mewantpeepaw

[mewantpeepaw]

missing him hours

[mewantpeepaw]

"all that honey, all that rot."

a step uncle!joel miller x reader

summary: the summer heat brings out the worst in people. and so do family reunions. (or, in simpler terms: A Southern Gothic Porno about things you shouldn’t say to your step-daddy’s brother, but do anyway.)

warnings: step uncle!joel miller (not your cup of tea? just scroll! <3), girthy age gap, obvs taboo relationship, religious guilt/blasphemy, power dynamic, smoking/alcohol, southern gothic themes (rotting morality, decay, etc.), emotional manipulation/guilt, emotional whiplash, unresolved shame spiral energy thingy whatever, a lot of smut... like a lot soooo (praise kink, degradation kink, public sex, dubious consent vibes, daddy kink & uncle kink, fingering, oral, some slight edging, possession, breeding kink, mentions of bodily fluids, lots of dirty talk, etc.)

a. note: this fic contains no actual blood relations, but it feeling wrong and depraved is.... kinda the point. anyways, god is not present in this fic and if you ever see me in public after this, no tf you did not!

July in Texas meant the kind of heat that makes the devil himself sweat, and the kind of family gatherings that make you wish he'd drag you back to hell with him.

The front porch of grandma and grandpa's old home sagged, tired of carrying generational secrets and trauma, its broken wood planks littered with cigarette butts and broken beer bottlers. Grandma June's cross-stitched Jesus watched over the house from the kitchen wall, thick and smudged by the steam of collard greens and cast iron grease.

The tea was sweet enough to make your molars ache, the gossip between your aunts somehow even sweeter. They wore their linen dresses and bickered like fighting crows over potato salad, their unruly kids screaming around the pool like a baptism gone wrong. Somewhere in the distance, a bloodhound barked loud and shrill, and somewhere even closer, Uncle Joel lit an American Spirit like he was trying to smoke out an ache from his chest.

You hadn't meant to look at him like that.

Well, not at first.

He wasn't supposed to be the one. It should've been Tommy- your mamma's brand new, shiny second husband, all clean smiles and thick forearms. But Tommy never looked at you the way his brother Joel did, like you were temptation dressed in a pair of cutoffs, like you were his Eve and he was getting real sick of apples.

He was the oldest brother, Joel. The grizzled one. The one with broad shoulders that blocked out the sun and rough hands that looked like they could rip Bibles in half.

He came in reeking of sweat, smoke, and the kind of loneliness that settles deep into a man's bones after too many years of pretending he doesn't need anybody or anything.

It was a tale as old as time. You should have been scared of him.

Instead, you sucked the melted ice cream off your fingers, looking at him from behind a pair of long fake eyelashes, cherry red lips stretched into a pretty, perfect smile. "Hi, Uncle Joel."

He flinched the first time you ever called him that.

Good.

You shouldn't have enjoyed it. The way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched and nostrils flared. But you did. And you would continue to enjoy it.

The first time you saw Joel- really saw him- was on the third day of that godforsaken family reunion, right as the sun bled out over the backyard and turned the skies to bruised peaches and dying lilacs. You'd come out of the sunroom for more sweet tea, barefoot on cracked concrete as a symphony of cicadas beckoned you forth, the hem of your sundress- same color as Joel's shirt- clinging damp against your sticky sweet thighs.

He was by the smoker, beer in hand, sweat darkening the collar of his flannel even though it was too hot for sleeves.

Joel was watching you. There was no attempt to hide it. Just a dark, sleezy pair of eyes following you, a hawk zeroing in on its prey, like you were nothing more than a rabbit trying to scurry away in time.

There was a raw, quiet sort of hunger, and you watched his jaw tick ever so slightly as he drank you in, as though he was memorizing every step you took in case the good Lord gave him one more chance to turn his back on you, on the taboo hunger that stirred deep in his belly.

"You shouldn't be wearin' that around me." His voice was a mutter, half to himself, as though he were conversing with a pesky little devil that had perched itself on his shoulder.

"Shouldn't be looking then." You quipped back.

There was a pause.

That same muscle ticked in his jaw.

Joel turned around and walked off with a huff, as though you had slapped him clean across the face.

You couldn't help but smile into your tea.

The next night, it stormed.

Texas thunderstorms never knocked politely. They rattled the windows like judgement day.

You watched from the dining room as the rain spilled down the glass, almost everyone else tucked in to bed for the night. You could hear over the lighting your grandma muttering prayers. Cousins were passed out on couches, your mother deep into a bottle of wine with Tommy in the sunroom, both sure no one else would be awake to hear them giggling.

It was quiet. The eerie kind of quiet the seeped into the walls of old Texas homes, the kind of quiet that only ever accompanied lonely nights like this.

Joel stood on the porch, the lightning carving out his silhouette into the screen door every few seconds, painted across the house like a ghost hungry for something other than vengeance.

You found him like that. Smoking, brooding, thinking some dark, unholy thoughts that you craved to learn for yourself.

"Can't sleep?" He finally asked, voice full of gravel. His back was to you, but he could sense you, he could smell you.

You didn't answer. What was there to ever say? You stepped out into the night air, rain cooling your skin, and leaned against the porch rail. The white cotton of your nightdress stuck to your back. No bra. No panties. Nothing.

Joel noticed.

Of course he did. He always noticed you.

"You walk around like that on purpose?" Joel inhaled a thick line of cigarette smoke, an eyebrow raised as he watched the old dirt road begin to turn in to mud.

"Would it matter if I did?"

The porch light flickered as the hum of the moths grew louder, the rain only darkening the sky even more.

"You're playin' a dangerous game, baby." His words sent a shiver right down your spine and straight between your legs, your thighs clenching at the hate that peppered his voice, the annoyance. It only made you want him more.

You tilted your head up at him. The same devil that plagued him with all those nasty thoughts danced behind your eyes.

"I was raised in a house full of liars and preachers, Joel. Danger is a game I know well."

Joel snorted out a response, turning back to the horizon.

You stayed quiet, listening to the hiss of rain and the gentle smolder of his cigarette, watching the way the smoke curled around his knuckles, hazy and Baroque. He didn't look at you, but you knew he saw everything- how the thin cotton clung to your skin, how your thighs rubbed together each time he lifted his smoke to his lips, how you licked the expanse of your plush lips like a girl who didn't know any better.

But you did. And he knew you did.

"Why're you always lookin' at me like that?" Joel's voice was low and rough, the words scraping their way out of his tobacco singed throat.

You shrugged. "Cause you always look back."

Oh. Oh. Now that got him.

Joel flicked the cigarette into the muddy yard with a sharp little motion that made your lips twitch, his jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard his teeth grinding down like stone on stone.

Then he stood. He walked over. Too close. Close enough to feel his heart thrumming, close enough to breathe in that second hand smoke that always lingered around him like an aura.

The wood of the porch creaked beneath his worn leather boots as he boxed you in- one hand on the rail behind you, the other ghosting down your side, not touching, not really, but just enough to burn you like the sinner you were.

"You ain't got a fuckin' idea what you're doin'." Joel's voice was a warning, like smoke and sin, and it hit you like a brick.

"I think I do." Your words were more of a moan than a whisper.

"Is that right?"

You didn't break eye contact. You couldn't. You wanted him to feel it, all of it. That heavy thrum beneath your skin, that ugly, ugly craving, that part of you that yearned to be ruined by his hands, and his alone.

Before you knew it, that very same hand was wrapped around your throat.

Not tight- just testing. His fingers, calloused and thick, resting there like a cautionary tale you would never quite learn.

"Say the word. I'll stop."

"You won't."

"You don't know me, honey."

"Maybe not. But I know what you're thinking when you look at me like that." He felt your pulse against his palm, erratic and wild, hungry for more.

There was silence for a moment that felt too long, thunder rolling low in the back like the ground itself was growling, a desperate animal lurking and watching you two dance a dangerous tango.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn't gentle. Wasn't sweet. It was messy and hungry and depraved, teeth scraping lips, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth like he was starving and you were the only thing on his dinner table. Like he'd held back for too long and hated himself for it.

And God, of course you kissed him back.

You moaned into it, melting into the depths of his chest, his cheap cologne and aftershave meddling with the stench of ash filling your flaring nostrils as his mouth claimed yours. He dragged his lips down your neck, shoving the hem of your nightdress up to your hips with no remorse. Joel's rough hands pushed one of your thighs over the rail without a word, and he pulled away, staring at you for a beat too long, at your pussy that glistened in the shaded moonlight just for him, polite and pretty and intoxicating.

"Ain't gonna fuck you." He growled, his breath hot on your skin as he nipped across the soft skin of your jaw line. You felt the tip of his middle finger trace along your wet folds, gathering up that slick that was just for him. "Ain't gonna do it, not yet."

And then he knelt, like a sinner offering himself up before god, but not before slipping his finger in your mouth, allowing you to taste just how sweet your sin tasted, allowing your own moisture to coat your tastebuds, salty and sweet and damned.

Right there, on that forsaken porch, rain pounding down around you, lightning flashing, he tasted you for the first time. Your shift bunched around your waist while he pulled your leg over his shoulder and devoured you, like he was punishing you for existing, angry that you were there and stirring up so much trouble in his life.

He started slowly, gently, allowed him to explore every inch of you, and then you felt his mouth on your clit, sucking hard and rough, a wild wolf that finally caught his prey. His dull nails dug into your hips, holding you tight and hard as though the storm winds would whisk you away from him. You wanted to cry out his name. Joel, Joel, Joel. That was who was worshipping at the altar of you, that's who was making you feel this good, this... heavenly.

Your hands slipped down, found his own, and as he ran his tongue back and forth across your swelling clit, you traced the veins on the back of his hands, explored the divots of his knuckles, felt the tips of his rough nails worn down from years of labor, you memorized the way he felt against you.

You memorized the way his tongue felt in your pussy, his teeth on your thighs- and right there on that porch he made you his, ruined you for any other man. The pretty flesh of your lower belly was bruised by the markings of his teeth, tattooed by his incisors, purple and pretty and all for him, your arousal dripping down your legs, thick and heavy with the weight of your crimes.

You orgasmed with your hand tight in his hair and his name bitten into your bottom lip, you tasted the metallic tang of blood as he tasted your honeyed cum, flowing all because of him.

