#slasher!joel ☠️

[toxicanonymity]

Midnight Snack.

3.4k slasher!Joel x f!reader

slasher Joel masterlist | spotify SUMMARY: Joel has dinner with his Mom, then visits you. A/N: Shoutout to @iamasaddie for the master list mood board magnets, @gasolinerainbowpuddles for the edit and divider, fridge magnet anon ask, @thesummerpetrichor , anyone I'm forgetting?  WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon unsafe p in v, creampie, light somnophilia, choking, lewd degradation, home intrusion, manual restraint, spitting, toxic parental issues, angst/insecurity, changes POV, NO Y/N.  

“I said I’m good, Ma,” Joel grumbles as his mom puts another heaping spatula of casserole on his plate anyway. He sighs and pushes it around with his fork. 

“What’s got ya down, hun?”  

“Nothin’.”

“It’s a girl, ain’t it?” She smiles. “Knew it. Last time ya were here, ya had that glow," she nods, then registers his sullen face again.  "It's okay, hun. Whatever it is, you'll work it out.". 

He hasn't stopped thinking about you since he was there. When he drives, when he showers, when he goes to bed, when he jacks off—he sees the desire in your eyes when you’re pinned against the counter. He sees your dripping hole stretched around his fist. He thinks about you every time he uses his wrench. Still smells like your filthy cunt. 

"Tell me 'bout her,” his mom urges. 

“Can't,” Joel mumbles. “Don’t got a girl.” 

His mom looks at him knowingly. She always sees right through him. He doesn’t like how close they are, but in a way, she’s his only friend.  He fails to suppress a little smile, then looks down shyly at his plate and finally takes a bite.  

She asks,  “How’d ya meet?” 

Joel gives her a half-serious cautionary look and keeps chewing. 

“Work?” his mom prods. 

Joel swallows, nods, and takes a sip of milk. “Gave'r a ride.”

Two rides, really. Although you took the second one all on your own. And damn, it was good. He shifts in his seat. 

“Well, great,” his mom lights up. “When ya gonna see her again?” She dabs her mouth with a cloth napkin and stands up. 

“I dunno, Ma. . .She’s too good for me.”

She huffs, adjusts her glasses, then walks over. She playfully whips him on the shoulder with the fabric napkin, then puts her finger in his face. “Don’t you ever say that. No one’s too good for my boy.” She takes his glass to the kitchen and pours him some more milk, then sits back down at the table. 

“already left me once,” Joel grumbles.

His Mom’s face falls, then sours.  

“Then she’s not worth your time." She scoffs. Or anyone else’s." 

“She’s different, Ma," he mutters deadpan, then quieter, he adds, "Sometimes I think she likes me," with the slightest lift of his brow.  

Mrs. Miller's eyebrows shoot all the way up. "Well, she should!"

"'mixed signals." He’s saying too much, but he can’t stop. It’s not like he has anyone else to talk to.

"Bring'er for dinner," she suggests.

"Ain't like that," he sulks. "We don't-" He cuts himself off and sighs, sitting back in his chair. He puts his napkin on his plate. "Shouldn't'a mentioned it," he mumbles. 

His mom reaches across the table for his hand, and he gives it to her.  He looks at the delicate, paper-thin skin covering the veins on her hand. It makes him sad. He wants to bring a girl home. He wants to make his Mom happy. He doesn't come by enough.  She must be so lonely.  And he's the one who. . .no, his father deserved it, he reminds himself for the millionth time in his life. He didn’t love them, his mom said. Resentment begins to overtake his guilt. He doesn’t want to feel sorry for her. He steels himself and decides to feel nothing. 

"Look at me, Joel."  She looks him in the eye. "You're not gonna get a wife like this, honey." Joel swallows and looks down. She continues, "Don't be a quitter. She's yours if you want her." Don’t be a quitter. 

The buzzer for the laundry goes off. Mrs. Miller starts to head to the laundry room, but Joel stops her. "Feel like a loser when ya do my laundry." 

She shakes her head in disapproval and starts clearing the table instead. "My son. . .” she picks up both their plates. ". . .Is not a loser." 

Joel finishes his laundry, watches some tv with her while she knits, then pulls himself away.  His Mom sends him on his way with an old tupperware of casserole. "Go get her," she tells him with a wink.

—-

He wants to make a move.  He wants to fuck you again, but he isn’t sure how.  How do people do it? He doesn't know how to ask you out, or what you'd do together. Every time he thinks about it, he feels stupid, but he does wanna see you.  He wants to be inside you. He wants to make you purr, little sex kitten. 

At this hour, you’re probably out whoring, but he might as well drive by while he’s close.  All your lights are off, but your car is there. Hmm. He can't bring himself to go home. Don’t be a quitter.  He sits in his car at the end of your street. Last time he came over, it went pretty well. You wanted him to fuck you, and he did.  You wanted more, and he gave you more. Then he left before you could leave him. 

He feels like you’re special, but he really only knows a few things about you. Most importantly, you like the danger, you want the thrill, you want his dick, and you sure can take a cock. 

The only thing he can think to do is give you more of what he knows you want. Even if you're asleep, you'll be purring for it as soon as he drags you out of bed and pins you on the floor.  He pictures a knife at your throat. Not a big one, just his switchblade. 

He gets out of his car and adjusts his balls, spreading his feet for a moment. Then he starts walking to your house.  After a few seconds, he goes back to his car for the casserole. Maybe you'll have a midnight snack after he stuffs you full of his cock. He rolls his eyes at himself. That’s stupid. 

—-

There's a lamp with a dying bulb barely flickering on your back patio with a couple of moths fluttering wildly around it. Joel looks into your dark kitchen and scowls at his reflection in the glass. He holds the Tupperware under his elbow and picks the lock with ease. After stepping into your kitchen, he quietly slides the door shut behind him. His boots thud stickily as he takes his first steps on the linoleum. Do you ever mop? He holds his switchblade open in the air.  He’s headed toward the hall where he expects your bedroom is.  He inches through the kitchen--between the counter on his left and the stove on his right, until he gets to your fridge.  

The surface of the fridge is peppered with magnets--souvenirs, letters of the alphabet, bottle openers. It's silly. But a piece of paper catches his eye and he stops dead in his tracks.  It's pinned to the fridge by a "J," and an "X" and an "O." He blinks and squints, but his eyes don't deceive him. It's his drawing of you, legs spread wide open. His chest flutters looking at his sketch of your cunt hung proudly on your fridge. His dick twitches, and he inhales sharply. His mouth is watering.  He dips the tip of his thick pinky between his lips and dribbles a string of saliva on the paper, right between your legs. He tilts his head and admires the way your graphite cunt glistens.

You want him. You really want him. His body relaxes. He closes and pockets his switchblade.  He opens the fridge as quietly as possible and puts the casserole on the top shelf, pausing to survey the scant contents. Mostly condiments. Takeout containers. Beer. Expired orange juice. He closes the fridge. 

The microwave is hanging down from a cabinet to his left. He steps in front of it and bends his knees enough to push back his hair in the reflection. He stands up again, squares his shoulders, then prowls in silence to your bedroom. 

---

The door is open. Of course it is. You want him.  His boots are quieter on your carpet.  He approaches the foot of your bed but doesn't get closer. You're occupying less than half the bed.  You're just as pretty in your sleep. All bundled up. He knew that already. He gets harder, recalling the time he woke you up with his cock inside you. God, you're sexy. How'd he get so lucky that a hot little slut like you wants him so bad?

He goes to the other side of your bed. His side. There’s a chair full of dirty clothes. He sits down on them and takes off his boots.  He stands up again and lowers the zipper of his jumpsuit, pressing down on his bulge to get the zipper over it without snagging. Then he peels the sleeves off and brings it down over his ass and meaty thighs. He lets it pool at his feet and steps out of it. 

He's left wearing a blue soft wash t-shirt, lighter blue striped boxers, and white socks with holes. He takes those socks off too. He approaches your bed, lifts the covers with care, and sees what you're wearing.  You're wearing the shirt–he recognizes its condition.  God damn, you really do want him.  

Joel gradually lets his weight onto your mattress as he slips under the covers. His heart races and his forehead is damp.  His cock is so hard just from being close to you. He lies there perfectly still on his side for a moment, watching your back as you breathe. Then he scoots forward, inch by inch, until his leg hair brushes your bare legs and you jerk in your sleep. 

"Shhh. It's just me," he whispers as he wraps his hulking arm over you.  He spoons you and lightly presses his hard cock against your ass. You moan in your sleep and push back, then he moans. 

You jerk in your sleep again, but this time you don't relax. You startle awake.  You gasp and whimper. Your limbs thrash, and his arm tightens around you. You squeal, and his massive hand covers your mouth.   He wasn't expecting your feisty side, kitten. He came to give you what you want. 

Why don’t you want him anymore?

-----you-----

Pure instinct kicks in when you wake up with someone in your bed. Your heart is pounding, you thrash and  kick with all your might trying to get away. He covers your mouth and repeats “It’s me, sweetheart. God damn.” He sounds confused and irritated at your reaction. His voice is familiar, but it takes you a moment to place it, despite thinking about him all the time in waking life.  It's like your subconscious hasn't caught up with reality, and can you blame it? 

"Would you stop? Damn," he pants, getting more irritated as you continue to struggle and his arm tightens more, compressing your chest.  What did he expect breaking into your house and getting into your bed?

You feel his hard dick press against your loose sleep shorts and get butterflies in your core, even as you continue struggling. He backs up for a moment and the pull of his arm forces you onto your back.  He pins you with his left forearm on your chest and aggressively yanks down your shorts then kicks them all the way off before getting between your legs. His hard cock lays against your clit, separated only by his boxers, and you're throbbing. Your efforts to free yourself get weaker and weaker until you’re just lying there, staring up at him, your chest getting sore under his arm. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask. He doesn’t answer, just breathes heavily. 

He’s scowling down at you with a fine mist of perspiration along his hairline. He presses his cock against your mound again. Over a long moment of silence, an electric charge passes between your eyes and his.  He slightly tilts his head and looks at your mouth. You reach for the back of his neck and feel the cold sweat under your palm as you pull him down, drawing his face to yours. 

Your mouths meet but don't seal, and you find your lips reaching for his, wanting something to hold, something to suck–but he devours you without granting you any bit of control. You whimper as he kisses you hungrily, hard cock throbbing against your aching clit. He kisses you sloppily, biting your lower lip, dragging his tongue across it to the corner where he pauses and presses his teeth into your cheek and grunts with a slow thrust against you. Then he drags his lips and tongue down your jaw as you tilt your chin up.

He latches onto your neck with an "mm" and his hips begin to grind his thick erection against you at a slow rhythm. He grunts and his breath is humid with a moan against your neck before he latches onto it again. You feel the delicate skin bruising under his mouth while your pussy is gushing wet. You tilt your hips and wrap a leg around him. He groans at your slick, throbbing cunt against his cock. 

He murmurs into your neck, “God damn, you’re a slut for my cock,” then chuckles. “Aren’t ya, kitten?”

He lifts his pelvis off you to massage your cunt aggressively with his hand. You whine and he gives a low whistle.  Then he urgently takes his boxers down and you help him, curling a toe into the waistband once his boxers get down to his thighs.  You drag your foot down between his legs to his feet, taking his boxers with you. . He kicks them off the rest of the way. Before he lays his hips back into you, you reach for his balls, longing to feel the heft of them. It sends a bolt of desire through you. Fuck. 

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, but you're really asking yourself.  You’re asking yourself why you've got this sicko in your bed, someone unhinged enough to break into your house not once but twice and all you want is his cock. 

"Me?" He asks. "the fuck is wrong with you?" He wraps a hand around your throat. “Playin’ games with me,” he growls bitterly. “Ya want it, ya don't, ya want it–” you cough under his grip as he reads your eyes, then he whispers, "want it" with a small nod, and takes his hand away.

He notches his tip at your entrance then breathes, "don't ya?--uggghh" As he shoves into you. “Want it, you’ll get it,” he pants as his cock parts your walls. His cock spreads you wide open as he gives you his full length, and you gasp as he bottoms out. He withdraws a few inches and hangs his head to watch you swallow him back up.  

"God damn," he murmurs.  "Forgot how tight ya were before."  Your clit twitches at the thought of the wrench. 

Then his eyes come to your chest and the ripped shirt he gave you. He moans at the sight of your nipple poking through one of the slashes and he covers it with his mouth as he fucks you.  His wide tongue drags under your nipple and wets the curled edges of the slash in the shirt before his lips seal around your nipple.  He brings his hips back and pushes into you again, sucking and moaning into your tit. Your eyes fixate on his triceps nearly bursting out of his sleeves and that’s the first time it hits you that he was already in sleepwear. He undressed and got in bed with you. God, he’s weird. And you. You're. . . You don't know, but your hands are gliding on their own over his muscular back, feeling him flex as he pounds you. 

You find your fingers curling under the bottom hem of his shirt and he reaches one hand behind his back to help you remove it. You can't see much, but when the angle shifts, the moonlight catches enough to tell you his body has really been through it. When his head dips to your neck again you watch his hulking back muscles and see lines whiter than his skin. At least a dozen, overlapping lashes. You run your hand over it and the slight change in texture makes you wince with the confirmation. No telling how old they are. 

On his front, there’s a short straight line near his shoulder and a longer, thinner one on his side, curving around near his v muscle. Your thumb drifts to that one. Joel shivers at the touch, then slams his hips into you harder. You quickly abandon it, sliding your hand up his side, then to his pec. A wicked smile spreads across half his face as your hand runs across his chest. "Y'ain't scared, are ya?" He asks, breathing heavily with his cock dragging heavily in your dripping wet cunt. 

“No.” You thumb his nipple. 

He lowers himself and lets the weight of his middle onto you with a sigh, still railing his length into you. You wrap both legs around him, and he breathes "yeah, mmmgg baby, yeah" as he fucks you deeper. 

Your nipples go fully erect. "Fuck," he breathes when he feels them.  He grinds against your clit as he fucks you, and you feel a climax looming. The thought crosses your mind whether he's going to kill you one of these days and your chest erupts in goosebumps. Your face feels cold. 

As though reading your mind, he says, “don’t whore around on me” He reads your eyes then adds, "n' you'll be fine," with a small nod, a brief smile, and harsh thrust. 

You can't help but crack a smile at the absurdity of it.  The implied monogamy–on your side, at least. When he registers your amusement, his smile fades into a scowl and his eyes turn black. He grabs your jaw, squeezes it open, and spits in your mouth.  He grabs your hand off his chest and pins both your wrists harshly above you, holding them there with one massive hand as he fucks you harder, angrier. He looks down where your bodies meet, and he watches you take his cock again, breathing heavily, sighing and moaning.

Eventually his sour mood subsides, replaced by renewed marvel at your body. "Sure can take a dick." Your hips lift into him, seeking more pressure for your clit, near the edge.  "Didn't bring my wrench." He glances around your bedroom.  You moan at the thought of him shoving something inside you. Your walls twitch, and the deep groan that leaves his mouth is too much.  You grab his ass and pull him deeper using your hands and your legs.

"Fuck, Joel," you breathe, and a new softness spreads across his face. 

