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wintrwinchestr · 10 days

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The Shower (joel miller x reader) (+18)

Part 4 of The Rogue Who Coaxed You

pairing: boss!joel miller x fem!secretary!reader summary: when you convince joel to shower with you, he invites someone else to join warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] mean!joel, joel x reader x ofc threesome, joel fucks someone who is not reader, sexual f/f interaction at the direction of a male, slight dubcon (but is ultimately consensual), joel STILL respects you 0%, age gap, infidelity, hella power imbalance/dynamics, unprotected anal/slight painal, creampie, daddy!kink, hella degradation and humiliation kink (use of slut, whore, bitch, etc), money as incentive for sex extra disclaimer: as always for this series, blatant infidelity and humiliation kink warning. as in: reader gets off on being humiliated. please keep that in mind. word count: ~4.2K | ao3 a/n: so I know this is not for everyone. in fact, it’s probably only for a select few. but I wanted to write it, and an anon suggested it, so i did it. this is just me being bi but through my characters.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

“Feel that, you dirty slut? Tell daddy you feel it.”

“I feel it,” You wince, gripping the sheets beneath your fingers.

“Where is it, bitch? Where do you feel it?”

“In my ass,” You whimper, your head hanging low between your shoulders.

“That’s right,” Joel croons, the flesh of your asscheek in his hand and a palm pressing at your lower back to keep you in place. “That’s where filthy whores take their cocks don’t they?”

“Yeah,” You grit out as Joel pulls out of your clenching hole to the tip, and pushes back in with a grunt. The stretch of your asshole around his girth is not something you’ve gotten used to in the few times he’s done it. But Joel likes it, so Joel gets it. And when he has you in his bed like this, with Claire away on a solo trip, leaving him to his own selfish devices, you almost feel like he actually cares.

You feel like a real mistress. The emotional in hand with the physical, instead of just a vessel for his infidelity. His insatiable sexual appetite and his ego. You’re not bruising your knees on his low-pile office carpet or denting your abdomen with the bite of his desk’s edge. You’re soft, like his Egyptian cotton sheets. Delicate, like his silk pillowcases. Luxurious, like his imported duvet cover and matching throws.

And even though he’s tearing you apart from the inside out, forcing himself inside a part of you that primarily serves to heighten his own pleasure, you feel like he’s choosing you. And the squeaks of pain, the yelps of distress when he goes too hard, too fast, too much — they flood you with a sense of satisfaction. He’s getting what he needs from you . And he’s taking it from you on his wife’s side of the bed, with her Cartier bracelet on the nightstand atop a bookmarked paperback of Eat, Pray, Love.

He eats her. He prays to her. He loves her. What the fuck does she need a book like that for? Is she so greedy that he’s not enough for her?

He would be enough for me.

“Tell me how it feels.”

You blink yourself back into your body, and Joel fucks back into you with enough momentum for his balls to smack against your clit. “Fuck, it’s good, daddy,” you gasp, raising your head to fall back between your shoulder blades to take in the view of him behind you.

“You like taking it up the ass for daddy?” He asks, canting his hips into you with weighted thrusts. And he looks you in the eyes as he splits you open on his cock. A hand comes up to cup your jaw and hold your head back to pin your gaze to him.

And goddamn it, he’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. His lips parted with exertion, his bare chest glistening with sweat from the blowjob you’d given him before he entered you from the back, droplets adorning his chest hair. His pushed-back hair falls into his face as his thrusts crash against your skin, and your fingers twitch with the desire to sweep the rogue strands back onto the top of his head.

“Yes,” you pant, the words tight with the stretch of your skin over your throat at your current angle.

“Say you’re daddy’s whore, baby. Tell me what you are.”

“I’m your whore,” you whine, feeling Joel’s hips increasing in speed.

“Yeah? You a piece of meat for me?”

“I’m a piece of meat, daddy,” you recite, your eyes clenching shut and your mouth dropping open as his cock stretches your ass open with abandon, the hole twinging with pain as he tears through it with a smirk on his face.

“Look at me. Look at who’s doin’ this to you.”

You whimper as your eyes pry open, seeing the hunger reflected in Joel’s eyes. You want the hunger to be for you, for your body, for what you can provide for him that his wife can’t. You’re not sure it is, but you imagine.

His face starts to collapse as his hips buck forward and he grunts out his release, pumping you full of his thick seed. And you revel in it, knowing this is something he’d never ask of her . This is something you can provide him that she would never.

Joel grimaces as he pulls his spent cock from the stretched ring of your ass and flops down onto his back, catching his breath. “Good girl,” he mutters wearily, tapping your thigh with his knuckle.

You wrestle with the grin on your lips, knowing that if he sees the glow on your face due to his words he may well rescind them. So you bury your face in your arms instead, letting the joy bleed to your cheeks as you slump against the bed, a slow trickle of his come slithering down the slit of your pussy and onto his expensive duvet.

You love tainting his bedding like this. Her bedding. It’s sick and it’s satisfying. Particularly when he’s lying naked next to you, coming back to himself after giving everything he had to you, and you’re lying sore from his cock that he vowed to her years ago. Dripping him onto her sheets. Being his good girl .

You may never have him like she has him.

But she will never have him like you have him.

“I think I need to shower,” you mutter, unearthing your face from your arms to take in the rise and fall of Joel’s chest.

“Then go shower,” he dismisses, running a hand through his damp hair, but otherwise staying put where he lies.

You nudge him lightly. “Join me.”

Joel’s eyes trail over you lethargically. He makes a sound of disinterest, scratching an itch on his crotch and waving you off.

“You just fucked my ass. You don’t wanna shower that off?” You ask, drifting your fingers over his shoulder.

Another lazy look from Joel and he groans in reluctant acquiescence. You give a triumphant noise and help him off the bed, tugging him toward the en-suite.

Joel cranks the handles on his oversized glass paneled shower, dual rainfall heads spitting to life onto the heated tile. The water heats instantly and Joel is waving you in before him. You scurry inside, heaving a sigh at the pelting of the hot water on your back and over your neck.

Joel makes his way inside, and some small part of you hopes he’ll saunter up behind you and pull you close, but he just lets the other shower head wash over him to your right. He scrubs at his face and runs his fingers through his hair, and you find yourself mesmerized. Rivulets flow down his hairy chest, his plump ass, his gym-toned thighs.

Your pussy throbs between your legs, reminding you just what it hasn’t had yet. You take a step toward him, reaching out, and Joel jerks his head in your direction, his hands freezing in his hair. He gives you a once-over.

“What?”

“I didn’t come yet,” you point out, placing a hand on his hip. He glances down at it, then back at you, squinting through the water.

“And?”

You pout, guiding him to the back wall with you, out of the spray. “I’d really like to come.”

Joel rests an arm above your head against the shower wall, looking over you as the water hits his back. “You’d like to come, huh? My dick not enough?”

“No, it is, I just didn’t…where it was…it was distracting,” you attempt to explain. You normally don’t have much of an issue getting yourself off on Joel’s cock, even with him being relatively inattentive to your own orgasms. But the discomfort of him being in your ass, as good as it feels, seems to discourage your pussy from cooperating properly. All your focus was on finding pleasure in the pain, making the fuck good for him . And it just never happened.

“Hmm,” Joel hums, tapping his thumb against the tile as he thinks. “You really wanna come?”

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes.

He nods back for a moment, then pushes off the wall and back toward the door of the shower.

Confusion imprints your features as you watch him open the door and usher in a rush of cold air. “Joel, where—”

Joel pads with wet footsteps to the opening of the en-suite and calls out, “Julia!”

Julia? His maid? What the fuck is he summoning Julia for?

“Yes, sir!” You barely hear from a distance.

“My bedroom, please!”

You don’t hear her respond, but seconds later Julia appears in the archway of the bathroom. Upon seeing the state of the two of you, she squeaks in surprise and clamps a hand over her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t know—”

“‘S alright, sweetheart,” he placates, wrapping a hand around her wrist and tugging it away from her eyes. Her eyes are squeezed shut regardless of the shield of her hand. “Hey, it’s alright. Open your eyes.”

And you can hear authority in his voice, but it’s starkly different from the tone he uses with you. It sounds more understanding. Like he’s attempting to comfort her even as he commands her. It makes your skin prickle.

Julia blinks her eyes open, sweeping them upward quickly to skip over his crotch.

“There we go,” he encourages, swiping a damp thumb over her cheek in a gesture that makes your stomach swoop.

He’s touched her like this before.

You know he’s hinted at it to you, but you thought he was just trying to make you jealous. But no, this isn’t the first time he’s had his hand on her face. Or likely the first time she’s seen him naked. You can tell that much from the way she doesn’t flinch from his touch and the way her cheeks alight.

But why the fuck did he call her in here?

“Tell me, sweetheart, what do you think of her?” Joel asks, gesturing to you with his head.

Julia looks nervous as she hesitates. “I-I don’t know…”

You narrow your eyes in assessment of the situation unfolding in front of you, securing a self-consoling arm around your abdomen as you step into the open doorway of the shower, leaving the comforting warmth behind.

Joel shrugs, pouting his lips briefly in tandem. “Well, she’s reasonably pretty isn’t she? I like to think I pick out pretty toys, don’t I?” He caresses the point of her chin with an air of confidence that swiftly expels any doubt you had that this wasn’t their first time interacting this intimately.

Reasonably pretty . You’ll take it.

Julia’s eyes dart to you, then to Joel. “Sh-she is very pretty, sir,” she stutters, her chin still firmly between his fingers.

Joel nods and looks over at you. And when he speaks again, he’s studying your expression, but clearly addressing her. “How about you go and see how she feels? See how soft she is.”

Your eyes bulge in your head. “Joel…”

“Sir, I…” Julia trails off, her gaze fluttering between you and Joel.

“Go on,” he coaxes, tossing his head toward you. “I bet she’d like it. Wouldn’t you, baby?” This time he’s talking to you, and it takes you slightly aback. He looks so cocky about it. Like you wouldn’t dare tell him “no”.

And fuck him, he’s right.

So you swallow lightly and consciously loosen your heavy grip on the glass opening. “Yeah. I’d like it.”

Julia is undoubtedly beautiful. A short thing. Dainty. Dark hair, bright eyes, large tits for as small a frame as she has. You’ve never really observed her this seriously before, but analyzing her now it’s obvious that Joel would never have let a gorgeous woman like her traipse around his house without sampling her.

She looks so unsure as she sizes you up in turn. “Sir, I really don’t know.”

Joel smiles and leans down to her ear. You can’t hear what he says, but you watch her eyes light up as he speaks. When he pulls back to gauge her expression, she nods with a shy grin.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs, slipping behind her.

His fingers burrow under her shirt and he lifts it off of her body, letting it fall to the floor. She avoids your gaze as he undresses her with patience in spades that he never seems to have for you. Her thick breasts fall free of her bra, nipples pebbling in the exposed air. And then his fingers tuck into her leggings and underwear, and he crouches to shuffle them down her hips. She steps out of them timidly, her hands clasping in a show of modesty in front of her neatly trimmed pussy. Joel makes a wanton noise as his hands and lips skim over her ass and hips as he rises to stand. His hands journey up to her tits, massaging them in his huge palms. She releases a tiny moan at the treatment and Joel chuckles.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he nudges her toward the shower. Her legs propel her forward as her hands stay in place to obscure her crotch. You stare at her as she approaches the entrance, and you slowly make your way to the back of the space until you’re pressed against the wall once more with her closing in on you.

Joel hangs back, watching the two of you move from a comfortable distance, eyes sharp like he’s stalking his prey.

“Can-can I touch you?” She whispers, shifting on her feet with anxiousness but finally meeting your gaze again.

You look up at Joel and he nods deliberately.

You take a steadying breath and say, “Yes.”

Her fingers are so gentle. Gentle in a way that men never seem to be. They skim your sides, stroke your abdomen, and pause at the curve of your breasts.

“Can I?” She asks again, and you give her the same answer.

The pads of her fingers are softer than Joel’s. She stimulates your nipples with her thumbs with curiosity, and you catch her biting her lip.

“You can taste them,” you whisper, and that coy smile teases her lips again.

“Okay,” she says timidly. Her mouth finds one of your hardened nubs and she sucks it into her mouth. You gasp at the graze of her tongue over you. Hers is smaller than Joel’s. Thinner in width and depth, more flighty over your flesh. You feel your eyelids sagging in pleasure and you sneak a look at Joel.

His cock is working toward full mast as he revels in the sight of the two of you, a hand caressing his balls. “How does she taste, sweetheart?”

Julia frees your nipple to glance over her shoulder. “Wonderful,” she giggles.

“Good,” he rasps out as his arousal grows and he advances on you.

You shudder as she takes your other nipple into her mouth and Joel leans against the entrance of the shower.

“Touch her pussy, Julia.”

She moans around your breast and pops you out of her mouth as she trails two fingers up your inner thigh. She halts again at the crease of you, and before she can ask, you reassure her of your consent. With her hand on your hip and Joel’s eyes glued to your reactions, two thin, manicured fingers slip between your folds.

Your head falls back in a moan as she strokes up the length of your cunt and circles your clit.

“How does she feel, baby?”

“So good,” you sigh, jutting your hips out from the wall to angle into her fingers as she rubs at the bundle of nerves between your legs.

“I was asking Julia,” he corrects, finally stepping back into the shower and pressing his fully hard cock up against her back, gripping her hips in his hands. He dips down to her neck and sucks wet kisses into her skin. “How does she feel?”

“Amazing,” Julia replies, tilting her head back as Joel’s lips move against her neck.

It tugs at you, the ease with which he touches her. How often has Joel been inside her? Has he fucked her in their bed more than he has you? How many times has he made her drench his sheets, then paid her to change them?

Julia’s fingers dance at the opening of your pussy and you whine, “Please.”

Soaked and desperate, her fingers glide inside you with no resistance. Just a moan from you and a gasp from her as Joel’s hips rock into her ass. Her fingers stroke at your walls with a grace that feels devastating, even as you hear her breath hitch with the push of Joel’s cock between her cheeks.

“Just like that, good girl,” he praises her, petting down her sides. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you, sweetheart? Fucked another girl.”

“In college,” she mutters, a flush blooming in her cheeks.

“Naughty little thing,” he smirks, groping her asscheeks in his hands. His eyes glisten as he shifts his attention to you. “What about you, slutty girl? This your first time?”

You try to tamp down your embarrassment as you mumble, “Yeah.”

“Well, I know Julia’s gonna take real good care of you. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Julia nods bashfully, but pinches your clit with the sides of her fingers and glides up and down in a move that has you whining pathetically while she fucks you deftly with her other hand.

Joel groans as he takes his cock in his hand, positioning it between her legs with intent and grinding it up the slit of her pussy until she whimpers.

“Condom,” she breathes out, and he stops. He sighs and drops his forehead between her shoulders.

“Alright. Keep touchin’ her. I’ll be right back.”

Joel’s cock bobs obscenely as he exits the bathroom, leaving the pair of you alone, your pussy opening around her fingers at a glorious pace.

You take the moment alone to whisper, “Has…has he ever done this with Claire?”

Julia’s big eyes go round as she takes in your words, her fingers slowing inside you. She shakes her head. “He, uh. He likes to keep her to himself.”

You nod, closing your eyes to refocus on the thrust of her fingers. A thumb starts to massage at your clit again, and it has a quiet whine leaving your lips.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers. When you open your eyes, she’s staring into yours with an aroused ferocity.

“So are you,” you offer back, your mouth hanging with the pleasure spiraling in your abdomen.

“Jesus, look at you two,” you hear in Joel’s trademark deep drawl, and he’s stepping back into the enclosure, rubber securely hugging his thick cock.

And the sight of Joel approaching you, hard and horny and prepared to fuck another woman right in front of you — while he uses her to get you off for him — the reality has your orgasm hitting you all at once. You let out a loud, reverberating moan as you buck into Julia’s hand, and she lets out an adorable giggle as you clench around her fingers.

“Good fucking girl, sweetheart,” he rumbles, biting a kiss into Julia’s shoulder as he situates his cock where he wants it.

The heat from the shower swirls in your head in conjunction with your mind-numbing orgasm, and you’re dizzy as you hear Julia moan while he enters her cunt in a fluid thrust, her fingers still curling inside you.

“Take it just like that, good girl,” Joel coos, angling her hips back as he fucks into her with abandon. Julia is vocal, her whines and screams only muffled by her face buried in your chest. Her fingers slip free of your clutch and cling to your hips as the deafening, wet clap of Joel’s thrusts fill the bathroom.

Joel snaps his fingers to get your attention and barks at you, “Play with her tits. She loves that shit.”

As much as your brain fights to dwell over the fact that he knows that about her, that he’s fucked her enough to know what she likes, cared enough to notice what she likes, you just bite your tongue and obey.

Her tits are stunning, that much is undeniable. Round and full, blushing pink nipples stiffened with the humid breeze of the downpour and the slide of Joel’s length that you know the feeling of so well. The kind of tits that men would trip over themselves to stick their cock between.

It really doesn’t take much convincing to cup the ample flesh of them in your hands and work them in your grip, the drag of her nipples hard against your palms. Julia lets out a guttural moan and tucks her face into the crook of your neck. She whimpers as you pinch and twist at them and she begins to mouth at your wet skin.

“Kiss.”

And though the order makes your heart stutter briefly, Julia — seeming truly gone to the spread of his cock inside her — doesn’t even think before she’s smashing her lips into yours. Her tongue entwines with your own like silk, sliding with it as she pushes moans into where you connect.

“Look at me,” Joel says, quiet enough that Julia doesn’t assume it’s for her, but loud enough for you to hear it over the ricochet of the water on tile and his hips against her ass. Your lips still locked with Julia’s, you ease your eyes open. He holds your gaze as he reaches down between Julia’s legs and plays with her clit, pulling even louder sounds from her.

As your mouth moves with hers, getting sloppier as Julia’s own release creeps up on her, Joel orders, “You watch me get her off. Eyes right on me.”

Julia’s mouth slides off yours, panting wetly into your neck, whining, “Yes, yes, fuck, sir, please!”

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he commands her, his eyes fixed on yours, and she screams out her climax into the echoing room, her fingernails digging into your skin where she holds onto you.

Joel pistons his hips into her, grunting and swearing to your face until he shouts his own release into the condom.

At least she doesn’t let him come inside her. That I can give him .

Julia’s legs shake as Joel pulls out and smacks her on the ass, and you secure an arm around her waist as she grounds herself, all while avoiding Joel’s eyes.

“Thank you,” she breathes into you, finding her strength as Joel steps out of the bathroom to discard the condom, snatching up a towel off the bar on his way out.

“Yeah,” you reply simply, a grimace on your lips as pieces of herself fall back into place.

She heads into the direct line of the shower again, and the water is still miraculously hot, billowing out through the doorway until you yank the door closed and join her under the deluge.

“What did he say to convince you?” You ask, unable to hold back your stubborn curiosity.

Julia hesitates, then raises her hand and rubs her thumb on the pads of her fingers in a telling gesture.

“ Money ? He offered you money?” You ask incredulously.

“I need to pay off my student loans,” she mumbles, massaging at the back of her neck as she allows the hot water to soak her muscles. “He always gives me a bonus after he fucks me. But this time it was…significantly more money. Like, don’t-think-twice kind of money.”

You stare at her as she speaks, and you are left speechless. When you don’t say anything, she pivots her head to you quizzically.

“He gives you bonuses, right? That’s why you let him treat you like that? I’ve noticed.”

And you really don’t want to lie. You don’t like to lie to people who don’t deserve it. But, for what is possibly the first time, you truly feel embarrassed about what you’re doing with him. And you hate that feeling.

So you plaster a smile and nod. “Yeah. Yeah, he gives me money. So much money.”

“Good,” she nods back. “Get that bag, girl. Claire drives me fucking nuts anyway.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, feeling yourself going distant. “Yeah, same.”

Julia shrugs, stepping out of the spray and wringing out her hair. “Anyway, what my boyfriend doesn’t know can’t hurt him. And I don’t hear him complaining about the nice gifts, so he can deal.” Julia gives you a warm smile and squeezes your hip reassuringly before exiting the shower and heading for the clean towels, putting one up on the hook next to the door for you with a wink. “Maybe we can do that again sometime.”

“Sure,” you mutter, a faint smile still formed on your lips as she leaves.

As you melt in the heat of the water, you drift a hand between your legs, feeling where she was. Then further back to the tender pucker of your asshole, the memory of the stretch still prominent when the skin smarts at your touch.

Joel’s voice jolts you out of your reverie from the bedroom. “Wasting all my fuckin’ hot water! Wrap it up in there.”

So you hasten your scrubbing, wistfully contriving all the methods you could use to smash that stupid Cartier bracelet into scrap metal.

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#I MISSED THISSSSS WHAT THE FUCK #OH THE TAGS JESUS CHRIST #winter’s tbr #TBR AS FUCK #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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wintrwinchestr · 10 days

Text

daddy next door | j. miller (three)

❝ trust fall ❞

chapter summary: you’re forced to face joel following the events of the fair.

tags/warnings: MDNI. age gap (20s/50s). angst. depictions of anxiety. reader is a sensitive gal. foul language. blood in the form of scrapes/cuts (accidental). tending to wounds. joel lifts reader once. insufferably poor communication of feelings. pet names. yearning!!! fluff. sexual tension. impure thoughts. violence. alcohol abuse. VERBAL & BRIEF PHYSICAL ABUSE occurs in the latter half of the chapter and may not be suitable for all readers. you are responsible for the content you consume. reader wears a sundress & rides a bike. reader implied to be shorter than joel, but no other physical descriptions.

word count: 5.6k

a/n: smut very soon i promise pls don’t hate me. sorry it took so long pls don’t hate me. as always, thank you to @kiwisbell for beta’ing and being my other hand. and the other side of my brain. and my whole heart.

two | series masterlist | four | playlist | read it on ao3!

