old-logan-and-old-joels-slut

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Presentiment

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

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

w/c : 12K

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

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

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

masterlist

—— ☓ ——

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

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

Your shift at the diner starts in thirty minutes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is something silent, and something wrong. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re almost home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s been him. It’s always been him.

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

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

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

He stops moving at your words, “what?” 

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

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

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

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

He’s staring down at you.

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

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

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

You look out the window and go silent. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

You are scared of your own desperation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

A little girl.

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

A daughter. 

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

Her birth certificate is the second thing you find. 

  Sarah Miller : 1983 / 03 / 18   

  City of origin : Arlington, Texas. 

  Father  : Joel Miller  

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

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

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

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

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

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

You throw up outside the living room window.

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

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

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

You eventually arrive at the gas station.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is consuming, this primal want.

A twig snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need to placate him before he does something stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You saw my girl.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silly old man, you think. 

You were always going to run back to his cabin. 

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

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

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

You have always been his match. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mattress dips as he climbs into bed behind you. 

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

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

You let him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His pill must’ve worked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s made you his. 

You’ve made him yours.

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

-------

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

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

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Saving this for later

zebra print (one shot), 18+

PAIRING: Joel x fem reader x Tommy

LENGTH: 5.7k words

SAME AU AS: Leopard Print | Cheetah Print

MASTERLISTS: Joel | Tommy | Both Together

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay," You agreed, hormones surging. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You faced the windshield.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mind your own business,” Joel said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure is,” Tommy added.

“You take a pregnancy test?” Joel asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart swelled.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you agreed.

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

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

“Oh, FUCK,” you gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aww," Tommy cooed.

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

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

“What would I do?” You asked. 

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, I guess,” you agreed. 

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

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

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

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

“That's what I'm talkin’ ‘bout,” Joel’s cock twitched inside you. “Hell yeah, baby…. Oh, God.”

He was about to bite his knuckle but bit your shoulder instead. 

----

When you arrived at their residence, it was a lot nicer than you expected. It was gated, sprawling, with a pool. And that was exactly where you were headed. A pool with a couple of cabanas, cushions, pillows, nice grills. 

“Is this like….. a country club?” you asked. 

“Nah, this is *our* house, baby. The Miller Den…”

“Oh, wow… your business must be doing great.”

“What’d I tell ya, pumpkin? Don't gotta worry ‘bout nothin’.”

Tommy parked the truck and cracked the windows. Joel fumbled with the door handle and Tommy said “I got it,” then jogged around to the passenger door and opened it.  

“C’mere, sugar,” Tommy murmured and held your hand. Joel angled his hips toward the door and lifted, giving you a boost. Then his cock slid out of you as Tommy eased you into his own big arms. 

“Mm,” Tommy hummed into your hair as he helped you out of the truck, facing him. He set you on your own two feet, but kept his strong arms around you until he knew you were okay to stand. “You good?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” you sighed.

Joel made you your favorite drink at their outdoor bar and you enjoyed it in the pool while Tommy unloaded the truck and cleaned the fish. 

After dinner and dessert, Joel laid back under the cabana and gave his massive erection a squeeze through his shorts before pulling them off and letting his cock stand proud and free. You pulled your bottoms off, too. “Alright, c’mere,” he beckoned you into straddling him. You held his shaft near the base to run his tip through your slick, then fit him for entry and sank down. His hands on your hips helped you slide right onto his cock. “Ohh God,” he sighed, watching his length swallowed to the hilt. “Tommy, I dunno how much longer I can go like this,” he admitted. 

“You got this, Joel. You got this,” Tommy encouraged him.

“Alright,” Joel agreed, “maybe if we, uh, talk or somethin’.” 

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Hey, the surf's supposed to be great next week…” 

They talked about the weather, movies, shows, places they’d like to visit–they included you in that part. Tommy sat back on a neighboring mattress under the same cabana, facing the same direction as Joel with a front row seat of you speared on his brother’s big dick. The three of you talked casually, and Tommy was looking around, not totally fixed on the beautiful sight before him. He adjusted himself a couple of times. He muttered “damn,” when you stretched and yawned. But as time went on, his eyes had trouble pulling away from your body, and his hands had trouble pulling away from his crotch. And you had trouble not watching him be driven crazy with arousal. The flow of conversation began to falter with the distraction. 

Tommy asked, “How ‘bout about a little DP, darlin’? Whatcha think, Joel?” 

“Fuck,” Joel said, “That’ll do me in… that what ya want, baby?”

You replied, “Just want your cum.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna get it, sugar…”

You yawned and said, “good,” with your eyes half closed. 

Joel asked, “Think ya can fall asleep like this, baby?”

“Yeah, I'm already about to.”

“How ‘bout we take a little nap…give my balls a little more time to load up. Hm?”

You yawned again, “yeah,” and tucked your head into his neck. 

“Good girl,” Joel said, then asked Tommy to get him another beer. 

You fell asleep on Joel's cock with not a care in the world. He caressed your head and your back, and got Tommy to drape your dark zebra print sarong over the two of you as a light, soft blanket. You hummed in contentment, and soon you were both asleep. 

As the two of you dozed and the sun finished setting, Tommy went in to retrieve some lube, and he carefully positioned a chair facing the cabana about 10 meters away. He pulled down his swim trunks, spread his thighs, and jacked off as quietly as he could. When he imagined you packed with both their cocks, goosebumps prickled his forearms. “Fuck,” he whispered. You were so perfect. He dared to imagine himself balls deep in your cunt, unleashing a massive load, and, “oh, shit–ohh,” the split-second forbidden fantasy made him bust sooner than he meant to.

When you woke up, your hips were already moving, and so were Joel's. You were grinding against him, about to come, and in sync with your rhythm, he was thrusting up into you, grunting and moaning. 

“Ohh, fuck,” he cursed, half awake. “Oh, god,” his voice was weak. 

He shuddered and slammed his hips upward, then his dick twitched, his fingers dug into your ass, and he pulled you down. Grinding upward with his cock seated deep inside, he gave you his mega load, one massive throb at a time.

Your orgasm overtook you, and your convulsions mixed with his, milking his cock even better. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel panted, “Oh, fuck yeah…. Goddamn, baby.”

Thick ropes of silk shot into your womb, one after another.

Each one seemed to last two seconds, with not even a second in between. Nearly a continuous fountain. 

“Jesus,” you cursed. “Ugh–Mmm.” 

“Yeah,” he breathed, still not empty. “Fill you up real good…mm. Sit up for me, darlin’.”

You sat up and held your breasts. His face was wrecked and pink. His neck vein bulged. The chain around his neck pooled between his collarbone and throat. His mouth hung half open as he watched your lower abdomen. You were fuller and fuller. 

“Oh, goddammit,” he grumbled, once his ropes lost volume. By then they were closer to typical volume for a man whose orgasm just started.  

You put a hand on your belly, looked down, and moaned at the swelling. 

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Fuck, you're goddamn perfect.” His hips slowed once he was finally drained. 

You were left bloated with his titan load, both hands on your tummy, pressing your fingers slightly into your skin, watching your belly move just slightly with the pressure. It felt wild, familiar, and remarkably arousing.

“God damn, you're hot,” he said with you still seated on his cock. He caressed your belly and said, “We got more work to do, but fuck, you look good, baby.” He admired you with his own skin glowing and reminded you, “You’re here all night.”

“More work to dol?” Tommy asked. 

“Ain't as much cum this time, but look at this pretty girl….” 

“It's still a big fuckin’ load, man,” Tommy said.

Joel got his phone and said, “yeah, but…” as he pulled up the picture of you from last time after the beach tent. He looked back and forth between you and his phone. “Look how much bigger she is here,” he showed Tommy.

Tommy speculated, “Maybe it's ‘cause she had both of us.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Joel acknowledged.

“You wanna find out?” Tommy asked, rubbing his cock over his swim trunks. 

Joel asked you, “Whatcha think, baby?” 

“Sure, If it turns you on.” Your reply was cool, but Tommy clocked the look in your eye and nodded, “Yeah, she wants it.” 

Tommy dropped his shorts, and Joel teased, “just like that.” 

“Oh yeah,” Tommy chuckled as he slathered his erection with lube. 

Tommy got behind you, straddling Joel's knees on the cabana mattress. He placed both hands on your ass cheeks and kissed your asshole, then murmured, “There she is. There’s my sweet little hole…. Nice and tight. Could never fit two dicks in here,” he chuckled. “Sure am glad your pussy can take it. Didn't hurt ya, did we?” 

“No,” you answered. 

Tommy asked, “What’s your cock think, Joel? She recovered from last time?”

“Oh yeah,” Joel said. 

Tommy pressed his hard, wet cock against your ass and asked, “Wanna try that again before I take your ass?” 

The question made you spasm on Joel's cock. 

“Pussy says yes,” Joel chuckled. “C'mere, baby.” 

You leaned forward to give Tommy access.

Tommy slathered his fingers in lube and wedged them in above Joel's cock. “Shit, man. You're still that hard?” 

“I am now,” Joel said. “Mm.” 

Tommy added a little more lube, pumped his cock, and said, “Alright now.” He used his finger and thumb to help squeeze his tip into your pussy, right on top of Joel's cock.

The familiar stretch burned in a way you could never replicate on your own. 

“Woo,” Tommy said, “Look at her take. Shit, you were born to take two cocks, baby…” 

He pushed in bit by bit, and fuck, it was such a good burn. It faded faster than you wanted it to, then came back as Tommy pushed further. He coaxed you, “Yeah, nice and open, come on….. Relax, honey…. Breathe for me… know you can take a little more of this dick… You can take us, sweetheart.”

Joel was breathing heavily, holding your thighs. 

You took a deep breath, then when you exhaled, Tommy shoved his cock in. 

“Oh, god damn,” he cursed, and Joel moaned under him.” Fuck, fuck,” Tommy said. 

“When's the last time you came?” Joel asked him. “You jack off this mornin’?” 

“No,” Tommy said. “The more you talked about holdin’ off….”

“God damn it, Tommy,” Joel said. “I swear to God, if you come.” 

“I know,” Tommy said and took a deep breath then let it out with a sigh. “I won't. I got my own hole to fill up…. and I'm gonna do it good.” Tommy rocked his hips, massaging your walls and Joel's cock with each little thrust. “Good girl,” he praised you.

“Yeah, atta girl,” Joel said.

Tommy marveled “What a woman. God damn, Joel,” then moaned, “Oh, God.” 

Joel observed, “You got that look on your face, man…”

“Fuck, alright,” Tommy said, then squirted lube on his thumb to work your ass open. He took a deep, calming breath, and pulled his dick out of your packed cunt, or else the way your ass clenched around his digit might have made him cum. 

His broad tip pushed into your asshole, then the rest of his cock slid in. “Yeah,” Tommy breathed. “Good lord.” 

“Doin’ good, baby?” Joel asked, and it felt like you might overheat. 

“H-Hot,” you answered with a little shudder. Your nipples poked into Tommy's palms, making him moan and squeeze your tits. 

Joel grabbed his cold beer and sat up to lift the bottle to your lips. He poured you a sip and you swallowed, with some of it dribbling down your face.

Tommy asked Joel, “How many ropes ya think I got?” then, with his hands on your bloated middle, “Shit, how many ropes is this?”  

“Fuck, I forgot to count,” Joel replied. “I reckon nine or ten.”

“Big ones,” you added. 

“Oh, she likes the big ones,” Tommy chuckled, then pulled his hips back. After pushing his shaft fully I'm again, he said, “Damn, she can really take it in the ass. Joel, you ever fuck her ass yet?”

“Nah,” Joel answered. "Got my hole right here."

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “Too busy tryin’ to get her pregnant, huh?”

“Yeah, I ain't wastin’ a drop,” Joel said, then asked, “How's it feel? Nice an’ tight?”  

“Fuck yeah,” Tommy said. “Tight but easy. She’s a sweet little hole, don't fight back.” 

You pushed your rear back against Tommy and he marveled, “Fuck, she swallowed it right up. Good girl.”

“Yeah, she's a good girl,” Joel agreed. 

Their cocks were separated only by your thin, stretched wall. Joel's hips rolled under you, and Tommy fucked you nice and slow. “ooh-wee.” 

Stuffed in both holes–something you’d imagined every day since that time on the beach, never really able to conjure the feeling, even using your biggest dildo while wearing your biggest butt plug. You'd made yourself cum that way, but it was nothing like being between these brothers. Their hands all over you. Their grunts and moans, praise and encouragement. Their sturdy bodies. Their warm, throbbing cocks, rigid and massive. Their spongy, pliant heads, engorged by their desire for *you*. 

“God damn, I could get used to this,” Tommy gave your ass a little slap. 

“Are you holdin’ out?”Joel asked after a minute, eager to see you full of more cum. 

“Chill, man,” Tommy answered. “Gimme a minute. Just enjoy it, man.” Tommy squeezed your hips and murmured, “He just wants to see ya all swollen….

But I'm in it for this…” He brought his face closer and whispered, “Love the way ya feel, baby.” 

“Watch it,” Joel cautioned him with a thrust to remind him you whose girl you were. 

“Mmm” you locked your eyes with Joel's and let your tits down to graze his chest. 

“C'mere,” Joel whispered and pulled your face to his. He kissed you deep and his cock thickened in your cunt. 

Tommy sighed and gripped your hips with his big hands.

Joel was at full mast and began to rock his hips with more power. His lips broke from yours with a moan. 

“Goddamn,” Tommy muttered, barely able to contain himself. 

“Feel good?” Joel asked. 

“Yeah,” you answered.

“What's it feel like?”

“Like I'm just two holes.” Your pussy quivered at your own words.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel said.

“Yeah, like I'm just two holes, stuffed full... like, you're just gonna keep packing and packing me.”

“God damn right,” Joel agreed.

“Yeah, that's right,” Tommy chimed in. 

“Feels like I can't fit anything else in my body…. like if I drank more than a sip, I'd get heartburn.”

“How your tits feel, baby?” Joel asked. 

“Tender, swollen.” 

“God damn,” Joel said. “Perfect, ain't it? This whole thing we got goin’ on….” He moved his hips more gently, and his breath was becoming more labored with pleasure. “This time…. I want ya to send a selfie every day. You got that? One a day, at least, so I can see how you're doin’.” 

“Okay,” you agreed.

“And I wanna see too,” Tommy added. 

“You wanna see too?” Joel asked. “I don't think so, man.”

“I ain't even blown my load yet,” Tommy reminded Joel. “If ya want me to stuff her with it, you better let me see too.”

“You serious?” Joel asked, nostrils flaring as he glared behind you at his brother.

“What's the big deal?” Tommy asked. 

“She's mine is the big deal,” Joel said. “And that oughta mean somethin’.”

“You're the only one who gets to cum in her cunt,” Tommy reminded him. 

“Watch your step or both holes are mine,” Joel warned. It was becoming heated between them. 

“Yeah…. maybe, maybe you're right,” Tommy said, “She's your girl, I shouldn't be filling her with my cum… Sorry, sugar.” He began to withdraw his cock, and just as the crown of his tip hitched on your tight ring of muscle, Joel protested, “Don't let her down.” 

Tommy repeated, “Sorry, sweetheart. You heard him… you're his.”

“Goddamn right, she's mine,” Joel said.

Tommy argued, “What's a goddamn picture gotta do with bein’ yours, huh? If it's my cum, too, I wanna see how she carries it…. I ain't trying to steal your girl, man.”

Tommy was just sitting there with the tip of his cock in your ass, not moving his hips as he argued with Joel. You were moving a little with the motion of Joel's hips under you, and your ass was slightly lifting Tommy's cock in a joystick motion each time. 

“Alright, how's this,” Joel offered. “We can FaceTime her when we're together.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tommy agreed, then asked you, “Whatcha think about that, sugar?” 

“Sure,” you agreed. 

“But I want the pictures too,” Joel said.

“okay, okay,” you agreed and slightly pushed back on Tommy, moving Joel's cock.

“Ooh-wee,” Tommy smiled. “Fuck, she hungry.” He slid all the way into you with a moan.

“God, I love the way it looks on you,” Joel gushed. “The way what looks?” You asked.

“Bein’ stuffed with our cocks and cum….. love the way your face looks, the way your body looks. God damn perfect.” Joel's hips began to roll with more power, fucking you softly from the bottom as Tommy filled your ass with his cock.

“Alright,” Tommy said, “I'll give ya what ya want, but you gotta tell me what ya want, sugar.” 

“Fill me up,” you pleaded, “Come in me. Come in my ass.”

“Oh fuck,” Tommy moaned, and with a few sharp thrusts, his balls began to unload. His cock twitched in your ass. He held your hips and groaned, turning into a delirious chuckle. “Oh yeah,” he said. 

Joel counted. “Four. Five.”

“Ugh,” Tommy moaned. 

“Six.”

“Oh yeah,” Tommy's hips came to a rest flush against your ass as he dumped the rest of his load. “Seven,” he moaned. 

Your lower body tightened and you began to come, lightheaded from pleasure.

“Yeah, let go,” Joel said. “So perfect,” he encouraged you. “God, I love that face. Fuck.”

You grinded into Joel's pubic bone as your climax throbbed through your clit, radiated through your core and ass, making pleasure possess your whole body.

“Oh God,” you moaned, feeling the pressure of your belly against Joel's lower abdomen. Joel raised his hands to rest on your sides, with the heels of his palms feeling your belly.

“Hell yeah.” And then, with an upward punch of his hips, he began to come again. His cock twitched, and he groaned. He emptied his seed so deep inside you.

“God Almighty,” Tommy said, overstimulated by your trembling cunt and Joel's throbbing cock through your thin membrane.

Joel thrust low and smooth and slid his hands to feel your belly more. The pressure increased in your gut with each rope, and it stretched your skin. Heavy and swollen, you had to imagine it was what pregnancy felt like. 

The pressure became too much, and you had to start sitting up more.

Joel's eyes poured over you in delight. “Perfect,” he repeated. “Gorgeous.” And with his eyes on your tits, you looked down to see how swollen they were. Tommy reached around and held your heavy breasts as Joel finished coming. Tommy massaged your breasts, and the slightest bit of warm milk squirted right at Joel and hit his hairline. 

“Oh, fuck,” Joel sat more upright, drooling for a taste. Your belly pushed into his stomach as Tommy fed him your swollen tit. Joel latched on and sucked what milk he could out out of you. His cock twitched again. 

His lips broke away to marvel, “Jesus… I don't wanna suck ya dry… Wanna enjoy the view for a few hours.” 

But for the sake of balance, he took a few seconds to suckle at your other breast. When he let your sensitive nipple out of his mouth, some drops dribbled down onto the curve of your belly. 

“God, I'm wrecked,” he admitted. “Shit… feel like I'm gonna leave my whole cock in your cunt,” he laughed. “I know that's what she wants, huh?”

“How are we gonna do this,” Tommy asked. 

“Uhh,” Joel thought, “Go ahead and pull out, lay her down, put her feet up for a while. Yeah, get some pillows”

Tommy pulled out and got a pillow from the neighboring mattress, then went to gather more from another cabana. 

You were seated on Joel's cock, and he had his arms around you when he leaned forward and said, “Alright baby, I'm gonna lay ya down.” He gently lowered you into lying on your back, then put you in a mating press. “Good girl, perfect angel.”

When he was satisfied with the amount of pillows Tommy brought back, Joel eased himself out of you and stacked pillows under your knees. 

“How much was it leakin’ last time?” Joel asked. 

“A little,” you said.

“But when I saw you at the store later, you were still pumped full,” Joel recalled.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Didn't really shrink for a day or two.”

“Alright. Good….. I’m so proud of you,” Joel said. “You did real good, sugar,” Tommy added.

“Such a good girl,” Joel brushed hair out of your face. “Yeah, that's my good girl.”

Leopard Print fam: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @iamasaddie @flawssy-227 @tateypots @selfproclaimed-moviecritic @archive-of-ink @mysterialee @professionalpromqueen @greensabereyesforcevictim @umnitsa @fandomunite2107

Thank you for reading 🖤🖤🖤 if you enjoyed it plz let me know!

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

it's father's day in my country so thinking of waking up dad!joel with a bj and finally letting him fuck my ass

Oh baby girl, you shouldn’t have. You always were such a sweet kid. And look at you, taking him so well. He works you open patiently, gently, letting you bite into the flesh of his palm when it hurts. “Shhh, shhhh, shhhh,” as he quiets your cries, kissing your back and neck to distract you from the pain. “I gotcha. S’okay. Yeah, that ain’t so bad, huh? Look at you, takin’ it like a champ. Atta fuckin’ girl. So proud ‘a ya, sweetheart. That’s my sweet girl.”

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Rock You

Dad rocks you to sleep.

Tags - dad!joel, incest, smut, one shot, dad jokes, banter, dad!joel eats slim jim’s (sorry. they’re a certified #dadclassic), road head, blow job, cum swallowing, fingering, piv sex, creampie, cockwarming, somno-ish, Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged in New York lol. Sweet and loving nostalgia. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND ALL CHARACTERS ARE ADULTS. 5.5k words

A/N - He’s back, daddy’s girls 🩷 thank you for your patience. And thank you to all who contributed in the #dadsnacks discussion! That was very valuable.

Joel pulls his truck up next to the gas pump, then puts the vehicle into park and steps out. With your head against the window, you watch him through the windshield that’s all spattered in gnats and flies, Dad rounding the front of his truck. He looks so handsome, brows knitted together as he untwists the gas cap and puts the pump inside, graying hair blowing in the breeze. He pulls out his wallet then, reads a little sign, and then hangs his head back in irritation. “God dammit.” 

Joel taps twice on your window, voice muffled as he speaks, “Gotta pay inside,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

You roll your eyes. “Dad, let me just stay,” you whine.

But Joel doesn’t budge. “No can do, kiddo. I don’t like ya out here alone,” he says. “Come with, come pick out some junk food with me, huh?”

“I don’t want…whatever.” You can’t fight the smile that grows on your face. Joel knows all too well how to bribe you, his sweet fucking girl. You unclick your seatbelt and Joel opens the truck door, and he takes your hand and helps you down. 

He’ll never stop doing that, you know. He knows you’re big now, all grown up. Your legs are longer and you’re more graceful than the little punk kid you once were, but Joel will always, always help you down. You bit it one goddamn time and ended up with a big gash on your forehead and all these scrapes on your knees, and you screamed bloody murder when Joel dumped peroxide on your skin to clean the wounds. It broke his fucking heart, hurting you like that, even if it was to help you in the long run. At least he got a giggle out of you when he let you hurt him - “hurt” him back by punching him in his strong bicep. Ouch, kiddo. Uh huh. Hurts real bad. Yep, we’re even now. 

Joel holds the glass gas station door open for you, then points to a stack of baskets. “You know what to do.” 

Joel follows you through the gas station, loving that beautiful grin on your face as you grab his snacks first - his preferred junk food never changes. Snickers, sunflower seeds, a honey bun, a couple of Slim Jim’s and some Reese’s peanut butter cups and a big bottle of Arizona Arnold Palmer to wash it all down. You did good, kiddo. 

Dad’s turn. Joel picks out Sour Patch watermelons, your very favorite. He grabs you a big bag of white cheddar popcorn, too, and some of those mini powdered donuts. You always had a thing for those donuts. Joel’s standing in front of the refrigerated section, thinking hard about what to get you to drink. You approach him and browse with him. “Could get ya Bug Juice,” he teases, nudging your arm. “‘Member those?”

You laugh out of your nose, “Ew,” you giggle, scrunching your face.

“Ya liked ‘em when you were little,” Joel replies, opening the fridge and grabbing you a cherry Coke. You smile, Dad knows you so well.  

You and Joel bring your items up to the register, where the attendant scans everything. Joel reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, then narrows his eyes at an end cap that catches his attention. “Grab me one’a them Paydays, would ya?” 

You raise your eyebrow and put your hands on your hips and Jesus, you truly are your father’s daughter. Same fucking mannerisms and facial expressions right there. 

“Dad, no. You broke your tooth on one of those the last time you ate one.” 

“It was one time,” Joel argues quietly, snatching a Payday himself, and handing it as well as a couple of bills to the attendant, who’s laughing at this argument. “Put the change on pump four, please,” he tells her.

“Dad–”

“Can it,” Joel says. “Tooth was already cracked to begin with. Thank ya, ma’am,” he says to the attendant, swiping the white plastic bags full of snacks off the counter. Then he nods his head in the direction of the door. 

“It was not,” you mumble, more for the attendant’s ears than for Joel’s. You wish her a nice rest of her day. 

Outside, Joel opens his truck door for you and helps you into it, then fills his truck with gas. When he’s done, he puts the pump away and joins you in the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life as he turns the key. You’re back on the endless highway in minutes, snacking on junk food together. 

“And ya know the great thing,” Joel starts, pausing to take a swig of his drink, “All this garbage s’only eight thousand calories.” 

“It’s not, actually.” 

“Yeah, how’s that?”

You swallow the Sour Patch watermelons you were chewing. “Because it doesn’t count when you eat it in the truck.” 

Joel laughs at that, eyes crinkling with his smile. “You are wise beyond your years, girl.” He’s got his window cracked, and the wind is blowing his curls back. The sun beginning to set makes his dark eyes shine a vibrant amber in its glow. 

Another hour passes. You notice a Volkswagen Beetle and punch Joel in his bicep, snickering. Before he can argue, he notices the car, too. “Didn’t say slug bug, darlin’. Doesn’t count.” 

“Does too.” 

Joel takes his right hand off of the steering wheel and makes his pointer finger and thumb into a circle, and holds it above the floor of the truck. “Psst. What’s that, kid? That a bug on the floor?” You gasp when you look down and roll your eyes when you see Joel’s circle, and he punches you in the bicep in return, laughing triumphantly. He punches lightly, of course. Dad never rough houses too hard with you, baby girl. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, then shakes out his arm. “Goddamn, girl. Your punch is gettin’ harder.”

More time passes by, and you’re keeping track of the number of flies that smack the windshield. You and Joel played twenty questions - he was thinking about coffee, and you were thinking about a cat. He tried to play again, but you shut him down. “I’m bored,” you whined instead, and Joel told you that you could go play in traffic. 

You’re flipping through radio channels now, looking for something to listen to. Remember when Uncle Tommy would sit with you in the truck with some AM station on? Joel hated that. He thinks that’s partially where you got your attitude from, or at least where you learned to argue. Uncle Tommy would beg to differ, though. He thinks you and his brother are the same fucking person. Joel can make all the excuses he wants, and it’ll never change the fact that everything he is - the good, bad, and the ugly - you are too. 

Joel reaches over your head for the CD case attached to the mirror above your seat and pulls out Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged in New York. He puts it into the disc drive, humming along to ‘About a Girl’. You don’t remember it, but Joel used to play this album for you to get you to sleep, sometimes. He’d sing ‘Where Did You Sleep Last Night’ to you, too. Not very well, but neither of you gave a shit, because it was your special thing. Just for you and him, you and Dad.

“Are we almost home?”

“Do you see our house, baby?” 

“No.” 

Joel gives you a silent look in response, and you sigh dramatically. “I’m bored to fucking death,” you complain. 

Joel clicks his tongue. “To death, huh? S’a shame. Well, was nice knowin’ ya.” 

“Daaaad.”

“Oh, I know, I know, I know.” Joel leans over and pushes open the glove box, and rummages around for a pen and some paper. He finds a napkin instead. “Draw me somethin’ pretty,” he tells you. 

You take the napkin, and you can tell it’s many years old by the words ‘a note for your lunch’ that are written on them in faded ink. You chuckle and put that napkin back, and find a different, blank one instead. 

You can’t believe it’s still there after all these years. When you were in elementary school, you asked your dad to leave you a note in your lunch box because you liked that the other kids’ parents would write them sweet and loving notes. Notes like, you’re gonna do great on that test! I love you! 

And what did your dear old man, Joel, write? A note for your lunch. 

Joel would give anything to see the look on your face when you opened it, but in truth, he could perfectly picture it in his imagination when he was at work that day. Your cute little pout, inherited directly from him. When he picked you up from school later, you angrily handed it back to him. 

“What? S’what ya asked for, right? A note for your lunch?”

“I hate you.” 

“Uh huh,” he smirked.

You put your pen to your napkin before you’ve even got the faintest idea of what you want to draw, you just hope you’ll end up somewhere eventually. A squiggly circle here, a wobbly line there, all accidental mistakes. You groan in frustration, then put the napkin and pen back in the glove box. “I don’t wanna draw. It’s too bumpy.” 

Joel sighs deeply and puts his head against his left hand, his elbow resting on the driver’s side door. “You don’t wanna draw,” he starts, “Don’t wanna play games, either. Just wanna complain, huh?”

“Yep,” you answer, crossing your arms and resting your face against the glass window. 

