kiss marks — lohen x reader, Suggestive/NSFW, drabble
summary — lohen likes making you wear his marks of ownership.
themes — hickeys, established relationship, librarian!reader, light humor, couple banter per usual, just a splash of explicit sexual content r/t oral sex, a lil domestic
WC: 827
Lohen had a bad habit of leaving you littered in kiss marks.
“Please don’t,” you said when he lowered his mouth to your neck. “It’s too hot these days for me to wear a scarf to work tomorrow.”
“Hm?” His teeth grazed you, light but certainly not disinterested. “Then just don’t wear one.”
“If you give me a hickey, I have to wear one.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do! I can’t show up to work with a hickey!”
“Since when is that against the rules?” he asked, the rumble of his voice tickling your throat. “Who’s gonna fire you? Lisa?”
“It’s not that I’ll get fired,” you insisted, “but that it would be extremely embarrassing if anyone saw it!”
Lohen laughed, and the thrill it sent through you made your heart skip a beat. Fingers curled around your hips, he pressed you further into the wall behind you, his tongue playfully licking your collarbone. Your hands grasped his shoulders, and when he kissed the corner of your jaw, you felt heat bathe your cheeks.
“What’s so embarrassing about a hickey? We’ve done way worse than that in the library, anyway. Don’t recall you complaining about that.”
“I…that’s not the point.” You swallowed hard. “Just don’t bite. Okay?”
“Hm…but I like biting.”
You sighed. “I know you do.”
“Fine,” he answered. You could feel his smile in the pit of your neck. “Nothing on your neck.”
You raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like him to give up so easily—especially not when it came to leaving your throat spotted with him.
His lips pressed chastely to your collar, surprising you with his level of restraint. Relaxing into him, you closed your eyes and let the pleasure of his kisses wash over you.
“You smell good,” he purred. “You been making perfumes in Millhaven again?”
You smiled. “The Windrest Flowers are blooming really well this year. Lilian and I worked really hard on a new batch of—ow!”
Your shoulders flinched in conjunction with your loud yelp. Lohen’s teeth lifted from the exposed portion of your chest, his giggles filling your ears. When you looked down, you saw a ring of darkness on your cleavage, right where his obnoxious mouth had been. He curled his arms around your hips, pulling you against him when you started to struggle, and laughed, “Why are you mad? It wasn’t your neck!”
“Do you know how hot it is in that library?!” you whined, your fists pounding against his shoulders. “Now I have to cover up tomorrow!”
“You’re so freakin’ modest,” Lohen purred into your ear. “Don’t want anyone knowing you get your tits sucked?”
“Oh, yes, Lohen,” you spat, “I love letting everyone who comes in for a book know that I get my tits sucked!”
“Ha! You’ll make me blush, Bun.”
“Ugh! Can’t you listen to me for once?!”
“But, Bun,” he whined playfully. “You just said your neck.”
You smiled, your brows furrowed and twitching with irritation. Nails digging into the shoulders of his coat, you said, “I’m not having sex with you.”
“Huh?” He stood upright, blinking rapidly. “Wait, hold on. Let’s not be rash, yeah? It was a joke in poor taste, I confess.”
“You’re sleeping on the couch,” you said sternly.
“I am so, so, sooo sorry,” Lohen said quickly, shaking his head rapidly. “My lady, I have slighted you! Forgive a reckless young knight for his deplorable behavior—please!”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help a smile. He pecked your cheek repeatedly, saying, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, so sorry, Princess. Punch me if you want. If it’d make you feel better.”
“I’ll punch you,” you said, “but I’m still not sleeping with you.”
“Fuck.”
“It’s about time you learned to listen.”
“I don’t know if I like this whole ‘consequences’ thing. Can’t we go back to what we were doing before?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ve been too lenient with you. I’m sure we can find something else to do tonight.”
“But I was looking forward to it,” he mumbled, plopping his chin onto your shoulder. “I was gonna eat your ass.”
You froze. The thought of Lohen’s mouth, licking away at you from behind, shot into your mind like an arrow. You could practically feel those cold hands of his, squeezing into your ass and pushing you open for him, giving him enough access to lave his hot tongue across your sensitive inner ridges.
Quiet, you drummed your fingers against his shoulders. You glanced up at the ceiling. Cleared your throat.
“Well. I guess I can forgive you this once.”
He immediately burst out into laughter. His hands clapped around your skirt, groping you, and with a playful growl, he said, “Come here then, pretty girl.”
When his lips pressed to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, you sighed. Smiling still, you would tolerate it for now. After all, you knew the payout was going to be far more than worth it.
a/n: i write so many drabbles... enjoy this one that i wrote because its too hot these days T_T oh yeah btw if you like the idea of reader punching lohen, go read my 3k oneshot hit me! its kind of a *lohen voice* true masterpiece huhu ♡
anyway, if you liked this drabble, please consider leaving a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡
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🍵chai sippers🍵
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@ariaontheplanetsv6, @viviolettee, @agathawells,
masterlist | ask | ao3 | more of this pair
harbinger! scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. blowjob.
just some light free typing today, the heat wave has made me feel a little tired.
scaramouche quite frankly enjoys the pale look of terror of his subordinates face. he purposely stays quiet for a few long moments just to see the terror fester more.
"did you finally get the intel i sent you to get," sitting back in his chair, he crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes that sent a visible chill up his subordinates spine. "and i will remind you that i am still cleaning up the mess you made with your first attempt."
his subordinate can't stand to look scaramouche in the eyes. "i..i'm afraid i lost him in the end, my lord. he gave me the slip," he seems to be bracing himself for imminent death.
scaramouche scoffs, taking advantage of his subordinate looking away to look underneath his desk. his cheeks flush at the sight of you. his subordinate has no idea you are on your knees underneath his desk.
he grits his teeth for a moment. you just look so fucking cute, nuzzling your cheek against his hip affectionately like a pretty little pet. your sweet devotion to him makes his cock ache like nothing else.
"can i please just stay by your side, today, lord scaramouche?" you asked him earlier, a shy flush on your cheeks, and a hopeful look in your eyes, "i'll be as quiet as a mouse. you won't even know i am here."
when you asked him looking like that, he couldn't possibly say no. it's jarring to him how weak you make him feel.
his subordinate flinches as scaramouche moves his hand, and satisfaction ripples through him as he narrows his eyes. he sets his hand on your head, petting his fingers through your hair. "he got away, huh? and here i thought following somebody, and listening in on their conversations was a simple task."
your eyes drift closed for a moment, enjoying the sensation of his elegant fingers combing through your hair. you open your eyes hearing his irritated scoff. wanting to comfort him, you nuzzle your cheek against his thigh.
scaramouche glances down at you again, and feels that same weakness again. you just look so fucking adorable with that look in your eyes. a look that says, 'please, use me to feel better. i want you to.'
you nuzzle your cheek on his thigh again, only your cheek is a little close to cock. he stiffens for a moment, feeling it throb as your cheek brushes against it.
"please,sir, give me another chance. i can do better," his subordinate is quick to apologize, and he takes delight in his grovelling.
scaramouche sighs, and rolls his eyes. "what makes you think that i even would consider giving you this task again when you couldn't even do it right the first two times. if i don't do it myself, then i will send someone more qualified." seeing the obvious growing tent in his shorts, you reach over and gently palm your hand on his cock.
he was tired of this interaction already. and besides, there is something much more interesting underneath his desk. the adoring pet at his feet is making his cock throb.
scaramouche takes his hand off your head, and reaches down to unbutton his shorts. he feels your hands helping him take out his cock. what an eager little thing you are.
he scoffs seeing his subordinate still standing there. "you have something else you need to say?" scaramouche glares, putting a hand on your head, and moving you closer to his cock. it would be so fucking relaxing to feel your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.
you slowly lick up his cock, giving a gentle squeeze as you wrap your hand around it. precum beads from his cock head as you flatten your tongue, flicking the tip through his slit.
scaramouche jolts a little in his chair. fucking hell, your tongue felt too good. his subordinate immediately notices his jolt. "s-sir? if i may ask, are you okay?"
you play with your tongue in his precum for a few more moments, promptly scooping his cock head into your mouth. you take care to suck quietly.
"first, you fail. twice," scaramouche narrows his eyes, and scoffs as his hand tightens in your hair, "and then you dare to question me?" he pushes your mouth down on his cock, forcing a groan back down in his throat.
once your mouth is far enough down on his cock, he eases his hips up without being obvious, pushing into your throat. it's hard for you not to moan as his cock settles in your throat. tears sting your eyes, you struggling not to cough as you adjust your breathing. he silently bites back another groan as your throat spasms velvety around him.
a shiver dances straight to your cunt as his hand tightens in your hair again. a silent order to start sucking. you gently squeeze your hand, flattening your tongue as you quietly suck.
scaramouche feels his irritation melting away in the wake of your doting sucks. keeping his hand in your hair, he bobs your head on his cock. "are you just going to keep standing there like a pathetic fool?" he scoffs, seeing his subordinate still standing there.
his hips twitch up to fuck into your throat again. his cock pulses hard on your tongue as you struggle not to gag. he soothes his fingers through your hair, praise for how well you recover your breathing, enjoying the way your throat spasms on his cock.
scaramouche sincerely wishes his idiot subordinate would've fucked off a long time ago. he hates that he can't look down at you, and see how cute you look with mouth stuffed full of his cock. to watch your face while he spills into your mouth.
drool beads onto his shorts as you suck, pumping your hand on the part that wasn't in your mouth. his thighs tremble as you grind the roof of your mouth on his cock as you suck. you always know just what to fucking do to make him cum.
"get out of my sight," scaramouche hisses, forcing your mouth down on his cock. cum ribbons salty into your mouth as you quietly suck him through his orgasm.
once his subordinate flees in terror, he finally turns his attention to you. he drinks in the sight of your pretty lips wrapped around, and drooling on his cock.
he lets out a shaky moan as you swallow with his cock still in his mouth. "you did very well," he praises, taking your mouth off of his cock. his hand comes to cup your jaw. "open," he smirks as you open your mouth. "good girl," his thumb swipes some cum from the corner of your mouth. "take this to. you always tell me you don't like waste any," your cheeks flush as he slips his thumb into your mouth.
---
DO NOT plagiarize/translate/repost on tumblr or any other site without my permission. please don't feed my writing into ai bots.
Pairing/WC/Tags: Jackson!Joel x innocent!reader / 881 / p in v smut, nicknames ‘honey’ ‘babygirl’, legal age gap, inexperienced reader, fluff & smut
A/N: yall been seeing that scent trend on tik tok? I have, so I wrote this based on this specific video LOLZ enjoy
“It’s okay, baby girl.”
Joel smiles down at you, the grey in his beard flashing in the porch light. You chew at your lower lip, eyes dropping to the guitar in your hand. You’d been trying for nearly an hour, the pads of your fingers aching from the metal of the strings and your effort.
“I can’t get it,” you whisper, frustration trickling up your spine. “I just- Joel, I can’t.”
He makes a little frown, his brows raising. “You quittin’ on me?”
“No,” you say quickly, puffing your cheeks out. “I- okay. Tell me again?”
Joel gives you a look, having sensed your thought process a mile away.
“Alright,” he says, shifting closer.
He reaches over and taps your wrist lightly. “Loosen up. You’re holdin’ it like it’s gonna run off on you.”
You let out a small breath through your nose, half a laugh, and ease your grip just a little.
“Better,” he says right away, like he noticed the second it changed. He scoots in closer on the porch step, the guitar settling between you both. His arm brushes yours as he adjusts your fingers on the fretboard one at a time “This one here,” he says, pressing your finger down where it needs to be. “And this one right here. Don’t fight it. Just leave it there.”
You glance down. “It feels wrong.”
“Yeah,” Joel says simply. “It’s gonna. For a bit.”
You look up at him. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
A faint smirk pulls at his mouth. “Wasn’t tryin’ to reassure you.”
He sits back a little, but not far, a faint smirk pulling at his mouth. He’s still close enough that you can feel him there, his body heat and leather. “Alright. Strum slow. Not like you’re tryin’ to set somethin’ on fire. Just… like you’re talkin’.”
You nod, swallow, and try.
The sound comes out uneven, one string buzzes, another rings clean. You immediately flinch at it.
Joel doesn’t react.
“Again,” he says.
You try again. Still messy, but less so this time. A little closer to something that almost makes sense. He gives a small nod. “There you go.”
Your shoulders drop without you even noticing they were tight.
“See?” he says, softer now. “It ain’t about it soundin’ pretty right away. It’s just your hands learnin’ what to do.”
You stare down at the strings. “My hands feel like they’re working against me.”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back with a creak of wood. “Mine did too. Still do sometimes.”
“Really?”
“Really, honey.” Your cheeks heat, warmth pooling in your belly as you lean forward, and the scent of the oak guitar fills your nose. Joel leans forward, and his chest brushes your back. “Ready to try again?”
-
“Come on, baby girl, just a little longer.”
You nod frantically, tears slipping down your heated cheeks, babbling out broken pleas for more as Joel’s cock nearly splits you in two.
Nearly.
His hand cups the back of your head, forcing your mouth against his shoulder as he fucks into you at a slower and deeper pace, until your vision blurs and your thighs shake. You gasp, eyes squeezed shut as your walls flutter, your nails digging into Joel’s back.
“Can you give me one more?” He murmurs, his beard tickling your cheek. “Cmon darlin’.”
Your lips part, and Joel groans at the sight of your pink tongue, wet and hot, before shoving his mouth against yours. He kisses you hard, his cock thrusting in and out faster, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing against the walls of his cabin.
“J-Joel.”
“Yeah, baby?”
The hand in your hair trails down your neck, pawing at your breast before Joel leans up on one arm, the other pressing right below your belly button. When he presses down you gasp, squirming.
“Awh baby,” he hums, and his eyes flutter. “Can feel me in ya. See that? Feel that? That’s me, darlin’.”
Your eyes roll but you try to sit up, try to watch the way his hand presses to your stomach as you pant. He grins, all teeth, before leaning back down and kissing you. The hand on your stomach moves to your hip bone and grips, pressing you down into the mattress as he fucks you into it, his whole weight squeezing the air from your lungs. You can’t breath, can’t think right, and your walls tighten around his length as you come, a moan and a sob exhaling from your throat.
Joel mumbles something, some praise that you can’t make out, and when his hips get sloppy you register it half way, a haze of bliss settling over your sticky skin.
“Did so good baby-“ he murmurs, pressing a reassuring kiss to your neck, your jaw. He’s warm as he slides out of your puffy lips and you whimper, curling into his side. His arm comes around you immediately, and you nestle your head to his chest. “Need to clean ya, baby.”
