus Acacius (DDDNE) NEW

• Kept Woman - AU toxic Joel Miller NEW

• Earn It - AU dark Joel Miller (DDDNE)

169 notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 2 months ago

Text

── Full for you

Pairings: Older!Joelx Pregnant!Reader

Content warnings: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. age gap (60s/20s), pet names, teasing, Bratty!Reader, Lactation Kink, Lap Sitting, Glasses!Joel, groping, breast worship, nursing, Established Relationship

Note: this was originally a request but I accidentally lost it so I'm really sorry!!! 😭😭

You shuffle around the livingroom slowly, full and heavy, one hand supporting your lower back as the other strokes the top of your swollen belly. "You okay over there, trouble?"

Joel calls from his recliner, voice rough from age, whiskey and years of yelling at people who didn't listen. You shoot him a teasing look over your shoulder. "Oh, I'm just enormous, cranky, and leaking all over your goddamn flannel. So yeah, peachy." He snortss, shifting in his chair. You notice his reading glasses sliding down his nose as he looks at his book in his hands. "Ain't the flennel I'm worried about. You've been usin' me like a milk rah for weeks, darlin'. Don't act like ya hate it."

You roll your eyes dramatically then waddle over and straddle his lap without warning. Joel let's out a surprised grunt as you settle over his thick thighs, belly pressing against chest, your breasts soft and full beneath your cotton tank top.

He blinks up at you, adjusting his glasses slightly with h one calloused finger.

"Jesus. Warn a man next time, would ya?"

You grin, leaning in close, lips brushing his,

"Can't see me comin', old man?"

He smirks lazy, amused, and all too fond of your attitude. "Can't see much of anything with these damn things. But I can feel just fine. One of his big hands rests on your hisp, the othe trailing up your side slowly, until the his thumb grazes the underside of your breasts. You know what he wants.

He always wants it.

"You're leakin' again," he mutters, eyes locked on the wet spot darkening your shirt. "That for me?"

"Who else would it be for?" You sass, arching into his hand a litttle, "maybe I'll save some for the baby."

Joel growls low in his throat, pulling your shirt down just enough to free one of your of your swollen breasts.

He dosent ask. He just leans in, glasses still percher on his nose, and latches on like he's starving. The sound of him drinking from you,

Slow, greedy sucks, fills the room.

You go pliant in his lap, hipps shifting, your breath catching as the ache in your chest fades with every pull of his mouth.

"God.." you whisper, stroking his salt and pepper curlls, "you're addicted to me." Joel pulls off just long enough to say, "damn right I am. Taste better than anything else in this whole fuckin' world." He suckles again, this time deepe, groaning when your milk hits his tongue. You feel it- how he relaxes beneath you, how his breathing evens out, how the tension in his shoulders disappears.

Like this is what calms him now.

Not whiskey. Not sleep.

You.

"I should make you earn it," you whisper, teasing him, brushing your nipple against his bottom lip. "Maybe I'll make you beg next time." You muttered as Joel's eyes flick up over the rim of his glasses. The look he gives you is feral. Possessive, playful, utterly gone for you.

"Baby, I'm too damn old to bey. I just take what's mine." And with that, he pulls you tighter against him and drinks deeper, his hand slipping down to squeeze your ass as you gasp and grind against him, feeling the slow burn of his arousal beneath you.

Your bratty teasing melts into needy whimpers.

Because the truth is...

You're just as addicted to the way he devours you.

2K notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 2 months ago

Text

Presentiment

Stalker! Joel Miller x f!reader ( 18+ MDNI )

summary : no one is truly alone in the world, especially not you.

w/c : 12K

warnings : no use of y/n, horror themes and elements DDDNE, stalker behavior, feelings of isolation and depression, existential crisis? Kidnapping, cynical thoughts about life described, abuse, violence against the reader by Joel, old!Joel. slowburn-ish. dub-con?. unprotected PinV. Oral f!receiving. Manhandling. Hunter / prey kink. Twisted daddy kink but no use of the word 'daddy'. Joel popping a viagra. VERY Large age gap ( 35+ years ) . Manipulation. Obsession. Reader’s mother is described as a drug addict. Shitty men, harassment and pervertedness from a co-worker. Murder / death of side characters. Stockholm syndrome. Reader is toxic too. Religious imagery. Can be pixel or pedro Joel. The reader is implied as being thinner due to life long poverty, but her body type is not described or stated.

a/n : This was made for @pedgito's writing challenge and kind of ran away from me. It was such a blast, I've never tried horror or a specifically dark fic and it was sm fun! I’m sure the characters I wrote will stick with me forever. I sat with this fic for a long time before posting, and it's the longest thing I've ever written!! Not sure how I feel about it still. Thank you for letting me participate! Happy birthday ♡

if you don’t like dark themes, listen to the warnings and don’t read the fic.

masterlist

—— ☓ ——

Something feels wrong before your eyes have had the chance to open – a kind of warning, an omen, baked into the morning light stabbing your iris through moth-eaten curtains.

It was the way your body ached as you tried to sit up, stomach screaming for food you just don’t have. Your mother hasn’t been home for a week and you know she’s either run off with some incest-bred asshole who’s promised her a beer or she’s passed out in a crack-house miles away.

Your shift at the diner starts in thirty minutes.

The men that pass through this town are all the same.

Truck drivers – men who think all women in the world are there to satisfy their needs. Iagos of the world, the dark underbelly.

The men that stay in this town are not dissimilar, your days a monotonous blur of wondering when something better will drop into your desperate palms.

There is one man who feels like your only friend in the world.

Standing at a whopping five foot seven, and still kicking up the diner’s jukebox at eighty three, he makes sun shine out from your soul. You can confidently say that Jerry is the best.

He usually sits with you the entire day at work, and makes sure to fill your empty time by teaching you to dance to El Toro Rabón, and La Bamba. His rich hands, littered with wrinkles yet full of life, hold yours while he makes you laugh. Clapping as you finish off with an animated twirl and curtsy.

Jason usually eyes you from the kitchen, rolling his sleazy eyes at the sight of you having so much fun with your elderly best friend. Going back to making greasy burgers and puffing on a cigarette that’s gotten him in trouble with the owner before.

You never agreed with the sentiment that old people were cute until you met Jerry and his late wife during your first shift at the diner : fourteen years old and composed of an exhaustion that was ill fitting for someone so young. He’d been your first ever customer, seventy seven and still wearing that cowboy hat of his.

The first thing you noticed about him was his mustache, the way he uses wax to curve up the tight white curls into points, how it covered his top lip when he spoke, making him look like a cartoon character – his oak brown eyes that has gotten increasingly red and yellow around the corners as he’s gotten older. The way his warm skin has developed patches of darkness, yet he still looks the exact same as the photo of him he showed you from thirty years ago : fresh off his racing horse in Mexico, holding the same cowboy hat over his chest that he adorns now, smiling brightly. He kept his hair looser back then, his ringlets looked shiny even in those black and white photographs.

He calls you bumblebee, and you think he’s the first person that’s ever loved you – and he’s the first person you’ve ever loved. He’s your sunshine, a tether to the world past your 18 hour work day.

Every morning he’s seated in the diner at 8:30 AM with a joke to tell you, stories of his racing days, growing up in Cuajinicuilapa, his time travelling around South America before settling down in this small town near Wyoming. He tells you of his late brother, his views of the world and the people he’s met. He talks of humanity and how love is what is most important in life.

You feed off of the stories he tells you : meeting people from all walks of life under the pretense of coffee, sitting around the same food stand, chatting to strangers who would play guitar on the side of the street for no other purpose than passion.

You feel the desire for this ideal world thrum in your veins vicariously.

He used to come in with his wife Dolores until she passed two springs ago – he talks of her jewelry often, thinks that you should inherit it : they were never able to have children. You serve his coffee fresh and hot – asking Jason in the back to make his eggs perfect and his toast golden brown. You sit across from him at the counter to play bullshit with him while he eats – he always knows when you’re lying, his cheeky smiles catching you out, and his joy wraps it’s warm arms around you.

Your days are filled with giggles and smiles whenever he comes to see you, and he never leaves without a hug.

Jerry does not like Jason one bit – eyeing the skinny, pale cook through the serving counter, telling you that a man like that is ‘no good, honey’. You don’t blame him – Jason had tried to coerce you into giving him a blowjob a few weeks before your 18th birthday – but never forced you when you had threatened to go to the sheriff and have them run a much needed background check. Jason has steered clear of you since then, knowing you weren’t shooting empty threats. You never told Jerry about that, but you think he knows regardless.

He jokes that the forest behind your house has eyes – the kind only the old and the dying could feel. You never found it funny.

Your clothes were not too crinkled this morning when you pulled them on : giving you a small mercy as did your almost-dry mascara surviving one more day. That hadn’t quelled the uneasiness you’d felt all morning, the whole drive to the diner. All you could think about was seeing your friend, and hoping that he would give you a hug and tell you all those happy stories again.

The second you clock in, and Jason comes back in from his third smoke of the hour, Jerry opens the door to the diner.

You float over to the counter with a genuine smile, but it flickers when you see the look on his face.

He talks a lot that day – about his wife, about his old job, even the time a fight broke out in his hometown and his father died, how the horses he looked after got caught in the crossfire : admitting he had hurt the perpetrator afterwards and it haunts him. He tells you everything, even the things he’s told you time and time before – forgetting he ever mentioned it. He’s never forgotten a thing about you, but he talks as though he’s in a hurry, as though he needs to get everything out.

He does not come in the next day or the day after that, and when he doesn’t arrive on the third day you take time off to confirm your fears at the hospital. You do not hear it from a nurse, or a doctor, but from the silence you are met with when you ask for him. That silence, the loneliness that instantly sunk into your bones, shattered your heart into millions of pieces. It is destroying.

You did not come to see him when you could, there was still time to be had, stories to be told. He never saw you make something of yourself, he will never walk you down the aisle like you dreamt he would one day.

You are all alone in the world. No one to speak to, no one to comfort you. No one to make you think life might not be as meaningless as the whispers of your mind seem to believe. The warmth of him is gone, and you feel as cold and grey as the forest that surrounds this town, as if the sun has gone into eternal hibernation.

You want to bury yourself in your room for hours, to not surface for months and months until your body reflects the rot you feel on the inside. Hollow. Your sunshine is gone.

You tell yourself Jerry is now with Dolores, and laugh at the fact that your mind even supplied such a deluded thought. You never believed there was something better up there, not for long anyway.

You still go to his new tombstone, next to his wife’s, and speak to them. They were both religious, crosses carved into the place their names will stay forever, and so you ask any god out there to let them rest peacefully as though they are back in their hometown with their horses and not worry about you.

That evening you sit on your porch, chain-smoking the packs of cigarettes you had been saving, staring at the stars caged by thick trees. You realize you do not have a purpose. You don’t have a want – can’t have one, there’s not enough money for the luxury of wanting something. You’ll live and die in an 18 hour work day.