“Then f’ya wanna complain, I’ll give ya somethin’ to complain about.”

You look over and see Joel switching his grip on the wheel. He uses his right hand to start to unbuckle his belt, his eyes darting from his crotch to the road ahead. “Gimme a hand here, kiddo. Shouldn’t be takin’ my eyes off the road.” Another one of his do as I say, not as I do moments.

“Now?”

“Yes, now. C’mon now, don’t make me ask twice.” 

You huff and puff and sigh as you unbuckle yourself to take care of Joel’s belt and jeans. You poor girl, all bored and antsy. Your generation’s gonna have a tough time figuring that one out, Joel thinks. Keeping yourself entertained without a screen in front of your face. Shoot. 

He’s getting hard as your soft, gentle hands undo the leather, patting over his bulge. Joel lets out a sigh when he feels you drag the zipper down, fingers tugging on fabric to free his cock. Joel sucks in his soft belly and pulls himself out for you, giving his length a couple of strokes with his fist before letting you take over. 

It’s difficult to keep his eyes on the road with you bent over his crotch the way you are, with one of your hands wrapped around the base of his cock and the other on his thigh. You begin with a couple of kisses pressed against his soft tip, moving your way down his veiny shaft. You are dad’s kind, sweet girl, through and fucking through. He keeps the fact that this is quite an excruciating tease to himself, because he likes your generous kisses, finds it cute that you do this. 

You circle his head with your tongue just twice, then take Joel into your mouth completely, gagging yourself in the process. You feel embarrassed as Joel pats your back, softly warning you, “Easy - woah - easy, baby girl. Not all once, honey, that’s how ya choke.” He chuckles after he says it.

It took Joel forever to stop cutting your grapes in half. 

He rests the back of his head against his chair as you try again, this time working your way down his shaft a little slower. You’re making a mess of both yourself and Joel, just like he tells you to. “With your hand, baby, just like I showed ya,” Joel reminds you. You move your hand in time with your bobbing head, and the quiet, pleasured groans Joel makes go straight to your core. “Doin’ so good, honey. Attagirl.” 

He grunts in surprise when you pull away suddenly, whining his name. Daaad. Joel pulls his eyes from the road momentarily to watch you pull one of his wiry, graying pubic hairs off of your tongue. He laughs, “Oh shit, I know. My bad, kiddo, I’ll trim first thing tomorrow.”

“You better,” you murmur, wiping your hand on his jeans. You bend back over and continue pleasuring him, and look at how quickly you find your rhythm, baby girl. It’s that steady, quiet, mindless repetition that calms you down, regulates your system. Joel tries to stress the importance of slowing down to you, of getting your mind off of stuff and things. It’s those quiet, repetitive activities that help you. Folding laundry, sorting buttons. And then, your oral fixation is satiated when you bob your head up and down on Dad’s cock, too, isn’t it? And it helps that much further, pacifies you in a sort of way. Funny how that works, huh?

Joel gives your back a couple of taps to signal his impending release. You pump your fist and massage the underside of his cock with your tongue, working him to his peak. Joel moans your name with all the love in the world as he cums all over your tongue, and you taste each rope of the very spend you’re made from, swallowing it all with a hum turned squeak when Joel tugs on your hair a little too hard. “Sorry, kiddo,” he apologizes quietly. Dad always did have a tendency of being rough with your hair when he would put it into pigtails or braids, but you were always a little tender headed, too, weren’t you? Christ, he misses doing those pigtails. The smell of green apple scented Suave’s detangling spray, those colorful hair ties he was always buying. Joel always wondered where they’d disappear to. 

You take a sip of your Coke, then lay your head on Joel’s lap with the back of your head resting against his soft tummy, all tuckered out, just like he wanted you to be. Dad pushes some hair out of your face and traces the curve of your ear, rubbing the cartilage between his fingertips.

Your father has such gentle, loving hands as he runs one of them down your body, tugging up on your shirt. He rubs the valley between your hip and your waist, where it dips just so, then runs his hand over the curve of your ass. He pats you in time with the beat of Nirvana playing over his tinny speakers, then lets his fingers travel lower. He traces that little diamond shape that frames your pussy so perfectly, and tugs your soft shorts and panties to the side, dipping just his middle finger into you. 

Joel can feel you clenching around his knuckle as he pumps it in and out of you, and he can hear that soft murmur of pleasure you let slip. “Yeah, that feels nice, huh, baby?” 

“S’nice,” you mumble in agreement, and Joel’s adding a second finger. Dad’s got you memorized by hand, and knows how to touch you to make you come undone for him like you’re meant to. A little wiggling, curling of his fingers and you’re gasping, dripping into your cotton panties. Joel pulls his fingers out and slides them up the warm, wet seam of your pussy, and he finds your clit swollen and throbbing. Poor kid, he thinks. That can’t feel good.

He rubs your clit in steady, expertly made circles to get you off. He’s not looking to make you cum especially hard or anything like that - just a soft, sweet orgasm to soothe you off to sleep for the rest of the ride. 

There are days when Dad does just that to you though, where he overstimulates you and fucks you so hard you sob. Sometimes he’ll shove his fingers down your throat to keep you from making too much noise, and he’ll feel a little guilty when you gag on them. Sorry, baby. Dad got ahead of himself. 

And then, there are days where you ride him until you’re out of breath and gasping for air, where Joel has to slow you down and force you to take a break. Time out and have a sip of water, kiddo. There’s no rush. Dad’s not going anywhere. 

Dad’s taught you the nuances of sex, and you’re lucky for that. To learn from someone who loves you and who’s so patient and experienced, similarly to when he taught you to drive. It doesn’t have to be all rough and grabbing hands, grabbing fistfuls of hair and flesh like you see in some TV and movies. Dad’s introduced you to the simple pleasure created between a body pressing against another body, the special warmth that comes from skin resting on skin, bones resting on bones, muscle twitching against muscle. Heavy breaths syncing as his arms wrap around your shoulders and waist, holding you close. Soft, gentle, never ending orgasms simply experienced for the sake of being experienced. 

Joel doesn’t change his pace at all when your clit starts to throb and pulse rapidly. “That’s it, honey. Cum for Daddy.” 

He works you through your orgasm, right until you’re whimpering, “S-stop, Dad, please. M’done, all done.”

“All done?” Joel asks, and you nod. He pulls his fingers from you and sucks them clean, then puts his hand on your back again. A little bit of rubbing, maybe some scratching, and you’re out like a light. Joel looks down at your sleeping face and notices a bit of his spend still on your lips. He licks his thumb, brings it to your mouth, then wipes it away. 

And wouldn’t you know it, your song is playing. Joel sings along to the lyrics, repeatedly rubbing your cheekbone with his fingers, looking down at you every so often, though he knows he shouldn’t. 

Sometimes, Joel will still instinctively look into his rearview mirror and angle it down, looking for your little legs kicking in your booster seat. Those days are long gone now, but the alternative isn’t so bad, is it? His sweet little girl asleep in his lap, drooling onto his jeans. The sun’s gone down, and there’s another two hours before he’ll be home with you. Joel holds his forearm protectively around your body. 

When those two hours pass, Joel pulls into his driveway, then shuts off the truck. He puts his keys into the pocket of his soft, worn shirt, and he’s gentle as ever when he lifts your head from his lap, doing this silly and awkward, careful maneuver as he opens the truck door and slides out of the vehicle. He leans over your body and grabs you in his strong arms, then carries you tightly against his chest. Joel closes the truck door shut by kicking it with his foot, then looks down at you. 

Your sleeping face, knocked the fuck out. Lips plump and pouting, drooling - there’s a nice stain of spit on his jeans, too. Not that Joel minds any. Lord knows he’s cleaned up worse from you. “Ohh,” he sighs quietly. “What’m I gonna do with ya, my girl?”

Drives in Joel’s truck always put you to sleep. Joel remembers when you were a baby, and fucking inconsolable. Colicky, you poor thing. All out of sorts. Nothing worked to soothe you - not a bottle, not a story, not being rocked or bounced or anything else. And Joel didn’t have the heart to just let you cry it out, either. He just couldn’t stomach listening to you cry like that, all alone and scared because your dad wasn’t there, and you needed him.

You kept Joel awake for days at a time, screaming your little head off. Joel was at his wits end with you, and he needed a break before he screamed his head off, too. So he buckled you into your little carseat and began driving to Uncle Tommy’s. Tommy owed him one, anyway. And you always had a thing for Tommy, too, which helped. You were sweet on him from day fucking one. He just had this special way with you, where he could soothe you and charm you out of your moods in a way Joel couldn’t always do. It made Joel jealous, if he’s being honest with himself. Still kind of does. 

On that particular drive, Joel had realized at a point that he could actually hear Nirvana playing on the radio, and not your agonized screams and cries. In however many minutes it was you’d gone out like a light, and it’s like everything clicked in that moment. Whenever you got too fussy to relax, he’d just drive with you, his sweet baby girl. Sometimes listening to music, sometimes not. Sometimes Uncle Tommy would come with and he and Joel would talk in whispers that lulled you off to sleep, paired with the dull roar of the truck’s engine.

Joel grunts when he carries you inside, muscles burning as he brings you up the stairs. “When’d you get so fuckin’ big, huh?” he murmurs, laying you down on his bed. He tells himself you probably would’ve ended up in his bed, anyway. Joel unties your shoes one at a time and slips them off, quietly placing them on the floor. And it wasn’t so long ago that your shoes had velcro straps and lit up when you ran, was it? Good fucking god.

Joel takes off your clothes, one article at a time. Socks and pants first, then panties. He gingerly slips your arms back through your sleeves and the collar of your shirt up and over your face, careful not to disturb your slumber. But of course…

“Dad,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

“Shit, sweetheart. M’sorry,” Joel whispers, stroking the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to wake ya. Go back to sleep, darlin’. S’okay. You’re home.” 

You shake your head, wiping your eyes as you sit up. “Can’t sleep,” you argue tiredly.

Joel scoffs a laugh. “Oh bullshit, yes ya can. You’ve been knocked out for a while now,” he whispers, pulling off his own shirt. “Jus’ close your eyes, honey. Be right there to snuggle ya.”

“Mm-mm. Rock me, Daddy.” 

Oh, Joel knows what that means. When he looks at you, he’s met with pleading, tired, and big eyes, asking him oh-so-kindly to rock you. You’re a master manipulator with those eyes of yours, you know. It took Joel a long time to learn not to cave to your puppy eyes, and it took Uncle Tommy even longer. If you asked Joel, he’d tell you that you can still get Uncle Tommy with that look.

“Rock you, huh?” Joel’s cock jumps in his denim. “Reckon s’a little late for that, kiddo. ‘Specially for a weeknight.” 

“No, please,” you beg, reaching for your dad’s warm hand and putting it between your thighs. “I need you, Daddy.”

“Y’sure like to pull your ‘daddy’ card when you’re wantin’ somethin’ from me, huh?”  

Joel loves the way you can’t hide your grin from his accusation. He sighs, then bites the corner of his lip to keep himself from mirroring the same smile. It’s true what they say, about kids making you soft. “Yeah, alright. I’ll rock ya,” he concedes, already pushing down his jeans and boxers. He plops in the seat of his La-Z-Boy rocker recliner that’s been in the corner of his room since you were born, lazily pumping his own cock while patting his thigh. “C’mere.”

You groan as you stand up, pausing to yawn while stretching. “Ohh, you are not long for this world, daughter of mine,” Joel murmurs, eyeing you as you move closer to him. You straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face into his neck, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of his skin. “Scoot, kiddo. C’mon, up,” Joel grunts, urging you to sit up before spitting into his palm. “Lazy ass.” You whine in disapproval but do it anyway, sighing when you feel the blunt head of Joel’s cock prodding at your folds. He passes his cock through your seam a couple of times, then lines up with your entrance.

“Careful, baby. Easy does it,” Joel grunts, easing you down his length, sighing at the feeling of being enveloped in your warm cunt, warm for him and him alone. Joel thrusts up a little to bottom out, soothing your cries with the kindest of kisses pressed against your lips. “There she is. Down here, darlin’. Right here.” 

Joel wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, close so that you’re chest to chest, skin to skin. He inhales deeply the scent of the top of your head and rubs your back, propelling the rocking chair with his feet on the ground. He notices goosebumps on your skin.

Rocking used to mean one thing, a long time ago. Joel soothing you to sleep, bonding with you. Your little self pressed against him, with a blanket over your shoulders and tucked under your feet as he read picture books to you. And it still kind of does mean that, in a way. It’s different now, of course, and it was always going to change. But it’s just as special. Maybe even more so, now.

Joel groans as you clench around his length. “Bedtime story,” you murmur against his skin. You’re holding onto him so tightly, warming your hands on his soft body. 

Dad chuckles. “What, am I supposed to read your textbook to ya or somethin’? We donated all your picture books to Goodwill forever ago.” 

“Just wanna hear a story, Daddy.” 

“Mhm.” You moan as Joel leans forward, reaching behind his head to grab a blanket draped over the recliner. He spreads it out, then wraps it around your shoulders. “Let’s see…”

Joel thinks for a moment, quietly rocking you on his cock. With one hand under your ass, he uses his arm’s strength to assist in moving you up and down on his cock, just gentle, easy thrusts. His cockhead rubs perfectly against your g-spot, like you were made perfectly for him. And really, weren’t you? Isn’t this exactly what he brought you into this world for?

One of these things, at least. 

“Alright. I know one,” Joel says. 

“Tell me,” you breathe. 

“I lost ya once,” Joel admits quietly. 

You hum in surprise, pulling away from Joel for a moment to look at him. “Really?”

Dad clutches you back against his chest, putting you right where he wants you. “Sure did,” he answers, pausing for a moment. “Felt so fuckin’ guilty, kid. I thought I failed ya.” 

Your heart pangs at that. “Daaad,” you whisper sadly.

“You couldn’t’ve been older’n four,” Joel begins. “I was tryin’ to get some work done with Uncle Tommy here in the house and ya wouldn’t leave us alone.” 

When you giggle at that, Joel groans softly. You clench around his cock when you laugh. 

“Yeah, laugh it up,” he continues in a soft voice. “Every other minute you wanted juice or a snack or you’d be sweet talkin’ Uncle Tommy into playin’ dolls with you,” Joel says. “You were drivin’ me fuckin nuts, girl.” Joel squeezes you tighter, then turns his head and kisses your forehead. “I sent ya outside in the backyard, which Uncle Tommy and I had just fenced in, mind ya. Because of you, if you’ll recall.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I never told ya?”

“Mm-mm.”

“I sent that fence up because of you, trouble. I’d be grillin’ us hot dogs or somethin’ for dinner and I’d have ya right by my side, drawin’ me pictures with chalk on the patio. Remember this?”

“Mhm,” you murmur.

“Do you remember haulin’ ass across the yard the minute I turned my back?”

You giggle, “No.”

“Mhm, well - so I’m grillin’ for us, right, and I’d turn my back and pshoo, you’d be gone at the neighbor’s house charmin’ that sweet old lady outta the cookies she made. Miss Rosie was her name, right?”

“Yeah, I remember her,” you say fondly. She passed away a few years ago. You and Joel had gone to her funeral.

Dad laughs at the memory. He remembers stomping across her lawn, “Get your little ass back here,” he’d scolded, and you looked like a deer in the headlights with chocolate all over your face. “Did you spoil your dinner?”

“No, Daddy.” 

Joel huffed in frustration as he bent down to pick you up, then held you on his hip. “Well,” he’d said, tickling your chin with his finger, “What do you say to Miss Rosie?”

“Thank you.” 

Joel rolled his eyes and apologized to her, but she didn’t mind your little impromptu visit. Joel maneuvered you so that you were sitting on his shoulders, your little fingers tugging at his hair, and he marched you right back home. 

“Anyway, you were buggin’ me an’ Uncle Tommy so I sent ya outside to make friends with a squirrel or somethin. And sure enough, you stayed busy out there,” Joel says. 

He continues, “An’ then I got nervous,” he explains. “‘Cause I couldn’t see ya, and it was quiet. And quiet usually meant you were troublemakin’, my sweet girl.” He continues, “So I went lookin’ for ya out there and you were fuckin’ gone, kiddo. Gone,” Joel enunciates. “Didn’t know if you’d snuck out through the fence somehow or if some fuckin’ pervert lured ya out with candy and snatched ya off the street. We called the cops an’ everything. Screaming your name, lookin’ for ya in the neighbors’ yards.” Joel sighs deeply before continuing. You squeeze him tight and kiss his neck, and he squeezes you back, almost like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re right here, safe in his arms, and everything’s okay. “I was a wreck talkin’ to the cops. Cryin’ and everything ‘cause I lost my baby.” 

Joel inhales deeply. “And then,” he says, “A cop came up to me and asked me what shoes you were wearin’, and I told him that you were wearing your pink Chucks. He told me to c’mere and I found ya in the fuckin’ egress window. Little shoes pokin’ out.”

“What?”

“The egress window, like the basement window,” Joel clarifies. “You’d lifted up the grate and sat down there, made friends with some toads. An’ then you fell asleep, you little shit.” Joel smiles at your giggle, the same sweet laugh you’ve always had. “Oh, you scared the bejesus outta me, baby girl. Think I started goin’ gray that fuckin’ day,” he whispers, then goes quiet as the story hangs in the air. “Anyway. That’s how I lost ya.”

“Father of the year, huh?” you tease quietly.

Joel rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.” He wants to tell you how sorry he is still, all these years later. But he thinks you know. “I love ya,” is all he says when he focuses on fucking you in the rocking chair he used to soothe you to sleep in, working himself and you closer and closer to the edge. You wriggle your hand between your bodies and touch your clit, and the way Joel fucks himself into you provides enough friction that you’ll be coming soon. He can hear it in the way you moan, or rather, the way you’ve stopped moaning. When you go quiet, he knows you’re close. He is too. 

It’s only one, two, three long and deep thrusts before you’re coming, whimpering, “Dad, Dad, Dad,” as Joel fucks you through it, finding his own orgasm. Fuck, coming with his baby girl. Is there anything in this world more precious and special than that?

You stay on Joel’s lap, dripping his spend. Just quietly coming down, held securely in Dad’s strong arms. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and drifting off to sleep. 

“Alright. Up, baby, up.” Joel pats your ass to rouse you. “I know you’re not sleepin’.” 

But only silence from you. 

“I can’t stay like this with ya, honey, my back’ll be all fucked up. C’mon, kiddo. Up.” 

You don’t budge. Joel sighs deeply, accepting his defeat. He’ll stay like this with you, his softening cock buried in your pussy, maybe just for a moment longer. Rocking you gently, whispering sweet nothings to you. He’s a fucking sucker for you, baby girl.

More dad!joel here and a playlist here!

Hi ♡ if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or sending an ask, but reblogs are especially appreciated. I get people are hesitant to publicly engage with a fic as icky as this one but it goes a long way in breaking the stigma, because after all, it is just fiction. Strength in numbers and all of that :) It’s been a rough go for me lately. I love you, thank you for reading.

Aaaand cat tax. Say hi to Gizmo :)

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Saving this for later!

strangers | part 4

summary: you never would've snuck out of bed last night if you had known it would lead to this—becoming a pawn in joel's sick, depraved game, playing the role of both victim and accomplice. how can the sparing of your life feel so much like a death sentence? how can you ever forgive yourself when your hands are as soaked in innocent blood as his are? how can the kind, gentle man you thought you loved, turn out to be such a monster?

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, !!GRAPHIC!! DESCRIPTION OF MURDER AND BLOOD, NON-CON PIV (gonna say rape just in case, reader does not verbally consent), JOEL IS A SICK FREAK WHO GETS OFF ON KILLING, lying/gaslighting, manipulation, stalking, heavy dose of Joel POV, fingering, pussy slapping, edging, breathplay, degrading language used in an unsexy way, consumption of blood, Joel comes on your face, brief mention of somnophilia, reader has hair long enough to grab, development of stockholm syndrome, pet names (baby, darlin', babydoll, sweetheart), story inspired by "preacher's daughter" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 11.5k

a/n: this is a dark one, folks. if i haven't lost you already, i might lose you after this one. if this is the stop you get off on, i'm okay with that :) thanks for coming along for the ride. we've still got places to go from here, i'll be glad if you do decide to stick around. i feel very fortunate that the conversation around this story has been positive and respectful and i look forward to keeping it that way <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

The office looks so different in the daylight.

The key to the room you’ve been staying in is still the only one missing from the corkboard, but the previously empty coffee pot is now half-full of this morning’s brew, and the ominous ticking of the clock is now mostly drowned out by the sounds of an afternoon football game, playing loudly on the television in the little lounge. 

Joel has only let go of your hand twice since you left town—once to help you up into the truck, and once to help you climb back down. Your fingers have remained interlocked otherwise, even while he was driving, even right now, as you stand in front of the desk and wait for somebody to respond to the sharp sound of the little golden bell reverberating throughout the room. Joel hits his fingers against the top of it again, with a little more agitated force this time, but still, no answer.

“I know this ain’t a five star joint or nothin’, but goddamn…” Joel grumbles, leaning around to peer into the room where, by the sounds of it, a touchdown has just been made. “Hey, buddy! Lil’ help in here?” He shouts, and the sudden intensity of his voice makes you jump. The volume of the game diminishes almost immediately, and a scrawny-looking teenage boy emerges from the lounge, wiping Cheeto dust onto his jeans.

“Sorry about that, sir. Eagles game, you know?” the boy tries to jest, but Joel only hums in response. “Anyway, what can I help you guys with?”

“Was wonderin’ if you might know anythin’ about a girl named Chrissy who was workin’ the night shift in here last night?”

“Chrissy? Sure, she’s pretty new around here, but I’ve worked the mornings after her a few times… Why do you ask? Is she in some kinda trouble?”

Not yet, she isn’t. 

“Nah, nah, nothin’ like that,” Joel reassures, then maneuvers you to stand in front of him. “Quite the opposite, actually. She helped my lil’ girl out last night when she wasn’t feelin’ too well. We’re awfully grateful to her, ain’t we, sweetheart?” He prompts, nudging you in the back. 

You nod, but keep your head down, fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

“Oh! That’s right. She, uh, left a note on the coffee table in there, saying something about keeping an eye on the girl staying here, and the, um…” You flick your eyes upwards as the boy’s sentence trails off, and watch him look Joel up and down once, swallowing hard. “Yeah, just the girl. Guess that was you, huh?” You avert your gaze again quickly when he addresses you, feeling your pulse quicken in panic.

“Mhm, sure was,” Joel answers for you. “That was awfully… kind of her, bein’ so concerned like that. Anyway, we just thought we’d stop by, see if she was around so we could give her a proper ‘thank you’, but I take it she ain’t here anymore? Any idea where she might be this time o’ day?”

The boy expels a sigh, tapping his fingers on top of the counter while he thinks. “I mean, I don’t know her too well… But I know she’s got another job at this bar down the road, The Rattler Room. I think she trades her nights between that place and here, wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got a shift there later tonight.”

“Well, how ‘bout that,” Joel says, clapping his hands on either one of your upper arms. “Guess we know what we’re doin’ about dinner tonight, don’t we, sweetheart?” Goosebumps raise on your skin even in the warmth of the office, and a nauseous feeling swirls in the pit of your belly. You feel somewhat fortunate that Joel wasn’t actually looking for a response from you, because if you were to open your mouth right now, you can’t guarantee that the minimal contents of your stomach wouldn’t come spilling out all over the muddy-colored carpeting. You would’ve never gotten out of bed last night, never tiptoed into this suffocating little room and asked the friendly-looking freckle-faced girl for help with your stupid idea—or hers, as Joel seems to think—if you had known that you would be putting more than just your own life at risk. You know what’s coming next, why Joel wants to hunt her down and stalk her like the predator that he is, and it’s all your fault.

“Let’s get goin’ now, baby. Thanks for your help, son, ‘s much appreciated.” Joel grabs hold of your hand again as he leads you out the door, and you nearly trip over the threshold as he tugs you across it.

He has a sick kind of spring in his step as he drags you back to the room, licking his chops and wearing an amused expression as he shucks off his boots and collapses onto the bed with a groan. You stand at the foot of the bed, frozen, as he grabs the remote off the bedside table and flicks the little square television to life. 

“Whaddyou wanna watch, babydoll, huh? Signal’s kinda spotty out here, but one’a these channels has gotta be playin’ an old Western or somethin’...” You just blink at him, dumbfounded, watching him surf through the staticky channels as if the previous five minutes had never happened. Joel had just started the countdown on the remainder of Chrissy’s life right before your eyes, and all he wants to do now is… kick his feet up and watch some fucking TV? 

“What do you mean, ‘what do I wanna watch’?” You ask, unable to hide the disconcerted edge in your voice.

“Baby, it ain’t a difficult question. Gotta kill time somehow, don’t we?” Joel turns his head in your direction as he addresses you, but otherwise keeps his eyes glued to the television screen, which now seems to be stuck on a snowy channel filling the room with loud, unsettling white noise. “God—dammit,” he curses, smacking the remote against the palm of his hand a few times. Your stomach churns both at the way he beats the inanimate object for its disobedience, and at his ironic choice of idiom.

“Kill time until… what?” 

Joel looks up at you from under his lashes, halfway rolling his eyes at you before giving up on his endeavor altogether and clicking the TV screen into darkness again. “Did you think I was just makin’ shit up last night? You’re gonna bring her to me. Not right now, ‘course. Later, when the sun goes down, we’ll head on over to that bar. I’ll buy you some dinner or whatever kinda shitty food they have, but dessert’s on you, you get me?”

Your vision starts to go a little dark around the edges, and you feel unsteady on your feet as the grim reality sets in that he wasn’t just prattling off some depraved fantasy to you last night, he wants to make it real. He wants to spear a hook through your abdomen and cast you out to sea, dangle you in front of something empathetic and pretty and fragile and lure her straight into his gaping jaw. You can hardly live with yourself as it is, the way you’ve already been so consumed with survivor’s guilt for the past twenty four hours that you can feel the physical weight of it on your soul. But actually being responsible for adding another girl to his collection, your hands just as soaked in her blood as his would be? It will fucking break you. It won’t just be the images of the polaroids that will haunt you, it’ll be the shattering sounds of their screams, the metallic scent of their blood, the nauseating visions of their contorted bodies that will be your own tangible memories now, seared onto the backs of your eyelids because you were there. You’ll never get a decent night’s sleep for the rest of your life, and you won’t deserve one.

“But… you—we can’t take her. It can’t be her.”

Joel sits back against the headboard, crossing his arms, like he wants to see where you’re going with this. “No? Why not, babydoll?”

You cross your arms back at him, widening your stance in order to look more sure of yourself. “Well… That kid. He saw our faces, right? When Chrissy doesn’t show up here again tomorrow night, the police will question him, and he’ll tell them that we were asking about her. They’ll know we had something to do with it.” 

Joel scoffs. “Yeah? Well, maybe they will. Then what’re they gonna do about it, hm? Two of us’ll be long gone by the time tomorrow night rolls around.” He knocks down your logic as easily as he would a house of cards, and you can’t think of anything else to say that might be able to convince him not to do this. The thought of it alone is like a drop of blood in the water, and once he’s gotten a whiff of it, there’s nothing you can do to stop the frenzy. 

“B-but—”

“But what, sweetheart? How long d’you think I’ve been doin’ this, hm? Think I don’t know the rules of the game by now?”

He has a point. Joel has managed to evade capture for this long, surely he isn’t going to start slipping up now. He probably has his ritual down to a science, knowing exactly which type of girl to take, the right place to get the job done, and how long he can stick around for afterwards before his face shows up as a crude drawing on the evening news. The only thing on his mind now is the exciting prospect of being able to get his rocks off in just a few hours, while yours is running a mile a minute thinking about the lifetime of trauma and guilt you’ll be setting yourself up for if you do this, how many different ways it can go wrong, and what could happen to you if it does. 

“Here, c’mere, baby,” Joel beckons, spreading his legs and patting his hand on the mattress between them. “You’re thinkin’ too much about this. Lemme show you how easy it’s gonna be, hm?”

He raises his brows at you when you don’t obey immediately, and you reluctantly crawl onto the creaky bed toward where Joel’s toned arms are reaching out to you. He grabs onto your waist when you get close enough and pulls you against him, situating you so that your back is pressed against his front. He wraps his arms around your middle, and rests his scruffy chin on your shoulder.

“You remember passin’ that bar on our way into town today, don’t you, babydoll? Had a big ol’ neon sign out front, a bright green rattlesnake waggin’ its tail back ‘n forth?”

“Um…” You close your eyes, trying your best to sift through the memories of everything you had seen during the drive. But it’s proving difficult, especially with the way one of Joel’s rough hands is sliding down your belly, finding its way underneath your dress and settling overtop of your panties. He begins to circle his middle finger around your clothed bud, and you hate the way it makes your breath hitch.