“In a minute?” You murmur. You know you’re a mess, that you need a shower and to put on your clothes; but all you want as your breathing evens out is to be in his hold.
Joel hums, his mouth pressing to your hair line. “Course, baby. Take all the time you need.”
description — you hitch hike to escape your small town, but the man that picks you up isn't the savior you initially see him as.
word count — 11,886
tags — dead dove do not eat!!! smut, noncon, age gap, drugging, perv joel obviously, body betrayal, throat-fking, creampie, forced breeding, what else is there to miss? oh, he spits in your mouth once. this is actually evil and entirely self-indulgent. read at your own risk. this is not meant to romanticize or promote the behavior written and is purely fantasy. THIS GETS SUPER DARK SUPER FAST, BEWARE !!!!
notes — this has been hiding away in my wips for almost a year, and I finally rushed out the ending. so yeah, kinda sucks near the end, but i was gooning writing it, so sue me.
You sighed sharply, letting your arm fall to your side for what felt like the hundredth time. The weight of the sun pressed heavily on your shoulders, the heat clinging to you like a second skin. A warm breeze teased strands of your damp hair from your face, a mercy against the uv rays. Tilting your head back, you gazed at the expanse of blue sky that had darkened in the hours you stood on the side of the road, your patience steadily unraveling like an old, worn thread.
How hard could it be to hitch a damn ride?
All you wanted was to escape the stifling monotony of this rundown, bumfuck-nowhere town. Where time seemed to crawl and every day bled into the next. There was nothing to do except drink cheap beer in collapsing barns with the people your age you could tolerate—which, frankly, wasn’t many. Your graduating class had barely scraped together two hundred students, and most of them were already neck-deep in their great-grandparents’ conservative, redneck ideologies, content to stay trapped in the same traditional, endless loop you were desperate to escape.
Entertainment options were laughably slim, unless you counted gossiping at the diner or staring at the peeling wallpaper of your living room. The highlight of the week was usually a herd of cattle escaping or a barn dance, where everyone pretended their lives weren’t as dull as dishwater.
It was no wonder that generations before had filled their houses to the brim with children. After all, raising a family gave them something to do, a purpose to cling to in the otherwise monotonous grind of small-town life. And maybe, just maybe, it helped fill the silence that crept in at night, the kind that even wolf songs couldn’t drown out.
It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At night, the air hummed with the songs of frogs and crickets, a sound that felt almost sacred. The stars lit up the sky in a way that was impossible to see from the city, their light twinkling like scattered diamonds. Fireflies blinked alongside them, tiny, fleeting beacons in the dark. Those moments, rare and quiet, made this place almost bearable.
Almost.
But Christ on a cross, when the sun rose, it brought the same crushing realization: there was nothing for you here. Nothing except Sunday mornings at church, where people whispered behind hymnals and dissected the sins of their neighbors, the same people they'd smile brightly at as they prayed for blessings to come to them. At least they handed out free donuts. Small mercies, you thought bitterly, kicking at a loose pebble on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet.
You adjusted the straps of your backpack, the weight of it pressing uncomfortably against your spine. The highway stretched ahead in an unbroken line, a mirage shimmering in the distance, promising freedom just out of reach. All you needed was someone to pull over, just one car willing to take you somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t here.
You even went so far as to wear the most revealing clothes you could find, not that your wardrobe had much to offer in that department. A perverted driver was still a driver, and at this point, you were desperate. You’d taken scissors to an old shirt, hacking it into a crop top that bared your midriff. The fabric was frayed and uneven, but it did the job. Your shorts were another matter entirely, uncomfortably tight and clearly too small, leftovers from when you were a kid. The waistband dug into your skin, and you had to keep tugging them down to avoid cutting off circulation.
God forbid any girl showed an ounce of skin in this town. The stares you got on your way out were enough to make you want to sprint out, but you were banking on that very same scrutiny to catch the attention of a passing car. Modesty might have been the golden rule here, but you weren’t above breaking it if it got you out of this dead-end stretch of nowhere.
You felt ridiculous, humiliated even, but the thought of staying here was far worse than enduring the leering eyes of some old man. You were used to that already. Men in this town had a way of looking at you like you were an object on a shelf they might pick up, inspect, and set back down when they were done. You’d learned to ignore it, to shrug off the uncomfortable heat of their stares and the muttered comments you pretended not to hear.
This was just more of the same, except now you were using it to your advantage. If showing a little skin meant one of those creeps would stop and offer you a ride out of this godforsaken town, then so be it. Dignity wasn’t exactly high on your list of priorities right now—freedom was.
If only one of these fuckers would actually stop. You’d been standing here long enough to feel the sunburn creeping across your shoulders, sweat pooling at the small of your back. You threw your arm out every time, trying to look as pitiful, or enticing, as possible, but all you got in return were waves of hot air as they sped by.
Was it just your town where men stared at women like predators? Or was that just how men were everywhere? You had no way of knowing. Your entire life had been spent here, in this suffocating bubble of prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sometimes you wondered if the rest of the world was different, or if the same lecherous glances and whispered judgments waited for you on the other side of this horizon.
Still, staying here wasn’t an option. Even if the grass wasn’t greener anywhere else, at least it would be different grass. And different was all you were asking for.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by the thunderous roar of an engine, deep and rumbling, shaking the stillness of the road. A semi. Your heart leapt, both with hope and a twinge of unease. You’d heard the stories, truck drivers were lonely old men who’d fuck anything with a heartbeat, and even that was a stretch. The thought made your stomach twist, but desperation outweighed caution.
Throwing your arm out again, thumb raised high, you focused on the massive vehicle barreling toward you. The sheer size of it was almost intimidating, the largest thing you’d seen on the road. Its grill gleamed in the sunlight like a steel beast, and you could already hear the hiss of brakes as it began to slow down.
This was it. Maybe luck was finally on your side—or maybe you were about to make the worst mistake of your life. Either way, it wasn’t like you had much to lose.
The semi groaned to a stop a few yards ahead of you, its engine idling. The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man, an old man, just as you’d expected.
His hair was almost completely gray, though uneven splotches of the lighter color dotted his scruffy beard like it couldn’t decide whether to age gracefully or not.
The glare of the sun bounced off the truck, making it hard to get a clear look at him, but you could tell enough. He was much larger than you, his frame broad and solid like he’d spent his life lifting things far heavier than the backpack you hauled. His hair had a slight curl to it, messy and unkempt, like he hadn’t seen a comb in days.
He tilted his head toward the passenger side, gesturing with his chin as he spoke. His voice was deep, slow, and unmistakably southern.
"Well, don’t just stand there, girl. You need a ride or what?"
There wasn’t much kindness in his tone, but there wasn’t any malice, either. Just a bluntness that matched the heat of the day. Your hesitation lingered for a moment before you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.
You all but scaled up the side of the truck, your legs shaky from a mix of exhaustion and the strain of hauling yourself up. The heat of the day clung to you, making every movement feel heavier than it should have. By the time you managed to get one foot inside, your muscles were screaming in protest.
The older man was already back in his seat, one wrist draped lazily over the steering wheel. He chewed on a wad of tobacco, the sound wet and unmannered as he watched you crawl in with a measured gaze. His eyes flickered up and down your figure, lingering just long enough to make your skin crawl. You swore you saw his hand shift subtly, adjusting himself as a low groan escaped your lips from the effort.
You settled into the passenger seat, the cracked leather sticking to your bare thighs. His stare lingered for a moment too long at the way they expanded before he finally spit into an old plastic bottle by his side.
“Where ya headin’, sweetheart?” he drawled, his lips curling into a half-smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.
Now that the sun was no longer blinding you, you could finally get a good look at him. To your surprise, he wasn’t all that bad-looking. In fact, he was quite handsome in a rugged, weathered sort of way. His deep chocolate-brown eyes had a sad look to them, like they had seen more than they cared to share. His nose was prominent, giving his face a bold, defined structure that worked with the lines etched into his skin. Those wrinkles, instead of detracting from his appearance like you'd expect them too, seemed to enhance his features.
Your eyes flicked to his hands resting on the wheel. They were large, rough-looking, the scarred, calloused kind of hands that did hard labor. An old, scratched watch clung to his wrist, the leather strap worn and glass cracked, but still functional.
Practical, like him, you figured.
Despite the circumstances, you found yourself momentarily distracted by his appearance.
“Well?” he asked again, the smirk on his face still lingering as he spit tobacco into his bottle. “Where ya headed?”
You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “Anywhere but here,” you muttered, your voice low but firm.
He chuckled at that, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the cab. “Fair enough. Lucky for you, I ain’t goin’ anywhere near here for a good long while. Buckle up, sweetheart.”
You slid your backpack off your shoulders, letting it rest on your lap as your fingers found the charms hanging from the zippers. You twisted them absentmindedly, trying to occupy your mind and ignore the creeping weight of his gaze. The truck didn't move. Confused, you glanced at the gear shift, expecting to see his hand on it. Instead, his hand rested on his thigh, his fingers tapping lazily against his jeans.
Looking up, you caught him staring at you again, his dark eyes locked on yours for a moment before shifting downward. He sighed, tilting his head slightly like he was deciding what to do next. Without saying a word, he leaned toward you.
Your breath hitched as he closed the space between you, his face so close you could almost feel the faint stubble on his jaw and the silver strands in his hair. His arm brushed your shoulder as he reached for your seatbelt.
"Seatbelt's stuck," he muttered, though you hadn't even tried to buckle it yourself. His large hands gripped the strap and gave it a few tugs, his breath fanning across your cheek as he grunted, the plastic clicked before the webbing slid free and he pulled it across your chest.
The motion seemed smooth at first, but you stiffened when his knuckles grazed the curve of your breast. He didn't pause or acknowledge it. His gaze wasn't on the seatbelt or even his hands, it was fixed lower, right where the strap pressed against your chest. His eyes lingered there shamelessly.
He adjusted the strap, tugging it tighter against your chest, his fingers brushing over the swell more than once. The way he moved was deliberate, too slow to be casual, like he was testing how far he could push before you said something.
It didn't feel accidental, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to call him out on it, either. Your throat tightened, and you froze, unsure whether to flinch or let him finish.
“There,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, as he clicked the belt into place. For a moment, he didn’t move, his face lingering close enough for you to see the faint lines around his eyes and the uneven streaks of gray in his beard. Then, without a word, he leaned back into his seat with a grunt, as though the small task had been a chore.
His hand moved to the gear shift, and the truck rumbled forward, pulling onto the road with a jolt. “Can’t have you flyin’ out the windshield,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor.
You didn’t respond, your heart still racing from the unnecessary closeness. Staring out the window, you gripped the straps of your backpack tightly, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his hands, unease prickling along your skin.
Joel glanced at the cracked dashboard clock, tapping it lightly with his knuckle as if that would somehow make the time change. "We’ll probably hit a truck stop in a few hours," he said, his voice breaking the long silence in the cab.
He finally broke the silence with a grunt and a glance at the dashboard. “’Bout two ‘til we hit the next one,” he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his neck like it ached. “Gonna pull in there, grab some food. Might get a room if the lot ain’t full.”
You didn’t look at him, just nodded a little, eyes fixed on the streak of pavement disappearing beneath the truck. “Okay.”
He glanced at you then, like he was waiting for more. When you didn’t say anything, he added, “They got showers too, y’know. Clean ones. Not five-star or nothin’, but they get the job done.”
“Cool,” you murmured, trying to sound neutral, like you weren’t clocking every word.
Then he smirked a little—just a flicker, barely there, but you caught it. “Don’t worry, you can have your own bed,” he said, voice low, tone meant to be reassuring but sitting wrong in your gut. “Unless, uh... you’d rather save a few bucks.”
You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. “I’ve got cash,” you said, flatly.
“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Joel said with a chuckle, eyes flicking to your chest again, not even subtle about it this time. “Just jokin’ around.”
You looked away, jaw tightening.
He scratched his beard, shifting in his seat again. “You’re real quiet,” he said after a moment. “Kinda figured a girl like you’d be more talkative.”
“A girl like me?” you asked, without looking at him.
“Yeah,” he drawled, his tone casual as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “C’mon you ain't exactly dressed for church, honey.” He turned to you with a grin.
You rolled your eyes before you forced yourself to focus on the landscape outside, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the empty fields. But even as you tried to tune him out, you could feel his gaze darting toward you. It wasn’t constant, but it was enough to set your nerves on edge—quick, almost imperceptible glances at your legs, your chest, the curve of your neck.
Every time you caught him, he shifted slightly, like he hadn’t been looking at all. His fingers rubbed idly against his thigh, the movement subtle but deliberate.
“Don’t get too quiet on me now,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the uneasy silence. “A guy can only handle so much quiet before he starts gettin’ lonely.”
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “I’m just tired,” you muttered, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.
“Tired, huh?” Joel’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily adjusting his belt. “Bet you’ve had a long day, stickin’ that pretty thumb out on the highway. Lucky for you I came along. Not everyone out here’s as friendly as me.”
The way he said “friendly” made your stomach churn. You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your backpack as an excuse to look away. “Yeah,” you said flatly, unsure of what else to say.
He chuckled again, a deep, gravelly sound that filled the cab. “You know,” he started, his tone turning thoughtful, “truck stops ain’t so bad. Some of ’em even got little diners... Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even find a little entertainment.”
You glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. You gritted your teeth, damn religious upbringings, you forced yourself to be polite and dryly humor his conversation. “What kind of entertainment?”
Joel shrugged, his fingers still idly tapping his thigh. “Depends on the stop. Some got TVs, little gift shops... and sometimes, you meet interestin’ people. Y’know, folks passin’ through, lookin’ for a little... company.”
Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m not really looking for company,” you said quickly.
His grin widened, and he let out another low chuckle. “Didn’t think you were, sweetheart.”
You turned back to the window, your heart pounding as the shadows outside grew longer. The truck rumbled on, the uneasy tension between you thickening with every mile.
The truck’s turn signal clicked lazily, a rhythmic tick that cut through the hum of the engine as Joel guided the semi off the highway and into the glow of the truck stop.
The lights hit first, flickering fluorescents mounted on leaning poles, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The parking lot was littered with rigs and pickups, a few scattered sedans, and the occasional figure ducking in and out of the convenience store’s heavy glass doors. Beyond that, a rundown diner and a flickering neon sign that buzzed louder than it glowed. It wasn’t much, two diesel pumps, a few bent metal benches out front, and a crooked billboard advertising pie that probably hadn’t been served fresh since the Reagan administration, and behind it, the shape of a small roadside motel slumped under a sagging roofline.