His mouth falls open and he whispers, "yeah, sweetheart." You bite your lip and groan as a huge orgasm seizes you. "Yeah," he whispers and his eyes map your face as your walls clench around him. "oh fuck," he pants as you cum on his cock.  "Fuck," he breathes again, "fuckin love this cunt," he looks you in the eye.  "Ohhhh," he groans and begins to pulse inside you. He lowers his face to your neck again and you keep cumming, your body jerking into his. "Yeah, fuck," he manages into your neck as his balls empty into you. "Mmmmm" he thrusts slowly one more time like he can hardly stand the pleasure. 

He pushes himself back up to look at you and shudders as you squeeze him with an aftershock.

"'s'okay," he whispers and brushes your temple with his thumb. “ruin ya in the mornin'” In the morning? He wants to stay over? "God you're hot," he chuckles, cock still inside you. After a long moment of silence, he slides his cock out of you and you wince at the void. He lays on his stomach and drapes his arm over you. Your heart races and you can only hope he doesn’t feel it. You don’t want him in your bed right now. He's a novelty and he has to stay that way. Yeah it was fun, it’s been fun. It’s fun. You have his stupid drawing on your fridge, like a wild memory, a souvenir. But this. . . this is unsettling.  

You can't get attached to this sicko. But you know better than to try to make him leave.  He gets that look in his eye sometimes, and you just don’t know.  You take deep breaths and try to plot how you’ll get out of this in the morning. You can say you have to work. Yeah, you’ll say you have to work.  Eventually, you drift off under the weight of his arm. 

------

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Love you guys.

@toxicfics for notifications.

[thebrothel]

Hiya!

🍆, for the Brothel Sleepover, please!

Could NW please write a Slasher piece?

This is such a fun idea, thank you for hosting this! I'm so excited to see all the asks!

bad girl shit (18+)

Slasher Joel x f!reader, by Night Walks 🍆

Not now, Daddy. Kitten's smoking a j with her best friend Pumpkin.

Slasher reads the text message and scoffs. The two of you must be hoing around together.... or maybe even with each other. Hell yeah. Kitten's hot as hell and Pumpkin's hot too, but Slasher would never make a move on Pumpkin knowing she would reject him. Yeah, Pumpkin, Kitten, and Jailbird are three of the hottest, baddest bitches out there. Slasher turns himself on thinking about y'all dressed up all slutty doing bad girl shit. He gets so horny that he's gotta see this for himself. He doesn't jack off first because it's so much trouble to take his uniform half way down to let his dick out. Shoulda worn something more comfortable and accessible.

On the way to kitten's house, slasher calls and says, "put me on speaker." So she does, and he asks, "Y'all havin' fun?"

"yeah," you both answer, laughing.

"I'm comin' over."

"just you?" Kitten asks.

"That a problem, sweetheart? Am i interruptin' somethin'?"

The girls giggle and there are kissing sounds.

"shit, that's hot as fuck," slasher says. "Lemme walk ya through it, pumpkin. Give her what she likes."

First, slasher tells pumpkin to get kitten really wet, then put her back with her knees up.

"mm-hmm," pumpkin confirms. "Alright, What now?"

"now stick two fingers in her cunt, kinda fuck'er with'm, use your thumb on her clit."

Kitten moans in the background and there's a slurping sound.

"Fuck yeah," slasher says. "Now add another finger," he says.

"oh was I still supposed to have just two?" Pumpkin asks.

"Shit, that's hot. Damn, you're good at this." Slurping sounds continue in the background. "Yeah, keep workin' her open. Fourth finger when ya can."

Kitten moans in the background then begs, "more,"

"give it to her, pumpkin. Kitten, how ya doin, sweetheart?" slasher asks as he turns into the neighborhood.

"More," kitten repeats.

"God damn," pumpkin says. "Ready for my thumb?"

Joel groans in arousal. "Yeah, give it to her."

There's some squishing and panting and then kitten moans, and pumpkin says, " I've got my whole hand in."

Slasher parks. "Alright, don't you dare take it out til I say. Just wiggle it a lil. I'm almost there."

Slasher approaches the house rubbing his erection through his coveralls, and he's puzzled by what he sees in kitten's living room. The two girls, fully dressed, laughing their asses off, with kitten passing a joint to pumpkin. Then kitten brings her mouth to the phone and makes the slurping sound again, then holds it away from herself and moans.

"y'all playin' with me?" Slasher asks.

They giggle.

"Alright get pumpkin outta there, cause now I gotta set ya straight."

Oh, she is in for it.

---------

Ty for playing, bubbles! Lots of love 💕

[not-a-unique-snowflake-blog]

@toxicanonymity I had SO MUCH fun with my bb Slasher!Joel this morning!!!🔪🔪🔪 😍 Thank you for an amazing second part!! Love you!👏💕💕💕

Cc fellow sex kitten @jazziepascal 🤭🔪

[megangovier]

Check out @toxicanonymity fic The Leak! it's so good 😩 maybe check out her other fics too, especially the slasher ones & Joel miller ones too🖤

[milla-frenchy]

Wow 😍😍😍 another amazing trailer 👌

Happy birthday slasher ❤️

[toxicanonymity]

stop playing

3.8k, (dark) slasher!Joel x f!reader

Ty @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for the slasher joel edit and movie poster. And @iamasaddie for the big girthy wrench and the mood board on the master list.

slasher Joel master list | spotify playlist

SUMMARY: Joel fixes and returns your car, pays you a visit, and stuffs you full of his cock and more. WARNINGS: I8+ unsafe dubcon P in V, creampie, m masturbation, crude language and degradation, knifeplay, superficial injury (cut), incidental pussy slap, fisting (be the change you want to see in the world), penetration with wrench A/N:  If something sounds unappealing to you, please quietly skip the fic. This blog is kink-positive. Comments that could have a kink shaming effect may be removed, regardless of intent. Asks: @xdaddysprincessxx and 🔧 anon, ty

“Not here to make love to ya, sweetheart.” His cock twitches against your hand. ”That what ya want?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You shake your head no, catching his scruff against your cheek. “want ya to fuck me.” 

He chuckles, then puts on an air of sympathy. “Shame. . .that’d be nice. . .” His breath hot on your ear. “Shouldn’t’a left me.”  You try to move and he pins you by your wrists.

------------

Joel is in his garage, under your car, finishing up.  Yeah, he didn’t just tow it, he fixed it.  Bet you're an ungrateful bitch about it. You're a brat, but god damn, you can take a dick. He’s never had anyone sink right down and ride him like that.  He vividly recalls the sensation of being swallowed up.  As blood rushes south, his cock strains his jumpsuit, still crusty with your combined juices. Every time he sees or smells it he thinks of how it all leaked out of your used up hole. He wipes his bicep on his forehead, then palms his growing bulge.  He manages to ignore it while he finishes the repair, then rolls out from under your car. 

He sits up on the roller, holding his big, heavy wrench against his thigh. He looks down at his arousal. He wonders if he's getting a beer belly as he sucks in his stomach to better see his engorged bulge.  He unzips his jumpsuit all the way and pulls his T-shirt out from sticking under his pecs. Then he stands up with a groan and adjusts himself. 

He sets his wrench aside and goes to the dingy old bathroom. His mom tried to make it nice, so there's soap and lotion and a little candle, but it hasn't been cleaned in forever. In the filthy mirror, he has motor oil all over his hands, and some on the side of his face. He takes his sleeves off and presses the hardness in his jumpsuit against the low sink as he washes up, then he takes his cock out and holds it in his hand. It's so fat he can barely get his own massive hand around it if he squeezes. You took it like a cock taking queen. He imagines that's what you are as he pumps the lotion into his hand. 

He begins to stroke his raging erection and stares at himself in the mirror as he does it. The mirror lets him see a lot. His jumpsuit is hanging down, mostly out of the picture, the hems of his sleeves skimming the nasty floor as he strokes his cock. His hair is messed up.  He rakes his free hand back through it. His forehead is sweating again as he runs his fist up and down his length. Cheeks are flushed, lips slightly parted, head tilted back as he's beginning to grunt softly with the stroke of his hand. His white t-shirt, stained with oil, stretches over his strong chest and little belly with a little dip of looser fabric in between, under his pecs. His sleeves barely contain his arms and his forearm flexes as he jerks it. 

With his other hand, he takes his boxers under his massive balls so he can see those too. He tilts his head down, casting a shadow over his eyes, mouth hanging open, breathing heavily. He wets his lips and moans approaching the finish. He looks at his cock in the mirror and pictures you sucking his balls. Nasty little sex kitten sucking them so good. For a moment, picturing you between his knees, he feels like you want him. . . until his thoughts are jolted back to how you left him.  His jaw clenches and he wonders what to do with you. When you're only good for one thing, you better be real good at it. Cunt. He jerks himself thinking about how you probably take so many cocks. He wonders how much you could take. 

He takes a deep breath, his cock twitches in his hand, and he groans as he cums into the sink. As he finishes coming, he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. Under his weathered face, for a moment he sees a younger, sadder man before his nose twitches into a snarl and he rinses the cum down the sink.

As he goes to leave the bathroom, half his footsteps are clicking.   Something is stuck in the bottom of his work boot. He lifts his foot to look at the sole, and he pries a tooth from between the rubber ridges. He tosses it in the toilet on his way out. 

. . .

Joel changes out of his uniform, showers, and puts on jeans and a tight t-shirt. It’s dusk when he gets in your driver's seat and starts your car.  Empty coke bottles, goody's pain relief, fast food receipts, empty packets of gum.   There’s plenty of personal information about you, too. He could take you tonight, if he felt like it. Fuck you and dump you. Oh, not figuratively, literally.  If he feels like it. If only you hadn’t left him. . . he would’ve let you go. 

He pulls up google maps and types in your address.  It’s a long ass drive, an hour and a half, but might be worth it, he thinks.  “What the hell were ya doin’ out here,” he mutters to himself.  He knows the answer– whoring. Of course your gas tank is empty. He’ll fill it up on your dime. He hasn’t decided what to do with you when he puts the car in reverse. He'll figure it out on the way.

As he's driving off, the heavy wrench slides off the roof of your car. "God damnit," he mutters and stops to pick it up. Before he gets back in the car, he pats his pocket and makes sure he has his switchblade.  He calls his mom on the way to your house and tells her he needs to swing by for his extra key to the car. She asks him to stay for dinner. 

—---------------

It’s only been a few days. You’ve been driving Joel’s car. You know he’ll come for it eventually, and that’s okay, you think. Depending on how pissed he is about you leaving him handcuffed on his bed and stealing his car.  You think about him constantly, and it always turns you on. It’s making you irritable, living in a constant state of arousal. What’s wrong with you? He could kill you. He might still.  And yet, you have half a mind to drive all the way back to his sad little camper just to chain him up and ride him again. 

You’re home alone, watching TV when you hear a car park outside, then a car door closes. You look out the window and it’s your car. Your heart flutters. Then you hear another car door open and shut–Joel’s car–and the engine starts.  He drives away in his car without so much as a glance toward your house.  Your heart sinks and you’re disgusted with yourself.

You go out to your car and there’s a piece of paper under your windshield wiper. You unfold it and it says, “Take care, sweetheart.”  There’s something on the other side. You turn it over. It’s a drawing. You can’t tell what it is until you turn it to the side and a chill runs down your spine–not just from the content, but the quality. It looks like a kid could have drawn it, but it’s so crude. The focal point is a detailed vagina, clit, hole, labia, and all, liquid leaking out of it.  In much less detail, there are two legs spread with knees up, tits, and behind the tits, a picasso type face you presume is supposed to be you, based on the hair. Uneven eyes. 

Something’s wrong with him. And, of course, something’s wrong with you–Because your heart sank when he drove away, but it sank more when you read, “take care.” 

—

You think about him even more after that. Non-stop.  You convince yourself he was never going to kill you. He was trying to scare you. It was a fucked up game. You wash the grisly t-shirt he gave you–rendered pointless with slashes through the front, and stains. You wear it and wash it and wear it and wash it, and it’s so fucked up. 

A week or two later, you’re taking a walk in leggings and a tank top. You’re walking by some woods in an undeveloped stretch of your neighborhood, right before a big, vacant lot when you get an unsettling feeling. You jog the rest of the way home.

When you’re standing in front of your fridge cooling off with a cold glass of water, you hear metal on metal and look over to see your sliding glass door being pried open. Joel’s imposing form pauses in the doorway. Then he turns and tosses the crowbar outside. He shuts the door behind him. He’s holding a huge wrench and his other hand is flexing around nothing, fingers slightly wiggling. He’s wearing his mechanic jumpsuit and a scowl. 

His voice is deep and gravely. “Miss me, sweetheart?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask as his boots thud ominously toward you. He’s so imposing, muscles begging for more room in his uniform.  His nose twitches one side of his mouth into a smile, then he tilts his head and wets his lips. He lifts the wrench and lets the end of it fall heavily into his other massive hand. You stand frozen against the kitchen counter. You let him pin you to it with his hips, and that's not all. He puts the wrench down with a loud clunk on the faux granite.  Then he plants his massive hands on either side of you, caging you to the counter. He presses his pelvis into you and the warmth of his semi-hard bulge makes you tingle. His belly presses into your middle. Your heart races.  You wedge your hand between you and palm his bulge.

He laughs, nearly silently, then brings his mouth to your ear. “M’not here to make love to ya, sweetheart.” His cock twitches against your hand. ”That what ya want?” 

You shake your head no and say, “want ya to fuck me.” 

He chuckles, then puts on an air of sympathy. “Shame. . .that’d be nice. . .” His breath hot on your ear. “Shouldn’t’a left me.” 

You try to move and he pins you by your wrists. You knee his groin and when he falls backward, you run around the counter. He grabs his wrench and comes after you. You trip over a pair of shoes and he grabs a fistful of your shirt on your way to the floor, lessening your impact. You’re face-down on the carpet. he discards the wrench with a soft clunk and takes out his knife.

“Stop fuckin’ playin’,” he growls. He doesn’t let go of your shirt. He stabs through the fabric and slices all the way down to the bottom hem, then turns the blade upward and cuts the collar in one quick snap. You squirm under him. He puts all his weight on you, pushing his hard bulge against your ass. Then he lifts his pelvis off you, straddles your thigh, and shoves his hand between your legs, digging between your mound and the carpet to feel you through your leggings.  You know they’re already damp. Joel opens and shuts his hand over your cunt, plucking the stretchy fabric out from your body and snapping it back against your pussy.  Then he gets up on his knees, pulls the spandex out one last time, and stabs through it. He rips a big hole in the crotch. And he keeps stabbing and slicing at the fabric between your legs and then he nicks your inner thigh and you yelp. 

“sorry, sweetheart.” he backs down your leg and gives the booboo a kiss. He slices the seat of your leggings more carefully, ripping them all the way open, then he presses the flat of the knife against one buttcheek, separating your crack more. 

“Stop playin’,” he reminds you. 

“Okay,” you whimper and stop fighting. 

He puts his weight back on top of you, with his belly on your back and his knees straddling your thighs and his cock hard against your ass. He cups your exposed cunt and growls when he feels how wet you are. “There’s my sex kitten,” he murmurs. “Pussy’s dyin’ for it, ain’t she.” 

“Just fuck me already,” you whine, disturbed by what a lack of sexual interest could possibly  mean for you. Then you taunt, “Unless you can’t.”

He runs his thick fingers through your wet folds, then pushes one, then two, then three fat digits into you. He slowly pumps them and his cock swells against you. You twitch around him. 