Your thoughts are scary and boring at the same time, so you begin to look out at the illuminated forest. The sounds of the night – it scares you as well sometimes, an entire empty forest just outside your door, nothing but rotten wood and locks keeping you safe.

Today you found out you will be alone for the rest of your life, but when you sit out on the porch, flicking your third cigarette – you don’t feel entirely alone at all. You feel as though there is something out here with you, your skin rippling with bumps.

You blame it on the Grim Reaper licking at your heart today.

The cabin on the other side of the forest you’re staring at now has been vacant since you were born. Never a light, a sound – it haunts you.

The closest you’ve gotten to it was at the ripe age of 8, venturing through the forest to explore. You had come to the front door until the house moaned at you, and the forest went quiet. You can still vividly picture the glance you got of the cabin while you ran all the way home.

You leave the shadow of the cabin in the dark forest behind, you need to get dressed for your shift. Money waits for no one, not even for the death of your best friend.

Down the empty highway, not a car in sight – the image of your headlines whirring past the thousands of trees burnt into your retinas from seeing it every single night. Your eyes are puffy and raw from crying, a headache pounding behind them.You pass the single off–ramp road you’ve never been stupid enough to take, the one that winds through the forest, all the way to an open clearing, a small path that can barely fit your sputtering car – leading all the way to the back of your rotting house. You used to play in that clearing as a child, pulling out grass and flowers and making huts out of branches until the day the forest went quiet for a second time – and you knew something was out there with you.

You had told your mother after running inside, but she pushed you away from the comfort of her arms and told you it was just jackals – you knew it wasn’t, even then.

It had seemed you knew something was coming your whole life, constantly looking over your shoulder – watching, listening. Sensing all and any kind of movement anytime, wary. You didn’t like the silence, you didn’t like being alone – yet you were singled out, not a soul or sound to comfort you through your isolated existence.

The gas station is empty as it is every night, you use the time to read. To think, to wonder what it’s all for in the end. If you should run away, leave and never come back. Go and find the ocean, let it swallow you whole.

The sliding doors of the entrance ding as they open. Your eyes flick up so quickly it hurts. A man walks in, and your stomach swoops. Everything falls quiet, and you think of the thing that your mother called the jackals, you think of the forest falling silent : baby birds quieting in the face of danger. He disappears behind a shelf, a glimpse of a Carhartt jacket that sparks a warmth : a remembrance of your dear friend who is now gone, the once comforting material on someone foreign, scary.

Your breath shallows. You don’t know why. It’s not just the quiet – it’s the kind of quiet that makes your blood congeal. Like the silence before a scream.

You glance to your side, below the counter, a bat sits for emergencies. You’re not sure why you are panicking the way you are, if it’s the hour, Jerry’s passing, the presentiment you’ve felt all week.

There is something silent, and something wrong.

When you look up, you still don’t see him. The light behind you flickers, and you almost want to cry at the fear that’s bubbling up in your throat, your hair is standing on end. Your ears prick at any sound, a fridge door opening and shutting.

Your body is shutting down on you, your heart crawling up your throat by claws : fighting and fighting for a chance to survive while your body quivers with the force of your instinct to run. Grab the bat, over the counter, out the door to your car.

You blink, realizing you haven’t been seeing a damn thing, and he’s on the other side of the counter. Looking at you with a blank expression.

Your heart fizzles and falls back to its place, your hands are shaking.

“Forgot milk.” His voice is entirely too flat, disarming and discerning.

You glance down at his hands, calloused and holding a single jug of full cream milk. He’s waiting for you to scan it.

“Right, sorry.” You mutter, sliding the milk over the scanner and taking the cash from him before returning the change. He hasn’t looked away from you once, he seems tired and bored : a normal milk run, but you’ve never seen him before. It’s shocking for a town with under five hundred residents.

He nods his thanks and leaves. The sound of his car sputtering away allows you to finally exhale.

You cash out and go home soon after that, shaken, like every ounce of fear you’ve felt in your life crashed through you the second he entered the store. An omen, a warning.

You wake up to a box at your door the next morning. In your sleep-shaken state, you have half the mind to stomp on it, fearful it came from The Man last night. Fortunately, curiosity seemed to be on your side this morning, as upon opening the box you find Denise’s necklaces, bracelets, rings and books. Paintings, antiques, and most importantly - a cowboy hat. Your favorite hat in the entire world. He had left everything of his to you, when he wrote his will you do not know. Maybe Jerry knew what was coming, he always was wise, connected to everything there is in a way you wish you could be.

You cry all morning, through your miserable shift at the diner. You must look like some sort of slug, because Jason asks you if you’re okay, as does the girl from your old english class who came in that morning all the way from New York : in town and visiting her parents. She dyed her hair and found her style. You see the sparkle of the world in her eyes, and your dirty fingers itch to steal it, to run outside with her car keys, assume her role as a real person. You do not feel real at all.

When you return to your rotting home you watch an old western - Jerry’s favorite - while you wear his cowboy hat, toying with the new jewelry that was sent to you when the police must’ve got around to acting out Jerry’s will. You feel loved and, oh, so lonely at the same time. You are a ghost in your own home, and the appearance reflects it. No real girl would live in a house of mold and quiet, where it is abandoned despite having a resident.

—-

The Man returns this evening as well, in the moment you were humming the iconic tune from your new favorite movie. Jerry had good taste. The world goes silent, and he grabs a pack of beers before heading to the till. “Marlboro Reds, please.” He has a Texan accent, and you stare at your hands as you give him what he wants. He leaves after that again, your only customer of the night.

The next night, he takes his time browsing the store. You watch him, watch how he languidly moves, scanning the items like his eyes would not eventually land on you. Approaching the counter with his chosen trifle.

“You don’t get scared workin’ nights?” He asks, and now you know your concerns were not unfounded.

“No.” you lie, meeting his eye for the second time since the first night. He does not have facial expressions, you realize. Blank, revealing nothing. He is a handsome man. An eerie man. He nods, holding eye contact as he grabs the useless item and goes back to his sputtering truck outside. He looked like he wanted to call you a liar.

You do not show up for your shift the night after that. Your gut tells you to stay home, to lock your doors and keep your father’s old pistol near you. To close the blinds – sit and listen to every sound of the night. Check under your bed just in case.

You’re late to the diner the next morning, greeted by Jason’s complaining that he had to serve the first customer’s coffee, asking for you to make it up to him. When you peep through the corridor, your heart drops at the only customer in the restaurant.

The Man has come to the diner. He knows you, he knows where you work – probably where you live.

Maybe he lives here, maybe it’s all some coincidence. Maybe it’s not what you think.

You bring him his eggs and bacon, and when you look up to his face he’s already looking at you. He does not move, does not touch his knife or fork. He’s staring at you.

“Leave me alone.” You say, quiet yet firm, standing over him as he blinks and looks down at his food. Your fear is making you angry, fire spitting in your eyes. He doesn’t answer you, and after two moments of being unable to bear the energy that exudes from him – you walk away, into the back of the kitchen to watch Jason work, peeping through the slits of the serving station to watch The Man eat his food. Your body hair prickles into points.

Jason eyes you, glances at The Man, and raises a faint eyebrow at you.

“That your daddy?” he asks, staring at the popping bacon. You watch the grease heat and solidify, the sweat sticking on Jason’s skinny yet defined triceps, coated with wiry hair that’s never been tended to.

“No.” you whisper, tucking your hands under your legs : they are cold, and your skin is overridden with goosebumps, hair standing. You feel as though you’re about to be swallowed, like large claws will pick you up and drop you into a maw of sharp, hungry teeth.

“Why’s he givin’ me the stink eye, then?” Jason grunts, picking at his gold tooth with a grimy finger as he lazily looks over to your thighs, then your face. Raising an eyebrow at how fearful you look, he glances back at The Man. Something like concern flashes across his face, and he lifts his cap to rub over his short, receding hair. It’s the first time his eyes have ever looked soft.

“Dunno.” is all you manage to mutter as you brace a peek to find The Man has looked away.

He’s slow, takes time to eat every piece of food while staring blankly out the window, like he’s watching the world as though he’s never seen it before, unnatural. You want to tell Jason about your all consuming fear that this man is going to hurt you, but his eyes have changed and he makes another comment about how good you look in the plaid dress that happens to be your uniform. You choose to wait outside of the building instead of enduring the male specimen of your species. It feels like you are alone in a world of monsters.

When you return inside, there’s a fifty dollar tip next to the spotless plate, everything stacked for you to carry.

You don’t return home that night : you ditch your job at the gas station for a second time, leaving your car at the diner to book a room at the shitty motel. It feels as though you died the same day Jerry did, maybe you are dreaming : alone in an empty world, your only companion being the monster. Nothing feels real.

You fall asleep to the sound of ugly moans, watching the handle of your door : your heart beating faster than your body can manage. Rocking yourself back and forth, humming a soft tune your father used to play on the guitar when he was sober enough to think.

You feel as though you are living on borrowed time, as though this opportunity to wait is a mercy.

He is not at the diner the next morning. Neither is Jason, it’s closed up and the lights are shut off – it is Jason’s job to open up and get the stoves burning. You try to call the owner with the small amount of change you have on the payphone, but no one answers. The sound of the dead line ringing in your ears as you look around in a panic.

You suddenly feel as though you’re back in that patch of forest, surrounded by tall trees and a monster waiting to swallow you whole. Watching. A fear so curdling you fear you’ll throw up over the plastic phone.

You’re wide awake standing behind the counter of the gas station. Watching the fluorescent lights flicker. You parked your car out back. You’re holding the bat in your right hand under the counter. You are waiting for him to come in. You should have driven far far away, but you have a sinking feeling he would have followed.

The night is completely quiet. No people, no sounds except for the humming of the fridges.

You glance at the back door, and the moment your eyes turn away from the sliding doors they ding. Your hair rises and stands violently. Skin alight and blazing as the first footstep echos in the store.

You don’t think about it, your body tells you to run and you do.

Out the back, to the edge of the concrete until your feet are pounding along the road, bat gripped tightly in your fist. The sound of your own feet are drowned out by the ones behind you, big and stomping. The trees framing your attempt at an escape as they yawn and stretch above - caging you in, suffocating. They grow tall as you sprint, closing like they will eagerly crash down and trap you like a wave from the ocean you’ve never seen.

You push with all your might, and you thank the lord you took track during school, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you run so fast the sound of feet behind you fade. It feels like victory, like being free – your chest blooms from the burn and the success. You think of the gun in your bedside drawer, and turn down the off-road into the woods you’ve never been brave enough to take before. The only sound is the one of your own feet : you’re not stupid enough to look behind you.