Joel shifted the truck into park with a heavy hand and let out a grunt, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked. His faded shirt lifted just enough to reveal a strip of his stomach, leathery and scarred. He caught you looking, not at that, exactly, just observing the place, but he smirked like you’d been staring.
“Not bad, huh?” he said, pulling the key out of the ignition. “Cozy little stopover.”
You looked out at the rows of trucks and diesel pumps, trying not to fidget. The stillness inside the cab after the engine died was sudden, as if the noise from the it had been cushioning something you didn’t want to feel.
You said nothing, unbuckling your seatbelt with a quick snap and reaching for your backpack, your fingers finding those familiar charms again. You rolled one between your thumb and forefinger, grounding yourself. The tension in your chest hadn’t left since you climbed into the truck. If anything, it’d only settled deeper.
Joel opened his door and climbed out with a grunt. “Food’s better than it looks,” he said over the roar of the diesel engine cooling off. “Diner’s got burgers, eggs, hash. All the heart-attack bullshit you could ever want.”
You followed after a beat, the door heavier than you expected. He waited for you at the base of the steps, one hand resting on the open door like he was holding it open for a date. You stepped down, trying not to flinch as his eyes moved with you, tracking every inch.
You stared past him at the diner, its windows fogged and glowing yellow under too-dim lights. A man smoked on a bench by the door. He looked tired. Everyone here did.
Joel jerked his chin toward the motel attached to the back of the lot. “Gonna check if they got any rooms left,” he said, spitting a wad of his chewing tobacco into the dirt. “You hungry, or what?”
“Yeah,” you said, your voice flatter than you intended. “Starving.”
He grinned at that, like it pleased him. “Go on then, I'll meet'cha.”
Inside, the diner smelled like grease and bleach, two things that didn’t mix well. The waitress behind the counter didn’t look up when you entered, too focused on a crossword puzzle. Joel slid into a booth a few minutes after you had, patting the cracked vinyl across from him.
The seat felt sticky. He leaned back, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest like he owned the place, the other already reaching for a menu he clearly didn’t need.
“Go ahead,” he said, nodding at you. “Order whatever. I’ll cover it.”
You eyed him, unsure if it was kindness or another invisible string. He caught your look and smirked.
“C’mon. Not tryna poison you. Just don’t like eatin’ alone.”
You nodded slowly, glancing down at the menu as he watched you over the top of his.
Joel leaned back in the booth, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight. One arm sprawled across the top, the other cradling his plastic cup of water. He let out a long sigh, an exaggerated exhale, like he was trying to be noticed.
“Been on the road five weeks straight,” he muttered, glancing out the window like he might spot someone he used to know. “Start talkin’ to myself if I don’t get some damn conversation.”
You looked up, cautious. He smiled, but it was thin. Forced.
“Life gets quiet when you get to my age. Too damn quiet, sometimes,” he said, fingers tapping idly against the side of his cup. “Wife gone. Kids don’t call. Truck’s about the only thing still wants me 'round.”
He chuckled softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. More like he expected a certain reaction and didn’t care if it was genuine.
“That’s why I don’t mind pickin’ up company when I can,” he added, taking a sip and eyeing you over the rim. “Makes the road feel less... long.”
You didn’t respond, just nodded faintly. He didn’t seem to care—he’d already settled into his little performance.
“Not askin’ for much,” Joel went on, looking down at his calloused hands. “Just someone to talk to. Hearin’ a pretty voice now and again reminds me I’m still 'round, y’know?”
His eyes flicked to your mouth when he said it.
“Hell, you don’t even gotta talk if you don’t want, face's pretty 'nough on its own,” he added with a little grin, eyes crinkling like he was doing you a favor. “I’ll just ramble on till I lose my voice. You can pretend I ain’t even here.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you want someone to listen to you talk till your mouth hurts.”
That got a chuckle out of him. “Alright, fair,” he said, scratching at his beard. “I like a little attention. Guilty as charged.”
The waitress came over, tired eyes scanning the table. Joel ordered without looking at the menu—“bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles, fries, and a Coke,” before nodding at you to go ahead.
As you gave your order, you could feel his gaze on your face, lingering just a tad too long on your lips when you spoke. When the waitress walked off, Joel leaned back again with a grunt.
“Bet you think I’m some sad old bastard,” he said, smirking.
You tilted your head slightly. “You don’t seem all that sad.”
He laughed again, low and knowing. “Don’t gotta be sad to be lonely, darlin’.”
He said it so easily, like it was the kind of thing he’d said a hundred times before. Like it worked on someone, once.
There was something off about the way he spoke—too rehearsed, maybe. Like he’d said this all before. The “poor old man” routine. Alone on the road, no family, no one to talk to. It felt... thin.
Still, something about it tugged at you.
Maybe it was the way he sighed after every sentence, like he didn’t expect you to care. Maybe it was the worn in look behind his eyes.
You glanced down at your lap, your fingers twisting the zipper of your backpack until it bit into your skin.
You knew better. You really did. People didn’t get like this for no reason. Men didn’t hand out kindness for free. But even as your gut whispered caution, another part of you, smaller, quieter, felt bad for him.
He wasn’t pushing anything. Not yet. And you were tired. Not just from standing on the side of the road, but from months of going nowhere, of waiting for someone, anyone, to see you.
Joel caught your eye again, that half-smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to lay it on thick,” he said, almost sheepish now. “Guess I don’t talk to people much these days. Gettin' rusty.”
You tried to smile, but it came out just as performative as his. “It’s fine. I get it.”
He tapped a finger against his glass, his tone softening. “You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.
You hesitated. “Not really. Just… done with where I came from.”
Joel nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ out. Some places don’t give you much reason to stay.”
His voice was quieter now, less performative. For a second, it felt more real. Or maybe you just wanted it to.
You studied him for a beat longer—his hands, his eyes, the worn creases in his skin. You could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers pulling your seatbelt earlier, still see the way his gaze had lingered a second too long.
But right now, he looked tired. Lonely. And something in you, despite everything, softened just a little.
“I appreciate the ride,” you said quietly. “Really.”
Joel looked at you for a second, then nodded once and leaned back again. “Ain’t no trouble,” he said. “Like I said, road gets real damn quiet.”
You both fell into silence after that, the kind that wasn’t entirely comfortable.
He’d tried to make small talk over greasy plates and chipped mugs of diner coffee—asked about your favorite music, your family, whether you had a boyfriend “waitin’ around somewhere.” He framed it as harmless banter, chuckling over his fries, talking with his mouth half full like it wasn’t meant to mean anything.
You mostly nodded, gave short answers. Your appetite had all but vanished the longer his eyes lingered on you.
They didn’t wander constantly, Joel wasn’t that obvious. But every so often, as you cut into your food or brushed hair out of your face, you’d catch him watching you instead of eating. His gaze would always drop quickly, back to his plate or the tabletop, but the silence between those glances felt thicker each time.
You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were tired, overthinking.
But by the time he paid the bill and motioned for you to follow him outside, your stomach had twisted into something tight and uneasy.
The air had cooled a little with the setting sun. Crickets had started their nightly hum, and the truck lot buzzed quietly with the sound of engines cooling and the occasional burst of laughter from inside the diner. But your ears were filled with the sound of your own footsteps following Joel’s.
He led you past the edge of the lot, toward a squat, single-story row of motel rooms behind the diner. Faded numbers were bolted onto each door, and the porch lights above them flickered weakly, as if unsure whether to bother staying lit.
Joel stopped in front of one, jingling a key in his hand. “Only had one left,” he said, turning the knob. “Told the guy it’s just for a few hours’ shut-eye. Not like I’m settlin’ in.”
Your heart skipped. Just one?
The room door creaked open. Joel stepped inside first, tossing the key on the nightstand and flipping on the light. A yellow glow filled the room, bouncing off stained wallpaper and a twin bed with a faded comforter. The A/C unit in the window rattled weakly.
The moment you stepped into the room, something felt different.
Not in the air itself, the motel room still smelled like bleach and dust, but Joel’s presence had changed.
He didn’t say much after unlocking the door. Just let it swing open, stepped inside like he owned the place, and gave the room a lazy once-over. Gone was the exaggerated sighing, the talk of loneliness, the half-hearted chuckles meant to make you feel bad for him. Now he moved slower, more comfortably, like someone who’d settled into something.
You weren’t sure what.
He let the door close behind you with a click that made your pulse hitch. He didn’t bolt it, he didn’t need to. The message was already clear.
Joel walked over to the table near the bed and dropped the room key with a soft clink. His hand hovered for a second, then he sat in the chair near the window, stretching out with a tired grunt. One arm slung over the backrest like he was getting ready to stay awhile.
“Not bad,” he muttered, adjusting the waistband of his jeans before running a hand through his graying hair. “Could be worse.”
You didn’t answer. You were still standing near the door, backpack hugged to your chest like a shield.
Joel’s eyes flicked up to you. Slower now. Less polite. Like he didn’t feel the need to pretend anymore.
"You can sit, y’know,” he said. “Ain’t gonna bite.”
He grinned at his own joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were darker now. Not cold, just… sure. Like whatever this was, it was already decided in his head.
You moved slowly, choosing the edge of the bed farthest from him—you wished the separate beds calmed your nerves, they didn't. The springs creaked as you sat, and the sound felt too loud. You kept your backpack in your lap, your hands gripping the strap.
Joel let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Y’know, most folks would be grateful by now,” he said idly, like he was commenting on the weather. “Free ride, free food, place to rest. Ain’t a bad deal.”
Your spine stiffened slightly. There was no edge in his voice, no threat. But there was something underneath it. Something that made your stomach coil.
“I am grateful,” you said carefully.
“Mm.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “You’re just real quiet is all. Hard to read.”
You didn’t reply.
Joel scratched at his jaw. “Guess it’s just been a while since I had company.” He looked at you again, head tilted, lips just barely curved. “It’s nice. Real nice. You're nice.”
You felt your shoulders tense. He wasn’t doing anything, not really, but you could feel it building. The shift. The subtle way he took up more space now, like just getting you through that door had changed everything.
Joel stood up, stretching again with a low groan, and walked toward the mini fridge. He bent to open it, empty, but lingered there a second longer than needed. When he straightened, he looked at you again. Still that same expression. Casual. Relaxed. Like this was just the natural next step in whatever he thought was happening here.
“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” he said, voice lighter now, maybe even cheerful. “You want soda, water, somethin’ stronger?”
You blinked. “Coke’s fine.”
He nodded, already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the knob, then turned back.
“You lock that behind me if it makes you feel better,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I’ll be back in five. Don’t go disappearin’ on me.”
He winked. Not playful. Not mean. Just… like a joke he thought you were in on, even if you didn’t know the punchline yet.
Then the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone.
The silence returned.
You sat still, backpack clutched to your chest, heart pounding a little faster than before. You weren’t sure what Joel thought this was. But for the first time, you were sure of one thing:
He thought he was owed something.
You weren’t sure why you stayed.
Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the weight of your backpack digging into your spine for hours that made you too tired to run again. Maybe it was something worse, something harder to admit. That small, scared voice that told you: This is what you asked for, isn’t it? A ride. A room. A way out.
You told yourself it was fine.
But when Joel came back a few agonizing minutes later, holding a single room-temperature soda like it was some kind of gift, that thin illusion started to crack.
"Vending machine’s shot to hell," he said, tossing it onto the end of the bed like he expected you to jump at it. “Still good, though. S'just warm.”
You nodded, reaching to take a grab the bottle. You tried not to acknowledge the way your heart sped up as you leaned closer to him, your hand shaking.
Joel didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. He kicked off his boots, grunted as he lowered himself into the creaking chair near the TV, and grabbed the remote from the armrest.
The television flashed on, its speakers crackling as static fizzled into some old cable rerun. The volume was too loud for the tiny room, but Joel didn’t adjust it. He just leaned back and settled in, letting the laugh track fill the silence like white noise drowning out your thoughts.
You nerves were so shot, you hadn’t noticed the bottle hadn't hissed when you twisted the cap.
When your leg started to shake it was just a tremor at first, barely noticeable. But it spread, up your thigh, into your stomach, into your chest. Your heart fluttered under your ribs, fluttered wrong. Your throat was too dry. The lights were too yellow. The TV too loud. His breathing, even and steady from across the room, was the only rhythm that didn't match your panic.
You stood quickly, too quickly.
“Bathroom,” you muttered, grabbing your bag without really knowing why. Just needing it close.
Joel gave a vague nod, his eyes barely lifting from the screen. “Take your time.”
The bathroom was even smaller than you expected. Dim light. Cracked tile. A fan in the ceiling that buzzed faintly behind the walls. You closed the door and leaned against it, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands.
Your reflection stared back at you, paler than before. Eyes wide. Lips dry.
You didn’t even notice you were crying until the first drop hit the sink.
You weren’t scared, not exactly. But something inside you was twisting tight, something old and instinctive that didn’t care about politeness or gratitude or second chances. Something that whispered, Leave. Now.
You splashed water on your face. Once. Twice. The cold shocked your nerves, grounding you just a little, enough to breathe. But your hand trembled as you reached for the towel, and you had to brace yourself before you looked in the mirror again.
You stared at your own eyes for a long time.
You could still leave. You hadn’t unpacked. Your legs worked fine. The door wasn’t locked.
But outside that door, Joel waited. Not a stranger anymore. Not really. And that was somehow worse.
You dried your face, turned off the faucet, and in front the door of the bathroom for a beat, staring at the crack under it, the yellow-lit room shared the space of flickering blue light from the TV.
“You alright in there, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice warm again, sounding gentle despite how he'd had to hollar over the TV.
You took a breath. Then another. You told yourself you were overreacting.
People were weird, sure. Joel was… weird. But maybe that’s all it was. Maybe your nerves were shot from being on the road, from standing in the sun for hours, from not eating enough. You were tired. That made everything feel worse.
One night. Get some rest. Ditch him in the morning.
That was the plan. Simple. Safe.
You pushed open the door and stepped out into the dim light of the room again, trying to slide your expression back into something neutral. Something nice.
You gave him a polite, too-sweet smile in return, it was automatic, from that church-girl buried deep in your gut. You didn't owe him anything, but you still felt like you had to at least perform gratitude. Like that was part of the deal.
It was tight-lipped, polite, instinctual. The same smile you’d been trained to give since you were a kid, the smile that didnt reach your eyes, that said I’m fine, thank you, don’t worry about me.
He smiled back.