After you finished, he stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and he stared at you, not saying a word, inspecting you like a sculpture in a museum.

Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, but he had nothing else to offer in terms of aftercare or remorse- he simply walked back inside, and you caught a glimpse of that cross-stitched Jesus watching you from the kitchen window.

The next morning came thick and hot, humid from all that rain, the air thick like syrup. The morning songbirds chirped like they hadn't just witnessed a crime against both God and family values on that porch, their melody delightfully pretty and annoyingly cheerful.

You padded into the kitchen barefoot, wrapped in an old robe that might have once belonged to your mother, but now hung open on you in a way that was clearly an act of war, devious and lustful.

You didn't have to look up to know Joel was there. You could feel him. Brooding in the corner like the storm hadn't quite ended.

He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his black coffee in one hand. Joel wouldn't look at you, in fact he refused.

"Moooornin', Uncle Joel." You grinned, your voice as light and sweet as the peach jam your grandma had laid out on the table. You didn't miss the way his teeth clenched together.

He nodded towards you. Didn't speak a word.

Coward.

Grandma was flipping pancakes. Tommy and your mamma were nowhere to be seen, which felt like a small mercy. The smell of butter and shame hung low in the air as you slid onto a stool at the kitchen island, your heels crossed just so as you poured yourself some apple juice.

"Sleep alright?" You asked him plainly, as if your thighs hadn't been wrapped around his handsome face a few hours ago.

"Slept fine." He muttered.

"Are you sure? You seemed a little... tense last night."

Joel slammed his mug down on the table a little too hard.

Your grandma looked up from the griddle with a startt, her voice a disapproving tut. "Now y'all better be gettin' along now. Ain't no room for drama in this house, except what's on daytime TV." She pointed her spatula between the both of you, he eyes glossed over with seriousness.

"Oh, don't worry, Nan. We get along real well." You calmed her with a big smile. "Don't we, Uncle Joel?"

He walked towards you, and you suddenly felt small against his shadow, tiny and powerless as he towered over where you sat. His face twitched. You smelled like that sweet coconut shampoo you always used, and that pretty vanilla perfume he could always pick out from a mile away.

"Go put on somethin' decent," he warned through gritted teeth, voice quiet and low. Your nan hummed naively in the background, whistling as she continued making breakfast.

"This ain't decent?" You blinked innocently, your voice like sugar.

He finally looked at you then, eyes locking, his irises dark and dangerous and far, far away.

That's when you felt it. That nasty tension, that heat that settled between you two- undeniable, like a bruise beginning to bloom beneath the skin of a polite conversation. The memory of his mouth and how it felt hung in the space between the both of you like humidity.

"Don't start," he growled beneath his breath, low enough that only you could hear.

"I'm not startin," you whispered, leaning in close enough to make him flinch. "I'm just finishing what you-"

"Stop."

You held his gaze for a beat too long. The word tumbled out low, dangerous- any other peep from you and he would take matters into his own hands, that much you were sure of.

Then you stood, slowly and deliberately, the robe parting just enough to show the curve of your hip.

"Fine." You relented, chewing on the inside of your cheek. "I'll go change."

You didn't miss the way his eyes dragged down your body one last time, and before either of you could turn away, he caught your wrist in his hands.

He nodded for a moment, eyes boring into your own.

"Good girl." Joel whispered, those simple syllables knocking the air right out of your lungs. His thumb felt soft as it caressed atop your knuckles, and you watched him saunter off to his coffee cup before you scurried towards your room.

For a long while you stood in the hallway, lips parted, trembling from the ghost of his voice against your ear.

Good girl.

He said it like a threat. Like a confession. Like the kind of thing a man only says once, or forever- either or.

You stood there dumbly for a moment, blinking.

The house buzzed around you- grandma humming over pancakes, a child screaming about a lost toy- but it all faded into static.

Because Joel Miller had just called you good girl, and you knew the world would never be the same again. At least not yours.

Your skin buzzed like live wire, chest tight. Between your legs was an entirely different story- a slow, throbbing mess. That damn robe clung to your body like it was trying to apologize for failing to cover enough, as though it wished it could have saved you from your recent conundrum of both the heart and the pussy.

You walked towards your room, chest pounding with every step, every bone in your body warning you to turn back before it was too late.

But it already was, and it already had been.

You didn't hear him follow you, you didn't have to. You could feel him, you could feel the air pressure shift and change, like the house was tilting in his direction. The hair on your arms rose, skin prickling with the heat that rolled off of him in waves.

You paused outside your bedroom door, fingers curling around the frame. And then, before anything else, came his voice: low, thick, full of grit and threat.

"You like actin' up in front of people?"

Slowly you turned your head.

He was standing there, arms cross, coffee mug long since abandoned. His gaze was darker than it had been at breakfast. It was predatory. That porch-slick, tongue-between-your-legs version of Joel... he had never left, in fact he was alive and well.

"Wasn't tryin' to act up-"

"Bull. Shit." Joel snarled, backing you up into your room, circling you like a hungry wolf. He kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot. "You think I didn't see what you were doin'? Wearin' that-that... thing. Lookin' at me like that in front of your grandma?"

You were backed into the wall now, the torn floral wallpaper a stark contrast to the energy that dripped off of your bodies. His hand came up, cupped your jaw- not hard, but firm, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip as though he were weighing whether to shut you up or make you moan.

"Maybe I wanted your attention." You muttered, gently chewing on your bottom lip.

Joel breathed hard, nostrils flaring, before his thumb dipped past your lip, just slightly, resting tenderly on the tip of your tongue. It was enough to make your knees wobble and your heart beat hard against the cage of your ribs.

"Keep talkin' like that," he growled, "and I'll take you apart right here, right now. With your mamma in the livin' room and the Lord watchin'."

You whimpered.

You hated yourself for it, loved yourself for it.

He leaned in, lips grazing yours, not kissing- hovering. Making you beg for his very touch with your breath.

"You gonna be a good girl for real this time?"

You nodded, wordless.

And then- He pulled away, snatched his hand back like you were poison and he had been cut.

"Then get dressed. We're goin' into town. Gotta pick up beer for the grill."

Just like that. A simple command. As if the little room hadn't nearly erupted into flames.

You stood frozen, skin flushed, thighs trembling, every nerve screaming his name over and over and over again. You wanted to scream after him, wanted to brand the word coward into him with a red hot iron. You wanted to pull him back against you and make him finish what he started.

Instead, you slipped into the closet and reached for something short, tight, and pretty. The shorts barely counted as fabric, and the little gold cross dangling around your neck was perfectly ironic, pretty and dainty between your collarbones.

Joel was already waiting by the door, keys in hand, a muscle twitching in his jaw like he'd been chewing on the same thought all morning. His eyes dragged over you once, and that was all it took.

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils before speaking. "Get in the truck."

A warning.

The ride started silent.

He didn't look at you as he drove, and you didn't bother pretending you couldn't notice the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel every time your thighs shifted against the hot leather seat.

"You always this quiet?" Your words were meant to poke the bear, a shit eating grin stretched cutely on your mouth.

"You always this loud?" He shot back.

You smiled something innocent. "Only when I'm ignored."

Joel scoffed. "Ain't ignorin' you," he muttered, eyes on the road. "I'm tryin' not to fuckin' kill you."

You tilted your head. "Oh?"

"You think this is funny?"

"Oh no, not at all. I think it's... fun."

Another twitch. His fingers grasped the steering wheel so tight it looked like it hurt.

"You don't got any idea what you're doin'." Joel rasped.

"I'm wearing shorts in the summer, Joel. It's not a crime."

He laughed a short, dry laugh. "Not a crime? Oh baby. It is when you're sittin' next to your step-daddy's big brother with your legs wide open. I'm supposed to be your uncle."

You spread your legs a little wider, your grin only widening. "You lookin' or something?"

"Jesus Christ." He growled, umber irises clinging to the turf ahead.

You allowed the sweet kiss of silence to stretch long and painful between the both of you, the heat between your bodies thick enough to chew. The radio was off, the only sounds were the rumble of the engine and the occasional sharp exhale from Joel, like he was trying to exorcise something demonic from within him.

Eventually you reached over and turned the dial, letting some old country song roll in, low and moody.

"She got a body like a backroad..." The man crooned on the radio.

You smiled wide. "You like this one, Uncle Joel?" Your words were a taunting challenge, a hook and bait you were begging him to grab ahold of.

Joel said nothing.

You leaned in closer, close enough to feel his shoulder against your arm.

"Don't like it when I call you Uncle?" You asked softly, your voice a hot whisper that fanned across his face.

He shook his head. "No."

"Fine. What about... daddy?"

Joel turned and looked at you. Really looked at you.

Dark brown eyes wild. Breath short. Sweat kissing at his temple.

"You keep talkin' like that, and you're gonna learn what the word daddy means real fuckin' quick."

You licked your lips. "I was hopin' I would."

He pulled over. Fast.

His truck skidded into a shaded shoulder off the side of the road, gravel crunching like bones beneath the tires. He parked. Threw it in gear. Then turned to you wild and raging like he was about to do something illegal.

"Get in the backseat." He rasped.

You shifted. Slow, testing, leaning into his space. Your heart pounded.

"Make me." They were only two simple words. Soft. Defiant. But they were enough to bring the whole universe crashing in on you.

Joel stared you down, caught between deciding whether he wanted to kiss you or kill you.

He made his choice.

You didn’t even have time to squeal before he’d reached over, grabbed you by the waist, and hauled you over the console like you weighed nothing. You hit the backseat with a soft grunt, denim-clad hips scraping across the warm leather, and before you could blink, he was on top of you.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” Joel growled, voice like thunder rumbling in a storm cellar. His fingers were working the buttons of your shorts, rough against your exposed skin in a way that was deliciously dirty.

“I think I do,” you whispered, smiling up at him like the liar you were.

His hand was on your thigh, pushing it open—wide. Exposing the lacy little excuse for underwear you’d chosen just for this moment. It was soaked through.

Joel groaned like he was in pain.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He leaned in, forearm braced beside your head, the other sliding under your thigh, hoisting it up until your knee nearly touched the fogged-up window and your foot was resting on his shoulder. His breath was hot on your face, the scent of coffee and cigarettes and something darker, something animal, wafting across your face.