“C’mon, think for me, sweetheart. You remember, don’t you?” Joel prompts, a condescendingly teasing lilt in his voice.

A blur of neon green streaks across the backs of your eyelids, and you do remember, kind of. A divey looking place with a few motorcycles and pickup trucks parked out front, relatively isolated and unassuming aside from its kitschy signage.

“Mhm,” you hum, and it comes out more like a whimper. “I… I remember.”

Joel’s swirling finger picks up its pace, increasing the pressure against your clit as he continues to quiz you. “Yeah… And a few miles down past it, there was that abandoned lookin’ lil’ neighborhood, right? Houses were ‘bout fallin’ apart, all the yards were real overgrown… You remember?”

This, you can picture more clearly. It had reminded you of your own starved out hometown, every street lined with boxy two-story houses covered in peeling paint and climbing vines. Some of the homes so decrepit-looking, with their crumbling foundations and boarded up windows, and yet still with an assortment of sun-bleached children’s toys littering the front porch, a wind-chime still singing even if nobody was around to hear it anymore.

All you can do is nod in conformation, too afraid to make any more noises that might sound like you’re actually enjoying this, like it feels good, like you want him to keep going. Fuck.

“That’s where we’re gonna do it, baby. So you gotta listen real carefully, okay? Gonna tell you the plan, ‘n I want you to repeat it back to me, alright? Can you do that, babydoll?” Joel tugs your panties to the side as he questions you, exposing your damp core to the air conditioned room. “Fuck, look at that…” He muses, now using two of his fingers to spread your puffy lips apart and admire the way they glisten.

“Uh huh, I… I can,” you confirm breathily. 

Joe’s fingers travel downwards, focusing their ministrations around the rim of your leaky hole instead. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, sweetheart… Gonna head down there, park the truck ‘round the side. I’ll give ya some cash to go sit up at the bar, ‘n I’ll hang around in the back, keep an eye on you… You’re gonna chat up lil’ miss Chrissy, tell her all about how I snatched you up, made you mine, won’t let you leave my side… You’re gonna use your manners all pretty ‘n nice, and ask her to please, please take you back home, help you get away from that big, scary, mean old man who hurts you so bad—“ He presses a thick finger inside your opening, and you can’t help but moan at the burning intrusion. “Just don’t tell her how much you like it, huh, babydoll?” 

“Y-you… You want me to tell h-her… All of that?” You ask, confused that Joel would instruct you to tell her the truth, when so far, he’s been hellbent on hiding from the world who he truly is, only bearing his teeth when provoked, like a caged animal.

“Mhm, want you to tell her the truth, sweetheart, everything. Not like she’ll be able to do anythin’ about it later, hm?” Joel grabs onto your chin with his unoccupied hand, and shakes your head for you. “No, she won’t. Tha’s right, baby…” He laughs darkly, and you understand his intent now—to taunt you with an opportunity to finally be able to ask for help, to force you to pantomime what could be a real chance at escape, knowing that nothing will come of it. Joel begins to piston his finger in and out of you, and he holds you tightly against him as you squirm and sob.

“You’re gonna work your magic on her, and she’ll take such pity on you, sweet lil’ lamb that you are, of course she’ll take you back home… You’re gonna give her directions to that row of houses, have her take you all the way down to the one at the very end of the street, ‘n I’ll be followin’ close behind in the truck the whole time. Two of you’ll get outta the car, and then—” He sinks a second finger into your warmth alongside the other one, and you make a pained little noise at the stretch, arching your back against him. “Then I get to have my fun,” he snarls into your ear.

You didn’t realize how much tension you’d been holding in your body until now, until Joel had begun using his skillful fingers to render it all down, along with any rational thought you’d had left. You want to fight, want to spit and bite and scratch and push yourself away from him and never let him touch you there again, but you can’t. Your limbs feel weaker and weaker as the muscles in your abdomen draw tighter and tighter, and all you can do is melt against him, let him siphon out all that worry and pain and trauma and replace it with pleasure, at least just for a little while. You’ll grapple with yourself about it later.

You can feel the rumble of Joel’s voice against the skin of your neck, but you don’t register what he says, too consumed by your own pleasure to hear him. You just continue to mindlessly buck into the movements of his fingers, until he yanks them free from your walls and issues a sharp slap to your aching cunt.

“I said, repeat it,” Joel hisses, and you yelp at the sting, your hips stuttering as they continue to chase after nothing.

“S-sorry, ‘m sorry, Joel, please—” You pant.

“You want me to keep goin’? You wanna come? Then repeat it back to me, babydoll, all of it, or I ain’t givin’ you shit. Need to know that you understand, that I can send you out there to bring me some fresh meat and you ain’t gonna fuck it up.”

“Okay, okay, okay, um… Fuck—” you curse as Joel slowly reinserts his fingers, resuming their beckoning motion against that spongey spot deep inside that makes you dizzy. “I-I’m gonna… Tell her… About you…”

“Uh huh, tha’s right… What about me, baby?” He encourages, his fingers working their way back up to the pace they had been moving at before he had deprived you of them.

You try to wade through the dense cloud of fog in your mind, your ability to think slowing down as the heel of his palm stimulates your clit with each rhythmic thrust. “T-that you, um… That you took me, you h-hurt me. And I’m gonna ask her to… To take me home—” “Good, good girl…” Joel praises. “Doin’ such a good job, almost there, babydoll. What comes next, hm?”

You take in a shuddering breath, closing your eyes tightly as you force your brain to recall the steps he had just walked you through. “I make her d-drive me to, um… To that house—”

“Which one, baby? Lots’a houses on that street, which one did I say?” Joel stills his movements, holding your pleasure hostage while he waits for your answer. You try desperately to twist around in his hold and continue to chase after your high, but his grip around your jaw remains ironclad. 

“The one on the… The corner?”

Slap.

“Ain’t what I fuckin’ said. You think I want everybody drivin’ by to be able to hear her fuckin’ screams? Try again.”

You cry out, your abused little hole constricting around nothing. You dredge the depths of your short term memory, desperate to come up with the right answer.

“At the end! T-the one at the end,” you shout, and you’re rewarded with the replacement of his fingers, petting against your walls with just the right amount of speed and force that he knows will have you seeing stars with just a few more strokes.

“There we go… And what’s the last thing I said, sweetheart, hm? Last thing I need you to do…”

You draw a blank, your head filled with nothing other than almost there, keep going, please, please, please. You whine, bracing yourself for another swat to your sensitive cunt as you force yourself to admit, “I-I don’t… Don’t remember.”

Slap.

A debauched, animalistic cry leaves your lips, one that you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed of at the moment. “Yes you do, baby. Not gonna let you gush all over my fuckin’ fingers ‘less you tell me. Think. Can’t do shit if the two’a you get to the house and just twiddle your thumbs in the car, can I?”

“N-no, I gotta… Get her out of the car… Right? Is that it?” You’re heaving, completely breathless and covered in the dampness of your own sweat and arousal. At this point, you think you’ll say whatever the fuck he wants to hear if it means he’ll reinsert his fingers and finally let you fall over the edge.

“That’s right, sweetheart…” The hand that was gripped onto your jaw migrates downwards, wrapping itself around your neck. He presses his thumb and forefinger into either one of your pulse points, and you feel like you’re floating as he resumes the movements of his soaked fingers, drawing your orgasm closer and closer to the surface again. “One last thing… Tell me what I’m gonna do to her, hm? Then you can come, baby,” Joel growls, and you can feel him pressing his hard length into your back as he does. 

His voice sounds muffled, like it’s coming from underwater, but it resonates clearly enough for you to understand what he’s commanding of you. A whine forces its way through your constricted throat as you plead, “D-don’t make me, please just—” “Say it, or you’re gonna be watchin’ me do it with an achy, unsatisfied cunt leakin’ all over the fuckin’ floor. ‘S that what you want?”

You don’t want to watch him do it at all. A more sensible part of your brain knows that this is all so wrong, that it’s sick and horrifying and completely deplorable, but the pleasure-seeking part of it doesn’t really care right now. Joel is playing with you like a doll, pulling your strings and posing your limbs as he molds you into his perfect victim. He’s breaking you down, slowly but surely, and although you can feel it happening in real time, he’s proven to you time and time again how defenseless you are to his manipulation, how just a few gentle words and swirls of his fingertips can have you falling apart against him, so that he can put you back together just a little bit differently than you were before. 

“N-no,” you whimper ashamedly.

“Then say it.”

You swallow, and you can feel the cartilage at the front of your throat moving against his hand as you do. “You’re gonna… Kill her,” you rasp through half-full lungs, the words hardly meaning anything to you at all with how close your release is, being dangled in front of you just barely out of reach.

“Sure fuckin’ am,” Joel growls through gritted teeth. “Gonna enjoy every second of it, too, ‘s been so goddamn long. ‘M fuckin’ starvin’ for it, babydoll, you got no idea… Can’t wait to watch that lil’ bitch bleed.”

You ignore his perverted rambling to the best of your ability, the rocking of your hips becoming more spastic as the movements of Joel’s fingers increase in intensity, alongside his own excitement.

“C-can I… Please, Joel—” you beg hoarsely, your own voice sounding distorted and far away as you fuck yourself on his hand. 

“Yeah, babydoll, come for me, such a perfect fuckin’ girl…”

Both of Joel’s hands maintain their pressure as the knot in your belly tightens, then unravels all at once. You come undone on his fingers, the motel room filling with the obscene sounds of your wetness and your pathetic mewling as you drench Joel’s hand. He shushes and praises you through your climax, his fingers only ceasing their onslaught once your twitching body finally relaxes and slumps against his broad form. 

Your skin feels cool, tingly all over as the blood rushes back into your head. Joel pulls you into his lap, bending your knees close to your body so that he can cradle you like a child. You must be crying again, because he’s using his knuckle to wipe moisture from underneath your eyes as you shudder against him, reality coming crashing down around you again all at once.

“You’re so good for me, baby, such a good girl… It’s gonna be just fine, you’ll see. It’ll get easier every time we do this, won’t seem so scary anymore…” Joel rubs your back and kisses the top of your head, and you let him believe that you are crying for fear of the brutality you’ll have to bear witness to tonight, and not because you’ve dared to feel pleasure at the hands of the person who will be doing the brutalizing. You feel so fucking ashamed in your post-orgasmic state, but you’re so dehydrated and exhausted that you don’t really have enough energy to scold yourself right now. 

Joel holds you close as he rocks your curled-up form, and you feel too weak to resist the way your eyes begin to flutter closed, the release of tension making way for your poor night’s sleep to finally catch up with you. 

“Get some rest, babydoll, gonna need it. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go,” is the last thing you hear before you allow yourself to succumb to the temptation of sleep. 

—

You were never supposed to find those polaroids. 

Could Joel have taken the precaution of dumping his box of jerkoff material into a ditch somewhere before you could ever get the chance to find it on your own? Of course. But he didn’t know if he might need it again, if he might someday find himself with another itch that only his little collection of keepsakes could scratch. He had kept them hidden from you for a reason, tried to toss them in the trash and convince you that they weren’t worth getting curious about for a reason—because things were going perfectly well, better than it had gone with any of them. Joel had never planned on adding your photo to the pile.

He had known you were different, that you were the one, from that very first night you’d spent together. You’d been nothing but polite, grateful, and appreciative, even when he’d slid beside you in bed and stolen a taste of all that sweetness you were made of. 

His whole life, Joel has searched for someone like you—someone to submit to him, to rely on him, to need him. That latter trait is the most important one, and the one that all the others seemed to be lacking. They liked feeling cared for and protected, liked bleeding his wallet dry while they spent a few weeks using him as some kind of rebellious experiment to piss off their parents one last time before they moved out of the house. But none of them ever made it very long before they decided that they didn’t really need him after all, that the fling was over, that the spark was gone, that they missed the shitty town he had picked them up from and wanted to be taken back. Ungrateful brats, they all fucking deserved it. And now they never get to go home, they get to rot in the fucking ground where their families will never find them, and he gets to keep their pretty pictures all to himself, asserting his control over them even in death. See how much they fucking need him now, when he is the one thing standing in between a cold case and a funeral.

Joel had known you wouldn’t end up like them, because you do need him. You have nobody, whether you’ll ever be able to admit it to yourself or not. You have no friends, no future, and no family, or at least not any left alive that actually care about you. You have no choice but to rely on him. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if he hadn’t stumbled upon you that night, looking so weak and lost and vulnerable and alone? There are much worse men than Joel out there, men who rape and kill just for the sick pleasure of it alone. At least Joel has some method behind his madness. It’s not like he’d invite a girl into his truck and immediately begin to fantasize about what her windpipe might feel like collapsing underneath his fingers.

Or, he didn’t used to. Not when he first started taking them. 

He’d thought the desire had just disappeared on its own, once he’d found you, his perfect little doll. Joel had meant what he said when he told you that he was going to be done after the last one. But then… Then he’d had you pinned underneath him last night, starving your lungs of air, your eyes red and watery as you’d begged for your life, and he’d realized that he missed it. He craved it. Needed it. The itch was still there after all, demanding to be scratched. But no matter how aggravating and persistent it may get, Joel had decided a long time ago that he’ll never use you to make it go away. It’ll never be you. Even when he’d had his hands wrapped around your throat, he’d never planned on finishing the job. After all, how could he ever live without you when he’d spent so long trying to find you?

And this is the one thing he needs you to understand—that he’s never letting you go. Joel had thought he’d gotten it through to you well enough last night, when he’d given you a taste of the consequences the others had suffered when they’d tried escaping. But you must be stronger than he’s been giving your credit for, judging by the way you still decided to fucking act up today with that dumbass little letter of yours. That’s okay, though. He can handle it. It just means you’ll take a little more effort to break down than he’d previously thought. If he can’t convince you that the only version of your life you were ever destined to live is the one with him in it, then he’ll just have to make you think that it’s your own idea to stay, to submit. He seems to have made some pretty good progress chipping away at your resolve today already. At this rate, he’ll have it whittled down to nothing in no time at all, and you’ll be right back to the pliant little babydoll he fell in love with all that time ago. The one who needs him.

You’ll come back around soon enough, when you finally realize that you don’t have any other choice.

So, maybe Joel is a little glad you found the polaroids. He wouldn’t have ended up here if you hadn’t, skulking around the pool table in the back of the Rattler Room, practically vibrating with anticipation and foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. He flicks his gaze between the end of his pool cue and where you’re perched at the bar on a cracked leather stool, occasionally catching your eyes when you look back at him nervously. Joel just gives you a nod and a wink every time, and it’s enough to make you turn back around and take another sip of your drink to quell your anxiety. 

You’re probably getting antsy because the two of you have been hanging around here for the better part of an hour, and Chrissy still hasn’t shown yet. But this is just one rule of the game—waiting. Patience. A predator doesn’t go in for the kill the second they lay eyes on their prey, do they? They have to study their movements, make sure they’ve got the little creature right where they want them, with their belly up or their neck exposed or their back turned, and then they pounce. You’ll learn the rules soon enough. With each of these little hunts that you accompany him on, you’ll learn. There may even come a time when you pick out the girls yourself, because you see it as an act of service, of love, satiating his hunger like this. 

The next time you look back at Joel, you move like you’re about to get up from your seat and walk over to him, but he gives you a stern look that says “Stay put.” He jerks his chin upwards, toward where his pretty piece of meat is now emerging from behind the bar. Joel wonders if you believe the web of lies he’d spun about her today, if they were enough to convince you that Chrissy had taken advantage of you, that she’d manipulated you, that she deserves this. He hopes that you do, so that her death might weigh a little less on your conscience, so that you’ll put up a little less fight the next time his itch needs scratching. 

God, that slender neck of hers is just begging for Joel’s blade. His upper lip twitches as he imagines the sight of her deep crimson blood dripping down her ivory-colored skin, her face becoming impossibly paler as her heart flutters out its last few beats before stopping altogether. Joel usually saves his knife for special occasions, when he needs the execution done quick and dirty before her screams wake up the entire fucking neighborhood, or in instances like his last girl, when she just needed to be put out of her fucking misery. But he might use it tonight, just because. Because he’s hungry. Because he’s so fucking hard he doesn’t think he can make himself suffer through the amount of time it takes to strangle a girl. 

Joel watches from the shadows as Chrissy seems to recognize you right away, reaching for your hands across the bar as she says something to you that he can’t make out. Judging by the pitied expression she wears, the way she leans into you, he guesses it’s something like, “I’m so glad to see you. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need help? Do you need me to save you from that big horrible monster who’s making your life so miserable?” Joel rolls his eyes at the imagined conversation. He sets his pool cue back on the rack and takes a seat at a small corner table, keeping his head low as he sips his beer, adjusting himself while he watches the way the tendons in Chrissy’s neck tighten and flex as she speaks. He can practically see her carotid artery pulsing underneath her skin, can already taste the iron on his tongue from the flecks of blood that will inevitably splatter onto his lips when he slices it open.

Calm the fuck down, Miller. It’ll be playtime soon enough.

The two of you talk for another minute or so, and Joel gathers that you must be reciting the lines he’d taken such care to teach you today. Chrissy’s brows furrow, her lips part, and she places one of her small hands over her chest as she listens, as if your rehearsed little sob story is just too much to bear, so tragic and devastating that it’s actually causing her physical pain to hear. She retrieves a paper napkin from underneath the bar, and hands it to you so that you can use it to dab underneath your eyes. Jesus, are you crying? You’re even better at this than he thought you’d be. 

Your shoulders shudder as you finish drying your tears, and Chrissy glances behind her at the clock on the wall, pausing to think for a moment before she turns back to you. Whatever she’s saying, she looks sure of herself, determined, and you nod your head on just about every other word. “Okay?” is the only one he can read on Chrissy’s lips, the last one she says to you before she begins serving the other patrons sitting at the bar. You continue to sip at your drink with your head hung low until she disappears into the back again, and when you swivel around in your stool, Joel is already staring at you. He makes a beckoning motion with two of his fingers, and you hop down from your seat, scurrying over to him as if he were whistling at a dog to come.

“She, um…” You start, checking behind you once to make sure Chrissy is still out of sight. “She said she’ll take her first break early, in an hour or so, and then… Then she’ll drive me home.”

A satisfied grin tugs at the corner of Joel’s mouth. “Alright, ‘nother hour it is, then. That wasn’t so hard, baby, was it?”

You shake your head, avoiding eye contact while you swirl your finger around the condensation from Joel’s beer bottle that’s collected on the lacquered table. You open your mouth like you want to say something else, but close it again quickly, seeming to think better of it.

“What is it, sweetheart, hm?” Joel prompts, curling a rough hand around the back of your bare thigh.

“I just… Wish it didn’t have to be her. She’s really nice.”

So were the rest of them, Joel thinks, until they tossed him aside like a chewed piece of gum. “Nice” doesn’t mean shit to him. Lots of girls are nice. And pretty. But they all fucking sound the same when they’re begging him to stop.

Joel bites his tongue, despite his supply of faux sympathy running dangerously low, and musters up what little there is left of it in order to give you the last little push that you need. “Oh, babydoll… You shouldn’t feel bad about somebody who did you wrong sufferin’ the consequences of their actions. I know she seems nice, but she ain’t a good person, baby, I told you that already—”

“I know, but—”

“But nothin’. It’s already been done, sweetheart, you gotta stop thinkin’ about it so hard. Just get back up there, hm? Be over before you know it.” 

Joel uses his grip on your thigh to spin you around, and sends you back up to the bar with a lewd swat to your ass. He stares at the way it bounces underneath the too-short skirt of your dress, and leans back in his chair as he takes another sip out of his sweating bottle. 

The next “hour or so” passes at such an excruciatingly slow pace, he’s stopped himself nearly a dozen times from flagging down a waitress and requesting another beer. He’ll have to make do with just the one, if he wants to be sharp, present, so that he’ll be able to savor every moment of both the hunt and the slaughter. Joel had forgotten how exhilarating the entire process is, how arousing it is to lurk quietly in the shadows, without the little thing having any idea that he’s there, until it’s too late. 

He bides most of the time by just sitting, staring, thinking. About if Chrissy will be more of a begger or a screamer, if she’ll waste any of her breath trying to plead with him and change his mind, or if she’ll just cry herself hoarse in hopes that somebody will hear her pathetic wailing and come to her rescue. Joel chuckles to himself when he remembers the one who kept insisting that “I have a boyfriend, you know. I bet he’s been looking for me, he’ll be here any minute now and he’ll fucking kill you.” Joel had doubled over laughing as he gestured around to the isolated patch of woods he’d dragged her out to, nearly pitch black and dead silent, save for the pale light of the waning moon and the sounds of her heaving sobs. “Oh, you got a boyfriend, do you? Tight lil’ virgin cunt was tellin’ me otherwise, but nice try, sweetheart,” Joel had taunted. Her photo was one of his favorites—a neck-down view of her kneeling form, featuring her chained together wrists and her filthy hands and knees, dirt-stained from how he’d taken her on the ground one last time.

Well, her first time. Whoops.

He’s got a white-knuckled grip around the neck of his empty bottle by the time he’s pulled out of his trance, the movement of two bodies up at the bar distracting him. Joel’s eyes refocus in time to see Chrissy draping her coat over your shoulders, ushering you out the back door after giving the room a once over. Not a very thorough one, considering she had basically looked right at him and didn’t seem to recognize him, but that’s more situational awareness than he can give most of the others credit for.

Too bad it won’t do her any good.

Joel feels like he’s got an electrical current pulsing through his bloodstream as he gets up from his seat, allowing the two of you a few paces’ head start before following in pursuit. He spots the flame of Chrissy’s red hair as she hurriedly helps you into the passenger side of her shitty Pinto, the door’s rusty hinges squealing loudly into the night. The back parking lot of the bar is poorly lit in contrast to the neon illumination from the rattlesnake out front, allowing Joel to slink behind Chrissy’s car and over to his own truck undetected. He situates himself behind the wheel, making sure to keep an eye on his rearview mirror as he rummages through his backpack and sets the tools he’ll need on the side of the bench seat that you usually occupy—his knife, a length of rope, and his camera.

Just like Joel had promised you earlier, he pulls out of the parking lot just behind the two of you, and keeps a close—but not suspiciously so—distance as he chugs down the poorly paved road, maintaining a speed-limit obeying pace and keeping his headlights off for good measure. He even refrains from having any music playing as he chases after you, the choice partly because he’s too dialed in to bother futzing with the tape player, and partly because he doesn’t want to risk making any noise that would raise even a modicum of suspicion, aiming to disappear into the shadows altogether for the next couple of miles.

Joel is nothing but a ghost, Death himself riding his pale horse into the silent dark, in pursuit of yet another sacrificial lamb to add to his flock. He’s lost count of just how many he has in his possession now, but he never gets tired of the way they bleat and cry and thrash as they struggle to escape his scythe. None of them ever seem to understand that they were each promised to him a long, long time ago, when Joel was already grown but they had only just been conceived. They’d been born onto a path that would eventually lead them directly into his waiting arms, where he would show them love and affection and pleasure and ecstasy and whether they were to reject his offerings or not, Joel would always take what was rightfully his, in the end. 

Joel holds his breath as Chrissy’s car approaches the intersection of the rundown neighborhood, but releases it when she makes the sharp left turn that you must have directed her to take. Good girl. He turns his own wheel more slowly, creeping carefully down the road until he finds a large, overgrown shrub to tuck his truck behind, out of sight from the two little creatures now exiting the Pinto and crushing mounds of dried grass under their tentatively stepping hooves. Joel kills the truck’s engine, his teeth chattering in anticipation as he swipes his tools from the seat beside him and slides himself out from behind the wheel. He reaches behind him to slot his knife underneath his belt, then begins his prowl towards the house with the rope and camera clutched in either hand. 

“No offense, but… You live here? Are you sure?” Joel hears Chrissy ask you, bending over to peer into a hole near the house’s foundation where some of the siding has rotted away. 

That’s right, stay down, just like that.

Joel is only a few paces away now. 

“W-well, it’s um… I h-haven’t really been here in a while, to be honest,” you respond, stuttering your way through the first lie you could think of in order to keep the charade going. You sound like you’re making it up as you say it, but that’s okay. Joel is closing in on his target now, it doesn’t matter if your trembling voice had set off the trap or not. Chrissy is already caught in it.

He’s so close he can smell the redhead’s rosy perfume that she had applied before her shift, can practically see the fine hairs raise on the back of her neck when she hears the snap of a dead tree limb coming from behind her. She lets out a little gasp, and whips her head around just in time to see Joel’s icy expression as he shoves a filthy boot into the back of her knee, making her yelp as she collapses onto all fours. Her hands scramble desperately for purchase in the thicket of dead foliage, but Joel is on her before she can regain her balance.

“Yeah, tha’s right… Down, bitch,” Joel spits, straddling her back and using his weight to push her body flat against the ground. “Hold onto this, babydoll, will ya?” He passes his camera off to you, not taking his eyes off Chrissy’s squirming form as you accept it quietly.

Joel grabs hold of Chrissy’s flailing wrists and wrenches them behind her back, squeezing her abdomen hard between his thighs as he does. “Hold fuckin’ still, ‘less you want me to break some bones while I’m at it,” he barks, but it does nothing to deter her futile efforts. She kicks and bucks and thrashes underneath him, making pathetic struggling noises as he winds the length of rope around her wrists, binding them together. 

“Get the fuck off me! Help me, get him off!” She pleads with you as she yanks against the rope and writhes around in the dirt. All you do is look at her with wide, watery eyes, your chest heaving as you clutch his camera in both of your small, shaking hands. “Are you with him or something? What the fuck is this? Help me, please!” Chrissy shouts, her voice terrified and guttural. 

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Joel growls into her ear, before pushing himself up off the ground and using his grip around the rope to pull her up with him. He wraps one arm tightly around Chrissy’s middle, and clamps the hand of the other one over her mouth. “She ain’t gonna help you, she knows better ‘n that... Did such a good job for me, sweetheart, such a good fuckin’ girl… Open the door for me so I can get her inside, now.” Joel watches the muscles in your throat constrict as you swallow hard, your eyes shifting from Chrissy’s terror-stricken ones up to Joel’s as you process his command. He smirks to himself when you do obey, the ribbons in your hair fluttering behind you as you scuttle up the stairs and wrench the door open. 

Chrissy is still shrieking incessantly into the meat of Joel’s hand as he shoves her up the creaking steps, and he supposes that he has the answer now to the pondering he was doing back at the bar—screamer it is. They piss him the fuck off the most, are probably most of the reason why his hearing isn’t as good as it used to be, and why he ends up using his knife more often than he’d like. Strangling is his preferred method—it’s more intimate, more hands on in nature, and makes less of a mess—but sometimes the cleanup is worth it if it means he can get them to shut the fuck up and quit shattering his eardrums with all their annoying fucking screeching that they know won’t do them any good. He’d made a good choice, sharpening his knife earlier while you were still asleep back at the motel this afternoon. Joel wonders when you’ll notice that you’re wearing a different pair of panties than the ones he’d made you come in, having tested the sharpness of his blade by slicing them off of you before cleaning up the mess you’d made with his tongue. 

Joel wrestles Chrissy inside the house, kicking broken glass and sloughed off sheets of yellowed wallpaper out of his path as he walks her into the living room. He turns his head as he instructs you to shut the door, and Chrissy uses the opportunity to bite into Joel’s palm and slam the back of her skull into his temple, hard enough to break the skin.

“Ah!—Fuckin’ bitch,” Joel hisses, forcibly shoving her onto the decaying hardwood floor. Chrissy tries to get up, but he presses the tread of his boot into her chest, keeping her down. He touches a finger to the side of his head, bringing it in front of his eyes to examine the droplet of blood that came with it, along with the indents in the flesh of his hand that are beginning to sprout little crimson beads. “Just fuckin’ askin’ for it, ain’t you?”

Joel looks over at you again, to where you’re standing with your back against the door and wearing the same deer-in-the-headlights expression as when he’d handed the camera to you. You have it clutched against your heaving chest, your eyes impossibly wide as you stare at the scene unfolding before you. He can practically see the gears turning in your brain as it cycles through the options of fight, flight, fight, flight, seeming to have landed on freeze instead. Joel observes you for a couple of seconds, waiting to see if one of your shaking hands will eventually snake its way back to the doorknob, but it doesn’t. Since you know what’s good for you, and all.

“C’mere, babydoll, where I can see you,” Joel orders, jerking his head into the room. Your eyes flutter out a few rapid blinks as you seem to shake yourself free of your petrified state, but your feet remain planted firmly underneath you. You’re standing so rigidly, with your knees locked in place, Joel is surprised you haven’t passed out yet.

“Can’t I just… wait in the truck or something? I’ll stay right there, I promise—”

“You know damn well I can’t take you up on any of your lil’ promises anymore, sweetheart. Besides, seemed awfully interested in how I do things last night, why the sudden change of heart, hm?”