Not kindly. Not broadly. Just this thin, smug little thing tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He tried to play it off like nothing. Reached for the remote. Adjusted his posture. But it didn’t go unnoticed, not by you. Joel looked over at you from the chair, his arms resting behind his head now, relaxed.
You crossed the room, easing yourself onto the top of the bed. The blanket was old and dusty and reeked of stale detergent. Still, it beat the side of the highway. You opened the Coke and took a sip. Flat. Warm. Still, it gave your hands something to do.
On the TV, that same crusty sitcom was still going. Joel had turned the volume up since you'd gone. The laugh track punched through the tiny speakers like a drill to the temple. The jokes came rapid-fire—loud, overacted, dated.
You weren’t really listening until one of the characters—a middle-aged man with a gut and a mustache—joked about slipping a woman something to make her “act with less prudence.” The studio audience howled. His female co-star gave him a fake slap on the shoulder with an annoyed glare. The scene moved on.
You didn’t laugh. You didn’t even smile.
Joel did.
Not loud. Just a low huff of a chuckle, amused. Right in time with the laugh track. Like it had hit a nerve in him. The wrong nerve.
You stiffened. Your spine straightened just a little more. You didn’t look at him.
It was the type of joke that made men laugh in bars when they’d already had too much and weren’t watching their tone anymore.
Joel’s laughter stopped as quickly as it came. But when you risked a glance, you saw it, that same smug curl at the edge of his mouth, his tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on something he wasn’t going to say out loud.
You looked away.
It’s the show, you told yourself. It’s the show. He’s just laughing because it’s on.
But the hairs on your arms were standing up anyway.
You shifted around on the stiff mattress for what must’ve been the better part of an hour. The bed creaked with every movement, the scratchy comforter brushing against your skin like old sandpaper. You kept changing positions—legs folded under you, then stretched out, then pulled back in. Nothing felt comfortable. Nothing felt settled.
You kept reaching for the bottle of Coke on the side table, fingers brushing it absentmindedly before pulling back. The ritual repeated over and over until finally, you just brought it into your lap. The half-full bottle had lost what little fizz it had, but you held onto it anyway. The weight of it in your hands was something solid, something to focus on. It gave your fingers something to do besides twist the hem of your shirt or pick at your skin.
Joel hadn’t said much. The flicker of the TV lit up his face in little bursts. Every so often, he’d glance over at you. Not long enough to say anything. Just enough to make your body flare up with heat as your blood rushed.
You tried to focus on the show, but your brain had gone fuzzy. Not foggy, exactly, but distant. Like your thoughts were moving through syrup. Your limbs felt a little heavy, your eyes dry.
The Coke sat in your lap like a small weight. When you went to take another sip, you hesitated, your hand lifting slower than you expected. The bottle felt heavier than before. Not by much. Just enough for you to notice.
You frowned a little, blinked once, then twice. Maybe it was exhaustion. Your nerves had been running hot all day, your body could just be crashing. That had to be it.
Still… something felt off. You gripped the bottle a little tighter.
Your head rolled slightly on your shoulders as you tried to blink the haze away. You gave a small shake, like maybe you could rattle the exhaustion out of your skull, but it clung to you—draped heavy over your limbs like a damp blanket.
You weren’t that tired.
At least, you hadn’t been.
You blinked again. The TV was still flickering, the show’s punchlines rolling out like clockwork. Joel chuckled along with the laugh track, low and content. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was exactly the way he wanted it.
You didn’t look at him. You just focused on the bottle in your hands.
It wasn’t spinning, but it felt like it could be. Your fingers curled a little tighter around it as if that might tether you to the present. You told yourself again that you hadn’t eaten properly. That this was just your body protesting the long day. That the motel room was warm, and Joel’s TV was loud, and your senses were frayed.
But still… your skin was buzzing. Not panic, just static. An edge.
You reached for your phone without thinking, fingertips fumbling slightly with the zipper of your bag. You didn’t even know who you’d text if you needed help, but the need to do something was rising in your chest, your instincts growing louder, like background noise you could no longer ignore.
“Feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” Joel asked suddenly, not looking at you.
You jumped slightly at his voice, your fingers freezing over your backpack. You glanced at him.
His eyes were still on the screen, but his smirk was back. Not wide, not obvious, just there. Subtle, like he was hiding something behind it and didn’t care enough to try hard.
“I’m fine,” you said automatically, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Joel made a little humming sound, like he didn’t quite believe you, but he didn’t press. Just leaned back further in his chair, exhaling like a man pleased with how the day turned out.
You turned your eyes to the bathroom door again.
It wasn’t far. You could go in, close the door, lock it. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.
You planted your hands on the edge of the bed and pushed yourself up. Your legs didn’t respond the way you expected.
For a split second, it felt like they weren’t even attached. Your knees nearly gave out as you stood, a sharp, disconnected jolt rushing through your lower body like the numbness you get from sitting too long in one position, but worse. There was no familiar prickle of circulation returning, no tingling promise of sensation coming back. Just absence.
And something about that absence made your chest tighten.
You reached out, grabbing the wall for balance. The Coke bottle in your hand slipped from your fingers.
Behind you, Joel’s chuckle drifted lazily through the static of the television. Not loud. Just enough to make the air feel thinner.
“You alright there?” he drawled, voice a little too casual. A little too slow.
You didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just, stiff legs.”
Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears, it was muted, distant. You could feel his eyes on your back now, tracking your movement more attentively than before.
You didn’t turn.
Didn’t say anything else.
You pressed your hands against the rough motel wall, the chipped paint cool against your skin. Your legs felt weak beneath you, shaking softly, and you couldn’t seem to make them move.
Your breath came fast and shallow, chest tightening with each inhale. The vintage chair creaked faintly nearby, a reminder that Joel was still in the room, still watching.
You didn’t look over.
Your eyes darted to the flickering TV, its pale light casting long shadows on the cracked wallpaper. It buzzed softly, filling the silence with pointless noise.
Maybe not so pointless.
You could hear him settle out of his chair, the scrape of fabric on denim. Joel’s footsteps shuffled behind you, slow and deliberate.
“Everything alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, smooth, and far too casual. Almost mocking. It didn't sound like a question.
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
Instead, you pressed your palm harder against the wall, willing the tremors in your legs to stop. But the more you willed it, the worse it felt, like your body was betraying you, leaving you trapped between fight or flight, but doing neither.
You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, biting your lip to keep from shaking or crying. Your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.
You wanted to run. To scream. To disappear.
But you stayed still.
You didn’t realize he was approaching again until the floor creaked just to your left. A soft sound, but close. Too close.
“Hey, c’mon now,” Joel said, voice gentle in a way that made your stomach twist. “You don’t look too good. Maybe you should lie back down.”
His hand reached out, palm warm and rough as it hovered near your arm. Not yet. The faux tenderness in his tone didn’t sit right with the look in his eyes. They were too alert, too interested.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice was hoarse and small. You hated how it sounded.
“You sure? ‘Cause you’re swayin’ a little.” His hand landed on your arm this time, solid and steady. But he didn’t grip.
That should have made it better. It didn’t.
It was the stillness in his hand that made your skin crawl, how his thumb pressed, then circled slowly, like he was mapping out your pulse.
“C’mon,” he said again, guiding you gently, not forcing, but not offering space to resist. “Just for a minute. You’ll feel better when ya do.”
When... not if.
You let yourself be led. Partly because your legs still felt unsteady. Partly because you didn’t know what would happen if you pulled away.
He walked you the few steps to the bed, hand never leaving your arm, and helped you sit. His other hand reached for your shoulder, too familiar now, the way it rested there a beat too long.
You flinched.
Joel paused, then gave a soft chuckle under his breath. “Easy now. Ain’t tryin’ to scare you."
But when he leaned in to adjust the pillow behind you, his knuckles dragged against your collarbone. His other hand hovered lower on your side, not quite touching your hip—but close enough that the heat of it made you recoil inside.
“You’re all tense,” he murmured, gaze slipping down your frame like a slow leak. “Just breathe, alright? You’re safe.”
The worst part was how convincing his voice sounded.
But you knew better.
Your body knew better.
You sank down against the bed with a strange sort of heaviness, like your own limbs no longer belonged to you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, a dry, musty scent rising up from the sheets.
You tried to sit upright, to keep your spine straight, but your body leaned without permission, your muscles slackened under the weight of your own breath.
Joel didn’t go back to the chair.
You heard the soft groan of the mattress again, felt the subtle shift beside you before your eyes caught up. He sat on the edge of the bed now. Right next to you.
Not touching, but close.
You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes trying to focus. Your brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, every thought dragging through molasses.
“Why…” you started, but the rest of the sentence didn’t come.
Your tongue felt thick. Heavy. Wrong.
He smiled, small, faint. You might've miss it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking. Because watching him felt like the only thing tethering you now.
“You okay, sugar?” he asked again, quieter this time. Closer. He didn’t sound worried. Not really.
You tried to speak, but your words came out slurred, barely above a whisper. “M’fine…”
It took all your strength just to swallow the lump in your throat, even that felt like work. You could feel your pulse behind your eyes now, slow and sluggish.
Joel didn’t move away.
His arm rested across his lap, hand curled on his thigh. The same hand that had guided you here. The same hand that lingered too long.
His eyes weren’t on your face anymore.
You saw that.
You felt that.
Still, you couldn’t quite pull your body back. Couldn’t seem to make your limbs respond.
You were here. And so was he.
And something deep in your gut told you the space between you wouldn’t stay empty much longer.
Joel's calloused hands reached toward the strap of your bra that had peaked out from your shirt. He lifted it in his fingers almost carefully, letting it lead up to the top of your bra. Your mumbled incoherently at his touch. He shushed you softly.
He didn't speak anymore, he didnt need too. He brought his fingers back up to your collarbone before laying his palm across it, the strap caught between his fingers as he pushed it down your shoulder. His body leaned forward to press his lips to your collarbone. His beard was scruffy and sharp against your soft skin, like needles.
His lips were dry and cracked, the wetness from his saliva being the only softness. He pecked at the bone a few times before his mouth wrapped around it, sucking.
Your hands weakly moved to his shoulders, but his hands patiently wrapped around your wrists, pushing them to sit by your head. The bed dented down. Your writhed weakly. He continued sucking and nipping at the spot till a dark mark appeared.
The knot in your stomach churned as he licked over where he bit to soothe your skin, his beard felt like a hundred tiny needles digging into you. Red appeared around the purple. His thumbs pressed into your wrists, feeling your pulse as you whimpered. His mouth lifted for a moment, his breath hot on your irritated skin.
"Your hearts finally slowin' down sweetheart, ain't losin' ya am I?" He huffed with a humor only he had. His mouth wrapped around the mark again, his tounge tracing your collarbone as he hummed.
He hadn’t lied, your heart finally slowed, but the panic stayed lodged in your chest. Each beat hammered against your ribs, like it was trying to tear its way out and leave you behind. The thump in your chest spread your blood throughout your body, heat rising on your skin.
His hands weren’t tight on your wrists, his thumbs traced slow circles on your pulsepoints before sliding into your palms. His mouth kept defacing your shoulder. There was no violence in it, if anything, he almost seemed to be comforting you.
You couldn’t decide if that made it better, or worse, or if it changed anything at all.
Your knees dragged upward in another weak attempt to slip free, but your bones felt like wet cement, heavy and useless. You turned your head away with a thin whine, your body mustering what little control it had to spill tears that slid into your ears. Your chest heaved as you writhed.
Joel shushed you without cruelty, his hum low and pitying, the vibration running from his throat into your collarbone. His mouth scattered pecks over the marks fresh on your neck and shoulders before he propped himself on an elbow, still looming above you. One calloused hand smeared the tears across your right cheek while his lips caught the ones on the left—and you swore his tongue slipped out to taste the salt straight from your skin.
“Don’t cry, sugarpie… I ain’t gonna hurt you, promise. Didn’t mean to upset you none. I just get real lonely out on the road, is all.”
He looked and sounded so genuine, like he truly believed every word he spoke. His lips brushed your ear when he talked, his voice almost swallowed by the blare of the TV—and now you understood why it was so loud. Not that it mattered. The only sounds you could make were thin, mousey whines, easy to mistake for the creaks of the old bedframe or an actual mouse.
Your lips trembled as you turned your face from his hands, eyelids pressed tight. The only refuge you had was to pretend, if only for a moment, that none of this was real.
“Hey now… look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby.” His voice stayed soft, but there was an edge of annoyance beneath it.
When you didn’t obey, his hand closed around your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered. He tilted your head toward him, but your eyes stayed shut. He clicked his tongue, then used his other hand to peel one eyelid open. Your iris was barely a ring around your blown pupil, whatever he’d given you was already winding through your blood, sinking heavy into your bones.
He smiled softly. “There she is…” he whispered, letting your eyelid flutter shut as his hand slipped into your hair, fingers combing slow like he meant to soothe. “Pretty, pretty girl.”
His lips met your forced pout in a mockery of a kiss, his tongue brushing gently against them, coaxing for a response you never gave. When you didn't reciprocate, he nipped at your lips gently.
He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your eyes still screwed shut, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of his touch. His hand hovered at your shoulder, and he grinned at the weak tremors rippling through your body. Slowly, he let his fingertips trail down to your hip, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to trace the waistband, his blunt nail dragging a cruel line across your pelvis.
"It's okay, hun." He whispered as he slipped another finger into the waistband.
You felt his hand turn in your shorts, the pads of his fingers now touching you. You tensed but made no move to resist, not that you could. His hand slowly, painstakingly, moved deeper into your shorts. You quietly cried as his middle and pointer finger dragged across your clothed clit before it was quickly replaced by his palm, fingers down to your slit. Your heard a gravelly groan reach out of his throat.
"Fuck sweetie, you're soaking through your panties." He chuckled near the end of his words before exhaling heavily.
Your eyes wanted to shoot open, but only managed to lift with a furrowed brow. His eyes met yours, his bottom lip between his stained teeth. Confusion was painted on your features.
"Yeah baby, you're panties are fucking ruined." He huffed, his palm pressing onto your swollen clit.
A humiliating gasp was ripped from you as more tears fell from your eyes. No, no no no...
"Mhm, shit baby, see? Your body knows I'm not hurting ya, what was all that fuss about?"
The pads of his fingers brushed over your clothes slit, the wetness became more obvious as you heard a sickening squelch when he pressed them into your sopping hole over your panties.
"Ah... Joel.." you cried, your voice never felt smaller.
His hot breath fanned your face with a pant, "Yeah, baby, say my name."