He sighs and says, “Course I can” and unzips his jumpsuit. “Only ‘cause I feel like it.” He spits loudly, then notches at your entrance and he’s even wider than you remember. He shoves himself into you, parting your core with his absurd girth. 

“Mmmfuck,” he grunts. He retreats slightly then plunges in and you gasp as he bottoms out. “That what ya want?”

You get wetter around his cock and he begins to fuck you at a steady rhythm with your face pressed into the carpet. His hand engulfs the back of one knee to nudge it on the carpet, spreading your legs open more. He grunts as he pounds into you with the thickest cock you’ve ever had, even thicker than you remember. 

“Nasty girl,” he rasps as the heft of his cock splits you open. “Take it like a real cockslut, don’t ya?” 

Your nipples harden at his words and you whimper. 

“But damn you can ride it, too,” he pants. 

He grunts and moans as he buries his girth in you.  

“More,” you whine, unsure why you have the constant urge to provoke him. 

He pounds you harder and faster, grunting like an animal with his broad cock stabbing into you, massive balls slapping your skin through the tatters of your torn leggings.

“More,” you beg.

“Careful,” he warns.  “Cause I’ll give ya more.” 

His hips snap into you, stuffing you so full of cock, rearranging your guts. 

“More,” you pant and his hips slow. He thrusts his fat cock into you slower then takes it out entirely. The void he leaves is jolting and the air is cold on your dripping cunt. 

“Fuckin’ warned ya,” he bites. “Turn over and keep your mouth shut.”  He forces you onto your back so you can see him.  He slices through your sleeves and collars and you flinch with the knife near your neck. He tears your shirt off.  “Give ya more,” he mutters. He straddles your right leg so his right hand is closest to your cunt. He slaps your pussy and rubs his flattened fingers around in your ample slick. Then he wipes it on his cock.  He repeats the action until he’s satisfied with his lube. Then he spits on his cock again and slowly strokes himself with his left hand. 

He pumps his cock with his left hand, and with his right hand, he puts three fingers in a triangular formation and wedges them into your cunt while it’s still stretched from his cock.  He pushes his three fingers in and out, curling them, moving them side to side, stretching you slowly. Your body catches up with him, and your cunt gets even wetter. You’ll probably shrivel his fingertips at this rate.  He pulls his fingers almost all the way out, then adds his pinky to the others and begins to wedge all four of them into you, clustered together barely inside your entrance. He puts his thumb on your clit.  All four of his fat digits push into you and you moan. 

“Ooh she likes it,” he coos. “Ever had your gash this full?” You spasm at his crudeness. “Mm?” He thumbs your clit and keeps stroking himself with his left hand. 

You shake your head no. His four move in and out of you, and his eyes glue to your cunt, watching you take them.  He thumbs your clit faster and your back arches. Your cunt relaxes more, like you want to swallow him whole. 

He scowls, sliding all four of his fingers in and out of you as your body keeps you moist. Then he slides them out and pauses.  He spits on his thumb, despite how sopping wet you are. He wedges his thumb between his fingers, so his thumb and pinky are touching each other, clustered with the three middle digits. Then he begins to push his hand into you.  You groan at the stretch. His hand is massive, and gorgeous. You look at the other hand wrapped around his cock. It’s veiny–they both are, the hand and his cock. He adjusts his position and his massive balls rest on your thigh.

“Wanted more, didn’t ya?” he asks. He’s only buried his fingers to the second knuckle, with the bottom half of each digit still outside your cunt. He subtly twists his hand from side to side wriggling it into you. “Yeah, you can take it,” he says. Thank god you’re so shamefully wet for this psycho.  “That’s my sex kitten.” He lets go of his cock and plants his hand on the floor for leverage, leaning over you.  His hand pushes further into you, and you feel his major knuckles prodding at your poor, stretched hole. He pauses as though taking in the sight. He moans and his eyelids are half shut watching your dripping cunt stretch obscenely around his hand. “Fuck that’s hot,” he breathes, then he pushes the rest of his hand into you. 

The stretch burns when his major knuckles crest your hole, with the heel of his palm still outside you. You whimper and he keeps going. He pushes his hand in, making your hole grow even wider.  Your cunt stretches and swallows his hand—his whole hand. The heel of his palm nudges your g-spot, and his knuckles push against your walls. He’s buried to the wrist now. “Fuck, yeah,” he breathes. “God damn. . .hungry, ain’t she?” He pushes in a little further.  Your walls hug his massive hand and don’t want to let go. You’re shocked by the moisture just pouring into your core, like your body wants more, more, more. 

“What’s wrong with ya, huh?” You wish you knew.  “Lemme ruin your clothes, ruin your hole.” He breathes heavier, grinds his cock against your thigh, and keeps the hand inside you mostly still. He clenches the hand inside you and his breathing falters. He slightly twists his hand.  He starts to withdraw it, then pushes it back in before the knuckles emerge from your hole. He does this a few times, partly out and back in, and your walls squeeze him. You writhe under him.  Then, he begins to wriggle his hand out of you. “Fuck, you should see this, baby.”  He sits up straighter and takes his cock in his left hand again.  “Ohh, fuck,” he breathes. “Spread wide open around my hand.” his thumb slips out first and he puts it back on your clit. You whimper. 

“Yeah, ya like that?” he rubs you with his thumb, four fingers still inside you. Your hips lift into him. “Good girl,” he whispers, rubbing you rhythmically. You look at his fat cock in his hand, leaking precum, and you want it back so bad. “Not yet,” he shakes his head. He moves his four fingers inside you and thumbs your clit, watching between your legs with his mouth hanging open, saliva pooling at the corners of his lips. The tension builds and builds with his thumb on your clit until you begin to clench around his hand and he groans as your walls clamp down on him. “Ohhh,” he moans. “Good girl, oh fuck.” When you’ve finished spasming around his hand, he slides it out the rest of the way. When it’s out, he gives a low whistle and lightly taps your cunt with the backs of his fingers. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you. “Ain’t gonna leave ya empty.” He picks up his massive wrench and admires the wide end of it, a little bigger than his fist. 

You’re dumbstruck. It’s nasty, it’s gross, but your body wants it, really bad. It’s like a dream where you can’t make yourself talk. You don’t move. You just look at it, clit throbbing as he brings the fat end of the wrench to your deflated, weeping cunt. He uses his left hand to spread you open and hold you open, then the cold metal makes you wince and your whole body erupts in goosebumps.  His left hand helps, sticking his fingers in with the wrench and using them to tug your entrance around it as he wriggles the wrench into you. He’s gentler than you expect. He works the wide end of the tool all the way into you. It feels so dangerous and crude, but at least it’s smooth.  It doesn’t scratch, thank god. It’s a little awkward, the way parts of it jut out, but at least the metal is smooth. And having it inside you is somehow exhilerating

“And just like that,” he marvels, “ya took it.” He raises his eyebrows. “Damn.” 

“It’s fucking cold,” you complain. 

He begins to fuck you with it in short little thrusts, watching your cunt take it. You’re stretched around the metal. The danger, the obscenity of it turns you on, but you find yourself staring at his cock, wanting it back.  He lazily strokes himself with his left fist.  He follows your eyes and says, “Had enough, huh?” 

You nod. 

“Want my big fat cock back?”

You nod. 

“Alright, kitten.” He carefully wedges the wrench out of you and inhales sharply watching it emerge obscenely from your stretched out hole. He watches your body begin to pull itself back together as he puts the wrench down and gets between your legs.  He lines up and shoves all the way into you, sliding easily to the hilt. He begins to rail you unrestrained. “Not too bad,” he pants, sliding in and out of you easily. This time, he feels like an average sized man. “Fuck,” he breathes, already close. “Don’t worry.  Won’t leave ya empty.”  He slows down a little and seems to be holding his breath. “fill ya up now,” he pants. “Much as this cumsock can take.” Your cunt twitches. “That’s right.” 

He slams into you and erupts, pulsing massively into your worn-out hole, and a second climax sneaks up on you. Your hips lift into his and he groans.  He hovers over you as he cums, and you admire his face, barely keeping your eyes open with waves of pleasure crashing through your core.  

When his balls are empty. He hovers over you for a moment, gives a subtle but demented smile, eyes sparkling. Then he pulls out.

“Whew.” He sits back on his heels, and tucks his massive cock back into his jumpsuit. Your legs are still spread. He brings his face close to your cunt and says “all fucked out.” He gives it a pat with the backs of his fingers again. “Mmm.” He zips up his suit and braces his hands on his thighs. He stands up with a groan.  

“Why did you come here?” you ask him. 

He ignores the question, picks up the wrench, and leaves you on the floor.

----

Thank you so much for reading and interacting!! Love you guys. Happy Friday the 13th, and Happy Halloween.

[toxicanonymity]

midnight blow

3.3k / slasher!Joel x f!reader | slasher masterlist

beautiful slasher!Joel art by @bonezone44 💙

joel master / SLASHER JOEL MASTER

Can read alone w/ recap below.

RECAP (midnight tow): You were DTF with your tow truck driver Joel, then you offended him and he almost killed you just because. You fucked for your life and promised him a bj. Now instead of strangling you and shredding your car, Joel is taking you home--just for the night, he claims.

SUMMARY: Joel takes you back to his camper and you suck him off, then go to bed with him where you find a way to take control of the whole situation and make your getaway.

WARNINGS: I8 plus, spanking, hair pulling, oral m receiving, ball sucking, face fcking, degradation, somnophilia, dubcon unsafe P in V, creampie, riding, jacking off, implicit threat of violence, the tables turn,  joel is a serial killer. NO Y/N.

dividers by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Joel drives the tow truck deep into his sprawling, dilapidated property. You’re straddling him the whole time, with his cum trickling out of you and onto his coveralls.  He opens the window and you enjoy the breeze.  Your dress is pressed up against his dirty white tshirt. Your head is over his shoulder facing the back of the truck.  You said you wanted to suck his cock, and you guess that’s what you’re going to do. Yeah, you’re letting him take you to a second location, but it feels like an improvement after having a ligature around your neck thirty minutes ago.   You’re going to have to suck it so good he falls into a coma so you can make your escape.

By the time the tow truck rolls to a stop, Joel is getting hard again beneath you, and his hips are moving, grinding into you. He cuts off the engine and puts his hands on your thighs.  You pull your head back to look at him. A toothpick rests between his teeth.  He grabs it out of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger and says, “you’re a damn good time, sugar. Lucky for you,” before throwing it out the window and returning both hands to your thighs. 

His hands slide to your ass, his hips lift into you again, and he says “Mmm.” He tilts his head back against the headrest,  falls into a trance and brings his fingers to your cheek.  He thumbs your bottom lip and you let your jaw fall open.  He wets his lips and murmurs, “you look thirsty, sweetheart. C’mon.” 

Joel pulls the handle of the truck door and pushes it open for you.  You’ve learned your lesson, and when you climb down, you stand there obediently.  It’s still dark out, and you’re parked right at the treeline in front of a small camper.  There are party lights strung outside the camper and a blue volvo parked next to it.  It’s impossible to tell how dense the woods are or how far the trees go back.

Joel hops down from the tow truck and mumbles, “good girl. smart, too. nowhere to run.” He gestures toward the camper and you obediently walk in front of him. As soon as you’re in front of him, he slaps your ass and says “Ouch!” for you.   

When you get to the door, he reaches around you to open it.  It isn’t locked.  You go inside and to the right where there’s a kitchen area.  You stand awkwardly with your arms crossed and look toward him.  There’s a sad old sofa with a folding tray in front of it and the cardboard from a Hunger Man  meal.  The windows are tilted open, and the camper smells faintly of sweat and cigarettes.  

As soon as he gets inside, he reaches over his shoulders to pull his dirty t-shirt off over his back and discards it.  Then he looks down at the crotch of his jumpsuit and slowly rubs the sticky dark blotch that rests over his hardening cock.  “Now look at this mess you made. Must’a stretched you out good.” He looks at you and his face hardens as he tells you,  “Sit down,” and points at the sofa.  You sit on the old sofa, grateful to be alive, and he disappears into the restroom. There’s a tv across from the sofa.  

-

The water turns on and off a few times, and when he comes back, he’s in dark blue joggers with no shirt.  His torso is solid, tan, with only a little chest hair and a happy trail.  He’s built, with a little bit of a belly.  His arms are hulking.  He goes to the refrigerator, pulls out a five pack of beer, and un-rings two of them. He hands one to you as he sits down.  He wants to hang out. 

He asks you what kind of tv you like. You say reality tv, the first thing that comes to mind.  

“No shit,” he nods with a contemplative frown.  You sit there and drink your beer, pretending to watch a kitchenware infomercial he seems genuinely fixated on.  When your beer’s empty, you put it on the tv dinner stand next to his can and look at him. You’ll never have more liquid courage, so you might as well make a move. 

You scoot toward him and put your hand on his closest knee then drag your fingers up his thigh. 

He tears his eyes away from the tv and whispers darkly.  “There’s my sex kitten."

You massage his inner thigh, getting closer and closer to his cock, watching the bulge in his joggers grow. Then you run your hand over it.  

You press your palm into his hard manhood, sliding over the fabric, only moving an inch in either direction as you apply pressure.  Then you cradle it with your fingers.  

His breath deepens. “Oh you’re purrin’ for it, aren’t ya, kitty.”

You nod. 

He drags the TV dinner table out of the way without standing up.  “On your knees.” 

You get on the floor between his legs and he watches with a scowl as you continue massaging him. The flickering blue light of the tv illuminates him.  Your knuckles dig into his lower belly as you hook the fingers of each hand into his waistband. 

You pull his cock out, then he holds it by the base.

With his other hand, he reaches between the couch cushion and armrest and fondles a black plastic object.  When he sees you eyeing it, he pulls it up out of the couch and a blade emerges.  A large knife.  He takes his hand away from his shaft and presses the point of the knife into one of his fingertips, admiring the blade as your hands wrap around his cock.  

You get up on your knees and lower your head into his lap. When you inhale, his musk sends a pang between your legs.  You quickly suck his tip into your mouth.  He continues to admire the blade, now just inches from your head. You suck him thirstily, making good on your claim that you really wanted his cock in your mouth.  He sighs as you take as much of him into your mouth as you can. He sits back and holds the knife on the armrest. You take his length down your throat.  His girth is challenging. Your jaw quickly begins to get sore. You bob your head, slurping and sucking hard with your lips curled over your teeth. 

He puts one hand on your head and with the other he fidgets with the knife on the arm of the chair. He moans and you glance up to see his head resting back against the cushion with his eyes closed. 

You take the opportunity to glance around to see what you could use for your escape or self-defense. You rotate your knees and change angles so you can better survey the RV for a flashlight or weapon.  

He grabs you by the hair and makes you look up at him. “What the hell are you doin’?” He pulls your head off his cock. 

You shake your head, “nothing, just curious.”

“Well, get curious about my balls.” He pulls the waistband under his balls and glares at you. 

“oh my god,” you whisper with your eyes wide, admiring his cock and balls together.

He nods slowly. You cradle his balls in one hand and take his cock all the way into your mouth with the other, getting it wet for your hand.  Then you slowly stroke his shaft while turning your mouth’s attention to his balls.  You lick up the seam of his scrotum and he shudders. “Fuck, woman.” 