“You’re drippin’,” he muttered, eyes locked on the spot between your panties that pulsed for his touch. “You’re gonna tell me this ain’t what you wanted? That you didn’t walk outta that house like a fuckin’ invitation?”

“I wanted this,” you breathed. “I want you.”

He growled. Actually growled.

His fingers hooked under your panties and dragged them aside, exposing your soaked cunt to the hot air inside the truck. He didn’t even take them off, just shoved them to the side, rough and impatient and easily forgotten.

Then his fingers were on you—two of them, thick and calloused, sliding through your folds, parting you open like you were his to split and ruin and mark.

You gasped.

“Joel—fuck—”

“That’s Daddy,” he hissed, and then he was inside you, two fingers buried to the hilt, pressing up against that spongy shot that had uncontrollable moans erupting from your throat.

You saw stars.

Back arched. Mouth open. One hand flew to his wrist, trying to steady yourself as he fucked you with his fingers, deep and precise, curling against that sweet spot like he’d mapped it himself.

“Tight little pussy,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours. “So goddamn wet for me. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You were moaning now—soft and breathless and desperate. His name fell from your lips again and again, but it wasn’t the one he wanted.

So he slowed down, pulled his fingers out just enough to tease your entrance, not pushing back in until you whined.

“What’s my name?” he asked.

“Joel—”

“Wrong.”

He stopped completely. Just held you there, fingers resting at your slick, pulsing hole, lips against your neck, teeth dragging against your veins.

“What’s my fuckin’ name, sugar?”

You choked on a gasp.

“D-Daddy—fuck—Daddy, please—”

And just like that, he slammed his fingers back in, rougher now. Faster. His palm rubbed against your clit as he worked you open, relentless, filthy sounds echoing inside the cab.

“That’s my girl. My good girl," he murmured, kissing the corner of your jaw as you writhed beneath him. “Takin’ it so well. Just like you were made for me.”

Your eyes rolled back. Every muscle in your body clenched. Your stomach twisted tight and sweet, and then—

You came.

Hard.

Convulsing around his fingers, sobbing his name, thighs trembling against his sides. He didn’t stop until he wrung every last spasm from your body, until you were so sure you would pass out if he went any longer.

Only then did he pull his fingers out—slow, sticky, glistening—and stare at them like they’d just given him the answers to every question he’d never dared to ask. You watched him slowly sink one into his mouth, lick off the taste that sung of you, his dark eyes peering in to your own, challenging and mean.

“Taste like sin,” he muttered. “Sweet, nasty little sin.”

You lay there, spent and gasping, your skin hot against the sticky leather, your mind wrecked, your heart somewhere in the back of your throat, beating and thrumming and clawing its way towards your tongue.

And Joel?

He just leaned back in the front seat and lit a cigarette, breathing hard, not saying a word, allowing the smoke to cover him like a safety blanket.

“We still gotta get the beer,” he said after a long pause, voice low and ruined.

You blinked at him, dazed.

“You’re outta your fuckin’ mind,” you whispered, your top halfway off your body and your little jean shorts still unzipped and uncomfortably tight around your hips.

He grinned, crooked and mean. You shouldn't have found it so alluring, but you did. How could you not? "You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

After Joel wrung your orgasm out like it owed him rent, the truck ride into town was—unsurprisingly—tense. He didn’t speak, nor did he look at you.

Just smoked his cigarette like it was a goddamn life raft and kept his eyes glued to the road.

But you knew him now. Knew the twitch in his jaw, the flicker of his eyes in the rearview mirror, the way his free hand kept flexing open and closed on the gearshift.

Uncle Joel was seething.

Not because of what you’d let him do to you, but because of how easy it was. How easy it was to sink his thick fingers deep within you, how easy it was for his ears to tune to the pitch of your moans, pretty and wild, how easy it was to get lost in the way your eyes went crazy and wide with pleasure he was giving you.

It was too easy, alarmingly so.

And by the time he rolled into the parking lot, those thoughts were thrumming loud in his ear drums.

The gas station was one of those sad little roadside stops with flickering lights and hand-scrawled beer specials in the window, old and rundown and oh so hick. The air was thick with diesel exhaust and divorced dad regret, heavy with a sort of tension that was unknown to you.

You slid out of the truck, legs still a little shaky, and walked inside like nothing had happened, still trying to adjust your bra straps, as though all of the town had their eyes on you and knew what you had just done. Joel stayed outside, leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, eyes locked on you through the dusty windshield as he opened up his second pack of American Spirits.

You could feel the heat of him even from twenty feet away.

And then he walked in.

Some guy—twenties, scruffy, boots worn but clean. Too much cologne. You smelled him before you saw him, and he smelled like bad decisions made in the back of a pickup truck. Not unlike the one you’d just made, but something that was- somehow- even more embarrassing.

“Hey there,” he said, smiling wide, eyes dragging down your legs, over your ass, lingering just a beat too long on the swell of your tits beneath the tight tank. “You lost, sweetheart?”

You turned your head slow. Blinked. Smiled like a trap being set.

“No, I’m good. Just grabbin’ some beer for the grill.”

“Family BBQ?” he asked, stepping closer. “Mind if I crash? I make a mean brisket.”

You laughed. Sweet and dismissive. But then you glanced out the window.

Joel was still watching. His jaw was clenched, and his arms were still crossed, yet the veins on his arms bulged with something dangerously close to jealousy. You saw it in his umber irises- something murderous. It made your heart beat pick up, made that adrenaline in your belly pound for more.

So you leaned into it. Just a little.

“I dunno,” you purred. “You look more like dessert than dinner.”

The guy laughed, and his oil covered fingers touched your elbow as his lips parted to say something else, no doubt something boyish and horny.

Joel moved.

You didn’t see him come in—but suddenly he was there, all heat and fury, stepping between you and the stranger with the kind of slow, dangerous calm that made your stomach drop and all that adrenaline fade.

“She’s taken,” Joel said, voice low and steady, like a hungry dog growling through its teeth, with no cage to stop it from pouncing.

The guy blinked, all of his emotion draining from his face. “Whoa, man. I was- I was just talkin’—”

“Yeah, I saw.” Joel’s hand came down hard on the counter as he leaned in, inches from the poor bastard’s face, and you saw the crow's feet narrow alongside his eyes, saw the way his teeth gritted tight together as he spat out his words. “You ever look at her like that again, I’ll break your fuckin’ jaw.”

“Jesus, alright—”

“Don’t bring him into this.” You would have laughed if the situation wasn't so tense/

The guy backed off fast, muttering apologies as he grabbed a bag of chips and vanished down an aisle, his tail between his legs and his head down. You stood there, beer in hand, soaking in the tension like it was bathwater, unsure of what to say or do next.

Joel didn’t look at you. Not until you reached for the register. He leaned in close, breath hot at your ear. “We’re gonna have a problem if you keep lettin’ boys touch what don’t belong to them.”

You turned your head, inches from his lips. “I didn’t know I belonged to anyone.” Your words were steady, despite the way your heart pounded inside of you.

He smiled, but it wasn’t nice, it never was. “You will.”

He paid for the beer and a fresh pack of cigarettes before hauling you outside, back to the deserted parking lot, back to his truck that was hidden behind the dumpster, the air thick and still with summer heat.

"I don't believe you." You challenged, his hand tight around your wrist.

He stopped in his tracks. Joel looked at you like he'd just made peace with his damnation.

His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. And then—he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you, it was more of a threat than a declaration. Not soft. Not romantic. Consuming.

You barely had time to gasp before he spun you around and shoved you against the grimy, vibrating hood of his pickup, right there in the gas station parking lot.

“Get in the fuckin’ truck,” he snarled.

“No.”

You didn’t flinch. You wanted the punishment. You needed the consequence. You craved him.

His eyes went dark. Dangerously dark. You felt it in your throat, in your clit, in your soul.

“You think you’re in charge?” Joel stepped in close, pressing the heat of his body against your back, one hand gripping your waist like he wanted to crush you and fuck you in the same motion. “You been walkin’ around all summer with your little ass hangin’ out, beggin’ for attention, and now you’re gonna act shy? Nah, baby. You earned this.”

His fingers trailed down your stomach and popped the button on your shorts with one flick. You didn’t stop him. You arched into it, your ass tight against his hardened cock.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you right here,” he muttered against your ear. “Where anyone could see. Where someone might walk by and know exactly what you are.”

“What am I?” you asked, breathless, barely able to get the words out as he dragged your zipper down and shoved your shorts and soaked panties to your knees.

Joel’s hand slid between your thighs. His fingers dipped into your wetness, obscene and slick.

“My dirty little girl,” he growled. “My fuckin’ problem. My cock-hungry little niece.”

You gasped, legs already shaking.

He chuckled darkly.

“Yeah. That got you wet, didn’t it? Bein’ my brother’s girl. Bein’ my family. You been thinkin’ about this every night, haven’t you? Touched yourself with that pretty little cross around your neck while you thought about Uncle Joel splittin’ you open like a goddamn peach.”

You whimpered. You were already on the edge. Already soaked. Already gone.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I want it.”

“Say what you are.”

You clenched around nothing. Your mouth felt dry and sinful, tongue aching for words that would never fully form.

“I’m your niece,” you whispered, words broken. “And I want you to ruin me.”

Joel groaned. Real. Deep. Like it hurt him.

Then he flipped you over, shoved you up onto the hood, and dragged your legs open with no ceremony, no patience, like a man unhinged.

You watched his eyes drag over you. Soaking. Spread. Wanton.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he muttered, dragging the head of his cock through your dripping folds. “Told myself I’d be good. But then you started callin’ me Daddy. And now—fuck, baby—I’m gonna wreck you.”

He didn’t give you a chance to breathe.

One thrust.

One brutal, impossible thrust and he was inside you, bottomed out, thick and hot and everywhere all at once.

You cried out—loud, raw, unfiltered—and he loved it.

“Shhh, now,” Joel purred. “You don’t wanna get caught, do you? You want someone to see me fuckin’ this little pussy? Want someone to know you got your uncle's cock inside you?”

You moaned. Desperate. Aching.

He snapped his hips forward.

The truck rocked under you.

Gas station lights flickered overhead. The radio inside buzzed faintly, muffled by the sound of you being fucked within an inch of your existence.