You shook your head weakly, your eyes traveling down to where his hand disappeared into your shorts. You remembered you had hands as you tried to push his hand away. In your haze, you accidently pushed him closer, letting his palm rub harder into your clit.
You wanted to puke when your felt a shot of pleasure crack through you, you wanted to die when you felt your hips roll into his hand. Your voice cracked with a wordless 'No'.
Joel beamed, "You got such a needy pussy, baby... look at her, she wants so bad. She knows whats best for you... she just wanna feel good."
You grit your teeth as your hips rolled again, his hand meeting it with a circle of his own. Your nails dug into his forearm, but they barely made an indent. You felt his leg cross over yours as he hummed your thigh. His cock was hard in his jeans, the bulge large and visable despite your brain fog and the dark room.
His hand left your shorts for a moment, and you felt a wave of relief before you felt them fall straight to the button on them.
He unbuttoned them with one hand as he groaned, lifting himself to his knees. He grabbed at the waistband at both your hip bones and tore them down. You tried to cross your legs but one of his hands met your thigh and shoved it to the side, just long enough to get your shorts off.
He brought both hands to the back of your knees, dragging you down for his thighs to meet the back of yours. He spread you open and stared down like he was holding his fridge open, deciding what he wanted to feast on. He barely felt the tug of you trying to close them. In a last ditch effort you moved your hands to cover your crotch, and that's when you felt it.
You were completely soaked through, the wet spot making your white panties transparent. It was like something inside you broke at that moment. Your body had decided to completely betray you.
As if he noticed you resolve falter, he brought his hands to the side of your panties and ripped. One side, then the other. Throwing them across the room to land somewhere on the carpet. You bit into your hands as you stopped pulling away. Eyes distant but open, he would take it.
His hands lifted your shirt over your bra before he shoved that up too. It squeezed over the top of your breasts almost painfully.
"God bless you, baby... perfect fucking pussy," his hand slapped it as he leaned forward, "and perfect fucking tits."
His mouth wrapped around your nipple, tounge circling it wildly as he sucked the nub between his teeth. Your body reacted how it wanted, and you could only whimper and whine pathetically. He rested above you on one forearm while his other hand met your leaking slit again. His thick middle finger dragged up and down it, your wetness coating the pad. He brought it to you clit, circling slowly before he flicked it.
He moaned around you nipple when you jumped with a cry. The more your body reacted the more he seemed to lose it. He switched to the other nipple, "Gotta give her some lovin' too." He chuckled.
The actions repeated for a few minutes you think, your perception of time got foggy with each circle, flick, and switch.
The vibration from his groans tickled your breast, making your back arch further into his mouth. He was almost fucking drooling, copious amounts of spit shined your chest like you'd been rubbed down in oil.
He abruptly moved down, his hand leaving to grip your hips, holding them down as he settled between your legs. He licked a long stripe across your slit, shaking his head side to side as the muscle circled your clit before he sunk it into your organ. His hands moved to your chest as he tounge fucked you, fast and unrelenting. He only lifted from you to spit on you pussy before he flattened his tounge across your entire slit and diving back in.
Every groan and moan from his vibrated against your clit and the inside of you. You felt breathless and violated. And when a knot formed in your stomach that you couldn't decipher at first due to the sinking dread that had settled there, it was too late.
With a broken cry, you threw your head back as your legs shook around his head. His voice raised over the tv for a moment with how loud he growled against your pussy.
He detached from you before appearing in front of your eyes and shoving his hot tounge down your throat. You grimaced as you tasted yourself, your pussy still throbbing from your orgasm.
"Sweet as cherry pie, baby." He mumbled against your mouth. His tounge dragged along the inside of your mouth, just another hole to him. Along the ridges of the roof of your mouth to the back of your teeth.
He sucked on your tounge harshly before unlatching, raising back on his knees again with a hushed 'Fuck...' undoing his belt. The clink of metal echoed, as he stood. He didn't bother taking his jeans off, just shoved them down enough to release his raging cock.
He walked to the side of the bed, grabbing your arm and dragging you closer. His dick hung heavy as it twitched, face level with you. You closed your mouth tightly and turned your head, only to met with a gentle but forceful tap from the back of his hand. The same hand grabbed your jaw as he leaned down to meet your eyes.
"I'm only gonna say this once, you don't fucking bite. I don't wanna hurt you, sugar, but you bite my fucking dick and I'll knock your teeth out." He said it sternly with raised brows.
You only looked at him fearfully before he spoke again, "Do you understand?" You nodded.
He loosened his grip and brought his thumbs to the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. "Relax your throat, sweetheart. Be good for me, m'kay?"
What else could you do other then what you were told?
The tip leaked as he dragged it across your lips before he got an idea, backing up and manhandling you to lay with your head upside down on the edge. He returned to your lips, a couple heavy slaps of his cock landed on your cheek before he told you to stick your tounge out, and he slid into your warm waiting mouth.
He groaned as he moved till his balls touched your nose, stilling there for a moment as you suffocated. You whimpered around him as you brought your hands up, "Breath through your nose, sweetheart." He instructed.
He pulled out leaving just the tip in your mouth before he slowly bottomed out again. He didnt waste time changing the pace, his hips thrusted steadily. Drool dripped from your mouth as he fucked it, his heavy, twitching balls smacking your nose each time. He brought his hands to take your wrists, settling them on your stomach as he leaned forward so he could thrust harder. He panted and groaned, cursing occasionally inbetween.
One of his hands left your wrist to smack your pussy once before he lifted himself. Bringing one knee to the mattress, he stood as he thrusted downward into your throat. His hand enveloped it with a growl when he saw the shift inside of it. His eyes were locked on the bulge that appeared in your throat when he shoved it down.
His thrusts became sloppy as he got louder. He lean forward again, fully pounding your throat before hot seed filled it. You felt it hit your uvula in bursts, forcing you to cough and gag, your body desperately trying to suck in air through your filled neck. He stilled at the deepest point, his tip twitching to hit the back of your throat as you felt his balls tighten against your nose. He exhaled roughly before giving you one more slowly thrust, pulling out.
You gasped desperately, veins bulging in your face and neck. Your eyes were pink and your head was swimming due to it hanging upside down for so long. Spit and snot leaked down from your face along with his cum.
Kneeling next to you, he nuzzled your head with his own with soft shushing. "That's it, breath, honey... You did so good, took it so good. Made me feel so good, baby..." he muttered, kisses moving across your temple.
When your coughing subsided you breathed a sigh of relief that it was over, mumbling incoherently as your brain struggled to process. The fog lifted when you felt his hands around your ankles from the other side of the bed, dragging you to lay on it again. He crawled to join you before twisting you back around so your head was at the pillows.
Cries came more freely now as you saw his still hard cock scoot closer to your pussy. You head turned before narrowing in on a sheet of tablets sitting on the side table he'd been sitting at. Two blue pills missing.
Your throat burned as a weak cry tried to crawl out, but he'd abused it to the point of you loosing your voice. Pathetic squeaks falling from your mouth instead. You felt his cock slap against your pussy, it instinctively pulsed at the pressure. He pressed the tip to your clit, thrusting against it. Your back arched as your hips rolled with his, your brain was so fuzzy you didnt even register the noises spilling from your lips.
The stretch was sudden as he pushed into you. Your lips trembled around him as he slid inside easily. Your spit and already soaked his cock immeasurably, but the lube that leaked from you without permission added to it ease of which he came inside you without friction. You felt impossibly full when his hand came down to push on your lower stomach as he began working.
There was no build up, the speed was set from the jump as he hauled himself over you. His hips met yours with heavy thrusts, pounding into you without thought. The only time he let you breath was when he kneeled again, only to grab the back of your knees and shove them next to you head as he somehow fucked you harder. He felt no need to speak anymore, only occasion growls of how wet you were, which you hadn't needed verbal acknowledgement of. It was clear from the wet slaps that echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ears as you laid limp and took it.
Your mouth hung open as noises continued to force themselves from your throat, you had been so gone that you didnt flinch when you spit into your mouth, your throat instantly tensing as you swallowed it. You had lost almost all feeling, your hearing muffled, you took no notice of the impending release.
"Fucking shit baby... pussys so fucking tight 'round me... you gonna cum again? Hmm? You love this fucking cock, you know you do. You're body knows you do."
It went in one ear and out the other, you were reduced to a whimpering hole.
You didnt react when he pulled out to flip you onto your stomach, shoving one knee hip while the other stayed straight. He laid atop your seemingly lifeless body as he shoved himself back in and quickly resumed his previous pace. The cupped smacking sound reverberated with his pounding, your voice now muffled by the pillows you faced.
You felt his weight as his chest met your back and he rutted into you. Your fingers twitched with a mix of exhaustion, pleasure, and anxiety. He swiped your hair from your shoulder as he sucked another mark onto you from behind. Your voice raised a pitch as he thrusts began sloppy again.
"You're gonna make me cum again, honey... fuck yeah that's it, you can take it, knew you could." You whimpered as he lifted your hips, shoving you onto him just as harshly as he was fucking you. But you tightend around him all the same.
"Come on, cum with me, baby! Want your pussy to clamp down and suck my cum right out of my cock... milk me fucking dry, baby... lemme fill up that sexy fucking pussy!"
A scream was at the back of your throat as your body jumped like you were electrocuted. It came out as a broken cry as you shook violently. He didn't stop even after your orgasm run its course, only fucked you faster. Your hips pulled away as you mindlessly scrambled away from his unrelenting ones, but you were still under the influence of his roofie, and he was still so much stronger.
And so for another agonizing few minutes you shook and writhed and cried till he bottomed out. Cumming deep inside your abused cunt. You felt the warmth fill you as his tip hit your cervix, it spread quickly down to your opening where it leaked down onto the bed. He let himself to thrust a handful more times as he drained his balls inside of you.
And then he stayed there, his hand lifting your hips to keep it from leaking out. But there was so much, it filled your entire cunt. You felt his hands reached and pinch your slit closed around his cock. His mouth came to your ear as he whispered.
"Gotta make it stick... make sure you get nice and full."
You have nothing left in you to protest, only tears slipping by. You're so fucking dirty, cum and spit and snot and tears and sweat. The blanket your sprawled on feels like got left out in the rain.
You feel his cock soften inside you of before he pulls out. Two fingers immediately replace it, stuffing the little that leaks out back into your brushed pussy. You begin to lose your senses, your body unable to force itself to fight awake anymore.
You only feel the repeated drag of his fingers, a clicking sound like a camrea accompanied by a flash of light, and his breathless heaving. The bed shakes as he falls next to you before you feel his arm loosely wrap around you waist, pulling you into him. You eyes droop as you gave in. A lump forms in your throat when you feel a twitch against your ass as you slowly loose consciousness.
Tighnari has always considered himself a pragmatic man. He prides himself on staying calm under pressure and on always trusting his own intellect and the support of those around him to handle whatever challenges come his, or their, way.
Except that, when it comes to you, all of that changes form.
With you, his carefully guarded composure dissolves before his mind can even process it and he finds himself giving in to little instinctive habits he never shares –or feels, really– with anyone else: his tail unconsciously curls around your legs whenever you are close, his ears perk up and tilt in your direction the second you enter a room or speak about something you love, and his nose always seeks the crown of your head during a hug, regulating himself with your scent.
So, it is really no surprise that when a sudden ambush by Treasure Hoarders nearly leaves you hurt, he snaps. The threat is neutralized swiftly, with something fierce and protective tightening his chest that he has never felt before.
The moment the danger passes, he pulls you against his chest, immediately burying his face in your hair to breathe you in, desperately seeking the silent reassurance that you are here with him, whole and safe.
As he holds you, his hands tremble slightly against your back, and the fur along his tail remains faintly bristled from the adrenaline. He has long since accepted that he loves you, but it's moments like this that remind him how much his instincts amplify every emotion he might feel. His heart refuses to slow its frantic pace, his senses completely locked onto you as he searches your scent, needing to be absolutely certain you haven't been harmed.
summary ➝ a "stranger" uses you in the shower and makes sure to record it as a memory.
warnings ➝ dark!fic, explicit smut, cnc, home invasion in the shower, recording kink, fear play, rape fantasy, unprotected vaginal sex, doggy style, a bit of nipple play, rough sex, dominant!joel, submissive!reader, degradation, no outbreak, modern AU, overstimulation, creampie, pet names, aftercare, dirty talk, swearing and explicit language, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.
word count ➝ 740
author's note ➝ hello guys! 💙 i'm back with another dark fic since it seems my imagination runs wild with this stuff lol. this trio of "cnc + shower home invasion + recording kink" has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i'm happy that i finally got the time to dive into it. i hope this fic is enough to fulfill you while i'm working on ch 5 of caged in silk. enjoy ☺️
do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.
the sound of the shower running is loud while you gently rub at your scalp with shampoo, enjoying the hot thick steam that fills the bathroom and clouds your vision.
you don't hear the soft click of a tripod leg locking in place behind you. you definitely don't see the red light blinking from the vanity counter.
but he does.
joel's behind the camera first. watching through the screen, cock already straining in his jeans as he sees you: naked, slick, vulnerable. he adjusts the frame, zooms in on your back just a little to accentuate the curve of your hips and the way the water clings to your wet skin.
he moves.
fast.
a hand over your mouth. a hard body pinning you to the glass.
"you like showerin' with the door open, baby?" his voice rasps in your ear. "you wanted someone to come in and take what's theirs?"
you scream. muffled. thrashing.
he makes sure to angle your body towards the lens.
"smile for the camera," he growls. "wanna make sure you remember this."
he bends you over, water still raining down on you both. you catch a glimpse of the blinking red light on the counter and you fucking moan. eyes wide, heart pounding.
"yeah, you see it now," he chuckles, lining up behind you. "gonna play this back and watch you get ruined all over again. like the good fucking slut you are."
he enters your tight hole in one brutal thrust, giving you no time to adjust to his enormous, overwhelming girth. he is so thick you're worried he may split you apart.
but he feels so good. stretching you so painfully addicting, you can't help but replace the screams with pornographic moans and yelps entirely. eyes rolling in the back of your skull as your mind goes blank and all you can do is feel how he is impaling you on his cock from behind.
he fucks you like an animal. each thrust, each slap of skin, each broken sob into the tile meant for the camera. he drags his fingers down your spine.
"look at that arch. all for me. goddamn."
your body's twitching from overstimulation, close to collapse. and he knows it. one hand grabs your boob roughly, pinching the sensitive nipple. the other hand grabs your face and forces you to look toward the lens.
"wanna see what you look like when you come for your attacker, slut? huh? you wanna watch yourself beg? 'cause i wanna hear that pretty throat scream until the neighbours wake up n' call the police on us, sweetheart. so why don't you go ahead and fuckin' beg?"