These violent delights have violent ends.

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which as they kiss, consume.

— Romeo & Juliet, Act II Scene VI

Three days pass before you summon the courage to leave the house.

Not for lack of wanting or trying, but out of fear. Fear outside, fear within. It follows you, an unwelcome shadow.

You start to believe it may be branded into your being; a mutation of DNA, carried, inescapable, and unwanted. And in those three long and lonely days, you experience a range of emotions so vast, it’s as though the Earth has tipped off its axis.

Unstable. Lost without the guidance of gravity.

The flicker of light you deemed a threat three nights prior never came to hunt you. You remained cautious, even after the laborious task of sneaking into your own home succeeded. You’d expected to meet a great wrath, look it in its eyes, and accept whatever suffering followed.

But it never came. He never came.

And on that following morning, there were no signs of your father or the destruction he carried. He left for the station long before you woke, and returned after you settled in bed.

In the days that follow, you lose any sense of self; you’re bound by the fear that follows you, and it feasts on rationale. You seem to notice everything around you, like the way the floorboards creak and how they startle you in a way they never had before. You’re glaringly aware of your father's movements, panic seizing you if he’d look too long or speak too often. The skin around your fingernails grows raw from chewing on them.

You can hardly eat.

Can’t sleep.

Not when you have this secret, too hazardous to enjoy despite the fleeting, marvelous thrill it gave you.

You haven’t allowed yourself the time to dwell on it.

To dwell on him.

His name, his eyes, his lips—you put more effort into wiping them from your memory, your fantasies, than you do clinging to the comfort of them. It's the first time in weeks you don’t devote yourself to him and, oddly enough, you feel guilty.

You’re the one who kissed him. And yet here you are, avoiding the repercussions of your own actions like a child fearful of a scolding. You suppose the rationale isn’t too far-fetched, given your circumstance, but all you’re able to conjure up when you close your eyes is the bewildered look on Joel’s face when you left him standing there in the yard.

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

On the third morning, your father acknowledges you only to order the necessary ingredients for a proper dinner to be fetched while he’s away at work. He’d be home at an acceptable time and expects it to be ready on the table when he returns.

You’ve heard the spiel a dozen times, but still only nod and grab the notepad to prepare your list while he rattles off adequate options. With longer nights at the station, your household expectations often lessen in the summer. A luxury you do not take for granted nor particularly like to push the limits of. Especially now.

Still, you sit awaiting some anticipated doom—perhaps he’s festering it, waiting for the right moment to attack—but it never comes. And all that’s left once he’s gone is the formidable silence, your erratic thoughts, and a list.

Lasagne. Easy enough.

The challenge?

Getting to the grocery store.

You’re aware of the inevitable. You have been aware of it for three days now. At some point, one way or another, whether you like it or not, you have to leave the house. Up until now, the risk had substantially outweighed the reward.

He can’t see you. You can’t see him. Seeing him makes it real. Seeing him means facing demons you’re unable to admit even exist.

It doesn’t matter that your chest aches at the thought of him.

It doesn’t matter that the smothered thing inside of you has been scratching at your insides for three days, pleading for a moment of reprieve.

What matters is completing the task at hand, the impossibility of juggling each fear simultaneously growing burdensome.

You look out the front window first. Once before tying your sneakers and once after. Your bike is propped up in the garage, and you worry about the time it’ll take between leaving the safety of the window and opening the garage door.

Speed is your only companion, and so you’re quick, diligent. Darting across the house and towards the laundry room door, making haste in clicking the garage open, and shoving your wallet and the list into the bike’s basket before mounting it. You know you have to ride past his house to get to the market, so you reach for the keypad outside the garage before you can even push the kickstand off. You take another swivel of your head in the direction of his house, no sign of any life, before you skate down the driveway, holding your breath.

The journey is considerably more climactic in your head, and when you make it down the block with not so much as a whiff of being seen, you’re relieved. Perhaps for the first time in days, your shoulders relax, your mind silences, and you find yourself enjoying the mindless task of rummaging through the market aisles. A beauty in simplicity after days of dilemma.

You’re less inclined to trepidation on the way home, silently unaware, even enjoying the breeze while you ride and the way it kisses your skin, a bit cooler today, the sun toasty, and the sights and sounds of summer in all their beauty surrounding you. A blank slate, a thoughtless mind. Numb. And there’s a comfort in it, regaining parts of yourself in tiny fragments. Believing that, just for a moment, you are allowed to resign yourself to absolution.

But the daze is a farce, and it has you weak, vulnerable. You’re nearing your house, caution loose and tenuous, to the point where you foolishly miss the glare of a front door opening and the body that emerges from it.

The sudden sound of your name being called from across the lawn startles you off balance.

You land on your hands and knees when the bike finally tips. Groceries topple out of the basket, the impact of the concrete radiating a sharp pain through your joints and stinging your eyes with tears.

“Shit. Shit,” you heave under your breath, hands scrambling every which way to collect the strewn items.

You make out the shape of a body moving towards you in your periphery, but your mind cautions you to stay focused, to get away as quickly as possible. You can hardly see in front of you, eyes blurred with emerging sobs, when the shape kneels before you.

“Here, let me help you.” The rich timbre of his drawl is a salve over your self-inflicted wounds. Don’t look, don’t look, but hands are reaching out for assistance.

“No! No, I got it. I got it,” you’re quick to combat, attempting to gather every item before he has a chance to get his hands on them.

But it’s useless. Your shaking fingers can’t find a good grasp, and the pain in your palms and knees increases by the moment, too engorged in your panic to notice the blood staining the concrete and your groceries.

“But you’re—”

“I need to get everything inside; some of it’ll spoil.”

And someone could see you. Someone could see both of you, floundering about, too close for comfort.

“Darlin’, please just—”

“It’s fine, okay? I’ve got it!” you snap, and you don’t mean to sound as harsh as you do.

He’s silent then, still. Only for a moment. Long enough to notice the way your chin starts to tremble and how tears spill down your cheeks against your better attempts to conceal them.

“Hey,” he beckons, and you notice the way he tries to tilt his head further into your line of sight. You do your best to avoid him, but, “Hey,” he tries again, and this time, it’s got an edge. Enough to startle you out of your misery-filled stupor. “Look at me.”

And fuck, you’re so weak.

He’s a sight for sore eyes. Tousled curls, an old white t-shirt, and his flannel pajama pants are all indications that his morning has just begun. The newspaper he must have been coming out for is abandoned in the grass a few yards back, his attention solely on you.

You find clarity in the sight of him.

“You’re hurt. Let me help you,” Joel says calmly, matter of fact. A wounded animal, and he’s guiding you back to safety.

And you need it more than you care to admit, the guidance. Allowing yourself the pleasure of looking into his wide, worried eyes smothers the anxieties. Silences the panic. Dulls the pain in your chest from days of denying yourself of the remedy you needed most, so when he presents you with an outstretched hand, you take it hastily.

He helps you to your feet, and when he’s sure you’re stable, stands your bike upright, gathers what he can of the mess of groceries, and tucks them back into the basket. He places one hand on the handlebars, the other steadily finding its way to the small of your back, and your body comes to life.

You welcome his stability, leaning your weight into the crook of his arm. He guides you and your scuffed bicycle up the lawn, leaning it against the banister of the front porch. You let him lead you up the steps, overbearing and doting in the way he holds you steady at the ribcage, muttering under his breath, c’mon, I’ve got ya.

You would think you just fell from fifty feet with the way he coddles you, but you don’t care. How could you? Not when your hands and knees sting, your nerves fray weak and exhausted, and your heart and soul and body crave so little outside of the warmth that is Joel.

Crossing the threshold of his door is sacred. An uncharted, forbidden territory that, up until three nights ago, you had no reason to assume you would ever explore. You wish you were more coherent, that tears weren’t blurring your eyes, and your body wasn’t in a state of panic, so you could properly take in your surroundings.

You notice a few moving boxes still pushed up in the corners of his living room; other than that, the space is pristine. There’s a wooden, rustic theme that carries across his décor, and he leaves all his blinds open for ample natural light. Bright, warm, inviting. A drastic change of pace from the stale air that always seems to occupy your home.

He’s leading you into the kitchen, and you're torn from the daze as soon as his hands are on your hips.

You yelp softly as he hoists you onto the countertop, wide, wet eyes finally mustering the courage to meet his gaze. It drops almost immediately to the state of your bloody knees, and he shakes his head, a gruff sort of displeased sound expelling from his chest.

“Stay put,” he instructs, giving you a stern look before he vanishes around the corner.

You can’t quite process the world in front of you. Simultaneously heavy and weightless, the internal conflict, the lack of sleep, catching up to you. But when Joel returns a moment later, first aid kit and damp washcloth in hand, you’re grounded. A firm, clear presence of stability that removes all weight, all sense of falling.

You feel, perhaps for the first time in your life, that someone would catch you.

He drags one of the bar stools over, settling himself in front of you. He still doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling open the kit and scouring for materials. You can feel his breath on your thighs, eliciting a warmth in the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, the pain of your fall seems minuscule in comparison to the way his proximity sets your body alight. You’re thankful for the shorts below your sundress; intended to give you some decency on your ride to the store, now a barrier between his counter, his watchful eyes, and a part of you that always seems to ache at the sight of him.

You dig your fingers into the edge of the wood so as to not waver, sniffling back the ceasing tears and clearing your throat. You blink the haze out of your eyes, the ringing in your ears stops, and like magic, his effect makes the world seem clearer.

“Hold still.” He starts with the washcloth, tenderly cleaning off the dirt and drying blood from your skin, and you shiver when one of his hands lightly dances at the crux of your knee.

You watch him intently; focused brows, and careful fingers. Your perched position gives you a glorious view of his shoulders, firm and broad, muscles flexing below the thin fabric of his t-shirt. You’re reminded then of the day he moved in and your voyeuristic tendencies, how the sheer breadth of him had enticed you, left you lost to your fantasies long before you even knew him.

It’s hard to grasp that the same man, worried and attentive to your well-being, sits before you now.

The sudden cold, sharp sensation of an antiseptic wipe against your skin makes you hiss through your teeth, snapping you back into focus. Finally, he peers up at you through furrowed brows, a sympathetic downturn on his lips.

“Stings?” he asks, and he’s so gentle. His voice, his touch, his being.

You shrug, feeling bashful under his gaze. “A little, yeah.”

He purses his lips and nods solemnly, as if your discomfort causes him a great deal of pain, too. “M’almost done,” he promises, returning to his diligent work.

The two of you sit in silence while he finishes cleaning your wound, sufficiently less daunting with all the blood removed. The scrapes are hardly deep and you’re certain the bruises will heal in a week’s time. He retrieves two bandages from the kit, one purple and one blue, and drapes them delicately over the scuff of each knee.

“Hands,” he requests, and you present them to him palms up. He takes each wrist between his fingers, lifting them to his chest in examination. No blood, just the burn of the concrete on the heels of them where you clumsily caught yourself. “Don’t look too bad; may just be sore for a little while.”

You’re nodding even though you hardly hear the words that come out of his mouth, too enamored with the way his fingers warm rings around your wrists.

He catches you staring, and surely now, he’ll send you on your way. Now that he’s done his due diligence, he’ll make up some polite excuse to get you out of his space. He’ll choose avoidance, just as you had, and you’ll be forced to endure the misery of the unknown, to be complicit with a life of no risk and missed opportunities.

But he surprises you, a frequent trend, when he leans forward and presses two, soft kisses to each battered palm.

Your breath catches audibly in your throat, and he shoots his eyes back up to you, lips still dangerously close to your skin. His own inner turmoil is so plain, so clear, in the way he studies you that you don’t even try to mask the emotion that creeps back into your eyes.

“Better?” he whispers, the brush of his breath on your skin raising goosebumps up your exposed arms.

Untrusting of your voice, you breathe a wavering mmhm, the urge to melt into him overwhelming by the way he looks at you. It’s a familiar look. One you’ve seen before, only once. Three days ago. Dire and conflicted, and god, you want to kiss him again. You think he must lean forward, or maybe it's you, because his breath is on your face now too, and you can see every line of worry that plagues him.

“Joel…” you whisper, and it’s a question, a plea, a warning all at once. You see his eyes flicker, if only for a moment, your lips and back again, a frown creasing at the edges of them.

He sighs a despondent sound, abruptly standing, jarring you, losing your hands in the process as he drags the barstool back to its designated spot. Suddenly, he’s got his hands on his hips, and he’s pacing the modest kitchen space, eyes and thoughts amiss. It may be the first time you see him as anything other than the picture of composure, save for the fateful moment three nights prior where the same eyes and thoughts screamed retribution for Trevor rather than strife for you.

“Listen,” he finally breathes, and it’s painful, “we needa talk about what happened.”

And there it is. The unavoidable.

“O-okay.” Your voice wavers and your stomach drops, and you suddenly feel like a child under scrutiny. The first words that come to mind tumble out in an attempt to lessen the tension. “I’m… I'm sorry, Joel. Really, I am—”

He rapidly shakes his head. “Stop. Stop. I’m not askin’ you to apologize, alright? I’m the—” he stops cold, and you stiffen. You can’t read his mind, but you know his eyes, and they speak words you’d rather not hear.

I’m the grown-up here.

I’m the older one.

I’m the responsible one.

You cringe at the plausible fill-in-the-blanks, conscious of their validity, and you think he does too.

He expels a heavy, tired sort of sigh. “I’m the one that shoulda put a stop to it,” he settles on.

You consider what he says for a long while, unsure of whether to scream, or laugh, or cry, or all three at once; unsure if his confession soothes you or crushes you from the inside out. You know you should be grateful for the apology, thankful that he willingly takes the burden of fault off of you. But in seeking forgiveness, he makes another notion, a far more painful one, abundantly clear.

Regret.

“And I understand if you want me to leave ya alone from now on,” he continues, and you can’t help but feel like the spiel is rehearsed. As if he spent hours talking to himself in the mirror, debating the right things to say. Questioning, now that the line has been thoroughly crossed, what is even right or wrong. “But I couldn’t do that without talkin’ to ya first. Settin’ things right.”

“I don’t want you to leave me alone.” You jump on top of his words, and Joel’s brows shoot up on his forehead. He stops pacing.

You curse your eagerness, eyes falling to your hands in your lap where you aimlessly pick at the skin around your nails. “I mean… I’m not–I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you for what happened, I just”—you look back to him, uncertain—“want things to go back to normal.”

As if there is such a thing. As if one taste of him hadn’t changed the world as you know it. As if there is any version of you, then and now, that wouldn’t want him.

You know nothing as familiar as wanting him.

The silence that follows is torturous. He takes you in, unreadable, for what seems like eternity. You see a boundless bounty of emotion in his eyes—eyes that have become familiar, comforting in the way that the thought of losing them seems too grand to endure, even if you never have them in the capacity you long for.

He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, tapping his foot, and his hands fall from his hips to fold his arms across his chest. “Well, then I think we oughta just… go on s’if nothin’ happened. Put it behind us.”

And still, a dagger in the heart would have been less painful.

You wait, staring at him for a long while with the false hope that he would go back on his words. That he didn’t want to forget, and you search for it desperately. The truth behind his eyes and his words, that you assume he imagines will protect you, protect the both of you.

Sensing no form of retraction, you take a deep breath hoping the excess oxygen will calm your racing heart, and straighten yourself up on the counter.

“Alright.” His mind has already been made up; arguing would make you a desperate fool. Still, you find yourself adding: “If that’s what you think is best.”

Surprise flashes across his face, and you watch the way his mouth falls open only to shut rapidly. He presses his lips into a thin line and his nostrils flare. There’s a beat of adrenaline, challenge. And the caged thing inside of you, something you have recognized as the sliver of hope you still carry for your life, comes to life. A bright sensation, wondering if she’s succeeded in breaking down the final choice of savior.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, and the light goes out. “Yeah, I think it is.”

Rejection.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You try your hardest to feign acceptance.

“Okay. Well”—you’re sliding off the counter, blood rushing to your head when you land on your feet—“thank you for um, for taking care of me.”

You think he knows you well enough by now to hear the familiar warbling in your voice, but if he does, he doesn’t say anything. You keep your eyes fixed on your feet so he doesn’t see the way they gloss over.

You wonder if life's circumstances had always been the root of your downfall, or if it really is hope herself.

He offers you the option to stay a while longer, give yourself a chance to regroup, but you politely decline. The air in his home is suddenly suffocating. You mumble something about needing to get the groceries inside as you shuffle towards his door, hoping he won’t follow, but alas, he’s walking you to it, stepping around you to reach for the handle himself.

“You’re sure you don’t, uh… you don’t need anythin’ else?” he asks again, hand steady on the door but making no effort to open it, arching his brow over his shoulder at you.

Please, don’t make this harder than it already is.

You give him a trained, tight-lipped smile. Polite. The same one you give everyone in town, lackluster. “No.” And it’s a lie. You need everything from him. “No, thank you. I’ll be alright.”

If he’s unconvinced, he doesn’t say so, and there’s another pang of hurt in your belly.

When he finally turns the handle, Joel peeks out the door first before allowing you to pass. Good, you think. At least he’s just as aware of the risk of you being here. A minor thing to cling to, but you take what you can get.

You shuffle past him silently, reaching for the handles of your bicycle still tucked safely beside the door. You do a quick scan to make sure you have everything, but really, you’re stalling. Attempting to let the past hour marinate so you can form some sort of cohesive thought, say something of substance, something true.

When you look back, he’s still in the doorway. You give him a once over, taking your missed opportunity to admire him. Comfortable, poised, a little disheveled from the morning in the best of ways.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and you snap your eyes back to his. His lips part, and there’s a rush of it again, that hope deep inside of you. But again, he clenches them shut without a word, and disappointment regains its leverage.

You don’t look at him after that.

“I’ll see you around, Mr. Miller,” is the last thing you say to him before hoisting your bike off the porch stairs and carefully rolling it down the driveway.

On the walk back over to your house—damn near a sprint despite the searing in your knees—you think the duality of your relationship with Joel Miller may finally drive you to insanity.

On the one hand, your agreed-upon boundaries are nothing short of practical. Safe, sustainable with minor difficulty, and realistic.

On the other, you’re unable to count the number of times you’ve experienced the urge to break every rule, practical or otherwise. And worse, how easy it’s become to convince yourself he feels it, too. There shouldn’t be such an assuredness in it, but it lives. Feeding and festering and waiting for one of you to bend.

Only this time, you’re certain you would break.

Once inside, you mindlessly shove the groceries into their respective spaces and drag yourself up the stairs. You’re tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally, every ounce of you drained. And it’s welcomed, the exhaustion. It’s the first time in three days you feel unburdened enough to even entertain the idea of settling. And you’d like to chalk it up to handling your own bullshit, but you know it’s because of him.

Even if the outcome would leave you solemn for days to come, seeing him, feeling him, it eased you. There is a lingering feeling of closure. It would take time to accept, but is far better than the alternative of sitting with your unanswered thoughts.

He doesn’t hate you.

He isn’t shutting you out.

He’s still there if you need him.

You’re nearly certain of it.

You flop your body onto the center of your bed, nestling your head into the pillows. Your limbs feel like weights melting into the mattress, and it’s not long before your eyes feel the same heaviness.

You let yourself drift off, clinging to all that is nearly certain.

The window is already dark when you wake, and you're roused by the sound of banging and grunting. Despite the commotion, your eyes don’t open at first—your body’s subconscious attempt at protection from the horrors in front of you. But as you gradually blink awake, the sight before you leaves you scrambling up in your sheets.

Pages coat your bedroom floor, toppling from the bookshelf in the corner of the room. Your father stands before it, clumsily tearing out row by row of your most prized possessions.

“What are you…?” The terror doesn’t register, not until the sound of ripped paper and cracked

bindings become loud, thunderous, in your ears.

“No, stop. Stop!” Pleadingly, you cry out to him, twisting the sheets off of you and darting across the wooden panes. You hadn’t meant to sleep this long. “Stop, please! Please!” you screech, foolishly grasping for his shoulders as you trip over the growing pile of tarnished literature.

He shrugs you off, a mere nuisance in his pursuit of destruction. “If you’re gonna be so damn distracted you can’t get somethin’ as simple as dinner done, I’m gonna get rid of the distractions,” he seethes, a vow he intends to keep, and you’re tugging on the back of his shirt, grabbing at his hands and trying desperately to pull them away from the shelves.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It won’t happen again, I swear it! Please just–ugh!”

The wind escapes your lungs when he whips around and a firm hand presses to your throat, your back making sharp contact with the wall adjacent to the bookshelf.

Liquor and tobacco, his breath is hot against your face. His eyes are void of all feeling, and you struggle for air against the stronghold on your neck. Your sinuses burn, your eyes fill with tears, and there’s a moment, brief, where you wonder how long it would take your heart to stop. How much oxygen would need to be deprived to slip into blissful mindlessness.

You know he wouldn’t be so forgiving.

