summary: the morning after Joel forced himself on you is fraught with complex emotions.
tw: feelings of worthlessness, low self esteem, Joel is incredibly emotionally repressed, guilt, memories of sexual assault, noncon turned to dubcon, fingering, facial, praise, orgasms, alcohol consumption, Joel being insecure and manipulative.
wordcount: 12.5k
masterlist
The adrenaline floods through Joel's body as he stalks home in the darkness, his limbs carrying him swiftly through the bushes and shadowed back streets. His stomach growls - he always feels hungry after sex, but right now he feels even more so than usual. He didn't realise it before, but seeing you and Oscar had crushed his appetite for the rest of the day and he hadn't eaten all afternoon.
Aside from the hunger in his belly, there was also something else niggling him. It was a sort of gnawing within his chest, a feeling that he couldn't quite place. It almost felt like a twinge of sadness.
Was it remorse? Was it guilt? No, surely not. Why should he feel guilty, sorry for what he had done? He needed to be hard with you tonight. He needed to show you how pissed off he was. How else was he supposed to get through to you how he felt, that what you had done was unexceptable? He needed you to know what you were his, and dominating you with his cock and making you come was the perfect way to do that.
The sight of you staring up at Joel from the couch, wide eyed and trembling, flashes in his mind. You really hadn't wanted to submit to him. In actuality, you had appeared genuinely frightened of him. Joel isn't sure if you had ever been that scared of him before.
He has been callous to you in the past and maybe even made you cry a little, yes, but tonight was different. He could hear the terror and sadness in your voice when you begged for him not to do what he did. He could feel the way your body resisted him and tried to reject him. He could see the honest hurt in your eyes.
There were instances in the past where your consent had been dubious, when you had not outrightly said no to him but it was clear that you were nervous and unsure. And Joel had continued anyway, confident that he could coax you into agreement eventually. He would always make you come in the end and was proud to deliver you with an orgasm that left your toes curling and a blissful smile on your face. Your previous state of uncertainty was then forgotten and you'd be wrapping your arms around him and snuggling against his chest.
And even though he made you come undone tonight, it was after he had forced himself inside you with the intention of teaching you a lesson. You looked so fucked out and dazed. Almost broken. And he didn't even stick around to hold you.
Joel tilts his head back to look up at the night sky and sighs, fatigue now seeping into his muscles and down into his bones. He saunters around a corner and into his street, his body on autopilot now.
Should he feel regret?
No. He shouldn't. He couldn't. He was far too angry. And he had every right to be.
Joel drags himself up the steps of his porch and goes to unlocks his door with his key when he realises it is already unlocked. He stiffens the slightest, his instincts instantly telling him to prepare for an intruder.
He twists the knob and silently creeps through the threshold. Then he spots Ellie sitting on the couch amidst a nest of blankets and pillows, a comic book in her hands. Joel exhales a heavy sigh and slumps against the doorway.
"How many goddamn times do I have to tell you about lockin' the door?"
She looks at him over the page she's reading and groans dramatically, mimicking Joel. "Relax, old man. It's not like we are out in the wild."
"Gonna give me a heart attack," Joel grumbles under his breath. He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the hook by the door.
"How's your girlfriend?" Ellie asks, her eyes drawn back to her comic.
Joel stops dead in his tracks. His breath catches in his throat, unexpectedly choking him and making him cough. He swallows thickly before managing to speak.
"Who?"
Ellie lowers her comic and rolls her eyes before shooting him an unimpressed look. "You know who."
Joel feels the apples of his cheeks blushing. He clears his throat and focuses his attention on toeing off his boots.
"What? You think I don't know?" Ellie chirps smugly from her snuggly throne of blanekts on the couch. "Kinda hard to ignore the love hearts in her eyes everytime she looks at you. Or the way your cheeks go pink whenever she says your name."
She sniggers to herself and flicks the page infront of her.
"Shut up," Joel mutters as he enters the room. He takes a seat beside her, falling heavily onto the couch with a grunt.
"So?" Ellie murmers. "How is she? I was supposed to go to the library yesterday but me and Dina got held up."
"She's fine," Joel replies gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck, the musles feeling tight and tense.
Are you fine? He wonders. That image of you laying on the couch like a used rag doll surfaces once more in his mind. That bleary look in your eyes, the lax set of your features, the rise and fall of your chest through your shortened breaths.
"So when are you gonna take her on a date, anyways?" Ellie asks casually.
The question strikes Joel speechless. He turns to look at her, his mouth working open and shut wordlessly, confused at how to answer her. Why is Ellie asking about you like this? Sure, she's a curious kid, annoyingly so at times. But this inquisitive questioning has Joel feeling suspicious, almost cornered. Have you spoken to her about whatever you and Joel shared, maybe covinced her to ask Joel about you?
"What?" He eventually responds, eyeing Ellie hesitantly. "She say somethin' to you?"
Ellie snorts from behind her comic. "Please. She's just as secretive as you are."
Joel relaxes a little. Okay, good. "So why are you askin'?"
"Can't I be interested in your love life?" She grins, shooting him a glance. "I saw her at the dance the other night. She looked really pretty. You should have went."
Joel snorts mirthlessly and shakes his head. "And why were you there? Who'd you go with?"
"No one," she shoots back quickly, almost defensively, then adds, "well, Dina was there, so I went to say hi."
"You two lookin' for boyfriends or somethin'?" Joel asks offhandedly.
Even though Ellie has never shown any interest in boys, the instinctual protective dad in Joel hates the idea of her having a boyfriend. She's too smart to waste her time of any of the dickheads she hangs around with, and too young to be dating, in Joel's opinion.
Ellie groans and glares at him, a disgusted curl to her mouth. Joel has to tamp down the amused relief he feels.
"What? Can't I be interested in your love life?" He teases, mimicking her.
"Shut up," Ellie replies in her best Texan drawl before smacking his shoulder with her comic book.
Joel goes to the kitchen to scrounge up some dinner for himself. He scoffs down a bowl of stew with a hunk of bread he got from the bakery yesterday. Afterwards he makes his way up the stairs to his bedroom, his feet aching and cold.
Joel takes off his jeans and changes into a pair of thin track pants, then takes off his flannel and undershirt. He has to do a load of washing soon. He takes a whiff of your smell on his body and a it makes his cock twitch. It's almost like he misses you, despite just having been balls deep in you less than two hours ago.
What the hell is wrong with me? Joel thinks.
He gets into his bed and throws the covers over him, turning onto his side with his arm under his head. He waits and waits, but sleep doesn't come. All he can think about is your face.
•••
You wake up the next morning disorientated, your brain muddled. You don't even remember falling asleep last night. The first thing you become cognisant of is the fact that your lower half is naked, and you are in your bed. When you move to stretch your legs, you feel a dull aching at the entrance of your vagina that makes you whimper.
You are indifferent to the sunlight peering in through your window. You begin your morning routine with indifference, like you're on autopilot. You shuffle to the shower and turn on the taps, not bothering to look at your reflection. You peel off your shirt and get into the alcove, not caring that the water is a little too hot.
You stand in the shower and stare at the drain, watching the swirls of water and soap suds circle around its rim before disappearing down into darkness. The warm water cascades over your back, prickling your skin in a way that soothes you.
The recollection of last night comes back to you in bursts of imagery, like a compilation of vignettes - all of which detail you being fucked by Joel. You shut your eyes tightly, willing them to go away, but they don't leave you.
Joel's face so close to yours, his eyes blazing. His hand in your hair. The scratchy material of the couch cushion on your face as he rails your pussy.
You need to be clean, to wash away the physical evidence of the shame and degradation Joel had forced upon you.