The moon lights up the forest floor, you don’t trip over a single root or branch. You’re moving faster than you ever have in your life : your lungs screaming, fear rising in your lungs like bile. You break into the clearing, the one that has always been haunted by Jackals.

You’re almost home.

A force heavier than you think you’ve ever felt crashes into you from the side, you’re slammed down into the one patch of grass you often picked, the bat flying out of your hands and rolling to the dirt in front of you.

“Knew you’d run here.” A deep, breathless voice says right into your ear, your hair is pulled as a hand clamps down on your struggling wrists, excited. “Always liked playin’ here, didn’t ya?” he grunts, pulling something out of his pocket. You swing your elbow up, knocking him straight in the jaw. He sways for only a moment, but it’s all you need. You dash forward, crawling away from him before you find your feet, grabbing the bat and smashing it down over The Man’s skull. He groans and stumbles, gripping the back of his head as you trip over your own feet to stumble away. You run towards your rotting home, you can’t think about the fact he knew where you played as a child, all you are thinking about is the gun.

You don’t even get to the steps of your back porch before he’s tackling you to the ground again and hitting the side of your face hard enough to make you cry, your head fuzzing. Your face stings and your eye throbs. You want to bring your hands to cup over the hurt, hold yourself in an attempt to make it better, but he is holding your hands. He curses at you, spitting vile words for managing to get solid blows at him.

“Come on, darlin’. You think that little gun ‘s gon’ do anythin’? It don’t even got any bullets.” He grunts, you feel zip ties around your wrists, your mind racing as you continue to struggle and kick until his hand is around your throat faster than you can think. “Don’t make me hit that pretty face again, bitch.”

You go still, and slumped. Trapped in a wolf’s jaws.

His hand squeezes tighter and tighter as you squeak a protest, until you can’t think anymore and the last of your squirming falls away.

The first thing you smell when you wake up is smoke, the kind that comes from a fireplace. The first thing you see is rich, dark wood. You’re on a bed and you glance up to see you’re handcuffed there. Your skin isn’t just throbbing – it's raw, the skin bitten where the metal has scraped against you. Your head pounds like it’s been split open, the ache thick and blinding.

You can feel he is somewhere within the room, the twist of your stomach and the lingering presence on the back of your head tells you he is there. A creak of a chair behind you finalizes his presence but you can’t be bothered to do anything besides slump back against the mattress, curling up into a tiny ball.

He says your name to get your attention, and you don’t attempt to look at him, your skin is already crawling with what you think he wants to do to you. Future years of using and hitting flash through your mind, wishing for the mercy of death.

He walked next to the bed too fast, too silent. A wall of muscle and heat as large as him should not be so quiet. He is touching your hair, stroking down your cheek. His hand is rough and warm, he smells like a cologne that reminds you of your father. You think you might be sick.

“I was bein’ nice. I waited.” he says softly, pressing down with his pointer finger on the bruise that has molted under your skin, making you wince and shuffle away from him, glancing up at him to find his striking, dark eyes on you. His jaw is bruised where you hit him with your aching elbow, a trickle of dry blood still stuck on a piece of his salt-and-pepper hair. You made a crack in his head – a small trickle of pride filling your veins at the fight.

It is small lived, and dies out at the next throb of your wrists.

He sighs at this reaction, before walking out of this bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

You lie there for what feels like hours, only moving when you notice the water and ibuprofen on the bedside table : still in its packaging. Your whole body aches, the last throttles of your adrenaline were beaten out of you with his hands.

It’s only when you sit up that you notice where you are. The view outside the window is the forest behind the cabin that groaned at you, that haunted you as a child.

He’s lived here the whole time : he’s been here the whole time. The feeling of impending doom that curdles your skin when he’s been near. The jackals you felt as a child, the forest going quiet.

It’s been him. It’s always been him.

Your skin feels as though it will turn inside out, every hair on your body standing to a rigid point. The fear feels as though you’re dying.

You don’t have to look to know he’s silently opened the room again, and you speak.

“You some kind of pedo?” You spit as your head throbs, sitting up on the bed, tugging on the cuffs, rage curdling and bubbling up on your skin – you think of your mother.

He stops moving at your words, “what?”

“You’ve been watching me since I was a child.”

“It wasn’t like that, Jesus.” He grunts, sounding uncomfortable at the idea. You almost want to laugh. In your periphery you see he’s ditched his canvas jacket, wearing a navy flannel that shows you just how large he is - as if you didn’t feel it the night before when he tackled into you so violently, stealing every inch of breath in your lungs.

“Oh, well sorry for assuming some old, sick pig stalking a young girl since she was a child isn’t a fucking pedophile.”

He smacks you over the throbbing patch of your skin, and you finally glare up at him with every bit of ire in your body. It was not any kind of hit, it was the kind that made you feel like dead weight, that knocks all the air out of your body as if you are a puppet with it’s strings cut.

He’s staring down at you.

“I’m not – christ, it ain’t like that.”

“So you’re just going to kidnap and keep me? You’re not going to – to do anything, is that right?” You scoff the words out, holding your hand to your cheek. The ache under your skin feels like it could stay there forever.

“I don’t want to do anything to you.” He seems to notice the irony of his words when you let your palm drop, face swollen. “I didn’t want to have to hurt you.”

You look out the window and go silent.

“You didn’t have to hurt me, this was your choice.” You spit, and he looks almost surprised by your words. There’s goosebumps that break out over his skin, and the energy in the room constricts as he backs away from you.

He glances out the same window before handing you a warm bowl of stew, pieces of meat and potato bobbing up from the thick, stock smelling liquid. You stare down at it, and then glare back up at him.

“Is it poisoned?” You’re not serious, you’re angry.

“If I wanted to kill you I would have done it earlier.” He says it as though it’s as casual as the weather, as though killing something – a person – is as boring as can be. Idle reassurance.

“You seem to like the waiting game.” You huff, staring at his large, twitching hands. His watch is broken.

He looks like he wants to smile at your quip, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Eat.” He tells you, closing the bedroom door softly as he leaves you be.

—

You have been here for two weeks, only knowing this due to the little alarm clock next to the bed that he brought you from your house.

True to his word, he hasn’t touched you – in fact, he’s been taking care of you in ways you have never been before. It’s intimate, and a sick hunger has begun to heat low in your belly alongside the fear.

You feel as though you’ve been living in a small bubble where time never passes. He watches you at all hours of the day, asking you questions about the men you’ve worked with, if there’s anything from your house you want him to fetch. He tries not to hit you when his anger bubbles up at your persistent silence. He asks you questions about yourself, not ones like favorite colors, but if you think all people in the world are unsavable.

He looks like he’s hoping you will tell him he can be saved. You do not.

He makes you eat dinner with him every night, bathes you as well. The first time he tried it, after letting you rot in bed for three days, he had to wrestle you into the bathtub after trying to be nice, held you down while you kicked and splashed and scratched at him until he pressed his fingers over your injured face in an unforgiving manner until your cries went quiet, and you almost fainted from the pain. He made you apologize for making him have to hurt you.

You swallowed the clawing, raging voice at the back of your throat and did it. When he kissed your forehead and told you it’s okay, a warm sickness swirled in your stomach, nauseating and tentatively delicious all at once.

You have not tried to fight him after that night, scared of what would happen if he were to comfort you.

He tucks you into bed most evenings, pressing the blanket to cushion you and arranges the pillows. In the first nights, it had scared you : you hadn’t slept a wink, terrified he would slip into bed and his patience would wear thin. Now, it feels like something nice. He tries to tell you happy stories, he usually fails – but it makes you think of Jerry and you feel better regardless, it makes The Man seem more real, like a human rather than a monster.

He asks you to curl up next to him on the couch so he can read aloud to you, books you’ve heard about in passing but never read : he has a liking for Cormac McCarthy and the Wild West. He bakes cookies for you when you ask him your first question, letting you sit at the table with a glass of milk to enjoy them. You feel warmth radiating from inside of you, spiked with fear – no one has baked cookies for you before. You finish them, and he says he’s proud.

—-

The sinking feeling comes slowly. Seeping into your bones whenever he holds you. It gets worse when you begin to dream of him, a possible reality, one of him holding you and kissing you – telling you you’re lovable, perfect, worthy. Six months have warped your brain, slipping out of your grasp like sand. You wake up to slickness between your legs, a desire to go find him in the kitchen making breakfast and nuzzle under his broad arms, let him squeeze you tight and surround you with his scent. You don’t have to beg him to make you feel loved, he’s always loved you : he’s made that clear.

You had realized long ago that he is too big for you to fight, he is all consuming and overpowering. The sinking feels like acceptance, and you think it’s close to dying.

It’s a sunny day when it all hits you. He’s been out for half an hour – at the grocery store a few towns over – the moment he said goodbye you had felt a twist in your stomach. You didn’t want him to go. He hugged you and told you he would be back soon, kissing your cheek when you got teary, his whiskery beard tickling your soft skin.

You don’t know when the terror began to feel like safety. You only know that when he’s gone, it feels like you’re alone with the jackals instead of how it was when he found you. When he was the monster.

The worst part was you knew why you reacted that way. Sitting in the sunny room, you forced your mind to constantly think of escape routes, of the disgusting actions he had committed, the way he has trapped you in this little house. Your mind adamantly hates The Man, but that large pit, the self that was unloved and uncared for – alone, has already started to need him, to ignore the stupidity in believing he loves you. To latch on like a leech and suck up all of the love and care he has, not caring if it’s real or pure, to see if it’ll make you round and fat with it – satisfied.

The hunger for what he has to offer you makes you feel like you might be the true monster in the house : your desperation for what you have never tasted knows no bounds. You think you’d kill for it. You might have been the jackal the whole time, the hole that lived inside you might have turned you ugly from a young age.

You are scared of your own desperation.

He bathes you every night – ritualistic and precise. Guides you under the water until you reappear, clean and new to a kiss on your cheek, hands scrubbing you clean. Every time the surface breaks and you come back to him, the forest grows denser : tighter and vast while the home, your home, becomes all the more simple and clear, exactly how it is supposed to be.

You need him, and you think you love him. What that makes you, you’re not sure and you no longer care.

He goes out months later, telling you he needs to get food and soap, baby - he leaves the window open and the door unlocked : he knows you will not leave. He says he’s going to grab soap, but he is carrying a prescription slip with a little baggie, what he’s actually going to get remains a mystery to you.

The nightmare you had in the middle of winter had shifted something deep in your foundations – the fear that licked up your spine at the thought of being alone – the much lesser, flickering fear that your body had instinctually looked for him in his room, the dull scream your mind let out at the way you climbed into his bed, burrowing under his large, comforting arms until your brain went quiet and he pulled you closer. Those dull screams of fear and resistance from a lifetime ago have been washed away from his hands, and now a need so gravitational has birthed in its place. You want him.