You shift your weight, trying to come up with some excuse while you watch Chrissy try and fail to wriggle herself out from underneath the weight of Joel’s boot compressing her ribcage. “Just don’t do very well around b-blood, is all,” you squeak out pitifully.

Joel rolls his eyes, frustrated at the precious seconds you’re wasting by suddenly complaining about being a little squeamish. 

“Well frankly, baby, I don’t really fuckin’ care. You’re gonna have to learn to get the fuck used to it, I ain’t doin’ this with you every time. Get in here. You can face the goddamn wall, but you’re stayin’ put until this is over, are we clear?”

“Y-yes, Joel, thank you,” you concede shakily. Joel’s eyes follow you as you flit across the room, nearly tripping over chunks of fallen drywall before tucking yourself into a little alcove behind the fireplace and hugging your knees to your chest. 

“Alright… Where was I?” Joel ponders aloud, removing his foot from Chrissy’s chest and crouching down to her level. He grabs a fistful of her shirt collar and yanks her back up to a sitting position, looking down at his bleeding hand and sighing before harshly slapping Chrissy across the face with it. Her head whips to the side from the impact, and he grips onto her bloodied face with his injured hand to turn it back towards him again. “Y’know, I don’t take too fuckin’ kindly to feisty things like you who don’t know their goddamn place. Ain't so gentle with bratty lil’ cunts who think it’s a good idea to fight back, leave their marks on me. Am I, babydoll?” He says the latter part a little louder than the rest, brushing the forefinger of his unoccupied hand across the scar on the bridge of his nose as he speaks. You don’t respond, but he can tell that you hear him, that you know what—who—he’s referring to. “Yeah, she knows… One of her lil’ friends gave me this pretty thing, can you believe that? Suppose she gave me that pretty thing, too.” Joel chuckles to himself at his own double entendre, gesturing to where you’re cowering in the corner. “Poor thing had a friend go missin’ a while back, never knew what’d happened to her. Trail was cold, but she decided to follow it anyway. And Lord, am I glad she did, ‘cause it led her straight to me…”

Joel turns Chrissy’s head this way and that in his grip, enjoying the way she squeezes her eyes tight and flinches as she braces for another impact. She whines and whimpers as his fingernails dig into her freckled cheeks, now smeared with his orange-red fingerprints. “W-why me, then? Why not h-her, how come she gets to live? J-just take her, let me go, I won’t tell anyone,” Chrissy sobs through her teeth, hardly able to move her jaw in Joel’s firm hold. He reaches behind himself and slides his blade out from under his belt, raising it up in front of her face. Her eyes go wide as she lets out a horrified noise, thrashing against him and crying while he examines the way the sharp edge glints in the moonlight coming in from the broken windows.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Joel muses, turning over the blade in his hand a few times before looking up at Chrissy’s terrified face, his expression shifting from something wistful to something sinister, cold. “It ain’t ever gonna be her.”

Joel cranks her jaw upwards and slides his knife across her throat before she can even expel an entire scream from her lungs, the piercing tone of her voice becoming wet and garbled in just a few seconds as she chokes on her own blood. It sprays through the slit in her skin, some of it splattering across Joel’s face and landing on his lips, before coming out as a steadier stream that spills down her pale neck and dribbles from the corners of her mouth. Joel watches on as she convulses and gags, her eyes rolling back into her skull before becoming dead weight in Joel’s grip, and she collapses onto her side when he finally lets go of her jaw, still agape with a silent wail. Her muscles spasm as she bleeds out, the ruby-colored liquid pooling underneath her head and saturating the ends of her auburn hair. Joel licks his lips clean as her wound pulses in time with the beating of her heart, the rhythm becoming slower and slower before fizzling out altogether. It only takes a minute or so for her body to still completely, her gurgling breaths eventually morphing into the death rattle that he’s come to recognize so well. Joel swipes his bloodied blade across his tongue before sheathing it under his belt again, glancing over to where you’re now rocking back and forth, your spine hitting against the fireplace’s stone structure with dull little thumps.

He stalks over to you, ignoring the startled yelp you make as he grips onto your upper arm and drags you to where Chrissy’s cooling corpse is lying in the center of the room. Just like he had done to her earlier, he pushes you onto your stomach and straddles your hips. Only this time, he rucks up the skirt of your dress and yanks your panties to the side, swiftly freeing his painfully hard cock from the confines of his jeans and slotting into you with nothing more than a mouthful of his own saliva to help him ease inside. “Oh, f-fuck, Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he moans, gripping one hand onto your hip and using the other—the one with a still-bleeding bite mark—to press the side of your head into the filthy hardwood, so that you’re facing Chrissy’s glazed-over expression while he takes and takes and takes. He doesn’t have it in him to be gentle with you, blinded by adrenaline and arousal as he uses you to get himself off. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight when you’re scared,” Joel snarls, snapping his hips into your backside with such force that the clap of skin-on-skin echoes loudly throughout the empty house, nearly drowning out the sounds of your cries. You’ve got your hands splayed out on either side of your head, having dropped Joel’s camera when he’d forced you into a prone position. You make a disgusted gagging noise when the expanding pool of Chrissy’s blood reaches your fingertips, but you can’t pull away with Joel’s body weight holding you in place. You shut your eyes tightly as you sputter and sob, but Joel won’t allow that. He pulls you up onto your knees, pressing you against him and prying your eyes open as he holds your head up by a fistful of your hair. “No, no hidin’ from this, babydoll. You fuckin’ look at her… I do this for you, baby, you see? So that it won’t be you. I just get so fuckin’ hungry, I can’t help myself. I can’t fuckin’ stop. But as long as I live, I swear it’ll never be you. That’s why it’s them instead. You understand, sweetheart? I love you, babydoll, I love you so fuckin’ much.” Joel mumbles the last bit into the supple skin of your neck, sloppily kissing and biting into your flesh, until he isn’t sure to whom the iron taste that fills his mouth belongs anymore.

He gropes and grabs all over your pliant body, grunting curses into your wet skin while he uses your tight, warm hole like a toy. He’s practically been edging himself for the past several hours, starting from when he’d rubbed circles around your swollen clit and used the reward of your own pleasure to manipulate you into doing his dirty work. Joel is surprised he didn’t cream his jeans before now, the release of finally pouncing on his prey and the taste of her blood on his tongue almost enough to make him come untouched. His hips begin to stutter only a handful of thrusts later, but instead of allowing himself to spill inside you like he had last night, he slides himself free of your walls and maneuvers you onto your back, reaching for his camera.

“Smile pretty for me, babydoll,” Joel says, holding the viewfinder up to his eye while he jerks himself off over your used body, his knees planted on either side of your ribcage. The dazed expression you wear looks enough like a smile to satisfy him, and he snaps a photo as he paints your face with his come. Thick white ropes splatter against your skin, already smeared with the blood from his hand and the filth from the neglected floorboards, and you look like the most gorgeous fucking thing he’s ever seen—his perfect doll, his fallen angel, his most precious and favorite lamb, the love of his fucking life. “Startin’ a new collection today, darlin’, since I got rid of the other one… This’ll be the perfect one to start it out.” Joel removes the blank polaroid from the slot, and sets it back down along with the camera to give the image time to develop. He sits back on his haunches as he catches his breath, running his bloodied hands through his damp hair and zipping his spent cock back inside his jeans. Joel stares down at you while you blink slowly, looking ruined with your tangled hair spread out on the floor and your hands resting up by your ears in surrender. Your breathing is slow, shallow, and he trusts that he can leave you there to come back into yourself while he takes care of Chrissy’s body. 

Joel pushes himself back up to his feet with a groan, his knees cracking and aching in protest, and he walks around the first level of the house, peeking into different rooms until he finds one that used to function as a bedroom. There isn’t much left inside, but the wrought iron bed frame still has a moldy sheet draped haphazardly over the mattress. He yanks it free and bunches it up in his arms, carrying it back into the living room and spreading it out on the ground beside the corpse. Joel rips the top hem of the bedsheet from its seams, and wraps it around his injured hand before tying it off with his teeth. He rolls Chrissy’s stiffening figure onto the now-frayed edge of the fabric, tucking it under one of her arms to hold it in place before tumbling her down the remaining length of the linen. He performs the task monotonously and with little strain, as if he’s done so a dozen times, because he has. It doesn’t take very much effort to lift her onto his shoulder; she was already a wisp of a thing to begin with, weighing even less now that nearly her entire blood volume is soaking into the wood beneath where she had been laying.

Joel navigates to the back door of the house, kicking it open with his boot and letting it slam behind him. He walks several yards into the overgrowth behind the house, dodging low-hanging branches and stepping over fallen logs until he reaches a small clearing. He deposits Chrissy’s body onto an area of dried, yellowing grass, before returning to the backyard where he had noticed a dilapidated shed, nearly completely fallen over from several years’ worth of dry rot. Joel grunts as he pries the doors open, and yanks on a rusted metal chain hanging from the ceiling. A single light bulb illuminates the contents of the shed—a decades-old lawn mower, a few bags of grass seed, and some basic gardening tools, including exactly the one he was looking for. He brushes several thick spiderwebs out of the way before grabbing hold of the shovel, and lets it drag behind him as he treks back to Chrissy’s soon-to-be makeshift burial site. Joel digs a shallow grave, not wanting to take the time to complete the entire six feet with you still on your own inside the house, and uses his boot to send her cloth-wrapped body tumbling into the hole, where it lands with a dull thud. He stares down at her bloodied chrysalis, exhaling a shuddering breath as he revels in the final stage of his ritual.

Over the course of his life, Joel has done a lot of thinking about what exactly it is about the slaughter that he finds so titillating. On a particularly sleepless night several years ago, he’d finally landed on the transformation being what arouses him so. Taking a life is not unlike the procedure of sex, he’d realized—there is a start and an end, a before and an after, and an intangible, in between state, where the soul of the other person is slightly separated from their body, placed into the palms of his hands to do with as he pleases. There’s a reason the French came up with that clever little phrase—la petite mort—because sex and death are inexplicably intertwined, at least for Joel. He experiences such a rush, such a release, from taking part in the gruesome metamorphosis in which a girl is transformed into a body, that he can’t help but chase that high again and again and again, even though he always seems to forget that as much as there is the before and the during, there is also the after. 

That troublesome, uncomfortable after.

Joel shakes himself out of his stupor, tossing the shovel in after the body and doing a half-assed job of kicking the dirt he’d excavated back inside the pit. He scatters some fistfuls of grass and a few dead branches on top of the pile for extra camouflage, and then trudges his way back through the woods.

When Joel returns to the house, you’re in the exact same position he’d left you in, just as he’d thought you’d be. He approaches you slowly, crouching beside you and brushing some of your knotted hair away from your soiled face. Your eyes are frozen, as if still looking into Chrissy’s own glassy ones, and you don’t even so much as twitch when Joel pulls a rag from his back pocket and uses it to wipe his arousal and as much of the blood as he can manage off of your skin. 

“You okay, sweetheart? You with me?” Joel asks you, his voice barely above a whisper, as if trying not to spook a small animal. You look almost… shell shocked. Traumatized. Out of your own body. “Talk to me, babydoll, please.” He rakes his fingers through your hair for another silent minute or so, during which time you continue to lie perfectly still. Unblinking. Unflinching. A husk of a girl.

Joel sighs, reaching across your body to grab his camera and the now-developed polaroid. He shoves the latter into his jacket pocket, deciding that he’ll examine the image later, once he reconciles with the unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his stomach—something like remorse, he thinks. 

He slides his hands underneath your body, cradling you in his arms and carrying you bridal style across the living room, over the threshold, down the steps, and along the stretch of fractured asphalt until he reaches the truck. Joel sets you down on your feet so that he can open the passenger-side door, but your knees buckle underneath you almost immediately, requiring him to support your weight while he fumbles with the handle. He lifts you up onto your seat once he gets it open and buckles you in, and you don’t look anywhere except directly in front of you the entire time. Joel smooths out the skirt of your dress, now stained with dirt and blood, and shoves his camera into the backpack sitting at your feet before shutting you in. He crosses in front of the hood and retakes his place behind the wheel, taking a long look at where you sit nearly comatose beside him. You’re here, but you’re not. He doesn’t know where you are, or how to pull you back from it, back to him.

Joel fidgets with his keys, jingling them in his hand in an effort to fill the cabin with something other than a silence so loud it’s making his ears ring. “It’ll feel better in the mornin’. You’ll get used to it, after a few more of ‘em, I promise.” He places his linen-wrapped hand on the side of your head, pulling you closer to him so that he can plant a whiskery kiss in your hair. Joel lets his eyes flutter closed as he breathes in your scent, inhaling a stuttering breath. If remorse is truly what he feels, then that would warrant an apology, he supposes. But it would also require taking action to rectify the wrongdoing that warranted the apology in the first place, to make sure that it never happens again. And that, he cannot promise.

He pulls away from you, licking his thumb once to wipe a dried smear of blood from your temple. “You wanna get that old map outta the glovebox, babydoll? Decide where we’re headed to next?” Joel prompts.

Silence.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want, darlin’. Long as they got hot coffee and color TV,” he chuckles.

Stillness.

“Well… Alright, then. Next state over it is.” Joel sniffles, feeling around in the dark for the truck’s ignition cylinder, the engine finally sputtering to life after a few misses of the key. Your head falls against the window as the tires begin to rumble over the uneven pavement, and you don’t bother to reposition yourself, even though the sensation of your skull rattling against the glass must be uncomfortable.

Joel doesn’t steer the truck in any particular direction, just away. Away from here, toward the life together in California that he’d promised you, hoping that he can collect all your broken pieces and put you back together along the way.

As it turns out, there are two things that Joel needs you to understand—that he’s never letting you go, and that he will never be able to stop himself. As instinctually as Joel needs to blink, breathe, sleep, he needs to kill. He needs to spill blood and feel it underneath his fingernails and taste it on his tongue, needs to bite into the soft pink skin beneath white wool and feel the precise moment when a creature becomes nothing more than flesh and fur.

And he needs you. Joel cannot live without either one, he’s decided, and so he must be in possession of both.

He regrets the way in which he’s broken you tonight, but not the way that you will be reassembled in his image. 

Transformed.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @joelsdagger @natalieispunk @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @galway-girlatwork @pinkiec6-rubi @wand-erer5 @arminsbf @shivispunk @gigistorm @theoreticalfreak @vinceelser @always-andromeda @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @atjlovverr @zliteraturehoe @k1l4ni @hjzghi-blog @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @kay1805 @alex-does-art-things (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Joel Miller Masterlist

Series

For The Right Man

Joel x Trad wife!reader

Honey, I’m Home Summary: Joel comes home to freshly baked dessert and a good little wife eager to serve in every way possible. Words: 4.8k

Men Like Me

Joel x virgin!Reader

Warning Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do girls like you only makes you want him more. Words: 6.2k Denial Summary:  After your steamy encounter, Joel ignores you out of guilt, leaving you feeling unworthy. But you make a discovery that makes you turn the tables on him. Words: 10.4k

Mister Miller

Boyfriend's dad!Joel

Secret Summary: Your shameful secret you keep from your boyfriend is not such a secret after all. Your boyfriend’s dad Joel Miller knows what you do…very intimately. Words: 1.3k Picture Summary: Joel knows he shouldn’t, especially with the guilt of his shameful secret sitting heavy in his chest. But there are so many pictures of you and he is just a man. Words: 1k

Neighborly Thing to Do

Joel Miller x Reader x Javier Peña

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Simple rule to follow, you’d think. But it’s not so simple when your neighbor catches you coveting his girl, fucks her in front of you and tells you that you can help yourself to her anytime you want.

Yellow Bikini Summary: The new neighbors throw a pool party and Joel is invited. Words: 0.8k

Taken Care of

Predatory!Joel x Naive!Reader

You are as sheltered as can be in a world that has fallen apart. Realizing the errors of his ways, your father has his friend Joel take you outside the QZ to teach you how to survive in the real world. Unfortunately for you, Joel is interested in teaching you more than basic survival skills.

Comfort Summary: You and Joel find comfort in an unconventional way. Words: 1.8k

One-shot

Savior

Summary: Joel saves you from the horrors of the world only to inflict his own horror upon you. Words: 1.7k DDDNE

Mercy

Summary: Stranded alone in the woods and left to die, all you can ask of Joel Miller is the mercy of a quick death. He is willing to give it to you, but he needs something for himself first. Words: 2.8k

Hurt and Protect

Summary: In a world where politeness wasn’t part of trade, it helped to have someone like Joel Miller as your protector. But to be his to protect also meant being his to hurt. Words: 2.3k

Our Normal

Summary: You and Joel find a new normal with touch Words: 1.8k

Monster

young dad!Joel Miller & baby!Sarah Miller

Summary: Maybe the real monster was above the bed all along. Words: 700ish

Purpose

Dad!Joel Miller

Summary: “I think if he (Joel) could do anything or be anything, he would be a dad, raising his daughter. Whether it’s Sarah or— he can’t quite get there yet to say it’s Ellie but that's what he was put on this Earth to do. That’s why he’s been wandering around a little like a zombie himself for 20 years. He’s trying to find his purpose because it was taken from him.” -Craig Mazin. A fic exploring Joel's journey as a dad. Words: 12.7k

not to feel the way i felt—

Joel Miller x Tess Servopolous

Summary: “I never ask you for anything, not to feel the way I felt—” Moments in their lives where Joel felt something, if not they way she felt. Words: 3.9k

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

I've never read a story where Joel is your step sibling but I'm saving this for later

WHY NOT?

Step brother!Joel Miller x f!reader, step brother!Tommy Miller

Summary: when your vibe dies on you at the worst possible moment, you decide to ask your hot step brother for help.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, modern AU, reader is 19, Joel and Tommy are in their 20s, incest-play, unprotected piv, creampies, degradation, exhibitionism, f!masturbation, pervy!Joel, bratty!reader, dub con due to alcohol consumption but everyone’s into it, manhandling, pussy/ass spanking, squirting, swearing, sex toy usage, rough-ish!sex, fingering, f!oral, praise kink.

Word count: 3,4k

A/n: Yes, I’m at it again. What can I say? Stepcest is hot to me;) If it’s not your thing, it’s fine, just scroll down. And if it is, I hope you’ll enjoy the story<3 Hugs and kisses to my love @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and helping me. Ily baby!<3 Dividers by @/huraxy

MASTERLIST

Now

A gentle breeze is flowing through your open bedroom window, it caresses your heated skin, licks at your wet pussy, making you shiver with pleasure.

You’re on your bed, legs spread wide, your pink vibe pressed to your lubed up clit. The sun is high up but you don’t decide when to get horny. Your pussy does.

Your eyelids flutter close and a set of moans are falling from your parted lips, mixing with the low buzzing of the toy and the chirping of the birds outside.

You can let yourself be louder — your mom and her husband Javier aren’t home. Only your step brother is in, but you don’t care if he hears you. Actually, you’d love him to.

”Joel,” you whisper involuntarily, when your step brother’s image pops into your mind, and a heat wave starts rising deep on your belly, steady and fast, the upcoming orgasm sweet like honey on your tongue. It’s about to wash over you, and you hold your breath, squeeze your eyes tighter and form an ‘o’ with your lips to let the sounds of your ecstasy fill the room freely and… and … you toy dies.

FUCK!!

Instead of a satisfied moan, a loud growl rings in your now silent room, scaring the birds outside away. You’ve been so close! If only it worked for one more minute!

You throw the stupid thing on the bed and consider your options. You can do it yourself. Yes, you can! Your fingers know your spots better than anyone.

So you close your eyes again and start rubbing your poor clit. The warmth reignites in your belly but it’s not even close to the fire that was coursing through you a minute ago. You open your eyes and glare at the ceiling, your lips in a pout.

Suddenly your face softens when you get an idea. “Joel!!!” you shout as loudly as you can.

No answer.

“JOEL!!”

Nothing.

Ughhh!!

Your step brother is probably in the basement and can’t hear you, so you jump off the bed, put your shorts on and head downstairs.

Then

Your mother married Tommy and Joel’s dad, Javier Miller, a few months ago. Getting two older step brothers in your late teens was never on your bingo card, so when your mom announced that they were buying a house together, your heart sank - the prospect of sharing a new living space with them made you sick. Luckily, the younger Miller, Tommy, was away in college, so he annoyed you only from time to time, when he came to visit his dad and brother. Unfortunately, the older one, Joel, who worked as a contractor, moved into the basement of the new house, so he could save up and eventually get his own place.

Joel had been getting on your nerves from day one - he teased you any chance he got, mocked your friends, your hobbies, your music taste, left a mess after himself everywhere and threw loud parties for his stupid friends whenever your mom and step dad were away at the lake house.

The other problem was that he was hot. Really hot. Numerous times you found yourself staring at his perky ass, his muscular arms, his broad back. His always disheveled curls were asking to be grabbed, his plush lips looked so soft and inviting. But his best feature was his beautiful brown eyes. Your heart sped up every time they were focused on you. Your confusing feelings made you hate his guts even more until one house party changed everything.

That night you were hanging out with your friends in the backyard, avoiding Joel and his loud crowd. After a couple of beers, a little tipsy, you went to the bathroom, and as you were leaving the room, Joel appeared out of nowhere in the hall.

“Let's chat,” he said and pushed you back inside.

You were so surprised that you barely protested when he closed the door behind you two and locked it.

“What the…?” was all you mustered to say.

Joel’s dark eyes were glinting with mischief and probably alcohol as he leaned against the counter in the dimly lit room. He flashed you his usual lopsided smile and said,

“Wanna talk to you, babygirl.”

His firm pecks were straining a black tee, tight jeans he had on were making your pussy ache, but his low husky voice together with the pet name was the final nail in the coffin of your restraint. You got wet immediately.

“I’m not your babygirl, asshole,” you bit back despite your body’s reaction to the man. Your brain was slowly catching up with the situation - you were alone in the bathroom with your hot step brother.

Joel tutted, shaking his head and taking a step closer.

“Hey, that’s not nice.”

You scoffed and turned around to unlock the door. Suddenly you felt Joel’s warm hand wrap around your arm, stopping you. You roughly threw it off and hissed,

“The fuck?!”

“Please.”

When you turned back to glare at the man, a pair of sad puppy eyes were staring at you. His brows were pulled together, his expression soft and pleading.

‘Maybe he needs something’, your naive heart whispered.

‘I need him inside,’ your pussy purred and you gushed more into your panties. You were waiting for your brain to speak but unfortunately it was silent, mesmerized by Joel’s handsome face, cute expression and hot body.

“What do you want?” you grumbled, crossing your arms on your chest.

Joel stepped up really close, mere inches between your faces, and gave you a sweet smile.

“I want us to be friends.”

He sounded so genuine, you almost believed it.

“Yeah, right!”

You averted your eyes burning with desire at his proximity, but still trying to keep cool.

“Well, maybe more than friends.”

Your gaze darted up to him, your brows furrowed.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Joel smirked and slowly planted his hands against the door on both sides of your head and his face darkened when he whispered,

“I see how you stare at me, little sister. Can’t keep your eyes off my dick when I wear my sweats.”

You scoffed again but mentally scolded yourself for checking him out so carelessly.

“Or after I take a shower… only a towel on. Bet you wanna see what’s underneath.”

“No, I don’t,” you lied, throwing daggers at him with your eyes but Joel didn’t seem to care. He leaned even closer and whispered in your ear.

“I can show you, baby sis.”

You tried to push him away but his voice, his scent, his words hypnotized you. Your panties were completely soaked by now and you could only mewl when he gently took your hand, brought it to his crotch and pressed your palm to his bulge.

“See what you’re doing to me?”

His voice was strained with arousal and he was semi hard and big, so big that your heart skipped a beat and another surge of wetness seeped into your panties.

Joel’s lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“The house full of hot chicks and I’m hard for my little sister.”

“Step sister,” you mumbled through heavy breathing, heart pounding in your ears.

“Exactly. We’re not related… just two hot people living under the same roof.” He pulled back a little and squeezed your hand making you palm his cock bulge. “So…Let’s fuck.”

You were standing so close to each other, alone in the bathroom, your eyes locked - his were black as the night outside, and surely yours were echoing his lust.

“It’s fucked up.” A voice of reason made you whisper but Joel’s lips curved into a smile before he said something that was hard to deny,

“That’s why it’s so damn hot.”

You tried. You really tried not to be seduced by your sexy step brother, but ten minutes later you two were alone again, but now in your bedroom, both completely naked. The door was locked and you were lying on the bed with Joel’s face between your spread thighs.

You didn’t turn the lights on, wishing for the darkness of the night to cover your twisted act, the music booming downstairs to hide Joel’s dirty talk and your moans.

“You have the sweetest pussy, baby sis.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t lie, you love it. You’re just as pervy as I am, babygirl.”

“Fuck you.”

“Soon. Need to open you up for me first… to make you come.”

He did. Twice. First time he was fucking you with his hot tongue and rubbing your clit when you exploded with a pathetic cry and squirted right into his mouth. Not giving you a respite he wrapped his lips around your sensitive bud and began sucking on it, parting from your pussy from time to time to shower you with his depraved praise,

“Such a good girl squirting for me. Happy to be your brother, baby.”

“Ahh, Joel…”

“Louder, baby, don’t be shy. Wanna hear my beautiful sister moan my name.”

You couldn’t deny what his words were doing to you - you’d never been more turned on in your life, never known how easily you could come until Joel Miller, your step brother for fuck’s sake, ate you out.

Soon you came the second time, wriggling on the wet sheets in ecstasy, scratching Joel’s big hands keeping your hips in place.

Then he climbed on top of you and entered you slowly and gently, mumbling obscenities into your ear.

“Fuck she’s tight. You’ve been waiting for your big bro to come and stretch you, huh?”

“You’re fucked up”, you moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist. He was thrusting into you with a steady pace, leisurely, letting you feel every rim and vein of his thick cock.

You didn’t kiss that night, but when he was inside you, his big heavy body on top of you, your lips were brushing his neck, your tongue was tracing his veins, until in a lustful delirium you sucked a hickey into his honey skin.

Joel hummed, pumping his length in and out of your cunt,

“Marking your territory, babygirl? Want everyone to know my cock belongs to my sister, uh?”

To your surprise you moaned at the idea of the other girls at the party seeing the bruise on his neck. You gave him a couple more and he didn’t protest.

He was a great fuck and soon you came with a loud cry when Joel was licking your tits and rutting into you with feral intensity. Quickly after he emptied his balls into your fluttering core, growling into the crease of your neck.

Still dripping his cum you quickly got dressed, nervous about your long absence from the party, and made Joel promise that the one time thing would stay between the two of you.

“Sure, sis,” he promised with a wink.

Now

“We’re just two hot people living together,” Joel’s words emerge in your mind, as you’re walking to the basement, still fuming after your ruined orgasm.

You find Joel chilling on the couch in his man cave, no shirt, just his grey sweats on, playing a shooter on TV. Someone is emotionally shouting in his speakers, so you come up to him and pull the gaming headset off his ears.

“I need your help.”

“What the fuck?! I’m playing!”

“Do I give a shit?”

You cross your arms and frown at him.

His eyes return to the screen and you slap his naked shoulder, getting his attention back.

“Wait a sec, guys.“ He hits the mute button, frees one ear and barks,

“What?!”

“I need to… you get to make me come.”

Joel’s brows shoot up and a lopsided smile curves his lips.

“Last time you said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” you explain, lying down on the couch and placing your feet on his lap. “But my vibe died and I’m horny.”

Joel huffs a laugh, staring at you, then shrugs and pushes your feet away.

“I’m playing. Later.”

He turns the mic on again and announces that he’s back.

Motherfucker!

The frustration burns your belly, so you sit up and slap the controller out of his hands, sending it flying across the room.

“I said. Now.”

“Fucking bitch,” Joel hisses and pounces on you. You scream and then giggle as he grabs your arms and manhandles you to lie on your stomach. He pushes you into the sofa with his whole body flush with yours and growls in your ear.

“You wanna get fucked? Ya getting fucked, sis.”

You moan when he sits on the back of your thighs and slaps your ass, not hard but enough to sting.

“Joel,” you whimper and turn your head to the side to show him your excited smile.

Your step brother pulls your shorts down to your mid thigh and squeezes your asscheeks as he growls into the microphone,

“Guys, I’m off. My step sis is being a bitch.”

Then he laughs. “What? Fuck her? Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

You wiggle your ass in the air when he lifts your hips with his strong hands and slides his thick fingers between your wet folds.

“Fuck she’s wet already. Wish y’all could see.”

“Oh my God, Joel, are you crazy?!” you screech squirming under him, when you realize that he’s talking to his teammates.

“Chill, baby. They don’t know me. We just play together.”