Had he really forced himself on you, though? A part of your mind whispers insidiously, like a snake slithering from the deep recesses of your mind. You came, didn't you? So some part of you had enjoyed it - probably even welcomed it.
You bite back the tears that have welled in your eyes and pick up the ragged washcloth hanging on your shower caddy to gingerly wipe away his dried cum on your vulva. You whimper as you carefully clean yourself, the minute tears at the entrance of your vagina sharply stinging in protest.
You were used to this pain. You had endured it many times before, after all the times Joel had fucked you.
Yes, Joel had always been rough, at times uncaring of your comfort. But the hurt he had inflicted upon you last night was the first time he had ever genuinely frightened you. You were well aware that he could be ruthless, that he was capable of great cruelty - you'd heard the rumours of his past as an infamous raider. And although Joel never talked about his past you quickly surmised that he had committed some acts of unspeakable violence.
You had heard the snippets of gossip about his barbaric pragmatism as a patrolman, too. The ways he would execute raiders and kill infected without a sliver of hesitation, the sniper like precision of his marksmanship, his ability to kill someone with his bare hands.
His violent reputation was justified and had earned him the respect (and even a bit of fear) of every person in Jackson, including yours. Perhaps the foreboding mystique surrounding Joel added to the allure you felt for him. Maybe you were even drawn to the sense of danger he exuded.
But despite this attraction, you couldn't ever have imagined him directing his rage or hostility towards you. You had never witnessed the extent of his dark side first hand. Until last night.
Joel had never been overtly considerate or encouraging of your emotions. He never really asked you what you were feeling or what you wanted (unless he was fucking you in that moment). Early on in the relationship, or whatever it was that you and Joel shared, you had accepted that he was not as expressive or emotionally open as you wished. But you understood it was just who he was, either through natural temperament or from the years of struggle and survival in this world, or both.
There were times when Joel had been tender and affectionate, though, especially in the beginning. Sacred moments that you both dare not openly acknowledge. Like in the middle of the night when you were both snuggled under the sheets and he would pull you close to his chest, wrap you in his strong arms, and kiss the top of your head. The blissful pockets of physical affection were enough to placate you for a while, until your heart could no longer repress it's hunger for more. The yearning for unconditional love, a family of your own, someone to share your life with.
You didn't know if he ever loved you or truly cared about you. But if he had not, why was he so possessive?
You had discovered the jealous streak of his personality quite quickly. The subtle displays of displeasure - the flare of his nostrils, the hard set of his jaw, the flash of anger in his eyes, whenever a man even looked your way. You used to find it sort of endearing. It made you feel wanted.
In a public setting no one would guess that Joel would be stealthily watching you and taking note of who you were interacting with and your body language. No one seemed to realise that Joel was an expert at appearing nonchalant while observing and absorbing every thing in his surrounding environment, constantly vigilant. Protecting what was his.
If he saw a man, regardless of age, had struck up conversation with you at the Tipsy Bison or the mess hall, Joel would be sure to chastise you later on. It didn't matter that you weren't interested in anyone but him. It didn't matter that you only politely responded in a way that indicated you weren't interested. That wasn't enough for Joel.
As you became more attached to Joel and more expressive with your affection, it seemed Joel became more aggressive with your body. What started as light dirty talk during sex progressed into an exercise of control and sacrifice, with Joel fucking you mercilessly and covering your body with hickies and bruises with an almost obsessive need to stake his claim.
But how could Joel be so jealous when he didn't want to make your relationship official? Was it just sex to him? Why did he want to control you so much yet refuse to publicly assert his ownership? His greed only reinforced the validity of that tiny niggling belief that had been buried inside your heart since the day you lost your family. The notion that you would always be alone. That you did not deserve to be happy. That you were worthless.
And what was worse....you still loved Joel. Despite the agony he had inflicted, you still fucking wanted him. Your splintered heart was wounded, and now so full of fear.
Maybe you were just fucking broken. Irretrievably broken.
You lean your forehead against the tiled wall and cry.
•••
You somehow managed to get dressed, eat an apple for breakfast, and arrive for your teaching lesson five minutes early. You appeared fresh faced and energetic, but inwardly you felt close to dissociating, teetering between numbness and hysteria.
In the classroom you taught the children about the lifecycles of insects, utilising the chalkboard and the book Maude had found you at the library. You tried hard to focus on the lesson and be present, to adopt the calm, nurturing persona that the children knew you by. It wouldn't be fair to them if you cracked now, if you showed them a chink in the amour, not when they trusted you and loved you as their caretaker and teacher. This job gave you a purpose and sense of stability and you were adamant not to let Joel ruin that for you now.
When it was time for lunch and the school bell rang in the corridor, the children all scrambled out of the classroom to go eat their lunches and play outside. As soon as you were alone in the room you let out a heavy sigh of relief, grateful for the opportunity to unmask.
You sit down at your teaching desk and cradle your head in your hands. You want to disappear, to crawl into a hole away from everyone and everything. You sigh heavily, your mind and body on edge and unable to relax.
Then a knock at the wooden classroom door suddenly shatters your thoughts. Your head snaps up. You are.startled to find Oscar standing at the door. He is wearing jeans and a slightly tattered dark blue sweater, a hand clutching the strap of a satchel slung over one shoulder. His eyes peer at you behind his round spectacles with a curious concern, his thick eyebrows knitted together.
"Hey," he cooes. "Mind if I come in?"
"Hi," you clear your throat. "Yes, ofcourse."
You wince slightly at the croakiness of your voice, hoping Oscar doesn't notice how fragile you sound. You look away and smooth your hands over your blouse before sitting up straighter in an attempt to appear more composed.
Oscar approaches your desk with cautious slow steps, one leg limping slightly, the soles of his boots thudding across the floor.
"Why are you here?" You give a tight smile, trying your best to come across as carefree and casual. "How can I help you?"
"Well," Oscar comes to stand at the desk but stays a few steps away from you, a clear attempt to respect your space. He swings his satchel off of his shoulder and plonks it ontop of your desk. "I found something for you, actually."
You look at him with an eyebrow raised quizzically. He looks back and grins boyishly, his brown eyes shining with warmth. Your eyes flicker down to the bag as Oscar flips open the flap and reaches in. From it's confines he retrieves a hard cover book, one you instantly recognise from the tiny pictures of different insects decorating the spine. Your mouth falls open in surprise.
"Oscar, is that--"
"Kids Bug Science Volume III," Oscar announces proudly with a chuckle, holding up the book with both hands for you to see the cover. It was the next installment of the insect series you had been using to teach with, a resource you hadn't thought you'd ever be lucky enough to find.
"Oh my gosh, no way!" You laugh, a hand shooting up to cover the large smile you are unable to hold back. Your eyes look from the book to Oscar in wonderment. "Where did you find it?"
"Well, I was rummaging around the storeroom crawl space, trying to fix a wire, and I found a bunch of books up there." Oscar holds the book out for you to take. "This was one of 'em."
You accept the book and hold it in your hands, your thumbs tracing over the cover. "I can't believe it," you whisper.
"I'm sorry I couldn't wait until your next shift at the library," Oscar says, sounding slightly sheepish. "Got excited when I saw it and wanted to give it to you straight away."
You meet his gaze. There is a gentle expression in his beautiful brown eyes now, a mix of shy affection and sadness.
"Thank you," you say softly as you clutched the book to your chest. "Really. I appreciate this so much."
Oscar nods once and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "You're welcome." He collects his satchel and hitchs it back over his shoulder. "I know it means alot to you. And for the kids."
You put the book down on your desk and chew your bottom lip, unsure what to say next. You are worried that he could somehow detect what had happened with Joel, like there is some visible sign on your face that announces how much of a slut you were, how Joel made you cum so hard after abusing you, how disgusting you are to still have feelings for a man who degraded you.