Dusk comes softly in the weeks after taking residence in his bed. He still has not touched you, and you are beginning to feel ire towards his morality. A wrongness in the way he tries to be right. The cabin is warm with firelight, the smell of smoke wrapping around you like a blanket, similarly to his flannel that stretches over your skin. He jostles open the door slowly, grocery bags lining his fingers in a way that is dangerously domestic – his hair is tousled. His eyes catch onto the fabric, and he pauses.

“You’re in my shirt.” He states, but you know it’s a question. Your eyes search for the little baggie he had, wondering what he put in there.

You close the book he gave you to read, the cover sliding across your fingertips, “It smells like you.”

Something in his expression shifts. You think it might be guilt. Or pride. Or both, layered on top of each other until they’re indecipherable. He sets the bags down and moves to you, slow and steady – crouching to your level in front of the couch.

“You missed me?” He asked, eyes wild and dilated, hands skirting over your exposed thighs. Up and down.

You look away, unable to meet the gaze that is burning into you, to admit how far you’ve gone to his face. Yet your head nods, eyes flicking to his as your chin wobbles, bottom lip jutting out before tightening in a grimace. He wipes a tear from your eye.

“’s okay to miss me, I’m the only one who’s here f’you, darlin’.” He cups your cheek, rubbing the skin there. You meet his eyes this time, close them before you’re leaning in, resting your head on his shoulder as he sits next to you, guiding you onto his lap and telling you it's okay, and it’s natural, baby and finally I love you, don’t cry sweet girl.

You’re tired of the tears, of the fight. Tired of the empty woods and the silence – the loneliness that lives in your bones. You’re tired of running from the thing that makes you feel whole and real.

You wonder if Jerry ever saw this coming, and if he did – why didn’t he ever warn you something so soul destroying would be waiting to swallow you? Why didn’t he tell you the most human monster in the world would be the only one to see you without the shiny idealism behind cataracts? You feel guilty for admitting that The Man knows you better than Jerry ever did. The Man knows you are not made of sunshine and flowers, he sees the hole carved in your stomach that makes you so achingly hungry, and shows his own back.

—

You noticed the loose floorboard on the second day, and now you pry it open. While you care for The Man, you are acting on instinct.

He had shouted at you this morning while you were still curled in his arms, gotten rotten and angry, called you a stupid bitch when you had asked him to come with him to the store, wanting to see the world again.

You were hopeful he would trust you, that he would prove you are, in fact, not living in a cage.

He had stormed off, and for the first time in eight months he had locked the door on his way out, shoving a small plastic bag in his pocket.

Spiders crawl out from the floorboard, and you jump back, standing on the couch while you throw The Man’s shoes at them, you wish he was here so he could take care of it, could laugh softly at your fear and hold you in his arms – away from the floor – to protect you.

You remind yourself you do not know his name and that you’re trapped here, a jarring reminder of the way you have settled.

You need something to prove he was a real, living man before his life revolved around you. You need to rebel against him, like a petulant, scared child because of his rudeness this morning.

Once you feel safe enough, you roll up the sleeve of the lacy undershirt he gave you and stick your hand inside. Searching for some sort of ocular truth amongst the bones of his own rotted cabin.

A pair of old boots with a ‘J’ engraved in the sole is the first thing you pull out. An army knife next, then a bunch of guns and weapons.

No matter how strange it is to find guns and knives buried in someone’s house, for The Man it’s quite boring.

You pull out a shoe box next, placing it next to you on the floor before blowing the dust off of the top. It doesn’t help much. From the amount of grime, it looks as though you are the first person to touch this box in years.

The lid sticks to the rest of the compartment from cobwebs, but you discard the thing anyway, desperate and careless.

A photo is the first thing you find, old and yellowed.

A little girl.

At first you are fearful she is a victim, until you see the photo of The Man - much younger - holding her in the hospital. Your stomach curdles, and it feels like rotting, eating itself from the inside.

A daughter.

Your heart swoops low, pensive. You think of the room he keeps locked, the warm light that streams under the gap of the door - reflecting something pink inside. The way you would watch the beams dance on the floor like a whole soul was trapped inside there, wilting as the sun set.

Her birth certificate is the second thing you find.

Sarah Miller : 1983 / 03 / 18

City of origin : Arlington, Texas.

Father : Joel Miller

A name, a life, a whole world buried in the foundations.

You gawk at the fact that The Man – Joel – is 60 years old.

Her missing poster is what you find next. Bile rises like acid on your tongue, a smiling, happy girl plastered with information about her last whereabouts, the pink shirt she was wearing and how tall she had gotten. She went missing on your third birthday. Your head swims. You drop the documents back into their casket with trembling hands and weak knees.

Stupid, stupid girl – why did you have to look?

The last thing you find is a golden tooth, familiar in its grime and dullness. You can imagine a sleazy tongue gliding over it in irritation. Jason’s golden tooth. You drop it immediately and slam the loose floorboard shut, burying what was meant to stay that way once more.

The room looks as though nothing has changed, yet everything inside of yourself is different. A storm of fog and clarity, adrenaline pumping for running and the desire to stay still.

You throw up outside the living room window.

Everything feels like a blur after that, grabbing your boots he stuffed away - a coat and a knife from his kitchen.

Run, just run. Don’t look back. Get away, fast fast fast.

You climb out of the bedroom window and run all the way to where you left your car the night he caught you, cold wind whipping past your face and sending a burn through your nose. Your feet pound along the ground like the whole world is weighing you down, like every stone is hoping to trip you and let you fall, to cut your knees open and stop you.

You eventually arrive at the gas station.

You're stunned that the place is closed and rotted, not a single soul in sight.

Your lungs are burning, you feel woozy, and you let out a pathetic cry when you see he has slashed your tires.

Stopping at the rough concrete of the shop, you attempt to open the back door, only to spot a poster plastered on the side of the wall.

A missing poster. Your missing poster, with not a single person in the world to care for its presence besides a man who you ran away from, who would tear it down and remove you from an existence that is not with him, that would try to come find you to bring you back.

You decide to keep running in the opposite direction of his home. A large part of you is screaming at you to run to the Sheriff’s office and tell them what happened, that Joel will find you if you try anything else, but a shamefully large part - a sick part of you does not want to run away from him. He has cared for you - he has watched you all your life, and you know – regardless of purity or morality – he loves you. All that is left for you without him is a town that would freeze in time if you were to vanish, fake in its existence, a facade for the life you were always meant to live.

To your horror, the twist in your chest tells you that you love him too, it’s a surety now.

You think of the soft kisses he pressed to your hair, the way you got used to him telling you of things he liked about you, that he only would have known from watching. The way he told you he too liked Jerry, and liked the movie you watched after his passing. He let you watch it every night for a month, and began to quote the lines with you in an exaggerated version of his accent to make you giggle.

He saw you, he has always seen you. He loves you and wants you and needs you enough to take you for himself.

You have stopped running, standing still for a moment before slowly turning around, feet shaking in your soul’s indecision. Torn and trembling. The forest is completely silent, yet this time you feel all too real – too alive.

Your mind is not what it used to be. The shake of your hands comes from the part of you that is pleading for you to run, to see the clear manipulation : the rose coloured glasses that have been forced over your eyes. The other part – the part that you are starting to believe is the truth of who you are – wants to run back to the cabin before he sees you ever left, to cup his devastatingly handsome face and let him take what has always been his, to be made a real person.

It is consuming, this primal want.

A twig snaps.

You don’t need to turn around to know he his standing close behind you.

You clench your fists and turn around, fear curdling and boiling in your belly, making your knees weak and shaky.

The look on his face clears your rational thought once again, and you quickly attempt to scramble away from the monster. He looks absolutely, impossibly, livid.

You do not know why you ever thought you could run, why you thought he would not find you, that he would let you go.

You burst into tears the second he has you against the forest floor once more. The ground ripping the skin from your cheek as you fall, crushed under him once again – worse this time : you knew better.

“Why’d you do it, angel?” He says softly, entirely contrasting from the way his arm is curled around your head, large biceps restricting your breath.

“I-I was scared.” You cry, trying to stop the hiccuping of your lungs to keep the breath you have.

“I know baby, I know.” He soothes, deep voice right next to your ear, his mostly salt and slightly pepper beard tickling the skin. “You made me so scared, sweet girl. Thought you cared ‘bout me.” he whispers. You do not know if the tightening of his arms was intentional, or if he is so upset at the idea you could hate him that he is consumed with it.

“I’m s-sorry,” You gasp, clawing at his arm, “I do care, ‘s why I–”

He raises his hand quickly, yet it hangs in the air for a moment. Hesitation, guilt – trembling like he’s stuck. You see something raw flicker in his eyes before it’s gone and he’s striking the ground next to your face, barely missing you – a last second decision.

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” Desperate, angry, scared.

You need to placate him before he does something stupid.

“I turned back– I was going to go back home I promise, please.” you cry, looking into his eyes. You loathe the fact that your words aren’t lies, that the care he sees reflected in them is real. You want him, you need him.

He watches you silently, frowning. Waiting to see what you have to say to him.

“I snooped, I’m sorry. I was angry about this morning and I saw– I saw Jason’s tooth and–”

The sound that leaves him is punched from deep within his chest.

He is silent for a long time. Pulling away from you.

You do not breathe, scared – the back of your neck is bared to him. Your life depends on his reaction.

“You saw my girl.”

You tremble in his slackening grasp. He seems to be staggering for a moment, unprepared and assaulted by the memories you have brought back. His hands grip tighter and tighter.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I didn’t know.” you whisper, tears streaming out of your eyes as you look up at the setting sun, these must be your last moments. Your body trembles and your hiccuping noises are ugly. You wish you could take this all back to before.

“You ain’t supposed t’see what’s down there.” he’s lifting his hands off of you, and you think the scariest thing about this moment is how human he finally seems. Like you are the one seeing him after all this time. You stay down, turning to look into his eyes – all you can see is grief. “You know what it’s like to be lonely, that’s why you were brought to me, baby.” His hands wrap around your neck again, and you shriek a small protest, scrambling. Your nails crack and bleed as they attempt to rip yourself away from him by holding onto the ground and pulling.

You feel drops against the back of your neck, and fear lurches in your stomach at the fact that he’s crying. “She would have hated me, she was so good.” His hands are constricting, crushing. You choke and gasp for breath. “But I ain’t got her anymore. I got you. And God help me, I need you, sweet girl.”

“I’m sorry.” you whisper again, looking into his sad eyes with your teary ones.

“I know.” He says softly, and you whimper as his hand comes to your face. He rubs the skin for a few moments, letting himself breathe and feel you. It feels like an eternity, lying under him, trapped.

“I’m goin’ to give you a choice, sweet girl. I ain’t given you one before.” His voice builds up as he says it, like the memory of his daughter drives him to formulate a plan – a way to somehow fix everything he’d done. Your heart stops as he slides off of you, picking you up with him and holding you, the tips of your boots brushing the ground. He stares at you seriously, and he looks so different from the monster, like he’s trying his best to do the right thing after all this time, pretending it’ll take everything back.