You can’t chill, terrified that someone will know that you’ve been fucking your step brother, but your pussy aches so much, you throw your caution to the wind and arch your back with a needy whine, presenting your holes to Joel.

“Good girl,” he coos at you and then talks to the people in his speakers, “What? Want me to describe her? She’s hot and dripping, ‘s all you need to know.” He laughs and adds, “and that I'm gonna stuff her full of my cock in a second.”

He follows his words and pushes his warm hard dick inside your pussy with one slow thrust. You whimper and the possibility that someone else can hear you make your walls clench around Joel’s length.

“They’re saying your sounds are hot, baby. And that you’re a slut. Don’t be shy. Louder.”

Joel spanks your ass again and you give them the neediest moan you’ve ever produced.

“That’s my girl,” Joel smirks, “Yeah, gonna give it to her good.”

Joel starts rutting his cock into your drenched cunt, your folds slick with your juices, your hole hungry for him, but the stretch still makes you wince.

“They want to hear you come, baby.”

Joel leans down, wraps his arm around your torso and pulls you up. With your back pressed to his chest, he grabs your pussy in his warm palm and then his index finger starts drawing circles over your puffy clit.

The other hand slides under your top and begins playing with your tits. The sensation of your pussy, clit and nipples being stimulated sends you up into the sky, and you rest the back of your head on his shoulder, high on pleasure already. In this new position you can clearly hear the voices in his speakers and your head spins with want as you listen to his teammates encouraging Joel.

“Fuck her hard, dude.”

“What a slut!”

“Wish I was there, bro.”

“You’re the luckiest.”

“Can we come over and fuck her, too?”

Joel chuckles through heavy breathing and slaps your folds, spread wide around his cock.

”Hear that? Ya popular. Wanna get gang banged, baby sis?”

You whimper loudly and the men cheer.

“She’s mine, guys. One day maybe.” Joel slows down the pace of his hips and turns your face to the side to give you a kiss. You happily part your lips and your tongues tangle, as the others are listening to the sloppy sounds of you two making out.

“Fuck yeah!”

“You’re the man!”

“Slutty step sis?! You hit the jackpot!”

They keep degrading you and praising Joel, and you’re melting in his strong arms. His hips pick up the pace, he’s pounding hard into your sloppy pussy, until a shuddering orgasm hits you, making you pulsate around your step brother’s cock.

“She’s choking me…. Ahhh..,” Joel’s grunts, and, holding you tightly in his arms, starts squirting his cum into your hot core.

“Yes!! Fill her up, dude.”

“Cum-thirsty whore.”

”Fuck, wanna see her drip.”

Their comments are prolonging your climax better than any toy ever could, their modified voices ringing loudly in your mind and going straight to your stuffed pussy. They’re sending waves of pleasure through your body which is still shaking against Joel’s strong frame.

Being full to the brim, your thighs sticky with Joel’s cum and your slick, you slide off his cock and plop back on the couch.

You turn to lie on your back and shut your eyes. Your brain’s a mush, your limbs are tingling, you can harldy lift a finger, that’s how fucked out you are.

Joel’s and your heavy breathing is interrupted by his strained voice.

“She’s in a cock coma… oh yeah, yeah I'm looking at her hole right now. Stuffed her good. What? Fuck, ‘k, wait.”

Joel leans down and gently slaps your pussy. You clench your hole with a whine, fluttering your eyes open.

“Yeah… It’s dripping out of her. Damn, so much. Her little hole’s full.”

Joel hisses ‘shit’ and adds ‘yeah, good idea’.

With hazy eyes you watch him slide his fingers up between your folds and then push them into your stretched entrance, returning the runaway cum into your cunt.

You give the strangers a new set of needy moans when your step brother is playing with your creamed up pussy - pumps his fingers in and out, rubs your oversensitive clit, while his big wet cock is softening on his hairy thigh.

“Hey, sis.”

“Yeah?”

“Tommy’s asking if he can join us next time?”

The fog in your mind clears up and turns into a thundercloud as you hear Joel’s words.

“WHAT?!!” You push his hand off your pussy and sit up on the couch. ”You said you don’t know them!“

“Yeah, I don’t. Except Tommy,” Joel shrugs, tucking his cock back in his sweats. “We often play together, you shoulda known.”

You pull your shorts back on, glaring at your step brother, huffing with anger.

“Chill, sis. Imagine having two cocks at your disposal. What if you get extra horny?”

You’ve known Tommy less than Joel but he’s just as handsome and hot as his older brother, with a charming smile and warm eyes. Suddenly an image of both step brothers fucking you flashes in your mind and you bite your lip, daydreaming about the delicious scenario for a few moments.

“Gimme,” you say with a naughty smile and pull Joel’s headset off. Then you place it on your head and talk into the mic.

“Tommy, are you here?”

The other men cheer, making you wince at their loud cat calling, and Joel laughs hearing his teammates’ reaction to you.

”Pigs,” you mumble and call again,

“Tommy?”

“I’m here, beautiful.” Now you recognize his velvety voice from before, when Joel was fucking you, and scold yourself for not realizing that he was in the audience right away.

“Two questions.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you have a big dick?”

The question draws another deafening outburst from the men and then Tommy chuckles,

“Yeah, I do, sweetheart.”

“Great. And are you good at using it?”

You hear “baby, you’re slut”, “fuck yeah” and “damnnnn” before Tommy replies, confidence loud in his voice.

”Yes, I am, baby.”

“‘k, I’ll be the judge of that,” you purr and take the headset off.

You get up clumsily, ready to head upstairs, when Joel grabs your hand, looking up at you.

“He’s coming home for the spring break.”

You’re watching his lips turn into a dark smile as he adds,

“Are you really gonna let us both fuck you?”

Your pussy clenches at Joel’s question, more cum escaping your hole, and while your body is screaming ‘Yes!’, you only nod with a mischievous smile.

Joel curses under his breath and pulls you onto his lap. His lips crush against yours and you moan into his mouth as your clothed leaky pussy rubs against his bulge.

“You’re so fucking hot, babygirl. Wanna fuck my cum deeper.”

“Yes, please,” you mewl, your head dizzy with want, and add, “But only you and me now”.

“Sure, sis,” Joel replies, picking you up and carrying you to his bed for round two.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! If you have thots for pt 2, let me know!💋

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @thedilfdiaries @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

This week, May 30, on

finally f*cking friday

Which Joel is "finally" fucking their reader?

Dark Dr. Miller.

Bad Doctor

Dr. Joel POV

NEW 5/30: Spread Open

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Spread open

Dark!Dr. Miller x f!reader | 2825 words | Joel Masterlist

Tight little pussy, huh? Meow. Sweet little kitty.

SUMMARY: You come for a pelvic exam, and Dr. Miller gives you what you want.

WARNINGS: 18+, misconduct, manipulation, misinformation, degradation, dirty talk, breeding talk, pussy pronouns, public groping, dubcon piv smut, stirrups, speculum, cream pie, cum play, ass play

Bad Doc Fam 🤍: @milla-frenchy @iamasaddie @mysterialee @tateypots @mabelmiller @professionalpromqueen @libre-sol @aurorawritestoescape #🍰 anon.

PLEASE check your breasts, get your pap smears, and support cancer research 🩷

At the farmer's market, you were picking out a few potatoes when a big man in skin tight jeans strode into your peripheral vision. He picked up a sweet potato and tossed it to himself, then held it up and said “this is what ya want right here.”

You turned to see Dr. Miller pull his head back as though surprised to see you. “Well look who it is,” he said, looking you up and down. “Shoulda recognized that profile,” he ogled your chest.

“Here ya go, darlin’,” he offered you the sweet potato. The size of his hand made it look like little a fingerling. “These are good for ya,” he noted as you accepted it into your palm. “Vaginal ph,” he specified.

You thanked him, and his reference to your vagina was the least of your concerns. You were frozen by the knowledge that for weeks, you'd been fantasizing about this man. And he seemed well aware of this, you thought, based on the tinge of smugness to his energy.

“Yeah, that's real important… when’s the last time ya had a pelvic exam?” he asked.

“Um-”

“You oughta come in for one. Nothin’ like a clean bill of health for peace of mind,” he smiled.

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Of course, I'm sure yours is fine,” he reassured you, then added under his breath, “Better than fine, i reckon. Ya look real good…” He stepped closer, and looked around before asking, “Takin’ care of yourself, sugar?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you answered.

He rubbed one side of his beard and said, “Good, good…” Then, he pulled up his pants, rested both hands on his hips, and when your eyes followed his hands, the bulge in his obscene jeans captured your gaze. He shifted his weight onto one foot and patiently waited for your attention to return to his face. “Anyway,” he chuckled. He squinted, looked down at himself, and then raised his eyebrows at you. “You know I'm happy to help ya any way I can, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

His voice was low and husky. “All ya gotta do is spread those legs for me, darlin’.... I'll give ya what ya need.”

“What I need?” you asked.

He adjusted himself, then urged, “Go ahead. Touch it.”

You looked around, face blazing hot. Nobody was looking. He stepped even closer, and you didn't step away.

“Alright, gimme a hug,” he commanded. And when you did, his cock was hard. It twitched against you. “Touch it. Now.”

Your breath hitched, and you were compelled to obey. Pulling your arm out of the hug, you brought your hips back enough to graze it with your wrist. “Uh-huh,” he encouraged you. “Good girl.”

You ran the back of your hand over it, a light massage with the dips and ridges of your knuckles.

“A little squeeze now,” he directed.

Then you put your palm on the warm lump of his denim and squeezed.

“Attagirl,” he cooed and caressed the back of your head. “Yeah, good girl. Wasn't so hard, huh? Gave ya somethin' to think about later.”

He adjusted himself, kissed you on the head, then he gave you a warm smile and cupped your cheek. “See ya soon, sweetheart.”

Jesus, he left you in a puddle of arousal. He could help you with anything you needed.

Even being fucked at the farmer's market, you wondered?

Then you answered yourself - you just had to spread your legs for him.

—------

The Appointment

Dr. Miller was beaming with the certainty of getting laid.

“Been lookin’ forward to this,” he said. “Come on in.” As he shut the exam room door behind you, he glanced at a folded gown on the bed with a chuckle, then picked it up and patted the papered cushion for you to sit doen. He tossed the folded gown onto the counter, then approached you with a dark glint in his eyes. He placed one hand on each of your thighs and gave them a squeeze. “You good, baby? Need my assistant, Mary Jane today?” he offered with a wink, glad to retrieve some weed if you needed help loosening up.

“No, I'm good.”

He spread your knees and got between them, then cradled your head with one hand and brought his nose to your hair to take a deep breath of your scent. “Good girl….’

He peeled off your yoga pants, and you didn't miss the way his eyes darkened. His nostrils flared with a deep breath as your cunt was exposed.

“Time to spread those pretty legs.” He helped your feet into the stirrups. “Scoot on down for me,” he encouraged you from his rolling stool.

“Mm-mm-mm. Look at that pretty pussy,” he murmured to himself.

“Want me to wear gloves?” he asked, and your cheeks heated as you stammered, “um, whatever you think is best.”

A smile spread across his face, and his head tilted forward. “That's my girl. Now, you know I gotta spread you open so I can see all the way in there. Am I gonna find anything? Any wussy little load from your boyfriend?”

“I don't have a boyfriend,” you said.

“Alright. Maybe its been a while, then… I'm gonna help work ya open.”

He rolled over to the counter to get a bottle of lube, and as he returned, your eyes were on the massive bulge between his legs.

He followed your eyes, looked down at himself, and used his entire hand to grab his package with no subtlety at all. He even let out a little grunt. Then he raised a smug eyebrow and cracked, “yeah, you show me yours, i'll show ya mine… in a minute, sugar.”

He squirted lube on his fingers and applied it to the apex of your cunt first, watching it drizzle down over your hole. Starting with both thumbs on either side of your clit, he worked his way down your puffy lips, then back up where he focused on your sensitive bud.

Once he had you churning out your own arousal, he nudged a finger into your entrance, making you gasp. He looked up at you over his glasses. “Tell ya what, darlin’... Go head and take off that shirt for me, will ya? Might as well knock out two exams ” You swallowed and looked around the empty room as though expecting judging eyes, then complied with the doctor's order. He slid his finger in and out of you, then added another. He wet his lips and watched his fingers disappear into your cunt each time he pushed them through your walls.

“She's a tight little pussy, huh? Meow. Sweet little kitty.”

He finger fucked you and brought his other hand to rest on your lower belly as he did it. “It's okay, baby.”

He began to work your clit with his thumb.

“You know the best way to get ya nice and open?” He asked. “Good old-fashioned orgasm. Really does the trick. Open ya right up.” He rubbed your clit expertly. “Might be a little looser for me, but that's okay. Dr. Miller's got a big one,” he chuckled to himself, and your face got so hot it tingled..

“Come on, baby,” he said. “Come on these fingers.” He replaced his thumb on your clit with two flattened fingers. And you were getting close, nearly writhing. Your thigh muscles were tense. Your whole body seemed to tense.

He glanced up and reminded you, “Breathe for me, sweetheart…it's all right now….. breathe,” he kept rubbing at you. “Close your eyes and breathe….” When you closed your eyes, a moment later, you felt the unmistakable slide of his tongue over your clit. Then he sucked, flicked his tongue, and pumped his fingers, and reached up for your breast. With a curl of his fingers inside you, his combination of moves unlocked your peak.

As you were coming, you tried not to make noise. The room felt like it would echo. It felt like it should be a quiet place.

“It's okay,” he reassured you. “Alright, baby…. Let it out.”

You let out a little moan, then he cupped your clit as you finished.

He said, “We got some work to do on that…. But let's get this exam over with.”

“Work to do?” you asked.

“Nothin’, never mind,” he said. “Ooh, she's nice n juicy for me.” he slid a third finger into your cunt and said, “Oh yeah, she's ready.”

‘

He looked at the different speculum sizes, selected one, and lubed it up. He gently eased it in, spread it open, and it clicked into place.

“Ow,” you winced.

“You're okay,” he said, then positioned his snake-neck magnifying lamp to observe inside you.

“Cervix looks healthy, everything normal. Arousal? abundant,” he chuckled to himself. “You're in good shape, sweetheart,” he gave you a proud look over his glasses. “And you're right, I don't see a single sperm in here.” He turned the magnifying lamp off and pushed it out of the way. Then he slid the speculum out and asked, “Now…why don't we fix that, hmm?” Your clit spasmed at his question, and your tongue couldn’t find words.

“Oh baby, I gotta paint those walls,” he rubbed his hand over the hard, thick outline of his cock.

“You don't gotta say nothin’,” he reassured you. “That was our deal. All ya had to do was spread those legs….”

He took his glasses off, stood, and pulled his scrubs down, proudly displaying his massive manhood in his hand. A dew drop beaded at the slit. He positioned himself for entry, with your feet still in the stirrups.

Holding his dick loosely with two fingers, he bounced the tip against your clit, making pleasure shoot through your whole being.

“Yeah, this is what ya came for,” he murmured.

He notched himself at your entrance, grabbed hold of your knees, and pushed his hips forward, watching his cock disappear into your spread-wide cunt. “Mmm,” he moaned and pulled back his hips, watching your pussy cling to his shaft as it retreated.

“Goddamn.”

He plunged to the hilt, bottoming out with a grunt, drawing a moan from you. “You got a real nice little kitty here,” he said. “I think she likes me,” he chuckled to himself.

He buried his cock in you, and his eyes poured over your naked body like it was the most normal thing in the world. His girth was spreading you wider than the speculum had. You thought about what he said and wondered if you were tight enough, even after your orgasm.

“Oh yeah, she's nice and easy,” he narrated. Watching you swallow up his cock, he placed his hand on your lower belly.

He drove his hips into you and panted, “you're a real good girl, lettin’ me stuff you with this cock….yeah…. And now I'm gonna fill up this pretty hole, ‘cause you're such a good girl.”

He fucked you in relative silence for a minute, aside from his moans. “Oh, yeah,” he buried his length in your pussy. “Ugh,” again. “Like that…. Yeah, take it.” He was so big, and you got wetter and wetter, helping his massive shaft slide through your walls. “Goddamn…Oh, God.” He fucked you. “Yeah.” His grunts and curses became more frequent, and his breath grew uneven.

“Fill ya right up," he said. “Gonna come on this cock?” He asked.

“I don't know.” Your voice was shaky.

“That's okay, baby…. no pressure… i’m sure as hell gettin’ off though,” he half-chuckled, then closed his mouth grunted, watching your cunt swallow his length.

His brow furrowed. “Oh, yeah,” and his hips snapped faster. He whispered a curse as his cock began to twitch deep in your center.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhaled with half a laugh as though in disbelief. His mouth stayed open, “Ohhh..” His cock kept twitching, and the warmth spread inside you.

He rubbed your clit, bottomed out, and swirled his hips. Then your spine arched with release.

“Goddamn, baby,” he panted.

“You just let me fill ya right up, huh?” he asked. “Um,” you stammered, “what?”

“Nah, don't answer that, we both saw it….. we both felt it too, didn't we?”

His cock was still inside you. “I was right about her,” he said to himself. “Proud of ya, sweetheart… takin that big load…. Yeah…. Spreadin’ those legs, in the air, takin’ that big fat load…”

He brought his hips back and gently thrust as he spoke to you.

“You must have thought about what I said, huh?”

“What part?” You asked.

“I reckon that's why you're here, ain't it? Some help gettin’ knocked up? His hips swirled.

“Well,” you said, “I dunno…”

“You ain't sure?” He asked. “You better be sure, darlin’. You just had me dump all that baby juice in ya….

He stopped moving his hips and looked at you with skeptical eyes.

“It's alright….we can get it out,” he offered.

He slid his dick out of you and stuffed it back in his pants. Then he sat down on his rolling stool again and looked at your cunt head-on.

His seed was drooling out of your used hole.

He stuffed his fingers in there and began to finger fuck you, hooking his fingers to bring some of his cum out of your depths.

“Hold on,” he said, and then he got the speculum. He inserted the metal device in your pussy again and opened it. He gave a low whistle as he observed your cervix coated in his cum. He grimaced and sucked in air through his

teeth. “She's wide open, sweetheart. Afraid I'm already in…. What day of your cycle are you on?” When you told him, he did some math in his head and said, “oh, okay…. probably won't take this time…..”

He kept looking inside you and said, “you really oughtta see this…” he gave another low whistle. “God damn, she’s pretty dressed in white,” he chuckled.

“You sure you want me to take this all out?”

Your head fell back, “I don't know. Yeah. Can you?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart… try my best. What's in is in, though.”

He fingered you, gathered his cum toward your entrance, and explained, “ain't gonna slop it all out yet or we'll, have a big ol' mess on our hands.”

But once he had gathered the cum all together, he said, “Alright now.”

He used his free hand to lube up your anus and his pinky, which prodded at the tight ring of muscle.

You asked, “What are you doing?” And he said, “helps if i brace myself.”

He worked his finger into you, and said, “Yeah, just like that.” Then withdrew the digit.

Once he was done gathering the semen, he pulled the messy glob all the way to the edge of your anus, then slid his two fingers down, pushing the glob of cum to your asshole.

He pushed as much as he could of it into your ass. “There we go,” he said as he did it. “There we go.”

He took the speculum out of your cunt and asked, “You let a lot of fellas come inside?”

“No,” you answered.

He said, “Hey, no judgment… ya sure did seem to like it….It's okay if ya do,” he said. “But I gotta know. cause when ya do get knocked up, I wanna know if it's my kid or not….Help ya out either way.

Just gotta know what to expect. So, do me a favor and keep track, would ya?” He asked.

“Keep track of what?” You asked.

“However many guys are stickin’ their dicks in ya, from here on out…. Can ya do that for me?”

“Yes, I'm not really having sex with anyone," you explained.

“We'll see," he said. “Ya know, there's actually some advantages of having multiple partners, especially in the same night or so… right in that ovulation window… If I'm not available and you just gotta get pregnant.”

All you could do was listen.

“If that's the case, make sure ya get at least two or three of them shooting loads up in there…. That way, if any of’em got bad sperm or dumb genes, the other guys will beat them out.” He looked like he'd just shared a secret with you. “Ya know, the more DNA ya got, the better chance of gettin’ a really good sperm.”

Then he brought himself back to reality and said, “But you're in luck, ‘cause *all* of Dr. Miller's sperm is good.” He gave you a wink, then added, “When you're ready, of course.” He wiped you and helped you get dressed again.

“Good girl,” he said as he finished putting your pants back on.

When you got home and looked at the mirror, you understood his gaze differently. You were so wrecked, it looked like you had been in some kind of accident.

He seemed pleased by how you looked, and the way he gazed at you made you feel beautiful.

-

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YOU CAN GET PREGNANT ANY TIME OF MONTH.

-

Thank you for reading! 🖤

FYI I wrote this by voice, and the meow was high- pitched.

You can join the bad doc fam, but it's not a tag list

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

you’ll braid my hair, babe.. ♡

you were sat crosslegged in front of the fireplace in the cabin you and joel called home. you always felt safe and calm around him and knew he would protect you, he was like your prince charming — just a little greyer and older.

joel sat behind you, running his calloused hands gently over your shoulders. “cmon baby, gimmie that little ribbon.” the warm flames of the fire cast gentle shadows on your face in the dim light of the living room, you felt cozy and loved - all dolled up in a pretty little set joel had found for you. you slipped the white ribbon into joels waiting hand. “braid please.” you asked sweetly.

joel planted a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “good girl.” he praised, he loved hearing your manners — you preened at his praise. his glasses sat low on his nose as he concentrated thoroughly on braiding your hair. he hadn’t done it in a while, his thick fingers fumbled over your soft strands of hair a little but he got it eventually. “cmon up.” he said softly, patting his lap after tying the end of your braid with a little bow.

you giggled sweetly and hopped onto his lap, snuggling up against his big chest. “thank you daddy.” joel smiles against your temple, leaving a soft kiss there, his big hand grips your asscheek. a small whine escapes your lips as you rock gently against his meaty thigh. “whatcha so squirmy for babygirl?” he chuckles, nipping your earlobe — almost like a dog would to its puppy.

his large hand cupped your cunt through your silky shorts, almost like a warning. “you hurtin’ here little one?” he asked, pushing the heel of his palm into your clit drawing a needy moan from your throat. “yeah that’s it, daddy’ll take care of ya.” he grunted, sliding his fingers past the seam of your underwear. you shyly buried your head into his chest, a small whimper escaping your lips when his fingers swirled around your clit with precision — he played with your body like it was a special instrument. he knew you too well.

you gripped onto his flannel, bucking your hips into his hand as he stroked along your slit knowing exactly where to touch to make you squirm and whimper in his grasp. “attagirl” he praised. “d-daddy..!” you yelped as he slid two fingers into your tight heat, curling them just right to feel that little gummy spot inside you that made you squeal. “fuckin’ look atcha, creamin’ all over daddy’s fingers” he chuckled. your eyes rolled back as he pumped his thick fingers in and out of your little hole. “daddy ‘m gonna cum.” you moaned, gripping onto his shoulder as tight as possible. he punched his fingers against your g-spot a few more times before you let go, pearly cream leaking out around his fingers. “yeahhh good girl.” he cooed. “look so pretty when ya cum princess.” licking off your tangy arousal from his fingers.

oh how you adored your old man..

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

rock (hard) candy sweet 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

you were laying on your tummy in your bedroom, soft hair spilling over your shoulders as you basked in the evening sunlight spilling through the window to your bedroom. your bed was made, cute pink blanket folded neatly. joel had picked that one out for you, it had strawberries on it. you hummed to yourself as you drew pretty little illustrations in your journal. joel had been on patrol all day and you missed him so you decided to draw him something pretty.

joel had a rough day on patrol, he admitted it to himself. tommy breathing down his neck the entire time didn’t do anything the entire time except piss him off. he was all pent up and couldn’t wait to see his favourite girl. the thud of his boots startled you a little out of your trance, drawing a cute little fish in an aquarium landscape. you hoped joel liked your drawing you made him.. you even coloured it all pretty with your new crayons.

joel padded upstairs eventually, softly grunting with each step as his knees cracked fuck he was getting old now, too old to keep up with you some days. he peeked his head into your room, it was all pink and soft decorated the way you liked. the pink paint was a pain in the ass to find but he adored you so he obviously searched for days to find some. he smiled to himself when he saw you all pretty and sprawled out on the plush rug in the middle of the room, the sunlight from the windows beaming down onto your soft skin. you were wearing the new silky white dress he had got for you a few days ago “hey babygirl.” he said gruffly, approaching you.

“i missed you!” you squeaked, looking up at him adoringly as he came to sit next to you on the rug — you beamed sweetly at him, shoving your little journal into his hands. “daddy i drew for you see!” you smiled “do you like it? i was thinking about you all day.” joel gripped your hand gently, pulling you into his lap as he chuckled and admired the little drawing you made for him. “it’s so pretty, just like you cupcake.” he murmured, burying his nose into the crown of your head and sniffing your hair. you smelled like raspberry shampoo, vanilla and your own unique musk it was his favourite scent and it was all you.

“you’re a good artist babygirl, i can tell you’ve been practicing.” his voice was so soft and careful when he talked to you, like if he talked too loud he might shatter you to pieces. you felt his solid bulge beneath you, a little whine escaping your lips. “daddy you’re all excited.” you whispered, scared to talk too loud in case anyone would hear — no one would, but you were a shy little thing. “yeah ‘m all excited to see ya huh?” he said, low and gravelly in your earlobe as he nipped at the skin behind your ear. “be good ‘n take it out for daddy?” he said kissing your cheek. “give ya old man a proper welcome home.”

you didn’t have to be told twice, wriggling out of his grasp you crawled off his lap to move in front of him and started to take off his pants. slender fingers grasped the buckle as you undid his belt, sliding it from the loops and then popping open his zipper. his cock sprung out, leaking and red, his curls wild at his base. “daddy’s so pretty.” you hummed, more to yourself. joel groaned at your soft words before pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. “daddy’s had a hard day, make me all better babygirl.”

you grasped his base, squeezing it tightly before looking up at him with those pretty doe eyes of yours, fluttering your lashes as you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock. fuck you were gonna be the death of him. “no teasin’ now.” joel held the base of your skull, pushing you down onto his cock. eyes watering as his sticky tip hit the back of your throat causing you to gag — he groaned, your throat muscles contracting around his sensitive flesh. “fuck babygirl ‘m gonna cum straight down ya throat if ya do that again.” you kept sucking him greedily, drooling all over his lap and making a mess of him, eyes all glassy and hair all messy. he loved when you looked all fucked like this for him, making him start fucking up into your throat.

“yeah lemme use ya just like that.” he grunted, gripping your head tighter as he fucked your throat. “such’a good lil’ cocksucker.” you moaned around his cock at his filthy words, feeling slick coat your inner thighs at this point from how much you were dripping — being used and letting joel use you like this always got you riled up. his balls hit your chin now, each thrust getting more sloppy as you gagged and moaned around him trying to rip him over the edge. you slipped a hand into your panties, a loud moan tearing from your throat and sending vibrations through his whole body. that tipped him over the edge. “fuck! ‘m cummin’ yeah drink daddy’s load.” he shot pearly ropes down your throat and he fucking moaned, out loud. you drank it all up, pulling off and licking your lips. “thank you daddy.” you said sweetly, saliva dripping onto your tits. “do i get a reward now?”

pls be nice guys ive been debating posting this all day 🥹🙏 it’s not my best !!! but im trying … divider credit to @ kodaswrld

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Bambi ~ Part one

series masterpost here pedro pascal masterlist

a/n: this is quite long, I hope it keeps you fed while I prepare the next part!! feedback is always welcomed!! i will be gnawing at the bars of my enclosure ok bye!

mentions: post-outbreak / apocalyptic setting, dubcon/coercion themes, blood mention, obsession/possessiveness, power imbalance, reader is of age (above 18), naive reader (soft/innocent/inexperienced), fingering, non-explicit violence & threats, gun use, manipulation & emotional control, possessiveness, praise kink, possible other kinks, punishments,, “daddy” kink, shared reader (Joel x Reader x Tommy), pet names (Bambi, sweet girl, good girl, our girl), domestic elements turned dark, mental confusion & emotional overwhelm, morally gray to fully unhinged dark Miller brothers

Reader discretion strongly advised. Dark themes throughout. Minors DNI ❌ This is a work of fiction and does not reflect healthy or ideal relationships!!! 

Do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own. 

⟡━━━ ✦ 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗳𝗶𝗰 ahead ✦ ━━━⟡

The forest is quiet at night, too quiet for its own sake. There used to be more life out here. Crickets chirping. Frogs croaking. Birds or bats darting through the dark sky. Now there’s nothing. Just still trees and dead air, like the whole forest is holding its breath.

“You know what I miss the most about the woods?” Joel asks, voice low as he walks beside his brother, their shotguns slung across their backs.