You swirl your tongue around one ball before taking it into your mouth.  It really is a mouthful.  You suck  his ball and stroke his cock and glance up to see his stomach rising and falling, nudging your pinky. He groans as you suck.  You give the other one some attention.  He shifts under you and you glance at his cock to see precum  leaking from his tip. 

You try taking both into your mouth at the same time, but it’s too much. He laughs at you. Then you start sucking again and his face darkens.  You trail your tongue down and tease his taint. His balls tighten.  You lick where they meet his cock, then drag your tongue all the way up to the head and take him into your mouth again.  He pulls your head down on his cock again and again. “Fuck, yeah, fuck, oh god” then he twitches between your lips. He slams your head down with his tip at the back of your throat and breathes, “Oh fuck you, kitten,” before exploding into your throat with a groan. 

You choke on his cum, but he doesn't let you take your head off his cock yet.  Your eyes water and he shakes his head at you, then closes his eyes, emptying the last of his load.  

Finally, he releases your head and you let him out of your mouth.    

You cough and cough, then you thank him. He stares at you.  “For letting me suck your cock,” you clarify.  One side of his mouth curls upward and he looks at you darkly.

He tucks himself back into his pants, then holds the knife in his hand and touches the point to a finger, admiring it again.  You’re still collecting yourself when he furrows his brow and says, “I dunno if I’m gonna need this. What do you think?” 

You shake your head no. 

He looks at you skeptically.  “long as you're here, you gimme what I want, when I want it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But-” He wraps his fingers around the handle.  

You continue, “but what about when I want it?”

His face softens in amusement.  “Oh-ho-ho, you really are a slut, aren’t ya?”

---

Joel puts the knife down, stands up, and stretches his arms behind his back.  His bulge presses out against his joggers as his broad chest juts into the air. His triceps flex behind him.  Then he stretches an arm over his head and you get a whiff of his sweat. 

“Clothes off," he commands. 

You remove your dress and he motions for you to go in front of him. "Shower." 

It's a tiny bathroom. He makes you sit on the shower floor while he cleans himself. You hug your knees and watch the gray water go down the drain as he washes away the day. You look up at his hulking quads as he lathers his pubic hair with a bar of soap.  He grumbles, "whole bar just to get the whore off me." He puts the soap in the hanging shower caddy. 

After showering, Joel dries off then makes you use the same towel. You’re about to put your dress back on when he says, “you’re in luck. just did laundry.” He hands you a light blue laundry bag half-full of clean but wrinkled clothes.  You rifle through it and your stomach turns.  There are women’s clothes mixed in with his.  Different sizes, some of them ripped and stained. You freeze and stare at a crop top with a short cut on the breast and a brown stain around it. 

Joel loses patience and asks, “God damn, is it that hard?” He snatches the bag from you.  He takes out a heather gray t-shirt and shoves it up against your chest. It has a zombie in sneakers and says The Running Dead 5k.  “Heh,” Joel laughs when you hold it out to look at it.  There's an open gash down one side of the chest and a brown stain around the collar.  When you put it on, your nipple peeks through the gash. 

"Shorts?" You ask. 

He shakes his head no, then begins to walk back across the camper and picks up his knife from the sofa. "Bed," he says and nods toward it.  His bed is notched into the wall at the end of the camper.  He follows you to it then grips the back of your neck, still holding the knife with the same hand so the plastic digs into your neck.  

He lifts the mattress and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "I'm not gonna have to use these, am I?" He chains one of the cuffs to a metal lamp that’s screwed to the wall right above the headboard. He leaves the other cuff dangling open. He lets go of your neck to swat the dangling cuff with the point of the knife, then wedges the knife between the mattress and the headboard and abruptly grabs you by the neck again.  

He bends you over the bed, pulls his hand back, and slaps your bare ass so hard it’s sure to leave a handprint. "Asked you a question.”

“No, I’m gonna stay right here.  You don’t need those.” 

“Don't try anything," he warns. Then he pulls his hand back again and slaps you harder on the same cheek.  Your ass tingles then it fades to numb.  He lowers his voice. "Or you're not gettin’ home tomorrow." 

"Okay," you whimper.

"Good girl."  He lets you go with a shove and you land face-down on his blue flannel sheets. 

“Shit, I’m bein’ selfish, right? Not returnin' the favor?”

He makes you get in bed first so he's blocking you in. 

“Maybe I’ll give it to ya in your sleep,” he says. “Bet ya’d like that."

You nod.  

"Yeah, there’s my sex kitten. Bet ya can’t get enough'a this.”  He lewdly grabs the bulge in his joggers before getting into bed behind you.  

While you’re sleeping, Joel slips his hand between your legs.  He feels how wet you are and whispers to himself,  “oh get the fuck over here” as he gently rolls you onto your back.

He spreads your thighs and gets between them, He feels your cunt again and breathes, “fuck me, sweetheart.” The next thing you feel is his stomach against yours, then his tip at your entrance. You’re disoriented, still not really awake as he shoves himself into you. You sigh but your eyes stay closed. He pulls back then slams into you and bottoms out.  It feels like a vivid dream. He grunts and pants as he pounds you.  He must have been at it for a while already because his sweat is dripping onto you.  Your mouth falls open with a moan and a salty drop lands right on your tongue. You open your eyes with a sigh. 

“Fuck yeah, harder," you pant. 

He tries his best but he’s already fucking you as hard as he can, and he’s nearly spent. 

“Let me ride you,” you beg.  “Wanna ride this big cock again. Swallow it whole with my cunt” 

He slows his hips.  “God damn you got a mouth on you.” 

“Please.” 

“Whatever,” he sighs as he pulls out of you and lays down on his back.  He holds his cock at the base as you straddle him and align yourself over it. His eyes fixate on your nipple poking out of the shirt.  

You take his tip slowly, then abruptly sink down onto him. “Ohhh, Joel,” you sigh. 

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he mutters, still catching his breath. 

You ride him vocally, and put your hands above his shoulders. His hands are planted on your hips.  When you come, you fold your body forward, discreetly grabbing the knife as you groan in pleasure.  

“Come inside me,” you breathe, and begin rolling your hips again. “Fill me up.” 

“Oh, fuck,” he pants and pinches his eyes shut.  Then he pulses inside you and groans as he comes.  You bring the knife to your thigh, then get off his cock. 

“No,” he sighs. Then you take his cock in your hand and press the flat of the blade against his pubic hair.  “What the fuck!” he gasps. “Hold on, hold on,” he begs.You press the edge of the knife against the base of his shaft.  “Look, I’m sorry about the wire and all that.”

“Prove it,” you say.  “How do I know you’re not gonna kill me?”

“Cause you’re a damn good fuck.”

“Cuff yourself.” You nod toward the handcuffs dangling from the lamp.  He hesitates and you tighten your grip on the knife. “Don’t think I won’t. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Okay, okay.”  To your astonishment, he actually cuffs himself to the lamp. 

Mercifully, you take the knife away from his cock. “Where are your keys? The keys to the volvo.”

“On the hook in the kitchen.” 

You grab the keys and come back.  “Ya know, you’re not a bad fuck yourself. Maybe I should stick around.”

-

Instead of leaving, you go to the sofa and turn the tv back on.  Something possesses you to clean his camper for him.  You can’t stand to be around the mess, and enjoy exerting control over the environment. Like you’re wrecking his vibe and leaving your lasting touch.  You spend an hour cleaning, then come back to the bed where he’s dozing off. You wake him up with a palm on his cock. 

You pull his joggers all the way off. “C’mon now, kitten” he whines. Then you straddle him with your naked heat against his semi-hard manhood.  He sighs and starts getting harder right away. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he sighs as you grind against him. “You’re nasty, aren’t ya.”

You nod.  He uses his free hand to guide your hips. You make room for your hand and cup his balls. “Tank empty or got a little more?”

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs then looks you up and down.  “Reckon I’ve always got more.” 

You hover right over his cock and he starts trying to thrust up high enough to fuck you.  You let his tip graze you a few times, then decisively sink onto him with a moan and he shudders. You move yourself up and down his cock, lean forward and grind against his pubic bone. “I didn’t think you’d really cuff yourself,” you say.  “What are you gonna do if I let you go?”

“Give you a ride home,” he pants under you. 

“Hah!” you keep riding him. 

“Really.”  He begins to grunts as you fuck him. 

“Why don’t I believe you?” You slow your hips. You lift yourself up and start to let his cock out of you.  

“No,” he groans. “Kitten, wait.”

You sink back down and take his free hand in yours, putting it between your legs.  “Make me come.” You sit mostly still on his cock as he works his thumb on your clit until you see stars, strangling him with your walls. 

When you’re finished coming, you push yourself off him and he groans at the loss.  He begins to jack himself off desperately as he watches you get a pair of shorts out of the laundry bag and put them on.  

"Oh bad girl," he shakes his head slowly as he keeps fisting himself. "baaaaad girl."

You leave him naked from the waist down, chained to the lamp with his cock in his hand.  

“Told ya it was dangerous out here, sweetheart,” he shouts as the door slams behind you. Then you hear him finish loudly as you unlock the Volvo and get in. 

----------------

-----------------

-----------------

----------------

There will be another part but not right away. Follow for lore and more meanwhile.

Thank you so much for reading and an additional thank you to those who engage out here!! 🖤🖤 It really helps and makes me feel good. It's especially helpful bc i get labeled.

I will go back through my requests including slasher when I can.

There are more dark joels on my joel master list. you can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications for fic alerts.

-

to @jazziepascal, diehard slasher!joel fan, don't worry he's not done

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore  @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy  @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk  @filthfairy  @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles  @harriedandharassed  @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy  @cutesyscreenname  @weddingfairy  @pedropascal-whore  @spideysimpossiblegirl  @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot

@bunnyskisses

[toxicanonymity]

slasher joel masterlist

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader | AO3

moodboard by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

SUMMARY: You're stranded, and a call for help only puts you in more danger. Before long, you find yourself entangled with a troubled tow truck driver. It's not just that you crave him. You want to understand him.

🔞 Dark, but fun, but dark. Slasher-typical regard for realism. HEED WARNINGS. Slow to update.

Darkness rating poll | Problematic Playlist

One shots (loose fit series). Est. May 2023.

Midnight Tow (3.6k)

Midnight Blow (3.3k)

Stop playing (3.8k)

Midnight snack (3.4k)

3:00 Special (3.5k)

Mama's Boy (7.2k)

Drabbles, lore, art, and more under the cut.

Blurbs & drabbles

Sleeping photo blurb

Fishnets POV blurb

✨trainsgiving smut drabble

Lore & Analysis

Mama Slasher , Mommy issues

Daddy issues

Hopes, dreams, and M.O.

Camper messiness , personal hygiene

If he saw you with another guy

Art

✨ Slasher Joel Trailer by @carminepoison

Stunning portrait by @bonezone44

Sexy edit by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Towing company logo by @angelitaetera

Towing Logo sketch by @thesummerpetrichor

Borrowed shirt by @thesummerpetrichor

Movie poster by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Wrench edit (SNL fit), @gasolinerainbowpuddles

killer lover moodboard by puddles

night in with slasher by @iamasaddie

slasher mood board by @iamasaddie

mood board by @milla-frenchy

please let me know if yours isn't linked 🖤.

collage/phone screen by @iamasaddie.

Randy & Mama moodboard

[toxicanonymity]

Mama's Boy, 18+

slasher Joel masterlist | problematic playlist | AO3

PAIRING: Slasher!Joel x f!reader LENGTH: 7.2k words and none wasted tbh SUMMARY: Dinner at his mom's house, mostly. WARNINGS: 18+ dark, unsafe PinV, gunplay, degradation, a bit of angst, a whiff of incest, choking-adjacent, dark!reader, major revelations (!), feelings maybe? (god help us), mommy and daddy issues, slasher Joel needs a hug. NOTES: Today is not only mother's day, but also the 2nd anniversary of his first fic. This is packed. @flawssy-227 ty for your activism. And @thesummerpetrichor, I thought of you 🖤. Joel can carry reader.

It's Sunday. He lets himself in. 

“Still in bed? Must’ve been ass up face down pretty late last night, huh? Told ya i'd pick ya up… ”

You squint at him as your eyes adjust. “What are you talking about?” He has something draped over his shoulder.

Too much talking. Not enough fucking. 

He scoffs, “Really? Sunday dinner, slut.” He marches over to your nightstand with a snarl, picks up a folded piece of paper, and tosses it at you like a frisbee. 

Oh yeah. 

You unfold it as if it's the first time you've read it: “pick u up sunday.” There's a sketch of his fat cock and a thinner outline of what's presumably a dong next to it. “p.s. u need a real toy.” 

Well, here he is. Picking you up on Sunday, and he's even kinda cleaned himself up. A plaid shirt and jeans tighter than his work uniform. Looks like a normal guy you could pass in the supermarket, none the wiser that he’d shove a huge tool up your cunt.

He stands by your bed holding up one dress in each hand. Neither of them yours. 

“Now put on somethin’ decent.”  

He throws them onto the bed, then pulls a gun out of the back of his pants.  “What do you think? ” He gestures between them with the gun. 

One of the dresses is simple, clean lines, not far off from something you might normally wear. But it has a brown stain and a frayed edge. It doesn't feel right. 

The other dress is a strawberry plant pattern with short sleeves that puff out. It's faded and outdated, but clean and in decent shape–from what you can tell, at least.

“Got my own clothes,” you tell him.

But he insists, “This ain't the street corner, sugar. You're gonna pick one of these.”

“I'm too tired for this,” you complain, then add, “I dunno what makes you think I wanna go to your mom's house.” 

“Come on, baby…” He looks at the gun. “I don't wanna use this… unless I'm stuffin’ your muff with it later ”

After looking at both the dresses, you can't bear to put on the stained one and choose the strawberry print. You feel unexpectedly cute in what could have been plucked from a mid century catalogue for housewives, although it’s probably from modcloth circa 2015.

Turning around in the mirror, it’s actually really flattering, and there’s something kinda sexy about dressing up like this degenerate's pretty little wife…Yep, you're really doing this. 

Maybe it’s partly out of morbid curiosity, wanting to know where he came from. 

How he…. happened. 

He brings you a pair of your own shoes and puts them down for you to step into. 

“Yeah, that's my girl,” looking over your right shoulder at the bathroom mirror, he grabs your ass, then sticks his hand between your legs from behind, hooking his hand under you to reach your clit. Your feet spread reflexively, giving him more room. Still holding the gun in his right hand, the hand between your legs tents the dress as he strokes you, and your gut begins to swell with need. He spreads his feet and angles himself slightly toward you, getting close enough to press himself against you, letting you feel the warm log in those tight jeans, gun held against his meaty thigh. Your chest heats up and you adjust your tits in the dress, copping a feel of yourself while you’re at it. 

“Good girl ” he mutters. With a glint of affection in his eyes, he says, “You were born to wear this dress, kitten.” Now that he’s got you dripping, his fingers slip into the crotch of your panties and he shoves one, then two, inside. “Mm,” he grinds against you as he stuffs you with his fingers. Then he pulls them out and squats down. He lifts the skirt of the dress and yanks the panties down to your ankles. You lean forward and brace yourself on the sink. He stands up, slides the gun between your legs and the smooth, cool metal of the top of the barrel rubs through your slippery seam. Your hips tilt and he slides it forward one last time, before taking it away.

He pats your ass, and says, “Now c’mon, let's go.”