“I’m goin’ to let you run, sweet girl. You can choose to go to the sheriff– or, or steal my truck, do what you want.” He swallows thickly, eyes wild. “I’ll let you go, I should let you go.” He whispers almost to himself. “But if you choose t’go back home…I won’t let you leave me again, baby.” He smooths his hand over your hair after setting you down. “You’ll be mine, honey. And I’ll be yours, we can be fair and make this right. I’ll take you, and I’ll tell you everythin’.”

You thought your heart was going to rip out of your chest. Everything is primal, it’s all desperate and ugly and raw. He lets go of you, taking a few difficult, staggered, paces back. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

“Go,” he nods slowly, like he’s trying to assure himself this is the right thing to do. “If you run now, I won’t stop you, I swear.” his voice breaks like he’s not sure of it himself — scared of what he’s capable of yet consumed with need. His eyes are soft and round, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen. You are scared, but more importantly you are tired.

For the first time someone has loved every rotten bit of you – so desperately they leave morality behind. How could you run away from this?

You hesitate, stagnant and unsure. Your heart and your brain have gotten so tired from fighting it feels they have turned off all together, what happens now is primal – instinctual, you feel out of your own body, vaguely aware of the blood pulsing through you.

You turn around and run swiftly down the road, scrambling over a few loose stones. You glance back at him once, surrounded by the trees, watching you like a dead man watches water. Your heart lurches. He looks heart broken, shattered and as alone as you’ve always felt, like this is the last time he’ll ever see you.

Silly old man, you think.

You were always going to run back to his cabin.

You’ve got no need to disappear into nothing for the sake of rightness when everything you’ve ever wanted lives in the warm, wooden walls of his — your — home.

He underestimated just how hungry, how broken and corrupt you are.

You know now that you love him, and you know that you have always been just as much of a monster as he is. Rotten and broken and impure, tainted and shattered.

You have always been his match.

Your boots carry you home like you weigh nothing, light as air as ribbons of your past fears and wishes string and rip behind you. A flurry of ideas and thoughts until there is nothing except for yourself standing in that same flowery spot with plucked grass and no-more- monsters.

You bask in the silence of the forest. You have since lost track of the hurt, the burn of fear rising in your throat. You think of gold teeth and little girls and bright, wrinkled eyes surrounded by rich, dark skin – before your thoughts fall silent too.

You are under water. By the time you see his cabin : dim with no lights on as it always was until he found you – your mind is somewhere else, hollow and empty and replaced with something molten in your stomach. An ache, gnawing away at your belly.

You don’t knock, you let the stairs creak as you silently open the door.

He had not followed you, true to his word. The house is just as you’d left it.

You feel settled, clam and composed as you slowly begin to strip. Boots at the door, jacket in the living room. A trail made from your scarf leading to shorts and small socks. At the side of Joel’s bed, a lacy undershirt and bra.

You have already started to drift off by the time the cabin door opens. Two shuffles of feet before they stop short.

He takes time to make a fire, the sound of crackling wood creating a comforting blanket to your sleepy state, in and out of the haze, yet aware.

You are silent and waiting, your breath fanning softly as your eyes struggle to stay open. Somewhere deep, your heart throbs – the last fizzling jump of fear before it dies and fades away for good. You hear the opening of a small, plastic bag somewhere in the kitchen, little taps of what sounds like a pill falling against the counter top– a gulp of water a few seconds later.

The mattress dips as he climbs into bed behind you.

His callouses catch on your skin roughly as he traces the side of your face, bare chest pressing against your lower back while he buries his face between your shoulder blades.

You let your eyes flutter shut as he places open-mouthed kisses up your spine, wet and shaky. His hands grip your hips like you’ll turn to smoke if he doesn’t hold on. His beard tickles your shoulder as he continues, cradling you against him as if he is trying to stitch himself back together again, to become real and whole.

You let him.

He is shaking when you turn to face him. Neither of you speak, words unnecessary in the softness and stillness of the night : no need for words when there are only two people in the world who are so entwined already.

His palm cups your face, turning you to look at him, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth like a prayer. You whisper his name to him for the first time, a shaky breath escapes him as he whispers yours back. A small ruffle of the familiar duvet as you turn to face him, his warm palm cups over your tit – your pounding heart – as you turn to face him. Eyes shining as they meet yours. He looks so human.

He presses his nose against your own before his chapped lips finally meet yours in hesitation, like he’s trying to confirm that you’re really here next to him, that he hasn’t lost the only thing he has.

It’s soft for only a moment before you both let the hunger take over – hot and wet, lips moving faster and faster as his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips. They part without hesitation, taking the warm wetness of it inside your mouth and sucking gently, rolling over the other’s until your tastes are the same.

You gasp as his hands – rough and trembling – slide down your body, tracing every feature he studied from afar that is now finally his to touch. His mouth nudges along your jaw, nipping at the skin before he’s burying his face in your neck and inhaling.

When you whisper his name softly, he shudders like you’re the first person to ever truly call for him.

Your hand glides down to his stomach, running through the silvery hair that coats it desperately, trying to ground yourself to him. To pull him impossibly closer like you want to merge your bodies into one, consuming.

His hands are everywhere as he groans into your mouth, surrounding you completely. One grips your hair, pulling back gently to bare your throat to him as the other runs down your breasts, pulling and squeezing your nipples into tight points, breath panting from the intensity. He paints your neck with bites, blooms where he’s sucked and tugged on your skin until his mark has been made – groaning as he licks over the skin, like he’s trying to infuse you into his bones. Your skin tastes like his surrender, like the salt of his prayers. It’s not forgiveness he asks for – but belonging, trying to carve a place for himself in the crook of your neck.

Your fingers slip under the band of his boxers, searching for that rigid warmth that’ll complete you, retreating slightly on a shaky gasp as his hot, wet mouth envelopes your nipple, pulling and licking.

He’s on top of you within seconds, hands splaying across your shoulder blades as he shows equal treatment to each breast, arching you against him. His heavy sighs travel across your skin as he exhales. Groin slotted against the warmth of yours, he lets your hands tangle in his hair as he moves Southwards, kissing as he goes.

You whine a protest, whimpering for him to join the two of you together, and he answers your previous curiosities in a deep rumble, “Gotta give it time to work, sweet girl. I ain’t young no more.”

You let your head fall back against the pillows, a spark of electricity running through you at the reminder of his age, wetness seeping out into the gusset of your panties as you try to close your legs – an attempt at alleviating some of the heat that’s been building there.

He grunts at this, large hands gripping your soft thighs as he plants them wide and flat against the mattress, “Easy, darlin’ – gon’ take care of you now.” He rumbles against your lower stomach, right over your womb as he reaches up to pinch your tit, prompting you to look down at him between your thighs. Those eyes you once used to fear with such intensity now only make more slickness spill into the cotton that conceals you.

“Want you t’look at me while I taste this pretty little cunt for the first time.” He whispers on a kiss against your mound, dragging your panties down by latching his teeth onto the little bow adorning the front and pulling. You moan softly at the sight, hands fisting the sheets next to your head as his broad, muscular shoulders keep your legs spread wide, baring your warm pussy for his taking.

His eyes meet yours as his breath falters at the first glide of his tongue through your cunt, breaking off into a deep groan as he tastes you. A small cry of his name leaves your lips at the new sensation, hands immediately going to tangle in his soft hair. His tongue is ravenous, licking up every ounce of arousal as his eyes stay on yours, only dropping down when your head falls back once more.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, beard tickling and stimulating you – sending head through your bones. His lips tug on your bundle of nerves, pulling so deliciously your hips cant up onto his face, letting your wetness coat his beard until it’s soaked.

He lets go of your throbbing bud with a pop, licking his lips as he lets his mouth glide lower.

“Taste so fuckin’ perfect, my angel.” He groans as his tongue digs over your hole, an obscene sound of him slurping up all you’ve given him echoes through the humid room, and your moan of approval follows soon after. His nose digs into your clit as he pushes his tongue inside you, letting it glide into your gummy walls as you clench around him. His moans of approval course through you, heat rising blindly through your bones as you cry out for him, hips bucking as he presses against your lower stomach with a large palm. The rough material of his watch-strap scratching your tummy as his brows furrow, focused on eating you alive. The smacking sounds of his lips against your wetness make your eyes roll as he digs his tongue inside. His hand moves lower, skirting against your entrance before he’s pulling his tongue out with a slick pop, replacing it with his fingers as he sucks on your clit once more.

“Joel I-I’m gonna…” You trail off into a high pitched gasp, body trying to twist away from him as his thick fingers curl, pads of them bruising a spot inside of you that makes wetness gush out onto his wrist.

“Cum f’me, sweet girl, look at me.” He grunts, waiting until your eyes meet his to suck on your clit harshly, tongue running against the underside as he spreads and lifts his fingers to press against your gummy walls.

Your first orgasm crashes into you when you realize he’s humping the bed, his hot tongue desperately lapping up the slick that gushes from your spasming hole. He moans at the taste, making sure to drink it all down before he’s pushing up the bed – capturing your mouth in a wanting kiss as his thick hardness leaks against your leg.

His pill must’ve worked.

“Joel.” You whisper against his lips, nails dragging down the muscles in his back as you try to paw his underwear off with your foot, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to grip and coat his cock in your slickness.

He offers his body to you in a way that feels holy, the glide of him through your messy folds makes a sound so perfect leave his mouth you feel as though you’ve gone to heaven.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers against your lips, the hand that is not cupping your face is notching his fat, drooling tip at your entrance. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The first time he pushes into you, it’s gentle. A broken sound rips from him like he can’t bear it, face strained as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, watching his cock sink into you at a sinfully slow speed. Only when your nails sink into the skin of his back does he look into your eyes, seeing his own want, need, obsession painted in your irises.

He rocks into you like he’s trying to carve a home for himself inside your body, bringing your hand up to cup at his face while you lose yourself to the delicious stretch of him – cunt gripping him so tightly he can barely leave. You were always meant to be wrecked by hand like his – hands that tremble, hands that destroy, hands that worship.

His moans fan across your lips, shaky as they exit. He’s slow, letting you feel every inch of him, every vein, as he glides into your soaking cunt. His eyes have rolled, but you lean up to bite your own mark into his neck, pussy clenching as he moans raw and deep at the bright red mark you suck into his skin.

He watches you now, staring into your eyes. You want him to see the hungry, ugly, ruined thing he’s made. You want him to love it.

And when he leans down to kiss you like this night has changed him forever, you know he loves you. He is searching for his salvation in your body.

You anchor yourself to him like the earth is shaking, moaning a soft gasp as his forehead pressed against yours. Reveling in the feeling of his sac slapping against your backside, the sounds of lewd smacks and wetness – his own moans and whispered words of praise floating around you as the sheer size of him swallows you whole. He fucks you like he’s praying at an alter and you devour him whole. In the darkness, there is no difference between love and need, no line between hunger and worship.