“God, Joel—please—”

“What? You prayin’ now?” he growled, grabbing the back of your thigh and lifting it higher so he could go deeper. “You think God’s listenin’? Sweetheart, He left the moment you let me push my cock inside you.”

You clenched around him, sobbing out with how fucking full you were.

“You like that?” Joel growled, hips slamming into you over and over. “You like Daddy tellin’ you you’re too far gone to be saved?”

“Yes—yes—I want it—I need it—”

Joel leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice a low snarl.

“I’m gonna cum inside you.”

Your eyes widened.

“You’re gonna sit at dinner tonight with my cum leakin’ out of you while your step daddy Tommy passes you the fuckin’ potatoes and pretends not to see the way you squirm in your seat.”

“Do it,” you begged. “Breed me, Daddy.”

That broke him.

He fucked you so hard the hood of the truck dented. Your thighs bruised beneath his grip. Your nails scraped the metal like claws, your voice rising in pitch with every snap of his hips.

You came so hard your vision whited out, screaming his name—Joel, Daddy, Uncle, whatever it took—as your pussy fluttered around him like it was made to take him, like it was created for the sole purpose of feeling Joel Miller's fucking cock, for taking his cum.

Joel’s hips didn’t stop even after he emptied himself inside you. He stayed deep, grinding into the mess he’d made like he wanted to etch his name inside your womb. You could feel him—still hard, still leaking, still not satisfied.

You whimpered, face pressed to the warm hood of the truck, your legs spread wide and shaking. Every movement sent another hot trickle of him dripping down the inside of your thigh.

“Too much,” you gasped. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

He leaned over you, chest against your back, breath hot against your ear.

“You don’t get to say that,” Joel growled. “Not when you begged for it. Not when you called me Daddy with my cock already buried inside you.”

One of his hands slipped under your shirt and dragged up your belly, sliding rough over your ribs until he palmed your breast, squeezing tight, fingers pinching your nipple until you gasped.

“Now you’re gonna take it.”

He slid out—just enough to watch your pussy flutter and leak—and then slammed back in, all the way to the hilt, feeling your gummy walls constrict tightly around him.

You cried out. It was too much. It was perfect.

Joel moaned behind you, grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise. He didn’t care that you were shaking, that your thighs were already slick with both of your cum, that you were gasping like you were about to cry.

He fucked you anyway.

Hard. Deep. Fast. Dirty.

The truck shook with every thrust. The sound of it—wet and obscene—echoed through the empty parking lot like a prayer in reverse.

“Listen to that,” Joel grunted. “That’s what you wanted, right? That sweet little cunt of yours suckin’ me in. You fuckin’ hear it?”

You were sobbing now, your face pressed to the metal, your body twitching from overstimulation.

“I can’t—Joel—please—”

His hand slapped your ass. “You can. And you will.”

Then he spit on his fingers and reached around, finding your clit like he’d done it a hundred times. Like it was his.

He rubbed tight, brutal circles against it—no patience, no mercy, your little bud tight and sensitive, twitching beneath the pads of his calloused fingers.

“Don’t you dare hold it,” he growled. “Cum on my cock again. Show me just how ruined you really are.”

You couldn’t even speak. You splintered. You came so hard your knees buckled. Your mouth opened in a silent scream. Your pussy clenched around him like it didn’t want to let go.

And Joel—he came again.

Harder this time. With a groan so deep it sounded like a man dying and coming back to life at once. He stayed deep, rutting into you, making sure every drop of him was inside, that none of his spend would go to waste.

You felt it—hot and thick and endless—coating your walls, your thighs, your soul.

And then… stillness.

Heavy breathing.

You, draped over the hood of the truck like a used doll, your body soaked in sweat and slick and shameful satisfaction.

Joel pulled out slow, watching his cum drip from you. A thick string slid down the inside of your leg and he groaned at the sight of it.

He dragged two fingers through the mess and brought them to your mouth.

You opened. You sucked. You tasted everything—him, you, the filth of what you were—and didn’t look away once.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, running his thumb along your bottom lip. “You're mine now, baby."

You nodded. Smiling like the little sinner you were.

Bent. Fucked. Full. And proud of it.

When you arrived home, you walked into the kitchen, the house loud with the clatter of silverware and family gossip. You could feel Joel's cum thick and hot between your legs, stuffed full, your pussy sore and used and humming with pleasant satisfaction.

You walked inside like a new woman. You were freshly showered- sort of- rinsed off by a hose outside on Joel's orders, while he smoked and watched the way your body moved, told you not to get too clean.

So you didn't.

You were still wearing his flannel. No bra. That pretty cross dangling between your pretty breasts, glistening and glimmering beneath the low light of the old rickety house.

Everyone had seated for lunch. Grandma at the head of the table. Your mother, flushed from wine. Tommy, smiling wide. Cousins, loud and sticky with grape soda and sunscreen. The TV was playing some rerun of an old Baylor football game in the living room. A fly buzzed lazily near the screen door, the ambiance unsettling and homely.

Joel sat across from you at the table, his eyes following every movement you made, watched the exact moment your legs pressed together tightly because you shifted and felt that familiar drip, that tempestuous aftershock of all he had done to you.

He was pounding back Coors and sweet tea, doing anything he could to keep his mind off of you.

Your grandma passed the green beans and muttered something about politics. You tried not to make a sound, until your mamma looked at you with concerned and asked, "you alright, baby? You're awfully quiet."

"I'm fine, Mamma. Just sore."

Joel choked on his lager.

"Sore?" Tommy asked with a blink.

"Yeah." You sighed out innocently, raising your cup to your lips as you sent Joel a challenging glare from behind the brim. "Took a real long ride earlier."

Joel hid a grunt with a cough, loud and rough. He dropped his fork and stood up from the table, muttering about taking a smoke break, his face the vision of a man who wasn't sure if he were about to hit someone or fuck you again- and you weren't sure which it would be.

He looked at you. Hard. You grinned, slowly chewing on a spoonful of cobbler, watching as he walked out.

You waited for a bit. Got swept up in the conversation about football and politics and how crazy the world was getting.

You set your fork down after a while, following the blazing trail that Joel had left in his wake.

You found him on the back porch, cigarette lit, a hand in his pocket. The setting sun painted him in gold and ash, air heavy with tension and cicadas and everything you hadn't said.

He didn't turn around. He took a long, heavy drag, finally speaking. "This can't happen again."

You stepped closer, pressed your chest to his back, slid your arms around his waist- you swore he leaned in to it, tilted his head back every so slightly, like a broken man who hadn't been touched like that in years.

"Sure it can."

"No, it can't. You're-Tommy... you're-"

"Doesn't really matter." You hummed.

Joel turned, fast, eyes wild and mouth tense.

"You don't get it- I can't... hold back. Not with you."

"Yeah, I'm kinda counting on that, Joel."

There was a long silence, loud with singing crickets and your heartbeat and every broken thing that the both of you were.

But then?

He kissed you. Soft this time- but it wasn't safe, it never was, it never would be. It tasted like the end of something, like the beginning of something even worse.

Joel pulled back just enough to whisper, "you're gonna be the death of me."

And you smiled, tasting him on your tongue. "Maybe."

You glanced over your shoulder, through the screen door. Lunch was in full swing. Grandma rambling, Tommy laughing, Mamma pouring more wine- everything was normal. Everything was fine.

And none of them knew. Not yet, hopefully never.

You leaned in close, grabbing Joel's hand, your lips pretty against his ear, "but you'll die happy."

[mewantpeepaw]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary : You were sent to Rome as a symbol, a marriage forged not from love, but from politics. He was the Empire's golden General, already tethered to someone else. But Marcus Acacius keeps his heart locked behind duty and old scars. But from now on, you are his wife in name, a stranger in his bed, learning that silence can be more painful than cruelty.

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings : historical themes and patriarchal dynamics, arranged mariage, mentions of politics, smut, cold behavior, age gap ? (not really mentioned or important), infidelity, emotional neglect, toxic relationships, manipulation, slow burn, secret relationship, angst (each chapter will have warnings !)

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

𝐈. The woman he sees when he closes his eyes

𝐈𝐈. The woman who waits in silence

𝐈𝐈𝐈. The woman behind the door

𝐈𝐕. The woman holding back the night

𝐕. The woman who holds her breath

𝐕𝐈. The woman who knew too much

𝐕𝐈𝐈. The woman whose name he forgets

[mewantpeepaw]

I CANNOT believe this doesn’t have more likes and reblogs!!!! This is an awesome fic!! Love all the tension and suspense! Treat yourself to this one girlies!

You Scare Me, Professor Masterlist

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

PRELUDE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

[mewantpeepaw]

to call you mine - series masterlist

hi, hello! 🖤 ✨ some of you may have read my dbf!joel snippets before, but this series is taking us WAY BACK, back to where it all began. buckle up, i hope you enjoy! taglist is open ✨

How is it that in one simple, fleeting moment, the dynamic with the constant in your life, your dad’s best buddy, old, gruff Joel Miller.. shifts into the most thrilling, turbulent secret you’re forced to keep under wraps?

If only you knew where it was always doomed to lead.

MDNI* this series WILL contains mature and explicit themes 🫶🏻

Pairing: dbf!joel x reader

1: kindling

2: upper hand

3: combing through the wreckage

4: something’s got to give

[mewantpeepaw]

Wants and Needs

Look at the mess you’re in now, sweetheart, cryin’ on a cock that’s too fuckin’ big for you. What am I gonna do with ya?”

WARNINGS - Mean!joel, dom!joel, cock hungry!reader, impish!reader, one shot, size kink, Joel miller monster cock, ‘We shouldn’t be doing this’ vibes, cause Joel’s all guilt ridden and sexually frustrated, lots of dirty talk, guided masturbation (joel talks you through fucking yourself), mid-fuck pep talk from a man old enough to be your father, girthy legal but unspecified age gap, fingering, pain kink, brief mention of tummy bulge, dacryphilia, dubcon, unprotected PIV, cream pie, cum eating, aftercare in the form of oral sex (f!receiving) wedgie kink if you squint, horny brain took over when I wrote this, dingy motel sex.

FIC HELP - @tofics!!! Thank you for the thorough beta, sweetheart!!! you did so fucking much to help me with this fic and i'm really fucking grateful, more than words could say!! @beefrobeefcal @cum-a-calla and @/endlessthxxghts (rip i miss your presence on this shitshow of a website every day) thank you sweet babes for all of the encouragement and support!! I love you all!!