Not even the decency to fuck you first. Not even with the gun.

You scowl at him in the mirror. 

He asks, “Am I gonna have to drag you, kickin’ and screamin’?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply. 

“Alright,” he agrees, all too happy to oblige. He puts the sticky gun in the back of his pants, bends his knees. and lifts you over his shoulder with a grunt. 

He steps through your open back door and slams it behind him with one hand, his other arm braced over the bare backs of your knees. 

You yoink the gun from the back of his pants and he says, “God damnit, be careful with that,” without putting you down. 

“You seem pretty sure I won't shoot you,” you observe. 

“Course ya won't. Be like a … like a drug addict shootin’ their dealer… nah, shootin’ the drug cooker. Yeah. And he's the only cooker.”

He's getting slightly out of breath as he walks. Or maybe it’s the effort of all that thinking. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask.

“Cock hungry whore ain't gonna kill off the biggest cock she's got.” 

You press the edge of the barrel against the small of his back and nudge it into his jeans, then demand, “Put me down.” 

He groans in exasperation, stops, and sets you down in the side yard. 

You almost forget to point the firearm at him. Almost. With the gun raised, you ask, “What’s with the gun anyway? Thought knives were your thing.” 

He shrugs. “Special occasion?”

“Why do you want me to come to dinner so bad?”

“Cause I told her we were comin’, okay? Told her ya liked the casserole.”

For the first time, you notice his hair is a little bit combed. You ask, “What'd you tell her about me?”

“Uh,” He scratches the back of his neck. “She knows we met when I was workin’. Knows I gave ya a ride….knows ya ain't like other girls.” 

“What’s that mean?” You ask, adjusting your grip. 

“I dunno… ” He shrugs, then gets frustrated.  “I ain't brought home a girl home in a long time, okay? And she's gettin’ older, and…” 

When you've lowered the gun, he lunges forward, muttering, “Gimme that,” as he disarms you with ease that makes your heart skip a beat. He grabs you by the arm and marches you to the Volvo. He opens the passenger door and manhandles you into the seat. 

When he gets in the car, he leans over and buckles your seatbelt for you. He smells clean and minty. 

As he puts the car in drive, you ask, “What else did you tell her?”

“Uh…. She knows we ain't been on many dates.”

“Not many?” You ask with a laugh. “You mean none?”

He glances at you twice, suppressing a flattered smile at the implication he perceives. He wets his bottom lip. “That mean ya want to?” 

He holds the gun against his thigh and steers with one hand.

-

-

When you get to his Mom's house, he warns, “Just don't talk about all your whorin’ around, okay? She won't like it.” He checks his hair in the rear view mirror.  

You laugh, “What whoring around?” 

“All those skinny dicks in your phone,” he mutters, getting out of the car.

“Excuse me?” You ask, still sitting. 

“Just tell her about your day job instead,” he says, as if you genuinely don't think or talk about anything other than cock without prompting.

Wait--skinny dicks in your phone? Your train of thought dies when he puts the gun in the back of his pants, and in doing so exposes a few inches of skin, and the tail end of a scar. After he shuts the driver side door, you open yours while he hurries around to help you out. 

“Come on,” His big hand wraps around your inner elbow again. “We're gonna be late.”  He's slightly in front of you 

“Bringing a gun into your mother's house?” you ask as he pulls you along.

He freezes, then mumbles, “You're right. Don't want her to think you're a bad influence. Even if ya are.” 

What a gentleman. 

He goes and puts it in the glovebox, then jogs to catch up with you again. 

-

-

When she opens the door, Joel's mother beams at the sight of her son. She steps outside, frail and slow moving. She's pretty, with silky white hair that looks older than her face. The storm door creaks to a stuttering close behind her.  

At first, it's like you're invisible. He lets go of you, and they embrace. She reaches for the back of his neck and says,  “C'mere, baby,” pulling his face to hers. He kisses her on the cheek, then she kisses him, and then, as they separate, Joel gestures toward you. Her eyes are curious when they meet yours, then her face comes to life as her gaze falls down your body. She puts a hand on her hip as she checks you out, her other hand rising to her mouth for a moment, then resting on her chest, fingers centered in the hollow of her collar bone. 

“Joel,” she half-laughs in flirtatious accusation, then narrates, “Well, there she is…”

“Don't she look nice? ” Joel asks with a subtle smile and blush. 

His mom admires you with an air of disbelief, then goes in for a hug. Her fragrance isn't entirely new to your nostrils, and the sensory recall brings an unsettling tingle to your loins: The night Joel brought the leftovers.

She holds you close, pressing her body all the way against yours without fully relaxing. Firm and in control, and yet , she feels softer than she looks. Her bosom is like a warm pillow. Like a relic of young motherhood, reaching through time, tickling your inner child awake. 

As the hug ends, she gently pinches the puffed sleeves of your dress and says to Joel without looking at him, “Yes, baby. She looks real pretty.”  Then, glancing up from your dress, she tells you with a smile, “Can't promise strawberries, but I do have cherry pie. Come on in.”

“Thank you, ma’am” you nod. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she chuckles, “You can just call me Mama.” 

It sounds like you should know better. Like ‘Mama’ is the most obvious option. You glance at Joel, and he nods with a little smile of permission, as if that's what you’re looking for, and he's glad to give it.

Might as well rip the bandaid off: “Okay… Mama… well, it's nice of you to have me over.” In the back of your mind, you hope Joel doesn't think this is any special effort on your part. It's more like, your job requires manners, and this is your default setting with older folks. 

She holds the door open with her body and you have to graze past her. “Smells delicious,” you observe with genuine hunger, having slept through the first two meals of the day.

She straightens her frilled apron with a smile and suggests, “Joel, why don't you give your girl a tour while I finish up?” 

This is a relief - you hadn't been consciously dreading it, but worst case scenario, she would've asked you to help in the kitchen. She seems like that type. 

–

It’s a humble brick ranch. Dimly lit. Everything is out of style, but tidy.  There are a few bedroom doors, but he doesn’t open any of them, and you don’t pry. The paint in the hall is disrupted over a poorly repaired dent in the wall. You try not to look at the stains on the ceiling. 

One of the living room walls has a fireplace, and one wall is lined with pictures. There's a bare corner with nothing but a crochet rug – a rounded  rectangle, with raised crosses. The paint is newer over there. Bubbling and wanting to peel as the wall approaches the perpendicular wall, the one with the fireplace.

Before you can get a good look at anything, Joel steers you outside. In the small backyard, a wooden garden bed has overgrown with weeds. The lawn is nice and trim. “You help out with the yard?” You ask.

“Uh, sometimes,” he answers. “ She's got somebody else too .”

He rocks forward on his feet, arms crossed. 

“So... you gonna fuck me in your boyhood bedroom?” You ask, and he clears his throat with a forced smile, brows knitted.

“What?” you ask. “Why the hell else would you take my panties?” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, allowing himself only a brief glance at you, until he does a double take and admits, “Fuck, you look good.” He seems more distressed by it than anything.

No such luck, you guess, raising your eyebrows at the visible outline against his thigh. Never would've pictured him in jeans. 

He runs his hand through his hair, puffs out his cheeks with an exhale, and adjusts himself with effort before leading you back inside. His boot grazes the side of a metal bowl, sloshing water into dark spots on the cement.

-

-

She pours Joel a glass of milk with dinner, and when you politely decline, Joel says, “One glass won't hurt ya, baby .” Mama seems pleased to bring over the old fashioned bottle of milk. She rests her free arm on the back of your chair, with the fine lines of her cleavage near your eyes as she fills your glass. 

The meatloaf is delicious, with sauce that reminds you of barbecue. The mashed potatoes are over-buttered, but they hit the spot. She smiles to herself, satisfied to watch you eat. 

“So tell me about yourself,” she says. “Do you work?” 

You swallow your food, nod, and tell her which clinic you work at. 

“Oh,” she recognizes the name. “The one over on Main Street?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“That's nice,” she says. “Joel's going to own his own business one day. Do you ever want to own your own practice?” 

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” you answer, then ask Joel, “What kind of business?”

“Joel, I'm surprised you haven't told her,” his Mom says, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial volume to tell you, “He’s too modest.” 

“Ya know, I guess a tow and repair one-stop shop,” Joel says. “Not a lot of guys do both, but I can really take care of ya. Same night, even. Late hours, too.” 

His mom nods. “I always knew he'd be successful,”  she says. “Even in the darker days.” 

Joel tenses and begins to tap his heel. “ How about you, Mama? ” he asks, “ What have you been up to? ”

“Oh, you know, this and that,” she says. “Crossword was a doozie today!” she laughs. “What are you two gonna do this week? Anything special?” 

You shrug and look at Joel. 

He starts, “Uh… ”

His Mom bails him out, “You oughta take her to the drive-in like I said, baby,”  then she asks you, "Would you like that, honey? You like the drive-in? We used to go, it was so nice.”

“Sure, I like movies,” you answer. 

“See, Joel? She likes movies.”

-

Joel finishes his meatloaf relatively quickly, and his mother puts another generous slice on his plate. 

“I don't need any more, Ma,” he says, but she doesn't listen, and he digs into it anyway. By his third slice, he’s pushed back in his chair, adjusting his belt. He pats his tummy and says, “There's nothin’ she makes that ain't good.”

“Only the best for my boy,” she agrees, then asks you, “Ain’t that right?” 

“Of course,” you agree.

“Oh! I saw Randall Junior earlier,” she says. “He came by and did the lawn.”

“Randy,” Joel corrects her. 

“Yeah, Randall’s son.”

“Randy,” Joel repeats. “He ain’t even a Junior, Ma. He’s the third.”

“Well, it was nice to see him,” she reminisces, fiddling with the corner of her placemat. She catches herself, smooths it down, then brings her hands together, fiddling with her left ring finger. “I swear, that boy’s an inch taller every time I see him.” 

“He’s in his thirties,” Joel tells you, drawing a genuine smile to your lips. One that brings a sparkle to his eyes. 

“Well, anyway,” she goes on, “A face like that belongs in the movies,” she chuckles to herself.  “Of course, he’s nowhere near as handsome as my Joel,” she looks at you reassuringly as she says it. Lest you pine after Randy the third . 

A silence stretches on until you say, “Well, this was delicious. I’d love the recipe…” You dab the corners of your mouth and put down your napkin. 

“Oh, it’s not a recipe, honey,” she boasts, “It’s somethin’ ya do from the heart.” After a moment, she adds, “But I can write down the ingredients! Now, how about some cherry pie?” 

She stands up, puts her apron back on, and you help her clear the table. “Go on Joel, we’ve got it,”  Mama tells him, and he goes to sit in the living room.

“Okay,” Mama whispers to herself as she plates the first slice, a generous one. “This one’s for him.” You take it to Joel and he sits up from the couch to accept it with a thank you, reading your face for signs of how things are going. You flash him a small, unrevealing smile.

“Gonna take a piss,” he mumbles, and his eyes ask if that’s okay. “Sure,” you say with a little curtsy, trying not to smirk as you turn and head back to the kitchen.

Mama’s about to plate the other slices of pie when she lifts a finger in the air and says, “Oh, let me write this down before I forget,” then retrieves a notecard and pencil from a drawer. She puts on a pair of glasses and smiles to herself as she jots down the ingredients. You dwell in the threshold of the living room.

She looks up like she’s trying to remember something, then looks down and keeps writing on the notecard. 

You begin to look at the pictures on the wall. Some are of Joel, and he’s straight-faced. Some are of cats. Charmingly, a blurry photo of a black cat has been deemed frame-worthy. It sits within a bigger rectangle, the shadow of where a different frame used to be. There are a few spots like this. There are a few relatively recent photos of Joel and his Mom. None with his father, as far as you can tell. None now, and none then. But when you look closer at the older ones, it’s clear some of them have been trimmed. 

“He hates having his picture made,” Mama startles you from less than a foot away. 

“You two seem really close,” you offer. “Just the two of you?” 

She raises her eyebrows in amusement and lowers her volume. “Oh, Joel made sure of that .” 

A chill in her voice hardens your nipples and dries your mouth. You search her face for more, but her eyes have wandered, and her face has fallen. “Been about thirty years, just the two of us—well, just me for a while…” You follow her eyes to the corner with the crochet rug, and she squeezes your arm.  

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

She eases her grip and manages a little smile. “Yes, dear.” She hands you the notecard.

Her handwriting is beautiful. Captivating. 

You stay there, eyes scanning the photo wall, while she finishes plating your pie and hers. 

One of the frames catches your eye. It’s the first one you’ve really zeroed in on, looking at the faces and not just the context. The picture is faded and yellowed.  

Joel is young and smiling, with a pin-up looking woman hanging all over him.

A rush of begruding jealousy begs the question, who is that?

And then, your stomach turns before the realization sets in. 

It’s a much younger Mama, with dark, loose curls befitting of a centerfold. All dolled up and glowing, with her arm around his middle. And god damn, her tits are swelling up out of her neckline. She looks…. Hot. Your lungs go hollow, then your chest expands with a deep breath. Something's stirring in your gut. Arousal? Attraction?  

Your eyes pan down to her Mary Jane heels, but the swell of her breasts, those bouncy curls… your eyes are pulled back up her body. The dress is cute, and proper. Innocent, even. But the way she wears it… Sweetheart neckline, puffed sleeves… You squint for a closer look, and your breath hitches.  Heat rises to your face, to the tips of your ears. Your heart races. You pull your eyes away, chest burning, and pretend you don't notice anything.  

Something soft brushes your calf and you gasp and jump as you look down to see a black cat thread between your legs. 

“Oh, it’s Daniel!” Mama says. “He must’ve come in behind you. Not allergic, are you? Here’s your pie, honey.” She sets down your plate on the coffee table.

“You good, baby?” Joel asks. 

-

Taking your place on the sofa next to Joel, you sit like a lady, one foot tucked behind the other ankle, minding your lack of panties. The dress is just long enough to cover your knees. 

The three of you finish dessert in silence aside from forks scraping good china and Daniel purring from that rug in the corner. Joel finishes first, and stretches his arm behind you on the sofa. When you finish, you sit back with him, knee brushing his. You will yourself to relax. You will yourself not to ogle his mother in trying to reconcile her fragile frame of today with those curves of yesteryear. 

She looks back and forth at the two of you sitting side by side and smiles. She puts down her plate, crosses her legs toward you, and clasps her hands. A smile rises through her pretty cheekbones as she looks directly at you. 

“Ya know, Joel was top of his class.” 

You raise your eyebrows. 

Joel takes his hand off the back of the sofa and leans forward, forearms on his knees, full belly filling out the plaid against his lap as he wrings his hands.  “Mama.” Joel’s tone is cautionary, but his face is more pleading. He shakes his head ever so slightly. 

Ignoring him, she smiles proudly at you.

You try not to sound as skeptical as you are when you ask, “Really?”

She nods. 

“Mama,” he whispers. 

“Mm-hmm,” she smiles. 

He sits up straight, wipes his hand down his whole face and sits back in defeat. His arm doesn't return behind you. 

She continues, “There were a couple other boys, went in ‘round the same time – took’em three tries to get their GED. Three tries, at least. Not my Joel. He got his on the first try,” she beams. “The warden shook his hand.” 

“Okay,” Joel mutters. 

The Warden. Your heart skips a beat and your face goes cold, but you pray it doesn't show. 

You turn and congratulate him, “That’s great, Joel.”