Every thrust feels like a prayer, a confession, like he’s spilling the truth of himself into you on every plunge, letting you see every crack of his soul, the ugliness through the pounding of his hips against yours. Rocking together, bound by the loneliness and hunger and something older than love.

You cry under him, silent and open as he digs into you, so big and taking that your body can hardly bear it. He kisses every tear like an apology, licking up the salt as he coos above you, kissing the tip of your nose as he lets the heavy weight of his cock sit and twitch inside you for a moment, pubic hair sticky from your arousal as it grinds against your clit. He buries his face against your neck as he begins thrusting shakily again, and you know he’s crying too.

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin, broken and raw as he shakily moves his hips, eyes flitting to you, hopeful and soul-crushingly vulnerable.

Your breath is shaking, heat coursing through you at the glide of his cock against that place, tailor made for him. Your eyes falter, fluttering as the last of your tears stream down your cheeks, clenching around him so tightly. Every shared breath tastes like forgiveness neither of you have earned.

“I love you too.” You whisper, shattered. Body light as a feather as you let yourself fall.

His breath hitches as he comes inside of you, unprepared for it – hot pulses of his seed spurting quickly, flooding you as he sobs out moans against your skin, gripping your hips so tightly you think you’ll break. You follow immediately, arching into him as his arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him as you ride out the waves of your pleasure together, knowing it is so much more than this. You are no longer a scared bunny, alone in the world, and he is no longer a jackal hunting you down — you are only two humans, connected in a way that ascends your lives : cosmic.

It’s not just sex, it’s not just lust – it’s your whole life that has led up to this, to him. Two people who are too broken to live, yet too stubborn to die.

He’s made you his.

You’ve made him yours.

And lying in his arms, letting his hand rub up and down your back, you know neither of you stood a chance.

-------

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed please reblog and comment, it's great encouragement for writers ♡

extra presentiment lore if you’re interested after reading ;)

2K notes · View notes

old-logan-and-old-joels-slut · 3 months ago

Text

Saving this for later

zebra print (one shot), 18+

PAIRING: Joel x fem reader x Tommy

LENGTH: 5.7k words

SAME AU AS: Leopard Print | Cheetah Print

MASTERLISTS: Joel | Tommy | Both Together

SUMMARY: You run into the Miller Brothers in public, and after joel feels you up at a beachside bar, they consensually kidnap you.

CONTENT: 18+ exhibitionism, drugs, cockwarming, PIV, dirty talk, degradation, breeding kink, MFM, double penetration (double vaginal, and two-hole), possessive/brotherly bickering while inside you, cum inflation, magical lactation.

You were walking along the ocean in front of a beachside bar when someone catcalled. "Hey sweetheart,” Tommy lifted his chin with a smile. His hair was pulled back.

Joel turned around toward the beach and lowered his sunglasses. “Speak of the devil… Get the fuck over here.”

When you approached, Tommy checked you out “Look at you, lookin’ all snatched.”

“Lookin' empty,” Joel corrected him with a chuckle. “Nah, you always look perfect, baby. C'mere.” He tapped his thigh for you to sit in his lap.

“We're just takin' a load of here for a minute…. Gonna go home and grill up our catch,” Joel said. "And you're comin’ with us.”

“Oh, I drove, I have my car here,” you said.

“We'll bring ya back to get your car.”

"Okay," You agreed, hormones surging.

“Good girl.” Joel's big hands wandered as soon as you were on his lap, caressing your thigh, then squeezing it... feeling your breasts as they talked.

They had gone fishing, and they regaled you with tales of everything they caught, most of which they released, some of which was on ice in the back of their truck.

Joel slid his hand under your bathing suit top, shamelessly feeling you up the bar. He fed you a sweet potato fry, then wiped his hand on your thigh before stuffing his hand down your bottoms. “Mmm, there she is. C'mere.” He used his hand cupping your cunt to pull you against his hardening package.

Tommy went to close out their tab, and you were drenching your swimsuit bottoms with Joel's big hand cupping your heat and tickling your dripping hole. The waiter tried not to look. Joel's touch and praise had you woozy with hormones as memories came rushing back to your body.

“You're okay, c'mere,” Joel said and pulled you back again. Your head leaned against his, and he sucked at your neck. “Don't worry, Tommy's gonna drive. I gotta spend some quality time in my girl.”

Walking to their truck with Joel’s arm around you felt like having a royal escort. He told you how much he missed you and squeezed the thick silhouette of his cock. “Fuck, if i dont get in that soon, I’m gonna lose it.” His pace quickened until he was opening the passenger door for himself.

And before he sat, he tugged his swim trunks down to pull out his cock.

He spat on his tip and pumped it a couple of times, then held it with his left hand for you and extended his right hand for balance to help you step into the truck.

“How do you want me?” You asked, and he let out a low whistle.

“Lady's choice, as long as I'm balls deep in that pussy.”

You faced the windshield.

“Chair position, I like it,” Joel said and gave your ass a little smack. He pulled down your swim trunks, and you braced your hands on the glovebox. While you were bent over, he fingered you from the back and teased your hole, making a wet sound as he smacked his finger against your entrance.

“Oh yeah, she knows daddy's here,” he said. “Daddy's comin’, sugar.” He used both thumbs to spread your cheeks and your lips.

“Gimme a minute,” he said, and positioned you so he could bury his face in your ass. He tongued and lapped at your cunt, slid his tongue up, and teased your other hole.

When Tommy put the truck in reverse, Joel took his face out of your ass. “All right, sweetheart,” he held his cock and put an arm around you, with his free hand on your mound. He rubbed tip of his fat cock through the slick of your cunt and his saliva, then pushed it into you. He held your hips as you sank onto it with a moan.

“Yeah, there she is,” Joel greeted your cunt. “Hell yeah…..She miss me?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a soft chuckle, insides softly rearranging themselves around his girth.

“Well, shit. You got my number. You shoulda said somethin’,” Joel said.

Tommy chuckled. “That ain't her job, brother. You better take care of her without her havin’ to ask. Ain't that right, sweetheart?”

“Mind your own business,” Joel said.

Tommy retorted, “Hey, that asshole is my business. I want to be allllll up in that business tonight.”

“Yeah, we'll see about that,” Joel said, “keep runnin’ your mouth.”

Joel held his arm around you like a seatbelt, fondling your breasts, kissing the nape of your neck.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he said. “Now that we know what that pussy can do, I think about it all the damn time.”

Stuffed with Joel's cock on his lap: it was everything you'd been wanting. Everything you needed. So many times you'd thought about them… about how nasty and degrading they were…. about them stuffing you full….about fucking Joel in the parking lot…. and on the beach…. and both their cocks crammed in your poor little hole….. you thought about the way you blew up last time. For days, you probably could have passed as pregnant. And each time a little bit of their cum seeped out, part of you was a little sad.

After a few days, you had gotten in the habit of having your hand on your belly so often that you found your hand going there and felt surprised to find nothing.

God, you want him to cum and fill you up again, stretch your limits....

For the time being, you were content to sit on his cock in the car. He loosened your bathing suit top so that it was floating futilely above his hands as he played with your tits.

“Fuck, you're so damn hot, baby….. hottest chick on the beach, swear to god….”

“Sure is,” Tommy added.

“You take a pregnancy test?” Joel asked.

“No, but i got my period,” you told him.

“Oh, we got work to do….” Joel said. “One of these days, it'll take…. one of these days, and then i'll bring you home with us. And you don't gotta worry about nothin’ but carryin’my baby.

God damn, I want that bad.” He slid his hand down into your swimsuit bottoms and fondled your clit.

His hips rocked, slow and gentle. “Ain't gonna blow my load,” he said. “Wanna see how big it can be if I wait…..Tryin’ to figure out if ya get more from a few loads or one big one.”

Tommy piped in, “He hadn't come in a few days. He was moanin’ and groanin’ about the mornin’ wood…. Wouldn't touch it, though. Said he was savin’ it for you.”

Your heart swelled.

“That's why I ain't fuckin’ ya right now,” Joel said. “Just need ya to sit pretty on me as long as we can….. But I figure it ain't cheatin’if I make *you* come, right? I think that's allowed, ain't it?”

“Course it is,” Tommy said. “Just try not to blow your load when she does.”

“Yeah,” Joel agreed. “Just give me a little squeeze, darlin’, when ya come. Just let that pussy hug me, gimme little massage…. That's all I need. Let her hug him with that tight little pussy before we stretch it out again.”

Joel was playing with your clit, and nuzzling your neck, and with his cock secure in your cunt; you began to succumb to the tension swelling in your gut.

“God, it's hard, Joel,” you marveled at his cock.

“Oh, baby I know…. Just wanna fill you the fuck up, much as you can take,” he says, “fuck, I want you so bad, baby….. want everyone to see what we do together…. want everyone to see you swole up with my cum, swole up with my baby.”

Tommy took this literally and rolled down the window, making your face tingle at the exposure.

You were pretty sure this wasn't legal, but you didn't say anything. What was the worst that could happen?

“We're good,” Tommy said. “I was in the Rangers with the police chief. Saved his life.”

“Nice work,” you replied, bringing a glint of pride to his eyes. He didn't always feel good about his Army days, but right now, it was paying off.

“How's it feelin’, sugar?” Tommy asked.

“Uggg, so good,” you answered. “This cock is so big and hard. Packs me just right.”

“Yeah, that's right,” Joel said, breathing a little heavier, rubbing your clit. “That's what ya need, baby. Packed tight, full of cock, full of cum… That's how it should be.”

At a red light, they rolled to a stop, and a truck next to you inched forward. A man was staring. He was old enough to be the Miller brothers’ father. A thought that made your tits feel like they were floating with pleasure.

Joel removed his right hand from between your legs and used your slippery arousal to massage your nipple right in clear view of the passenger window. You moaned with your head back and Joel said, “Fuck yeah,” meanwhile sliding his left hand between your legs - he knew how bad you needed it. Never wanted to leave you unattended.

The man in the next truck, the man you imagined as Grandpa Miller, undid his belt and his hand began to move on his lap. He kept rhythm with the way you moved with Joel's touch….

Your spine arched as Joel touched you, and his lips grazed your ear, and his hips just barely moved under you. “Oh, fuck,” Joel moaned, rubbing your clit and circling your nipple. You're gonna come for me, baby. “Gonna give this big cock a little hug. Come on.”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Come on, sugar… come for daddy… you know you wanna…”

You closed your eyes and let go, marveling at the power of the pleasure. Your legs trembled while your walls convulsed on his cock. Your thigh muscles gave out under the pleasure and the dead weight sank you a smidgen further down, over-filling you with his length

“Oh, FUCK,” you gasped.