 Tommy turns to him and huffs, waiting for his brother to respond to his question.“Deers” Tommy hums in approval, “Used to see ‘em all the time, this time of night.” 

“You miss watchin’ ‘em or huntin’ ‘em?”  Tommy snorts, Joel huffs a quiet laugh—

—and then it happens.

A sudden flash of motion cuts through the trees. Small, fast. Barely there.

Both of them stop. 

Silence. 

Alert. 

They are quick to grab their shotguns and scan the shadows with their guns pointed, expecting another movement. Eyes sharp, bodies tensed. 

Joel’s voice drops, almost amused. “Well, speak of the devil…”

Tommy steps forward, eyes narrowed. “You saw that?”

Joel is already scanning the brush. “Yeah. Could’ve been a rabbit. Could’ve been somethin’ else.”

Another motion. Left this time. Farther.

They both turn, guns half-lifted.

Joel mutters, “Whatever it is, it’s movin’ smart.”

Tommy nods. “Too smart.”

A beat passes. Then Joel speaks.

“Split?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, already turning to flank. “We circle the woods. If it’s still out here—we’ll find it.”

They part in silence, each splitting through the trees like they already know the drill, they’ve done this a hundred times by now. 

Joel moves through the right,  slow and deliberate, each of his steps deliberate. Meanwhile, Tommy veers to the other direction; his steps are lighter and his eyes cut through the dark like a blade, scanning everything in sight.

You’re out there moving fast, barefoot and running out of air. Your legs are tired and bruised from all the times you’ve tripped. You don’t know how far you’ve gotten by now, but you can’t risk it, you can’t risk being found by him. 

You’re trying your best, but panic keeps you clumsy, and every snap of a branch is louder than it should be. The leaves rustle with every move you make, which guides Joel closer to your location. 

You don’t know they are close. 

They don’t know if you’re a wild animal, a person, or just an illusion. 

They’re not here to hurt you, but you don’t know that. They are just as curious as you, and just as cautious. 

They keep circling you, it’s like a never-ending game. They move, you move, they move again. Joel on one side, Tommy on the other. Each move draws the noose tighter, but they don’t know how close they are yet; they just feel it. 

You’re not trying to be found, but you’ve been on the run for long enough now. Your body aches, and your vision is blurry from the adrenaline and the fact that, along the way, you had lost your glasses. You weave through the trees, ducking under branches and trunks of trees, your hands in front of you leading the way until your foot catches around thorns. 

You don’t scream or cry, but it’s evident you’ve fallen due to the solid thud of your body hitting the ground. The game is over; they’ve found you. Joel turns and runs in your direction. Tommy, though a bit further, hears the sound as well and freezes. 

Branches hit Joel’s body as he pushes forward through the forest, deeper into the darkness, with only his flashlight in hand, his shotgun lowered in his other hand. 

And that's when he finds you curled on the ground, legs smeared with dirt as well as your clothes, and your hair is a tangled mane with leaves. You stare at the figure of Joel like a deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes are wide, frozen. 

He just stands there looking at you, neither of you says a word. A part of him relaxes, you’re just a girl. His eyes then trail over your shape, too small, too soft, too human. 

“Huh, not exactly what I expected to find.” He murmurs mostly to himself. 

Joel keeps the flashlight on your face just enough to keep you stunned, your eyes don’t leave the light, too afraid to move, and quite honestly, too blinded to know what to do next, but your body remains tense, muscles twitching like you’re ready to bolt and run in any direction.

You watch him as he moves two fingers close to his mouth and lets out a specific whistle, alerting someone else that he has found you. Low and controlled, he repeats it for Tommy to hear and waits for his response. 

Tommy whistles back as he makes his way to Joel, and to you now as well. 

Joel crouches slowly as if he were face to face with a wild, wounded animal. You don’t move at all. You don’t know who or what he is or what his intentions are. Joel is checking to see if you were infected. Thankfully, your short dress allowed him to inspect your body without getting too close. He’s seen enough infected people by now to know what to look for and how they look alike. He also looks to check if you carry any weapons on you, investigating what kind of girl you are. 

Were you a savage? 

Were you running from danger? 

Were you lost? 

“You gon bite me if I touch you?” he asks in a low voice. You don’t answer, just shake your head, barely breathing. “Alright then, let’s see what you are.” 

He gets slightly closer now, you can feel his breathing close to yours, and the warmth that radiates from his body. Joel kneels right in front of you, flashlight set on the ground gently. He scans your body, not touching yet. 

“Were you hurt?” he asks softly, afraid to scare you off. “Can you tell me your name? Where you come from?” 

You don’t make a sound, just blink up at him slowly, your chest rising and falling like the adrenaline is coming down. He watches your face, tight with fear and filthy with dirt, and he reaches out to you with his arm slowly. His fingers are rough, but he remains gentle nonetheless. 

He moves the hair from your face, gently cradles your chin as he looks into your eyes, before lowering his sight to check for scratches.

Your eyes are clear. Not infected, checked. 

Lips are dry, but no blood or foam in sight. 

No signs of a bite. 

Joel shifts closer, now checking your arms, elbows, and shoulders as he scans for any wounds or shivers. You don’t move at all the whole time. Too scared to try anything or make him think you would do something. 

“My name is Joel,” he says, meeting your eyes again, “I’m not here to hurt you, understand me?” 

You stare at him for a beat too long, Joel wonders if you can even speak at all. 

You nod once, small but enough for him to catch. 

Joel exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. Encountering you feels like an encounter with a deer, wide-eyed, silent, frightened and too delicate for this kind of world.

Yet still alive, and perhaps willing to be led. 

The moment is interrupted by the appearance of Tommy. 

Branches crack under his boots as he pushed through the brush, eyes sharp and his gun still raised. His flashlight lands on Joel, then on you. 

“What the hell?” 

Joel lifts a hand. “Easy. Put it down Tommy” 

Tommy doesn’t move at first, his gaze set on your dirt smeared wide eyes as you stare back at him. 

“She infected?” he asks, voice low. 

“No” Joel says “Not infected, not hurt either. I checked” 

Tommy hesitates and Joel asks him to put down the gun again. He obligues, slow and careful like defusing a bomb. 

Joel turns back to you “C’mon sweetheart, let me help you up” 

He reaches for you, carefully. You hesitate and after a pause you take his hand.

Tommy watches your legs tremble as you rise, body sluggish, muscles weak from exhaustion but you don’t stumble. It’s like watching Bambi trying to stand. 

You move behind Joel. 

Your hand curls tight around the fabric of his sleeves, fingers digging into his forearm enough to anchor yourself. You watch Tommy as you hide behind Joel’s shoulder. 

Joel doesn’t flinch but Tommy watches you closely. 

“You trust him already?” he asks. 

You don’t respond, but Joel does. 

“She doesn’t know me,” 

Yet still you stand right there, behind a man you just met.

Joel feels the way your figure warms his back, looking for warmth yourself, your fingers digging into his arm and hears your staggering breaths. 

You don’t know him at all, but you know he’s not the one you’re running from. Neither is Tommy, although you’re just as skeptical as him. Your nose twitches slightly catching smells. The men scent, wood, sweat, trees and dirt.

They smell like the woods, like safety in a way that confuses you. 

You don’t know why you lean into trusting them, but you do. 

“Well shit, what did we just find?” Tommy mutters finally “What do we do about her?” 

Joel doesn’t answer. His hand rises, steady and low and rests over yours on his arm. You feel the calloused rough palm set on top of your frozen hand. 

It’s not spoken, but they both seem to have agreed to take you back to their cabin. 

They lead you through the forest path, Joel at your side while Tommy walks behind watching the two of you. His gun is still lowered but his arm remains tense. 

The flashlight leads the way and cuts forward, flickering over roots and moss. The arm that’s not gripping Joel presses against trees, guiding yourself through your senses like you don’t trust the flashlight enough. 

Joel keeps a close eye on you, glancing over in case your legs give out and he has to carry you himself at any given moment. The two of you are silent, but Tommy though, he’s certainly not quiet. 

“So where do you come from?” he starts, voice firm as he asks a thousand questions. “You got family out here? Camp nearby? You run off from someone?” 

You turn your head to look at him, your lips parted but you don’t emit an answer. You neither shake or nod your head. 

Tommy keeps asking questions. 

“Why were you running?” Still nothing. “You look like you’ve been out here for a while, someone chasing you?” 

You swallow hard, your steps falter and you almost trip. 

You turn your head forward, focusing on your steps that you barely see. 

“I’m talkin’ to you” Tommy says now louder. 

You flinch at the tone of his voice. Head ducking and your body curling to Joel’s looking for a sense of protection. 

“I–” you don’t remember a single thing, memories blur as you try to think of what to say. “I– I don’t know” 

“You don’t know?” He scoffs and stops walking. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You don’t know?” 

You shrink back instantly. His tone, the pressure of his questions and the rapid fire of them banging at the door. If you weren’t holding yourself so tightly to Joel right now, you’d flee like a scared deer. 

“Enough questions now, Tommy” Joel cuts in, exhausted from the scene. “Let’s get her inside and we can keep going at this there” 

“Oh so we’re bringing complete strangers into the cabin now. That’s great” 

“Tommy–”

“What if this is a trap, huh? What if she’s not alone? What if there’s a group of people expecting for us to be at the door and storm in? What if they’re waiting for us to drag her inside?” 

Joel hesitates. 

He doesn’t want to believe a word he says, he doesn’t think any of it its true. 

They both turn to you. You’ve gone silent again with the tone of Tommy’s voice. 

Their flashlight catching your face again. 

Lips parted. Eyes glossy filled with fear. Trembling breaths.

Not the kind of fear you feel from hiding something, rather the kind of fear when you’re about to break. 

You’re a deer caught in the headlights. Too scared to breathe, lie or even run away.

If you knew anything or had any kind of information, you’d spill the second they push harder. 

“Let’s just get her inside first.” 

The door creaks open and you step into a bubble of warmth. Your leggs stutter as you cross the threshold. Fire crackles somewhere in the corner, inside a black box. 

Their scent is so much stronger inside the cabin, it smells of pine, smoke and whiskey. 

There’s a couch sitting under a large window, it’s covered with a few worn in blankets and a jacket lays in the arm rest. There’s a small kitchen good enough for both of them to make use of it  and a wooden table with four chairs. 

Tommy shuts the door behind you and stays near it. Joel on the other hand, moves slowly, guiding you over to the couch. 

“You can take a seat” he offers “You’re safe” 

You hover over to the couch but you don’t sit just yet. You’re not sure what to do with all this warmth, the cushions, the blankets. 

Joel sighed and heads to the kitchen, you watch as he takes a can and sets it on the surface. He pours into a bowl and brings it back to you. The smell of stew becomes more intense with every step he takes in your direction. 

You stare at the bowl in his hands like it’s a test. What even is it? Is it really for you?

“You should eat something” he says gently. 

You look up at him, then back at the bowl, then at him again before taking the bowl from his hands slowly. 

Tommy watches the whole scene and mutters under his breath. “Yeah, totally not suspicious” 

“Tommy” Joel shoots him a look, “She’s probaby  in shock” 

“She’s in something”

You flinch again and Joel catches it. He takes the bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

“Alright, you can eat when you’re ready” he murmurs “We will give you space.” 

He backs away, nodding toward the kitchen. Tommy hesitates, then follows—just a few meters, not far. Not out of earshot. Definitely not out of sight.

Joel opens the fridge with a soft creak, pulls out two beers, and offers one wordlessly. Tommy takes it, eyes never leaving you as he brings the bottle to his lips.

No one speaks.

The fire crackles quietly, casting dancing shadows along the floor. Somewhere outside, the wind brushes against the cabin walls like a whisper.

You hear your own breath, and then – your stomach growls. Loud. Desperate.

The sound feels foreign, you hadn’t heard it in a while and it seemed your body just remembered it needs something. 

Legs folding beneath you as you sink onto the edge of the couch, cautious and unsure. Your fingers reach for the bowl Joel left behind. 

You inspect the bowl before you take a bite, stirring the thick mixture—bits of potato, carrot, some kind of meat. You don’t care what any of it is. The stew hits your tongue, a warm salty flavour that seems to wake up a memory. It’s so distant in your mind that you can’t reach it. 

They both watch you as you eat from the bowl, Tommy leans on the counter, his expression unreadable. Joel is less obvious as he drinks his beer.

You finish the last bit of stew and the spoon clinks softly against the bowl. You set it back on the table and Joel takes it as a signal to move closer, perhaps you’re ready to talk now. 

You clean your mouth with the back of your hand and rest it on your lap, anchoring yourself to the couch. 

Joel’s boots step closer, slowly through the wooden floor. He crouches down beside you at eye level while Tommy watches from the kitchen. He’s still suspicious—but something in his gaze shifts. Just a little. Less predator. More puzzled. Curious.

“You remember anything yet?” 

You stay in silence and shut your eyes tightly. As if you could squeeze the memories, look through your skull for any piece of information. And it does, but its not what you want. It’s far too painful to open that door inside your memory lane. 

There’s a shotgun, your mother screaming, crying in pain and lots of blood. And then running endlessly. Your breath tearing through your lungs, your barefeet raw agains stone and soil. Your glasses fall somewhere in the middle of the road. 

You gasp and your eyes open – wide and glassy. 

Joel doesn’t move an inch. 

Tommy straightens, his jaw tightens. 

“What was it?” he asks gently. You shake your head. 

“I don’t…I don’t know” you whisper, your voice hoarse from not having spoken in so long. 

“Try” Tommy says from the kitchen, you both turn your heads to him and you nod. 

“There was…blood. And someone crying. I think—I think it was my mom” 

Joel’s gaze darkens but his voice stays at the same level as before. “You remember a name? Yours? Hers?”

You shake your head again, frustrated at the lack of memory. 

Tommy shifts his weight and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Jesus, what happened to you?” 

You look down at your lap, Joel interrupts. “You’re safe now, that’s what matters”

But are you really safe? With them? 

You want to feel safe, a part of the warmth allows you to. 

But there’s something left unsaid, something you quite haven’t figured out yet. 

Joel takes the blankets without saying a word and moves slowly over you. You’ve curled yourself on your side, he set a cushion under your head. He tucks the edges so the blanket doesn’t slip when you turn. 

You don’t move at all. 

Not when his hand pauses near your shoulder, not when he lingers too long watching your face in the soft flicker of firelight. Joel pulls back, leaving you alone on the couch and you heard the floorboards creaking under his boots. He turns to Tommy and signals to go outside to talk in private.

You can’t sleep. 

You should be exhausted due to all the running and the adrenaline rush, but your body remains alert. You hear them talking somewhere near the window, their voices low like the things they’re saying are not meant for your ears. 

Your eyes stay shut, breaths slow and steady. 

“What are we going to do with her?” Tommy murmurs. 

Joel doesn’t answer right away. 

“You saw her,” he says after a beat “She’s got no one. Not a memory, not even a name” 

“Yeah, not even a single survival instinct” he scoffs. Joel nods slow, agreeing with Tommy. 

The silence stretches long enough for both of them to sigh. 

“We’re keeping her” Joel says after a beat. 

“You serious?” Tommy turns to him “Joel, this isn’t some dog we found in the woods” 

“No, it’s not a dog, it’s a deer if anything. You saw her wide-eyes staring at our flashlights like a deer caught. She’s lucky we found her first” 

Your chest tightens as you listen to Joel’s voice. 

“The way she followed me, grabbed my arm. Like i was hers, like i was her anchor if something bad were to happen” he pauses “It means everything” 

“You like her?” Tommy turns to Joel, their eyes meet. Joel doesn’t answer. “I do too”

More silence. 

“We’ll take care of her” 

Joel flicks ash off his cigarette and says nothing, he turns to look at the cabin as if you could hear them through the walls. He wishes you could. 

You curl deeper under the blanket. The fabric still smells like firewood and soap and something faintly like him.

And behind your eyelids, all you can see is that shotgun again. The blood. Your mother’s scream.

And their voices now too. 

Eventually your body gave out. Not from safety but pure exhaustion that had clawed its way through your body. You didn’t dream of anything. Didn’t make it to the edge of a nightmare. 

Just completely blacked out. But before sleep took you, you’d felt them. 

The cabin door opened and you could hear quiet steps across the floor. You remained still with your eyes closed. Joel stood near you, close enough to feel. Then Tommy did as well. Neither of them touched you but you could feel their gaze before they each went to their rooms. 

Next morning 

You wake up to the smell of bacon. 

Salt and smoke and something almost sweet. Maple perhaps? Your eyes flutter slowly, vision still clouded with sleep. 

Joel is in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, a pan sizzling in front of him. The morning light cuts through the window in long slats casting a golden color over the room. 

Tommy is already awake. He’s sitting at the table, leaned back in the chair, a mug in hand. He’s not drinking, just holding it. Watching you. 

You sit up slowly and the blanket slips off your shoulder, pooling down your side. His eyes follow and look at your bare skin. He doesn’t look away, just looks harder. He’s not being subtle in the slightest and he knows it. 

Your throat tightens and you shift, you pull the blanket back like an armor and Tommy watches as you do. 

Joel glances over his shoulder as he serves the bacon in three different plates. “She’s up” 

“She sure is” Tommy’s gaze lingers for a moment before taking a sip. 

You feel uneasy, not unsafe but the way he’s staring at you like he could eat you right there and then was disturbing.Just yesterday, he didn’t want to let you inside the cabin. Now, you can feel it in his silence:He wouldn’t be able to let you out.

Joel, on the other hand, moves like nothing’s wrong.

He sets two plates on the table, one in front of the empty seat—yours. He nods at it casually, then looks down at you with a faint, unreadable smile.

“Here you go, Bambi.”

Your brows pull slightly. “What?”

“Figured since you don’t remember a name,” he says, setting down a mug of something warm—tea surely—“we might as well call you somethin’.”

You blink at him. Bambi. You should protest. But you don’t.

“That alright with you?” Tommy smiles at you. 

You just nod, slow, your stomach fluttering in ways you can’t explain.

The nickname clings to you like smoke. Innocent, sweet—and completely theirs.

You pull out the chair with a soft scrape and sit down, directly across from them. Tommy starts eating his plate of bacon while you stare down at yours as if trying to figure out what it is. 

“So we talked last night,” Joel starts as he takes a seat and relaxes back into the chair, chatting like its an everyday breakfast. You glance up at him, his voice is warm and calm.

 “You’re going to be staying with us,” he adds “if you want to, of course.” 

He lets the words sit there, lets you feel the kindness in them. Like you have a say.

But the truth seeps in anyway.

Where would you go?

Who would you find out there? Would you have food? A warm place to sleep? Would anyone keep you safe the way they would?

You hesitate.

Not because you’re unsure of the answer.

But because you know you’ve already lost the choice.

Joel watches you with a steady, comforting gaze—like he knows you’re working it all out. Like he’s giving you time to accept the truth.

And then Tommy speaks.

His voice is quieter this time. Measured. Different from the way he barked at you in the woods.

“Look,” he says, leaning slightly forward, elbows braced on the table. “I know I was... rough yesterday.”

You don’t meet his eyes.

He notices. He softens further.

“I get it. You’re scared. That’s fair.”

Tommy’s voice is lower now, softer than you’ve ever heard it. No edge, no sharpness—just quiet understanding. He offers the faintest smile. 

Trying to shape himself into something gentle. Something safe.

“But you don’t gotta be scared of us,” he says, eyes fixed on yours. “Ever.”

You glance away, uncertain.

He leans in just a little, voice dropping further—soothing, almost tender.

“We just want you to feel safe. That’s one of the many things we can offer you, if you let us.”

You swallow.

The words settle deep. Deeper than you want to admit. There’s no threat in them—but somehow, they still hold weight.

If you let us.

As if there’s a choice.

As if you haven’t already been folded into the center of their world without even realizing it.

Joel stays quiet, letting Tommy do the talking. But his eyes are on you, steady. 

The air feels thick.

You grip your fork tighter. Your eyes burn, but not with tears—just heat, tension, exhaustion.

And still—something in you wants to believe him. Wants to believe it could be that simple.

You nod, barely.

And your voice—quiet, hoarse, uncertain—slips out before you can stop it.

“...Okay.”

Just one word.

But Joel shifts when he hears it.

His eyes flick toward Tommy, then back to you. There’s something unreadable in his expression—something settled.

Tommy leans back slightly in his chair, but not far. Like he’s giving you space, but not too much.

Like he’s proud of himself.

Joel speaks next, quieter than before.

“Good, Bambi,” Joel says, voice low and easy. “Happy to have you on board.”

You give him a small smile—tight, unsure. But you offer it anyway.

And that’s more than enough.

He sees it. Feels it.

That flicker of willingness, of trust—however faint—is all he needs.

His hand brushes his thigh as he stands. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast,” he says, gesturing to your full plate, “and we’ll find you something clean to wear.”

You glance down at your clothes—mud-streaked, torn at the hem, dried blood in places you don’t want to think about.

You nod, quiet again. “Okay.”

Tommy stands too, stretching his arms, voice light. “Reckon we got some stuff she can use in the back. Closet’s got a few things.”

Joel takes his and Tommy’s plate and heads to the sink to clean up while you dive into your bacon and eggs. 

“How’s the taste, Bambi?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You pause, blinking at him. Chewing.

“It’s good,” you say softly, then add—because it feels expected—“Thank you.”

His smile deepens. Not smug. Not proud. Just… satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmurs under his breath as he turns back to the sink.

You’re not sure if he meant for you to hear that. But you do. And it settles deep.

Tommy returns from the hallway with a modest pile of clothes in his arms—folded, clean, and smelling faintly like cedar and something deeper beneath it.

“There weren’t many options,” he says, setting them down neatly on the couch, “but it’s more than I thought we had.”

You glance at the stack. An old flannel. A plain black hoodie. Two shirts. Pants. Sweatpants. Even a pair of underwear—too big, but clean.

You blink. It’s more than you expected. More than you’ve had in a long time.

Tommy takes a step back and gives you a quick once-over—not leering, but assessing. His gaze lingers just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Think you might wanna get cleaned up first,” he says, tone still easy. “When’s the last time you took a shower?”

You look down at yourself—dirt-streaked skin, dried blood on your arms, your clothes stiff with sweat and earth. Your face grows hot.

You’ve been so focused on their scent. So taken by the safety, the fire, the comfort of not being alone—

You forgot your own.

Do you stink?

You shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious. You don’t meet his eyes. You just shake your head slowly.

Tommy nods once and gestures down the hallway. “Bathroom’s the first door on the right. Hot water still works. Use whatever you need.”

Joel speaks up from the sink. “We’ll keep your breakfast warm.”

You stand, hands curling around the blanket at your chest.

Still watching. Still being watched.

The hallway is dim, the floor cool beneath your bare feet as you move toward the door Tommy pointed out. You clutch the pile of clothes against your chest, the blanket slipping away behind you.

The bathroom is small but clean. A mirror above the sink, fogged slightly from earlier use. You can still smell them in here—soap, cologne, cedarwood.

You lock the door.

Not because you think they’ll barge in.

But because it’s the first time since arriving that you’re alone.

You exhale shakily and set the clothes on the edge of the sink. There’s a towel waiting for you, neatly folded on a stool. A bar of soap. A bottle of shampoo that smells vaguely like pine and smoke. And draped carefully over the hook behind the door— a shirt.

Too big. Soft cotton. Joel’s, clearly.

You know it before you even touch it. You’ve smelled it on him, in the air, in the kitchen. It's clean, yes—but it carries him.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the hem of your shirt. You strip slowly, peeling away the days-old clothes, layer by layer, like skin that no longer belongs to you.

You avoid the mirror.

You don’t want to see yourself like this—hollow-eyed, bruised, thin.

You step into the shower.

When the water hits you—hot, real—it almost breaks you. You brace a hand on the wall, forehead pressed to cool tile, body trembling under the weight of heat and memory.

You don’t cry.

You just breathe. Shallow, shaky. Like you’re still hiding in the woods.

When you finish, you dry off and reach for the clothes. You pull on the underwear—too loose. The sweatpants—soft, drawstring pulled tight. And then…

Joel’s shirt.

It slips over your body, down past your thighs, sleeves hanging low. You wrap your arms around yourself instinctively, inhaling the scent baked into the fabric.

You step out of the bathroom, warm skin wrapped in softness—Joel’s shirt, pulled from the hook behind the door. It’s not the one Tommy had folded for you. It’s not even one either of them offered.

You just… took it.

It hangs loose over your frame, the sleeves swallowing your hands. Paired with the sweatpants—drawstring cinched tight at your waist—you feel strangely small. Hidden. Safe.

You walk barefoot into the main room, fingers tucked into the hem of the shirt. Your hair is still damp, clinging to your neck.

Tommy’s sitting at the table, lacing up his boots. Jacket already on. About to leave.

Joel is leaning back in his chair, cradling a mug in one hand. His gaze finds you the moment you walk in—and stays there.

Not moving. Not blinking.

Tommy glances up at the sound of your footsteps. 

You hesitate, arms tightening around yourself just slightly. “It’s… all a bit big but…” you say quietly, eyes flicking to him. “Uhm… thank you, Tommy.”

His gaze dips over the outfit—familiar fabric. Joel’s shirt. “No problem, Bambi,” he says with a soft smile. “We’ll find you proper clothes real soon.”

Joel doesn’t say anything.

But you feel his attention settle on the shirt. The way it drapes over your frame. The way you picked his without being told. Something shifts in his eyes, he’s got that look again—like you’re already his, and now you’ve confirmed it.

He sets his mug down and rises to his feet slowly.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice calm. “We kept your plate.”

You nod.

And when he walks past you to reheat the food, his hand brushes gently along your back. Barely there.

You eat slowly, the warmth of the food grounding you more than you expect.

The cabin feels quiet this morning. Still. The kind of stillness that hints at routine, at repetition. You watch as Tommy zips up his jacket, slings a rifle over his shoulder like it’s second nature.

He moves with practiced rhythm. Comfortable. Like he’s done this a hundred times before.

And you wonder—what is this?

What do they do all day?

How far do they go?

Where do you fit into that rhythm?

You swallow your bite, fingers tightening slightly around your fork.

“Tommy?” you ask, voice quiet, gentle—like it’s not even your place to know where he goes. 

He turns, halfway to the door. “Yeah?”

You hesitate for a moment.

“Where are you going?”

He pauses, then lets out a small breath, turning fully to face you.

“Just out on a run,” he says. “Checkin’ the perimeter, makin’ sure the traps are still set. Gotta keep this place safe.”

You nod, looking down again.

It’s not the answer that matters. It’s the fact that you asked.

Joel glances at you from across the room, something flickering in his expression. You don’t see it—but Tommy does.

“Joel’ll stay with you,” Tommy adds after a beat. “You’ll be alright.”

You nod again, smaller this time.

Joel, still watching, sets your reheated plate down in front of you and murmurs, “You can ask things like that, y’know.”

You blink up at him.

Joel’s voice is warm. Steady. But there’s a weight under it.

“You live here now, Bambi,” he says. “That makes this your place too.”

And something about that… feels final.

The door clicks shut behind Tommy, and for the first time since last night—it’s just you and Joel.

The quiet returns, thicker now. It settles in the cabin like fog.

Joel clears his throat as he moves to the sink, rinsing your empty plate. “You eat good?”

You nod. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He glances at you over his shoulder. “You’re polite. That’s good.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

He dries his hands and leans against the counter, just watching you for a moment. Not in a way that makes you shrink—more like he’s thinking something he’s not saying.

Then, his voice lowers slightly. “You look better.”

You blink up at him.

“In clean clothes,” he adds, gesturing to the shirt you took. “In mine.”

Your face warms. You hug your arms across your stomach.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it.”

He shakes his head, stepping toward you. “Don’t be sorry. I like it.” 

Joel’s closer now, only a few feet away.

The fire cracks gently. Rain starts tapping at the windows. The outside world dulls, disappears.

“You tired?” he asks.

You shrug. “A little.”

Joel nods toward the couch. “Wanna rest? I’ll sit with you a while. Won’t talk if you don’t want me to.”

You hesitate.

But you nod.

He sits first, leaning back on the cushions, legs spread. He pats the space beside him.

“C’mere.”

You sit beside him slowly, careful not to brush too close. But the couch is small, and your shoulder rests against his bicep.

His warmth seeps into you.

His scent as well.

You don’t speak. You just sit there, soaking in the quiet.

And then—Joel shifts slightly.

His hand lifts. Not fast, not forceful. Just rises and curls gently over the back of your neck. His thumb brushes the edge of your jaw.

You turn your head slightly, looking up at him.

“You okay?” he asks, voice lower now. Almost a whisper.

You nod. “Mhm.”

And you mean it.

For the first time in a long time, you feel okay.

Joel leans in just enough that you feel his breath against your temple.

“You don’t ever have to be scared with me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. Barely.