Your cheeks blush involuntarily.
Suddenly the thought of Joel somehow seeing you right now, alone with Oscar in your classroom, pierces through your mind and fills your stomach with dread. Your whole body goes rigid. Oscar notices the change in your expression and leans in closer towards you immediately.
"Hey, are you okay?" He asks, his tone soft but serious.
"Yeah, I'm okay," you reply in a small voice, avoiding his gaze. "I'm just a bit tired."
Oscar places a tentative hand on your shoulder. The unexpected contact startles you and you turn your face up to look at him. He stares down at you, his hooded brown eyes studying your face, both his orbs shifting between yours, as if searching for something.
The tender concern in his expression makes you want to lunge into his arms just to feel him hold you and comfort you.
"You can tell me anything, like if something's bothering you," he says quietly. "Only if you want to, ofcourse. I'm here, if you would like to talk."
You can feel your heart crack the tiniest bit. You give him a small, sad smile in response. "Okay," you whisper. "Thank you, Oscar."
You remain staring at one another, Oscar's warm hand still perched on your shoulder. The silence between you feels increasingly intimate as each second passes. You are sure Oscar feels it too. The way his eyes pierce into yours, how his mouth opens slightly for his tongue to dart out over his bottom lip - it all feels so raw, so delicate yet intense.
Without warning a loud knock at the classroom door comes crashing through the private bubble surrounding you and Oscar, making you both step back from one another with instinctive haste.
It is one of your students - little Cillian, with bright blue eyes - and he suddenly begins to ramble loudly about one of the soccer balls deflating again.
"Whoa, slow down little man. I'll be there in a minute with the pump," you reply.
He nods enthusiastically and then runs back outside to the yard. You and Oscar glance back at each other and breathe out a small laugh at the same time, the tension now relieved between you.
"I better go," he runs a hand through his curly black hair. "Sorry for interrupting your day."
"Why are you saying sorry?" You stand from your chair, smoothing the seat of your skirt behind you. "Thank you. For thinking of me and coming by and to give me the book. It'll be so useful in my next few lessons."
Oscar smiles at you and nods. "Well then...I guess I'll see you at the library sometime?"
His thick eyebrows raise, a slight inquisitive lilt to his words, as if he was wanting confirmation that he would actually see you again.
"Yeah, ofcourse. My next shift is in two days," you reply a little shyly, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.
"Great," Oscar says, his eyes roaming over your face and hair for a brief moment, his own features unreadable to you. "I'll see you then."
He turns on his heel and you watch him walk back to the door, his limp slightly more prominent now because he seems to stand taller, his posture more straight. More proud. When he disappears through the threshold you study the book before you, tracing the cover with your fingertips. Although you had only spent a short time with Oscar, you had never known a man to be so considerate, so caring.
It was new. And it felt good.
It was only when he was gone that you realised you could still smell the faint cinnamon scent around you, the smell that you would eventually come to associate with Oscar.
•••
After finishing at the school that afternoon you walked across the townships to visit Maude at her cottage. You sunk into the cushion of an armchair in her loungeroom while her housemate, another elderly lady, served you cups of tea. You spent an hour listening to them detail Maude's sickness and the type of medicine the doctor prescribed her, how her housemate tended to her day and night, and how caring Tommy and Maria had been. It was close to dinner time when you said goodbye and left to go home.
You tucked the science book into the crook of your arm as you strolled through the back streets toward your cottage, consciously avoiding the busier sections of the streets in order to reach home quicker.
You weren't in the mood to eat dinner in the mess hall this evening. You did not feel energetic enough to socialise with anyone or to continue masking the force of emotions plaguing your insides. You had no appetite, anyway. The girls would probably wonder where you were but that didn't matter. They knew you were more introverted, more content with retreating into your own world than socialising unnecessarily, especially at meal times.
You could visualise yourself curled up in bed under the comforting weight of your blanket with a favourite book in your hand. It was exactly what you needed.
When you arrive at your home you are surprised to see Ellie sitting on your porch, her legs crossed. She tosses a pocketknife into the air and catches it in one hand with practiced ease.
You always secretly enjoyed seeing her relaxed like this, so carefree and youthful. You loved watching how her face transformed with her charming smile, how her eyes would sparkle mischievously. Your heart flooded with great affection for Ellie when you were reminded of just how soft she was inside. She could always make you laugh with some silly joke or her vulgar humour. You were always pleased to see her - except today was different.
She reminded you too much of Joel.
"Hey," you greet her, trying your best to sound upbeat as you trudge up to the porch. "What're you doing on my property, kiddo?"
"Hey!" Ellie grins at you. She scrambles to stand up and jams the knife back in her jeans pocket. "Wanted to know if you wanna get dinner together. I needa pick your brain about some comic ideas I got going on."
Shit.
You pinch your eyes shut and sigh. "Oh El," you murmur quietly. "I'm not really up for hanging out tonight, I'm sorry."
A lump forms in your throat immediately after the words leave your mouth. You should've known this was coming. The inevitable first time you would disappoint Ellie because you couldn't face being reminded of Joel.
"Oh," Ellie mumbles, her brows creasing into a frown. "You okay? You look kinda pale."
You muster a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm just super tired. Busy day at school."
Ellie puffs her cheeks and exhales a breath of air, her disappointment clear. "'Kay," she kicks at some sawdust on your porch. "Maybe next time, I guess."
Seeing Ellie look so dejected makes you feel even worse. You know she has struggled for so long - struggled to fit into the community, to adjust to life outside the QZ, to grow into a young woman without the guidance of a mother.
You understood that she craved connection and acceptance more than she would ever willingly admit. Ellie had come to trust you and respect you enough to let her vulnerability occasionally peek through. You couldn't let her down like this, not when she wanted to share something or part of herself with you.
You sigh and reach out to grab her hand. "El," you squeeze it gently. "I'd love to. I can rest later. Just let me put this book inside first."
Ellie's face instantly lights up. "Cool." She glances at the science book you are holding and scrunches up her nose. "The fuck is bug science?"
•••
As you walk side by side through the mess hall doors, you attentively listen to Ellie describe the new character she had created for the comic book she was working on. It was only after collecting a meal tray from the serving counter that you notice the group of rangers already seated across the hall.
Their loud conversation, occasionally punctuated with booming laughter, compels you and Ellie to turn and look in their direction.
"Geez, who the fuck is being so loud?" She mutters in annoyance.
You spot the five men sitting at a round table near the back of the hall, their broad shoulders and thick arms occupying the space. You recognise them as being the senior patrolmen of Jackson, including Troy, Tommy and Joel.
Joel.
When your gaze lands on Joel, you see he is already watching you and Ellie, chewing the inside of his cheek, the emotion in his eyes unreadable. He is the only one of them not talking or joking. He absentmindedly pokes at his food with a fork, his jaw chewing a mouthful of food slowly.
Your pulse begins to race. You can feel your cheeks flush. You aren't ready to see him. How are you supposed to keep calm now and act like nothing has happened? Like Joel didn't rip your heart to pieces and then violate your body like you are nothing but a plaything for his own pleasure.
You grip your fingers around the dinner tray tightly and quickly avert your gaze. You feel overcome with a feeling of submissive humility - that depressing mixture of shame and fear now joined by the ache of your heart. You want so badly to run away and hide, but you know you can't. You shouldn't have given into Ellie so easily, you should've just run inside the house and--
"Ugh, nevermind, it's just Joel and his girlfriends." Ellie says with a roll of her eyes. She jerks her head towards a free table nearby. "Come on, let's sit."
When you don't move straight away Ellie bumps your hip with hers playfully. "Hey, hurry up, before someone steals our table."
You suppress the panic induced bile rising in your throat and follow Ellie to a table, the cutlery on your tray clanking from the jittery shaking of your hands.