A/N - Long time no see! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a fic, even while since I’ve written for Joel. Gosh. I hope you’re all surviving the winter as best you can <3 it’s been a rough one, huh? Enjoy and have a safe rest of your week :)

The bed frame groans for the seventh time in a span of five minutes. Through his nose, Joel sighs in irritation at that sharp, grating creak, the sound of the bed hitting against the wood paneled walls to match. You’ve been at this for the last hour and a half - wriggling, flipping back and forth in the bed, tugging that old, scratchy, floral comforter off of Joel’s body to swaddle around yours, only to throw it off again seconds later. You’ve flipped your pillow more times than he can count, adjusting where you lay your head in search of that coveted cold spot. 

It’s hard to sleep when you keep touching him. Mindlessly, you press up against Joel, and inch away again. His patience for this routine of yours wore thin long ago, sanded down by too many nights of this same ordeal. 

Joel feels the mattress dip and shift a little, the subtle warning of you gearing up to toss your body again, but he’s had enough. He grabs you by the wrist before you can do so, holding you tight enough so that you feel the rough calluses of his palm on your skin. “Enough. Quit fuckin’ squirmin’,” he rasps, his voice tired but edged with warning. “I told you to go to sleep an hour ago.”

“I can’t,” you snap. 

“Bullshit. Y’ain’t even tryin’.”

Joel’s heard this from you before. You’ve always been more restless, whereas Joel’s a heavier sleeper by nature, aided by the alcohol and the pills that lull him off into dreamless unconsciousness. But you’ll keep him up anyway, usually complaining that you’re too hot. Or too cold. Or you’re thirsty, and you need some of his water. No, you don’t have any. Yes, you know you’re a pain in his ass. 

Joel will get you settled, only for you to start all over again. In the subsequent mornings, you’ll be crabby and snapping at him, and he’ll bite back just as hard, pissed off hours of his sleep were lost to you. 

“So what’s your excuse this time?” 

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, adjusting in bed again. You kick your feet, toeing at the tangled fabric of your pants bunched up around your legs. Joel squeezes your arm in warning, nails pressing into your skin a little. “Joel - stop. Just let me—”

Joel cuts you off, “Yeah, I know. Sit up.” 

Obeying him, you sigh and sit up straight, playing with a loose thread in the comforter as Joel leans over your side of the bed, his body radiating warmth and his own scent of something you couldn’t name, something distinctly Joel - perhaps some sort of heavy soap or maybe whiskey. It radiates thick in the space between you and him. He fluffs your pillows a little, then places them back down. “Lay down,” he tells you, and you fall back onto the soft, warm mattress. “S’that comfortable?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Joel nods quietly, then reaches for the comforter next. He shakes it a little to smooth out the bunches in the material, then lays the flannel sheet over your torso, following with the comforter itself. 

“And you have to tuck the blanket in—” 

“By your shoulders, I know,” Joel says, tucking the blanket under your chin and your shoulders. “Everything, huh?”

Joel settles himself next, situating his own pillows before lying on his stomach. “Now get some sleep. Do that slow breathin’ I told you ‘bout, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Good girl. G’night, then.” 

“Night, Joel.”

Joel closes his eyes and nestles into the mattress, drifting off to something halfway between asleep and awake, but closer to the side of unconsciousness. You close your eyes too, counting your breaths. In for four seconds, just like Joel told you. Hold, out for four seconds. 

Maybe it’d work if you weren’t trying to force your body into it. If you weren’t thinking about how very awake you are, when you should’ve been asleep hours ago. If you weren’t thinking about Joel. 

He’s been on your mind lately, more than usual. You spent so much time alone with him, learning all the neat things about him. He was such a brute at first, and speaking honestly, he still is. But there’s a gentler side of Joel. Softer. Tender, in his own way.

You really, really fucking like Joel. You’ve never liked anyone the way you like him. He makes you feel all sorts of sensations. Anger, annoyance, joy. He makes your heart pound and makes you breathe funny sometimes, but not always in a bad way. You spend a lot of time just looking at him, tucking away the parts of him you love deep inside your brain, saving it for moments alone. His body is softer with his age, but his arms stay strong, shoulders so vastly broad. And his face, the wrinkles in his skin, those neat scars. That look he gets in his eyes when he’s pissed at you, and his lips and his frown. You watch the way he eats sometimes, fixated on the way his lips move, wondering how they’d move against another’s. Maybe your own. His hands, as he traces maps, books, whatever. Veins and tendons twitching. His palms are so fucking big, so masculine.

Joel keeps his distance, always decent. It’s not lost on you. You know he knows how you stare at him, contemplating whatever it is you think about in that head of yours. He doesn’t want to know. Can’t know.

His breathing is evening out now. His lips are parted, and you feel his warm breath on your cheek, tickling your earlobe. He looks so handsome bathed in that milky, bluish moonlight that pours in through the window over his face. 

There’s an ache throbbing between your thighs, the same thing that’s been keeping you up recently. Arousal. Joel seems to worsen the pain, just by existing, somehow. Even just thinking of him makes you throb a little harder. 

Squeezing your thighs together alleviates that ache momentarily, so that’s what you do. You cross one leg over the other and squeeze tight, but it’s not enough. Of course it’s not. You know what you need, something more sustainable than this. Something real, something raw. Something…Joel.

You give your underwear a gentle tug while rocking your hips, just needing that extra bit of pressure. Gripping tight the waistband of your panties while wiggling your hips, shaking the creaky bed a little in the process, the motion rouses Joel from his sleep. He opens one eye to watch you wriggle and jerk, noting that look of concentration painted across your features. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Joel!” Your whole body jolts and you straighten your legs quickly, flattening your hands at your side. “Nothing.”

He sighs, “If you’re gonna lie to me, sweetheart, y’need to be better at it. Now what is the matter with you?”

You have to be sharp here. You could tell the truth and have Joel inevitably scold you, call you a fucking pervert and that you should be ashamed of yourself or…

…you could bend the truth some, not much. Just a little fib. You spin the story quickly in your head. Something something…you can’t come on your own - lie, and you just need Joel to do it for you - another lie. Far be it from him to leave a girl in distress, right? He’s got to be the hero, always. Has to save the day while bitching that you’d be dead without him. Because that’s Joel Miller, always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and always by his own doing. How your heart bleeds for him as you proverbially rub your pointer finger and your thumb together, the world’s tiniest violin playing just for him.

“It’s - fuck,” you groan, shifting in bed as you play up the lie. “It’s nothing. Just - something kind of hurts, that’s all.” 

“What hurts? Let me see.” Joel sits up quickly, reaching for the light. “Show me,” he says.

“No, Joel. You can’t - it’s like, I don’t know. It’s…embarrassing, I think.”

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. “Y’gotta tell me. So spit it out, kid.” 

You exhale softly, closing your eyes. Joel’s lying on his side, sitting up a little as he carefully searches your face. You can’t look at him right now because fuck, you’re a bad liar. You turn away so you don’t break and smile or something. “I’m like, throbbing,” you murmur, “And wet, uh…down there, I guess. I don’t know–”

Joel holds up a hand, “Alright, enough. Jus’ - go deal with it. I’ll give ya some privacy,” he says, sitting fully upright and taking off the covers. 

“Deal with it how?” you ask, feigning ignorance. You’ll take this as far as it needs to go, or until you’re caught red-handed.

“You know, like…” Joel waits for you to get the picture, but you just stare at him blankly. 

“Won’t it just go away?” God, you are so full of shit, you almost make yourself sick.

Joel scoffs quietly, and you have to bite down on your smile. You’re playing him like a fucking fiddle. “It don’t work like that, sweetheart,” he says. “You have to handle it on your own.” 

“Can you do it?” 

“Fuck, no,” he answers quickly. But Joel looks down at you, contemplating. God, you’re fucking...this is the reason you keep him up so late? Part of him wants to leave you here, just like this, to figure it out and deal with it on your own. But Joel’s not confident that’ll happen, since you’ve gone this long without it, apparently. Feels like a lie. 

“Or can you help me?”

“Help you how?”

“Just…make sure I’m doing it right. Like, how you’d do it to your lover or something.” 

“You are fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel sighs under his breath. “How I’d do it to my lover, huh?”

“Right.”

Joel thinks for a moment, then speaks, against his better judgement. “Alright.” He takes a deep breath in and out, taking in you on the bed, scanning the gorgeous outline of your body. “I’d spread her legs,” he says, watching the comforter move as you part your thighs. “Wider than that,” he adds.

“Like this?”

“Jus’ like that, s’good,” Joel nods. “And I’d take my hand,” he says, reaching for your wrist, “Put it right here, between her thighs,” laying your palm over your mound. “Under her pants.”

“Fuck, yeah,” you murmur, sliding your hand beneath your pants and panties. You press down a little, groaning softly at the pressure. Fuck, it feels good. Even better with Joel’s presence. “Feels good,” you sigh, pressing your fingers down harder against the sensitive bud. You can feel it throbbing beneath your fingertips.

“I’d rub her in circles.”

“Hard or soft?” you ask. “Fast or slow?”

“Whatever she wants,” Joel answers. 

You spread your legs a little wider, your knee nudging against Joel’s tummy, and it takes everything he has not to touch you. It wouldn’t be right, he believes. This act alone is pushing the bounds of his morals. 

“Like this, Joel?”

Joel watches the comforter move above your hand as you trace steady circles into your clit, and stifles a groan. As his cock thickens and twitches in his pants, he inches away from you so you don’t feel his arousal. “Yeah, darlin’. Like that.” 

“And then what?”

“I’d keep goin’ til…well, you’ll figure that out.”

He takes a moment to watch, admire the show. Brows pinched together, a little bit of sweat sparkling on your temples. Joel can feel the heat radiating from your body as you work yourself, chest rising and falling, hips and legs twitching. “M’gonna leave you to it, then,” he mumbles finally, getting up to leave. 

“No,” you gasp, reaching for his arm with the hand you used to fuck yourself. Joel feels your arousal on his skin, and notices how wide your pupils are. “Stay.” He does consider it for a moment. His fucking balls ache, desperate to find his own release too. 

“It’s - it’s not enough, Joel.”