"please, pretty please, sir, wanna cum so hard! wanna cum on your big fuckin' cock, sir. please let me cum… so good… yes, yes, yes!"
he pounds impossibly harder and faster into you and he is so big you swear you can feel him in your throat as he holds a tight grip over your body while he ocasionally spanks your asscheeks roughly until you come. hard. screaming. legs giving out — and he holds you there, pumping you deep and full of his cum, never once blocking the view of the camera.
when it's over, he kills the scene. pulls out gently, turns off the camera.
and suddenly - it's just joel. your joel. your thoughtful, caring husband wrapping a towel around you and kissing your temple.
"you did so good, baby. 'm so proud of you. you hurt anywhere?" he cooes while cradling your face in his hands.
"i'm good, darling. you were perfect," you say with a smile on your face as you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and place a gentle, loving kiss on his lips.
he carries you to the bed after the dries the both of you up with towels.
but the camera comes too.
he props it on the nightstand while he lays you on the bed. dazed and glowing.
"let's watch," he murmurs, crawling over you. already hard again.
"wanna see how gorgerous you look when you're scared for me."
you whimper as the screen lights up. "joel…"
"shh. round two, baby," he says, dragging your thighs apart. "eyes on her."
he runs two fingers through your puffy folds, a smug smile appearing on his face at your tortured whines filling his ears.
"this time, i want your face in the shot when i cum inside you."
Humbly requesting a list of DDDNE Joel Miller fics from you bc clearly you know ball
~ sent from my puter
hi friend!! i'm so sorry for the delay on this. it took me a while to find the time to round up my recs for this. i need a better way of tracking these things, because i just know there are fics i'm missing. so please, anyone seeing this, if you have other dddne joel fics to recommend, please do! and self recs are definitely encouraged! 🖤 🫶🏻 (these are a mixture of one shots, short series, and longer series). heed warnings and read tags, these are all obviously dark.
DDDNE Joel Miller Fic Recs
Training Day - @koshkamartell
i swear i'll only make you cry - @baronessvonglitter
Summary: You confess to your stepdad about having a crush and he gets angry and horny about it.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest thus infidelity, big legal age gap, mean!Joel, switching POV, reader has a crush on a girl, Joel is disgusting but accepting of it, reader is afraid of spiders (no spiders in the story), f/m!oral, throat fucking, light pussy spanking, one face slap, unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, hyperspermia, degradation, slutshaming, manhandling, praise kink, daddy kink, mention of alcohol, swearing.
Word count: 3 k
A/n: the story was inspired by this anon ask, thank you for the idea, love! Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and inspiration behind ‘the spider shed’ lol♥️ Dividers by @cafekitsune ty<3 Hope you all will enjoy! Muah💋
Stepdad Joel Masterlist || MASTERLIST
Joel
‘Fuck this shit!’
Joel growled, wiping sweat off his forehead, and grabbed another nail. The nagging bitch which he called his wife had made him fix the fence in this damn heat so he was gritting his teeth at the Texan sun that had been fucking everyone in the ass every day that summer.
The back door creaked and Joel turned his head toward the sound. Here you were — his cock-hungry stepdaughter, sauntering into the yard with a glass of lemonade in hand and a pretty smile on your face. You were wearing a tight top and the shortest Daisy Dukes he'd ever seen in his life. Damn! He was really lucky to have such a slut walking around the house.
"Thanks," Joel barked before taking the glass from you and downing the refreshing liquid in one go. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, shamelessly checking out your naked legs, tummy and cleavage. "Get me a beer next time. I ain't twelve."
"K," you shrugged and headed back. Joel covered his eyes from the sun and ogled your asscheeks, poking out from under the jeans shorts. Ughhh... He adjusted himself with a grunt, already in need of a release - only a minute next to you and he already popped a semi. But that goddamn fence wasn't done. And his wife was home. 'Fuck my life!' Joel thought and kept on working.
A few minutes later you surprised him when instead of hiding inside the house from the unbearable heat you came out, sat on a lawn chair and stretched forward your gorgeous naked legs.
Joel scoffed, noting that you didn’t throw one glance at him but instead pulled your phone out and started click-clacking over the screen.
Joel spat onto the glass, thinking that you deserved a good spanking, didn’t you have anything else to do besides taunting him with your sexy body? His balls were getting heavier the longer he was staring at you but he wanted to finish the work today so he turned around and continued to hammer away.
Joel considered himself to be a strong-willed person, yet he couldn’t help but check you out again and again. Without a care in the world, not aware of his struggles, not looking at him at all, you were focused on your phone, your fingers typing.
Soon Joel realized it would be impossible to work — his head kept turning your way, his attention drawn to your gorgeous, almost naked body. Besides, he was getting really annoyed by you giggling like a silly schoolgirl, distracting him from his task.
Of course, you were addicted to your stupid phone like everyone in your generation so Joel didn’t think much of it at first but you kept tapping and laughing, laughing and tapping and Joel snapped. You knew your stepdad’s rule number one — ‘NO BOYS’ so who the fuck were you texting?
Joel threw the hammer on the grass and stomped to you.
“Whatcha gigglin’ about?” He gruffed, stopping so close, his leg was touching yours. Not waiting for an answer he unceremoniously grabbed your phone out of your hands.
“Hey! Give it back!” You jumped onto your feet, matching your stepdad’s scowl with your own. Joel didn’t give a fuck. He looked at the screen and his expression softened when he saw a girl's name at the top. For a second he almost felt bad, thinking that he had overreacted and you had just been talking to your friend, but he knew better than to trust such a slut like you so he began scrolling up and found a video.
“Joel, you can’t do this!” you exclaimed, trying to take your phone back, but Joel pushed your hands away and pressed Play. Music and loud voices filled the yard and Joel turned the volume down not to attract his wife's attention.
“No! Give it!” You tried to grab your phone again but Joel turned around and kept watching.
It looked like a house party and you were dancing with a girl among other people.
“Lookin’ like a slut… what a shocker!” Joel growled, getting even hornier at the sight of you in a short tight dress. His eyes were getting progressively wider the longer he was watching the girl and you grind against one another, hands roaming each other’s bodies, until she leaned over and kissed you on the lips.
Joel’s jaw dropped and cock twitched.
He was staring at you two making out for a few seconds and then the video ended.
A scowl returned to Joel’s face and he hissed through his clenched teeth, “What the hell is this?”
“Nothing,” you mumbled, sneaking your phone out of his big hands, your anger gone and quickly replaced by embarrassment. You looked like a puppy who’d just wet the floor. Joel placed his hands on his hips, his pose intimidating.
“Didn’t look like nothin’, little slut. Why were you kissin’ that chick?”
“We were just dancing, Joel.” You kept looking at your feet, avoiding your stepdad’s glare. It was almost cute but Joel was too angry and horny to be charmed.
“I saw that. You always shove your tongue into other people’s mouths when you dance? Is she your girlfriend?”
“No!” You finally lifted your head, locking eyes with your stepdad. “Well…”
“Well?”
“We’ve just met but… I like her,” you said with a trace of defiance in your shaky voice.
Joel narrowed his eyes.
“You a lesbian now? As far as I remember you were happily bouncin’ on my cock just two days ago.”
“Yeah but ..,” you held your head high and declared, “I’m exploring my sexuality. I don’t wanna limit myself to boys. Or.. men.”
Joel inched closer to you and anger rumbled in his chest as he gruffed,
“Ya better limit yourself to this cock or we're gonna have a problem.”
You were staring up at him with concern in your Bambi eyes, then threw a glance at the house, making sure your mom wasn’t looking, and put your hand on his broad chest.
“But, daddy,” you purred, pressing your body to his. “You said that I can be with girls.”
Joel was still glaring down at you but your sweet tone, your soft hand on his pack, your pretty eyes full of submission, all that made his cock harden and heart soften.
“Yeah, yeah…,” he muttered, his gaze darting from your eyes to your lips. Joel was conflicted, he wanted to have full control over his stepdaughter, wanted you to be horny just for him but the images of you fucking another chick made his dick very very happy.
So he leaned over and asked with a wolfish smile,
“Did you eat ‘er pussy yet?”
“Oh my god, Joel! No!” You took a step back from him and crossed your arms over your chest. Your tits looked even better now. “I said we just met.”
“Who knows what you kids do these days. A bunch of pervs.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Aren’t you the one fucking your stepdaughter?”
“Watch it!” Joel pointed his thick finger at you and added, “Or no more daddy’s dick for ya!”
Your expression soured and you were fumbling with your fingers for a few moments, then looked at Joel and said quietly,
“I still want you to… to use me. All the time.” Then you glanced at your phone and added, “But I really like her.”
“Aww,” Joel mocked your confession with a sarcastic tone. “I don’t give a fuck what you want.”
Now you looked downright hurt and he hated when you were in a sulk — your pussy wasn’t as wet, your blow job technique turned sloppy and not in a good way. He liked you needy and willing to give yourself to him completely.
So Joel took a deep breath and sighed,
“Pussies are ok, I guess.”
When you heard him, your face lit up and you bounced on your feet with excitement.
“Thank you, daddy!” You chirped but Joel quickly wiped the smile off your face when he added,
“But if you two fuck I wanna hear the details.”
“Eww, Joel! You’re the worst!” you exclaimed and crossed your arms again.
Meanwhile Joel’s eyes skimmed the windows, looking out to the yard. He was painfully hard but his wife could catch you and him inside the house. Suddenly a bright idea popped into his mind.
“Let’s go to the shed! All this pussy talk made me hard.”
Joel grabbed you by your arm and began leading you to a small construction on the other side of the yard. Your eyes widened and you screeched,
“Spider shed?”
“There aren’t any spiders, jeez… Your mom’s home. She’ll see us inside.”
“Any shed has spiders!”
You were trying to free your arm from Joel’s iron grip but he was relentlessly pulling you forward.
“Not this one! And you gonna be busy taking my cock. Spiders will be the last thing on your mind,” Joel chuckled, already opening an old wooden door.
“Mom can catch us here too!” You whined, giving him your last argument, but Joel was already pushing you inside.
“Nah. She’d never believe you’re in the spider shed.”
“Joel!!!”
You
Joel was right. It was hard to think about anything else except a huge schlong filling your mouth, a fat tip hitting the back of your throat. Your stepdad was towering over you in a tiny shed, his feet planted wide apart, his sweatpants and boxers tucked under his sweaty balls, while you were on your knees, gagging and drooling all over his crotch. The musk hitting your nostrils was intoxicating you, the salty taste of his sweat and precum made you salivate so much, your chest and top were soaked. Your eyes were watering profusely, tears streamed down your cheeks. You looked like shit with all the throat fucking and the temperature inside the shed being hellish, but damnnnn you were in heaven.
“Yeah— fuck—take it—take it—take it,” Joel chanted, rocking his hips and pushing his cock deeper down your throat with each thrust. You were doing your best, trying to breathe through your nose, but Joel was like a feral animal, smashing his lower belly into your face so fast, you started suffocating.
Desperate for air you scratched his hairy thighs and his hand, that was clutching your hair, roughly pulled you off his cock.
“What?!” he grunted, stroking his glistening shaft. You were coughing and wheezing, blinking your tears away and swaying on your shaky knees. You couldn’t reply and Joel slapped your cheek with his big wet cock and chuckled,
“Look at you. Nothing better than daddy’s dick, right?”
Your throat was sore already and you just nodded, looking up at him with your glossy eyes.
“Reckon that’s enough for your suckin’ hole. Let’s use your fuckin’ hole,” your stepdad smirked and pulled you up onto your feet. He pushed you to an old workshop table in the corner, unzipped your shorts and manhandled you to lie down on it.
You scrunched your nose in disgust feeling the dusty surface under your hands but the desire to get railed was so strong, you didn’t complain.
Joel looked insanely hot— his golden skin glistening with sweat, his hair wet and dark, his neck veins bulging.
“Spread ‘em. Knees bent. Yeah like that,” Joel threw commands at you after taking your shorts off and leaving you ass-naked. As always in your stepdad’s house, per his rule, you had no panties on.
“Here's my favourite cunt,” he said with a carnal smile, staring between your thighs, his head titled to the side. Your holes were fully exposed to him and Joel lightly slapped your pussy, coaxing a needy whine out of you, then laughed at your reaction and repeated the spanks a few times, watching you jerk again and again, each slap sending electricity through your whole body.
“Slutty snatch. Droolin’ when she gets spanked.”
Joel’s obsidian eyes were set on your leaking entrance, his breathing heavy, then he licked his lips, bent down and latched onto your spread cunt like a man starving.
“Oh my god!” When his hot mouth crashed against your heat, you gasped and arched your back. Your mind was short-circuiting as Joel began lapping at your folds, sucking on each pussy lip, flicking your clit with his tongue. It was his turn to drool now. Soon your already wet cunt was drenched with a mixture of your juices and his saliva.
Joel locked eyes with yours, his lips and facial hair shiny with your slick, and smirked, “Watch me,” then opened his mouth wide and stuck his tongue out. The next second he pushed it into your dripping hole and started tongue-fucking you, grunting and slurping, keeping your folds spread with his thumbs. You lifted your torso on your elbows and watched Joel eat you out, committing the sight and the sensation to memory for your later ‘self-care’ sessions.
Even biting your lips you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering, filling the small space with your noises. You dropped your head back when pleasure rippled through your body, heat rose up in your core and you began shaking on the table, a hard orgasm hitting you like a freight train.
“No one’ll eat you as good as me. Got it?” Joel gruffed, parting from your hole that was clamping around nothing, then pushed your trembling hips down and kept sucking on your pussy throughout your shattering climax.
“Yes—yes—no one,” you mumbled as if drunk. When your orgasm began subsiding, your limbs felt weak, your body spent.
“And no one will fuck you as good as daddy,” he smirked, straightening up and settling between your legs. His cock landed heavily on your mound and lower belly and you shifted on the table, eager to fill up your wet but empty hole.
Apparently Joel wanted to play with you first, so he dragged his big fuzzy balls against your puffy pussy and you jerked, overstimulation burning you.
“Beg me to fuck you,” your stepdad gruffed and roughly snapped his hips into you, his leaky cockhead drawing a wet line on your skin. You wanted him so much, you’d do anything. You locked your blown out eyes with his and purred like a good stepdaughter,
“Please, fuck me, daddy.”
“Yeah? You want it?” He asked and pushed his hips into you again. Your core was aching for him so you nodded eagerly.
“I do, Joel. So much.”
“Good girl.”