“Don’t you ever put your hands on me like that again, girl, you hear me?” he barks, slamming his unoccupied hand against the wall beside your head. “Do you hear me?!”

Your mouth gapes open, and you try to speak but nothing comes. The salty taste of tears coats your lips, and in an act of desperation, you dare to claw at his wrists, mustering up the strength to nod as well as you can. When he still does not release you, the fight or flight kicks in, and the blur that washes over your vision and the dizziness in your head fills you with fear. Genuine and unadulterated, how easy it would be for him to make nothing out of you.

“Yes,” you croak, and the sound of your own voice startles you. “Y-yes, sir!”

He lets you go, and your knees give out. You slide your back down the wall, heaping over on yourself. You hug your knees close to your chest, gasping breaths and wet, watchful eyes as he prowls across the room.

The final blow is the most devastating, and you think you may actually be sick to your stomach. As he steps over the debris towards the door, he picks up what you assume to him is only a random book. But you catch the title, fine calligraphy sprawled, Romeo & Juliet, just before he mercilessly tears the spine in half, letting the pages fall amongst the wreckage.

No sound comes out of your open mouth. No feeling reaches your fingers or toes, and you wonder if your state of shock has allowed you to finally leave your own body. Teleport somewhere else, somewhere far away, to not endure another moment of a pain you cannot decipher what you ever did to deserve.

It is, was, your only copy of the play.

And it belongs, belonged, to your mother. One of the few things you pulled out of the sparse pile of her tucked away deep in the attic. One of the only pieces of your life that confirmed she was ever even real, that your memories were real.

And much like her, it’s gone in an instant.

“Clean this up,” is the last thing he slurs before your bedroom door slams shut.

You sit there, unmoving, for what seems like an eternity. You’re hollow, and yet, the space you inhabit isn’t yours to fill anymore. Succumbing to the numbness has always been easier, but there is an overwhelming bough of raw anguish that lingers in you now.

It’s moments like these, disappointing in their frequency, where you wonder what you truly are to the man called kin. Burdensome. A lingering reminder of all that he once had and lost.

A matter of circumstance. Something disposable. And with that realization, you feel the impending need to get out.

You wait until you’re certain he’s asleep before you plot your escape. You won’t get far, but luckily, you don’t have to.

You move on autopilot, numb to anything other than putting as much distance between you and this house. This room, once a sanctuary, now tainted. The tears fall steadily, but no sounds escape you. You wouldn’t provoke him, nor give him the satisfaction of hearing your defeat.

Echoes of thunder rumble in the distance, a summer storm upon a somber evening. And when the sun sets and the world sleeps, bolts of lightning illuminate your path to refuge.

You find an old zip-up sweater left out of winter storage, pulling it over the clothes you had no energy to change, and shielding your damp face with the hood. You take the back door; there would be less suspicion in leaving it unlocked. Scattered drops fall from the darkened sky, and the grass tickles your bare feet as they carry you to the only place you know you’ll be welcomed. The only place you seek.

When he first opens the door, Joel looks confused. The street lights reflect off the panes of his glasses, and you wish you had more time to appreciate the gentle reminisce of sleep in his eyes. But when the sob finally tears through your throat, confusion makes way for concern, and he’s blinking away the fatigue.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he demands, pushing the whole of himself through the doorway until he’s standing toe-to-toe with you on the porch.

You peer up at him, trembling, the picture of desperation. “Can I stay here tonight?” you beg, and there’s little care for how feeble you look. “Please, can I stay?”

Joel shakes his head, disbelief, looking you over with such uneasiness as if you would shatter before his very eyes.

“Christ,” he sighs, and maybe you are breaking. Maybe you’re finally falling apart piece by piece, and he is to be the sole witness. “C’mere.”

But the part of you inside, shriveled and forlorn, still seeks reprieve, and she knows where to find it. His voice is a beacon, a promise.

The anchor of his arms when you rear forward is the only thing that keeps your body from sinking to the ground. You bury your face into his chest, hands clinging to his shirt, while tears stain his skin. He shushes you, raking his palms up your spine in soothing sweeps, keeping you snug against him.

“‘Course you can stay. You can always stay.”

There are no questions or explanations necessary. No price to pay for the gift of solace. You take it at face value—much like the last time you cried to him, three days prior, when he told you to never be sorry for feeling the way you felt—and allow him to pull you back into the house.

You cross the threshold, still sacred, still uncharted, yet wildly more freeing.

A great weight leaves your shoulders as soon as he shuts the door.

His face is in your hair when he whispers, and you think the scent of him alone could heal you.

“Always.”

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Ao3 | Kofi

#LETS GOOOO I CANT WAIT TO READ THIS LATER #winter’s tbr #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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wintrwinchestr · 13 days

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Dude joel playing careless whisper on guitar + the angle from the third video to the reader 🫣 I'd fucking faint

exactly like i don’t blame her for letting him fuck her so quick like i’d be on my knees without question too 🤭🫣

#ask winter #rockstar!joel #tk&ts

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wintrwinchestr · 14 days

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There's this guy on tiktok I started watching during quarantine and he's so fucking good at playing guitar, obv he doesn't look like joel and he's way younger but pleaseee I can imagine him playing like this just for fun in his free time to MC 😩 ik these aren't rock songs either but I bet he could just make this stuff up on the spot

https://www.tiktok.com/@christianrlocke/video/7328559418281332010?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7350879150243300895

https://www.tiktok.com/@christianrlocke/video/7330485948968406314?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7350879150243300895

https://www.tiktok.com/@christianrlocke/video/7291488168040303902?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7350879150243300895

OH YEAH IVE SEEN HIM BEFORE

that last video especially……… reader POV during kiss it better for sure 🫣🤭

#ask winter #rockstar!joel #tk&ts

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wintrwinchestr · 18 days

Text

smother - part x: hysteria

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: you can only pray that joel makes it back in time to save you. 11.6k words. chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! dubcon - stockholm syndrome, general coercion, innocent reader, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 49), ddlg/daddy dom! joel, sub!reader, reader wears a collar, fingering, unprotected piv, exhibitionism, creampie, pet names for reader, dirty talk, knife play (not from joel oop), canon typical violence, reader gets injured, reader has hair, if these darker tags aren't your cup of tea please keep scrolling! a/n: fuck bryant ross all my bitches hate bryant ross 😤 don't @ me when you get to the end, okay please do but also uhhhh *runs and hides*

Bryant Ross never considered himself a bad person. He just lived in a bad world. Twenty years old at the start of the Outbreak with a promising future in college football and on his way to becoming a star quarterback. Football was a place to put all of that rage and violence inside of himself, as safely tucked away as he could get it between matches. He’d intended on keeping it that way until one night, his entire world went to shit just like everyone else’s. His parents, his two brothers, all gone in the blink of an eye, all because of some fucking virus that he didn’t have the displeasure of meeting himself, letting him go off the face of this Earth along with them.

He fell in with the wrong groups immediately - desperately stricken with grief, needing a place for all that outrage at the way his entire life had been ripped out from under him, he joined a group of looters in Columbus within a few days after the Outbreak. They pillaged, tore everything apart that they could find, including infected and people. It was a group of similarly like minded people that put Bryant’s fears at ease. He was okay, he would be okay. Group after group, Bryant skated along amongst them over the years, once trying life in the Cincinnati QZ in those early days, and not finding it to his liking. Too confined. He preferred the life out there where he didn’t have to face the thick clouds of judgements that others seemed intent on giving him even though the world had now turned to a stinking cesspool of horror, crime, and malicious intent.

Bozeman had been his home for years with the group of raiders he’d joined that lived there, the entire town theirs after a long, drawn out battle with the previous residents. They’d tentatively taken him in before deciding he was worth it, that his history proved he’d be enough of an asset to them. From there, he got to enjoy the fruits of their labor, the years they’d spent cultivating this place into their sanctuary.

Until it wasn’t his anymore. One accidental slip of the knife - maybe on purpose - and his years of service, everything he’d given to them, gone in what felt like a second.

She was our favorite fucking toy, Bryant! Jasper had spit in his face, veins popping and cheeks colored red. We get to do enough of that shit, killing people, you fucking asshole. You took it too far. They all say the words as if they’re clean, as if they haven’t committed some of the most horrific acts right by his side.

Bryant had watched the life drain from her eyes, and he wasn’t sure he felt sorry for it. Cuts marred her, eyes leaking fresh tears that only made him more excited by the prospect of holding the knife to her throat. She had been his favorite toy too, and he’d been warned, too many times, they said, about the concerning amounts of injuries on her body for them to be able to forgive this.

He was on his own, expelled with whatever he was able to fit in his pack, wandering the harsh wilderness and trying to clear his mind. Find his next place to call home. Maybe he was better off, he’d started to wonder, just being on his own without those assholes he’d called friends over the years.

Hope lost as days turned to nights over and over, crossing the border into Wyoming and through Yellowstone. Then a tiny cabin came into his view, salvation on the mountain, maybe a mirage in his tricked out mind that was running on little sleep these days. It wasn’t exactly what he had thought he was looking for at first, not until he’d seen movement through the windows. Just a flash of fabric, a dress swishing as you moved within eyeshot, a bit of hair, a quick peek at your face.

Hope gained when he saw you.

The sound echoes. Loud, piecing, shrill. A noise you weren’t even sure you were capable of before trying in this desperate moment. The dense forest eats it up, the sound traveling farther away in an instant, absorbed by the brush and the leaves and your lungs burn with the effort but you don’t stop the high pitched call you’re screeching out. Not until you’re forced to.

You feel the crush, the wind knocked out of you completely, sending you choking on the rest of the air trying to push its way out in a scream. You cough, doubling up into yourself but your knees hit the mystery man’s boot that’s just made its way down onto your chest hard.

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up!” he screams, clearly panicked by just how loud you’d been able to be, and you’d even surprised yourself. You whimper softly, tears stinging at your eyes as the pain pulsates across your chest.

“G-get away, he- he’ll be coming!” you say, gasping for air, unsure of why you’re trying to keep up the lie. Maybe it’s for your own good, your own sanity to believe Joel will come lumbering out of the cabin in a rage, whipping his revolver off of his waist and scaring your new nemesis right off.

The man leans down, crushing his boot further to your chest as you rests his elbow on that knee, sneering with those yellow teeth you hate, the sight of them making your stomach start to revolt against you.

“Ain’t shit coming out of that cabin and we both know it,” he replies coolly, his voice so low and terrifying, a horrible sound against the beauty of all the birdsong in the distance. You choose not to respond, giving him the answer he was looking for, making his nasty, coy smile grow even wider as his eyes drop to your chest, where his boot lays just above your breasts as they heave up and down. Your outfit leaves little to the imagination, most of the reason this is one of Joel’s favorites on you, and you know this man is getting a show right now, the outline of your taut nipples poking through more than obvious. It sends a shiver through you while his eyes darken, straight panic that chills you right to the bone.

“Let’s start over, yeah?” he says without making any effort to move his boot or release any of the pressure on your poor, strained lungs. You’re staying as still as you can, wanting to give him a sense of false confidence while you think about your next moves. “I’m Bryant,” he says, putting a palm to his chest. “And all I want is a little company, a place to sleep, not to hurt you.”

You don’t believe a word he says. Other than the fact that he has already hurt you, the air around him, his aura, feels so dark, so sinister, that you couldn’t make sense of his words even if you tried. This Bryant is not above hurting you further, and you won’t fall for his placating bullshit. You breathe in more and more shallow breaths as you stare up at him, needing air, and your fight mode kicks into gear suddenly, like your mind goes completely blank other than screaming static and the urge to move. You start to squirm, shoving his boot off of you with a sudden force to his shin, causing him to stumble to the side to regain his footing. Just enough room for you to roll out from underneath it as he has to stagger a step away from you.

“Fu-” Bryant spits out in surprise, his brows furrowing deeper as he watches you roll away and try to scramble to your feet. “You little shit,” he curses you, rushing at you, and your eyes go wider in pure panic as you struggle to get onto your two feet, your hands chasing along in the grass, trying to push you up. Bryant’s got his wits about him, though, maybe he had expected a fight here, and he’s on you too fast, the precious moment of escape not enough before the large, knobby fingers of one hand wrap around your wrist, the other precise in its snatching up of your collar. Your hands fly to the front of the leather, trying to stop the imminent choking as he tugs back, pulling you into him. His body is solid against you, strong like Joel is, but so much more unwelcome. The pungent, vile smell of him overwhelms you and makes your stomach do another turn and you feel yourself gag, throat straining against the tautness of your collar. Your most special thing, your prized possession. Joel’s gift to you that he’s trusted you with and this stranger is using it against you - it hurts your heart more than you can even comprehend in the moment that it’s aiding in your downfall.

Bryant swings your entire body around as you gasp and try to yell out in a raspy call, kicking your feet in his direction. He tightens the hold on your neck and you feel your lungs start to burn more with each strenuous inhale, not able to get enough air in each time. “Play fucking nice, won’t you?” he strains out with the effort of keeping you controlled as you flail and struggle against him. He whips you around suddenly, sending you a little dizzy before he starts dragging you behind him towards the cabin, only increasing the pressure on your throat.

“Let’s see if your ol’ daddy is home afterall…” Bryant says with a laugh, a cold, cruel sound that makes it feel like ice is running through your veins, strangely countered by the way you can feel your skin quickly coating with sweat, your forehead and armpits already sticky and damp as you continue to fight him. He stops suddenly, tossing you to the ground, grass staining the pure white gown, and he swiftly lands a kick to your gut and you sputter, coughing from the impact and the way your lungs beg for air now that your throat is free, the skin burning hot and prickly where the collar settles back onto you.

What would Joel do? A useless thought, you quickly scold yourself, considering you have none of Joel’s same qualities that make him so ruthless and formidable, and you’re completely outmatched in strength here. But what would he want you to do? The thought turns in your mind for a moment as time seems to slow down after the blow from his boot, and you roll pathetically on the ground, curling up into yourself. You don’t realize you’ve started crying until you taste the salt of your tears leaking onto your lips and into your open mouth as you suck in breaths, trying to steady yourself.

What would he want you to do?

Your hands go up to your collar before you can think about it, shaky fingers clumsily twisting it around to get to the buckle closure that’s usually at the back. You wouldn’t dare take it off normally, break such a fundamental rule and hurt Joel like that, not unless the situation was desperate like right now. You won’t let this piece of shit use your devotion to Joel as a tool to hurt you, to control you any further. You manage to get the buckle undone, tossing it off and into the grass just as the man reaches for you again, hauling you up underneath the shoulders roughly, uncaring towards the way you wince and sob as he handles you, forcing you towards the front door.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bryant repeats as his hand clamps over your mouth, clearly tired of hearing your cries. “Before I have to make you,” he adds in warning, and you feel the tip of a blade, held in his other hand, against your throat and your heart speeds up dramatically, to the point your chest feels like it's going to burst from the anxiety. Your cries die down immediately behind his dirty palm stuck to your face, only tiny whimpers coming out now as your tears continue to fall heavily. You nod slightly, letting him know you’ll cooperate, to not hurt you, please god to not hurt you.

He sneers, an unpleasant chuckle coming out as he holds you in front of him, forcing you forward towards the cabin. Your sanctuary. Your home. The thought of it being defiled like this, of memories full of newly budding joy being replaced with fear, makes you cry harder as the man pushes you into the door, crushing you against it.

“Open it. No fucking funny business,” he demands, his breath hot against your neck, body too close and claustrophobic. You nod with a tiny cry, reaching out your hand to the knob and turning, only to be pushed inside, falling to the floor again with a loud thud. You land mostly on your hands and knees, and immediately try to crawl away but he kicks you yet again, getting you right in the side, sending you down to the floor completely.

“Please…” you beg the man, trying to lay completely still on the floor, eyes squeezed shut, hands fisted into tight balls, grounding yourself through the pain of your fingernails digging into your palms. “What d-do you want…” you say through your tears, your voice wracked with sobs in between the words. “Just… please stop hurting me.”

Bryant seems to pay no mind to your appeal, standing in the doorway, blocking your exit as he shuts the door behind him. If he’d been less focused on you, his wild green eyes boring into you, he might have noticed all the signs of Joel’s existence - men’s jackets hanging by the door, his currently unused boots and shoes next to the entryway, your now more colorful and decorated list of Daddy’s Rules hung on the refrigerator. Joel was all over this place, his presence deeply set into the foundation of this home you shared with him, and you almost felt sorry that he didn’t notice, didn’t realize just who he was messing with by association.

He crouches down to your level, tilting his head as he examines your screwed up face. “If you stop fighting, I stop hurting you,” he says matter-of-factly, and you get the sense it’s a complete lie. Your eyes flutter, squeezing tighter and tighter shut as you feel the cool blade of his knife drag along your cheek, your body responding by picking up a violent shaking.

“I-I- will - j-just please -” you plead with him, unsure of what to even ask for at this point, your brain fuzzy as you let your body go a little limp, a show of faith that you won’t fight, that you won’t subject yourself to the hurt anymore.

“Now that wasn’t hard, was it?” Bryant asks mockingly, once again pulling you up underneath your arms, tugging you to sit up. Your body aches, screaming at you all over your chest, stomach, and sides. “Get the fuck up, and sit in that chair, r-right there,” he adds, sounding the slightest bit nervous for the first time. It’s almost like now that he’s gotten you where he wants you, he doesn’t know what to do with you. Or maybe he’ll lose his nerve, you silently pray.

You try to stand up, staggering as you do, your legs like jelly underneath you while the pain radiates throughout your midsection. You make your way to the kitchen table and the chair he’s pulled out for you as he holds the knife out in a direct warning to meet his demands. Your head lolls down, eyes feeling puffy and tired already from crying, and you watch him pull off and unzip his backpack, pulling out a large, long bunch of rope. Your face falls even further, a fresh stream of tears snaking their way down your cheeks. You should run, you should go somewhere, anywhere else, but you freeze, unable to even think straight enough to know which direction you should go. It’s pointless, anyways, with the state you’re in right now - he’d probably catch up to you in just a few paces.

Bryant grins sinisterly over at you as he paces towards you, putting a hand on your shoulder as he circles the chair. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he says, so casually that it catches you off guard, and you only blink at the ground and furrow your brows. “Lucky for me, I was needing a place to stay when I stumbled upon your humble little abode. It’s been too too long since I’ve had a warm bed…” he says in a low voice, standing behind you and draping a strand of the rope over your chest before pulling it tight across you. Your breath hitches as he goes tighter when he starts to wrap the thick, bristly rope around you, walking around the chair as he does in slow, deliberate patterns. He stops when you’re tied down about halfway, tucking one finger under your chin to lift your face to his. You quickly twist it to the side, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he gives you a blunt slap across your cheek, stinging hot as the noise rings through the cabin, before he grabs your face and turns it for you. You can feel your whole entire body shaking against the restraint, your eyes devastated but hardened as he stares into them.

“...Or a woman to share it with.” You go violent, shaking against the restraints, the chair wobbling only slightly despite you giving it your all.

“Never,” you spit out defiantly, swinging your leg in his direction to attempt a kick at him, but he dodges it smoothly as if he’d anticipated it, leaving you feeling defeated.

Bryant only laughs, continuing his way around the chair with the rope before he finishes, securing it. Your hands try to wriggle but there’s no movement there, your feet quickly seized next as he ties your ankles together, forcing your legs apart slightly before he does it, leaving enough room, he mutters. You feel your nerve endings light up at the mention, the implications of what he’s thinking of doing to you.

“You should know, I’m not normally like this,” he says in a cold voice, one that gives you the complete opposite impression, pulling up one of the other kitchen chairs to sit across from you, so close that he’s making his knees touch yours. It makes you feel sick, utterly defeated to feel the way he’s pressing in, that ugly, satisfied smirk on his face. “I’ve seen other men take what they want, use the Outbreak as an excuse to commit some of the most sinful crimes you could imagine… Bet you’ve never seen anything like what I’ve seen, you look too innocent for all that…” he interrupts himself with a breathy chuckle, pausing for a moment to see if you’ll respond. You keep your eyes averted, rapidly blinking away tears as you shake uncontrollably, unsure of where he’s going with this.

“They said I was bad, but let me tell you, I could be so much worse. Something about you brought this out of me when I saw you,” he says, tilting his head, looking at you curiously. “You know, I watched you last night, just to make sure you were home alone. Not some crazy group of raiders shacked up in here or something. Got quite the show, by the way,” he says, letting out a whoosh of air, imitating how impressed he was. “Never saw a soul move around in here but you, sweetheart, and yet you say… you live here with your dad?” He laughs softly, and then pouts in your direction like he feels sorry for you, like he’s calling you crazy or completely delusional. You breathe heavier, nostrils flaring at the mention of Joel.

“I-I do!” you counter him, thrashing a little in the chair, not even caring to correct that he thinks Joel is your dad. The thought of him being outside, looking in last night makes you nearly gag, wondering just what he saw, what ideas he’d gotten about you. “A-and you’ll regret this.” You finally move your eyes up to glare at him, trying to make him see it, understand what will wait for him if Joel comes back. When Joel comes back, you remind yourself.

“Not so sure I will…” he replies indifferently, ignoring your plea to him, “From what I see I’ve got the perfect situation here, don’t I? Food, a bed, you here all by yourself… what a lucky find, eh?” The man starts using the knife to brush up and down your thigh, sending an involuntary wave of goosebumps across your skin that you hate yourself for. He doesn’t deserve a response, anything from you. Your brows push together, teeth starting to chatter as you push your angry energy out into the room, grimacing at him.