•••
Goddamn, you look pretty today.
Joel watches you take a seat at one of the tables with Ellie. You are positioned sideways from his line of vision, your face obscured by a section of hair that had fallen loose from the purple ribbon you had tied around it. He wishes he could see your face clearly.
Troy leans forward into the table and clicks his fingers quickly to get the attention of the other men. Joel and the others look at Troy.
"Hey," he hisses, "see that pretty little mouse with Joel's daughter, over there?"
Troy nods his head toward where you sit with Ellie. The other rangers, including Joel, shift their gaze over to you. You toy with your fork, your head nodding at something Ellie was saying, totally oblivious to their stares.
"Estrada was eatin' with her the other day." Troy murmurs slyly. "Ya think he might be screwin' her?"
The lewd question catches Joel off guard, making his breath catch in his throat. Hearing someone talk about you in such a crude way provokes a boiling rage to course through his veins. He clenches his jaw and flexes his fist under the table. He is ready to punch Troy in the fucking face.
A few of them snigger before they all turn their attention back to their trays of food.
"Estrada?" One of the patrolmen, Harry, scoffs. "I thought he was gay."
"He ain't gay," Tommy interjects, rolling his eyes. "Fuck sake, man."
"Since when does Estrada get pussy like that?" Harry grumbles.
Joel listens closely to what is being said while stabbing his food with his fork, feigning disinterest. He can't stop the muscle in his jaw from ticking from the way he clenches his teeth. Tommy glances at him.
"Since he stopped workin' patrol, I guess. He must have more time to waste chasin' tail now," another of them guffawed.
"Hey now, enough of that talk," Tommy orders firmly. "They just work together, is all. So give it a rest."
Troy holds up his hands in front of him in a pose of surrender. "Alright, alright, el capitan, just shootin' the shit is all."
Joel can't take it anymore. He drops his fork down onto the tray with a clang, then pushes his chair away from the table to stand up unceremoniously.
"Hey, where you--" Tommy begins.
"Finished," Joel grunts.
He stalks out of the mess hall without another word, shoving the door open and stepping out into the starry night. Joel shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and trudges down the street away from the mess hall. His senses feel heightened as if he is close to imploding, the fury seething throughout his body.
He fucking hates anyone talking about you like they did. Like you were some piece of meat. Like you could ever belong to anyone but him. It pisses Joel off so much that he had to leave; he couldn't trust himself not to beat the shit out of Troy or Harry or any of the others. Tommy would kill him.
Joel storms on towards his house with his chest heaving from impotent rage.
Fuck what anyone else thought. You were his. He knew it, and you knew it. He had made sure of that. That's all that matters.
He was going to give you time to come back to him on your own accord, to get over this little phase of insolence. You would learn your lesson and realise where your rightful place was. You would come crawling back to him - willingly.
Wouldn't you?
Yes. Ofcourse. You needed him.
Just as you needed Ellie and she needed you.
You couldn't just leave. No fucking way.
Joel was almost home when he becomes aware that his heart is pounding and his breathing is becoming more rapid. His throat feels dry and his chest feels constricted.
He manages to make it to his house in time to lurch against his front door and let his weight stabilise against it. His eyes screw shut and he presses his forehead against the wood. He inhales a deep breath, then exhales. He repeats the step as patiently as he can and waits for the panic to dissipate.
He is grateful for the dark of the night, the privacy it allows. If anyone saw Joel Miller having a panic attack like this, the word would spread like wildfire, and God only knows what the community would think of him then.
After a few minutes Joel is able to regulate his breathing and calm down. The tightness in his chest loosens. He calmly unlocks the door and ambles inside the living room. He has already decided he was getting drunk tonight.
•••
Ellie had spent a solid 15 minutes during dinner detailing the new comic she was in the process of illustrating. Her eyes were bright with excitement as she babbled on and gestured animatedly with her small hands. You listened dutifully, adding comments and asking questions where appropriate, trying to appear sincere in your interest. It was difficult to focus when the anxiety was still churning in her stomach and the welts on your flesh were throbbing.
Seeing Joel in the mess hall had rattled you. The pressure from Ellie, as well as the fact that your thoughts had been so convoluted all day, meant you hadn't even considered the possibility of Joel being there at the same time. The way he had stomped out of the mess hall soon after your arrival made you even more uneasy. You wondered where he was going, what he was thinking.
Ellie had only eaten half her plate of vegetables and venison before abandoning you in favour of a party she had been invited to. You didn't mind. Infact, you were relieved. It was the perfect opportunity for you to bolt back home and retreat under the covers of your bed. But just as Ellie was walking out the door, Kate, Rhi and Jess almost collided with her as they came strolling in.
Kate spotted you instantly and called out your name, waving to you enthusiastically. You sighed to yourself and waved back half heartedly. It looks like your plans would have to wait.
Joel was dozing on the couch later that evening when there came a succession of loud knocks on his front door. He groaned as he got up, his back stiff and aching, and made his way to the door in a only a few large strides. He thought it must be Ellie coming home early from the party - but deep down he hoped it was you coming over to collapse into his arms and beg for his touch.
When he opened up the door he was greeted by Tommy. Tommy stood on the doorstep with his hands on his hips, his mouth downturned in grim sobriety. His expression made Joel stand to attention instantly.
"Tommy? Whatsa matter?" Joel asked straight away. "Ellie alright?"
"Ellie's fine. But Carl spotted raiders North West of the mountain this evenin'," Tommy explained with calm urgency, his voice low despite no one else being nearby. "We need to get a group out there and scoutin' by day break at the latest."
"Fuck," Joel muttered, shifting his eyes up and sighing.
Raiders were not a common threat but they posed a serious danger to the safety of the community. They usually consisted of groups of more than a dozen men, all of them armed somehow, searching for any place or any people to strip of supplies. With its agricultural vitality, amenities and abundance of resources, Jackson would be a prime target for raiders.
They had to gather some patrolmen and venture outside to find them.
Joel and Tommy knew first hand how ruthless raiders could be. It pissed Joel off to think of a bunch of strangers trying to bust their way into his town, wanting to steal what did not belong to them, thinking they were some big bad gang. Joel would gladly execute them all on the spot.
Joel's eyes flickered back to Tommy, who was staring back at him with a steely resolve that signalled he was ready to hunt and slaughter these assholes right this minute. Joel's jaw ticked.
He had to do it. He had to go. There was no way he wouldn't.
Joel gave his brother a decisive nod, indicating he was prepared to join him.
"Round up Harry and Troy, meet me at the gate at 4o'clock," Joel ordered in a low voice. "Don't tell no one what's goin' on. Only Maria."
Tommy nodded in agreement then spun around on his heel, stalking away from the house and into the darkness of the night.
Joel ran a hand over his face and sighed heavily. There would be a slight change of plans tonight, but it would still work out. He had been on a few of these missions before, special patrols where the more experienced men tracked and hunted groups of raiders and infected and eliminated them. Such operations could take anywhere from a couple of days to a month, depending on the weather conditions and the expanse of area that was being compromised.
It was impossible to tell how long Joel would be away for this time. He couldn't risk leaving without seeing you first. He needed to be certain that you wouldn't forget that it was he who took care of you, his hands your heart was cradled in, he who owned you. You were definitely frightened of him right now, so he planned to assuage that fear with something more pleasurable.
Joel glanced at the clock hanging in the loungeroom wall and took note of the time. 9.20pm. There was still time to have a drink and visit you before he had to leave for this expedition.
Joel started up the stairs to begin packing his bag.
•••
You push the peas and mashed potato around your plate with your fork, only partially paying attention to the conversation happening around you.