Your hardened clit twitched as you heard his praise and when Joel finally began pushing his big rock-hard meat inside your pussy, you took a deep breath and relaxed all your muscles, getting ready to take him. Even after being opened up with his tongue, taking Joel’s cock was not an easy feat for your tight pussy yet extra pleasant for Joel, judging by the way his face twisted in ecstasy.
“Fuckmeeeeeee,” he exhaled, bottoming out inside you. “Best place on earth, this cunt.”
You smiled at him, filled to the maximum with joy and his cock, but he didn’t give you much time to enjoy the compliment because the next moment he grabbed your hips tightly and started rocking your world. The rutting was relentless and though you were holding onto the table, your back was still sliding up and down with every hard thrust and pull.
Joel was groaning, fucking into you, his curls wet and sticking to his sweaty forehead, his jaws clenched. He looked so hot your eyes might as well be hearts.
Your stepdad’s cock was rubbing the soft gummy spot inside you deliciously and you felt another orgasm building and brought your fingers to your clit to help yourself come.
Joel slapped your hand away.
“I’ll do it,” he barked and began rubbing your puffy bud with his calloused thumb. You knew that he'd do it better than you so there were no objections and soon you were thrashing against the table, seeing stars while coming on Joel’s fat cock.
“Shit…gonna… bust…,” Joel choked on his words and started spurting his load deep inside you. With his thick fingers digging into your thighs, he was pumping you full for what felt like hours. Before him you had never known a man who could jizz so abundantly, and while you were praying for your pill to battle through, your pussy was greedily milking him, wanting more and more of his hot sticky cum.
When his balls were drained, Joel planted his hands on the table by your sides and hovered over you, covered in sweat, catching his breath. His cock was still anchored inside you and your walls were clamping around it from time to time.
“Damn,” he chuckled as your eyes met.
“Yeah, damn,” you repeated, giving him a hazy and satisfied smile.
Finally, Joel pulled out and wiped the wetness off his face with his tee that looked completely soaked. Breathing heavily, he picked up and threw your shorts at you and after you both got dressed, he came up to you, pinched your chin and turned your head to face him.
“So that chick of yours…” You swallowed loudly, scared that he’d prohibit you from seeing your crush, but Joel surprised you. “You can fool around with her, I ain’t stoppin’ ya but —…” he leaned down, pressed his wet lips to yours and then whispered, “don’t forget that you’re mine.”
That word hit you straight in the sore pussy and you almost moaned. Mine.
“And my rule still stands,” Joel gruffed, his breath hot on your lips. “The only cock you take is daddy’s. Repeat it.”
“The only cock I take is daddy’s.”
“That’s right,” he nodded and turned around before saying over his shoulder,
“Wait for five minutes and then come out.”
Your jaw dropped.
“I’m not staying in the spider shed alone! Joel!” you yelled but your stepdad was already out of the door.
Thank you for reading! Please, leave a comment and reblog if you liked the story. I appreciate your support💞
Summary: Joel's exhausted by the time he makes it to bed. But when a pretty little thing crawls in beside him, he finds the time for you, just like he always does.
Warnings: +18 MDNI, post outbreak, jackson!joel, unspecified age difference, joel pov, porn no plot, dry humping, slow and soft sex, smut with feelings, internalized shame, intimacy, unprotected piv, clit stimulation, kissing
Note: i haven't written for joel in monthsss but i hope you enjoy!!
WC: 2k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Joel’s the kind of exhausted that only comes with age.
Weary bones, heavy limbs, tired eyes.
He’s falling into bed as soon as he gets home, often forfeiting dinner in favor of blissful rest. Sometimes even before the sun’s fully set.
And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces.
So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day.
And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”
His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.
It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.
Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.
So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.
He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it.
The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.
Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct.
This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.
And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good.
But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.
Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.
The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.
Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like.
He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.
But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips.
You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack.
Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark.
“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”
He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.
It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”
You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.
Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock.
Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.
You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back.
He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”
When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you.
His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one.
In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.
Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do.
Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.
When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with.
Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.
He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche.
Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that.
But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.
He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.
When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response.
Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”
He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve.
But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.
He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity.
Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.
He slides in real easy.
You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.
It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home.
Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace.
There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it?
He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.
He wants to savor the way you love him.
“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.
You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.
It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation.
The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much.
Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves.
Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.
He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.
“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”
Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it.
“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”
He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble.
Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.
He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.
You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.
Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest.
When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.
“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."
Cw: 18+, smut, MEAN!joel, unspecified age gap, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dub-con, non-conish?, slightly toxic, possessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, NO safeword, psychical aggression: pinching, slapping, spanking, spitting into mouth, 'only the tip' as punishment, pinv, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, pet names (puppy, pet), praise, naive reader kinda, no outbreak
A/N: me sick and me bored and me horny af AND I've dreamt about mean!joel absolutely ruining my life so...i had to write something little. /Note: this one has abusive/unhealthy dynamic vibes. If that's not your thing, totally okay! just don't hit "continue reading" and then yell at me. ;) For the rest of you degenerates, I'm still working on requests AND sleazy!joel so enjoy, pookies <333
Joel Miller was one mean, mean man.
But that's what you maybe liked about him. People would talk. Oh, how much they would talk. They would say he pinches too hard, slaps too rough, spanks you until you weep. They say he calls you puppy like a dog, pet like a thing, girl like you barely deserve that much.
But they never see the way he holds you after—thumbs brushing the red mark on your cheek, voice low like gravel: "That's my girl."
He sometimes pinches your skin without looking up from his newspaper.
Sometimes he doesn't even need a reason.
You'd be standing at the stove, stirring something for dinner, and he'd come up behind you. His fingers would find the soft skin just above your hip, pinch until your breath hitches, and he'd murmur right into your ear: "Been too quiet today, puppy. What's on that pretty mind?"
You'd try to answer, but the words would come out shaky.
He'd pinch harder. "I didn't tell you to speak."
Until you'd go still, and he'd kiss the back of your neck like a reward.
Oh, but the slaps.
Those would come when you really stepped out of line.
Maybe you sassed him in front of the mailman. Maybe you rolled your eyes when he told you to fetch his boots. He didn't raise his voice. He never did.
He just waited until you two were alone, then he'd take your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilt your head just so, and say: "You know what you did, girl."
And then his palm would connect with your cheek, not hard enough to knock you over, but enough to make your ears ring and your eyes water.
He'd hold you steady while you'd blink through the shock. "Better now?" he'd ask, soft and mean.
You would nod, and he'd lean in and press his lips to the same cheek, a kiss so tender it hurt worse than the slap.
The spankings were a language all on their own.
Over his knee in the living room, the fire crackling, his hand rising and falling with a rhythm that felt like a hymn.
Each smack echoed through the old farmhouse. He'd count, but sometimes he'd lose track, stop, shrug, and start over. "Don't matter," he'd mutter. "You'll be red either way."
By the end, your skin was heated, your thighs were wet, and you were crying on his flannel. He'd pet your hair, then his fingers would find your chin, tip your head back, and he'd spit into your mouth—a warm and slow act.
"Swallow," he'd say, and you did. "That's it."
Some nights he would only give you the tip of his cock—just the head, slick and warm, pressing against your entrance.
He'd lie behind you, half-asleep, one arm under your head, and nudge into you an inch, maybe less.
Then he'd stop. "That's all you're gettin' tonight, puppy." He'd yawn. "Been real mouthy."
And he'd fall asleep with just that tease inside you, leaving you clenched and desperate, your hips twitching against him in vain. He never stirred. He was dead to the world, and you were left in the half-dream of his presence, aching for more of a man who didn't even know he was torturing you.
Other nights, he'd take you slow out of pure meanness.
He'd lay you out on the rug, spread your legs wide, and push into you with a patience that made you weep.
Each thrust was a long, dragging press, his cock filling you inch by inch, then pulling back until just the head remained.
"Beggin' without a sound, aren't you, girl?" he'd say, chuckling, thumb pressing into your clit just enough to make you gasp. "You want to come, puppy?"
You'd sob out a yes.
"Ain't that a shame." He'd speed up, just a fraction, enough to build that wave inside you—and then he'd stop. "No. Not happening." Over and over until you were a mess of sweat and pleadings, until you forgot your own name and only remembered his.
And when he lets you come (rarely), it's always almost an afterthought.
He'd be inside you, slow and deep, analysing your face, and you'd be wrapped around him, whimpering, and he'd sigh like he was tired of the whole thing.
"Go on, then," he'd mutter, pressing his thumb into your clit. "Get it over with." And you wpuld shatter, and he'd grunt once, then pull out and spill all across your belly, his breath hot on your face.
"Look at you, girl. Good puppy. Are you gonna thank your old man?"
And you did. You always did.
Because under that meanness was a man who built his whole world around you—big shoulders and worn hands, a country house with a porch swing where he'd sprawl and let you curl at his feet like a cat.
He'd stroke your hair and spit into your open mouth without breaking his gaze on the horizon, just because he could, just because you were his, and you'd swallow and feel like you were part of a story that had no beginning and no end.
This is not a story meant for other ears.
It's a fairytale only you two know the ending to—a dream where the mean old man keeps his little pet safe, warm, and used under the same roof, and she wouldn't want it any other way.
"It's finee grandmaster varka." your irritating vice captain says through that dodoco communication device he found and took from jean's office. she allowed it beforehand of course, but this doesn't help you with facing an embarrassing punishment.
You move a bit from the place you're in on the floor but lohen sternly looks at you with the phone still in hand. both his legs are up and planted on your back while you stay in an "all fours" position. despite the humiliating position to be in you're at least grateful that captain lohen's office doors are always shut and the other knights wouldn't enter unless it's about something important.
"Yes, yes. No, they're with me. Uh huh.." he drawls into the phone while his foot nudged your back. You tilt your head to look at his expression only to find that smirk plastered on his face.
Damn it! your arms are starting to hurt!
Lohen finally ends the call and leaves the device on standby before he settles further into his lavish cushioned chair, placing both hands behind his head.
"C'mon quit squirming. It hasn't even been an hour yet." he sighs and plays with his silver dagger that rings around the center of his index finger. You could honestly agree that this punishment is not half as bad with how he usually deals with the other knights but the way his boots dig into the bones of your back and the vulnerable position you're in.. is absolute hell.
"C-captain..? Why was this the first thing that you thought of as punishment?" you groan and shake your head in disbelief. The floor beneath you is suddenly so interesting, you didn't want to look at him in the eye right now.
"Cushions don't talk." he counters and you knew he liked seeing you drop your head shamefully.
"No but.. seriously though.." you tried to adjust yourself but the thought of shimmying your butt is mortifying right now.
"I didn't even know the crates were going to fall!" Lohen tuts and nudged you again with his boot, a hand on his cheek as he mulled something over.
"You didn't know? ha.. my dear knight. You were recklessly stacking crate after crate on top of one another. You almost killed a kid." you flinch when he reminded you of your earlier actions and the consequences that could've in fact occured.
"You're lucky Ursula and Koch were there. The consequences that followed would've been.. much harsher for you," he chuckles and poked the tip of his boot on the soft part of your hip.
"You could've put me on horse shit duty instead." you say bluntly. He stops his movements and nudged you a little harder.
"..and put my favorite knight through hours of cleaning in this summer heat?" he gasps in faux disbelief, "this one seems better, right? you even got air conditioning! you're welcome."
"My back is beginning to hurt.." you mutter and the seconds ticked by felt like eternity.
Lohen hums unbothered and flaps a scroll to read down the lines, "That's the point. But... would it feel better if the punishment came with a reward?"
your ears perked at that and he felt the movements of your spine arch a little under his boots, "...Okay. And the catch?"
Lohen laughs, "You can't be serious. You haven't fulfilled an hour yet."
Tick.. tick .. tick..
"How's the breeze down there little knight?"
"Dusty."
"Excellent."
.
.
"It's been an hour and a half ... please I wanna pee."
"Then do it on the floor."
Your eyes widen and immediately tilted your head to stare at him in disbelief, "N-no way!"
Lohen sighs and removes his boots off of your back, stabbing his dagger into the wooden part of the table.
“Ehh, times up anyway. Make sure you turn your report in later, or your punishment will last for a week."
He sees you get up hesitantly and smiles when you blink like a scared animal, “got something to say little knight?”
You shake your head, still aching and embarrassed . “No sir.” But before you could leave he removes the dagger from the table and throws it opposite to where you stand
"Seems like you’re forgetting something, though."
You freeze in place and turned around slow, "w-what do you mean..?"
Lohen’s smile doesn’t waver even as he points to his cheek, "What do you think [name]?"
Your sweaty hands are bunched around your uniform and you walk forward until you approach his desk. with a slow lean you place a soft kiss on his cheek but your vice captain doesn’t like playing by rules so he turns his head to capture his mouth on yours instead.
after a few lazy nips to your bottom lip to seal the kiss while a solid grip stills your chin knowingly to stare straight into your eyes, "your reward for being good."
Summary: Joel is your neighbor in the trailer park with a dirty mouth who gives you orgasms.
Pairing: Perv!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Content warnings: modern no outbreak AU where Joel is not a dad, one Sons of Anarchy reference, one mention of Joel’s gut, sleazeball!Joel, ribbed condom joke, oral sex (F receiving), a few spanks, protected P-in-V, tit/nipple play, biting, dirty talk, Joel refers to himself as "Daddy" once (it surprised me but my heart told me to write it), aftercare
Word count: 2,577
Read on ao3 here | Pervy!Joel Masterlist
Author's note: this is my post for celebrating 200 followers on here!!! yay!!! thank you everyone so so so so much!!! I want to kiss everyone!!!! I was lowk pulling for everyone to choose the Acacius story for this celebration post, but as I finished this one up, I started to like it more, so thank you to everyone who voted for perv!trailer park!Joel <3 it was very fun to write this Joel; I was only a little freaked out by purposely mischaracterizing him! anyways, thank you again to everyone who reads my works, everyone who likes, comments, and reblogs!!! I didn't realize how amazing reblogging is until I started posting on this account! (reblog your favorite stories!!!) okay I'm done rambling, so please enjoy pervy!trailer park!Joel <3
You moved into the trailer park about a year ago. You wanted to live below your means to save up for a house. Blue Moon Trailer Park mostly houses divorced guys, you realized. There are a few families, a few other single people.
Then, there’s Joel, your next-door neighbor. He’s single, never been married, doesn’t have kids, and in his late forties. He works in construction, and for fun, he ogles your ass and your cleavage.