“F-fuck you,” you spit at him with scorn, not caring that you’re breaking one of Joel’s rules about swearing around other people, and you start to think that maybe he wouldn’t care right now, either. It’s a tiny balm in the moment, to picture him proud of you for talking back, for fighting so hard for yourself.

Bryant laughs again, the mirthless sound piercing you right to the core, and you feel it all falling away - your will to fight, your life force, all sapped as your body aches underneath the crushing force of these ropes. He lets the knife press in a little deeper, an indent forming on your thigh before he pierces the skin and you see a droplet of blood forming around it. You whine loudly but it only spurs him on, beaming at you with an evil sneer, brushing the sandy brown locks of his hair back quickly as his breathing picks up. He likes this, he likes hurting you, likes the blood he draws from your untouched skin, being the reason you bleed.

“You want me to go deeper? I can go deeper, pretty thing…” he says callously, his eyes flashing and wild, something sinister behind them that’s coming to the forefront.

You breathe in a ragged inhale and shake your head quickly, your gaze steady and transfixed on the spot, watching the bright red bloom on your skin as tears fill your eyes again. “N-no, please… please stop…”

He withdraws the knife and keeps his eyes on it, watching the tiny droplet of blood drip off the knife and onto the floor between the two of you. He stands, closing the gap and widening his stance, moving to straddle you. He looms, looking larger than ever as you start to shrink under his imposing form, the reality of this losing battle. The man is practically frothing at the mouth as he sinks down lower, bringing the knife to your throat eagerly, pressing softly but not enough to hurt yet or draw blood. You feel the bulge against his worn denim hit your thigh, and you finally snap in half, your body continuing to respond with shaking cries and whimpers, begging him to stop, but your mind feels… somewhere else.

Joel… you think desperately, wishing with every ounce of energy you have left that he was here with you, that this was all just a bad dream, a horrible nightmare you could jolt out of at any second. Oh, ‘s’okay, princess, c’mere… Joel would say so soft and caring before gathering you up in his arms, his bulky, warm biceps pulling you close. His scent would be so sweet, would smell like sunshine and the outdoors, or maybe a little tang of sweat like he has after a long day in the garden. He’d kiss your forehead, then your cheeks, picking up the few stray tears left with his lips, moving on to your nose, and finally, your lips.

It would all be okay…

Joel thinks of you. For three days straight, he thinks of you, and you float through his mind like the dream that you are to him, the most precious of things that lights up everything in his life. He’s itching, eager to see you as he always is when you’ve spent time apart, his muscle memory carrying him forward on those last legs of the trip home while his mind stays distracted. That familiar, warm feeling crops up inside of his chest when home comes into view, when he’s close enough to finally allow himself to fully dream about holding you again, hearing the sweet lilt of your voice, tasting you, fucking you until you’re raw and shaking and screaming like he was meant to do.

He follows the usual routine of stabling Willow first, his skin buzzing with anticipation as he rounds the yard to get to the front door, wondering just where you’ll be. He fights a hard on as he imagines you on your knees by the front door, having heard him coming, maybe even with the leash already on so he can pull it taut and remind you who you belong to. He shudders with a pleasant zing up his spine and adjusts himself in his jeans quickly before pressing on.

Joel’s daydreaming is cut short when he spots it, his mind spinning with the sudden, unexpected interruption. His breath catches, heart feeling like it skipped too many beats to be natural as he stops dead in his tracks. Joel watches his hand shake, feeling like it belongs to somebody else as he sees it reach down to the grass and pick up the strip of leather. Your collar.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong, Joel thinks with a sinking stomach that quickly turns to resolve as he puts one hand on his revolver. He’s learned to track and hunt over the years, quickly noticing the way the earth has been disturbed, scuffle marks and drags of feet that jump out at him. He glances off to the woods then back to the ground, eyes narrowed, trying to discern which direction to begin looking for you. There’s no way you just… left, he thinks with a pang to the chest, picturing you walking off, dropping your collar right where he’d found it without a care in the world. The thought alone makes him mad with rage, with worry, fear, a heartbreak so complete he can barely let the thought pass through his mind before he shakes it off.

Besides, there was a struggle here, which means -

A noise catches his attention now that he’s on high alert and he’s up from where he’s crouched in a second flat, head whipped towards the front door of the cabin. A fear he hasn’t felt in so long - buried deep, locked away, and covered in cobwebs - threatens to choke him, freeze him right where he stands. He isn’t sure if he can face it, what he may end up finding on the other side of that door. But when he remembers it’s you, who he is to you - all those protective promises, vows to take care of you - he knows he’ll do anything.

It’s all happening before you can really process it. The door flies open, banging hard against the interior wall before it’s shoved right back open as it bounces back with the sheer force of it all. You wouldn’t be surprised if it was practically slammed right off its hinges with the power behind it as Joel thrusts himself into the room, wide footsteps stomping in a full sprint. You see him through your haze, your bleary, tear filled eyes, but you can’t really see anything at all, your mind having gone too numb to understand what’s happening in front of you, to believe that he’s really here.

Bryant turns his head, gearing up to react, but it’s too late, Joel’s animalistic yell that sends a shiver up your spine overpowering every other noise in the room as he yanks Bryant backwards by the collar of his shirt so that he’s off of your lap. You hear fabric tearing as he’s practically thrown across the room, hitting the far wall across the kitchen. The entire wall seems to shake, knocking off art and hooks full of jackets and bags hung up along the entryway wall, a dull creaking of the foundation following before he slumps down a little, stunned at the sudden interruption.

“What the -“ he starts, more to himself, but the noise is cut off into a choke as soon as Joel is on him again, pressing his forearm to Bryant’s throat, slamming him into the wall a few more times, his head bouncing off the wood siding as his eyes get that dizzy look in them. He struggles for a moment before fighting back, swinging his knife at Joel, who despite his size dodges the blow quite well, only a tiny scrape as it passes his sleeve, cutting through the fabric and leaving a small gash. Joel quickly grasps onto the wrist with the knife, putting every ounce of power into stopping Bryant’s knife from plunging into him. He’s practically yelling, a loud, long groan as he pushes powerfully back on Bryant’s arm. The bastard’s hands grip Joel’s shirt collar, trying to break free, ending in a tiny scuffle between the two men before Joel is able to get his forearm back on his throat and crush it there. He moves like he’s possessed - teeth sneering, eyes wide and unblinking almost as if they’re currently not seeing anything at all, a low growl continuing from the back of his throat. He’s a machine, his large frame and possessive personality built for moments like this.

Joel presses in on Bryant’s throat harder for a few moments before his other hand yanks him by the collar again, tossing him to the floor. He gasps for air and his chest heaves as he seems to remember his knife again, holding it up in self defense. It hardly seems to phase Joel who immediately bears down on him with another brutal, almost inhuman yell, nearly a growl as he straddles Bryant - thick, muscular thighs trapping him down. Joel grips Bryant’s wrist and twists it in a completely unnatural direction, making him scream out in pain, the knife clattering to the floor. And that’s when it starts.

Joel’s fist connects that first time, the noise unlike anything you’ve ever heard as it crushes bone, the man’s cheek the unfortunate victim of Joel’s strength and pure wrath. But he doesn’t stop at one, no, it’s a flurry of his fist flying over and over, that first spray of crimson not enough for the rage he feels, the punishment that needs to be doled out.

He’s grunting with each new punch, the man’s yells and sobs slowing into nothing, and you realize that a shrill sound has entered your consciousness over the ringing in your ears - you’ve started screaming at the gory scene before you, snapping out of your trance. Blood coats Bryant’s face, his features puffy and less recognizable now, and you see that Joel’s hand is destroyed where it hovers above now, knuckles red and stained along with his shirt that’s speckled with blood.

“Daddy! Stop! Please!” you scream out desperately, starting to sob. It’s too much, it’s all too much, the blood and the pain and the way that man you’d been so afraid of now looks so pathetic underneath Joel. He’d been so terrifying, but when Joel came into the picture, he’d barely had any fight in him, hadn’t stood even the slightest chance against the powerhouse that is Joel. When he whips his head towards you, you notice a spattering of blood runs across his face too, his teeth still set in a firm grimace, eyes dark and activated, someone you aren’t sure you recognize in this moment. But it’s still him, deep down in there, it’s still Joel.

Joel shakes in a frenzy as the man writhes a tiny bit on the floor, his head lolling to the side as he lazily spits out blood, letting it run out of his mouth as he groans languidly. Joel is frozen, like it’s the first time he’s really seeing you since he bulldozed in here, intent on only one thing: violence.

“D-don’t kill him, please!” you beg. You feel sick, the contents of your stomach threatening to come up as you face the possibility of having to watch this man die a brutal, painful death. You don’t wish it on anyone, you realize, even someone with such a vile heart like Bryant had shown you. He’d continued to use the knife on you, pokes and cuts that kept getting deeper, and the way he drank in the sight of your blood is one you’re not sure you could soon forget. He looked like he was in pure ecstasy, practically edging himself each time he’d cut you, rubbing himself through his denim either with your bloody thigh or his own hand. You were aching all over, body stiff and sore beneath the ropes, completely riddled with fear and a cavernous sadness, and yet… you don’t want him to die like this.

“Please…” you say more quietly, letting your features fall as you stare into Joel’s eyes. His fist slowly lowers, broad chest shaking with the heaving breaths he’s taking, but his eyes stay glued to yours until both of his hands are on Bryant’s collar again. He grips it tightly, knuckles going white around the now busted skin before he gives the man one more slam into the ground, sending him groaning louder again before he stills.

Then he’s up in a flash, his eyes wet as he rushes to you, grabbing you by the face, the shoulders, everywhere he can touch as his eyes rapidly sweep over your body.

“A-are you hurt? Are you hurt?!” Joel repeats the question before you even have a chance to open your mouth. “Jesus…” he mutters, your cheeks squished between his large palms as he breathes more rapidly, his eyes softer again, more like the man you know. He’s smearing blood all over your face, but neither of you care with the relief that is coursing through the both of you.

“A-a little…” you mutter, and the second Joel sees the cuts, the tiny bits of blood still oozing out or starting to dry around them, his eyes flash frantically, his face gaining back color and going red with rage. He’s working as quickly as he can with shaking hands to undo the ropes, twisting it around your body before snatching the knife off the floor and cutting through the ones around your feet. The second you feel it all fall free, you’re in his arms, like it was all one swift motion from him. Joel tries to speak, his throat tight and choked up as he just holds you, some indeterminate amount of time passing as you two live in this little bubble of relief that it’ll be over soon.

“Don’t kill him, daddy…” you finally whimper, gaining a slightly surprised look from Joel.

“He hurt you,” Joel says more harshly, pulling back to show you the rage still simmering in his dark eyes, his skin practically burning up with the desire to crush the motherfucker’s face in.

“I know… but I c-can’t watch it…” you admit, feeling weak, wishing you were more like Joel, a little more ruthless towards someone who’d gotten so much enjoyment out of causing you pain.

You both hear a small shuffle along the wood floor, and Joel drops you in an instant, turning towards Bryant. Your knees are more wobbly than you’d anticipated, and you fall to them on the floor, shaking as you watch Joel approach Bryant’s sluggishly moving body with grave footsteps. Your knees pull up to your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, rocking back and forth.

You only hear rustling, a tiny groan from Bryant, before Joel’s voice booms through the room.

“Move, sweetheart,” he says, the pet name not quite able to soften the harshness of his voice right now. Your eyes fly open as you skitter out of the way, seeing Joel dragging Bryant’s body to the chair you had just been sitting in, propping him up. You watch silently, eyes wide as Joel wraps the same rope that had restrained you around Bryant, making sure it’s tight, too tight to be even remotely comfortable, you think.

Joel seems singularly focused now, your presence in the room now an afterthought as Joel’s hand comes down to slap Bryant across the cheek. Once. Twice. Three times before the man stirs and his puffy eyes glare at Joel. You tuck yourself closer against the wall, shrinking in to feel as small as possible at the sight of Bryant’s eyes again. You can’t move, can hardly breathe or think straight as you continue to watch.

Joel grins, his blood covered face only adding to the sinister energy he’s giving off as he bends down to get closer to Bryant’s, greeting him with another harsh slap to his skin when his eyes start to droop again.

“Up an’ at ‘em, buddy,” Joel coos. His arms strain against his shirt when he turns the chair harshly, facing it towards the table where Joel leans back, resting his ass and thighs against the edge of it, looking at the tied up man expectantly.

“F-fuck you, man,” Bryant rasps out, blood trickling down his forehead and out of his lip. Joel leans back a little more, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head. He’s confident - this is his zone, his sweet spot right here.

“Fuck me? Fuck me? Thas’ weird… ‘cause I thought you were tryna fuck my girl here, take somethin’ that don’t belong to you.” Joel’s eyes are narrow slits, his forehead creased with deep set lines as he closely inspects Bryant before taking the revolver off his hip and tapping him under the chin when his gaze lowers. Harder, harder, until Bryant tears his swollen eyes up to Joel’s face.

“God, no, okay?! I don’t want to fuck your daughter, s-swear, you - you fucking psycho,” Bryant finally replies, lying through his teeth as he strains against the ropes. You know that he doesn’t notice it, only you who knows the truth sees the way Joel’s face has a flash of recognition that then turns to a wily grin. He doesn’t bother to correct Bryant’s mistake, instead holstering his gun and continuing to smirk downwards at him.

“What was that I was walkin’ in on then, hm?” Joel asks, pushing off the table and walking over to where Bryant’s knife had been discarded on the floor earlier, picking it up and looking the small blade up and down. “Hm?” Joel implores him again, making his way back. He bites his lip, starting to hold the knife in front of Bryant’s cheek, sliding the dull edge down to his throat.

“Answer me!” Joel yells, “What the fuck were you doin’ then?”

“F-fuck man, I-I-I’m sorry, okay? I-it was just - just a bit of fun,” Bryant replies pathetically, his voice shaky and so different from how he’d sounded with you. It was nice to know that Joel seemed to have that effect on more people than just you, then.

Joel almost laughs, an amused smirk on his face at Bryant’s blatant lie as he pokes the tip of the knife along his flesh, making him squirm. “She look like she’s having fun?” Joel says, gesturing towards you. You jump at the mention, the sudden pairs of eyes on where you sit curled up, continuing to rock your body back and forth. It’s soothed you enough, just enough to be able to focus on what’s happening even though all you want is to leave this room, forget this experience entirely as soon as possible.

“Does she look like she’s having fun?!” Joel booms out now, whipping his body towards Bryant and putting a hand to his throat, tightening it just enough to start cutting off the air.

“N-no, sh-she doesn’t,” he gasps out, and Joel releases him, smiling all the while, a dark, sick smirk plastered to his face. Joel turns, walking towards you, and you start to shake with all his attention focused on you now. You can’t read him when he’s like this - not that you typically could, but at least in the recent weeks you’d been learning to. But you can’t see it, can’t see him in full right now, to know if he’s upset with you in any way. You’d been so stupid to get yourself into this mess, so how could he not be?

“Shh, shh,” Joel says quietly when he picks up on your fear of his approach. You see Bryant shaking in the chair, trembling out of the corner of your eye, but your gaze is focused on Joel as he crouches down to your level with his back to the other man. “‘S’okay, babygirl, it’s okay…” he adds with a soft touch to the side of your head, fingers dancing along your hair, his voice quiet enough that you think maybe only you can hear it. His smile softens just the slightest bit, putting you at ease.

“Think we should be good hosts, shouldn’t we? Show our new friend how we like to have fun?” he asks you, loud enough for Bryant to hear now, and your eyes flit over to him, wide eyed and terrified at the suspense of what Joel is planning next. You can only give him a few quick nods in response - obedient - still silent, not even sure what you’re agreeing to, although you have an idea. Everything feels hazy, almost like you’re still trying to return to your own body as you watch from afar, just wishing for this to be over.

Joel helps you up, seeming to be extra careful and gentle with you, treating you like a fragile object as he leads you over towards the kitchen table, Bryant’s chair placed just a foot or two away from it. Your eyes avert to the floor as you hold your hands in front of yourself, meekly skittering past where he sits.

“On the table. Down,” Joel says, pressing your body down onto the table before you can get the chance to, your entire front half laying on it, legs hanging off the edge as your tip toes try to reach the ground to no avail. You can feel your breathing, fast and panicked as Joel comes up behind you, standing in between your thighs. He immediately runs both hands up the backs of them, the entire length under his fingertips as he goes higher and higher, hands roaming underneath the hem of your dress and to your ass, squeezing it.

“Wh-what the f-fuck, man…” Bryant interrupts incredulously, and you turn your face to look at him, resting the other cheek on the table, wide and unblinking as you watch his face screw up in horror.

“No,” Joel snips with his eyes on you, hands shooting out from under your dress to adjust your head, picking it up and moving it to face the other direction, having you look over at the counter and refrigerator instead. “You don’t look at him anymore, sweetheart,” Joel says, returning to his strokes of your thighs, this time dancing a hand right in between your legs to graze his fingers along the outside of your panties. It’s not as wet as he’d like, but he supposes he hasn’t expected you to be. Another reason he’s going to make this piece of shit pay.

“Y-you - f-fu-“ Bryant stutters out, and Joel turns his head to look at him as he slips a finger past the hem of your panties, groaning quietly when he feels your tight hole already getting more wet at his advances. He knows you’re not fully here, so he stays gentle for now, trying to bring you back to yourself before he goes much further.

“I what? Hm?” Joel responds smugly, making a show of pushing a finger into you, sending your hips twitching and a tiny yelp flying out of your mouth. You can suddenly feel your blood coursing through you, growing hotter, and you breathe out a wanton sigh when Joel pumps his finger a few more times.

“She’s - she’s your - you sick fuck,” Bryant exclaims, and you can hear the chair shaking, like he’s only just now fully realized just how much danger he’s in now, how far Joel could go to hurt him. Joel stays quiet, slipping himself out of you, and moments later you feel his fingers hooking into the sides of your panties, lifting your hips slightly to help him pull them down and completely off.

“My. What.” Joel says, nudging your thighs apart and lifting your dress up just enough that Bryant can’t get a good view of your ass, but Joel can see everything - the crest of your asscheeks above your thighs, your cunt already getting slick and glimmering just for him just from a few touches.

You hear Bryant sputter a moment before he spits it out. “Y-you’re fu-fucking your daughter! You fucking freak! You piece of shit!” he screams out towards the end, the words intended to be poison off his tongue aimed at Joel but landing without effect. The chair shakes louder now, and you wonder at this rate if he’s going to end up knocking himself over.

Joel laughs, a loud chuckle this time that reverberates through the room, and you feel the heat of his body move away, almost daring to turn your head to look around but you lose your nerve at the last second, balling your fists and waiting for what you hear next.

Joel is making his way to Bryant, and he’ll be damned if he has to hear another word out of this little piece of human scum for the short rest of his miserable life. He punches him square in the jaw, the sound making you flinch, and you’re suddenly very glad you’re following Joel’s instructions of keeping your head turned. Your underwear in his hand, Joel grabs at his jaw and yanks it open, shoving them into his mouth, loud, gagged protests coming from Bryant’s throat now muffled.

“Closest you’re ever gonna get to my girl’s sweet little cunt,” Joel says with venom. “An’ don’t you dare try to spit those out.” You hear him come back over to you, the familiar sound of his belt coming undone, jeans unzipping, and you try to brace yourself, fingertips pressed tightly against the tabletop, unable to get a grip on the smooth wood. Your chest is tight as you heave against the table, but half of it is out of excitement, you realize. You feel a thrill go through you, thinking on the way Joel has remained so cool, so collected, with that rage simmering just enough to not scare you completely. And all of this… is for you. To protect you.

Joel leans over your body, trailing kisses down your back, and you shiver, whining quietly as you feel his cock brushing against the inside of your thighs that are all splayed out and giving him the easy access he needs. You can practically feel his smile against your body as he gets lower and lower before standing straight and pushing himself between your legs. The head of his cock rests heavy at your entrance, and you’re about to suck in a sharp breath in preparation when your whole head is lifted up by his hands, strong and rough.

You’re caught off guard, feeling something tight against your neck, the panic subsiding in a flash to be replaced by a feeling of home. You smile a little, hand sliding to your neck to touch the leather, feel it against you again as you keen with a breathless sigh. In the same movement as he tightens and then buckles your collar, Joel sheaths himself in your tight heat and you scream out. It’s a heady, whining, almost animalistic moan, long and low before you suck in air between your teeth at the stretch.

“D-daddy…” you whimper quietly, your hips rising slightly off the table to meet him, pull him deeper. And he does, quickly pressing his hips flush and filling you completely, so much so that your eyes roll back and you can hardly catch your breath when he starts to move.

“Thas’ right, princess, good girl. Show daddy how much you missed him,” Joel coos out, putting a rough grip on your hips with his hands, hard and deep to try and leave marks as he holds you steady. You hear sounds of protests, muffled and distant, Bryant surely trying to cuss Joel out some more despite the gag in his mouth.

“Eyes on me!” Joel shouts in Bryant’s direction, and upon hearing protest he continues to boom out his commanding voice into the room. “You want to live? Keep them open.”

You whimper as his anger sends him pounding faster into you and his grip even tighter. You’re jostled along the table, only able to take and take and take over and over again, choked out moans coming out each time he reaches deeper and his cock brushes along your g-spot. You grind your hips down a little, seeking friction on your clit, and Joel groans as he watches your ass wriggling below him with pleasure as he continues to fuck you harder.