Clarity hits him then, and he shoots you a knowing glare. You’re such a bad fucking liar, laying it on way thicker than you need to be. “It’s plenty,” Joel snaps, “I’m leavin’. Hurry up an’ sort yourself out.”

“Don’t go,” you beg. “Can you try it?”

“What? No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Joel says. “It’s not a good idea. C’mon, honey, I know you’re smarter than this.”

“But I can’t do it on my own,” you argue back. “I think - fuck - I think I need you to fuck me. I need to come on your cock.”

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you can’t say shit like that. M’old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.” Joel rolls his eyes. This absolutely tracks for you, averse to doing any hard work at all. He pauses, then speaks, “You don’t need me to take care of this for you. Y’just want it. I know you, kid. You don’t like doin’ any hard work yourself. Am I right?”

“No,” you insist, “I really think I need it. Need you.”

You look at Joel, silently begging him to give you what you’re asking for. Joel’s eyes dart left and right as he searches your face, breath hitched in his throat. God, the way you look at him. Your eyes are all wide and innocent and pleading, he knows you’re giving him that look on purpose. “Don’t look at me like that, you fuckin’...Christ almighty,” Joel groans. “Fine,” he concedes.

“You’ll fuck me?”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps. “You can have my fingers. If I do this for you, will ya settle down an’ go to sleep?”

“Yes,” you agree, nodding quickly. “I’ll go right to sleep, Joel, I promise.”

Joel eyes you from the side. “You’re fuckin’ trouble,” he mumbles, scooting closer to you. His bulge presses against your hip, eliciting a gasp from you. “Jus’ ignore it,” he says. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He loops his fingers over the waistband of your pants and panties, then tugs them down your thighs until he can’t anymore. “Take ‘em off the rest of the way,” he tells you.

You wriggle off your pants, then pull off your shirt, now lying bare on the bed underneath the covers. Joel’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head. “Selective hearing,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“Just needed the bottoms gone, sweetheart.” 

“Oh,” you whisper, sliding down the mattress a little more, covering your shoulders with the sheets. Joel props himself up on his elbow, the side of his head resting against his knuckles. His free hand travels over to you, fingers drumming against your hips. 

“Y’ready?”

“Mhm,” you hum, anxiety and excitement permeating the air. Joel’s hand slides down to your inner thigh, and he can feel the heat from your pussy, the way you vibrate with desire. 

Joel should tease your pussy. He should make you ache for it, more than you already are. Trace your lips, press his finger against your wet slit to gather your arousal. Like he would with his lover, right? But he shouldn’t even be here with you right now, god. He’s too fucking old, and you’re too fucking young. The age gap alone makes his head spin, but fills a dark part of him with an animalistic type of hunger. A hunger to ruin you, you pretty, young thing. He reminds himself that this is simply a means to an end, nothing more. 

He slides his warm palm over your mound, nudging your thighs apart a little more. When his fingers touch your clit, you sigh in relief. That alone feels miles better than your own fingers, so much more concentrated. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then rubs your clit. Not in circles, like he instructed you to do. He just rubs you there, fingers sliding back and forth over your clit as you relax into his touch. “Y’should be doin’ this yourself.”

“But it feels…it feels…”

“I know,” Joel says, slipping his fingers down the seam of your cunt to collect your arousal. You’re so fucking wet. He drags them back up, then rubs practiced, steady circles over your clit. It’s efficient and very bare bones, no bells and whistles or pulling out his usual stops. Joel has one goal, and that’s to get you off as quickly as possible, and that’s it. “Feels good,” he answers for you, then adds under his breath, “You’re playin with fuckin’ fire.” 

You whimper, clutching Joel’s forearm as he guides you to orgasm. What he doesn’t realize is just how close you are, only from a little bit of his touching. You know you’re on the brink of orgasm, but you also know that when you reach that point, that’s it. You’re done. Joel’s made that much clear, that this is all you’re gonna get from him, and it has to be enough. But of course, it’s not. Not even close. 

Joel dips his fingers lower, pushing his middle and ring fingers into your pussy. He keeps a palm pressed against your tummy, then curls his fingers rhythmically, bringing you to a place you’ve never been before. You moan loudly, writhing as he curls his fingers inside you, stroking that special little spot he loves so much on a woman. Silently, Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit, guiding you closer and closer to the edge.

Joel can tell you’re about there, and he’s correct in that assumption. You feel like you’re about to break, staving off release. Everything feels heightened, thrumming with something electric and almost sharp. Your moans come out all breathy, Joel’s name broken as it spills from your lips. Lost in your head, Joel pulls you back down to earth, speaking softly to you. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” you whimper, shaking your head. 

“Yes ya are. You’re right there, honey. Let go.” Joel rubs your clit a little harder to coax release along. He’s waiting for that golden moment, where you tense up and gasp before falling to pieces, a melting, shuddering mess in his hands. Only…it never comes. Joel studies you intently, watching the way your face moves. Finally, he realizes that you’re fighting it. 

“What’re you doin’? I’m givin’ you what you want, sweetheart, just fuckin’ come.” 

“No,” you repeat, squeezing Joel’s wrist. “I don’t want to yet.”

“Why not?” You squirm a little, and Joel stops fucking you on his fingers. “Hey - why the hell not?” 

“Because I want you to fuck me,” you whisper quietly. 

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you are workin’ my last goddamn nerve. I already told you, sweetheart. You come on my fingers or you don’t come at all. Choice is yours.” Joel continues circling your clit, but you still fight him. 

“But I want you to fuck me,” you repeat, begging, balling your hands into tight fists as you stave off release. “I just - I told you already, but you’re not - you’re not fucking listening to me, Joel. I need–” Your desperation makes the mask slip. You have got to pull yourself together before you fuck this entirely. 

“Hey - adjust the fuckin’ attitude. I already told you no, sweet pea. And I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he grits, his tone biting. “Get that through your skull, because m’sick of repeatin’ myself.”

“Why?” you complain. “Why won’t you do it?”

“Because,” he explains, “You can’t handle it, kid, I know you can’t. Too big f’ya. And it’s wrong,” he adds, “I shouldn’t even be doin’ this to you.”  

You love the challenge his words incite. Oh, you’ll show him what you can handle, alright. Filled with a renewed sense of perseverance, you ground yourself and focus hard. 

Joel focuses too, hellbent on not being a worse man. What he’d really like to do, really, is split you in two with his cock. He’s not unaware of his size, what he does to a woman. Especially one like you, who’s absolutely in over her head and has not the faintest notion of what he could do to her. He’d teach you a fucking lesson, maybe. Shove his cock down your throat to watch you choke on it, feel that delicious pulse as you gag. He could fuck your ass, too, watch your eyes roll back into your skull as he makes you take all of him. That’d teach you to listen to him for once, right? A little pain to put you into place, you fucking brat?

You’re right on the edge. You know it, and so does Joel. The way you soak his two thick fingers, your cunt pulsing around them erratically. Your brows are knit together as you twitch and shudder, trying your goddamn hardest to not come. Joel’s amazed at your will.

“C’mon, kid, just come for me. Be done with this,” Joel urges, frustration laced in his tone. “Don’t piss me off, sweetheart. You don’t want that.” 

You shake your head, “Mm-mm - n - I wanna, I need your -”

Joel holds his palm over your mouth, cutting you off. “No. You’re not ready for it,” he tells you. “Y’don’t know at all what you’re askin’ for. Not a fuckin’ clue.”

Joel lifts his palm. “I do, too,” you argue. “Please, Joel, I can handle it.”

“Sure you can, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be good.”

Those three little words make Joel’s breath hitch in his throat. You have to know exactly what you do to him, with the looks you give him and the way you beg. You’ll be good. God, he’s gonna end up fucking giving it to you. He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t.

“Please?”

Joel sighs heavily, worn down by your incessant, sweet fucking begging. And honestly, what he wouldn’t give to ruin you. To fuck you in half, shatter you into pieces. So be it, he decides. 

“Fine,” Joel says. “But this didn’t fucking happen. Do you understand me?” 

“I understand,” you answer sweetly. Christ, your fucking good girl act. You have to know what you do to him.

“A’int fuckin’ right,” Joel mumbles, rising and yanking the covers off the bed. He quickly takes off his shirt and shucks off his pants, gripping his cock tightly as he hovers over you. He never should have fucking indulged you, but here he is. Joel reaches between your thighs to collect your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your mess. He’s fucking huge. He’s generously thick as well as long, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to handle it like you said you would. “No backin’ out now,” Joel says.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admit. 

“I’ll bet you are,” Joel says, and your heart races. He lowers himself, then presses the thick tip of his cock against your pussy, dragging it through your folds before notching it inside your tight entrance. “Your pussy’s too pretty f’ya to let me do this to you,” he says. “Now take a deep breath.” 

You take a deep breath in, and that’s when Joel begins working himself inside you. You whine in pain, scooting back towards the headboard to try to slow it down. 

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’, huh? You stay right there, sweetheart.”

“Slow down, please—”

“What’s the matter? Thought you could handle it, tough girl,” Joel taunts, squeezing your hip while sliding further inside you. He’s not even a quarter of the way in yet, and you’re already reeling from the pain of his thick cock stretching you out. He draws out a little, admiring the tip of his cock coated in your arousal, then inches back in. “S’really hurtin’ ya, huh?” 

You grab any part of him that you can, attempting to temper the way he enters you. Make it slower, gentler, less…less. He pulls out a little, then pushes in further than before, earning another high-pitched whine from you. 

“Who tried to talk ya out of it, sweetheart? Hm? Who warned ya? You remember how to say my name? It's Joel, darlin’. Sound it out.”

Joel’s being so mean, and it makes you feel like crying. He draws in and out of you, still yet to bury himself all the way inside, watching your reactions as he holds a hand on your ribcage, making you take it all. 

“Yeah, I know. S’a big stretch, huh? Hurtin’ pretty bad?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, looking down at where your bodies connect. You’re not even close to taking all of him in, and already it feels like he’s fucking you in two. 

“Mhm. In over your head, aren’tcha, kid? You gonna listen to me next time?”

“Yes - fuck!” Joel pushes in another inch or so, and it makes you yelp in pain. “Yes, I’ll listen,” you say, voice thick with tears. Joel watches them begin to fall, and he quickly wipes them away with the back of his hand. 