He doesn't meet your eyes. He’s looking at the carpet with a defeated scowl, jaw flexing, chest heaving, arms crossed limply over his stomach.  He tries to manage a smile of acknowledgement. You can see the effort, but humiliation prevails.

You feel for him and add, “Really, babe.” 

His face softens, but his posture doesn't change. After a moment, without looking up, he mumbles, “Long time ago.” 

“Yeah,” his mother nods. “He's always been a smart boy.” She starts talking about his favorite subjects, and how he could have gotten his bachelor's too, three times over, if the program was worth a damn, and state funding, and blah blah blah, riots, and understaffing, and shanks hidden in law library books, and a few bad apples spoil it for everyone…

Your eyes are on him, tuning her out, best you can, despite your curiosity. You rest your hand on his knee, and he relaxes a little. And then, once your face turns toward his mom again, Joel looks at your face, assessing the damage. 

You want to hear it all– how long he was locked up, how he ended up in juvie. You're afraid you already know that part. 

Daniel purrs loudly from the crochet rug, and you will yourself not to look in that direction. 

Joel's Mom looks at Daniel and gets quiet as her eyes wander up that wall that must've been painted over, God how many times in the past thirty years? She idly caresses her ring finger. 

You squeeze Joel's knee, slide your hand up his jeans a couple inches, and squeeze again. You tap your thumb, and his hand joins yours.

“We oughta get goin’, Ma,” he announces. 

“Oh,” she frowns, slumping in defeat. 

“I'm workin’ tonight, and she's gotta work early.” 

“Okay,” she whispers to herself, stands up, and smooths her dress. 

—---

“It's nice to know there's a good woman looking after my son,” she says as she bids you goodbye with another hug. 

Your heart swells at the praise, you can't help it. Her apparent sincerity weakens your eyes, makes you shake away your own memories and steel yourself as she says goodbye to Joel. 

“Chin up, baby.” She holds Joel's face, makes him look at her. “Give your mama some sugar.” She gives him a smack on the lips. He doesn't kiss back, but he does accept her hug. 

He pulls up his jeans on the way to the car. Almost forgets to open the door for you. 

He doesn't look at you, even when he buckles you in, which you would have done yourself if you hadn’t froze.

He swallows more thickly. His posture is less proud.

For the first few minutes of the drive, you ride in silence. Then you ask, “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn't I be?” He grumbles. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, tummy tickling with a pang of sympathy for the man. 

“No,” he answers flatly with no hesitation. 

“You don't have to,” you reassure him. 

“I know I don't have to,” He snaps. “God, it's all anybody ever wants to talk about.” 

You watch him scowl at the road, clenching his strong jaw.  His gaze is so dark. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. As if noticing this himself, he stretches one hand out, spreading his fingers before assuming a more relaxed grip.

You wonder… was he born a killer? 

He's got this tough, violent shell about him, and now you know there's something else under there. Is he sorry he brought you to dinner, you wonder? You don't want him to be. 

“Well, it was nice meeting your mom,” you remark. “Meatloaf was fantastic…. The pie, too.” You cradle the Tupperware stacked in your lap. “You wanna hang out for awhile?” you ask. 

“Gotta work,” he answers flatly and swallows with his eyes still on the road. 

“Well, that's too bad.” It really is. 'Cause you're not any less horny than he got you in your bathroom two hours ago. Wetter, if anything, you realize, and warmth blooms in your cheeks. Now the sun is going down. You reach back and put the Tupperware on the back seat, then shamelessly turn toward him. You lean your temple against the headrest and watch him drive. 

He’s hard-working. Complicated. Private. And his mom’s right, he is successful, all things considered.

You wonder where his dad is buried. Whether he was handsome, like Joel. Maybe . But with or without him, Joel got those looks from Mama. 

Joel glances over and shoots you a dark look. A warning.

“You don't gotta play nice,” he says.

“I'm not playing anything,” you protest. 

He lets out a dismissive chuckle.

“Pull over,” you tell him. 

“For what?” He asks.

His meaty thighs are spread, swelling in those tight jeans. He follows your eyes and squints at you, then slides his hand under his belly and adjusts his belt, annoyed. 

“Just pull over Joel,” you repeat.

“Ain't in the mood for your games, sweetheart,” he says.

You open the glove box, then close it with the gun in your hand.  You point it at him. “Pull over, god damn it,” you tell him.

He squints and looks at you up and down before dismissing you with a silent, condescending laugh. 

Keeping the gun trained on him, your free hand unbuckles your seatbelt, then slides between your legs. You pull the skirt of the dress all the way up to expose your cunt.

“You serious?” He asks. 

“Serious as a heart attack,” you confirm. 

And that's not what killed his dad, you think. 

It must've been messy. 

He must've deserved it, by the looks of Joel's back. The way the moonlight skidded over his scars, that night in your bedroom.

Joel shakes his head, keeps driving, and you lift the gun to his temple. “Pull over right now,” you repeat, quieter.

“Jesus, FUCK,” he relents, neck vein bulging as he veers toward the shoulder. 

It's close to dusk now, on a suburban road, and you're half way out of the seat before the car's in park.

Stretching your leg over the center console, you help yourself into his lap, straddling him, still holding the gun. With your free hand, you begin to unbutton his shirt. 

For a moment, all he does is stare at you and breathe heavier. “You're fuckin’ with me,” he tells himself out loud, not wanting to fall for a joke. He has his elbows back and out of the way, one arm on the door, one on the center console, but he’s itching to have you. You can see it in the way his biceps twitch. His stomach rises and falls with heavier breaths under his white tee. 

“I’m not,” you assure him. 

He lets you pick up his hand, and you guide it between your legs so he can feel how wet you are. 

His face darkens, and his hand reflexively grabs your cunt. 

“Somethin’ wrong with you?” he asks.

“That’d make two of us,” you answer.

You glance at the gun to make sure the safety's still on, then point the barrel at his chest and reach down to grab the massive bulge in his jeans. The largest you could imagine, for a cock that’s not quite hard. And he chubs up quick under the lustful pressure of your palm. 

“You're into this shit,” he says. “ Like some kinda kink.” 

Ya think?, you manage not to say out loud.

But you get the subtext: He’s a real person... With a real big cock that swells harder in your palm as you massage him slow with your breasts heaving. He cups your bare ass cheeks. You slide your hand up the front of his jeans, and his hips lift under you, chasing your palm. The heel of your palm presses into his gut as you unbuckle his belt. You rest your wrist on the seat, gun pointed toward the back of the car as your hand continues its work between your bodies.

With his belt buckle out of the way, you grope at his cock through the denim again, then unzip his jeans and rest your hand on the curve of his belly, splaying your fingers out before sliding your hand down into his jeans. As your hand engulfs the mushroom shape of his cockhead, then his swollen shaft, you moan at the girth. “Yeah,” you breathe, “You gonna fuck me in your mother’s dress?” You end the question with a firm grab of his package, and he grunts, nearly breathless, then sighs as you palm his cock hungrily through the cotton of his boxer briefs. 

“Looks really fuckin’ good on you,” he answers with a nod.

Blood’s still rushing to his cock, responding to its need to stiffen up and plug whatever gaping hole appears in front of it. 

“Looks good on her too,” you note. 

“Fuck,” he breathes under your slow but aggressive massage. His eyes pour over your chest and he says, “Looks better on you.” If he’s not lying–and it feels like he’s not–-it’s quite a fucking compliment. His shaft plumps with as much as blood as it can hold, stiff as a rod, fat and juicy, hard as hell, spilling precum in his boxers. 

“Ohh, fuck,” he moans. His hips lift and his abs tense and his belly swells against your forearm. 

You slide your hand up again, and under his waistband. You brace your wrist on his shoulder, pointing the gun toward his neck as your hand slides into his warm boxer briefs to feel the smooth skin of his aching manhood. 

“You wanna put that down?” he asks. 

“No,” You reply, unable to connect your thumb fingers around his girth. 

“Man, when ya need it ya need it, huh?,” he murmurs, eyelids heavy. “Need this cock real bad, don’t ya? ” 

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Need to pack that droolin’ gash,” he says. “ Pack it full. ” 

“Yeah,” you nod and raise yourself a few inches. You get his tip at your entrance, then slide it through your dripping pussy.

"Oh, fuck,” he moans, “God damn sex kitten.. . FUCK, youre hot” 

He breathes audibly, watching you with forced patience as you notch his broad tip at your hole. You start to sink down on him with some difficulty, face scrunching, biting your lip in frustration, eyes watering with need. 

“What's the matter, sweetheart? Forget how to take a cock all the sudden?” 

You lift yourself up and sink down a little more, swallowing the tip. 

“Oh fuck,” he moans. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls you down with an upward thrust, spearing you on his monster girth.

“Yeah…oh, fuck,” he breathes, not quite bottomed out. “Ugghh,” he groans, pulling you down more with an upward thrust to the hilt, fully seated in you at last. 

“God, you're filthy.” He wets his bottom lip, admiring what a mess you’ve become in his lap. “Hot little slut like you…. Oh, you're trouble,” he says. 

You begin to lift yourself, letting most of his meat out of you, tip dragging thick and tight through your walls, your slick beading under the crown and sliding down his shaft. Then you sink back down, splitting yourself open on his girth with a sigh. 

The sky has erupted into shades of pink and purple as it begins to sink past the horizon. 

Electricity runs through your blood. Your skin hums. His neck glistens with goosebumps and the hues of his shirt look brighter in the almost-dark. 

He grabs your hips as you ride him, then moves his big hands to your waist. Each time you slide up his cock, it’s easier to sink back down. Your body’s hungry for more each time. You can feel it pulsing wider around him, welcoming his girth, hungry for more. 

“Yeah,” he encourages you as you find a rhythm. “Like that.”  

You seize one of his wrists to move his hand to your neck.

“You're a real freak, baby,” he taunts you, brushing his thumb against the delicate skin of your neck before carefully positioning it and raising his eyebrows at you. He closes his eyes as you sink down on him again and his girth slides easily through your soft walls. When he opens his eyes, his massive hand gives your neck a little squeeze, and you moan in appreciation. 

“Guess it takes a freak to fuck a guy like you,” you spit back.  

He scowls, and his nose twitches. 

You go on, “Mighta picked the only freak in town who’d fuck you by choice,” you tell him. “Lucky call,” you say. “Lucky you have such a fat fucking cock,” you taunt him and study his face, hopeful for a sign that he could snap.  “What else do you have?” You ask, and it feels almost too cruel. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lot to have… fuck,” you breathe. “Mmm,” fully stuffed by his girth. 

“Quit runnin’ your damn mouth,”  he snaps and grabs the gun by both ends at once, smoothly disarming you with an effortless twist of his hands. He places the barrel against the hollow of your neck and asks, Is “That what ya want, ya dumb slut? Tryna get yourself killed?” 

You freeze, half-way on his cock, getting lost in his eyes. 

“Well God damn, if you're gonna ride it, ride it. I'm gonna lose my goddamn patience” he warns. 

When you don’t sink down fast enough, he gets rougher, putting you in a bruising grip, one arm wrapped around you, tightening like an anaconda. 

He fucks up into you from the bottom, both arms behind you, with the gun held vaguely to your neck.

“Yeah,” you moan. 

He growls, pushes his back against the seat, and his stomach pushes against your front, pushes and rubs as he fucks you harder, rocking the car. 

The windows fog up.

He unzips the back of the dress and tears it down to reveal your breasts. 

He watches them move as you’re bounced on his thick manhood. He snarls and grunts like an animal possessing his prey. 

“I see you,” you whisper, intoxicated by the rhythmic stroke of him up in your guts.

“Fuck you,” he rasps.

“Fuck me ,” you retort,  “Fuck me,” you repeat, “Fuck me, killer,” your cunt spasms with the word. 

“Knew what I was, don’t act fuckin’ surprised.” 

"Fuck," you moan, swallowing up his cock. “I'm -mmm- m’not,” you say. “I'm turned on.”

“You’re sick,” he says, burying his cock in you fully, once again.  

Your nipples harden, you moan, and he looks at you skeptically, even as he feels your walls twitch around his absurd girth. 

“Know that pussy's hungry for something bigger,” he says. 

“Like what?”  you ask and feel the gun leave your neck. 

“Get up.” He checks the safety.

When you rise up, he holds the gun near his dick, making the barrel of it look like a twig. 

“Best I got here,” he says with your gummy walls clinging to his shaft as you let out all but the tip. 

“Think she can take it?” he asks. “Shit, we know she can.” 

You lift all the way up onto your knees, letting his cock fall out. It bounces, bringing a string of slick with it, and stands stiff at attention. 

He works three fingers into you with ease. 

“Gimme your hand,” you ask.

“Hand's fuckin’ busy,” he says, referring to the one holding the gun. 

“No, gimme your whole hand,” you demand greedily, and grab his wrist with his fingers still buried in your cunt. 

“Attagirl,” he says, then works a fourth finger into you.  “Best I can do here, sweetheart,” he winces as he fucks you with four clustered fingers. 

“Fuck this,” he decides, unable to stand his throbbing cock growing ever colder outside your cunt. 

He positions you over his dick and the gun, uses his fingers to spread your pussy around both, then pulls you down. 

“Uh–ughh,” your mouth is agape as you sink down the shaft and barrel, taking them both. 

You’re a quivering mess. 

He holds the handle steady and says, “Good girl.”

You don't go all the way down. The cool barrel slides against one side of your walls. 

“God damn, this hungry pussy,” he pants, cock stiff against the gun.  “God damn, i know she can take more,” he says, frustrated without much more to give you.  

“How do you know?” you ask 

“Cause I've seen ya gapin’ wide open, sweetheart.” 

You moan at his words, pussy quivering around his cock and gun. 

“Wide fuckin’ open,” he repeats. “Ya take my fist… take two dicks…fuck ,” he twitches inside you. “ Took my goddamn wrench…. greedy fuckin’ cunt,” he goes on. 

Then you're seized by a swell in your lower belly…. The pressure that’s been simmering quickly boils over, and you whimper as you come on his cock and the gun. 

“Yeah,” he pants as your walls flutter and your thighs quiver. 

He lifts you up with one arm, and takes out the gun, putting it aside. Then he slams you all the way down on his cock. “Oh god, yeah,” he pants, “Freak nasty whore ” 

You moan and let it ride, clenching around his cock, your walls hugging it tighter each time, with the girth of the gun no longer holding you open.  

Your climax wanes and your legs are weak. “Oh fuck,” he pants, “Gonna fill this dirty snatch,”  He sweats and grunts. “Gonna stuff her with my load,” he warns, “Bout to fill this gash right up .”  

“Fuck,” he breathes heavier and grunts with each thrust up into you, then slams you down, and with an upward jolt of his hips begins to drain his massive balls. “Fuck,” he sighs as he comes inside. “Fuck, you're crazy,” he says with another rope, warm and sticky, hitting your womb. 

“Tryna get knocked up by some psycho killer ya picked up on the side of the road,” he says. “ Fuck, you goddamn freak .” 

Still milking his cock, something possesses you to cradle his face as he slows down. Another burst of warmth in your core, as your face approaches his. He starts to turn his cheek, but your hands become forceful. “C’mere, asshole,”  you demand, grinding into him with his cock pulsing deep inside again. His neck begins to relax, and he sighs with his eyes closed. You hold his face steady and bring your face to his. When your lips meet his are limp and open. 