“Ain’t she pretty?” Joel comments, slowing his movements enough to speak clearly, although his breath is still labored. “So obedient to me, does every damn thing I say, tight little cunt only been touched by me…” Joel rambles on, clearly trying to get Bryant riled up. And it’s working - you hear him screaming behind the gag until his voice gives out, and you can practically picture him slumped in the chair, exhausted. But you don’t want to picture him, you want to picture Joel, trying to throw your head over your shoulder enough to get a glimpse of him. He’s high above you, stilted, rough movements sending his hair down onto his sweat coated forehead, but his eyes are on Bryant, smiling deliciously with satisfaction. He sees your head move out of the corner of his eye and takes a hand to press it back down onto the table, and you gasp at the roughness of everything all at once.

“Ain’t that right, sweetheart? Daddy’s the only one who gets to do this,” he says, punctuating the sentence by pulling out far and slamming back into you, sending you wincing as you try to catch your breath.

You moan, barely able to get out your words as you manage out a breathy, mousy little ‘yes daddy.’

You start to lose yourself, trying to stay grounded to the feel of Joel - his warm hands on you - one on your upper back and the other still anchored tight on your hip. His cock splitting you just like you’ve grown to love, taking away everything else in the room, in the entire world as you focus fully on the feeling. It helps as you try to block out the fact that you have an audience, the negative memories associated with the man who is now watching you writhe and moan pathetically underneath Joel. It almost starts to turn you on more once you start to think about it, picturing yourself from Bryant’s view - the sick, twisted feel of him watching what he’ll never have now that Joel is here, now that you’re safe.

“That’s right, watch this - she’s gonna come so pretty all over me,” Joel spits out with a loud tut, admiring the way your cunt is taking him repeatedly. “Shame this all belongs to me, ain’t it?” Taunting him, Bryant only responds with a gagged noise again, and you can tell he’s given up completely, resigned himself to this fate.

Joel’s attention refocuses on you, angling your hips and sending you completely over the edge, squeezing and fluttering around his already raw cock, and you can tell by Joel’s sloppy movements as he helps you ride your high that he’s close too. You can’t help how loud you moan out, having missed this, missed Joel so much, even though a part of you feels a squeeze of guilt for enjoying it under such dire circumstances.

“Daddy… please… oh… daddy….” you whine and whimper as you come down, feeling like you could come again already, legs trembling as Joel completely loses control, his loud grunts almost matching the volume of your flesh slapping together.

“Such a -“ he grunts “- good girl -“ His breathing picks up faster and faster, his noises more ragged and desperate. “F-fuck… take it, baby, take daddy’s cock.”

You feel yourself quivering, desperately reaching for that second high when it barrels through you suddenly just as Joel lets out a final groan, hips pressed flush to you as he spills himself inside your spent pussy. You twitch and mewl quietly as you come down along with him while he’s still inside, going soft as he pulls out.

Joel grins over at Bryant, putting on a final show of gathering all his cum that’s quickly running out of you and carefully shoving it back inside you, pumping his fingers deep. You yelp and try to scoot, oversensitive and sore before Joel finally pulls out, gingerly tucking your dress back down over your ass.

“Wait for me in the bathroom.” It’s a demand, and you’re far too exhausted to even think for yourself beyond his words, knowing that they’re what’s best for you, that Joel knows best. He’s drilled the mantra into your head too many times to even count now. So you do it, moving quickly to get off the table and scurry out of the room. You don’t bother to even look at Bryant as you pass, knowing it’ll be too much to see his bruised and bloody face, the fear in his eyes, and all because of you. Because of what you do to Joel.

You scamper up the stairs, your shaky legs giving out halfway as you stumble your way down the hall, practically crawling on your hands and knees by the time you reach the bathroom.

“She ain’t my daughter you dumb fuckin’ piece of sh -“ you hear Joel start to say in the distance, pushing the bathroom door closed before you can hear the sentence through, not sure you want to, anyways.

Once you’re alone, it all hits you. Hard.

It’s like you’re reliving the memories of everything from the day, moving through your mind in fast and slow motion at once, repeating over and over. Bryant’s knife to your throat, the cuts he gave you that now start to burn as your adrenaline fades, the way he’d… felt when you knew what he wanted from you. The fear you’d had reeking off your body as he took what he wanted from you that now disgusts you as you come to terms with how close you came to something terrible. This was all your fault. You’d left yourself vulnerable, pushed Joel to let you go outside, gotten too comfortable with this as a sanctuary to ever imagine that…

You cry harder, barely having realized you’d started crying at all, your cheeks already soaked and streaky as you let it all out. Muffled sounds float their way up towards you, unable to hear what either man is saying now, loud sounds following that can be mistaken as nothing but more punches from Joel. You squeeze your eyes shut, begging for it to all stop, for it to have been a bad dream, your hands flying up to your ears to cover them in a desperate attempt to block it all out.

You flinch when you hear the singular gunshot.

Heavy silence follows, a scream climbing its way up your throat, but you make no sound at all, choked down by your sobs and the way your body starts to shut down, completely overwhelmed. You’re alone for a long time, shadows and light coming in through the small window changing, before you feel his embrace covering you. You hadn’t heard him coming, his warm arms surprising you where you sat on the floor, wrapped up in yourself and your mind far, far away.

“It’s me, it’s me,” Joel says, attempting to reassure you when you jump and start to squirm, but your body just shakes, making Joel pull you tight against him. You slump down, and Joel lets you, hanging on as you unfurl your taut, tense muscles, sore from being locked into place in your uncomfortable position as you slide further and further down, curling yourself into his chest and lap.

“God damn it…” he murmurs against the top of your head, where he has his face buried, lips taking up residence there with gentle kisses over and over. “Could’ve lost you, princess,” he says, so quiet it’s almost like it’s just to himself, the disbelief in his voice making you start to cry all over again. Joel sits, still and patient with you just like that, hanging on for dear life, shushing you until you’re hiccuping on the way down from your sobs.

“I-I- I broke the rules, daddy…” you finally blubber out, your first words in what feels like forever, your throat scratchy and dry as the words are pushed out of your chapped lips. “I-I- the collar…”

“It’s right here, shh, my darlin’, it’s right here,” Joel says with growing sympathy, his own words sounding slightly choked up as he traces his fingers over the leather, tugging lovingly on it, hoping the movement will bring you back. Something familiar, he thinks, the way he always touches the skin right above the band, reminding you who you belong to.

You hardly seem to hear him as you continue sniveling incoherently. “A-and I s-swore… daddy I’m sorry… I s-swore at him…” you sob, your stomach tight with nerves and anxiety, worried that your confession will only make things worse for you.

Joel’s breath of laughter rocks you to your core, your perpetually closed, tearful eyes now snapping open, blinking as you get a bleary vision of the world back - the faded pink walls of the bathroom, Joel’s knees and legs stretched out in front of you. Joel can’t help but let out the tension with his chuckle, picturing you cursing out Bryant, feisty like he’s never seen you before. “Oh, honey, honey, my sweet thing…” Joel coos with a hand starting to stroke your cheek. “Thas’ okay, that’s alright, daddy isn’t worried about it. I’m only worried about you, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, taking a quiet moment to get your bearings and process his words. “R-really…? Even t-though I - I messed up?”

“Really really,” Joel says, tucking a hand under your cheek to turn your face to look up at him. It’s the first time you’ve really seen him and it makes you gasp, inhaling sharply as you take in his weathered features - exhaustion overtaking his eyes, dark circles abounding, the dried blood smeared across his face. You well up again at the sight and Joel quickly shushes you, shaking his head.

“Daddy…” you say, your voice breaking as you reach up to touch his face, the blood already dry and flaking off onto your fingers, making you flinch back. You catch his hand on its way from your face, and start to inspect it as you look at his large fingers wrapping around yours. More blood, more pain and suffering, his knuckles already deep, dark shades of red and purple. “Y-you need help… your hands…”

“I’ll be okay, sweetheart. Daddy’ll take care of it,” he says, starting to put on his brave, practical face for you again. You start to sit up, shaking your head softly, grasping both of his hands in yours as you sit next to him.

“Please… let me help…” you say in a whisper, bringing your forehead against his, sighing when his warm skin meets yours. “Please…”

Joel says nothing, as good of a yes as you’ll get from him right now, so you pull back, moving to stand up on your exhausted, shaky legs. A washcloth from the cabinet under the sink is soon running under warm water and being brought down to him, settling on your knees next to him as you cautiously dab at his knuckles. He barely makes a sound, a tiny twitch at the start the only indication that it phased him at all, hurt him. You bring your lips down and flutter them along each knuckle, and it makes his chest physically ache, watching you take care of him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - it was never supposed to be so… fucking soft.

“You didn’t mess up,” Joel stutters out into the silence. “You shouldn’t say that, blossom.”

You just hang your head, focusing on his hands, watching the washcloth stain to reveal his now clean cuts and bruises.

“You know the rules, baby: you answer when I’m speakin’ to you,” he says half heartedly with a sigh, sounding tired. His free hand runs over his eyes, wiping at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose for a brief second.

“I did, though,” you say softly, beginning to work on his other hand as you continue to avoid his eyeline. He quickly pulls it away and out of your grip, your hands falling to your lap before Joel grips your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey hey, you listen to me. He would’ve come either way, okay? You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Cut that shit out right now,” Joel says, just the right amount of tough love to get you to snap out of it slightly, starting to believe his words.

“O-okay, daddy,” you reply softly, leaning your cheek one way to press into his hand, almost nuzzling him. He leans forward, kissing your forehead with a gentle touch, another tiny part of your soul healed from his actions.

“You gotta get cleaned up, c’mon,” Joel says, inspecting your body, dried cum between your legs, the blood on your skin and dirt covering your dress. When you look down to see what he sees, your eyes fill with fresh tears - Joel’s favorite dress, and subsequently your favorite as well, stained with grass and dirt and blood, a complete mess all over the once pristine, white fabric.

“Y-your favorite…” you whimper, “It’s ruined,” you sob, not having intended to break down again as you fall into Joel’s arms. He helps you to your feet, dusting you off and looking at you with determination.

“We’ll clean it. Promise we’ll get it back to normal,” Joel says, his eyes soft with so much sympathy for you, for the little details you’re choosing to focus on, just wanting to please him, to look out for him. One arm still wrapped around you, he turns the water in the shower on, letting it warm up as he starts from the bottom hem, pulling your dress over your body. You feel so exposed but safe at the same time as he takes you in, eyes roaming your body with care, inspecting you.

“In,” he commands, and you step over the rim of the tub. Joel isn’t far behind you, stripping down his layers and joining you under the steaming water. The discolored water circles down, and you silently pray it’ll wash all of this away, somehow make today all better by the time this shower is over. You know, you know it’s silly, it’s the wishful thinking of a child, but maybe if you two stayed in here forever, you’d never have to face the aftermath.

You look down and touch one of the cuts on your shoulders as it burns from the water, Joel’s gaze following down and brow wrinkling immediately, his breath tight in his chest as he holds it there. He’s fighting to stay calm, to give you what you need right now, knowing that his anger will be best taken out somewhere else later. He’ll find a project, wood to chop, a gun to shoot, anything but show that side to you when you least need to see it. His fists tremble as they sit tight at his sides, a shaky exhale making its way out.

“Is it… gonna scar?” you ask in a hushed whisper. “Will I have to…remember?”

Joel’s tension falls, gathering you up in his arms again, kissing your shoulder right next to the gash. “Maybe, sweetheart. It might,” he tells you honestly. “But you don’t have to remember right now, okay?” he says next to your ear, the familiar rumble making you melt into him a bit.

“W-what did you do to him?” you finally spit out, the question having lingered heavily on your mind since he walked into the bathroom. You aren’t stupid, you aren’t clueless, you know what the gunshot had to mean, but you wanted to hear it from Joel to fulfill some sick curiosity.

“I took care of it,” Joel replies simply, a little cold in the delivery. He hadn’t told you about the blood, all the god damned blood. The floor, the chair, the table, the wall all scrubbed clean and placed neatly back into place, like nothing had ever happened. The body he’d had to haul out into the woods - far enough you’d never come across it and have to remember the piece of dirt who you owed zero of your mental space to. That knife that was wiped clean - what you deserved, not your blood coating it for all of eternity - tossed out in the woods with the body. It was over.

You just nod, seeming to pick up on any hidden meanings Joel had snuck into his sentence, leaving it at that, wondering if you’d ever even want to know the gory details. Joel kisses your cut again, finding the ones on your neck, giving them the same treatment. His eyes rake over your entire body, his face pinched in concentration as he searches for more evidence of his failure, wanting to somehow repent for each little mark you now had to live with. Your left shoulder, right shoulder, then he crouches down to your legs, water rushing over his body as he presses his lips to one thigh at a time, each of the several gashes that he’s thankful don’t seem so deep you’ll need any of his shitty stiching work. It no longer feels like worship to him, but a begging of forgiveness that he knows he can never give himself, even if you do. His desperation quickly forms to anger, his skin suddenly too hot underneath the shower, that comfortable feeling of rage for him simmering closer to a boil now.

The sniffle brings him back, your distant, puffy eyes leaking again at his slow, reverent expression of care on a body you’re not sure you want to be inside of anymore. He gazes up, lips still plastered to your skin, blinking the water away as you just stare down at him, your expression a mixture of amazement and despondence, unsure of what you need from him.

“It’s all over,” Joel murmurs a bit robotically against your wet skin before standing to meet you again, tentatively leaning downwards, his lips inching towards yours, testing the waters. He surprises even himself, knowing he’d just been buried to the hilt inside of you not long ago under much more intense circumstances, but you look fragile, like you’re hollow now, and he can’t stand the thought of hurting you further. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, nothing to give you but his body now when his mind is so fucked beyond repair at the only thought that keeps screaming out at him in punishment: you could have lost her.

Unaware, your eyelids flutter shut and you tilt your head to accommodate him, a shy, apprehensive press of your lips to his. You feel butterflies bloom in your stomach, almost like you’re kissing him again for the first time before he pulls back and just holds you close, letting you listen to his heartbeat with an ear pressed close to his bare chest. It all still feels like a dream that Joel is here, and listening to his strong heartbeat only adds to your sense of wonder at him, what he was capable of today.

It’s simply starting to burst out of you, all the feelings you have for this man with nowhere to place them, no way to fully show your appreciation to him. The words leave your lips at the same time they pass through your mind. “…I love you,” you speak out softly, shy as you’ve ever been but melding your body a little closer to his to let it do the extra talking for you.

You expect a magical moment to follow, one where everything falls into place - your knight in shining armor who saved your life to transform into the fairy tales you’ve been reading about in these books that Joel relentlessly teases you for with rolls of his eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, readying yourself to hear his voice reply the same to you in earnest. Everything would be good again - yes, just like the books - beautiful, shining, and colorful. Your happily ever after.

But instead, the silence that follows grows louder than anything he’s ever said, swallowing the entire room in its tense nothingness as Joel only stiffens against you, not bothering to say a word.

#THE EMOTIONAL JOURNEY I JUST WENT ON WHAT THE FUCK #SCARED TO HORNY TO SOFT TO WHAT THE FUCK #mostly horny tho 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 CHRIST #smother you’ve done it again #i love this fucking series #every single one of you needs to get into this #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader

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wintrwinchestr · 19 days

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remembered i made this for fun a while ago :) i hope it feeds your delusions as much as mine!!

everyone who has given me a very kind or excited reblog or comment or message, thank you so much for all the love on this series i really appreciate it 🥺🫶🏻

the next fic i post will actually be a part 2 to one of my oneshots but then it’s on to chapter 3!!!

#tk&ts #rockstar!joel

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wintrwinchestr · 22 days

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inspired by boop day, reblog this post if its ok for people to send you random asks and interact on your posts with no judgement. i want to talk to people.

#yes pls!! <3

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wintrwinchestr · 24 days

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kiss it better

the killer & the sound - chapter 2

summary: you’re with the band, officially. you’ve met them, rehearsed with them all of two times, and now it’s the tour’s opening night. pretty nerve-wracking, but nothing you can’t handle, right? that is, until Joel asks you last-minute to perform their suggestive hit single Kiss it Better with them, live on stage. before you know it, your teenage dreams are coming true, in more ways than one.

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), heavy flirting, pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, babygirl, etc), shy/anxious reader, a little dub-con bc reader has a couple drinks but is alert and consenting, joel refers to reader’s pussy as she/her, smoking, power imbalance & joel using it to his advantage, exhibitionism (suggestive performance onstage but no sexual activity), lapsitting, praise kink, finger sucking, tummy bulge, unprotected p in v sex, some angst, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 11.5k (i’m sorry or you’re welcome)

a/n: thank you so much for your patience and interest in this story!! i’m sorry i took so long, but i hope you enjoy another chapter of rockstar!joel that somehow turned out longer than the first one. thank you as always to my best girl kiers i love you so much and i’m so happy our baby rockstar brought us together <3 thank you for reading, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

divider by @saradika-graphics

It was only a handful of days ago that you had received the life changing invitation to open for Death’s Head on their sold out national tour. And it was only a handful of years ago that something like this was an unachievable fever dream, something you could pantomime in the shower or in the car, but still unsure if your hard work and commitment would ever pay off.

It’s been a complete whirlwind, your teenage dreams coming true in the span of less than a week. And now here you sit, shut away in your dressing room, leg bouncing up and down like a jackhammer as you add a final coat of mascara and one last sticky swipe of lip gloss. Meeting your own gaze in the vanity mirror, you fidget with your necklace, eyes wide and unblinking as you try to suppress a complete freakout.

A sudden knock on the door startles you from your daze, followed by a familiar gravelly voice asking your name. It’s Joel. You invite him in, and although you had seen him at soundcheck earlier in the day, it’s the first time you’re seeing him in the clothes he’s chosen to perform in tonight: black button-down shirt with western-style embroidery on the pockets, generously opened at the top to expose his tattooed chest. He pairs it with his signature black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots with a pointed silver toe. He’s got various chains and metalwork adorning his ensemble, making him jingle and clink as he moves.

“Jus’ wanted to drop by before you go on, tell ya to ‘break a leg’ and everythin’...” He stands in the doorway, the thumb of one hand hooked on a belt loop while the other rests above his head against the doorframe. He looks you up and down quickly. “Look real pretty, darlin’, ‘s a nice dress.”

You look down at yourself, so flustered and not in your own head that you have to remind yourself of what you’re wearing. “Oh, th-thanks. Just bought it yesterday, got it special for tonight.”

“Certainly is special…” He muses, shutting the door behind him before taking a few long strides in your direction. “You feelin’ okay, sweetheart, feelin’ good?” He pulls up an extra chair from the corner of the room as he speaks, setting it down next to where you sit in front of your vanity. He spins it around in his grip to sit on it backwards, dark denim-clad thighs straddling the backrest of the chair. You resist the urge to stare at how his strong body stretches the material.

You opt to answer him with a lie, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

He drops his chin, looking at you from underneath his dark lashes. “Now why don’t I believe you? We've been over this, darlin’. Nothin’ to be scared of, yeah?” He places a large hand on your knee in an attempt to halt its incessant movement.

“‘S just a lotta people… never played in front of crowds this big before. Mostly just did a bunch of bars before now, maybe a community center or somethin’ every so often, but never a crowd bigger than a thousand. And there’s gonna be, like, ten thousand people out there.”

“Try doublin’ that.”

Your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline, and it feels like your heart just dropped into your stomach, a red hot piece of iron ore sinking into freezing water.

“Shit, shouldn’t’a said nothin’.” Joel shakes his head, pinching between his brows before lightly gripping your chin so that you stay focused on him. “Look at me. Remember our talk in the car the other day, don’tcha?” You nod your head in his grasp. “Said all about how good you are. Believe force o’ nature is the term I used, wasn’t it?” You can’t help but crack a smile at his compliment, and he returns one in the form of that canine-like grin of his. “You can do this, babygirl, yeah?”

Oh, that’s a new one. You decide you like the sound of it already, how it rolls off his tongue coated in his gravelly drawl.

You nod again in understanding, but he seems dissatisfied. “Say it back to me, sweetheart,” he instructs.

“I-I can do this,” you reply, your voice quiet, embarrassed of having to reassure yourself to his face.

“One more time, lil’ louder, like you mean it.”

You try again, attempting to infuse the sentence with a little more confidence. “I can do this.”

He seems content with your second try, and swipes at your chin before rising from his seat. “Fuck yeah, y’ can. Gonna knock ‘em dead, baby.”

He takes one last look at you before he leaves the room, and reminds you that you’re ‘Sposed to be on in fifteen, darlin’. See ya out there. He winks at you before closing the door, and then you’re alone again. Savoring your last few minutes to yourself, you decide to pace a few laps around the small room, running through a few more vocal warmups in an effort to drown out the sound of babygirl, babygirl, babygirl echoing around in your thoughts. Jesus Christ. It’s like he finds it impossible to comfort you without throwing in a little something extra to work you back up again. Though, you suppose you’d rather have your nervous energy redirected to him than to keep it focused on the endless expanse of people you’re about to be introduced to for the first time.

What if they hate your music? What if you forget your own lyrics? What if they think you’re not good enough?

You take a guess that they’ve hit the lights in the venue now, judging by the cacophonous roar of voices that just erupted from somewhere sounding altogether too close and too far away at the same time. Too late to back out now. Not that he’d let you.