You randomly wonder if any of your friends had been in a situation like yours before, if they too had loved someone who hurt them but were too ashamed to confine in anyone. Probably not, you deduce. They were so much braver and stronger than you. They weren't fucked up like you were.
"Are we having a party at the Bison for Cassie, a big final hurrah before she gets married to one dick for the rest of her life?" Rhi asks, earning a round of giggles from your friends. You were too preoccupied with your thoughts to join in.
Jess snaps her fingers infront of your face. "Hello? We need your input here!"
You jolt upright like you had been woken from a dream. You look around at your friends' amused faces. "Yeah, sure, sounds fun."
"You okay?" Kate asks tentatively. She wasn't entirely oblivious to your mood, it seems.
"Yeah," you reply casually, forcing a tight smile. "Just thinking of Cassie's gift and the design for her glory box."
Rhi claps her hands together and squeals. "Oh! I forgot to tell you guys! I spoke to Sheila at the haberdashery and she said she has a panel of satin that would be perfect for Cassie's present. It looks alot like her dress, too."
You make a more conscious effort to engage in the conversation, not wanting any more attention on you.
"The wedding is in a month, so we better get working on it," you say confidently.
"How about tomorrow night?" Jess suggests.
You and your friends remain in the dining hall for the next half an hour going over your plans for Cassie's gift and the preparations for her hens night. It ends up being a welcome distraction for you and by the time you all finish dinner and agreed to go hang out at Kate's house, you feel a little less on edge.
•••
By the time dusk crept over the town and the specks of stars appeared across the canvas of the evening sky, Oscar knew he was going to have a difficult time falling asleep that night.
His day hadn't been particularly stressful or challenging - infact it had been quite easy going - but from time to time he would wake up with a heaviness in his chest, and today was one of those days.
From this morning up until now, he felt an underlying anxiety inside him, a sorrowful clawing at his heart that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Unconsciously he knew why it was there. He had sort of been expecting it. But despite the years of enduring this burden of melancholy, Oscar had never quite gotten used to it.
And so instead of wallowing in his room with only the dark shadows of his memory for company, he decided to go to the Tipsy Bison and have a drink. He rarely drank to get drunk, but just enough to feel something close to happiness, a balm to soothe his unspoken hurt and make him forget for a little while. It helped with the nightmares.
When Oscar stepped out onto the street to begin the walk to the bar, he was struck by how beautiful and clear the night sky was, how the stars twinkled so prettily against the backdrop of black and deep blue. He marvelled at the heavens above him as he walked, welcoming the distraction from the dull ache in his ankle.
It was almost healed now. He would be back to patrolling soon. But right now he was enjoying the library shifts alot. It was different. It was new. And you were there.
The atmosphere of the main street was quiet and lonesome at this time of night. The cool air nipped at the nape of his neck, a timely reminder of the impending change of season, he thought to himself.
Oscar wished he could see you right now. Just to say hello. Ask if you were really alright. You looked sad today at the school and it worried him. Although he hadn't known you for very long, he found himself caring about you quite alot. There was something about you that attracted him. Not necessarily physically - although you were certainly beautiful - but emotionally and intellectually.
He enjoyed the way you spoke and described things, how you listened to what he said with genuine interest, how your quiet company relaxed him and soothed the unrest in his heart.
But you were probably busy with your friends. Oscar supposed you must be popular in the community. How could you not be? You probably had a boyfriend, too; but he hadn't been daring enough to ask you about that. It didn't matter, though. He was content to be your friend. He just hoped you wanted his friendship, too.
When Oscar reached the Tipsy Bison he pushed open the saloon style doors and relished the hallmark ambience of the bar rush over him; the twang of the country music coming from the battered jukebox in the corner, the voices of the patrons talking and arguing, the yellowing glow of the lights pouring through the light haze of cigarette smoke. The Tipsy Bison was a little less than half full but was by no means subdued.
Oscar didn't stop to survey his surroundings before approaching the bar and ordering a beer. He took a seat on one of the stools and leaned his elbows on the counter, then ran a hand through his black curls. The anxiety was slowly consuming his thoughts, to the point that he hadn't even realised that Joel was sitting two spaces away from him.
Always vigilant of what was going on around him, Joel had noticed Oscar as soon as he sat down. He watched Oscar through his periphery, noting the defeated sag of his shoulders and the nervous way he raked his hand through his hair. Joel, being no stranger to self hatred and internal conflict, was adept at recognising when someone was struggling with something personal, and he could see something was bothering Oscar. Admittedly, he was curious. Especially now he knew you were working together at the library.
Joel had spent many hours patrolling with Oscar over the last few years and they shared a mutual respect of one another, not a friendship as such but a kind of comradery that only the patrolmen of Jackson shared. While Joel didn't care for cultivating friendships, he was comfortable enough initiating conversation with people when he was interested enough. And right now his interest was piqued.
"Somethin' on your mind, Estrada?" Joel asked without turning to face Oscar.
His question startled Oscar out of his thoughts, forcing him to straighten his back and look over to Joel.
"Oh, hey Miller," Oscar offered Joel a small grin, then shifted off the stool and onto the next one to sit beside Joel.
"Just the usual shit," he mumbled before taking a a swig of his beer. He let out a noise of satisfaction after swallowing it. "Goddamn, that hits the spot."
Joel hummed in response and toyed with the neck of his bottle, his thumb smoothing over the condensation that had formed over the glass. A comfortable minute of silence passed as they both savoured the beer Tommy had spent countless hours crafting and perfecting.
Oscar was a good man. He was friendly, talkative, and well liked by everyone. He didn't indulge in crude jokes or talk about sex, which Joel was grateful for (he fucking hated listening to crass banter almost as much as he hated someone talking unnecessarily). Oscar was never disrespectful towards anyone and he was a responsible patrolman.
But he didn't exude overtly masculine energy. He wasn't argumentative or had a bad temper, like alot of the other guys. He wasn't bloodthirsty or quick to prove his capabilities. To Joel, these traits automatically made Oscar weaker than him. And a little bit of a pussy.
It was because of these attributes that Joel did not perceive Oscar to be much of a threat regarding you. He had believed you when you said there was nothing going on with Oscar. Joel knew you well enough to know you were telling the truth. You were never good at lying, anyway. And you were always so open for him, so willing to please - you were such a good girl.
Joel recognised that a large part of your attraction to him was his own strength, his protective virility complimenting your soft, feminine nature so well. He too found it very appealing. So ofcourse you wouldn't be attracted to Oscar. You needed someone who could take care of you properly, and Joel was that man.
But he knew he had to be careful with you. Scare you or hurt you too much and too quickly and you might tell Tommy or Maria on him, get him kicked out of Jackson, make Ellie hate him forever.
No, Joel had to be a little bit tender, especially now. Joel could afford to be gentle right now and coax you back to feeling safe and satisfied with what you two had. Show you how kind and caring he could be if you stayed a good girl. Without the sappy relationship bullshit that your bitch girlfriends no doubt planted in your head.
"Look like somethin's eatin' ya," Joel said casually, finally turning his head to look directly at Oscar. "Bad dreams again?"
Oscar gave a small shrug of his shoulders and sighed. "Most nights. Some are worse than others."
Joel nodded knowingly. He was no stranger to being startled awake, gasping for air, disturbed by the horrors projected in his mind in nightmares of the past. They still plagued Joel often enough for him to want to get drunk or fuck away his feelings every night. He wondered if Oscar had any secret vices.
Joel cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, unable to hide the awkwardness he was feeling.
"Ya got no family here," Joel stated matter of factly. "That's part of your problem. You need somethin' to live for, needa have some roots."
Oscar chewed his bottom lip, listening reverently to what Joel was saying. Joel was uncomfortable speaking so candidly but it was necessary. He needed to in order to gain some insight into Oscar's intentions.