“Attagirl, yeah,” Joel said, “Oh, goddammit,” he pulled you hard against his chest, one hand grasping your breast.

You regained enough control to adjust your hips and relieve the pressure of his tip against the door to your womb.

Joel sucked in air through his teeth, and took a long, controlled breath.

“You good, Man?” Tommy asked with a smile in his voice, and lifted his hips out of the seat, drawing your eyes to Tommy's bulging swim trunks as he fetched something out of his pocket.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Joel cursed. Ain't gonna do it,” he said. He took a deep breath and held it.

Tommy quickly lit a joint and handed it to Joel. Joel took a puff. His dick twitched faintly, but didn't unleash the typical blast of warmth. A slight dribble was felt in your depths, but he'd managed not to full-on explode.

He relaxed back against the seat and caressed your cheek, then released the smoke from his mouth in a long sigh. Indirectly, you breathed some of it in.

“Woo!” Joel exclaimed. “Still in business….. Ohhhh, that was good, sugar…. Fuck, you feel good… really feel like heaven, baby. MMM,”

He slapped the center arm rest for emphasis. “Fuck!” He took a deep breath and let it out with another sigh. “Never felt a pussy like it…. Tight and soft…”

“Hungry too,” Tommy added. “Mmm…. Hey sugar, you like that last time? Like havin’ two cocks stuffed up in ya?”

“That was wild,” you replied. "Nothing like it."

Tommy asked, “Which ya like better? One in the back or both in that hungry pussy?”

“I don't know,” you laughed and asked, “What are you into, Tommy?”

“Well, I gotta say, the ass has an edge ‘cause I don't gotta worry ‘bout comin’ inside and havin’ Joel lose his shit,” he playfully hit Joel's shoulder with the back of his hand, then took the joint from him. “But it felt really fuckin’ good bein’ crammed in that pussy together.” Tommy took a hit, then looked at the joint.

“Drive,” Joel commanded, and Tommy muttered, “Oh, shit,” letting the smoke out of his mouth as he noticed the green light. ‘Grandpa Miller’ had already driven away with one hand out his window, wiping something on the side of his car.

Tommy rolled your window up halfway. Then Joel took the joint back from him and brought it to your lips. You took a tiny puff.

"Aww," Tommy cooed.

Joel pinched out the joint and handed it back. Tommy tucked it behind his ear.

“Hey baby?” Joel said, "What if we were parked just like this, and some guy came up and asked if he could feel your tits, just for a second?”

“What would I do?” You asked.

“Yeah.”

“Guess I'd say I'm busy,” you answered. I'd say he's gotta get in line.”

The three of you laughed, and you added, “oh my gosh,” with a chuckle.

“And what if it was alright with me?” Joel asked. “Hmm?” He squeezed both your breasts and at a hornier pitch, asked, “What if it turned me on?”

“Just for some guy to feel my tits? That's it?”You asked.

“Yeah,” Joel confirmed, “Just to cop a feel.”

“Fine, I guess,” you agreed.

Joel groaned into your hair then kissed behind your ear and whispered, “That's my girl.” He kept the fantasy going: “Fuck yeah. He can….he can do it while you’re sittin’ right on this dick… and I'll feel how much ya like it or not.”

“What does this guy look like?” You teasingly asked.

“Hot,” Tommy answered. “Hot, with a big cock….So you'd do it?”

“Sure,” you answered. “Hot with a big cock? No brainer.”

“That's what I'm talkin’ ‘bout,” Joel’s cock twitched inside you. “Hell yeah, baby…. Oh, God.”

He was about to bite his knuckle but bit your shoulder instead.

----

When you arrived at their residence, it was a lot nicer than you expected. It was gated, sprawling, with a pool. And that was exactly where you were headed. A pool with a couple of cabanas, cushions, pillows, nice grills.

“Is this like….. a country club?” you asked.

“Nah, this is *our* house, baby. The Miller Den…”

“Oh, wow… your business must be doing great.”

“What’d I tell ya, pumpkin? Don't gotta worry ‘bout nothin’.”

Tommy parked the truck and cracked the windows. Joel fumbled with the door handle and Tommy said “I got it,” then jogged around to the passenger door and opened it.

“C’mere, sugar,” Tommy murmured and held your hand. Joel angled his hips toward the door and lifted, giving you a boost. Then his cock slid out of you as Tommy eased you into his own big arms.

“Mm,” Tommy hummed into your hair as he helped you out of the truck, facing him. He set you on your own two feet, but kept his strong arms around you until he knew you were okay to stand. “You good?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

Joel made you your favorite drink at their outdoor bar and you enjoyed it in the pool while Tommy unloaded the truck and cleaned the fish.

After dinner and dessert, Joel laid back under the cabana and gave his massive erection a squeeze through his shorts before pulling them off and letting his cock stand proud and free. You pulled your bottoms off, too. “Alright, c’mere,” he beckoned you into straddling him. You held his shaft near the base to run his tip through your slick, then fit him for entry and sank down. His hands on your hips helped you slide right onto his cock. “Ohh God,” he sighed, watching his length swallowed to the hilt. “Tommy, I dunno how much longer I can go like this,” he admitted.

“You got this, Joel. You got this,” Tommy encouraged him.

“Alright,” Joel agreed, “maybe if we, uh, talk or somethin’.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Hey, the surf's supposed to be great next week…”

They talked about the weather, movies, shows, places they’d like to visit–they included you in that part. Tommy sat back on a neighboring mattress under the same cabana, facing the same direction as Joel with a front row seat of you speared on his brother’s big dick. The three of you talked casually, and Tommy was looking around, not totally fixed on the beautiful sight before him. He adjusted himself a couple of times. He muttered “damn,” when you stretched and yawned. But as time went on, his eyes had trouble pulling away from your body, and his hands had trouble pulling away from his crotch. And you had trouble not watching him be driven crazy with arousal. The flow of conversation began to falter with the distraction.

Tommy asked, “How ‘bout about a little DP, darlin’? Whatcha think, Joel?”

“Fuck,” Joel said, “That’ll do me in… that what ya want, baby?”

You replied, “Just want your cum.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it, sugar…”

You yawned and said, “good,” with your eyes half closed.

Joel asked, “Think ya can fall asleep like this, baby?”

“Yeah, I'm already about to.”

“How ‘bout we take a little nap…give my balls a little more time to load up. Hm?”

You yawned again, “yeah,” and tucked your head into his neck.

“Good girl,” Joel said, then asked Tommy to get him another beer.

You fell asleep on Joel's cock with not a care in the world. He caressed your head and your back, and got Tommy to drape your dark zebra print sarong over the two of you as a light, soft blanket. You hummed in contentment, and soon you were both asleep.

As the two of you dozed and the sun finished setting, Tommy went in to retrieve some lube, and he carefully positioned a chair facing the cabana about 10 meters away. He pulled down his swim trunks, spread his thighs, and jacked off as quietly as he could. When he imagined you packed with both their cocks, goosebumps prickled his forearms. “Fuck,” he whispered. You were so perfect. He dared to imagine himself balls deep in your cunt, unleashing a massive load, and, “oh, shit–ohh,” the split-second forbidden fantasy made him bust sooner than he meant to.

When you woke up, your hips were already moving, and so were Joel's. You were grinding against him, about to come, and in sync with your rhythm, he was thrusting up into you, grunting and moaning.

“Ohh, fuck,” he cursed, half awake. “Oh, god,” his voice was weak.

He shuddered and slammed his hips upward, then his dick twitched, his fingers dug into your ass, and he pulled you down. Grinding upward with his cock seated deep inside, he gave you his mega load, one massive throb at a time.

Your orgasm overtook you, and your convulsions mixed with his, milking his cock even better.

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel panted, “Oh, fuck yeah…. Goddamn, baby.”

Thick ropes of silk shot into your womb, one after another.

Each one seemed to last two seconds, with not even a second in between. Nearly a continuous fountain.

“Jesus,” you cursed. “Ugh–Mmm.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, still not empty. “Fill you up real good…mm. Sit up for me, darlin’.”

You sat up and held your breasts. His face was wrecked and pink. His neck vein bulged. The chain around his neck pooled between his collarbone and throat. His mouth hung half open as he watched your lower abdomen. You were fuller and fuller.

“Oh, goddammit,” he grumbled, once his ropes lost volume. By then they were closer to typical volume for a man whose orgasm just started.

You put a hand on your belly, looked down, and moaned at the swelling.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Fuck, you're goddamn perfect.” His hips slowed once he was finally drained.

You were left bloated with his titan load, both hands on your tummy, pressing your fingers slightly into your skin, watching your belly move just slightly with the pressure. It felt wild, familiar, and remarkably arousing.

“God damn, you're hot,” he said with you still seated on his cock. He caressed your belly and said, “We got more work to do, but fuck, you look good, baby.” He admired you with his own skin glowing and reminded you, “You’re here all night.”

“More work to dol?” Tommy asked.

“Ain't as much cum this time, but look at this pretty girl….”

“It's still a big fuckin’ load, man,” Tommy said.

Joel got his phone and said, “yeah, but…” as he pulled up the picture of you from last time after the beach tent. He looked back and forth between you and his phone. “Look how much bigger she is here,” he showed Tommy.

Tommy speculated, “Maybe it's ‘cause she had both of us.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Joel acknowledged.

“You wanna find out?” Tommy asked, rubbing his cock over his swim trunks.

Joel asked you, “Whatcha think, baby?”

“Sure, If it turns you on.” Your reply was cool, but Tommy clocked the look in your eye and nodded, “Yeah, she wants it.”

Tommy dropped his shorts, and Joel teased, “just like that.”

“Oh yeah,” Tommy chuckled as he slathered his erection with lube.

Tommy got behind you, straddling Joel's knees on the cabana mattress. He placed both hands on your ass cheeks and kissed your asshole, then murmured, “There she is. There’s my sweet little hole…. Nice and tight. Could never fit two dicks in here,” he chuckled. “Sure am glad your pussy can take it. Didn't hurt ya, did we?”

“No,” you answered.

Tommy asked, “What’s your cock think, Joel? She recovered from last time?”

“Oh yeah,” Joel said.

Tommy pressed his hard, wet cock against your ass and asked, “Wanna try that again before I take your ass?”

The question made you spasm on Joel's cock.

“Pussy says yes,” Joel chuckled. “C'mere, baby.”

You leaned forward to give Tommy access.

Tommy slathered his fingers in lube and wedged them in above Joel's cock. “Shit, man. You're still that hard?”

“I am now,” Joel said. “Mm.”

Tommy added a little more lube, pumped his cock, and said, “Alright now.” He used his finger and thumb to help squeeze his tip into your pussy, right on top of Joel's cock.

The familiar stretch burned in a way you could never replicate on your own.