You brace your hands on the vanity counter, looking yourself in the eye one last time before you make your way to the stage. “I can do this,” you repeat the little mantra to your reflection. “I can do this, I can do this, Joel said I can do this.” A final deep breath and a tousle of your hair before you’re swinging the dressing room door open, heavy lace-up boots carrying you to the wings of the stage where your band members are already waiting to go on. It’s dark backstage, and it takes your eyes a second to adjust before they land on Joel. The accents of silver decorating his face and scattered throughout the clothing he wears catch some of the light from the stage, helping you to identify his form. You acknowledge him, but keep your feet planted where they are, flexing your hands and then clenching them into little fists as you try to peek at the audience, relishing your final moments of being a relative nobody. Your chords, your lyrics, your innermost thoughts are still only known to you and a few handfuls of others, for the next few minutes at least. Your life, your career, begins tonight, there, on that daunting and expansive stage. Angel is already out there waiting for you, beckoning to you, if only you could just push off the balls of your feet and go to her. You wish Cat were here.

A rough hand perches itself on your shoulder, and a low voice begins to speak close to your ear. “Everythin’s all set, show starts whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” you half-whisper, giving a swift nod of your head, swallowing hard and worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. His hand applies some pressure to the slope of skin between your neck and shoulder, massaging the muscle.

“Gotta relax, sweetheart, c’mon. Breathe with me. In…” He inhales deeply, and you mimic the action, holding your breath until he permits you to let it go. “And out…”

He moves his hand to your upper back, course calluses scratching against the patch of soft skin exposed by the low back of your dress. “Gonna be back here the whole time. You start gettin’ nervous, you look at me, ‘kay?” He speaks the phrase slowly, like he’s trying not to spook a newborn animal. You suppose he’s validated in that, the way you do feel a little like a fawn about to walk out onto a frozen lake.

You turn your head to face him over your shoulder. “Okay. Um… wish me luck, I guess.”

“Don’t need it, babygirl.”

The both of you share a knowing smile once more, and it makes enough of your nerves melt away that you don’t even realize that Angel is becoming closer and clearer in your vision. Your feet had started carrying you out onto the stage before you had given them permission to, it seems, and now the embroidered luna moths are wrapped around your body. The hot lights are shining brightly in your eyes, and you’re suddenly enveloped in a dense cloud of white noise that sounds like cheering and screaming.

You look behind you, and your band members have each taken their positions. They all give you a nod or a thumbs up, and now it’s up to you to kick off the tour’s opening night. When you turn your head toward the wings one last time, Joel is still standing where you left him, arms crossed in the darkness. He juts his chin upwards and mouths something to you, the shapes of his lips forming the phrase you can do this. You whisper the affirmative phrase back to him, the same way he had you do in your dressing room.

After you’ve introduced yourself into the mic using the steadiest voice you can muster, you shut your eyes, take a final stabilizing inhale, and then a metallic chord reverberates around the venue as you begin your set.

Instincts and muscle memory carry you most of the way through the first half of your songs. You can worry about building up your confidence and stage presence after you’ve come out the other side of this first night in one piece, you resolve. Right now, you’re just trying to work up the courage to unstick your eyes from the setlist taped to the floor in front of you. Those titles printed in bold black ink are the only familiar things you can see, and you wish someone else covered in black ink were standing in front of you for you to rest your gaze on. Someone to use his tattooed fingers and devilish grin to charm you like a snake, prevent you from curling up and hiding from him, from the tens of thousands of people who traveled and paid good money to see you. You can’t let them down, let him down. You won’t.

One of the songs toward the end of your set requires Angel to be the sole performer for the first few measures before your voice and your band come in behind her. The song starts with a repetitive, hypnotic strum pattern, one you’ve practiced hundreds of times by now. But, it’s easy to get lost in it, lose track of your place if you allow your mind to get distracted or your fingers to be on autopilot for too long.

That’s exactly what’s happened, you realize, when the first verse starts without its igniting lyric. You come in just in time to sing the second line, hoping your voice isn’t coming out too shaky as you try to cover up your mitsake. Your face feels hot, fingers struggling to grip your guitar pick as they become sweaty with embarrassment.

You start gettin’ nervous, you look at me, he had told you, what seems like hours ago now.

When you feel you’ve got a better handle on the song, you turn your head toward the wings to find him already looking at you. If he had noticed the slip-up, his face doesn’t let onto it, which helps to relax you. He wears a proud smile, and holds eye contact until you’re ready to let it go.

His reassuring presence allows you to finish strong, and the remainder of your set is over before you know it. When the drums and bass have faded behind you, and the remaining tones of your closing chord have dissipated into the air, you start to come back into your own body as the white noise filling your ears turns into voices. They’re cheering, whistling, screaming. You raise a hand above your brows, blocking the harsh spotlights so you can get a better look at the crowd, at the thousands of people you had been too scared to acknowledge the reality of earlier this evening. You break into a laugh, eyes becoming wet when you realize Joel was right, you could do it. You did do it. And the crowd fucking loves you.

Unable to contain your elation, you step back from your mic to do a little spin in place, strumming out some final nonsense chords with your nose all scrunched up as the skirt of your dress flutters around you. You take a bashful bow and wave to the crowd, your cheeks burning with the stretch of your smile. Stepping forward again, your voice echoes around the venue as you extend some final “thank you”s to your incredible audience, reminding them of your name one last time before skipping offstage, your band following close behind.

Although your vision is still recovering from the blinding lights, you don’t find Joel in your quick scan of the dark backstage area, and you figure he must be doing some last-minute warm ups or pre-show rituals with the rest of Death’s Head. You share a quick celebration with your bandmates, and then head your separate ways for the night, realizing when you go to change your clothes in your dressing room that you’ve still got Angel draped across your body. It’s going to take a few shows to get used to leaving her onstage for a roadie to pack up for you, you suppose. It’s difficult to remember that you’re not the only one taking care of yourself anymore. But if this was what the rest of your life was going to be like, what your years of hard work and trying and failing and rejection and acceptance had gotten you, you could certainly learn to get used to it.

For now, you detach yourself from Angel and lay her down gently on the couch in your dressing room, setting a mental reminder to find a stagehand later to surrender her to. You know it’s strange to feel such fondness toward an instrument, but she’s like a close friend to you now, a partner. “We did it,” you say to her quietly, smiling to yourself.

Your sentimental little moment is interrupted by another knock at the door.

“You in there, darlin’?” Joel calls from the other side of the wall.

“Oh, yeah! You can come in,” you permit, and he pushes the door open as you turn to him. “What’re you still doin’ back here?”

He scoffs and makes a face in mock disgust. “Damn, could act a lil’ happy to see me.”

“Sorry,” you giggle as he steps fully inside the room, shutting the door behind him. For a beat, you just stand facing each other in silence. You bounce on your heels and fiddle with the hem of your dress, waiting for him to say something.

“Fuckin’ incredible out there, babygirl. ‘Bout knocked me on my ass, I swear.” He steps closer to you, taking your face in both of his large hands. It makes your breath hitch, your eyes widening as they look into his. “Goddamn superstar, you are. They fuckin’ loved you.”

You break into a grin, swollen cheeks pushing into his calloused fingers. “Thank you… Took me a while to get it going, slipped up a little towards the end, but it was fun. Can’t believe I did it.”

“Well shit, I can. You should be proud of yourself, baby.”

“I am.”

“Good.” He studies your face for a moment, and for a split second, you think he might kiss you, and that you might want him to. You try to knock the thought from your head swiftly, and he drops his hands from your face as you do.

“So listen, came back here to ask you somethin’ actually. I know it’s pretty short notice and all, but the guys and I were wonderin’ if you’d wanna come back out and open our set with us.”

Your lips part in surprise, blinking quickly as you process his request. “Oh, um… That’d be really cool, but–”

“But what? C’mon, sweetheart, they loved you. They’ll go crazy for it.” He almost sounds like he’s getting impatient, the way he cuts you off.

You try to justify your hesitation, hoping he’ll understand. “We just didn’t rehearse it together, I don’t really know the chords–” He interrupts you again. “Don’t matter, we’re changin’ the opener, anyway. Gonna play Kiss it Better instead. Gotta know that one, right? Since you’re such a huge fan and all.”

He’s caught you, and he knows it. Of course you’re familiar with Death’s Head’s biggest hit. When you first fell in love with their music, it was one of the first songs you taught yourself to play. He had probably heard you absentmindedly plucking out the chorus during your soundcheck. You know you can’t lie to him now.

You take a moment to consider, then nod. “Okay, yeah. I’ll do it.”

The stern look on his face melts into one of smug satisfaction. “Good girl. Now c’mon.”

You lean over to grab Angel from the couch, but Joel stops you with a hand on your arm. “Won’t need her.”

You pause, turning your head to look at him with your brows furrowed. “I won’t?”

“Thought you just said you knew the song, baby. You forget how it starts?”

Oh.

He wants you to perform that part of the song with him. You wish you had remembered how the intro goes before agreeing to go back out there.

Shit.

Joel jerks his head toward the hallway with a “c’mon”, and you follow him out of your dressing room and back to the side of the stage. The rest of Death’s Head is already waiting, looking exasperated by Joel’s tardy appearance. Tommy gives you a double take, a brief look of confusion washing over his face before adjusting his expression to offer you a friendly smile instead. He and Joel exchange a few hushed words, and it doesn’t take much for you to gather that the guys weren’t in on this at all. This last minute switch up had all been Joel’s idea.

When the brothers are done speaking, Tommy nods in understanding, then passes the change in plans along to Eugene and Jesse. Joel must hear the erratic metallic scrape of your crucifix dragging across its silver chain as you fidget with it, and he turns his attention to the thousand yard stare you’re wearing.

He nudges one of your shoulders with his own to jostle you back to reality. “Where’d my confident girl go, hm?”

“Nowhere. Just… wasn’t really prepared to do this.”

“Just follow my lead, sweetheart. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on his face in the dark.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Joel grins down at you in satisfaction, then turns to face the band. “Whaddya say we get this show on the road then, boys?”

Tommy claps him on the back with a “Let’s do it, brother,” and then Joel is taking your hand in one of his big paws, leading you back out onto the stage you thought you’d already seen the last of.

An explosion of screams and cheers even louder than the one you’d received nearly knocks you over where you stand next to Joel, unsure of what to do with yourself while you await his instruction. He lets go of you briefly to pick up his guitar and situate the strap across his broad chest, then replaces his hand against the small of your back. It feels a little grounding, reassuring, and prevents you from being consumed by too many questions of what the fuck you’re doing out here. You’re pleasing him, that’s what. Not letting him down, right? Doing what he asks, because you’d do anything he asks, and he knows that.

He introduces himself and the band to the crowd, not that they need reminding of who they shelled out a couple hundred each to see tonight, and then you realize he’s talking about you.

“Remember her? Beautiful, ain’t she? Hell of a performer, too,” he speaks into his mic. You turn to smile at Joel while the sea of voices threatens to swallow you up, and the way he’s looking back at you is doing much the same. His expression is hungry, almost, and it reminds you of what it is you’re about to do.

He turns to face the crowd again. “Y’all seemed to like her so much, thought she could be my lil’ helper for our first song this evenin’. That alright with y’all?” Another ground-shaking response from the audience, and he leans closer into the mic to huff a laugh and say, “Thought so.”

Joel covers the head of the device with his hand, so that he’s only speaking to you now. “C’mere, sweetheart. Stand in front o’ me.” His other hand tightens against your lower back, moving you to where he wants you. “Want you to kneel for me now, baby.” He moves his hand up to your shoulder, applying downward pressure and helping you sink to the floor. Your eyes are doe-like and sparkling as you look up at him, heart pounding and breath quickening as you settle at his feet. The sound of your own blood rushing through your skull almost drowns out the fit of ecstasy erupting behind you, the band’s most loyal fans already knowing where this is going. And so do you.

Joel removes the mic from its stand, holding it to his lips and speaking a final “You know what I wanna hear, go ahead, now,” before lowering it to your mouth, his hand now level with the growing bulge in his jeans. The other one begins to strum a steady rhythm against steel strings, building up to the crescendo into the crash of the song’s first verse.

You hesitate, opening and closing your mouth once as you reach a wavering hand towards the microphone. Joel shakes his head in disapproval, and his lips form shapes that look like “hands to yourself”. He smirks down at you when you quickly snatch your hand away, pleased with your obedience. His silver brow piercing catches the light when he jerks his chin upward, the bright lights making his eyes appear to flash like a cat as he encourages you to speak.

“Please…” you squeak out, your voice providing the queue for Tommy’s thrumming bassline to come in.

Joel swings the mic back up to his mouth to speak into it once more, initiating this depraved little game of give and take. “Please, who?” he challenges, and then it’s your turn again.

You swallow, knowing what he wants to hear. “Please… Please Da– Daddy…” The title catches in your throat, this being the first time you’ve ever spoken it aloud the way you’ve always fantasized about. What a debauched sight you must be, pretty young thing on her knees for her teenage rock idol, calling him Daddy in front of thousands and thousands of strangers. If only your mother could see you now.

A kick drum comes to life somewhere behind Joel’s towering form. It vibrates your already sore knees, the feeling traveling to the apex of your thighs. “Tha’s it. Now please, what? Use your fuckin’ words, baby.” His demanding tone prompts a soft whimper to escape your lips, and you shift on your heels. His eyes flick down to where the hem of your dress just barely conceals your panties, licking his lips before focusing on your face again.

“Please kiss it better, Daddy,” you plead, and a warm, fluttery sensation begins to wash over you. Your eyelids feel a little heavier, your brain feels a little cloudy, and he knocks the underside of your chin with the mic once to bring you back to him.

“Hm, I dunno… Still think you can beg a lil’ prettier than that. Try one more time for Daddy...” He flashes his canines as he watches your hips rock back and forth, unsure if you even know how your body is reacting to him. He’s got you exactly where he wants you now, making a mess of yourself for him, shedding the skin of that shy little girl he first met not so long ago.

“Mmh, please, Daddy, need you to kiss it better, please…” Your voice sounds fucking wrecked, and you almost don’t recognize it as your own. It takes you a second or two to realize that Jesse’s guitar has joined in over top of the drums, and you know your little performance is over now.

Joel steals the mic from your panting mouth for a final time, slotting it back into its stand. With lips pressed against the device, he growls, “A’right, good girl, tha’s enough, baby,” and his shrieking guitar resounds all around you as your reward.

You stay kneeling for the remainder of the song, recovering from the whiplash of sinking into such a soft, unfamiliar headspace for the first time only to have nothing come of it. Attempting to recenter and distract yourself, you study Joel’s fingers up close as he plays, trying not to think too hard about those gothic letters adorning his knuckles. It’s no use, of course it is, and you shift around on your sore knees as the memory of that title leaving your lips, being commanded of you by him, replays itself like a skipping record. You’re a little ashamed at the feeling of how soaked your panties are, only being made worse when you chance a look up at Joel to find him already staring down at you, singing the suggestive lyrics of the song to you.

The final chords ring out a few minutes later, and then he’s reaching an inked hand down for you to take. You use it as leverage to push yourself back up to your feet on shaky legs, and you attempt to smooth out the bottom of your dress while Joel maneuvers you to face the crowd again.

“What a performance, huh? God damn,” he praises, making your cheeks burn as he drinks you in again. “‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?”

You nod, doing an uncoordinated little curtsy toward the roaring crowd, cheering voices peppered with a few lewd-sounding whistles and hollers. “A’right, you run along, beautiful thing,” and he sends you offstage with a wink and what seemed like an unspoken promise for more, later.

–

Earlier in the day, you had been looking forward to watching the band from the wings after you were done performing, realizing how cool it was going to be that your first time seeing them live would be from somewhere even better than the front row. You can’t even bear the thought of that now.

You make a beeline from the stage to your dressing room, searching frantically for the lighter and pack of cigarettes in your bag. God damn, you need a fucking smoke right now, and some fresh air. It’s like striking gold when you find them buried underneath receipts and gum wrappers and makeup, guarding them with your life as you head out the venue’s back door.

You let it slam behind you as you press your exposed back up against the cold exterior wall, shaky fingers trying desperately to flick the lighter on and ignite the cigarette between your lips. Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep inhale of smoke, letting the cool night air wash over your heated skin. It’s impossible to escape him entirely, even all the way on the other side of the amphitheater, his muffled timbre still audible as the breeze carries it across the dark sky. You let your gaze rest on nothing in particular as you puff through your cigarette, trying to process what the hell just happened out there.

The problem isn’t so much what you did, it’s that you liked it, the evidence of which is still smeared along your aching cunt and between your thighs. The light wind flutters the skirt of your dress, and the sensation on the cooling moisture at your core sends a shiver up your spine, igniting goosebumps all along your exposed skin.

When your cigarette is almost burned down to a nub, you’re tempted to put it out on your arm, just to see if the burn might wake you up from whatever insane erotic dream you seem to be having.

‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?

For now. Catch up with you later.

You’re sure he meant nothing by it, the “catching up” most likely referring to a conversation where he tells you not to look too far into what happened tonight, that it was just a performance, all a part of his act. You had played your part, it was a one time, spur-of-the-moment thing, and now you navigate the rest of the tour pretending it never happened.

You toss the smoldering butt of your smoke onto the pavement, stomping it out before heading back inside, the majority of your racing thoughts now slowed by a dense cloud of tobacco. You feel a little more stable than you did twenty or so minutes ago, letting your heavy boots lead you to the venue’s green room. You plant yourself on one of the large couches upholstered in tacky paisley fabric, preparing yourself for the awkward but professional talk you’re bound to have with Joel once the show is over.

Eyeing the bar cart in the corner of the room, you decide to get up and pour yourself a drink to pass the time. You don’t typically go for brown liquor, but it’s what’s in front of you, likely at the band’s request. Joel certainly strikes you as a whiskey kind of guy, at least. You hope he won’t mind if you help yourself to some of his share, pouring a finger into a short glass with ice and filling the rest with half a can of Coke from the ice bucket on the cart.

There’s a small, square television in the room, which you notice is playing a live feed of what’s happening on stage. You spot its accompanying remote on the lacquered coffee table in front of you, and grab it to turn the volume up as you begin to sip on your drink.

It’s not the most high-definition feed you’ve ever seen, and you can tell the television is a few years outdated. But it’s good enough for you to use to pass the rest of the time. You could woman-up and just watch from the side of the stage like you had planned on, but it’s nice to have this little room to yourself for now. The combination of watching Joel through the shabby screen and the sagging couch you’re practically sinking into reminds you of home, in a way, of the first time you’d ever seen his face aside from album covers and posters ripped from magazines. It’s still hard to believe you’ve met him now, performed with him, been on your knees for him. The memory makes you squirm uncomfortably, both from arousal and humiliation.

You allow your focus to be shifted to the small pile of Rolling Stone copies on the coffee table instead of your little performance, and flip through the pages while the crackling sound of the rest of Death’s Head’s set plays in the background. You’d always had a knack for finding ways to keep yourself distracted, and you’re thankful for that skill now.

After another hour or so, your attention is pulled back to the television when you hear the words “thank you” and “goodnight” in the mix of what Joel is shouting to the crowd, and you realize the show must be over now. A glance at the clock on the wall lets you know it’s almost eleven thirty, and a yawn takes over the muscles of your jaw on instinct. Between all you’ve been through tonight and what ended up being two Jack and Cokes, you’re looking forward to finally changing out of your clothes and tucking yourself into your tour bus bed. You hope it’s at least somewhat comfortable, having not had a chance to lie down on it yet.

But before you can succumb to the temptation of sleep, you have to catch up with Joel first. You’ve already gone over what he might say to you a dozen times in your head, prepared for any and all possibilities when he pulls you aside tonight to set the record straight between the two of you.

The stage is dark and empty now on the square little screen, the sound of screams and applause replaced by baritone laughter and heavy footfalls approaching the green room door. When Joel pushes inside with the other men in tow, you sit up a little straighter and offer him a friendly smile as he heads straight for the bar cart. You were right in your assumption of his alcohol preferences, watching as he pours himself a generous glass of the same whiskey now working its way through your bloodstream.

“You stealin’ some of my good liquor, darlin’?” he jokes, noticing that the cap on the bottle had already been unscrewed and spotting the glass on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, sorry, was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, ‘s fine by me. Want me to top off your glass?” He asks as Tommy relaxes into the other end of the couch you’re perched on. Jesse and Eugene sit down together in a creaking loveseat to your left, already engaged in a conversation of their own.

“I’ve already had two, I probably shouldn’t–” you protest.

Joel interrupts you, reaching a hand out and making a grabbing gesture towards your quarter-full drink. “We’re celebratin’, baby. C’mon, hand it over.”

You oblige, surrendering your glass, and it becomes more and more true with each interaction with Joel that he really doesn’t ever take ‘no’ for an answer. At first, you had thought Tommy’s warning was because Joel was just stubborn, which does seem to be the case. But he doesn’t have to argue much to get his way, he gets it just because his charm and demeanor warrant it. It’s like he cast a spell on you the moment you first met him, and now you can’t help but to say ‘yes’ to whatever he asks of you, even if it might be against your better judgment.