"Me...I got my kid and my brother," Joel said with an offhanded shrug. He sounded gruff but earnest. "They keep me goin'."
Oscar was silent. Joel glanced back up at him.
"You been in Jackson a while now. You got yourself a woman?" Joel asked, trying to come across as casual rather than inquisitive.
Oscar looked down and gave a tight shake of his head, then took a long chug of his beer. Joel raised an eyebrow.
"Nothin'? No girlfriend?"
"Nah, man." Oscar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Joel looked over both of his shoulders before lowering his voice into a hushed tone. "Not even just a once in a while fuck?"
Oscar barked a short laugh. "No, definitely not."
Joel's nostrils flared as he inhaled, a mixture of relief and pride surging inside his chest. He knew you were telling the truth. Now Oscar just confirmed it. There's no way you would go behind his back. Especially not with this pussy Estrada.
Joel hid the smug satisfaction threatening to spill across his face. Instead, he scratched the side of his face nonchalantly. "Fuck it, women ain't nothin' but trouble anyways."
Oscar exhaled a partly suppressed chuckle. Joel finished the last mouthful of his drink and set the bottle down on the countertop with a thud.
"Gotta good way to get rid of those bad dreams, ya know," Joel smirked at him.
"Yeah?" Oscar gave him a curious half smile in return. "What's your remedy, Miller?
"Let's get you hammered," Joel grinned wolfishly. "Won't be thinkin' too much about anythin' then."
Oscar chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, Miller, I don't think--"
"Hey Clyde!" Joel cut off Oscar to call out to the bartender down the other end of the bar. "Another couple of beers and some shots of whiskey this way."
Joel smacked his hand over Oscar's shoulder in a brotherly gesture of affection.
"Trust me, you'll be feelin' alot better after this."
"Okay okay, just a couple more," Oscar acquiesced genially. "Thanks, Miller."
"Anytime, buddy."
This is too fuckin' easy, Joel thought.
•••
Kate had walked you back to your cottage after dinnertime and stayed for an hour curled up on your couch drinking a cup of herbal tea. When she left you tried to read through the book Oscar had given you and create notes for upcoming lessons for your class, but you were so tired that you fell asleep in bed by 10pm.
It was sometime after midnight when you were gradually awakened by a weighted dip of the mattress underneath your body and something warm tickling your skin.
Your brows crease as you begin to rouse from slumber. A large, rough hand roams up the length of your leg and thigh, stopping to caress the soft skin of your stomach before moving upwards to cup your breast. The thumb rubs back and forth over your nipple, teasing it to harden. Then you feel a warm, wet kiss press against your the side of your neck and the gentle prickle of facial hair against your skin.
Even through the drowsy haze of sleepiness you can still identify the familiarity of Joel's touch.
"Joel?" You murmur groggily, your voice thick with sleep. Your eyes flutter open but it takes a few moments for your vision to adjust to the darkness of your room.
"Yeah, baby, it's me," Joel whispers.
He places another sloppy wet kiss to your neck as his hand squeezes your breast. You mewl in response, feeling a sudden pleasurable tug deep within your belly. You reflexively reach out a hand to tangle into his hair, and a groan rumbles from his chest.
Your brain is still muddled and heavy with the remnants of sleep, and you don't realise exactly what is happening until Joel brings his face up to yours and kisses your mouth.
His tongue pushes past your lips to find yours, then he laps at your mouth greedy and hungry. It takes a few seconds for you to register the taste and smell of alcohol that envelopes your senses.
He has been drinking. He is possibly drunk. And now he is in your bedroom, on-top of you.
Your body shudders in alarm. You hurriedly bring your hands up to press against his chest and break away from his plush, hungry lips. Joel relents and pulls back, bracing himself on one hand above your head.
How did he get inside your home?
You could feel the heat of his erection pressing against your thigh and you exhaled a small gasp when you realised his lower half was naked.
"What," you mumble, "what're you doing?"
You shrink back into your pillow and stare up at his face, trying to gauge his mood in the dark, the moonlight streaming in from your window the only source of light. You can just make out Joel's eyes - his pupils are blown wide with desire, the curls of his hair dishevelled as if he had been running his hands through them.
There is no cruelty in his expression this time, no anger. It is such a huge contrast to his demeanour the last time he was in your home; it makes you feel even more disorientated.
"It's jus' me, baby," he whispers, his voice soft and smooth, the way it goes when he's needy and horny. "Needed to see you, is all."
His fingers leave your breast to trail down to your hipbone. It slips underneath the band of your sleep shorts and your body goes rigid. Your mind buzzes, unsure what to do. Should you scream? Should you try to push him off and run away?
Joel cups your naked sex and lets a lustful groan rumble in his throat. Your pulse quickens, though from fear or desire - or both - you aren't sure.
"Joel," you whisper anxiously, peering up at him. You don't want to anger him, but you simply can't endure him using you again. "Please...don't..."
Joel's fingertips slide down to your entrance to stroke your lips. His eyes, obsidian in the shadows of the night, gaze down at your face. He slowly pushes his middle digit inside your pussy and you can't suppress the moan that spills from your lips.
"Pussy missed me, ain't that right?"
You aren't even aware of your legs parting open when his whole finger slides inside. He lowers his face and captures your mouth in a kiss once more, and this time you allow him to, accepting his tongue to roll lazily into your mouth.
His thumb presses against your clit gently and begins to move to in slow, tight circles as slides his finger out of your pussy, then back in again.
As Joel fingers you your body quickly blooms with arousal. When he pushes his finger all the way inside you and curls it against your g spot your eyes roll back and you moan into his mouth.
He feels so fucking good.
Joel breaks the kiss and nuzzles his nose against yours. "So wet," he purrs. "See how your body wants me, baby?"
He is right. Your body does want him. But it feels like your body has a mind of its own, it feels like it is betraying you - your dignity, your honour. You shouldn't want this, not with Joel. Not after how he treated you these past few months, and definitely not after what he did to you last night.
No, this has to stop, your mind screams at you.
You swiftly grab onto his thick wrist with your hand, halting his movements.
"Joel, no," your voice cracks, verging on shrill. "You really hurt me. Please, I-I don't want to do this."
"Ssssh," he cooes in a soothing tone. "I ain't here to hurt you, darlin'." He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I just wanna make you feel good. Let me show you how good I can make you feel. Come on, baby."
You feel so dazed that you have to wonder if you are infact dreaming. The way Joel is acting, with his honeyed words and sensual touch, is far too contrasted with how he was just last night. Why is he acting so differently? Why is he being so gentle with you now?
You are at a loss for words. You want to ask him so many questions, like how did he break inside your home? You want to ask why he won't leave you alone, despite not wanting to be with you. You want to ask him whether or not he actually does love you.
But then Joel resumes circling your clit once more and all your thoughts seem to dissolve. The logical, rational part of your brain is quickly overruled by the naive softness of your heart and the yearning between your legs. Some small part of you knows that you should be wary and not trust Joel at all, but it shamelessly quashed by your desire for him.
It is hopeless.
You love him. And you want him. Still.
Joel places another soft, plush kiss on your mouth before gently sucking on your lower lip. You can't help the little moan that rises from your throat. Without even thinking about it, your hand slowly unwraps from his wrist as a silent sign of permission.
"Good girl," he murmers against your mouth.
Still circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, his finger strokes up against your g spot at the same time. You moan again, unwittingly tilting your hips upwards and rocking them slowly, chasing your pleasure, silently begging for more. You can feel yourself growing more wet as your hunger for him turns more ravenous. Joel sheathes another one of his thick fingers inside you and you keen at the delicious, snug stretch.
Joel kisses you deeply once more. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back, tentatively at first, that tiny part of you still protesting what is happening, still at war with your body.