The day you moved in, he was sitting on his porch, wearing just his green plaid boxers, a beer bottle in one hand, a joint in the other. As you started unloading your car, he went inside his trailer, put on some jeans and a plaid shirt that he didn’t bother buttoning, then met you at the trunk of your car.
“Need some help, darlin’?” he asked, wearing a toothy grin.
You didn’t respond at first. You tilted your head to the side in slight confusion.
He held his hand out and introduced himself. “Name’s Joel Miller. Noticed ya ain’t got anyone to help ya bring in all o’ your things. Just thought I’d offer.”
In all honesty, you were immediately attracted to him. Maybe you watched too much Sons of Anarchy, but there was something about a nasty, slimy guy that always did it for you.
A guy who carried himself with confidence, unapologetic for his less than (typically) desirable habits. This guy was sitting half-naked on his porch with a drink and a joint in his hand when you rolled up twenty minutes ago. Now, he had put a shirt on, sure, but he hadn’t even bothered to button it, his slight gut sticking out. Joel fits the bill for nasty and slimy perfectly.
You shook his hand and gave him your name. You let him help you bring your things in. When he picked up especially heavy boxes and grunted in exertion, you felt your panties grow slicker.
He must’ve fucking smelled it on you or something, because by the time the two of you finished, he was suggesting he help you christen your new bedroom.
//
After living in the trailer park for a while, you recently got a second job waiting tables on weekend nights just to keep busy.
Apparently, Joel hasn’t been taking it very well.
The text on your phone comes in just as you’ve plopped onto your bed, still in your waitress uniform.
-Horny. R u up?
Is he serious? Did he seriously text you this at 3:00 in the morning, ten hours after you told him you’d be working until 2:00? Seriously?
Are you seriously putting your shoes back on and already crossing the eight feet of grass between your and Joel’s trailers?
…Yes.
You walk right in. Joel never locks his trailer when he’s in it, said he doesn’t see a point, and left it at that.
You’re greeted with the sight of Joel sitting on his couch, clad in his unzipped jeans and an unbuttoned denim shirt, with his cock in his hand.
“Thank the Lord,” he mumbles. “Get your pretty ass over here.”
You roll your eyes as you lock Joel’s front door, kicking your shoes off as you cross the living room.
“3:00 AM? Seriously, Joel?” you grumble. You stand in between his legs, undoing your jeans.
“Not like I forced you to come over here. Just asked if you were still up,” he points out, already slightly breathless as he lazily jerks himself off.
To the right of him, you spot old Playboy magazines.
You open your mouth again, but before you can give a speech about how offensive you find those magazines, Joel nods, saying, “Yes, seriously. Now c’mere. Need that sweet pussy real bad, baby.”
You push Joel into a lying down position, then shuck your jeans off, along with your panties, and kick off your shoes. He grabs the backs of your thighs and pulls you to the couch. You hover over his face, straddling his chest. He doesn’t waste time; he dives right in, pulling deep moans and groans from your mouth with ease.
He licks stripes up and down your slit until your thighs tighten around his head, a silent signal that he needs to get it together and actually eat.
Joel switches from long licks to concentrated swirls around your clit. You and Joel never really cared for drawing it out. The longest you’ve ever spent with Joel was an hour and a half, and that was only because he popped a viagra.
He feels your clit pulsate against his tongue, and that’s when he pushes you off him. You stumble back on his body while he sits up, his hands palming your bare ass.
“You worked a night shift at the diner, then came to my place to fuck,” he murmurs, his breath hot on your face, smelling of cheap whiskey and Marlboro Reds.
“So?” you groan.
“So... Someone likes me,” he teases as he pulls your shirt over your head, revealing the lace of your bra.
“Asshole,” you mutter as you roll your hips against his crotch.
“You’re not denyin’ it,” he hums in your ear, his hands still rubbing your cheeks.
“You got a condom or what?” you snap.
Joel shuts his mouth, purses his lips into a thin line, then nods. He reaches into his back pocket and holds up a single condom.
“Look,” he chuckles, waving the wrapper in your face. “Ribbed for her pleasure.”
You scoff and furrow your brow in annoyance, but pull his jeans down to his knees anyway so he can get the condom on.
“You’re scoffin’, but you know you like it,” Joel remarks as he rolls this condom over his hard length. “You just hate that you’re into me. The residential pervert, was how you put it last month, wasn’t it? Not like anyone’s gonna stone you for lettin’ me fuck you. We’re consentin’ adults, sunshine.”
“You think you could keep your mouth shut for five minutes?” you grumble as you hold him up to your entrance.
Joel clicks his tongue and gives a look of feigned offense. “Aw, baby, you know I always last longer than five minutes.”
You’re about to respond, but now he’s completely filling you, and you’re so full of him, so you have to moan.
“See? You love this,” he whispers.
“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble. “Big dick to match your fuckin’ personality.”
Joel’s hand comes down on your ass as you speak. A sharp pop pierces the air, and your moan follows.
“Hey, I’m bein’ nice,” he says, no anger in his voice. If anything, he might be a little hurt. “Didn’t force you to come over here. All I did was ask if you were awake.”
You don’t want to apologize because you know Joel isn’t being fully serious. Instead, you lean forward and kiss him, pulling a low growl from his throat. His hands move from your ass to your head, planting a firm grip.
“Mm,” you whine when he bites your bottom lip. “Jesus, fuck.”
Joel laughs, the sound deep and gravely in his chest. “You love this shit, dontcha, baby?”
“Shut up,” you pant, forehead heavily leaning against his.
His hands move from your head to your breasts, squeezing and kneading your flesh through your bra.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, a little less rough now.
You moan softly and shut your eyes for a moment, focusing on the feeling of his cock pistoning in and out of you, his hands on your breasts, his warm breath fanning against your face.
“Hey,” he murmurs, squeezing your breasts, just a little too hard, which has you inhaling sharply through your nose, your eyes opening wide. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Didn’t ask you over here just so you can hide those pretty eyes from me.”
You open your eyes but narrow your gaze and purse your lips, nearly likening yourself to an angry bull, Joel thinks, and it makes him smile.
“Attagirl. Yeah, is that so hard? Hm? I just wanna see ya. All o’ your pretty face, darlin’. Can’t come right if I don’t.”
Oh, he was doing so well. He just had to add that last part, didn’t he?
“Do you have some sort of contractual obligation where you have to ruin every remotely nice thing you say with a perverted afterthought? Huh?” you ask, rolling your hips harder against Joel’s.
He chuckles and thrusts up even harder, pulling a soft, pleasure-filled hiss from your lips.
“No,” he grunts. “Just don’t see a point in filterin’ myself when I know the way I talk makes you wet.”
You roll your eyes at that, and Joel grabs onto your jaw in such a way that has your lips puckering as he holds your gaze.
“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and husky.
You moan and ask, “Say what?” with a muffled voice as Joel keeps a tight grip on your jaw.
“Say you like hearin’ me run my dirty mouth.”
Joel doesn’t comment on the little gush of fluid he feels around his cock when you hear his words. He just keeps holding your gaze and waits for you to say the words.
“I-I like hearing you run your dirty mouth,” you say, your voice just a little higher-pitched than you’d like it to be.
Joel moans in appreciation, then shakes his head. “Mm, I don’t know, darlin’. I think what I actually wanna hear you say is that you love hearin’ me run my dirty mouth. Let’s try that, huh?”
You let out a soft whimper, then mumble, “I love hearing you run your dirty mouth.”
He nods in appreciation and lets go of your jaw.
“That’s my girl. Yeah, you’re such a good girl,” he praises as he plants both his hands on your hips and starts thrusting into you harder now.
You moan and lean forward, your hands planted on the arm of the couch behind him, your forehead against his as you watch his hips thrust up into you.
“Yeah, you like that?” he rasps. “Like watchin’ me fuck you? I can feel ya clenchin’ tighter around me. You’re just as fuckin’ perverted as me, aren’t ya, baby?”
“Shut up,” you moan, leaning your head back, moving your hands to his biceps, his thick, strong fucking biceps.
Joel doesn’t say anything; he just slaps your ass, which pulls a whiney moan from your throat.
“Yeah, you like hearin’ me talk, like watchin’ my cock split ya open, like it when I spank that pretty ass… You’re just too high up on that horse o’ yours to admit it.”
“Joel…” you moan, practically shaking on Joel’s lap now.
“Joel,” he mocks. “Don’t worry; I ain’t gonna make ya say it. Just somethin’ for you to stew on when you go home.”
You moan and lean your forehead against his again, your hands moving to his shoulders.
“I’m gonna come,” you whisper.
You feel him nod against your forehead. “I know, darlin’. You go on ahead. Show me how much you love hearin’ this nasty old man’s dirty mouth run. Go on. Be a good girl for me.”
That’s all it takes to have you turn into a shaking, whining mess. Joel fucks you through it, moves his hands to your breasts, massaging them through your lace bra.
Once you’ve come down, he whispers in your ear, “Okay, sweetheart. It’s Daddy’s turn now.”
You’re not expecting it, but you moan at his words. You’ve never called him that, and he’s never called himself that. It’s new and unexpected, and Joel doesn’t even realize it’s that word specifically that has you moaning. He thinks it’s just leftover from the orgasm he just gave you.
You don’t even realize you’re changing positions until the scratchy fabric of his couch hits your naked back.
Joel’s entire body covers yours, and he’s thrusting again, clearly focused only on his orgasm now.
“This pussy’s fuckin’ magic, darlin’,” he grunts above you.
“You’re fucking pussy whipped,” you whisper, and he snorts in response.
“Not a very nice thing to say, baby,” he laughs before leaning down to kiss your chest and tug at the lace of your bra with his teeth.
“Take this off. Wanna see that gorgeous fuckin’ rack o’ yours before I finish.”
You scoff in indignation at how crude his request was, but comply regardless, reaching behind your back to unclasp the garment, arching your chest in his face in the process, given the position you’re in. You toss your bra to the side once it’s off, and Joel immediately dives in, sucking on your nipple and taking it between his teeth, just edging it, not biting down.
“Nicest fuckin’ tits,” he mumbles around your nipple.
He lets go with a loud pop, a string of spit connecting from your nipple to his lips.
Then, he brings his fingers down to your clit. “Want you to come with me this time. Come on, I’m so close. Know you can do it. Still feel you squeezin’ and drippin’ all over my cock. Come on, pretty girl,” he coos before bringing his lips down to yours.
You bury your hands in his hair and bite down on his bottom lip, pulling a soft grunt of surprise from him, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Feelin’ feisty?” he rasps against your lips before ducking down and biting your jaw, then your collarbone, then the top of your breast, pulling a throaty moan from you each time.
You tug on his hair and present his chest to yourself. You take his nipple between your teeth and actually bite down.
Joel growls, but doesn’t pull away.
You clench around his cock, and he falls forward just a bit, inadvertently giving you access to his shoulder.
He moans, and his thrusts speed up.
“I’m gonna come,” he whispers, pressing down on your clit, pushing you over the edge with him.
You feel the warmth of his cum through the condom, and moan as your cunt flutters around him.
“Jesus, Joel,” you moan.
“I know, darlin’. It’s a lot, huh?”
He leans down and kisses you, gently this time. Then he turns the two of you on your sides, his back to the couch, so he doesn’t crush you. He keeps a tight hold on you so you don’t fall off, then buries his nose in your hair.
“You okay?” he whispers. “Didn’t go too hard?”
He’s asked this since the first time. Even though now the two of you know each other well enough to know the other’s likes and dislikes, he’ll still check in, just so you feel cared for.
“I’m okay. You okay?”
He nods and kisses your forehead. “You can stay over if you want. No pressure, though.”
You smile up at him and nod. “I’d like that, actually.”
Joel pulls you into the shower with him a few minutes later, taking care to be gentle and sweet. He dries you off and gives you a clean t-shirt to sleep in.
When the two of you get in bed, he tucks you in, then gets in on his side, before scooting over to the side you’re on just so he can hold you.
He’s just a big dick with big feelings.
He’s also the reason you’ve extended your stay in the trailer park. You had the money for a down payment two months ago.
What if…we reverse the roles for a second and imagine it's you who takes Peepaw Joel's virginity?
Yes, of course old Joel dated. Plenty. I mean, look at him. Women were gushing for him. But going to bed with them? Never happened. And after the outbreak, sex just wasn't his priority. Survival was. Trust was. And by the time he reached Jackson, he'd built walls so high that even he forgot there was a virgin hiding behind them.
But Jackson changed things. Tommy was happy. Maria was pregnant. Joel watched those couples walk hand-in-hand, and something twisted in his gut—a hollow ache. He never had that. Not even once. And now he's sixty, belly soft from steady meals, hands calloused from years of work, he figured it's too damn late.
Who the hell would want a grumpy old virgin?
Then you came to Jackson.
Bold, young, too goddamn pretty. Everything Joel needed to stay away from, because his heart couldn't take it anymore. But when you placed a kiss on his cheek, told him he looked handsome, and invited him over to your house—he couldn't possibly say no.
"Ain't never...done this before," he blurted out the moment your hand slid under his shirt, while you sat on top of him. He braced for your reaction, embarrassed, but you only cooed, kissed him, and promised to take real good care of him.
And yes—Joel's cock was excited. He's old, but he's not dead. The moment your hands started roaming—his thigh, his belly, the zipper of his jeans—he hardened like a rock. Blood rushed to his groin with a desperation he'd never felt before.
But his insecurities hit hard. When you started to tug his shirt up, he grabbed your wrists. "Too much gut on an old man like me."
You just nuzzled your face into the soft skin of his belly and told him how much you wanted it pressed against you while he fucked you.
And when you finally wrapped your hand around his cock for the first time? That poor old man nearly had a heart attack. Deep, shaky moans spilled from his mouth. He tried to stay quiet at first, but the new sensations wrecked him—little gasps, grunts that turned into desperate groans, maybe even your name said like a prayer when he got close.
First time your cunt clenched around him? He was already gasping. A few pumps up and down, and he was babbling: "I'm gonna—fuck, I can't hold it—stop or—"
And he spilled inside you, all pathetic and breathless, gaping for air. His cock pulsed and pulsed, twitched and twitched until he collapsed, face buried in your neck, breathing hard. He was mortified. "That...that was damn pitiful. I'm sorry."
But you just stroked his hair, smiling to him. "It was perfect. And we've got all night."
And because he's old but not spent—once he caught his breath, his cock stirred again, curious and ready.
This time, you let him take control.
He was slower. More gentle. He wanted to please you. Wanted to make up for that quick finish. So he fingered you, licked you, followed your instructions until he had you gasping beneath him. Then he pushed in again, and he lasted longer. He learned. He memorized every sound you made.
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