Joel hands your glass back to you, a little more Jack and a little less Coke than you would’ve poured for yourself, but you only have to sip on it long enough to get through the “catching up”. Maybe the extra helping will make the whole thing a little easier, anyway. Joel plants himself on the black leather chair across from the couch you’re sitting on, groaning as he spreads his legs and relaxes his forearms on top of the chair’s wide armrests. There’s a lamp that sits in the corner of the room, and the warm glow illuminates the back of his head of curls, still damp and sticking in odd directions from the sweat he worked up while performing. The slight golden halo almost makes him look like a king sat atop his throne.

He catches you staring, studying him, and his lips tug into a smirk. He chooses not to taunt you about it, instead turning his attention to Tommy to talk about the show. That’s what you assume they’re talking about, at least. You feel a little awkward, out of place among the group of men, and your eyelids are getting heavier with each passing minute despite their gruff voices and sharp bursts of laughter. You let yourself shrink into the couch's worn fabric, swirling your glass around and taking an occasional sip just to look like you’re doing something. You’re half tempted to reread one of the magazines you had already looked through.

Eventually, after each of the men have gotten a drink or two in them, Tommy is the first to rise from his seat. You had been playing with the lace hem of your dress, tracing the patterns with your finger, so engrossed in it you had almost forgotten you were sharing the couch with him.

“Well, you ready to head out, boys? Keep the party goin’ a lil’ bit longer?” he proposes. “You’re welcome to come too, sweetheart, if you wanna. Just not sure it’d be your kinda scene,” he adds, turning to you.

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll probably just head to bed soon. Thank you for offering, though.”

Tommy smiles at you and nods in understanding. Jesse and Eugene accept his invitation, and then there’s only one member of Death’s Head whose plans you’re unsure of. “You comin’, brother?” Tommy asks him.

“Nah, I’ll stay here. Make sure our special guest gets to her bus alright ‘n all.”

“Good idea... Well, see y’all later, then. You were great tonight, darlin’, by the way,” Tommy compliments, and you smile politely as you thank him.

The three men leave the room, closing the door behind them, and now you’re alone with Joel again. It’s mostly silent, save for the squeak of the leather and light jingling of metal chains when he decides to get up from his chair, replacing Tommy in the empty spot beside you on the couch. He crosses one leg over the other, resting a calf atop the opposite thick thigh. You can feel his gaze on you as he stretches his arms across the back of the couch, not quite sitting close enough to you for his arm to reach across your shoulders. You fidget with your fingernails, avoiding acknowledging his presence until you have to. Please just get it over with.

“Said it once, said it a million times, but you really were amazin’ out there tonight. Appreciate you bein’ so willin’ to do that for me last minute.”

“Oh, um… yeah. I mean, the crowd seemed to like it, so–”

“And how’d you like it?”

His question takes you by surprise, and it finally makes you turn your head to look at him. Why does it matter if you liked it or not? You’re sure nothing like it will ever happen again as far as you’re concerned, as far as you’re sure he’s concerned.

“How’d I like what…?” You question, just to make sure he’s asking you what it seems like he is.

“You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about, sweetheart,” he speaks lowly, those carnivorous eyes of his scanning over your body, coming to rest on where white lace just barely conceals the tops of your thighs.

“Oh… I, um… I liked it, I guess,” you admit sheepishly.

“‘S okay if you did, I could tell.”

And there he goes again, always being fucking right about you. You should know by now that there’s no use in trying to skirt around the truth with him.

You continue to try, anyway. “I just haven’t really done something like that before, wasn’t sure if I was doing a good job.”

“Did a perfect job, babygirl. Looked so pretty on your knees for me, sounded so sweet when you were beggin’ for Daddy.”

Oh.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting him to say next, but it certainly wasn’t that. The room starts to spin a little, either from the alcohol still floating through your veins or from the sharp turn your catching up has taken, you can’t say for certain. Joel huffs lightly through his nose, and you think he must have noticed your breath catch in your throat and the shift of your hips in response to his filthy compliment, punctuated by the title he used so casually.

“C’mere, sweet thing. Sittin’ so far away, you scared o’ me or somethin’?” He teases.

“N-no…”

“Didn’t think so. Now don’t make me ask again, sweetheart.” He pats the empty cushion beside him as he speaks, brows raised at you expectantly.

You obey, of course you do, and your heart hammers against your ribcage as you slide closer to his side of the couch. Your eyelids start to flutter against their own volition, and that candy-sweet, far away feeling from earlier on stage begins to make its second appearance of the night.

“Good girl… So beautiful, baby, you know that?” he praises softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before lightly rubbing his thumb across your pouty bottom lip. He presses it downward against the pillowy skin, and pushes the digit inside with ease when your mouth parts for him so eagerly. You close your lips around him and swirl your tongue along the calloused skin a few times, and he looks like he wants to eat you alive as he watches you fall apart for him so easily.

Joel pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging it down your spit-slick lip so that it bounces back into place when his finger leaves your skin. He wears a satisfied grin at the way he has you completely at his mercy now, looking up at him with your glazed-over doll eyes. They scan back and forth between his glowing amber ones, awaiting your next direction.

“Gave you a compliment. What do you say, babygirl, hm?”

“Thank you, Da– unh…” The word starts to come out before you can catch it in time, shove it back into his cage. Your face runs hot immediately at your slip-up.

“‘S okay, sweetheart. You can call me that, if you wanna, say it real pretty for me. Don’t got it tattooed on me for nothin’,” Joel soothes, still-wet thumb rubbing across your cheekbone in placating strokes. “C’mon, finish your sentence, baby.”

“Th– thank you, Daddy,” you repeat, so lost in this saccharine headspace he’s coaxed out of you that you can’t even feel ashamed anymore.

“There we go, good girl… Y’know why I got that special word tattooed on me, hm?” He asks, already knowing you’re too far gone to come up with an answer. But it’s fun to watch those little gears behind your eyes struggle to turn. If you did ever know the reason, it’s long gone now. You shake your head, humming an mm-mm.

“Figured if it was part of the song that made me famous, might as well own it. Don’t you think, sweet girl? Think it belongs to me, that it should always be there to remind you who I am?”

You manage a weak sounding noise and nod in response, cheek brushing up and down against the skin of his palm.

“And who am I, sweetheart? Wanna hear you say it again…”

“D-Daddy…”

He smirks, enjoying how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into nothing more than a wet, pliant puddle of a girl. “Yeah, tha’s right… c’mere, baby. Lemme feel you.” He uncrosses his legs, returning them to their trademark spread so that he can pull you into his lap and situate you into straddling his hips. The position makes your dress ride up so far that your panties are exposed to him now, soaked-through gusset and all. His fingers make to tease the wet spot there, but change course to pay attention to something else first instead. Something scrawled in uneven black linework, peeking out from underneath your dress’ hemline. He pushes the fabric further up your bare thigh to fully unveil the shoddy little illustration, tracing around it with a roughened finger.

“Wha’s this, sweetheart, hm? This for me?” He prompts, hooking a knuckle of the opposite hand into the little dip in your chin, guiding your head downward to look at his discovery. A death’s-head hawkmoth, bearing a striking resemblance to the band’s logo, with its scribbled wings made of bleeding ink spread out across your skin.

You hum in confirmation, not trusting your own voice anymore. He squeezes at the plush skin of your upper thigh, massaging around the tattoo. A faint growl rumbles from deep in his chest. “Tha’s cute, babygirl. ‘S real cute.”

“Th-thank you,” you return, politely accepting his compliment the way he likes you to.

His large hand migrates from the moth to your dampened core, nudging at your clothed clit with a tattooed knuckle. “All this for me too?”

You’re so sensitive there, his touch sending a shock through your nervous system that makes your hips rock into his hand. You nod, your affirming noise sounding more like a whimper. He pinches the swollen nub between two knuckles, and you let out a pained little yelp. “Yeah?” he taunts.

“Yeah, yes, Daddy,” you squeak out, so fucking gone for him already as his other hand guides your hips to move along his covered crotch. Even through his tight jeans, you can feel how hard he is, his cock straining against the thick material.

“Fuck, need to feel this lil’ pussy, baby. You gonna let me?”

“Uh huh, please,” you whine, ready for him to see you, touch you however he wants right here on the worn-down couch cushions. You’ve never felt anything quite like the hazy little cloud he’s got you floating in, shyness and inhibitions suddenly gone, replaced with unabashed submission.

Joel glances at the watch on his wrist, then over your shoulder to the door you’ve got your back to as you continue to unconsciously roll your hips in his lap.

“Reckon someone’ll be back here pretty soon to clean up for the night, don’t want no one walkin’ in on what I’m about to do to you, do we?” You barely register what he’s saying, making some unintelligible sound in response as you fight to keep your eyes open. “Well, maybe you do… Had you whimperin’ and whinin’ for me in front of all those people pretty quick, didn’t I? Hardly even put up a fight, just wanna be good for me so bad, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Yes, Daddy, wanna be good.” Another wave of wetness seeps from your aching core, staining your panties a shade darker and making the fabric adhere to the shape of your swollen pussy.

“Yeah, fuck, know you do. Hang onto me babygirl, gonna take this somewhere else, let you prove it to me.” He stands up as he speaks, and you wrap your limbs around him as he carries you out the back door of the venue and onto the Death’s Head tour bus.

When he steps onto it with you clutched tightly against him, you can see the bus is spacious enough to have a bedroom in the back, which of course gets to belong to Joel for the next several weeks as opposed to a cramped bunk. You’re not sure there’s ever been a time in his life when he hasn’t gotten exactly what he wants, what he deserves, it seems, and tonight is no exception.

He tosses you onto the bed, and you don’t even have time to unlace your boots before he’s gripping your ankles and yanking you down toward the edge of the mattress. The movement hikes up your dress all the way up to your tummy, and you attempt to pull it back over yourself before his hands are replacing yours on the hem. “Nuh uh, way past that, sweetheart. Off,” he orders, and helps you sit up enough to shimmy it over your head and discard it onto the floor. “Get these off too.” His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips to help him rid you of the ruined fabric. “Now lay down, baby, spread ‘em. Lemme see her.”

You pull your knees in towards you, and Joel places two rough hands on your inner thighs, pushing them apart to slowly reveal your glistening cunt to him as he crouches down to face her. “Oh, she’s pretty, ain’t she?” He marvels, collecting the slick pooling at your entrance with a calloused thumb and using it to circle your sensitive clit. All you can do is whine and let him play with you, so entirely blissed out that you can’t be sure if any of this is real. “Knew you’d have such a pretty lil’ cunt like this.” The sensation of his warm breath ghosting against your sensitive bud combined with his touch and his praise makes you squirm, shifting your hips into his hand and silently begging for more. He uses his thumb to tease your dripping entrance a few times, and laughs when it makes you whine a little louder, a little more pathetic-sounding, before abandoning it to pay attention to your clit again.

“What’re you makin’ all those pretty sounds for, sweetheart, hm? She feelin’ empty, ‘s that it?” He goads, fingers leaving your core entirely as he stands up to finally free his cock from his jeans, hard and angry and leaking. He taps the head against your hole, enjoying the sight of it constricting around nothing. “This what you want, baby? Need me to fuck you full?”

“Unh, uh huh,” you cry, still desperately bucking toward what he’s so close to giving you.

“Might be a lil’ selfish of me, but I think I wanna hear you beg for it again. Just sounded so sweet tonight, can’t help if I wanna hear it some more... Look at me,” he barks, and you hadn’t realized your eyes were closed until he demanded you to open them. He towers over you, sliding a thick hand up and down his shaft, the wet sound of it making you salivate. “You want this cock?”

“Yeah, yes, Daddy, please…”

“Please, what?”

“P-please gimme your c-cock, Daddy, please… Please f-fuck me.” It almost sounds like you’re crying, the way you’re hiccuping and sobbing through your words, one slurring into the next as you beg him.

“So fuckin’ eager, Christ. Such a good girl for me,” he praises, moving to line himself up with where you’re aching for him the most. You’re probably dripping onto his nice sheets, so soaked that he’ll barely have to put in any effort to fully slip inside you. “I’ll give it to ya, babygirl, fuck. So goddamn desperate.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him before he spears into you, and you let out an involuntary little mewl at how big his cock is. You only have the one experience to go off of for comparison, but Joel is fucking huge. He’s thick and long, with a blushing mushroom tip and a prominent vein running down the length of him. Your reaction to him makes him refocus on your face, noticing how wide your eyes are as you take him in.

“Can’t promise I’m gonna be gentle, don’t got it in me. Say somethin’ if you can’t handle it, I’ll put your pretty mouth to use instead, ‘kay?”

“O-okay,” you promise, continuing to watch as he begins to push inside with a groan, just the tip at first, until he quickly loses his patience and sheaths the rest of himself inside you.

“Tight lil’ cunt, suckin’ me in already, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good…” He releases a strained breath once he bottoms out, and you swear that swollen tip of his is kissing your fucking cervix. You feel so full, letting out a debauched sound as you adjust to the burn and stretch of him. He lets himself sit inside you for just a second before he slides out almost completely, growling again when he pushes back inside.

“Oh fuck, look at that,” he muses, trailing a hand from your entrance to the expanse of skin just under your belly button. His touch tickles, making you shiver, and you direct your attention from where the two of you meet to whatever it is he’s suddenly become fascinated with. “So big inside you, huh? Tummy’s tryin’ to push me out, can’t hardly take it, Christ… You’re gonna, though, huh sweet girl? Gonna take it for me?”

“Y-yes, Daddy…” you cry.

“Yeah, y’ are, good girl,” Joel says through gritted teeth, and you let your back fall flat against the bed once more as he quickens his pace, rough hands gripped onto the underside of your thighs as he pistons in and out of you. Each slap, slap, slap of skin on skin is accompanied by obscene wet squelching, the sounds becoming more distant in your ears as you let yourself drift away into some dreamy, filthy space. God, you almost wish that stupid bartender you unfortunately gave your virginity to were here to take notes on how to actually fuck a girl. Joel’s got a dirty mouth, and he knows exactly how to use it to push and pull you, mold you into exactly what he wants you to be, at least for tonight. And you’re more than willing to give in.

You’re not sure how much time has passed before you feel a thumb and fingers squeezing either side of your face, forcing your lips into a pout as he jostles your head to bring you back to reality. When your fluttering eyes finally focus on Joel’s face hovering over yours, you can see that his lips are moving, teeth bared as he speaks. He’s looking at you expectantly, his pierced brow twitching into an arch, and you assume he must have asked you a question.

“Hm?” You mumble, and he gives your jaw another little shake.

“Asked you if it feels good, sweetheart. Tell me it feels fuckin’ good, need to hear it, babygirl. C’mon,” he spits through gritted teeth, that rockstar ego of his taking over in its need to be aroused. He punctuates his request with a particularly sharp thrust, one that makes you yelp.

“F-feels… feels good, Daddy. Feel so… so– unh,” you cry out, unable to finish your string of nonsense reassurance, the jumbled mess of sounds only spurring him on to fuck into you even harder. He returns his thumb to your clit, using your slick to rub quick circles around it. It’s all too much, too fast, too hard, too big, but it’s just the right amount of overstimulation to launch you to the edge of your orgasm. You can feel yourself constrict around him, abdominal muscles contracting as you shut your eyes so tight you start seeing stars.

“Oh fuck, gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my fuckin’ cock, huh? C’mon, pretty girl, come for me, can feel you chokin’ me.” All it takes is a few more rubs around your aching clit, a few more of his filthy words, few more stuttering pulses of his cock inside your walls so deep and powerful you know you’ll be sore tomorrow, and then you’re howling, spasming on the sheets as he groans above you. Fireworks are exploding on the backs of your eyelids, so vivid you swear you can really hear them. The imaginary booms muffle Joel’s voice as he floods you with his come only a moment later, grumbling good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl, so god damn perfect.

Falling forward to brace his hands on either side of your head, he stays inside you for a couple of minutes, still rock hard as his cock finishes out its last few shudders. He pulls out all too soon, and you let out an involuntary little whine as soon as he does, your subconscious’ way of protesting the loss.

“I know, babygirl, I know. She misses me already, don’t she?” he placates, thumbing some of his spend still dripping from your fucked out hole and smearing it around your pussy. Not to provide any more pleasure, just to play with you, enjoying the sight of what he did to you. “Did so well for me, sweetheart.”

As you half-whisper a “thank you, Daddy,” you hear what sounds like the bus door open and close, followed by boisterous laughter and clumsy footsteps getting louder and closer. You’re quickly snapped back to the reality of your situation, and panic begins to set in when you fully realize where you are and what you’ve just done, and with who. You’d been so lost in arousal and pleasure you’d lost track of how much time had passed. Joel hears them too, and notices the fear in your expression as he sucks his finger clean from your shared release.

“Oh, shit... It’s fine, sweetheart, it’s okay. Listen to me.” You lock your eyes onto his, your brows knit together in worry as you push yourself up to a more alert sitting position. “Just stay put, alright? You can… just sleep here tonight, I guess. Not gonna sneak you out like a fuckin’ teenager.”

“Okay,” you reply, wrapping your arms around your body as you start to shiver. For some reason, you feel the need to apologize.

He looks around the room, quickly shoving himself back into his jeans and running his hands through his damp hair. He reaches into a still half-packed suitcase and tosses you one of his t-shirts, black with a fading whiskey brand logo printed across the chest. “Here, uh… put this on. I’ll bring you somethin’ to clean up with, just try to relax.”

You make quick work of slipping it over your head, enjoying the comforting feeling of the soft cotton on your skin, providing some warmth on your chilled skin as its thin layer of perspiration begins to dry.

Joel slips out of the bedroom in the second that the dark fabric covers your eyes, closing the door behind him. You can hear the men’s voices erupt at the sight of him, greetings coated in their slowly dissipating inebriation. Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like they’re asking him any questions, mostly just laughing at themselves as they talk over each other, struggling to recount some apparently hilarious story from earlier in the evening. From the sounds of it, you just had to be there, you guess. Tommy says something to Joel of a similar effect, and then the commotion seems to quiet down as they each collapse onto their bunks.

The bedroom door opens again a minute later, and you lean back where you sit in an attempt to duck out of the sight of the other band members.

He lets out a light chuckle at your stealthy movement. “They ain’t gonna see ya, darlin’. Wouldn’t remember it tomorrow even if they did. Here, brought you these–” He sets a glass of water down onto a nightstand with one hand, the other occupied with a damp washcloth. You extend your arm to take it from him, and he tuts. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Lemme do it. Lay down again, like I had ya before.”

You obey him wordlessly, resuming the same position he had just fucked you in a few minutes prior. His touch is much softer, gentler this time, as he uses the warm cloth to pet at your still-sensitive pussy, cleaning her of your shared fluids. It’s such a striking difference, the two sides of him you’ve seen tonight, and you’re surprised when he completes the task without so much as a suggestive praise or filthy remark. It makes you start to think that he might actually care about you, that maybe he could see you as something more than a plaything, something fun to tease. But he makes it so goddamn difficult to tell for sure.

“There we are, she’s all cleaned up.” He discards the cloth into a pile of laundry, then bends down to retrieve something else from his suitcase. “Why don’t you cover up with these tonight, too. Since the pair you came in here with is a lil’... outta commission, for the time bein’.”

You gather that he’s referring to your panties, how they wouldn’t be very comfortable to put back on again, what with how they’re still soaked through with your arousal. He seems to smile at the notion of that being his doing.

“Lift up,” he commands softly, and you raise your feet off the bed, still laid flat on your back with your knees bent. He slides a clean pair of his briefs up your legs, situating them around your waist, before applying light pressure to the tops of your feet to help you lower them once more.

“Alright… Just, uh, make yourself comfortable, then,” he says, laughing quietly when a yawn overtakes your face before he can even finish his sentence. “Think I’m gonna rinse off quick, so… ‘night, I guess.”

“Okay, yeah. ‘Night, Joel,” you reply, and he offers a quick nod as he slips out the bedroom door again. You infer that he’s expecting you to fall asleep before he comes back, which is fine, you suppose. You’re not sure you could force yourself to stay awake much longer to wait for him, anyway. Reaching over to the glass on the nightstand to take a few sips of the water he brought you, you let your mind wander to what he could be thinking right now, what any part of tonight could mean. He cleaned you up, he’s letting you sleep over, he didn’t sell you out to his bandmates. That means he cares about you, right? He didn’t kiss you, but everything happened so fast, and you could’ve been the one to kiss him if you had enough wherewithal to do so. Maybe he’s just not much of a romantic guy. But he cares about you, you’re sure of it now.

You pull back the sheets and curl yourself into a ball underneath them, then extend a hand up to turn off the bedside lamp. Now shrouded in darkness, the muffled sound of the bus shower running nearby prompts your heavy eyelids to pull further and further over your eyes. It only takes a few minutes for you to finally succumb to the temptation of sleep, feeling sore but satisfied, hoping that tonight will be the first of many spent like this with him.

–

You wake up several hours later to an empty bed, having been so exhausted last night that you don’t have any recollection of if Joel had ever joined you there in the first place. You don’t even remember hearing the shower turn off, or feeling his big, warm body slide into bed beside you, or even noticing the bus lurch into motion at some point to transport you to the next city. You wonder if he had pulled you close to him, let you nuzzle into his chest, if he had scratched the top of your head to soothe you after you had made some little noise in your sleep. You think at least one of those things might have happened, you’re just not sure which one. You smile to yourself at the dreamy memory.

Sitting up, you rub the sleep from your eyes, then reach out a hand to feel where the sheets are mussed on his side of the bed. The fitted sheet feels cool, indicating that he must have gotten up a while ago, but let you sleep as long as you wanted. The digital clock on the nightstand reads a little past 10 AM.