And it lingers longer than it should.

Joel's hand remains at the back of your neck, thumb brushing absentmindedly at your hairline, slow and steady. The kind of touch meant to soothe. But it does more than that.

It roots you. Tethers you. Pulls you closer to something you don’t quite understand yet.

You don’t think about it when you shift. Just a soft movement—turning into him, resting your temple against his chest.

You didn’t mean to invite anything.

But Joel took it as one. 

Then his arm wraps around your waist, firm and deliberate, pulling you the rest of the way in until you’re practically in his lap.

Your thighs straddle his. His palm spreads across the small of your back.

You freeze for a moment—not out of fear, but surprise. Your hands rest flat on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath them.

Joel doesn’t move.

He just watches you. His eyes low. Lidded. Dark.

“You okay?” he asks again, voice like gravel and smoke.

You nod, slower this time.

“Good,” he says.

His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye. His gaze flicks across your face—your lips, your throat, your lashes. He’s not pretending to be subtle anymore.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You swallow.

His fingers trail along your jaw, then down to your collarbone—his shirt hanging off one shoulder, slipping just enough to expose skin.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push, but his grip on your waist tightens.

And when he leans in again—closer this time, his nose brushing your cheek—he whispers,

“Feel good, don’t it? Bein’ taken care of?”

You nod before you realize you’re doing it.

Joel smiles at that, knowing what he’s causing you while you’re sitting on him. The second your body suddenly starts reacting, he clocks it. 

Not to mock you or shame you. He uses it to train you. 

You feel… safe. Anchored.

But also— Something else.

A pressure. A warmth that’s begun to build under your skin. Between your thighs. Inside you.

You shift again, just a little.

And that’s when you feel it.

Him.

Hard. Solid beneath you.

Your breath hitches, and your thighs instinctively press together over his. Your body feels strange—hot, sensitive, like it’s humming. And you don’t understand it fully. But it’s there.

Joel doesn’t move. 

His voice cuts through the silence,  his voice—low, rough around the edges- curls into your ear like smoke. “Somethin’ bothering you, Bambi?”

You blink slowly, your brow furrowing.

You don’t want to lie.

So you nod. Just once. Tiny.

Joel hums quietly as his palm strokes slowly down your spine.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I thought so.”

You shift again, uncomfortable, but not wanting to leave. Wanting something else. Something you don’t have a name for.

Joel tilts his head, eyes dragging over your flushed cheeks, parted lips.

“Need me to take care of that, Bambi?”

You glance up, eyes wide, searching his face for the answer—because you’re not sure what’s happening to your body, only that it feels overwhelming.

You’re hoping he knows the answer.

Because you surely don’t.

So you nod again, causing Joel to smile.

He takes your hand gently and guides it down, resting it over the hard line straining beneath his jeans. The heat of him throbs through the fabric, solid and undeniable.

“Feel what you do to me?” he asks, voice low, roughened with restraint.

You blink, fingers twitching slightly against the pressure. You can’t speak. You just look at him—uncertain, dazed.

Joel’s hips roll up, slow and heavy, grinding against your palm as his grip tightens on your wrist.

You gasp—sharp and surprised—and immediately drop your gaze, cheeks burning.

He catches your chin with two fingers, tilting your face back to his.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs. “No shame in that.”

You look up at him, breath shaky, and he smiles again—gently, reassuring.

“Your body’s reactin’ the same way to me. That’s a good thing, baby.”

His hand drifts lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers tracing over your bare stomach. Then lower past the waistband of your sweatpants.

“You’re not doin’ anything wrong. You’re just learnin’. I’ll teach you everything—nice and slow.”

He moves slowly. 

And when his fingers slip past the edge of your panties, you tense—not from fear, but from something deeper. Something pulling.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “That’s it. Just let me.”

His hand finds the warmth between your legs—already sticky, slick, and aching. And he groans under his breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You really needed this, didn’t you, Bambi?”

You whimper. Your hips twitch without your permission.

He strokes you slowly, just enough to build the pressure. Drawing circles with enough pressure.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers against your temple. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Your hands clutch his shoulders, and your voice breaks on a breathy plea:

“Please—Joel—please…”

And god, he loves it.

His lips curl against your skin.“There she is,” he murmurs, picking up the pace just enough to make your thighs shake. “Beggin’ so sweet. Didn’t even have to teach you.”

You press your face against his neck, trying to stay quiet, but every touch burns. Every movement tightens something inside you that you didn’t know was waiting.

Joel keeps whispering.

“That’s it, Bambi. Doing so good for me” 

His fingers slide lower—slick, wet, so sensitive that your hips jolt. He strokes you slowly, gently, like he’s memorizing your every twitch.

“There you go, baby,” he whispers, “You just stay with me. Let me feel how good you are.”

You make a sound, quiet and shaky at first. But when his fingers circle just right, a soft moan escapes before you can stop it.

Joel groans at the sound. “Goddamn.”

You press your face against his neck, biting your lip, but the sounds keep slipping out—wet, breathless, desperate little whimpers that only make him touch you deeper, slower.

And outside—

Tommy freezes halfway up the porch steps.

He hears it.

Muffled, but clear.

Your voice.

High and soft and needy.

A moan. Then another. The kind of sound no one makes unless someone’s got their hand deep between their legs—and Tommy knows exactly what Joel is doing with you

He stands there, jaw tight, heart pounding. Heat spreading beneath his ribs… and lower.

Joel beat him to it.

He fucking knew it would happen. Knew Joel was soft on you the moment you stepped out in his clothes, all wide eyes and soft thank-yous. But he didn’t think Joel would take it this soon.

And now, standing on the other side of the door, Tommy hears you cry out softly again.

He presses a hand against the wall beside the door. Breath heavy. His cock throbs behind the zipper of his jeans.

Fucking Joel.

A growl curls in his chest, low and frustrated. He wants to be the one inside. He wants to see your face. He wants to hear you say his name like that.

And next time— He will.

⟡──────────────⟡

Guess next time it's Tommy's turn...

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[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Reach

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel and reader's beginning. A new start away from the QZ.

Notes/tags: Rating: (16+) age gap (Joel is 50s, reader 20s) prequel(ish) to His Girl, slow burn, plot is all over the place, plot doesn't make sense, time skips, no smut, reader is in a weird headspace (aka she's traumatized but not from Joel), lingering touches, mean!joel (kinda), brief spanking (not sexual), swearing, pining, sharing a bed, reader becomes a bit dependent. I think that's all?

WC: 5.5K

A/N: Thank you for all the love on my one shot! You don't need to read it in order to understand this part. This is all the beginning. Please read the tags, if anything is not your thing, that's fine! You don't have to read it. Sorry (not sorry) for the slow burn guys. There will be smut, I promise. Just working out the timeline and other things.

Dividers by: @uzmacchiato

The vine divider is not by them, but I can't find who I got it from. Message me to be credited.

Being Joel’s smuggling partner wasn’t easy. Hell, you had only begun to smuggle to get some extra money and trading cards. Doing business alongside Joel wasn’t your choice, either. He’d persuaded you into joining him. One, the reason being that a young girl getting into trading was a recipe for assault and black eyes. Two, Joel cared about you. Even if he would never say it out loud.

To you, he was the old grump who took you under his wing. To him, you were the fragile little girl who came sobbing to him after a FEDRA soldier gave you a palm to the cheek. You still remember the way Joel’s jaw clenched when he saw the red mark. He didn’t say a word, just handed you a cloth with ice wrapped inside and disappeared for the rest of the night. The soldier didn’t show up on patrol again. Ever.

And after that, Joel made it real clear: you don’t run jobs without him.

The weeks that followed were loud—sirens, shouting, curfews, lock downs. The QZ was tightening its grip and Joel had started keeping a packed bag under the floorboards.

“You paranoid?” you asked once, seeing the extra rounds and ration cards he was tucking into a duffel.

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you in that way he did sometimes—like he was already planning five steps ahead of you, of the world, of everything.

The final straw came when one of your regular drop spots got raided. You were late meeting Joel. You came back scraped up, coughing from tear gas, and Joel didn’t yell. Didn’t say anything at all.

Just handed you that same cloth-wrapped ice and started packing his bag again. But this time, yours too.

“We’re done here,” he said, voice flat. “We’re gettin’ out.”

Joel entered the rustic home with a slam of the door. You look up from your spot on the ground, fiddling with the frayed strings at the end of your dress.

He sits down on the warped couch with a thud. He rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s exhausted, you can tell. It’s only been about six weeks of knowing the man. You still don’t know him all that well, and yet; you let him take you out of the QZ, and into this small house in Maine. Somehow you trusted him, but there was a rooted fear of him. 

You still didn’t know why you trusted him. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at you that first night after the raid—steady, unreadable. Maybe it was the way he hadn’t hesitated to drag you out of hell. Or maybe it was because, despite the rough edges and gravel-thick voice, he hadn't touched you. Not the way you feared.

Still, there was something heavy about Joel. Not cruel. But dangerous in a way you couldn’t name. Like he could hurt someone with his hands and still sleep through the night.

He’d warned you, time and time again, about the kind of men who’d take advantage of a girl like you. Too young. Too trusting. Too pretty. You weren’t stupid. You knew he hadn’t pulled you out of Boston just because he was feeling generous.

You just prayed his reasons weren’t the same as the ones he listed off like threats.

Your chin drops to your knee as you peek over at him, watching through the corner of your eye. He sat wide-legged on the couch, still rubbing at his face, the stretch of muscle in his forearms taut beneath rolled-up sleeves.

He hadn’t looked at you once since walking in. Not yet. And that made your stomach twist a little more than you wanted to admit.

The silence stretches on. The windows rattle from the wind outside, making you shiver. Though, it’s a small comfort to you, considering it’s far from the QZ. Here, it’s just Joel with the weight of what he won’t say. 

You shift on the splintered floor, hugging your knees to your chest. Joel hasn’t even taken off his jacket. He sits like he doesn’t trust the couch even.

“Are you mad?” You ask, quietly but clear.

Joel pauses the rubbing of his nose, his eyes flicking to you, then back down at his lap.

“I ain’t mad.” He says finally, gruff and low. “Just tired.”

“I didn’t mean to get into trouble with the guy at the checkpoint.”

His jaw tensed. The subtle tick. Not anger, just restraint. 

“I know.” He muttered.

You knew better. You’d been the one who made the smart-ass comment. The one who almost got you both caught. Joel covered it, like he always did, being mean and loud enough to distract the guards while fisting the contraband (you) out of sight.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” You mumbled.

Joel grunted, something between agreement and a sigh. 

Another pause. Joel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stares and the floor when he speaks again.

“You’re young.” He mutters, like the statement alone explains everything.

“You say that like it’s a sin.”

“It’s not,” he says. “It’s a danger.”

You nearly scoff, “What, to you?”

His jaw clenches again, he lifts his gaze to you, “To yourself.”

You rest your cheek on your knee, your eyes on him. “I’m not a kid.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“You didn’t have to.” You snip, making Joel shoot you a warning look.

The moment slips back into silence. Again.

You’d freaked yourself out. Coming to the conclusion that Joel wasn’t a good man was hard for you. How did you come to it? You don’t know. But, you still find yourself in the woods, not far from the house, barefoot and your dress now muddy at the ends. 

Stupid escape. You didn’t even plan it. But seeing Joel put locks on the windows made you freak, memories coming back from before that you didn’t want to remember.

Suddenly, Joel became the bad guy in your mind, and you needed to leave. Him taking you out of the QZ wasn’t a heroic act, it was a scary one.

You run through the muddy woods, feet slipping beneath you, breathless. You stop when you hear a twig snap, backing up against a tree. 

It was nearly 4am, and you knew that Joel was asleep when you left. 

Despite being with him for over a month, living with him, you could never tell if he slept deeply or not. 

You facepalmed, realizing he likely heard you shut the window when you climbed out. You’re so fucked.

You look back towards the way you ran from. The house was still in sight, making you realize you hadn’t run as far as you thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“You’re not thinkin’ straight,” comes his voice– quiet, gravelly, just a few feet away.

You flinch, turning your head. He’s there, standing half in shadow, half moonlight, boots sunk slightly in the mud. His shoulders are tense, chest rising and falling as if he just sprinted. For you.

You don’t speak.

Joel takes a step closer, “You runnin’ out barefoot like that? What the hell were you thinkin’?”

Shame crawls up your throat, “I wasn’t– I just-”

“You think I dragged you all the way outta Boston to hurt you?” His voice is sharp. He almost sounds hurt. “You think that low of me?”

“I don’t know what to think.” You mumbled.

He runs a hand through his messy hair, exhaling hard. “You scared the shit outta me.” 

You blink tears, “You locked the windows.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “To keep people out. Not to keep you in. You’re not a damn prisoner.”

You stare at the ground, seeing the mud squishing between your toes.

His hands are on you– not rough, not angry. Just firm.

“You don’t gotta trust me yet,” he says quietly, tilting your chin up, “but don’t run from me in the damn woods in the middle of the night. You could’ve froze, broke your ankle, got snatched–”

“I’m sorry.” You squeak.

He sighs heavily. Something in his eyes changes. His hands tighten on your arms. 

“You wanna act reckless?” he asks, his voice low, “I oughta show you what happens when you pull shit like that.” He grabs you, putting you over his shoulder, fireman carry style. 

You kicked, yelping a bit. A sharp smack lands on your ass, which makes you flinch and stop resisting. 

He carries you all the way back to the house. 

You start to cry, panicking. He was angry, you knew. It shakes you to your core, wondering if Joel’s going to snap on you or not.

Once you're inside, he sets you on your feet. His hand slips to the back of your neck, warm and steady. Not rough–but there’s no mistaking the warning in his touch. 

“You know how close I was to thinkin’ you got snatched? That someone dragged you off while I was sleepin’?”

“I… I didn’t mean to scare you.” you stuttered.

“You did,” he snaps, then softens, “And now you’re gonna understand what it feels like when you do.”

He turns you gently, but there’s power behind it. You plant your hands on the wall beside the front door. He stands directly behind you, hand on your low back.

“You run off like that again,” He warns gruffly, “I won’t be so nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding. Maybe you were right about Joel.

His chest brushes your back, his belt buckle pressing against your spine.

“What are you gonna do?” You sniffle, trembling.

“Whatever it takes to remind you that you know better.”

Your legs shake, both from trembling and exhaustion. Joel tsks, “Look at you,” he breathes, his mouth pressing against the back of your neck, “All muddy. Could’ve broken your fuckin’ ankle, runnin’ out there with no shoes. Killed yourself, even.”

“I didn’t think–”

“No, you didn’t.” his hand pulls up the hem of your dress, and the other comes down with a slap.

You flinch, pressing your lips together in a thin line. Memories of before flooding your brain. Joel wasn’t Joel anymore, in your mind. You let out a cry, “Dad, Please–” but he doesn’t hear you.

“You scared me.” he says again, more authoritative than before. “You know better.” he states again. “You learnin’ yet, or–”

“I’m learning, I’m learning!” you whimper, almost sobbing at this point.

Joel sighs, realizing he’s likely just scared you more than make you understand. He pauses, then shakes his head. 

He releases the hold he had on your dress, smoothing the fabric down. He steps back, giving you space. 

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled.

“I don’t need your sorry.” Joel shakes his head, “Need your trust.”

You still tremble. If he wants your trust so badly–which he almost had it, until you freaked yourself out, then he spanked you– why was he being like this?

“Why did locking the windows make you run?” He asked.

You didn’t want to answer that. Not when he just reminded you of the last person you wanted to think of. 

“Answer me.” He commanded.

“I’ve. I’ve-” You stutter, still shaken, “Been locked in before.” 

You feel him pause, even with you facing away. 

“Okay.” He says after a moment.

Everything is still. Joel looks at your shaking body again.

“Shit.” he mutters, rubbing his beard with his hand. “You should’ve told me.” he said under his breath, you barely heard it.

You lean forward against the wall, heart hammering. Your fingers digging into the wood. You don’t trust your voice, not in this state.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to scare you,” Joel says, his voice thick, quieter now. “I lost my goddamn mind when I saw that window open. Thought–”

He cuts himself off. 

Then, he’s pulling you back from the wall, gently. His hands around your waist, lifting you just enough to turn you around. Facing him. His expression is unreadable, to you anyways.

His thumbs rub at your sides, more grounding himself than you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. This time it’s him apologizing. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t’ve.. Jesus, I wouldn’t’ve touched you like that if I knew.”

Your eyes sting. You shake your head, feeling guilt. “I freaked out, I didn’t give you a chance to–”

“No.” he interrupts, sternly. “You were scared. You had a reason. That’s enough.” 

You sniffle again, your nose scrunched. He pulls you closer, arms wrapped around your shoulders. 

“I ain’t him.” Joel says. More reminding himself. 

You nod, your forehead tucked against his chest. 

“I trust you,” you whimper, “I just forget sometimes.”

Joel breathes deeply, “I’ll remind you better next time.” His chin rests on top of your head, fighting the urge to kiss it.

He pulls back enough to look at you. His brows furrowed, something in his expression has softened–less anger, more regret.

He mumbles something about cleaning you up. You nod, eyes still glassy, letting him guide you to the bathroom.

Joel is silent as he grabs a cloth, a bucket, and an old first aid kit from under the sink. You watch as he fills the bowl with warm water (as warm as it can be just coming from the tap). 

He sits you down on the toilet seat, kneeling before you. He doesn’t meet your eyes, only taking your left ankle in his hand, checking for swelling.

“Hurts?” he asks.

You shake your head, though the scrape on your heel stings when he brushes the cloth over it. Joel notices your flinch and goes slower.

You both sit in silence as he tends to your scraped and muddy feet. Once he’s cleaned the worst is it, he tries to disinfect the best he can with the expired (and dried out) disinfectant.

“You don't gotta explain what happened.” Joel says, his voice low. “Not until you’re ready.”

You only nod, still a bit scared to speak.

Joel finishes wrapping gauze around your feet, then sets the supplies back under the sink, then rests his hands on your knees.

“It gets too much,” he starts, not meeting your eyes, “You talk to me.” He says. A command this time, not a request.

You nod again, eyes still stinging from earlier. “Okay.”

It’s been two weeks since that night. Since you ran barefoot through the trees like something feral, stupid and scared, and Joel carried you back like you were something. Something his.

Things haven’t changed in any loud, dramatic way. No tangled up nights anymore. Just… small shifts.

He doesn’t hover anymore, but doesn’t keep his distance either. When you sit too long reading in the chair near the fire, he tosses you his jacket without a word. When your hands shake trying to light the stove, his settle over yours. Just anchoring you.

You sleep in your own bed. Most nights. But sometimes, on the bad ones, you wake up and find his flannel jacket draped over the end of the mattress. He never says anything about it, and neither do you.

You find yourself starting to crave the quiet between you– the kind that doesn’t ask anything, doesn’t pressure. Just is.

This afternoon, he comes back to the house from the shed. 

Joel let you outside (with his supervision, of course), and you soaked up any bit of it that you could.

He walks up to you on the porch with something in his hand. 

It’s small. Square. Covered in dust and is probably as old as he is. 

“I found this in the shed,” he mutters, holding it out to you. “Think it still works.”

You blink down at it. Your brows furrow. 

“It’s a Polaroid camera.” Joel adds, noticing your confusion. 

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just figured you’d wanna mess with it.” 

Your chest tightens in a weird, unexplainable way. You take it gently from his hands, your thumb brushing against his knuckle.

“There’s film in here,” he murmurs, “Two, maybe three shots left from what I can guess.”

He leans back against the porch railing, arms crossed. You can tell he’s trying to act indifferent. Like he doesn’t care if you use it or chuck it. But he brought it to you. That alone means something.

“A little sentimental for you.” you tease quietly. 

Joel scoffs. “Just figured you might want proof we made it this far.” 

You pause, looking up.

Those words settle. Low in your ribs, right where all the fragile parts of you live. You want to ask if he means you, specifically. If he thinks you made it. But you don’t. 

“I wanna take your picture,” you say instead, voice soft. 

“Me?”

You nod.

He raises a brow. “The hell for?”

“So I can remember you like this,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Not just the grumpy old man who dragged me out of Boston.”

The silence stretches as he looks at you. God, you look like just a little girl. Not in a weird way, but in the way that he almost feels paternal towards you. Almost.

Eventually, Joel exhales through his nose and walks over to the armchair near the window, the one he always sits in after dinner to drink his coffee. 

He doesn’t pose. Just sits, arms still crossed, watching you like he’s waiting for you to change your mind. You fiddle with the camera, eventually figuring out how to take a photo. You lift it, framing him in the viewfinder.

He looks good, you had to admit to yourself. Taking a bit longer to position the camera just to look at him like this. He looks rumpled, a little tired, but calm. Open in his Joel way. Which is to say: not open at all, but less closed. 

You press the button. 

Click. Shhh, shhh, brrr.

The camera makes a loud whirring noise as the film shoots out. You take it in your palm, seeing no photo. Just white film

“Shake it.” Joel says. 

“What?” you ask, confused. 

“You know, shake it like a Polaroid.” he says a bit of a song in his tone. 

You shake it hesitantly, and Joel nods. He doesn’t ask to see the photo. He just watches as you place it face down. “It’ll take a few minutes to develop.” Joel muttered, standing up with a grunt, nodding for you to follow him back inside. You grab the Polaroid from the porch.

Joel grunts, watching you walk inside, shutting the door behind you, then looking at you. You watch as he locks the door, then puts the key on the kitchen table. You swallow, but don’t say anything. You have gotten better with locks. Kind of.

You walk into the kitchen, placing the photo on the table, watching him look through what little food you had, and what has grown since you got here. 

Joel notices your proximity to him as he bustles around. He stops, looking at you. You’re in that little white night dress again. From the night he ‘punished’ you. Now, you don’t consider it punishment, you did deserve it, in a way. 

“Still stained, huh?” he asked, his hand fiddling with the strap on your shoulder. 

You nod, “The mud wouldn’t come out.” 

He looks at you for a moment, “It adds character.”

That alone made your lips twitch a bit. Almost a smile. Joel notices and he mirrors your expression. 

“Well,” he changed the subject. “I got about… four small potatoes from the garden. And,” he looks around then points to the door, “A small rabbit that I snared earlier.”

You frown a bit. You knew Joel had to kill animals so you both could eat, but you liked rabbits. Especially when they would hop around in the garden outside, their little noses sniffing. 

Joel pauses, “Hey,” he grabs your chin so you hold eye contact with him. You found out early on that that was important to him. 

“I’ll tell you when I skin it, you can… go in your room and do whatever it is you do in there.” 

You nod, a small frown still on your lips.

“‘Sides, you like rabbit stew.” 

You did. You didn’t get it often, but you did like it. 

“Yeah.” you mumbled, rubbing your collarbone.

He pauses again. “You still don’t like when I lock the door, do you?”

You glance over at it. Then back to him.

“It’s easier now,” you say. “Still… not perfect.”

Joel nods. “Alright. I’ll stop double-lockin’ it at night. Just one. You can check it if you need to.”

He doesn’t say “I trust you,” but you hear it in the space between those words.

You nod again, fiddling with your dress. “I oughta get you some pants. It’s gettin’ to be that time of the year.” Joel thinks out loud, peeling the potatoes with his pocket knife. 

You only hum, staring at his hands as they work. The blade glints every so often as it slips under the skin of the potato, curling it off in ribbons. He’s done this before, with the amount of potatoes you’ve got. You can’t help but admire the way he handles the knife, slow and steady, it makes your heart beat a little faster.

Not because you’re scared. Not anymore. 

But because there’s something in the way Joel moves– like nothing surprises him, nothing shakes him. Though you might’ve.

Regardless, he carries himself like if the world ended all over again, he’d still know how to cook dinner with whatever scraps are left. 

And maybe that’s what unnerves you now. The steadiness.

Maybe you’ve gotten used to him. Too used to the smell of his flannel when you sleep. The way he always leaves a cup of water out for you before bed, just in case. The way he says, “you alright?”  like it means more than it should. 

You blink. Joel’s still peeling.

“You’re starin’, sweetheart.” he comments. 

You feel your face blush. “I’m just tired.”

He nods. Doesn’t push. Just goes back to peeling the potatoes, like he didn’t just catch you ogling his hands.

Dinner is quiet. Not awkward like in previous weeks. Just warm, simple. Joel serves you first without thinking. You don’t comment on it, but it makes your stomach flutter. 

You eat, curled into your usual spot at the table, with Joel sitting across from you. You were staring at him, a little too long to brush it off. He doesn’t mention it this time. 

“Feet off the chair.” Joel snaps his fingers at you. 

You uncurl yourself and sit up at the table. Though it was just you and Joel, he still taught you manners. He didn’t take it lightly when you sat like that at the table. Any other time was fine, but not during dinner.

You find yourself hunching again as you eat. “Slow down.” Joel said. 

“This is slow.” you say, your mouth full. 

He bites back a smirk, but reminds you again of posture at the table. 

“Didn’t teach you to be a damn hunchback.” He grumbled. 

You listen anyway, straightening up again, and he nods in approval.

You tossed and turned for what felt like hours. It was likely just half an hour, but how would you know? 

You stare at your bedroom door. You huff, getting up. You don’t plan to move, but your feet do anyway. 

You see Joel’s door is cracked open down the hallway, light flickers faintly from the inside. He’s still awake. 

You knock softly, even though it’s stupid. Like asking permission to cross some invisible line neither of you has fully acknowledged yet.

Joel’s voice is low. “Come in.”

You push the door open gently. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, flannel draped over his lap, socks off now, his short sleeved t-shirt on display. He looks tired, and it hits you suddenly,-- how safe he looks. Safe in a way that makes you ache a bit.

“I can’t sleep.” you say. 

He nods understandingly.

“You can sit if you want.”

You do. The bed dips slightly beneath you as you settle beside him, knees close but not touching. For a while, neither of you say anything.

Then Joel shifts, lying back with a quiet grunt. His arm stretches behind his head, the other resting across on his stomach. His fingers flex once, his knuckles cracking.

You don’t move from your spot. 

He glances up at you, looking at your back. You’re wearing the only set of pajamas you have. A shirt about a size too big, and shorts a size too small.

“You layin’ down, or you gonna sit there all night?”

You huff under your breath. You lie down anyway. Not quiet touching Joel, but not quite separate.

The room smells like wood. The mold smell subsided the longer you’ve been here, but maybe you’re just getting used to it. 

You shift as subtly as you can, laying on your stomach, a few inches between you and Joel. You turn your head to look at him. He’s still staring up at the ceiling, the dim candle light shadowing his face. 

He shifts–barely–but his fingers brush yours between you, a soft touch that lingers longer than it should. 

You don’t pull away. 

And neither does he. 

You close your eyes. 

Minutes pass. 

You feel it when he breathes your name–not a question, not a warning. Just your name, spoken like a habit he never meant to form. 

You answer by curling your pinky around his. Sleep takes you like that.

Over the next few weeks, Joel starts to teach you more, and you.. Well, you yearn more for him. Like a lamb following its shepherd around, not leaving his side. Joel doesn’t comment on it. Though, he makes the mental note of changes in you. Back in Boston, you did fend for yourself more. Only came to him in desperate times. Now, you come to him when you get a splinter. Boston you would’ve just toughed it out. 

You think back on the past few weeks, little moments that you and Joel shared. 

Like the first time Joel handed you a knife. 

He didn’t make a speech. Just stood behind you in the garden, the weight of it pressed into your palm. 

“You hold it like this,” he murmured, voice close to your ear, rough with sleep. “No tighter than you have to. Don’t choke it.”

His hands covered yours for a second, guiding the grip. Then they were gone. 

You didn’t cut anything that day, but you kept the knife. 

You think about the night you left one of your dresses to dry by the fire and he tossed you a clean shirt without looking. 

“Didn’t know if you had another,” he’d said, eyes fixed on the stew pot like it might combust if he blinked.

The shirt hung boast your knees. It smelled like cedar and something older– something like home.

You think about the way he says your name now. 

Not sharp. Not in warning. Just… when the room is too quiet and he’s trying to make sure you’re okay. 

You remember burning your hand on the kettle and how he didn’t yell, didn’t scold– just took your hand gently and ran it under water, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your wrist. 

“Gotta be careful,” he said. “Can’t fix you if you break.” he’d joked. Which made your tear stained cheeks smile a bit. 

And lately, he touches you more. Not a lot. Not in a  way that means too much. But in ways that settle you. 

A hand to your  lower back when he brushes past. Knuckle grazing yours when he passes you the plate. His flannel jacket, draped over your shoulders when you’re out in the morning air.

None of it was asked for. 

But all of it, you retained. You find yourself almost grateful for him.

Tonight, when the candle light burns low and the wind scratches soft at the windows, you lie beside him in silence. Again.