Another warm spurt into your womb, and when you moan against his mouth, he moans back. His lips soften, then cradle yours. Your tongue slips into your mouth, and his pushes into yours. He grabs the back of your head, pulling you into his face as he kisses you, releasing a final burst of hot seed. “Mm,” he grunts into your mouth, hands holding each other’s faces. Glued together, consuming each other in the dark. The passion simmers to something gentler as your loins twitch with aftershocks, becoming over-sensitive. 

You break away to breathe, gasping for humid air in the fogged-up car. 

He pants, looks up at the ceiling. His neck vein pulses. His skin is clammy looking, dewy with cold sweat, 

“Fuck,” sighs, his chest heaving, “Still got your goddamn tits out.” He admires them, then feeds himself one. He tongues your nipple, and when your cunt squeezes him, he winces, letting it out of his mouth. 

A tractor trailer whizzes by, shaking the whole car. 

“Alright,” he says, and nudges you off his lap. “Now pull yourself together.” 

He takes the gun, wet with your juices, puts it on the dashboard near him. He looks over at you skeptically when you've climbed back over the center console into your seat.

“You better stuff that dress between your legs,” he warns. “Don’t want ya leakin’ all over the goddamn place.”

-

-

-

THANK YOU FOR READING.

Believe it or not, I cut two scenes from this lol so I might put them in a little bonus visit between Joel and his mom soon.

Look, this took me a year and I feel like I've finally done my mental vision justice lol. So, please interact 🧎‍♀️🥺🖤

anon is fine if you're shy!

[toxicanonymity]

Imagine Slasher sees a man entering (or leaving?) Kitten's house, while he's stalking watching her. How would he react, what would he do? 👀

Thank you for all this 🖤🖤🫂

trainsgiving

SLASHER JOEL x f!READER | PLAYLIST | WC: 900

ENTERING! Let's do entering. And you're quite welcome. I hope this rascal makes some of you smile. Love you, Milla. 🖤🖤

WARNINGS: 18+ dark fic. Unsafe/dark sexual behavior, degradation, humiliation, slasher being slasher, cucking, dubcon/noncon but it's okay cause he ain't got no soul.

Joel watches from outside and perks up when your living room light switches off, and a dim orange light in your bedroom turns on. Yeah, let's go. He doesn’t have much of a view, so he creeps around back to the sliding door of your kitchen. And look at that, the door isn’t even locked.

This is big. An opportunity to see you whoring around. Catch you in the act. He’s not gonna blow it: unlike the other times he’s broken in, he doesn’t make a sound. He even takes off his shoes and leaves them outside. 

You little sex kitten…you even left your bedroom door open. He takes a seat on your living room couch which faces away from your bedroom. He rests his elbow over the back of the sofa and angles himself so he can watch. He doesn’t see much, at first. Just the silhouette of some loser awkwardly lying on his side on your bed, presumably facing you.

Then there are kissing sounds. Gross. You must have thought the same. You don’t sound impressed when you stop and ask the poor guy, “Uh, ok. Can we just uh–” 

And then you’re on top of him. Attagirl. That's the kitten Joel knows. You take off your shirt. Well, damn. You look sexy as hell from this angle.

“You’re so pretty,” the guy gushes softly. Joel rolls his eyes. That guy totally has a cuck voice. You lean forward, still with your skirt on, although it’s riding up. Your hips move, a little. He pulls your head down for a kiss. Dumbass. That clearly wasn’t doin’ it for ya before. Your faces connect, and while you’re not looking, Joel sneaks over to your room. He crosses his arms, holding a knife in one hand, and leaning against the doorframe.

You pull back from the bad kisser and he apologizes softly.

Joel has had enough. “Alright, just take your dick out man. That’s all she wants.”

The guy gasps. You turn around with a startle, but you don’t freak out. You're getting used to the break-ins.

“Joel,” you scold a little too calmly. “What the fuck?”

“Take it out,” Joel repeats to the guy. 

“What are you doing?” You demand. 

Joel answers, “Don’t whore around on me if ya don’t want me involved, babe.” 

The guy hesitates, and Joel uncrosses his arms. With his knife still in one hand, Joel gesticulates in front of himself, starting with both hands near his crotch. “Take… your cock…” He lifts his hands and advances them forward. “Out of your pants.” 

The guy is just staring at the knife in Joel’s hand. 

“NOW,” Joel adds, then addresses you. “God damn, I can see what you're so bored about.” 

The guy’s hands are shaking as he unzips his pants. Joel steps forward to take a look, and, well. Lol. 

“You wanna go first or second?” Joel asks. 

“W-What?” The guy stammers. 

“Trainsgiving’s come early,” Joel explains. “Go on, get her while she’s tight.” 

The man asks you, “Do you want me to-”

Joel interrupts with an exasperated sigh, then, starting in a mocking voice, “do you want me to–Shut up and do it,” Joel points at him. 

Joel gets a good look at you. He knows that look on  your face–mortified AND aroused. And when Joel gives you a little smirk, you seem to suppress one of your own. It’s clear in your eyes.  

“Okay fine, just lie there,” Joel directs the guy. “Hold it for her.” Joel turns to you. “Go on, kitty. Don’t stop whorin’ on my account.” 

You look Joel up and down, and when he palms a massive bulge in his jumpsuit, that’s enough to make you do it. 

You’re more cock hungry than anyone Joel’s ever met. Too bad this guy’s not much of a meal. That’s okay. Joel’s here.

You put a condom on the guy, and Joel laughs, “ouch.” 

When you sink down on the man, you’re hoping it’s a test. A test you’ll fail, provoking Joel into a rage.  But no, Joel stands close by and unzips his jumpsuit, staring at where your body meets the cock.

Okay, he’s not that bad, both you and Joel think to yourselves. The guy is frozen.

“What,” you ask the guy, “you don’t want this?”

"No, I do." He looks back and forth between the two of you and asks, “Does he have to be here?”

Joel is now holding the absurd girth of his own shaft and glances down at it before looking the man in the eye. “Someone’s gotta pick up the slack,” Joel complains and adds under his breath, "Make up for what you lack."

You begin to move your hips. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joel decides and puts an arm around you, pulling you off the guy. You pretend to fight Joel off.

The guy asks, “Do you need help?”

“She’s fine,” Joel cuts him off. 

“I wasn’t done with him,” you protest convincingly.

The guy whispers,”What the fuck,” as he backs out of the room, still putting his dick in his pants. 

“Why are you ruining my date,” you ask Joel.

“Shut up,” Joel pushes you forward and holds you face down on the bed. He growls in your ear. “You.. filthy.. slut,” then shoves into you brutally. 

There he is, you think as you smile into the pillow and savor the incredible stretch.

[toxicanonymity]

3:00 special.

3.5k words, slasher!Joel x f!reader | Slasher Joel SUMMARY: One shot - Joel entertains himself while you sleep, then makes good on his promise to ruin you in the morning. Title from his playlist, song - Stop Playing. WARNINGS: I8+ dubious consent p in v sex, degradation, toy, vag fisting, dark humor, dark character, slasher typical regard for realism. creator chooses not to warn further detail but happy to answer Qs. hope my editing isn't too bad. A/N: Thank you so much everyone for the comments, mood boards, asks. Y'all make this AU fun to write and interactive. @toxicfics for notifs (how to see notifs all in one place) @toxicrecs for recs. dividers by @gasolinerainbowpuddles.

It's well after midnight. Joel is normally awake and on call at this hour. In fact, he’s on call right now, but he couldn't tell you where his phone is. You’re asleep under his arm, and he’s not tired enough to drift off. He shuts his eyes and thinks about what he wants to do to you. 

Cockslut like you has gotta have toys lyin’ around. Prolly can’t go 12 hours without gettin’ your gash stuffed. 

He cautiously lifts his arm off your back, slides out of bed, and tiptoes over to the window to get a little more moonlight in there. Then, he goes to your nightstand. You sigh in your sleep. 

He opens the drawer and rolls his eyes in disappointment when there’s only one satin bag. Just a vibrator. Then he sees the corner of a dark, suede box sticking out from under your bed. Jackpot. You’re sleeping face down, and your arm is dangling off the bed, fingers nearly grazing the corner of the box. He manages to pull it out from under the bed without disturbing you. There’s another one behind it, too. 

He sits on his knees and opens the box. Oh yeah. You’ve got all sorts of dildos, dongs, rabbits, there’s like six cocks in this box. There’s lube, a strap, suction cups. So many possibilities, he can’t think straight. God damn. 

He picks up the biggest dick. He wraps his hand around it. Aren’t these things supposed to be bigger than real ones? Especially for a size queen like you. You must be using more than one at a time. He imagines you smashing two of them together and sitting on them, letting out a slutty moan as you sink down. 

He’s hard as a rock. Your phone lights up on the nightstand, and he looks at it. It’s 2:33 and there’s a pop-up notification. It has a flame logo with the text,  “Darren and 18 others are waiting for your response.” What the fuck is this? 

He unplugs the phone and tries to open the notification, but it’s locked. He eyes your hand, still dangling off the bed, and carefully presses the screen against your thumb to unlock it. He has some trouble finding the notification again. He’ll figure it out, but first he’s got to do something about this brick in his boxers. 

You’re snoring lightly now, covered by only a light sheet. You’re out cold. Probably out whoring every night this week, and now you’re finally catching up on sleep. 

His stomach growls.  

He sits up on his knees, facing your bed. You’re still on your stomach, and the knee closest to him is bent. Practically spread eagle, no surprise there. He pinches the sheet and slowly pulls it down until everything above your knees is exposed. 

His balls twitch at the sight of your glistening wound. God damn, look at you leaking. 

There’s a trail of cum and two dark spots on the sheet under you. Wonder how many loads you’ve got on this bed. Mattress must look worse than his. His cock bounces and rubs it with his wrist. He growls, looking at your snatch. 

Yeah he’s gonna ruin you in the morning, or as soon as he’s done figuring out what kind of whoring you’re up to. He didn’t imagine the professional kind. You seemed more like an amateur. 

But you’ve got 18 dicks waiting for you in this thing. He looks at your phone. 

—

Joel opens the camera app and carefully lines up a shot between your legs. Then he takes a picture. SHIT, it flashes. 

You whine in your sleep but don’t wake up. He looks at the picture. It’s a good shot, really good. He turns the flash off. 

You probably won’t even wake up if he touches you. So used to having hands and dicks and tongues all around this sloppy cunt. He stands up and makes an upside-down v-shape with his fingers and uses them to spread you even wider. You twitch and a little drop of cum rolls out, making him moan softly. He takes another picture. 

-

He goes out to your living room carrying a bottle of lube and your phone. There’s a massive tent bobbing in his tight boxers. He settles in on the sofa and takes out his cock and balls. His stomach growls again and he lazily rubs his belly. Guess mama was right, he should’ve ate more. 

He lubes up his dick, then looks at the picture on your phone. Your app offers to auto-correct the last one, and he can see much better after saying yes. 

Good lord. 

He has half a mind to fuck you right now, but instead he wraps his hand around his cock. 

He strokes himself, imagining those toys stuffing your slutty hole. What a sloppy mess you’d be, all fucked out and stretched from taking as many dicks as you could. He looks at the first picture, with the flash: an HD photo of the aftermath of his cock. You’re really something else. He’s never seen anyone take a dick like you. He switches between the pictures and groans at the sight of you spread wide open by his fingers. His hand makes you look smaller than you are. He could probably park his truck in there. 

Fuck. 

He strokes himself faster. 

Another notification with a flame pops up. You have a new match! 

Still jerking himself, he follows the notification and it opens your app.

“Alright, sex kitten,” he mutters under his breath. 

A message badge at the bottom of the screen shows you have 21 new. God damn, you love cock. He fucks his fist, hips slightly flexing. “Ohh,” he moans and closes his eyes thinking about you browsing for dick, vag drooling. But none of them can stuff you and stretch you the way he does. He pulls his shirt up and sighs as he cums into his fist and on his belly. 

He wipes his hand off on his shirt, leaving the cum smeared there, then wipes it again on his boxers before lying down on the sofa and using your phone with both hands. 

It's this easy? He knew you were this easy. Let's see what these other guys are packing. 

Joel opens a message from Marcus. Marcus says, “Hey, I saw you like coffee. Wanna grab a cup at the Bean Bar this week?” Joel clicks on the guy’s profile. He’s into traveling and books. No dick pics, not even an outline. What a fuckin’ loser. Joel deletes the match and returns to your list of guys. He sees a thumbnail of a guy with lips parted and his shoulders are bare. He opens that one. 

Benny. “Damn look at you,” Benny said. “Wanna get at this?” There’s a picture of him grabbing a bulge in his gym shorts. He’s got a green dot by his name. 

Joel thinks to himself, then types to Benny, “Yeah I love cock,” and sends it with a woosh.

He goes to look at Benny’s profile, and he’s a boxer. Most of his pics are shirtless. Lots of pics with slutty sweatpants. He looks like a dumbass, but at least he's smart enough to know what you’re looking for. The question is, does he have it. 

Benny replies. “Fuck yeah, got plenty for ya.”

“Hm,” Joel doubts to himself, then types, “Show me.” 

Benny replies, “Damn, most chicks don’t want the full monty.” 

Joel squints in frustration. Is Benny dense? 

“I SAID I LOVE COCK,” Joel replies on your behalf. 

“Lmao I like it. I show you mine, you show me yours 😉,” Benny responds. 

“No problem,” Joel sends.

Before he does anything else, Joel thinks to text himself those two pics. Mama’s right, he’s smart. He’s got her wits. His stomach growls again. 

You wake up in the middle of the night and hear something. As you blink awake, a flickering blue light is coming from down the hall. You put on a long t-shirt and rub your eyes on your way to the living room. You begin to faintly hear the shamwow infomercial as the silhouette of Joel Miller’s hair comes into view.  He’s sitting on your sofa watching tv. He bends forward and puts something on your coffee table.  Then, as he settles back into the sofa, he does an exaggerated yawn and stretches his arms over the back of the couch. You look at the clock. It’s 3:45 AM. 

You pad into the living room and observe him manspreading on the couch.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he yawns as you sit down next to him on the sofa, taking in the scene. He’s in boxers and a navy shirt that’s ridden up exposing a couple of inches of belly. There are darker blotches on the shirt. 

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, voice hoarse with sleep. A better question would be, why are you still in my house?

“Couldn’t sleep. Got hungry. Want some casserole?” He sighs with the effort as he bends forward to get the Tupperware and fork for you. 

“Where’d that come from?” you ask. 

“Mama made it. Spaghetti casserole. Really good, you should try it.” He practically shoves it into your face. 

You pick up the fork and take a bite. 

“Mmm,” you hum in genuine enjoyment. “Wow, this is good.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees with brightened eyes. “Ya know, you could come for dinner sometime. She’d love to have ya.” He mentions it casually, but there’s a glimmer of hope behind his eyes. 

You know better than to laugh in his face, but you don’t exactly accept the invitation either. “Really?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” Joel nods as you take another bite. “More where that came from.”  You contemplate as you chew and he cradles his balls through his boxers. You finish your bite and put the casserole and fork down. He finishes a beer. 

“Sure,” you nod, then get up to go back to bed. 

“Where ya goin’?” He asks.

“Gotta work in a few hours.”

His face darkens, but he stays where he is.