You peel back the comforter, swinging your legs around and letting your bare toes touch down on the carpet. You carefully pad your way to the bedroom door, staying quiet in case any of the other band members are out there. Cracking the door open ever so slightly, you check if the coast is clear. The men’s bunks look empty, but you can see the boots of someone sitting on a couch near the front of the bus. The silver tips make them unmistakably Joel’s.

When you make your way over to him, it almost looks like he’s just been sitting there waiting for you to finally wake up, the way he’s hunched forward over last month’s issue of a guitar magazine. He’s fully dressed, and you feel a little embarrassed to still be wearing his shirt and briefs.

He flicks his eyes up to you quickly before returning them to his reading, and greets you with a curt “Mornin’”. Not spoken playfully, not punctuated with one of his charming little names for you or a scan of his eyes over your bare legs, just “mornin’”. You repeat the word back to him, taking a seat on the couch opposite him. You’re not really sure what else to say or do, the air feeling tense and thick for a reason he hasn’t let on to yet. You decide to be brave and break the silence first, but he cuts you off, closing his magazine and tossing it onto the coffee table between you.

“Listen, last night was a mistake, alright? I shouldn’t’ve let myself get carried away like that, should’a shown you some more respect, treated you like a professional. That’s what this is gonna be from now on, okay? Professional. Tell me you understand that.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach at his words, and you try not to let your face reflect the cocktail of confusion and disappointment and hurt you feel. You take a deep inhale and nod your head. “I understand.”

He looks like he wants to say more, something with some actual emotion behind it, maybe, but he pushes it down. “Already dropped your clothes from last night back onto your bus. Best go on before the boys get back, get yourself somethin’ to eat before soundcheck this afternoon.”

“Okay,” you reply quietly, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t see the whites of your eyes turn pink and the shine begin to well up in them. “Um, see you later, then, I guess.”

“Yeah,” is all Joel says back to you, but you hardly hear it as you swiftly exit the Death’s Head bus and slam the door behind you. You don’t have far to go, you and your band’s bus being parked right behind theirs, but it feels like the longest, most shameful sprint of your life. You allow your tears to fall once you’re safely cocooned inside your own bunk bed, thankful to be alone. You figure your band must be out for a late breakfast or exploring the city together, and you’re grateful that even if they did notice you missing last night, they probably won’t ask any questions about it.

You feel so fucking stupid, like such a naive little girl, for ever entertaining any of your childish hopes that some playful flirting and a one night stand might ever turn into something real. He’s made it very clear to you now that you’re nothing more than a little mouse for him to bat around, toying with your emotions and your cunt any way he pleases, just because he can. Because you’re so inexperienced, such an easy target, too good and too eager and too willing. And he knows you’ll do exactly as he asks now, keep it professional, because it’s what he commanded of you. And you want to please him, don’t you? Despite the hurt you feel now, you still can’t make yourself disobey him.

You feel drained all over again once your tears finally run dry, but decide you can’t let yourself wallow on your own shattered girlish dreams all afternoon. You turn over and pull the curtain back on your bunk to check the clock on the wall, and realize you have a good handful of hours until you have to be anywhere. You’ve done more with less, you think to yourself, springing out of bed to pull on some of your own clothes. You rush to locate a pen and a notepad, and retrieve Angel from the storage underneath the bus.

With all necessary items in your possession, you sit yourself down on your own bus’s couch, and let your tangled mess of feelings transform themselves into chords and lyrics. You’ve always used your music as an outlet to cope with what you’re dealing with, why should now be any different? He wants a goddamn professional, you’re going to show him one, and if he can spring a surprise on you as big as moaning for Daddy on stage in front of tens of thousands of people, you can certainly perform a brand new song just for him, tonight.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75

message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

#okay sorry ooooone more post-pedro bday reblog just in case #last one i promise #:)

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wintrwinchestr · 24 days

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I'm excited for the song she's gonna write omg. Also that's crazy that she's gonna write it and then perform it that same day omg

she’s more of a baddie than she gives herself credit for i think. i also maybe imagine she had a song brewing or some chords in mind already, maybe a song she never finished and will build off of that for this one. but she also could be passionate and emotional and talented enough to whip out a brand new song in a few hours!!

we will see 👀

#ask winter #rockstar!joel #tk&ts

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wintrwinchestr · 25 days

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OMG i was so excited to see you updated!!!!!! what the FUCK i was not expecting them to fuck that quickly lol, and that song is crazyyy lol I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of jealous fans started posting about it 🥴 but the switch up??? I was not expecting that either wtf. I don't think it's bc he's being a dick, I assume he feels bad that he fucked her so quickly and he doesn't want her to be offended but he just made it worse lol. The dramaaa and angsttt i'm so excited. I really wanna see what he thinks of her song 👀

hiii sweet anon im so glad you enjoyed!!

right now i am planning for some joel pov at the top of the next chapter so u can understand where he’s coming from a bit more. he is just kind of like having feelings for the first time and did not handle them correctly 😭😭 meanwhile poor reader is about to eat his heart out but who can blame her she’s literally just a girl

thank you so much again for reading and sharing your thoughts with me!! 😁💖

#ask winter #rockstar!joel #tk&ts

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wintrwinchestr · 25 days

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wow rockstar joel is so sexy how on earth did you ever come up with him 🤭🤭

omg thank you so much random tumblr user who i don’t know at all

my bestie who i love with my whole heart had brain rot about him so bad that we decided to make a multi chapter fic out of it and that was a handful of months ago and now he has two chapters so far and we are inseparable :)

love u so much pookie <3

#ask winter #rockstar!joel #tk&ts

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wintrwinchestr · 25 days

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Rockstar!Joel?! 👁️👄👁️

YES YOURE SO TRUE I LITERALLY THOUGHT THAT AS SOON AS I SAW THIS PIC

i write rockstar imagining my most beloved pixel joel but if you’d like a reference for hbo joel, there he is 👁️👄👁️

why’s he looking at me like that 🫣🫣

#ask winter #rockstar!joel #tk&ts

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wintrwinchestr · 25 days

Text

kiss it better

the killer & the sound - chapter 2

word count: 11.5k (i’m sorry or you’re welcome)

series masterlist

divider by @saradika-graphics

You look down at yourself, so flustered and not in your own head that you have to remind yourself of what you’re wearing. “Oh, th-thanks. Just bought it yesterday, got it special for tonight.”

You opt to answer him with a lie, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Try doublin’ that.”

Your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline, and it feels like your heart just dropped into your stomach, a red hot piece of iron ore sinking into freezing water.

Oh, that’s a new one. You decide you like the sound of it already, how it rolls off his tongue coated in his gravelly drawl.

You nod again in understanding, but he seems dissatisfied. “Say it back to me, sweetheart,” he instructs.

“I-I can do this,” you reply, your voice quiet, embarrassed of having to reassure yourself to his face.

“One more time, lil’ louder, like you mean it.”

You try again, attempting to infuse the sentence with a little more confidence. “I can do this.”

He seems content with your second try, and swipes at your chin before rising from his seat. “Fuck yeah, y’ can. Gonna knock ‘em dead, baby.”

What if they hate your music? What if you forget your own lyrics? What if they think you’re not good enough?

A rough hand perches itself on your shoulder, and a low voice begins to speak close to your ear. “Everythin’s all set, show starts whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Gotta relax, sweetheart, c’mon. Breathe with me. In…” He inhales deeply, and you mimic the action, holding your breath until he permits you to let it go. “And out…”

You turn your head to face him over your shoulder. “Okay. Um… wish me luck, I guess.”

“Don’t need it, babygirl.”

You start gettin’ nervous, you look at me, he had told you, what seems like hours ago now.

Your sentimental little moment is interrupted by another knock at the door.

“You in there, darlin’?” Joel calls from the other side of the wall.

“Oh, yeah! You can come in,” you permit, and he pushes the door open as you turn to him. “What’re you still doin’ back here?”

He scoffs and makes a face in mock disgust. “Damn, could act a lil’ happy to see me.”

“Well shit, I can. You should be proud of yourself, baby.”

“I am.”

Your lips part in surprise, blinking quickly as you process his request. “Oh, um… That’d be really cool, but–”

“But what? C’mon, sweetheart, they loved you. They’ll go crazy for it.” He almost sounds like he’s getting impatient, the way he cuts you off.

You take a moment to consider, then nod. “Okay, yeah. I’ll do it.”

The stern look on his face melts into one of smug satisfaction. “Good girl. Now c’mon.”

You lean over to grab Angel from the couch, but Joel stops you with a hand on your arm. “Won’t need her.”

You pause, turning your head to look at him with your brows furrowed. “I won’t?”

“Thought you just said you knew the song, baby. You forget how it starts?”

Oh.

He wants you to perform that part of the song with him. You wish you had remembered how the intro goes before agreeing to go back out there.

Shit.

He nudges one of your shoulders with his own to jostle you back to reality. “Where’d my confident girl go, hm?”

“Nowhere. Just… wasn’t really prepared to do this.”

“Just follow my lead, sweetheart. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on his face in the dark.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Joel grins down at you in satisfaction, then turns to face the band. “Whaddya say we get this show on the road then, boys?”

He introduces himself and the band to the crowd, not that they need reminding of who they shelled out a couple hundred each to see tonight, and then you realize he’s talking about you.

“Please…” you squeak out, your voice providing the queue for Tommy’s thrumming bassline to come in.

Joel swings the mic back up to his mouth to speak into it once more, initiating this depraved little game of give and take. “Please, who?” he challenges, and then it’s your turn again.

“What a performance, huh? God damn,” he praises, making your cheeks burn as he drinks you in again. “‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?”

–

When your cigarette is almost burned down to a nub, you’re tempted to put it out on your arm, just to see if the burn might wake you up from whatever insane erotic dream you seem to be having.

‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?

For now. Catch up with you later.

“You stealin’ some of my good liquor, darlin’?” he jokes, noticing that the cap on the bottle had already been unscrewed and spotting the glass on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, sorry, was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve already had two, I probably shouldn’t–” you protest.

Joel interrupts you, reaching a hand out and making a grabbing gesture towards your quarter-full drink. “We’re celebratin’, baby. C’mon, hand it over.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll probably just head to bed soon. Thank you for offering, though.”

“Nah, I’ll stay here. Make sure our special guest gets to her bus alright ‘n all.”

“Good idea... Well, see y’all later, then. You were great tonight, darlin’, by the way,” Tommy compliments, and you smile politely as you thank him.

“Said it once, said it a million times, but you really were amazin’ out there tonight. Appreciate you bein’ so willin’ to do that for me last minute.”

“Oh, um… yeah. I mean, the crowd seemed to like it, so–”

“And how’d you like it?”

“How’d I like what…?” You question, just to make sure he’s asking you what it seems like he is.

“Oh… I, um… I liked it, I guess,” you admit sheepishly.

“‘S okay if you did, I could tell.”

And there he goes again, always being fucking right about you. You should know by now that there’s no use in trying to skirt around the truth with him.

You continue to try, anyway. “I just haven’t really done something like that before, wasn’t sure if I was doing a good job.”

“Did a perfect job, babygirl. Looked so pretty on your knees for me, sounded so sweet when you were beggin’ for Daddy.”

Oh.

“C’mere, sweet thing. Sittin’ so far away, you scared o’ me or somethin’?” He teases.

“N-no…”

“Didn’t think so. Now don’t make me ask again, sweetheart.” He pats the empty cushion beside him as he speaks, brows raised at you expectantly.

“Gave you a compliment. What do you say, babygirl, hm?”

“Thank you, Da– unh…” The word starts to come out before you can catch it in time, shove it back into his cage. Your face runs hot immediately at your slip-up.

“Th– thank you, Daddy,” you repeat, so lost in this saccharine headspace he’s coaxed out of you that you can’t even feel ashamed anymore.

“Figured if it was part of the song that made me famous, might as well own it. Don’t you think, sweet girl? Think it belongs to me, that it should always be there to remind you who I am?”

You manage a weak sounding noise and nod in response, cheek brushing up and down against the skin of his palm.

“And who am I, sweetheart? Wanna hear you say it again…”

“D-Daddy…”

“Th-thank you,” you return, politely accepting his compliment the way he likes you to.

His large hand migrates from the moth to your dampened core, nudging at your clothed clit with a tattooed knuckle. “All this for me too?”

“Fuck, need to feel this lil’ pussy, baby. You gonna let me?”

Joel glances at the watch on his wrist, then over your shoulder to the door you’ve got your back to as you continue to unconsciously roll your hips in his lap.

“Yes, Daddy, wanna be good.” Another wave of wetness seeps from your aching core, staining your panties a shade darker and making the fabric adhere to the shape of your swollen pussy.

“Unh, uh huh,” you cry, still desperately bucking toward what he’s so close to giving you.

“Yeah, yes, Daddy, please…”

“Please, what?”

“Can’t promise I’m gonna be gentle, don’t got it in me. Say somethin’ if you can’t handle it, I’ll put your pretty mouth to use instead, ‘kay?”

“O-okay,” you promise, continuing to watch as he begins to push inside with a groan, just the tip at first, until he quickly loses his patience and sheaths the rest of himself inside you.

“Y-yes, Daddy…” you cry.

“Hm?” You mumble, and he gives your jaw another little shake.

“Okay,” you reply, wrapping your arms around your body as you start to shiver. For some reason, you feel the need to apologize.

The bedroom door opens again a minute later, and you lean back where you sit in an attempt to duck out of the sight of the other band members.

–

“Okay,” you reply quietly, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t see the whites of your eyes turn pink and the shine begin to well up in them. “Um, see you later, then, I guess.”

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75

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#morning reblog!!#give him a read if you feel so inclined :)#catch up on chapter 1 if u missed it!!

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wintrwinchestr · 26 days

Text

kiss it better

the killer & the sound - chapter 2

word count: 11.5k (i’m sorry or you’re welcome)

series masterlist

divider by @saradika-graphics

You look down at yourself, so flustered and not in your own head that you have to remind yourself of what you’re wearing. “Oh, th-thanks. Just bought it yesterday, got it special for tonight.”

You opt to answer him with a lie, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Try doublin’ that.”

Your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline, and it feels like your heart just dropped into your stomach, a red hot piece of iron ore sinking into freezing water.

Oh, that’s a new one. You decide you like the sound of it already, how it rolls off his tongue coated in his gravelly drawl.

You nod again in understanding, but he seems dissatisfied. “Say it back to me, sweetheart,” he instructs.

“I-I can do this,” you reply, your voice quiet, embarrassed of having to reassure yourself to his face.

“One more time, lil’ louder, like you mean it.”

You try again, attempting to infuse the sentence with a little more confidence. “I can do this.”

He seems content with your second try, and swipes at your chin before rising from his seat. “Fuck yeah, y’ can. Gonna knock ‘em dead, baby.”

What if they hate your music? What if you forget your own lyrics? What if they think you’re not good enough?

A rough hand perches itself on your shoulder, and a low voice begins to speak close to your ear. “Everythin’s all set, show starts whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Gotta relax, sweetheart, c’mon. Breathe with me. In…” He inhales deeply, and you mimic the action, holding your breath until he permits you to let it go. “And out…”

You turn your head to face him over your shoulder. “Okay. Um… wish me luck, I guess.”

“Don’t need it, babygirl.”

You start gettin’ nervous, you look at me, he had told you, what seems like hours ago now.

Your sentimental little moment is interrupted by another knock at the door.

“You in there, darlin’?” Joel calls from the other side of the wall.

“Oh, yeah! You can come in,” you permit, and he pushes the door open as you turn to him. “What’re you still doin’ back here?”

He scoffs and makes a face in mock disgust. “Damn, could act a lil’ happy to see me.”

“Well shit, I can. You should be proud of yourself, baby.”

“I am.”

Your lips part in surprise, blinking quickly as you process his request. “Oh, um… That’d be really cool, but–”

“But what? C’mon, sweetheart, they loved you. They’ll go crazy for it.” He almost sounds like he’s getting impatient, the way he cuts you off.

You take a moment to consider, then nod. “Okay, yeah. I’ll do it.”

The stern look on his face melts into one of smug satisfaction. “Good girl. Now c’mon.”

You lean over to grab Angel from the couch, but Joel stops you with a hand on your arm. “Won’t need her.”

You pause, turning your head to look at him with your brows furrowed. “I won’t?”

“Thought you just said you knew the song, baby. You forget how it starts?”

Oh.

He wants you to perform that part of the song with him. You wish you had remembered how the intro goes before agreeing to go back out there.

Shit.

He nudges one of your shoulders with his own to jostle you back to reality. “Where’d my confident girl go, hm?”

“Nowhere. Just… wasn’t really prepared to do this.”

“Just follow my lead, sweetheart. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on his face in the dark.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Joel grins down at you in satisfaction, then turns to face the band. “Whaddya say we get this show on the road then, boys?”

He introduces himself and the band to the crowd, not that they need reminding of who they shelled out a couple hundred each to see tonight, and then you realize he’s talking about you.

“Please…” you squeak out, your voice providing the queue for Tommy’s thrumming bassline to come in.

Joel swings the mic back up to his mouth to speak into it once more, initiating this depraved little game of give and take. “Please, who?” he challenges, and then it’s your turn again.

“What a performance, huh? God damn,” he praises, making your cheeks burn as he drinks you in again. “‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?”

–

When your cigarette is almost burned down to a nub, you’re tempted to put it out on your arm, just to see if the burn might wake you up from whatever insane erotic dream you seem to be having.

‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?

For now. Catch up with you later.

“You stealin’ some of my good liquor, darlin’?” he jokes, noticing that the cap on the bottle had already been unscrewed and spotting the glass on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, sorry, was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve already had two, I probably shouldn’t–” you protest.

Joel interrupts you, reaching a hand out and making a grabbing gesture towards your quarter-full drink. “We’re celebratin’, baby. C’mon, hand it over.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll probably just head to bed soon. Thank you for offering, though.”

“Nah, I’ll stay here. Make sure our special guest gets to her bus alright ‘n all.”

“Good idea... Well, see y’all later, then. You were great tonight, darlin’, by the way,” Tommy compliments, and you smile politely as you thank him.

“Said it once, said it a million times, but you really were amazin’ out there tonight. Appreciate you bein’ so willin’ to do that for me last minute.”

“Oh, um… yeah. I mean, the crowd seemed to like it, so–”

“And how’d you like it?”

“How’d I like what…?” You question, just to make sure he’s asking you what it seems like he is.

“Oh… I, um… I liked it, I guess,” you admit sheepishly.

“‘S okay if you did, I could tell.”

And there he goes again, always being fucking right about you. You should know by now that there’s no use in trying to skirt around the truth with him.

You continue to try, anyway. “I just haven’t really done something like that before, wasn’t sure if I was doing a good job.”

“Did a perfect job, babygirl. Looked so pretty on your knees for me, sounded so sweet when you were beggin’ for Daddy.”

Oh.

“C’mere, sweet thing. Sittin’ so far away, you scared o’ me or somethin’?” He teases.

“N-no…”

“Didn’t think so. Now don’t make me ask again, sweetheart.” He pats the empty cushion beside him as he speaks, brows raised at you expectantly.

“Gave you a compliment. What do you say, babygirl, hm?”

“Thank you, Da– unh…” The word starts to come out before you can catch it in time, shove it back into his cage. Your face runs hot immediately at your slip-up.

“Th– thank you, Daddy,” you repeat, so lost in this saccharine headspace he’s coaxed out of you that you can’t even feel ashamed anymore.

“Figured if it was part of the song that made me famous, might as well own it. Don’t you think, sweet girl? Think it belongs to me, that it should always be there to remind you who I am?”

You manage a weak sounding noise and nod in response, cheek brushing up and down against the skin of his palm.

“And who am I, sweetheart? Wanna hear you say it again…”

“D-Daddy…”

“Th-thank you,” you return, politely accepting his compliment the way he likes you to.

His large hand migrates from the moth to your dampened core, nudging at your clothed clit with a tattooed knuckle. “All this for me too?”

“Fuck, need to feel this lil’ pussy, baby. You gonna let me?”

Joel glances at the watch on his wrist, then over your shoulder to the door you’ve got your back to as you continue to unconsciously roll your hips in his lap.

“Yes, Daddy, wanna be good.” Another wave of wetness seeps from your aching core, staining your panties a shade darker and making the fabric adhere to the shape of your swollen pussy.

“Unh, uh huh,” you cry, still desperately bucking toward what he’s so close to giving you.

“Yeah, yes, Daddy, please…”

“Please, what?”

“Can’t promise I’m gonna be gentle, don’t got it in me. Say somethin’ if you can’t handle it, I’ll put your pretty mouth to use instead, ‘kay?”

“O-okay,” you promise, continuing to watch as he begins to push inside with a groan, just the tip at first, until he quickly loses his patience and sheaths the rest of himself inside you.

“Y-yes, Daddy…” you cry.

“Hm?” You mumble, and he gives your jaw another little shake.

“Okay,” you reply, wrapping your arms around your body as you start to shiver. For some reason, you feel the need to apologize.

The bedroom door opens again a minute later, and you lean back where you sit in an attempt to duck out of the sight of the other band members.

–

“Okay,” you reply quietly, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t see the whites of your eyes turn pink and the shine begin to well up in them. “Um, see you later, then, I guess.”

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75

message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

#evening reblog <3 #icymi <3 #thank you everyone who has given me such positive feedback!!#i appreciate it so much!!

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