“Woo,” Tommy said, “Look at her take. Shit, you were born to take two cocks, baby…”

He pushed in bit by bit, and fuck, it was such a good burn. It faded faster than you wanted it to, then came back as Tommy pushed further. He coaxed you, “Yeah, nice and open, come on….. Relax, honey…. Breathe for me… know you can take a little more of this dick… You can take us, sweetheart.”

Joel was breathing heavily, holding your thighs.

You took a deep breath, then when you exhaled, Tommy shoved his cock in.

“Oh, god damn,” he cursed, and Joel moaned under him.” Fuck, fuck,” Tommy said.

“When's the last time you came?” Joel asked him. “You jack off this mornin’?”

“No,” Tommy said. “The more you talked about holdin’ off….”

“God damn it, Tommy,” Joel said. “I swear to God, if you come.”

“I know,” Tommy said and took a deep breath then let it out with a sigh. “I won't. I got my own hole to fill up…. and I'm gonna do it good.” Tommy rocked his hips, massaging your walls and Joel's cock with each little thrust. “Good girl,” he praised you.

“Yeah, atta girl,” Joel said.

Tommy marveled “What a woman. God damn, Joel,” then moaned, “Oh, God.”

Joel observed, “You got that look on your face, man…”

“Fuck, alright,” Tommy said, then squirted lube on his thumb to work your ass open. He took a deep, calming breath, and pulled his dick out of your packed cunt, or else the way your ass clenched around his digit might have made him cum.

His broad tip pushed into your asshole, then the rest of his cock slid in. “Yeah,” Tommy breathed. “Good lord.”

“Doin’ good, baby?” Joel asked, and it felt like you might overheat.

“H-Hot,” you answered with a little shudder. Your nipples poked into Tommy's palms, making him moan and squeeze your tits.

Joel grabbed his cold beer and sat up to lift the bottle to your lips. He poured you a sip and you swallowed, with some of it dribbling down your face.

Tommy asked Joel, “How many ropes ya think I got?” then, with his hands on your bloated middle, “Shit, how many ropes is this?”

“Fuck, I forgot to count,” Joel replied. “I reckon nine or ten.”

“Big ones,” you added.

“Oh, she likes the big ones,” Tommy chuckled, then pulled his hips back. After pushing his shaft fully I'm again, he said, “Damn, she can really take it in the ass. Joel, you ever fuck her ass yet?”

“Nah,” Joel answered. "Got my hole right here."

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “Too busy tryin’ to get her pregnant, huh?”

“Yeah, I ain't wastin’ a drop,” Joel said, then asked, “How's it feel? Nice an’ tight?”

“Fuck yeah,” Tommy said. “Tight but easy. She’s a sweet little hole, don't fight back.”

You pushed your rear back against Tommy and he marveled, “Fuck, she swallowed it right up. Good girl.”

“Yeah, she's a good girl,” Joel agreed.

Their cocks were separated only by your thin, stretched wall. Joel's hips rolled under you, and Tommy fucked you nice and slow. “ooh-wee.”

Stuffed in both holes–something you’d imagined every day since that time on the beach, never really able to conjure the feeling, even using your biggest dildo while wearing your biggest butt plug. You'd made yourself cum that way, but it was nothing like being between these brothers. Their hands all over you. Their grunts and moans, praise and encouragement. Their sturdy bodies. Their warm, throbbing cocks, rigid and massive. Their spongy, pliant heads, engorged by their desire for *you*.

“God damn, I could get used to this,” Tommy gave your ass a little slap.

“Are you holdin’ out?”Joel asked after a minute, eager to see you full of more cum.

“Chill, man,” Tommy answered. “Gimme a minute. Just enjoy it, man.” Tommy squeezed your hips and murmured, “He just wants to see ya all swollen….

But I'm in it for this…” He brought his face closer and whispered, “Love the way ya feel, baby.”

“Watch it,” Joel cautioned him with a thrust to remind him you whose girl you were.

“Mmm” you locked your eyes with Joel's and let your tits down to graze his chest.

“C'mere,” Joel whispered and pulled your face to his. He kissed you deep and his cock thickened in your cunt.

Tommy sighed and gripped your hips with his big hands.

Joel was at full mast and began to rock his hips with more power. His lips broke from yours with a moan.

“Goddamn,” Tommy muttered, barely able to contain himself.

“Feel good?” Joel asked.

“Yeah,” you answered.

“What's it feel like?”

“Like I'm just two holes.” Your pussy quivered at your own words.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel said.

“Yeah, like I'm just two holes, stuffed full... like, you're just gonna keep packing and packing me.”

“God damn right,” Joel agreed.

“Yeah, that's right,” Tommy chimed in.

“Feels like I can't fit anything else in my body…. like if I drank more than a sip, I'd get heartburn.”

“How your tits feel, baby?” Joel asked.

“Tender, swollen.”

“God damn,” Joel said. “Perfect, ain't it? This whole thing we got goin’ on….” He moved his hips more gently, and his breath was becoming more labored with pleasure. “This time…. I want ya to send a selfie every day. You got that? One a day, at least, so I can see how you're doin’.”

“Okay,” you agreed.

“And I wanna see too,” Tommy added.

“You wanna see too?” Joel asked. “I don't think so, man.”

“I ain't even blown my load yet,” Tommy reminded Joel. “If ya want me to stuff her with it, you better let me see too.”

“You serious?” Joel asked, nostrils flaring as he glared behind you at his brother.

“What's the big deal?” Tommy asked.

“She's mine is the big deal,” Joel said. “And that oughta mean somethin’.”

“You're the only one who gets to cum in her cunt,” Tommy reminded him.

“Watch your step or both holes are mine,” Joel warned. It was becoming heated between them.

“Yeah…. maybe, maybe you're right,” Tommy said, “She's your girl, I shouldn't be filling her with my cum… Sorry, sugar.” He began to withdraw his cock, and just as the crown of his tip hitched on your tight ring of muscle, Joel protested, “Don't let her down.”

Tommy repeated, “Sorry, sweetheart. You heard him… you're his.”

“Goddamn right, she's mine,” Joel said.

Tommy argued, “What's a goddamn picture gotta do with bein’ yours, huh? If it's my cum, too, I wanna see how she carries it…. I ain't trying to steal your girl, man.”

Tommy was just sitting there with the tip of his cock in your ass, not moving his hips as he argued with Joel. You were moving a little with the motion of Joel's hips under you, and your ass was slightly lifting Tommy's cock in a joystick motion each time.

“Alright, how's this,” Joel offered. “We can FaceTime her when we're together.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tommy agreed, then asked you, “Whatcha think about that, sugar?”

“Sure,” you agreed.

“But I want the pictures too,” Joel said.

“okay, okay,” you agreed and slightly pushed back on Tommy, moving Joel's cock.

“Ooh-wee,” Tommy smiled. “Fuck, she hungry.” He slid all the way into you with a moan.

“God, I love the way it looks on you,” Joel gushed. “The way what looks?” You asked.

“Bein’ stuffed with our cocks and cum….. love the way your face looks, the way your body looks. God damn perfect.” Joel's hips began to roll with more power, fucking you softly from the bottom as Tommy filled your ass with his cock.

“Alright,” Tommy said, “I'll give ya what ya want, but you gotta tell me what ya want, sugar.”

“Fill me up,” you pleaded, “Come in me. Come in my ass.”

“Oh fuck,” Tommy moaned, and with a few sharp thrusts, his balls began to unload. His cock twitched in your ass. He held your hips and groaned, turning into a delirious chuckle. “Oh yeah,” he said.

Joel counted. “Four. Five.”

“Ugh,” Tommy moaned.

“Six.”

“Oh yeah,” Tommy's hips came to a rest flush against your ass as he dumped the rest of his load. “Seven,” he moaned.

Your lower body tightened and you began to come, lightheaded from pleasure.

“Yeah, let go,” Joel said. “So perfect,” he encouraged you. “God, I love that face. Fuck.”

You grinded into Joel's pubic bone as your climax throbbed through your clit, radiated through your core and ass, making pleasure possess your whole body.

“Oh God,” you moaned, feeling the pressure of your belly against Joel's lower abdomen. Joel raised his hands to rest on your sides, with the heels of his palms feeling your belly.

“Hell yeah.” And then, with an upward punch of his hips, he began to come again. His cock twitched, and he groaned. He emptied his seed so deep inside you.

“God Almighty,” Tommy said, overstimulated by your trembling cunt and Joel's throbbing cock through your thin membrane.

Joel thrust low and smooth and slid his hands to feel your belly more. The pressure increased in your gut with each rope, and it stretched your skin. Heavy and swollen, you had to imagine it was what pregnancy felt like.

The pressure became too much, and you had to start sitting up more.

Joel's eyes poured over you in delight. “Perfect,” he repeated. “Gorgeous.” And with his eyes on your tits, you looked down to see how swollen they were. Tommy reached around and held your heavy breasts as Joel finished coming. Tommy massaged your breasts, and the slightest bit of warm milk squirted right at Joel and hit his hairline.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel sat more upright, drooling for a taste. Your belly pushed into his stomach as Tommy fed him your swollen tit. Joel latched on and sucked what milk he could out out of you. His cock twitched again.

His lips broke away to marvel, “Jesus… I don't wanna suck ya dry… Wanna enjoy the view for a few hours.”

But for the sake of balance, he took a few seconds to suckle at your other breast. When he let your sensitive nipple out of his mouth, some drops dribbled down onto the curve of your belly.

“God, I'm wrecked,” he admitted. “Shit… feel like I'm gonna leave my whole cock in your cunt,” he laughed. “I know that's what she wants, huh?”

“How are we gonna do this,” Tommy asked.

“Uhh,” Joel thought, “Go ahead and pull out, lay her down, put her feet up for a while. Yeah, get some pillows”

Tommy pulled out and got a pillow from the neighboring mattress, then went to gather more from another cabana.

You were seated on Joel's cock, and he had his arms around you when he leaned forward and said, “Alright baby, I'm gonna lay ya down.” He gently lowered you into lying on your back, then put you in a mating press. “Good girl, perfect angel.”

When he was satisfied with the amount of pillows Tommy brought back, Joel eased himself out of you and stacked pillows under your knees.

“How much was it leakin’ last time?” Joel asked.

“A little,” you said.

“But when I saw you at the store later, you were still pumped full,” Joel recalled.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Didn't really shrink for a day or two.”

“Alright. Good….. I’m so proud of you,” Joel said. “You did real good, sugar,” Tommy added.

“Such a good girl,” Joel brushed hair out of your face. “Yeah, that's my good girl.”

Leopard Print fam: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @iamasaddie @flawssy-227 @tateypots @selfproclaimed-moviecritic @archive-of-ink @mysterialee @professionalpromqueen @greensabereyesforcevictim @umnitsa @fandomunite2107

Thank you for reading 🖤🖤🖤 if you enjoyed it plz let me know!

938 notes · View notes