How does this feel so good, after what he's done?
Joel plunges his fingers in and out of your pussy while massaging your clit, and his minstrations soon have your body ablaze with growing desire. You eagerly suck his tongue into your mouth and your muffled, unabashed moans urge him to keep fucking you with his thick digits.
Joel's pace never falters. He doesn't stop or slow down. His touch is expert, as always, for he knows exactly the right rhythm and speed to use in order to grant you the highest level of pleasure. Coupled with the intoxicating taste and scent of Joel in your mouth, you feel almost completely enraptured.
The coil of pleasure winds deep inside your lower belly, hot and tense. You eventually break away from the kiss in order to take in a proper gulp of air, and you almost feel dizzy from it all. Joel groans at the loss of contact and lowers his face to your neck, instead planting his plush lips on your throat to suckle on the soft skin there. You can hear the wet squelch of your pussy accompanied with your shallow hitching breaths of air.
You are close.
You know Joel can feel it.
"Come on baby," Joel murmers knowingly against your neck, his voice rough and thick with lust. "Come on my fingers like a good girl. Want you to fuckin' drench 'em."
He lightly sinks his teeth into your pulse point and sucks, heightening your pleasure so exquisitely that your climax hits you sooner than you anticipate. You moan loudly as it rips through your body, causing you to tremble all over. Your walls constrict and a gush of juice spills from within you and runs down Joel's palm and down to his wrist. He keeps fingering you steadily, his thumb firmly pressing on your clit.
"Yeah, honey, just like that," he praises, nipping gently at your skin. "
When the peak of your orgasm Joel carefully removes his fingers from the warm clutch of your pussy and you whine at the feeling of being empty. Your limbs drop loosely onto the mattress and you sigh, satisfied and spent. While you are still coming down from your high Joel quickly unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans.
As your bliss gradually dissipates the post orgasm clarity strikes you.
Is this what you want?
Do you want to do this with Joel?
You watch him shuck off his jeans and underwear, revealing his fat cock hanging heavy and hard between his thighs. Joel sits up on his splayed knees inbetween your legs, the upper half of his body still covered by his flannel shirt. He gazes down at you as he begins unbuttoning the buttons of his flannel with enticing dexterity. He strips it from himself and discards it on the floor.
Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the room, and aided by the moonlight streaming through your window, you can see Joel properly now. You drink in the sight of him naked, his strong bare torso dotted with scars, the muscles of his biceps flexing, the soft pudge of his stomach. No matter how many times you have seen Joel like this, you are still as enticed by the mere sight of him as you were the very first time you saw him naked.
Yes, you want this. God, you want him so fucking much.
Joel takes hold of the bottom of your shorts and tugs them down your legs before throwing them to the floor. You let him, nervously chewing the bottom of your lip, bashful despite having been intimate with Joel countless of times in the past. You are now naked except for the thin tank top you fell asleep in.
"Pull your legs up," he rasps. "Wanna see that sweet pussy spread open for me. Come on, honey, show me."
He wraps a hand around his cock and watches you obediently bend your knees and reach down to part your lips with your fingers, exposing your sensitive flesh and your hole to him. You lift your head up off the pillow to see Joel groan and pump his fist over his dick.
"So fuckin' pretty," he murmurs. "Just waitin' for my cock. " His eyes flicker up to your face. "That what you want? You want me to fuck you, babydoll?"
You are so mesmerised by him, staring up to meet his gaze with your own sultry expression. Any hint of apprehension or fear you felt just a few minutes ago has vanished now that Joel is naked inbetween your legs.
"Yes, Joel. Please." You practically moan.
Joel smirks, satisfied with your willingness to submit. "Keep that pussy spread for me."
Your fingers remain still as he resumes his earlier position with one hand planted on the mattress near your head to hover over you, while his other hand notches his cock head at your entrance.
You hold your breath in anticipation before Joel pushes into your wet heat. Your orgasm and your juice has provided enough lubrication for the action to be smooth, and he thrusts himself completely inside you with little resistance. When his pelvis meets your clit and his heavy balls press against your ass, your head tilts back and a long, soft moan escapes your lips.
"Oh my god, Joel," you gasp, clenching around his shaft.
"Feels so fuckin' good, baby," Joel mutters.
His eyes are downcast, transfixed, while he rocks his hips back to slide his cock out half way, then forward to move back inside you. He does so again and again, creating a slow and steady rhythm of fucking you.
"Fuckin' love this pussy," he groans. "Best pussy I ever had. Just made for me."
Your hands travel up his strong tanned forearms to skim over his biceps, fingertips dancing over his muscles. Joel may be considerably older than you but his stamina and might are impressive, regardless of his age. You stare at him in awe of how powerful his body is, how gorgeous his face is.
You wrap your legs around his waist as his fat cock parts your insides so lusciously. It feels so natural to be underneath him again, to allow his body to possess you once more. You dig your nails into his arms and let the moans spill from your throat with each thrust.
"That's it," Joel growls lowly. "Let me in, honey. There's my good girl."
He fucks you with steady, hard momentum that makes your stomach muscles contract and your inner thighs quiver. Each punch of his cock pulls you further and deeper into a floaty state of euphoria. His actions are passionate as always, but there is a distinct lack of aggression that usually underpins your sessions together. In fact, Joel is being relatively gentle tonight - almost loving.
Is this what making love is?
Joel breathes heavily above you, his mouth slack, his eyebrows knitted in intense pleasure. His hand snakes down to rub your swollen clit with two thick fingers without disrupting the pace of his hips snapping into yours. The stimulation adds a whole new level of intoxicating intensity that has your mind spinning.
"Oh fuck yes, Joel," you keen loudly without inhibition, your thighs quaking around his flanks.
"You like that?" He rumbles out between strained pants. "Whose this sweet pussy belong to, baby? Whose your daddy?"
He angles his pelvis in a way that allows his dick to tap into your g spot, that sweet part of your plush insides that he knows drives you crazy. Your head is swimming, unable to formulate a thought or a verbalise an answer except for his name. Joel, Joel, Joel.
"Whose your fuckin' daddy?" Joel snarls.
"You," you mewl pathetically, gripping onto his shoulders like an anchor. "It's you, Joel."
"You're gonna come on my cock," Joel orders through ragged breaths. "And you're gonna thank me for it. You hear me?"
"Yes," you gasp, so cock-drunk that you are practically hypnotised.
"Gonna thank me for splittin' you open," Joel murmurs, the drawl of his accent low and rich, pouring over your ears like thick honey. "For givin' this needy pussy what she's been beggin' for."
All you can do is moan wantonly as Joel relentlessly pummels his cock into you, his thumb still strumming your clit. It doesn't take much longer for your orgasm to hit - the feverish climax floods over your whole body, your limbs quivering uncontrollably as your pelvic muscles spasm around Joel's cock. He fucks you through your orgasm, murmuring praise and groans of his own pleasure.
After almost a full minute, when you are a fucked out, boneless mess and he's finished wringing the last of the aftershocks from you, Joel withdraws his cock completely. He quickly crawls up the bed to straddle your torso, grabbing a handful of your hair and lifting your head up from the pillow. The fat head of his cock, shiny and wet, stands directly infront of you, so close it is almost touching your lips.
"Thank me," he growls, taking hold of cock with his other hand and pumping his fist along it. He locks his gaze on you, his dark hooded eyes primal and hungry, watching you intently.
You swipe your tongue over your lower lip and stare up at him towering above you, his thick thighs bracketing your upper body, the smell of his musk and sweat strong in your nostrils.
"Thank you," you purr, submissive and sensual. "Thank you for letting me come."
"Keep goin'."
"Thank you for splitting me open."