Lately you’d abandoned your room since you slept in Joel’s bed that night weeks ago. In his fashion, he doesn’t comment on it, or ask why you sleep in his bed. If anything, he’s a little smug that you choose to do so. 

The distance between you is familiar now. Not far, but not close enough. Your hands rest over your stomach, the tips of your fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do. 

Joel shifts beside you, the mattress dipping with his weight. You hear him exhale, long and quiet. He’s not asleep. 

Neither are you, clearly. 

Maybe it’s the warmth of the room. Or maybe it’s everything you’ve remembered–all the ways he’s touched you lately, soft and steady.

Whatever it is, your hand moves before your mind can catch up.

You reach out and press your fingertips to the back of his hand. 

Joel doesn’t move. 

Not at first. 

Then his fingers turn beneath yours, so his palm faces up. 

You hesitate, But then you slide your hand into his. 

 He curls his fingers around yours. Firm and grounding. 

No one says a word. 

But you can feel what is unsaid. 

In the steadiness of his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

He’s still Joel. 

But right now, he’s your Joel.

You stare at the ceiling, your heart thudding louder than it should.

“I used to think you were just mean,” you whisper, your voice barely heard in the dark. 

“Back in Boston. You never smiled. You never looked at me too long. Though you hated me.”

Joel doesn’t move. Nor speak.

You breathe in through your nose slowly, then out your mouth.

“But then you’d fix things. Bring me ration cards. Trade for batteries when my flashlight died. Clock anyone who’d clocked me.” you almost chuckle. 

You turn your face toward him–eyes adjusting now, just enough to make out the rise of his chest.

“I think I get it now,” you say, gently. “I think it’s just how you are.”

Still nothing from him. Not a shift. Not even a breath you can track now. 

You swallow, noting at his silence, but he didn’t move from your hand in his. 

“I don’t-” you start, then stop. “This is the only thing that doesn’t scare me.” You meant him. He’s the only thing that doesn’t scare you anymore.

And then, after a long pause, you continue.

“Uh, I’m okay with being yours. If that’s something you’d want.”

You don’t expect an answer. Not now. Your eyes close, then the weight of your exhaustion pulls at you. 

You’re almost asleep–drifting at the edge of it–when Joel finally speaks.

“I ain’t ever stopped.”

You blink, but don’t move. His thumb brushes along your knuckles once, twice, and you know–without question–that he meant every word.

You wake up warm. 

Too warm. 

Your cheek is pressed to a shirt– Joel’s chest, slow and rising. His arm is heavy across your back, his hand splayed wide like it’s been there all night. He’s not asleep. But he doesn’t move. 

Neither do you.

Eventually, he shifts, his hand brushing your side. Not possessive. Like he’s reminding himself you’re okay. 

When you sit up, he lets you go without a word.

The kitchen is bright. The light outside is gold and soft, the kind that makes everything look gentler than it is.

You’re standing by the counter, barefoot in the shirt Joel gave. It hits mid-thigh, worn at the sleeves. Joel moves behind you, not touching, but close enough to feel. 

“Coffee?” he mutters, reaching for the kettle beside you. 

You nod, rubbing at your eyes. “Please.”

He grabs the grounds from an old jar, then lights the stove to boil the water. 

He slides a mug to you, as you both wait for the water to boil. 

He leans against the counter, a few feet away from you, arms crossed. 

You don’t say anything for a long time.

Then: “Did you mean it?”

Joel lifts a brow, “Mean what?”

You look at the kettle on the stove.  “What you said. Last night.” Had he lost his memory? Old man.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I meant it.”

You nod, swallowing around the heat that rises in your chest.

Your eyes meet his. 

His drift down. Your bare legs. Then the hem of his shirt. The red imprint of his shirt soft on your cheek.

His jaw clicks. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” You murmur into your head as you rub your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m yours.”

He tilts his head, then scratches his beard, “You said you were, didn’t you?”

You blink, then part your lips to speak-

The kettle steams, and it jerks both of your attention back to it. 

Joel grabs his mug, then yours, pouring coffee into it. As if a borderline love confession didn’t just take place. Maybe not love. You don’t love Joel. Right..?

You take the mug when he slides it back over to you. You stay still, cup warm in your hands, stomach flipping in a way you can’t name.

Because maybe you want him to protect you. 

And maybe… you want more than that. 

But he doesn’t say anything else. 

And you know he won’t. Not yet. 

Not until you reach for him again.

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

Okay hear me out on this. Dad!joel checks your phone without you knowing and sees that reader got alot of pics of her male celebs that are as old as joel. Joel gets jealous and sad because why do you have pics of male celebs?? Is he not attractive/hot enough?

This one is silly lol so I'm just gonna do a short lil thing I hope you don't mind

Ain't Good Enough?

Dad!Joel

Don't Like Don't Read pleaseeeeee

I don't condone this type of relationship IRL but it could be read as a normal relationship if you change it around in your head

Just silly jealousy, and some Pedro-ception

---------------------------------------

Finally, he was home from work. A couple hours of making framework for one of the countless new homes in Austin was backbreaking and all Joel wanted to do was relax.

Except you weren't home. He knew about your plans to go to the mall with your girls; but then he heard a little ping come from the dining room table.

Your phone.

Which was odd to Joel since you hardly ever left home without the damn thing. So he went over and picked it up, seeing whatever notification you got.

Instagram: lensofstacy sent a reel

A reel? What was a reel? Joel shook his head and tried what he thought was your password on your phone. But it didn't work. Did you change it? The phone buzzed again.

Instagram: lensofstacy: omg our man looks so good in this

Our man?!

Joel had to get into your phone now.

He tried your birthday, his birthday, 12345, password, anything he could think of. Then he was subsequently locked out of your phone for five minutes. Damn it!

He paced around a bit before going to your room, he knew you kept a notebook in here maybe that has the new password...

So he checked around and found the damn thing, flipping to the most recent pages with writing on them. Scanning each and every line for something he could use. Then there it was.

Papi's birthday: 4/2/75

Who the fuck was papi?!?!?!

This was just riling him up by now but he pulled out your phone again and typed in 4275. Unlocked.

"Fuck's sake..." Joel muttered to himself, finally swiping onto Instagram and seeing whatever your friend sent you. It was a flashy montage of someone he didn't know exactly who he was. Too old for you though. His eyes scanned the caption, Pedro? Is Pedro papi? He huffed to himself and decided to see what else you were hiding.

Joel knew enough about phones and you to know you probably kept all your secrets in your gallery. So that's what he opened and good lord-

You must have needed some help. All the guys in here were old, older than he was. Did he not raise you right? Did he give you daddy issues?

Joel recognized a few of these guys. One that was in those X-Men movies, some other superhero physique having men. They all seemed so much better than him. It made him feel... hurt.

Did he not look as good as these guys? Were they better than he was? Joel didn't really know. So he decided it was time to stop looking for his own sake, and put your phone down elsewhere. Maybe sulk a bit.

After around a half hour, Joel was laid up on the couch watching reruns of whatever sitcom came on that day. And the front door clicked open. There you were.

"Dad? What are you doing?" You asked, setting down your purse. Not waiting for him to respond, you started talking again. "Also, did you see my phone? I forgot it here."

"Yeah I saw it alright." Dad huffed, not moving from his spot curled up on the couch. You raised a brow, going and plopping onto the couch next to him with a sigh, cuddling close like you always have. But he still wasn't having it.

"Tell me what's wrong." You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder and blinking up at him a few times.

"Who the hell is 'papi' and why is he your new password?" And you were both silent for a second.

Before you burst out laughing. Joel didn't understand it, he was serious damn it!

"Dad, holy shit- wait you went through my phone!" You gasped, reaching and hitting him gently with one of the pillows on the couch; where he promptly scolded you.

"Maybe. Why the hell do you save so many pictures of those old fuckers anyway? Dad ain't good enough?" He shook his head, shoving at you lightly.

"So what I've got crushes dad. I've seen how you look when Reba is on TV."

"Well, Reba is timeless-"

"Still a crush." You nudged your head into his. He gave a little sigh of a growl, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Fuckin' rascal. I can't stay mad at you." He shook his head, patting your back. "You're gonna end up givin' me gray hairs."

"You're already gettin' em." You stuck out your tongue, rubbing one of your fingers on his graying stubble. He gave you a tighter squeeze, a silent plea to shut up.

"Whatever you say, kiddo. Whatever you say..."

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

hi! it's me again. I had this idea of dad!joel going out with some else so his girl gets jealous and decides to get back at him. She brings some boy from her college to her house and starts making out with him when she knows joel is about to get home

(take your time with requests, im just here often cause i'm finally done with exams and i'm bored lol) -🌺

Ouhhhh this one is interesting I like the idea but I realized I went a different-ish direction when I was basically already done with it sigh

Naming dad!Joel's "lady friend" Sheryl, so sorry to any potential Sheryl's reading I guess :(

Right Back Atcha

Dad!Joel/F!Reader (Note: if this fic brings more hate anons, leave me alone please and thank you) ao3 WC:2.9k

18+

Summary: Dad decided it's time he got a girlfriend. You want 'revenge'.

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, Incest, Joel gets a new girlfriend, You're pissed, retaliation, major jealousy, making out, over the clothes stimulation (not between Joel/Reader), mentions of sex between Joel and his gf, revenge relationship, vaginal sex, coming inside, nipple play, daddy kink, age gap (obvi)

I DO NOT CONDONE THIS IN REAL LIFE THIS IS PURELY FICTION/FANTASY

Her name was Sheryl, and to your dad she might've been the best thing since sliced fucking bread.

And if she was like sliced bread then you were suddenly allergic to gluten.

In simpler words, you despised Sheryl. Dad called her his "lady friend" as if girlfriend wasn't obvious And you could tell that she wasn't exactly fond of you neither, despite how hard she tried to smile and laugh to your dad about how interesting she thought you were.

Joel and Sheryl had met around three months ago. Three months! Oh it made you seethe inside. They had met on one of Joel's contracting jobs. Sheryl's dear old dad had needed his back deck worked on, and while he was on the job he met the woman you would eventually recognize as the devil.

They were like two peas in a pod. It made you sick. You would walk into the living room some nights and see them cuddling, laughing, watching whatever home improvement channel one of them put on the TV. Just like you and dad used to. She would joke and tease Joel about those shows, saying how they could be like those designer/contractor couples on the TV. Ugh.

Some nights you could hear them fucking. She was definitely a screamer, sounding like a howler monkey you heard on the nature channel every time dad's cock fucked into her. Like it should be doing to you. As you drowned out that woman's moans, you could focus on dad grunting, groaning, his hips slapping against her, in your opinion, unimpressive ass. You hoped they were using protection. Sheryl wasn't that old and you didn't want her stuck in your life forever because of half siblings.

The sound of him made your jaw shake, it made you shake all over. You missed him. You missed Joel touching you, playing with your pussy, your tits, how he'd pinch at your nipples when he would have you ride him. Oh God it made you ache.

Tonight you were laying, staring at the ceiling as you heard them going at it again. Sheryl had been staying over more and more frequently. Joel must have pressed her face into the pillow or something, because you couldn't hear her damn yelling this time. But dad's grunting and groaning made you feel that familiar warmth between your legs.

God fucking damn it.

You flipped onto your tummy, grabbing a pillow and shoving it between your thighs. This would do for now. You whimpered, muffling your own moans in your mattress as you humped your pillow; thinking about how you could be the one getting fucked instead, how amazing it would feel after so long. It didn't take long for you to finish with a sharp gasp, your hips stuttering to a stop against the pillow as your poor clit throbbed. It missed her daddy.

You whined, rolling back onto your back as you pondered what you could possibly do to win back his love, his attention. And then you had it.

If you couldn't have him anymore, you could get someone else.

That's how you met Mark.

Mark was about to graduate with his bachelor's in business, and he was on the college's baseball team. Not to mention, he and Joel had similar eyes, so it wasn't that bad to look into them.

After around two weeks of dating, you realized this might actually be good for you. Mark was different, he was someone new. He wasn't your dad. Which... you weren't sure how to feel. Joel was the only man you had ever been with, you thought it would stay that way forever.

But Mark was so sweet. He never pressured you, would hold your hand and kiss you in public. All the things you wished you had with Joel but couldn't do them.

So when you finally brought Mark over for dinner, you could tell it upset Joel greatly. You could see the twitch in his jaw, how his nostrils flared slightly when you introduced them to each other.

As you sat at the small dining table in the kitchen, you noticed the she-devil wasn't in attendance this evening. Joel had fired up the grill tonight, made some ribeyes, he thought you would be bringing a friend over. Not some boy.

Dinner was awkward. Strangely quiet. It made you feel almost guilty.

"So... Max."

"Mark, sir."

"Whatever." Joel rolled his eyes. Who the hell was this punk? What was he doing with his baby girl? "What exactly is it that you're in school for?"

"I'm a business major, sir." Oh Mark. Poor, respectful Mark. That would be his downfall. Joel let out a subtle scoff.

"Really? And what are you gonna do with that?"

"Well, my dad owns that restaurant downtown. You know, Costello's? I want to turn it into a chain, I think there'd be lots of opportunity-"

"Dad, I think Mark and I are just gonna go hang out." You interjected before it got to be too long and boring of a conversation. You pushed away your plate, standing up and pulling Mark with you. Quickly going upstairs to your room.

Joel didn't like that one bit. But he knew he had to keep it cool for now. Play dumb. Let you do whatever act of rebellion this was.

So you and Mark were sat on your bed, the full size mattress holding the both of you comfortably. His lips were on yours, it felt weird kissing someone without facial hair, you noted. You sighed into his mouth, your hand instinctively going to his growing bulge and he whined.

"Shit, babe. You sure you've never had a boyfriend before?" Mark panted against your mouth. He let out a shaky little moan, his clothed cock humping against your palm. This was new, you've never seen someone so eager, someone not rushing to take control. You palmed at him some more, feeling the shape of him beyond his jeans. He felt smaller than dad, you had to stop comparing the two.

Just as Mark's whined were getting louder, his hips growing more eager to move, and as his lips smushed to yours uncoordinatedly; the door to your bedroom opened.

Fuck.

"Get. The hell. Out." Dad's voice rang out like a shot through the silence. And when Mark didn't immediately move, he was coming over, picking him up by the collar of his shirt and pulling this punk off of his baby girl.

"I- I am so sorry, Mr. Miller, I-"

"Enough. You are not coming back here, you are not seeing my daughter ever again, and if you do... I know a guy with a cement truck and someplace they'll never find you."

Well that was probably the most typical dad threat ever given. But it was clear Mark was scared off. Like a big dog and a little dog. Joel would always be the big dog.

Mark gave you a pitiful look for a moment; it was clear that he would not be texting you later, or ever again for that matter. And he rushed out of your room, the tent in his jeans not having fully died down, poor guy. Dad had told you, you weren't ready to start dating yet and look what happened. Once you and dad heard the front door close it was dead silent.

He just shook his head. He was so damn disappointed, he couldn't even let the words leave his mouth. Joel crossed his arms as a long, loud sigh escaped his nose.

"We need to talk." That's all he said before sitting down on the bed next to you. God, you were so embarrassed, so ashamed. Joel cleared his throat before he began. "So... we both, uh, we've both been doing our own thing haven't we?"

"Yeah... I guess so. I'm surprised Sheila or what's her name isn't here." You rolled your eyes. You knew her name pretty damn well by now.

"Her name is Sheryl, you know that ya brat." He gently elbowed you, but he wasn't looking yet. "Miss Sheryl and I decided to... part ways, I guess." Joel shook his head, mostly in disbelief.

"Y'all broke up?" You sat further up on the bed. Those two had been attached at the hip! What could have caused them to split so abruptly?

"We had some differences we couldn't work past." He finally looked at you, and it made your gaze soften because you realized dad was actually hurt. He hadn't officially dated anyone since your mother, and you realized just how silly and stupid this all was. Joel had just wanted to try again.

"Differences?"

"About you." Your eyes met and your gut twisted, it must have been bad. "She told me that she thought we were too close. That you should move out already with a dorm and roommates and what have you." His hand went to your knee, lightly resting there. "And I told her that you're all I've got, 'cause it's true. But then she made me choose- you or her."

"Well, I still live here so I assume it wasn't her." And that made dad laugh, the best he could when he was pouring his feelings out to you anyway.

"You're right. It wasn't." One of his hands went to cup your face gently, his thumb rubbing over your cheek.

"I only got with Mark to make you jealous too." You murmured, leaning into his touch.

"I figured. And it worked, you damn rascal." He leaned forward, kissing your forehead like he always did; before he pulled you into a hug. You both sat like that for a moment, before dad leaned over just so, pulling until you both were laying on the bed and you were wrapped tightly in his arms.

"You know, I don't think she was right for you anyways. She complained a lot when you weren't around."

"You complain a lot when I am around."

"Wow." You dragged it out, sounding so annoyed that he was so right. "You know, I think it's better if I'm the only girl in your world." "You know what? Me too, kiddo." Dad hummed before finally, after three long torturous months, he pressed his lips to yours. You sighed, instantly opening your mouth slightly to kiss him proper. Your tongues ran along each others, they definitely missed each other. A whine escaped into Joel's mouth and that made him tug on your bottom lip with his teeth before pushing you onto your back.

His rough hands pushed up your tank top, kisses traveling down your neck, your collarbone, to your tummy. He blew a little raspberry on the skin like he used to when you were little, and it made you squeal, scolding him. He wasn't sorry. Joel's lips made their way to the front of the denim shorts you were wearing. Kissing you through the fabric before moving back up. Tease.

He pushed your tank fully up and off, quickly undoing your bra with the practiced ease of a pro. Dad eased it off of you, chucking it behind him with a smile, before burying his face between your tits. Big hands coming up to cup them, thumbs and fingers tweaking your pretty nipples. Pinching, flicking, whatever he wanted.

Then the button to your shorts was popped open. The offending garment, including your panties, peeled off and thrown elsewhere. Finally. You missed this. You missed being desired by the one man you could depend on.

"Switch spots with me sweetpea." Dad hummed, patting your hip before he moved to sit up against your headboard. So you straddled his lap, your cheeks hot and your hands against his shoulder, expectant. Joel's hands went to pull his t-shirt up and off, dad's soft tummy on display. God, it was so handsome. Then his belt was unbuckled, jeans and boxers pushed down just enough that his half hard cock was exposed to you.

You knew the drill by now. You let spit dribble out of your mouth and onto your palm, your soft hand wrapping around the velvety skin of his cock. Working it up and down, his foreskin and precum bunching at the head on the upstroke. Spreading your spit up and down until it was slick enough to really move your hand faster. It took some work to get him hard lately, dad was getting older after all. Joel hissed at one particular stroke, before gently moving your hand away.

"C'mon honey, sit on it, I know you wanna." And you did want to. You moved, letting the tip notch at your pussy, slowly moving down until he was stretching your hole all over again. Like the very first time. "That's my girl. You missed your daddy, didn't you?"

"Yes daddy." You whined, his hands gripping your hips to ease you down at the pace he wanted.

"Y'ain't gonna mess around with stupid boys no more are ya?" He cooed, his poor, dumb, misguided little girl. He could never stay mad at you. You didn't know no better.

"No daddy, I swear." You shook your head vehemently; finally you were settled against the thick bush at the base of his cock. The salt and pepper hairs nuzzling your clit.

"I know you won't. Daddy raised you better'n that." Dad sighed, slowly helping you move up and down his cock. A gentle pace. He could very well punish you later, but for now... He wanted to really feel his girl.

Your head fell to his shoulder, and normally he would have scolded you. But this time he let you hide. Poor girl. You just missed him so damn much; it was hard not being close like this- suddenly stopping after doing it nearly every damn day. It must have been the worst for you, he knew it was difficult for him.

Now though, he was wrapped in the snug little pussy that belonged to the one girl he'd always have in his life. It made you both happy, why on earth did you ever stop?

Nobody could take this away from you both. It was just for y'all.

Dad's hips snapped up a bit harsher, setting a steady pace as he stretched you open. Joel looked down to where you were connected, seeing the creamy ring beginning to form at the base of his cock. It was gonna make the hair there tacky later, but he didn't give a damn. He groaned as he pushed himself up into you, just taking his time to love you.

You whined as you rocked up and down on his cock; how he helped you go up and down. Dad was always helping you out. Sex was no exception. You remember what it was like when he taught you how to ride him, how gentle and encouraging he was then. How gentle and encouraging he was now.

"Daddy..." You grabbed at his shoulders, nails digging into the tan skin. Your knees were shaking, you couldn't keep it up on top much longer.

"I know sweetie, I know." He cupped the back of your head, holding you close to him. "It's okay. Gonna be okay. Just gotta learn how to do it all over again, don't we?" He hummed, kissing the side of your face a couple times as he held you.

Joel kept fucking up into you, holding you while you whined and squealed, using the strength of his core to make this happen. You were slowly losing it, letting one of your hands drift to your poor clit. And this time he would allow you to do it, he owed you that much. Your fingers circled your slick little nub over and over again. Breath hitching, toes clenching, everything felt so right again. Like you could see color after living in black and white. It built, up, up, up, until you were dropped from the high, your orgasm making your walls clench his cock tightly; your jaw shaking with a shouted moan. Milking dad for all he was worth.

His hips snapped once, twice, three times before you felt his cum shoot out in ropes inside you. Burying himself as deep as he could before settling down. His head fell between your tits, kissing along the soft skin as he panted. God, he missed his girl.

Dad pulled out of you after a few more moments, but he still held you close as he rolled onto his side. His fingers stroking up and down your spine. Both of y'alls breathing had evened out by now. Even if it wasn't rough like either of you had expected, it was still wonderful to be back.

"It ain't late yet. We can still watch a movie or somethin'. Maybe I'll drive to the Redbox-"

"They went out of business, dad."

"Oh." He smushed his lips shut for a moment, trying to think. "Well we got some DVDs here, if my spoiled ass daughter would like to watch any of them." He squinted at you with one eye shut, nudging his head into your shoulder.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that." You mirrored his motions, rubbing your hand up and down his back. The only difference is that you knew it would definitely put him to sleep soon. "If you can stay up, old man." "Mhm. Whatever you say, kiddo."

It was nice that you got your dad back.

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

stepdad!joel at your door like, 'Yo, your mom's already asleep".

sorry

[old-logan-and-old-joels-slut]

A violent encounter with a cordycep leaves you without your clothes on as the man that rescues you is convinced you’ve been infected. Dark!Joel Miller and dubcon.

Rating: explicit

*

The sprinting was fruitless. You were running and running, that terrible thing behind you just inches away from clawing your skin apart. And you knew it would tear you from limb to limb, rather than to bite you; like those clickers at the Boston museum.

A snarl from your left side catches you off guard and your foot trips on a growth of vines. The cordycep rams into your back and the two of you tumble roughly down a steep, grass-filled mound. Your back hits the ground with a hard thud, the thing above you brawls as you try to shove it off. This time, you’re the one that’s screaming and snarling, doing everything in your power to not get bitten.

And just like that, a loud, piercing bang rattles the air surrounding the scuffle. The cordycep falls on top of you, and you quickly push it off so you can stand.

Almost immediately, a tall statured man comes into view. He’s slightly bearded, with grey and black curls and an aged, but rugged look to his face. The worn out jeans and shirt he wears tells you that he’s a civilian.

You swallow, unsure if you’re really alive. “Oh my god, thank you—“

“Strip,” he cuts in.

“What?”

He points the head of the rifle at your chest. “Well sweetness, I said to strip. Not much else to explain, seeing as that thing was on top of you, and drooling on your face.”

You shift your feet uncomfortably, not quite sure if he’s being serious. “But I didn’t get bit,” you tell him, the crack in your voice more apparent.

He smiles a little, the glint in his eyes mischievous but also cruel. It slowly dawns you about what this really is, and you feel your stomach flip. Fuck. Fuck. You should have never left FEDRA territory, and gone into the city without someone by your side.

He points the rifle at you a second time and you bristle. “Strip, girl.”

“I’ll tell FEDRA everything,” you bite back, “or I’ll scream.”

“Those FEDRA pill-popping fuckers will hang you ,” he counters, “and you may scream, just so long as you’re doing it for me.”

Pill-poppers? “Um, are you Joel?” You ask, the name familiar and also foreign on your tongue.

“Yes, dear. I sell narcotics to FEDRA. Sometimes I sell it to kids like you.”

“I can buy your entire supply if you let me go.”

“No, I prefer the other option,” he drawls, “and I ain’t gonna ask again. He cocks the gun, and the air in your lungs constrict.

“Okay, okay!” You yell.

Slowly, almost like you’re teasing him, your shaky hands pull your T-shirt over your head. The shirt falls to ground where you step out of your worn chucks.

Joel whistles. You watch his black eyes look at your lips, then your neck, and finally your bare chest. He pulls the strap on his rifle, and pushes the damn thing behind him. Your mouth sighs in quiet relief but it falls short.

“Jeans next, sweetie,” he sighs, the tent in his own jeans growing tighter, and tighter.

“N-No.”

“Oh yes,” he says back. “You see, I don’t take kindly to helpless little girls like you. Something about y’all should know better than to traipse around so recklessly.”

He touches the strap that holds his rifle again—And it makes you grab the waist band of your jeans and pull them down. You step out of those too.

His mouth parts slightly, eyes heavy with carnal need. You whimper as he steps closer to you, your feet moving backwards until your behind hits the trunk of a rusted over car. It’s one of those nicer cars, the kind that would make any woman before ‘03 slobber all over the person who’s driving them. Too bad that’s not the case here.

“You see? Nothing bit me,” you gripe.

“I can see that clear as day,” Joel says quietly. He puts muscled arms on either side of your person, encroaching you further into the car. “I’ll cut you a deal. You’re gonna let me do everything I want to do to you, and in exchange, you won’t end up like your friend over there—” He points at the cordycep that almost mauled you, and then looks at your face, his body language impatient.

“Fine.” You tell him, resigned

You don’t have time to register what happens before his warm, almost burning hands grab you by the waist and haul you up onto the car. He pulls your pubic bone against his clothed member and you can feel it. You groan, the feeling of being wanted foreign, but also new and exciting.

A veiny hand yanks his leather belt apart. He slides it out from his waistband and then grabs both your wrists, firmly tying them up in a rough knot. You let them rest above your head, the blood in your body shifting downward and into your arousal. But despite the natural reactions you’re having, the position is almost awkward. He’s leaning over you like he’s about to make love to you. You look away, but gasp when he palms your mound.

Almost immediately a thick finger pushes into your folds, and then another, edging you and causing you to buck your hips against his knuckles. You whine deep in your throat. He’s pulling them out and pushing them in in a way that’s making you writhe impatiently. Finally he stops and gives you a break, only to crouch down and press something hot and wet against your cunt.

You squeal, your legs kicking upwards, but he grabs your hip in an unforgiving grip, and pins you down as he lets his thick muscle of a tongue explore your wetness.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” you say in between gasps.

He groans, his tongue deep in your wet hole and lapping up your essence. “No you won’t,” he mutters, swirling his tongue even more into your inner folds. You cry out, unable to hold back anymore as he draws out the first ever orgasm of your life. His hands pin your hips flat against the car as you cum; crying out and shaking in his firm grasp.

When your orgasm subsides, you pant heavily, unable to speak. When you do, the words get caught in your throat because he’s undoing the belt around your hands and wrapping it around your neck.

“Wait—“ You tell him, only to be cut off.

Instead he yanks you off the car with the belt, and turns you around so that your front is facing the trunk. You feel pressure on the small of your back and it causes you to fall forward; your cheek pressed hard against the glass. And his hard member pushing snugly into your backside.

He pulls it out of his briefs, and drags it up and down your slick cunt. The both of you groan when he dips the head of his cock slightly into your folds.

“You’re gonna cry out my name and you’re gonna like doing it,” he bites out. Without warning he slides the whole thing in, pushing himself all the way until he can’t anymore. “Beg,” he demands, and you cry out his name, squirming as fucks you hard and fast.

“Joel—Oh Joel—” You moan.

Because you’re so sensitive from before, you cum just as easily as you did minutes ago, and the feeling forces you to let out a high pitched squeal; the sound making him to thrust harder. “—From now on,” he grunts, snarling a fist firmly into your hair, “you’re my bitch and you’ll do as I say without backtalk.”

“Yes,” you cry.

“Yes what?”

“Yes Joel!”

Joel thrusts his cock more into you, earning cries of your own, and he feels his hips stutter. The start of an orgasm finds him, and he swears loudly, losing himself in your warmth. You feel how much more wet you are with his semen inside you, and he fucks you even after he cums; that white, warm essence dripping down in between your legs.

When he pulls out he leans over your back, his clothed chest pressing hotly against your bare skin. His teeth nip your ear and you moan softly, overwhelmed with his smell.

“Next time, you take the short way outta here, not the long way,” he says behind your ear.