“Won’t hurt forever,” Joel grunts. “S’easier f’ya rip off the bandaid. Want my help with that, sweetheart? I’ll make it quick.”

“N-no,” you sniffle. “I need you to go slow.” 

Joel nods silently, continuing working himself inside. A small movement of his hips out, then in, then out again, and in a little further. He could make you take it all right now, be done with this whole song and dance. It really would be easier on you. The proverbial mercy-kill. That dark part of Joel sort of likes the pain he gives to you, though. He tries not to think about that too hard, stuff that feeling down deep. 

Oh, the tears you cry. The pretty face you make, features all contorted in pain. Joel gives your hip a soothing little rub before moving his hand to your clit, massaging the sensitive bud as he pushes into you, making you whimper even more. 

“I know it hurts.” Joel presses his palm against your cheek, rubbing your lips with his thumb as your cunt pulses around his length. “Let it be a lesson to ya, huh? Stay out of a grown man’s business. He knows better’n you. ‘Cause look at the mess you’re in now, sweetheart, cryin’ on a cock that’s too fuckin’ big for you. What am I gonna do with ya?” 

“I don’t know,” you sniffle. 

“I know you don’t. Tried to tell ya this wasn’t a good idea, sweet pea,” Joel whispers. “Now buck up. You’re halfway there.” 

Joel takes the liberty to speed the process up, to sheathe himself in you fully, and does so quickly. At least, quicker than you’d like him to, as evidenced by your high-pitched whines. “Shhhh,” Joel hushes, pushing his fingers into your mouth as if to pacify you, or distract you at the very least. “I know, I know, I know.” You bite into Joel’s palm, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel his cock splitting you in two. 

“Quit your cryin’, and breathe. I got you, kid,” he says, “We’re finishin’ this,” then pushes in you the rest of the way, the blunt head of his cock kissing against your cervix. “There,” he grunts, “Worst is over.”

You open your eyes, first looking at Joel and then between your bodies, where his connects to yours. You don’t see any of his length left, only the long, wiry, bits of graying hair that surround his member. What you don’t see - what Joel does see - is that pretty, thick bulge his dick makes against your tummy.

He lifts his hand from your mouth, “I did it?” you ask.

“You did it,” Joel affirms. “Good job. Proud a’ ya, kiddo.”

Joel gives you a second to get used to the feeling of him buried inside you, to wrap your head around it. There’s not much thinking going on in that head of yours, though, that much he can tell. All cockdumb and he’s barely even fucked you. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, like it should. It’s an intense pressure, an awful stretch, and it worsens with every throb and twitch of Joel’s massive cock. You squeeze his biceps as he lowers his head and bites your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, and then you bury your face in his curls. He draws out of you and oh, there it is. “Attagirl, easy does it,” he groans, “You just lie there and take my cock, sweet girl. Take it good for me.” 

Joel sets his pace then, steadily pushing in and out of you. It’s not violent or cruel, not even particularly harsh, but the hurt is still there. Joel rocks his hips, pulling out of you all the way and filling you right back up again with each and every stroke. Soon enough, you’re moaning.

“Yeah, that’s it. Goddamn, sweetheart. Don’t hurt so bad anymore does it?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Still hurts,” you murmur, voice tight with pain. 

Joel chuckles. “Oh, it does, huh? Tsk. Well, you’re in it now, darlin’. Gotta see it through. Don’t try an’ quit on me.”

Joel increases the speed at which he fucks you, damp curls falling over his forehead as sweat glitters on his skin, a bead of it rolling down the length of his aquiline nose. He watches you intently, a stern sort of expression painted across his features. That dimple on his right cheek flashes as he purses his lips, a grunt escaping his throat. 

“Joel,” you choke out. 

“M’almost done, sweetheart. Gimme five more minutes. You can do five minutes, can’t ya?”

The pain is relentless, unwavering, until it starts to vanish, replaced by a dull pleasure. It builds in time as Joel pounds into you, increases with every brush of his pubic bone against your clit. He keeps a hand on your breast, squeezing the flesh there hard enough to bruise, pinching your nipple before soothing the ache with a practiced flick of his tongue. Jesus Christ, you feel good. Your soft body, all for him. The way your poor cunt hugs him so sweetly - he’s not lasting much longer now. 

“Why don’t you try an’ come for me, pretty girl? Can you do that f’me?” Joel licks his fingers and starts to rub your clit in those same circles from earlier, coaxing along your release. 

It’s no surprise you come as hard as you do, as quickly as you do. All pent up for god only knows how long, and the way you were hellbent on staving off your climax earlier. It’s enough to ruin anyone. 

With a couple more good, hard thrusts, you’re clenching around Joel’s cock, his name spilling from your lips as you come undone. Poor girl. You look so overwhelmed, so fucking wrecked as you come so hard, and it’s no wonder to Joel why exactly that is. “There it is,” Joel coos, wiping away the tears you cry.  “Ohh, yeah. That’s a good one.” 

Joel guides you through your orgasm as he chases his own, fucking you harder and deeper. He pounds you in non-rhythm, his thrusts frenzied and frantic before he’s coming too, spilling load after hot load of his come inside you, filling you with the most soothing warmth. He pulls out of you quickly to watch his spend spill from between your thighs, and it’s so intimate, the way he watches you experience that private pleasure. 

“Goddamn, baby. I fuckin’ ruined her,” Joel whispers, gathering a bit of his spend on his fingertips to push it back inside. “Why’d you want me do that to ya, huh?”

You only shrug. Words are hard for you right now. 

“She still hurtin’ a little?”

“A little,” you answer quietly. 

“Mhm, she’s all swollen. M’gonna kiss her all better, alright? I’ll be nice an’ gentle.” 

Joel taps your hip and mumbles something you don’t hear, what with the ringing in your ears, then lifts your bottom half and slides a pillow beneath you. He parts your legs, and is so profoundly tender as he drags a thumb through your sensitive, slick flesh. 

As promised, his lips replace his fingers. Joel begins with a quick kiss, then another, and another. His facial hair feels almost sharp against you, almost painful, but his tongue is so soft. So practiced as he licks up the seam of your cunt, tasting his own work - not that he minds, really. His lips quickly attach to your clit, and he suckles gently. You don’t need much, not right now. He keeps himself buried in that beautiful space between your thighs until you’re coming again, a little softer than before. Gentler. The quiet after the storm. 

You’re crying, all overwhelmed still. Joel scoops you up into his arms and covers you with the comforter, quietly shushing you. “I know, sweet girl. It’s over now. Was a lot, wasn’t it?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sniffling still. 

“S’why you gotta listen to me, hm?” Joel pushes some hair out of your face, then kisses your warm cheek as he lays you on your side. He fixes the blankets, lays them all out flat and even before taking his place next to you, curling his frame around you. “I gotcha, kiddo.” 

As you settle into bed, Joel scratches up and down your side, and kisses your shoulder. “Two orgasms,” he mutters. “You made out like a fuckin’ bandit, sweet pea. You know that?”

Another shrug, and Joel chuckles. “You gonna be a good girl and go to sleep now?” 

“Yes, Joel.”

“Alright. Sweet dreams, trouble.”

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with some sweet thoughts or hop in my inbox ��🩷 your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write. It’s been a while. I’ve missed my Joelie perverts 🫂💕

Kitty tax for my sweet readers 🩵

[mewantpeepaw]

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: 18+ 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

Updated Word Count: ~90k

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Content Warning: In order to avoid spoilers I will not be warning you of everything. This story will contain sexually explicit material around the world of BDSM. Please remember that even with the age gap betweeen Joel and Reader, they are both legal and consenting adults. Although my intentions are never to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. That being said, as a survivor of sexual assault none of this story will contain dubcon or consensual non consent. At the heart of it all, this is a love story.

AN: I figured that @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @burntheedges and @joelmillerisapunk are all sick of me yelling at them about this story so I should start sharing! Thank you to the 4 of you for all your kind words and encouragement. To the 800+ of you that follow me, thank you for being such beautiful souls and encouraging me to work on my craft. I hope you love this series as much as I love each and every one of you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Part One

Chapter 5 - Part Two

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for updates.

[mewantpeepaw]

marcus "wife guy" acacius + text posts

[mewantpeepaw]

[mewantpeepaw]

Read this now!!! It’s so hot 🥵

Born Too Late Masterlist *Ongoing*

Summary: You're 23 and fresh out of college. Renting your own place has its perks: no roommates, doing whatever you want, oh and the man next door, Joel. He's such an asshole, but he's so fucking HOT.

Chapter Specific Warnings are Listed at the Beginning of Each Individual Chapter.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

[mewantpeepaw]

Pedro Pascal + raising an eyebrow

[mewantpeepaw]

Joel + Text Posts

[mewantpeepaw]

He was honestly sick for this.

[mewantpeepaw]

I am once again asking for help finding a fanfiction series 😬

Joel is your stepdad, it’s fall themed, when I read it they had only kissed by chapter 2, reader listens to music on a Walkman and is a senior in high school? I think 🤔

Idk help me please 🙏 I think I liked or reblogged it but I can’t find it and I’m sad 😔

[mewantpeepaw]

[mewantpeepaw]

#Battling a life-threating wound and infection with the fluffiest hair ever

[mewantpeepaw]

Hummingbird - Part: I

Summary: In the quiet town of Jackson, Joel becomes consumed by a dark and overpowering obsession with his new neighbor. What begins as fascination quickly spirals into something much darker as he loses control over his desires.

3,6k

Warnings:  +18, MDNI, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, obsessive!Joel, stalking, voyeurism, dark themes, explicit sexual content, masturbation, age gap (not specified), unprotected PIV, noncon, sexual obsession, power imbalance, dark!Joel, inappropriate behavior

Part: I

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

In the quiet of Jackson, where the rhythm of daily life had settled into a predictable monotony, something delicate and strange began to intrude upon Joel Miller’s routine. It was a morning like any other, with the sun rising lazily over the horizon, casting a gentle golden hue across the town. Joel was out on his usual run, his steps methodical and unhurried as he made his way back to the his house, his mind occupied with mundane thoughts.

It was then, amidst the usual rustle of leaves and distant hum of the town awakening, that he first heard it. At first, it was barely perceptible—a faint, ethereal sound drifting through the air like a whisper from another world. Joel paused, his attention momentarily snagged by the delicate melody that seemed to dance just at the edge of his hearing. It was as if the air itself had taken on a subtle, musical quality, a softness that contrasted starkly with the rough edges of his usual environment.