“This whorefire app’s pretty cool,” Joel calls after you. What is he talking about? 

You turn around and he’s standing up. He stretches with his arms wide, and his boxers are low enough to show his pubic hair and whiter skin, giving you a little rush of arousal. Your eyes pan over his body and you don’t even notice the phone in his hand. He tosses it onto the sofa. 

He takes slow steps and you stand still. Soon he’s in arm’s reach and lowers his voice. “Get over here, kitten.”

He walks into you, then reaches around to grab your ass. He slides a palm down over your crack until his middle finger meets your slick. 

“Mmm,” he growls.”I’ll tuck ya in.” 

He smacks your ass with a low,“Ooh!” then walks into your bedroom. 

You’re throbbing at the thought of having him again, but you find yourself muttering, “Said I had to sleep,” as you get back in bed. You slip your feet under the sheets. 

He doesn’t waste any time before getting on top of you. “Spread’em, sweetheart.” He knees your legs apart and shoves his hand between your legs. He locks eyes with you as he rubs your most sensitive place. “Fuck,” he growls, then sits up on his knees. He holds the thick shape of his cock through his boxers and with his other hand, nudges your entrance, then easily slips a finger inside. When he adds a second, you whimper. 

“I’m comin’,” he grumbles to your needy cunt. He pulls his boxers down and clumsily takes them off before settling back between your legs with his heavy cock looming, making you gush. He braces a hand on the bed, to the side of your hips. You’re ready, so ready for it. Your body is making space for him. You feel yourself opening up. But he gives you his fingers again. He slides in one, then two with ease, stacked vertically. It’s not enough, especially without any attention to your front. 

“Look at this messy mouth, droolin’ all over, swallowin’ whatever I give it.”  He adds a third finger, also stacked vertically. He thrusts them a few times, gazing at you in a trance, then rotates his hand palm up, with three thick fingers spreading you wide. He leans forward so his palm covers your clit, thank god, as he fucks you with three fingers. 

He lowers his voice and reveals, “I know ya don’t gotta work. Found your paystub in your car, whoops.” He spreads his fingers and inhales a deep, hungry breath as his fingers continue filling you. “‘S’okay. Just be good for me.” 

“I’m always good,” you breathe, hips lifting into his hand. 

He chuckles darkly. “Always good. Almost cut my dick off one time,” he reminds you. 

“You tried to kill me–ohhh,” He curls his fingers and digs his palm down on your front. 

His face darkens, and his fingers pause all the way inside you. “Sweetheart, if I tried, ya wouldn’t be here.” 

He shoots you a glare that makes the back of your neck go cold with sweat as his fingers slide out. 

He shoves his cock in with a grunt that turns into a sigh as his girth spreads you open. With his eyes still dark, he withdraws half his length, then slams into you hard, “Mmmnngh,”  with his jaw clenched. He releases his breath and sighs vocally, fully sheathed in your warmth. 

His hips begin to move. “Gonna take this when I say, how I say,” he breathes, then grits his teeth as he slams into you again. 

It’s like having a soda can between your legs, and your body welcomes it. 

“Fuck you're tight. ‘Specially compared to earlier.” 

Joel looks down where your bodies are joined and watches his big dick disappear between your legs. “Take it like a fuckin’ pro.” He buries his length in your dripping hole, you're getting wetter by the minute. “Fuck, you’re wet.” He slams into you hard and you brace your hand on the headboard. 

“Fuck,” you whisper and raise your knees, spreading your legs wider. 

“Good kitten,” he says. 

He rails into you one more time and bottoms out. He reaches over to the other side of the bed near the headboard, and slides his hand under a pillow, retrieving a dong. 

He holds it by the base and wobbles it in the air. 

His cock slides out of you, arousal dripping everywhere onto the sheet. 

He holds the dong up to his hard cock. “Think you’ve graduated.” 

He begins to line the toy up with your entrance.

“Supposed to use lube with that,” you protest. 

“Sweetheart,” he laughs, then grumbles, “You should see the mess between your legs.” He wets his lips as he stares at your cunt. Arousal rolls down his cock, over his huge sack.  “Still drippin’ off me, damn.” 

He cups his balls and grunts “Mmm,” before returning to the task. 

He lightly taps your pussy a few times, listening to the wet smacking sound. “You’re good,” he chuckles. He wipes off his hand on the head of the dong.

His brows furrow. He uses his thumb and finger to spread you wide, then begins to push the toy into you. “Nothin’ this greedy pussy can’t do.” It doesn’t feel nearly as good as he does. 

He thrusts the dong in and out of you a few times then pauses with it mostly withdrawn. He presses the toy against one of your walls, and slides in one finger, then two alongside the toy. 

You spread your legs wide so he can get even closer. He lines up his stiff cock flat against the side of the dildo and uses his fingers to help wedge the tip of his cock in. The stretch burns until he pushes a little more and you swallow nearly his whole tip. 

He pushes a bit more and you groan. 

“You can do it, baby.” He thumbs your clit, helping you open up more. His tan tummy swells with his flexing abs and he begins to push again. He presses his hips forward and his cock slides all the way into you along with the dong. 

“God damn,” he breathes. “Wish you could see this—unngggh,” He pulls back, holding the toy steady, watching your pussy cling to him, the thin membrane stretched wide, begging him back. “Fuck, you can take a cock.” 

Your insides swell with arousal. It's an incredibly full feeling, but it also makes you throb how he loves to watch you take as much as you can, and he's always got more to give, somehow. 

“Shoulda used the strap,” he mumbles. 

He thrusts and pushes the toy another time, then says “Fuck it.”

He slides out of you, and your cunt feels cold on the outside and inside. 

“Oh, fuck,” Joel murmurs and strokes himself. “Baby you're gapin’.” He wedges three fingers together and slides them face up into you with such ease it makes your face burn. “Well,” he chuckles. “Damn.” He slides them almost all the way out and adds his pinky. Again they slide in you without much resistance after taking two cocks side by side. 

“God damn, sweetheart,” Joel marvels. He slides the four wide digits as far in as they’ll go, then starts fucking you with his hand, thumb on your clit. Your body feels hollow with butterflies and all you can do is moan. 

He clamps his hand down to grind the heel of his palm on your clit with four fingers all the way inside you and you groan, so close to the edge. Clit pounding.

“Come on, baby. Squeeze me and I'll give ya one more.” 

You’d thought about it so many times since that once. The thought of his fist trips you right over the edge, the blood that was swelling your core exploding outward as waves of pleasure consume you. 

“Attagirl,” he mutters with your pelvis lifting into his hand. “Fuck, that's hot.” He watches you clench around his hand, more arousal gathering on his fingers . 

The tip of his cock is leaking now, but his attention is all on you. As you come down from your high, he says, “relax for me,” which you already are. He spits on his thumb, then slides his fingers out just enough to wedge his thumb in. 

Your skin is hot from your climax. He begins to push in. “Fuck,” he mutters as he slides his hand in. “Only see this in porn,” he mumbles, sliding his hand in and out gently.  The thought of him jacking off watching someone get fisted makes you twitch. “You’d be a star ya know.” Your skin gets hotter at the comment. His hand flexes inside you, then he slides it back out toward your entrance. His hand comes out, literally dripping. 

He eyes your gaping cunt and says, “you should see this.” 

He thumbs your clit with his dryer hand as he runs the knuckles of his wet fist through your folds. Then begins to nudge your stretched out hole. You widen your hips even more and he begins to nudge inside, wiggling his fist gently as your greedy cunt consumes it. It gets easier as he pushes deeper. “Oh, God,” he pants, wrist deep inside you. “Fuck, I gotta be back in there.” 

He slides his fist out, braces a hand on the bed, and shoves himself into you all at once. It’s not a stretch at all. Your body is barely starting to gather itself back together, loosely hugging his cock. 

He asks, “Want more, huh?”

You nod, face burning. 

“This fat cock ain't doin’ it?” He fucks you loose and sloppy. “Ever seen a fatter one?” You shake your head no, and it's true. “Fattest cock ya’ever seen can't fill ya up.” 

“Not now,” you mutter and grab the toy. You wrap your lips around it, tasting yourself as you wet it with slobber. 

“Cause I ruined ya,” Joel nods. “Wrecked this greedy gash. Ohh baby, look at ya suck that cock.”

You take the toy out of your mouth with a pop and reach down to line the head up with his cock. 

He pauses. “God DAMN,” he says as you push it in alongside him. He pushes his hips forward, filling you up. 

You sigh as you're once again full. 

“Fuck, that feels better,” he breathes, moving his hips to pump in and out of you to the same rhythm of your hand. “Ohh, fuck I'm gonna–” 

“Hold on,” you tell him. 

He’s struggling not to come. Sweating, panting, looking at your stuffed cunt, then your body, your blissed out face, then the ceiling as he fucks you while you fuck yourself, too. 

Soon, he bottoms out with a groan and pulses inside. 

“I dunno how ya do it,” he marvels. “Tight as hell, then she’s gapin’, beggin’ for more.”

When he slides out of you, you’re grateful he holds you as your body fills the void. He spoons you but stays up on one elbow so he’s hovering, looking at you in the moonlight. He brushes your burning cheek with his thumb and smiles. He nudges your chin to face him and he kisses you good night, again. You fall asleep spooning. 

Your engagement is what makes this AU fun to write. I would love to hear your thots, what lore you want, etc. that's what makes Tumblr my platform of choice, too. If you're shy, anons are back on for now.

If you're not caught up on night walks, consider giving it a shot - Night Walks (latest - beach walks).

If you want more of a character, engage. It's fun for all. Don't use AI, which makes writing less fun.

IDK when or what I will post next.

@silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading @rainstorms-library @am-3-thyst

[alwaysmicado]

He looks like a kid on the first day of school posing with his lunchbox wrench. Same proud smile and posture. And of course his mommy took the picture. Love him with all my heart! 🖤

slasher!Joel by @gasolinerainbowpuddles 💙💙💙

[toxicanonymity]

Hey Tox! I used 5calls today and left messages for my senators. Since I'm a little phone shy, I was grateful they provided a script. It was easy and I hope everyone takes the time to do this. It's exhausting being an American right now, but we have to stay engaged.

Thank you for writing about our beloved blorbos as a treat. It's an important reminder to take care of yourself and find joy during this nightmare hellscape we live in.

{...and segue}

So, I was just wondering if Slasher ever talks about Ghostface in the brothel. Does he view him as a peer? A rival? A mentor? An aspirational figure in the zeitgeist? What's going on in that filthy demented little mind of his?

SAVE Act | Update/Call for action | 5calls | blorbos for democracy

Hi! Thank you for taking action and sharing about your experience. I hope it inspires someone 🖤. Ghostface is aspirational. And sometimes slasher's himbo brain works too hard... In canon, you always wonder who ghostface is. And the fact that Every inch is a night walks spinoff... Slasher regards ghosty with admiration and suspicion and is also a little gay for him.

slasher & ghostface

"What's it like bein' nonconned?" Slasher asks.

"Just like that, huh?" Ghostface replies. "I don't look like I need a trigger warning?"

"Sorry," Slasher rolls his eyes. "Tee-dub (tw) mention of SA."

"I'm fucking with you, slashy," Ghostface says. "What are you asking me for? Didn't that happen to you?"

"oh, we already fucked. Already owned each other," slasher explains.

Ghostface tilts his head at him and then his gloved hand lifts a joint to his masked face and half of it disappears into the void of his mouth hole for a sec.

Then he offers it to slasher, and slasher secretly wishes he'd shotgun him instead, but he asks "good shit?" And ghostface says, "hell yeah."

Slasher raises his eyebrows as he tries it. Then he's like, "oh yeah. we gotta let night walks hit this. let's page him."

"who do you think I got it from?" Ghostface asks.

"right, uh..." His himbo wheels are turning. "Hey, if you could fuck anyone else's reader, who'd you pick?"

"I'm not much of a reader, slashy. Tell me who you'd fuck."

"Easy. Pumpkin." He studies ghostface's mask as if it has a facial expression to read. He continues, "Pumpkin's hot as hell. I'd fuck her shit up in a heartbeat."

Ghostface nods. "Which Joel is that."

"damnit," slasher curses under his breath.

[toxicanonymity]

Dearest toxic,

I was wondering if you could please share a word or two regarding Daddy Slasher Joel’s first impressions of the reader.

Also maybe I’m extra stupid but does he really work for the towing company??? Just the way he pulled up and his “uniform” seemed a lil sus to me.

All the love in the world,

A devoted Slasher wife, and camper princess.

slasher!Joel Lore

Great questions. If anything, you’re extra smart. I dub you a red flag detector 🚩. And boy do I have lore. . .

Tow Company: You’re supposed to wonder if he really works for the company: He's not the guy you spoke to on the phone, his truck is unmarked, and he’s tuned into a radio where he can hear dispatch information (since there’s “no cell phone service”). IF/when he has bad intent, it would be smart to pick off jobs from other drivers instead of his own.

But the truck is also how he makes money. So I think he’s a sketchy contract tow trucker who also takes an occasional job covertly as described above. The tow truck company doesn’t have him as an employee, they just coordinate and dispatch independent drivers then pay them for the jobs, deducting a fee. Joel specializes in the late night jobs because not many people will take them. He’s kinda bottom of the barrel 🥺.

I think he dreams of having his own business and he's "working on it." He doesn't have the business acumen 🥺 but his mom encourages him 🥹. He sits at his TV dinner stand working on names and plans. He draws logos. He scratches out ones he thinks are stupid 🥺. "Joel’s 24/7 Tow Truck" "Joel's Late Night Tow" (He's still working on it). Logo of his truck from the side (crossed out). Logo of the giant hook in the foreground of his truck with a ton of erasing where he's trying to get the perspective right.

First impressions of the reader: The first thing he sees is your short dress and the fact that you’re hot and alone. He senses you’ve had it with this day and you're probably not paying close attention. He catches you checking him out and starts to think there could be potential. Maybe you’re DTF. By the time he gets hard and you stay straddling him, he’s sure of it.

Lots of love 🥰💙🔪, a slasher sympathizer

[toxicanonymity]

Darkness Poll - Slasher Joel

[toxicanonymity]

do you envision slasher joel as more dom or sub? i’d figure he’s more dominant because women seem to be one of the few things in his life he has control over. after reading your bts scene of him with his mom and just his over all situation I’d assume he’s had some tough times. hes no preppy boy yk? kinda figure the best part of his “work” is having absolute control over someone else and their fate and situation. he also just radiates nice guy creep vibes to me and i just feel like someone wanting/ needing him or just reciprocating his desperation for him is something that he would like? am i mega wrong?

You're not wrong, I think that's a reasonable read on him. . . I love hearing y'all's thoughts but I myself don't tend to willingly define (most) of my characters in sub/dom terms bc I write with the flow easier without feeling like I boxed myself in and don't like to feel like I'm playing by any rules 🫣 I know that's all in my head but here we are lol.

This isn't the writer talking (Can I go anon on my own blog? No? Ok), but I kinda wanna big spoon him at the end of a long day and give him a reacharound then abruptly stop in hopes that he gets frustrated with my teasing*, manhandles me onto my stomach, shoves my head into the bed and his cock into me, pounds me in frustration, and comes inside as he warns that he's not done with me. 🤷

*Bullied as a young himbo maybe?

✨Joel's Camper (slasher!Joel)