He turned his head, his gaze searching for the source of this unexpected serenade. It was coming from the house next door, a modest structure that had always seemed unremarkable, shrouded in vines and surrounded by the casual chaos of overgrown greenery. The sound was so incongruous with the house’s unassuming exterior that it felt like a secret whisper from within, something hidden and precious.

Joel’s curiosity was piqued. He stood still for a moment, trying to catch the essence of the melody. It was a hum—a soft, resonant tone that seemed to rise and fall with a natural, almost instinctual grace. The notes were like tendrils of mist, curling through the air and slipping past his defenses. He could only imagine the source, but it was enough to make him linger longer than usual, his gaze drawn toward the window of the house.

He paused, listening, his gaze instinctively drawn toward her house. Through the window, all he could make out was a fleeting shadow, a delicate form moving gracefully inside.

At first, Joel thought nothing of it, dismissing the moment as an odd distraction. But as the days passed, something began to shift in him. He found himself increasingly drawn to that house, his curiosity growing with every glimpse of her. It started innocently enough, with stolen glances as he passed by, but soon it became more deliberate. His steps slowed near her house, his eyes straying toward her window, searching for even the slightest sign of her. He was fascinated by the way she moved, by the way her hands gently tended to the garden, her fingers brushing over the petals of flowers she grew with such care. Each sight sent a strange rush through him, something that made his pulse quicken.

· · ─────

The first time Joel saw your face, it struck him with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs. He had been watching, hidden behind the blinds of his window, when you stepped outside. The world seemed to pause, holding its breath as your eyes met his, just for a brief, charged moment. Your wide, innocent eyes framed by long lashes, and the natural rosy glow of your cheeks, made Joel’s chest tighten. You smiled softly, the gentle curve of your lips triggering something deep inside him. He felt it immediately—a need so intense it nearly overwhelmed him. 

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a relentless pressure building in his pants. His body reacted violently to the sight of you—his cock hardening painfully. He clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the overwhelming urge to approach you, to bridge the gap that separated you.

That was when the obsession began. 

He started to hear your voice more clearly, each utterance a sweet murmur that resonated deep within him. Even the simplest exchanges—casual hellos, friendly greetings—were like a siren’s call, drawing him deeper into his obsession. Your voice was a melody that seemed to play directly to his most primal desires. Every word you spoke, every laugh, every soft-spoken sentence made his resolve crumble.

As he observed you from a distance, he couldn’t help but be captivated by the way your clothes clung to your body—how your sundress gently swayed with each movement, exposing just enough to tease. The sight of your legs, bare and inviting, only served to fuel his obsession. His cock often grew hard and throbbing whenever he caught sight of you, straining painfully against his pants. The thought of you, so close yet so out of reach, drove him to the brink of madness.

One evening, as the golden sun dipped below the horizon, Joel found himself standing by his window, peering out at your house. His breath came in ragged gasps as he saw you stepping outside, your form illuminated by the fading light. You looked ethereal, your face soft and angelic in the warm glow. The sight of you made his cock pulse with need. He gripped the edge of the windowsill, trying to steady himself, but the pressure in his pants became almost unbearable.

He watched, nearly paralyzed with desire, as you walked to your mailbox, your hips swaying with each step. The way your dress clung to your curves made his mouth go dry. His hand instinctively moved to his aching cock, and he found himself pressing against it through his pants, trying to relieve some of the intense pressure. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of dirty fantasies—images of you, your soft lips wrapped around him, your body arching beneath him.

“Goddammit, baby” he cursed, his voice low and strained. “I need you so bad… fuckin’ want you so much…” His hand moved under his pants to his aching cock as he began to stroke himself slowly, his mind filled with filthy images of you. He imagined your soft lips on his skin, your body arching in pleasure beneath him. He imagined how you’d look at him with your pretty eyes as you took him between your soft pillowy lips. fuck.

The intensity of his desire pushed him to the edge as he whispered dirty thoughts about you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

With every stroke, he imagined you moaning his name, your body shuddering with pleasure as he took you, over and over again. Pounding into your little cunt. He could almost feel the warmth of your body against his, the way your skin would feel under his hands. 

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, eyes locked onto your unknowing frame as he stroked himself, his mind filled with filthy fantasies of you. “I bet you’d feel so good wrapped around me, fuck…” 

The thought drove him to the brink, and he came with a shuddering gasp, his mind filled with the image of you—innocent and sweet, yet twisted into his darkest fantasies.

· · ─────

Later, when Joel finally mustered the courage to approach you, he was a bundle of conflicting emotions—nervousness and raw, unfiltered desire coiling tightly within him.

The encounter had been a fantasy that had played out in his mind countless times, and now it was happening in reality. Every step toward your porch felt monumental, his heart pounding with a frenetic rhythm that echoed in his ears. His palms were slick with sweat, making his grip on the porch railing shaky as he approached.

He could barely contain the tremors that coursed through his hands and legs, the anticipation making his entire body vibrate with a desperate urgency.

You were seated gracefully on your porch, a book resting lightly in your lap, your legs crossed in a demure manner that only accentuated the delicate curve of your soft thighs.

The evening light painted you in a soft, almost ethereal glow, casting shadows that highlighted the gentle curve of your silhouette. Joel couldn’t believe how one could look so… pretty.

When you looked up and saw him standing there, your eyes widened with surprise, and a radiant, innocent smile spread across your face—a sight so pure and captivating that it made Joel’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hello,” Joel managed to say, his voice coming out rough and gravelly, betraying the tumult of emotions swirling inside him.

He struggled to keep his tone steady, forcing himself to act casual despite the intense craving gnawing at his insides.

Your smile only widened further, and your eyes sparkled with a blend of curiosity and warmth.

“Oh, hi! You must be Mr. Miller. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel’s gaze fell to your hand as you extended it in greeting.

Immediately his thoughts slipped to your delicate fingers gripping his throbbing member while he called you his goodgirl. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt a rush of blood pool in his cock, which was now straining painfully against the confines of his pants.

Every move you made seemed to amplify his arousal, and he fought to maintain control as he forced himself to look up at your face.

The sight of you, so effortlessly charming and engaging, was overwhelming. His cock throbbed again with an urgent need that he could hardly contain, and he struggled to keep his composure as he looked at you. Do you know, what you’re doing to him?

“Call me Joel,” he said, his voice low and strained, barely above a whisper. His hands were clammy, and he had to clench them into fists to keep them from reaching out and taking you right on the floor.

You continued to speak, your voice a soft, inviting murmur that wrapped around him like a velvet glove, soothing yet igniting.

“I was just out here enjoying the evening. How are you?”

Joel’s eyes traced every movement you made, every subtle shift of your body.

The way you leaned forward slightly, the way your pretty pink lips parted in a soft, engaging smile—all of it was a tantalizing display that made his cock strain even harder.

He could feel the wetness seeping from the tip of his cock, staining the fabric of his pants, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to discreetly adjust himself while maintaining a semblance of normal conversation.

“I’m doin’ fine,” he said, his voice barely audible.

All he could focus on was the way you looked, the way your eyes sparkled with an innocent curiosity that heightened his yearning.

His mind was consumed by a storm of lustful thoughts, barely registering the actual conversation. Do you feel this pull, too?

The more you spoke, the more his body betrayed him.

Every smile you flashed, every soft laugh that escaped your lips, was like a provocative tease that made his cock twitch with uncontrollable arousal.

His fantasies grew darker with each passing second, imagining what it would be like to press you against the wall, to feel your body writhing beneath him, to hear your moans of pleasure while he sucked your perfect clit into his mouth and doing that, and more, for hours.

The thought made him shudder with a mix of desire and frustration, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Each accidental brush of your body against his was like a jolt of electricity. You’re talking, but he only grasps half of it.

When you leaned in to grab something from the table, your soft, intoxicating scent enveloped him, making his cock nearly explode with a desperate need.

He could barely keep himself together, his thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of dirty fantasies.

You, looking up at him while sucking on his twitching balls. Licking between them and going lower-

He interrupted himself before he would go actually insane.

You laughed at something he said, and the sound of your laughter—sweet and melodic—was like a siren’s call that fueled his desire further.

He envisioned your eyes filled with innocent curiosity as you took him in. The thought made his cock leak uncontrollably, the wet stain spreading on his pants a testament to his arousal.

Look down, baby. Look what you’re doing to me. Give me a fuckin’ reason.

· · ─────

As the evening drew to a close and you finally excused yourself, Joel was left standing there, his body trembling with a mix of frustration and unfulfilled desire.

He watched you walk back inside, your silhouette framed by the warm light of your home, and the sight only deepened his obsession.

He retreated to his own house, barely able to contain the need that simmered just beneath the surface.

Later, as he lay in bed, his thoughts were consumed by you. Every moment, every touch, every word you had spoken replayed in his mind with relentless intensity.

His hand moved to his aching cock, and he began to stroke himself slowly, his mind filled with filthy images of you. He imagined your soft lips on his skin, your body arching in pleasure beneath him. The intensity of his desire pushed him to the edge as he whispered dirty thoughts about you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. My goodgirl. You’ll be such a good fuckin’ girl.

“Fuck, I need you so bad,” he groaned, each stroke of his hand sending waves of pleasure through him.

I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around me, hear you scream my name. I need to make you mine.

With each stroke, he envisioned you moaning his name, calling out to him. Daddy, sir, master, anything - as long as it’s you.

The thought drove him to the brink, and he came with a shuddering gasp, his mind flooded with the image of you—innocent and sweet, yet twisted into his darkest fantasies.

· · ─────

Joel knew his obsession with you was consuming him, but he couldn’t stop.

Every sight, every sound, only deepened his fixation. He was trapped in a cycle of desire and denial, the more he saw of you, the more intense his obsession became.

The twisted desire that had taken root in him was growing stronger, and he knew there was no escaping the dark, perverse longing that now ruled his every thought.

“I have to have her,” Joel whispered into the darkness, the words a promise and a curse. His mind was set on claiming you, making you his in every way. The thought of finally having you, of making you his possession, consumed him completely. He was lost in his obsession, and the only thing that mattered now was the need to make you his, no matter the cost.

Soon, we’ll be together - my sweet little hummingbird.