He fists his cock faster, his hips rocking slightly as he chases his pleasure. You can see the droplets of sweat dotting the expanse of his broad chest, the flexing muscle of his forearm, the dusting of hair trailing from his belly to his cock.
"Thank you for fucking my needy pussy," you moan, your voice soft and needy, echoing your deep seated desire to please him and submit to his will.
"Fuck, fuck," Joel growls, suddenly shooting the first thick ropes of cum directly onto your face. You shut your eyes after the first rope hits. His hand stayed tangled in your hair, holding you still while he unloads his balls across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your lips, and your forehead. He moans with every warm, milky spurt that jets from his cockhead.
"That's right," he grunts, "take it baby, take it all like a good fucking girl."
When Joel finishes painting your face he lets go of your hair and unceremoniously gets up from the bed. You blindly lift the bottom of your tank top and gingerly wipe his cum from around your eyes, then the rest of your face. When you are able to open your eyes again you see Joel already getting dressed.
Your heart immediately sinks. He is leaving you already?
"You're going?" You croak out, distress constricting your lungs.
Joel glances at you as he hitches his jeans up. "Raiders been spotted near Jackson." He says gruffly, dropping his eyes to the floor as he zips and buttons up. "We got to get a group out there tonight for a mission."
He just broke into your home and fucked you, and now he is leaving you to go on patrol. You have been in Jackson long enough to see patrol missions happen before - it isn't something entirely unfamiliar to you. But why did it have to happen now?
You swear you can physically feel that familiar raw pain of rejection abrupt sink it's claws into your heart. You cannot stop tears from blooming in your eyes.
"Do you have to go?" You ask, your voice small and broken, gazing at him glumly.
"I gotta," Joel murmers. "Don't know how long I'll be. Dependin' on the size of the group, we could be a couple weeks."
"Joel," you whisper, bowing your head, unable to repress the sobs clawing up your throat now. you feel the heavy warmth of his large hand ontop of your head, comforting and gentle, and he begins to stroke your hair.
You know how dangerous this kind of mission is - the possibility of him being injured or dying is too devastating to even imagine.
"I'm comin' back for you, sugar." You hear him whisper. "Be good for me while I'm gone, you hear me?"
"Yes Joel," you whisper back.
He sits on the bed next to you and holds your face with his two hands, his thumbs tenderly wiping your tears. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and you snake your arms around his neck. He lets you weep as much as you need to, murmuring quiet reassurance until you calm down enough to snuggle against his chest.
Joel stays long enough for you to eventually fall asleep cuddled into the crook of his arm. He checks his watch. It wasn't long now. He manages to carefully extract himself from the bed without waking you. Then he leaves your home to go find Ellie.
Joel knows your body crave him just as much as your heart does. You were so easy to placate. Now he could go with Tommy and hunt down those piece of shit raiders without needing to worry about you getting stupid ideas in your head. Nothing was going on with you and Oscar, that was for sure, so he had nothing to be concerned about on that front. He could go on this mission with his head clear.
But neither of you could have foreseen the significance of events that were to develop during Joel's absence, nor the catastrophic repercussions of his return.
summary: you try your best to move on after Joel breaks your heart. But when he sees you with another man, he can hardly control his need to own you.
tw: noncon/dubcon sex, manhandling, forced subspace, threats of anal, painful sex, degradation, hair pulling, jealousy, forced orgasm, possessiveness, Joel is not good with emotions.
word count: 10.7k
masterlist
That night sleep alluded you. You tossed and turned in your bed, unable to silence your racing mind or quell the niggling tension that made your palms itch and your legs restless. You willed yourself not to think of Joel or the sensation of his fingers inside you or the roughness of his whiskey soaked voice growling in your ear. You were frustrated and annoyed that he had managed to uncover the bottled up emotions and desires you had buried inside yourself. You were even more irritated that he did it so easily.
Why did he still have such a hold on you? How could he make you surrender to his touch and words, how could he totally destroy your prerogative with such little effort? Maybe he was right; maybe he did know you better than anyone else. The conviction of his spiteful words reverberated in your mind and you had to physically shake your head to rid yourself of the taunting thought.
You eventually found sleep, but when you woke up the next morning there was an anxious gnawing in your belly and a heavy weight inside your chest cavity where your heart sat. Your whole being felt depleted and drained while simultaneously on edge. You fucked yourself with your fingers to relief the pressure, to chase the unfulfilled high Joel had left you with last night. You came while imagining his broad body pressing heavily on-top of you as he jackhammered in and out of your pussy. Afterwards you stood in the shower scrubbing yourself clean and cursing yourself for still feeling so attracted to Joel.
•••
Today you are due to start your first shift at the library alongside Oscar. You're excited for the change in your schedule and a different work environment. You couldn't disappear from Joel entirely, but you could make your presence scarce, totally alter the predictability of your routine. The quiet library would be the perfect place for you to continue working while you obscured yourself from Joel's sight.
Judging from your first meeting with him, Oscar seemed to be a nice person. He didn't make you uncomfortable. He seemed considerate and gentlemanly. Hopefully he would enjoy your company and you two would work together well.
You dress in your prettiest blouse and a clean pair of jeans. You comb your hair. You don't linger to look in the mirror for too long, fearful of the shame that you were sure would be reflecting in your eyes.
Not feeling hungry, you sip a cup of peppermint tea in lieu of breakfast. Since that night at Joel's you hadn't felt true hunger at all. Your body hadn't craved the need for food, atleast your mind hadn't registered any craving, too occupied with repressing the pain of your break up from Joel to acknowledge anything other than emotional suffering.
When you step out of your front door you take in a deep breath of the fresh morning air, then you shut the door and heading off toward the centre of town.
•••
You slip through the library door, the bell above it giving a soft tinkle. You peer around for any sign of Oscar, but all you see is the counter unattended, stacks and stacks of books piled on the floor beside it. They are probably from the most recent expedition, you guess.
It feels strange to not see Maude in her usual place. But things change, you remind yourself. And you need to accept change right now.
You swallow the lump of sadness and dubiety tangled in your throat and step towards the rows of book shelves, bobbing your head to peek over them.
"Oscar?" You call out timidly.
"I'm here, just give me a sec," his voice chimes from the storeroom behind the counter. You turn back toward where the soft trill of his voice had called from and stand still, waiting for his appearance.
Oscar promptly emerges from the storeroom and wanders out from behind the counter, his head bowed in concentration at something in his hands.
It was evident from his gait that one of his ankles were injured, one of his legs limping slightly with each step. When his head tilts up and he spots you standing awkwardly by the book shelves, a smiled spreads across his face. The warmth in his expression is so genuine, like he is actually happy to see you, and it makes your stomach clinch momentarily.
You give him a small shy smile in return and lower your gaze. He's carrying a tin of paint by a handle with one hand and a painting brush in the other.
"Good morning," Oscar greets. "When Maria told me I'd have someone working with me, I thought it might be you."
He moves over to you and stoops down to set the pail on the ground. When he stands up to his full height, you are finally able to see him whole and not half hidden behind a counter. He's considerably shorter than Joel, but taller than you. He isn't broad or discernibly muscular, but you can sense he's strong from the way his sweater clings to his upper arms. His black hair is combed neatly in place except for a lone corkscrew curl that falls onto his forehead endearingly.
You recall Kate's description in your head randomly - nerdy but cute.
"How are you today?"
Oscar gazes at you and you realise that his eyes were so dark brown that they almost appear black. You're sure this would be unsettling on anyone else, but with Oscar it isn't. There is nothing dangerous or malicious within them, only a curious twinkle that allows you to meet his gaze without feeling so self conscious. It is a huge contrast to Joel's cold stare that could make you tremble on the spot and want to look away.
You inwardly chide yourself for comparing the two men, a habit you don't want to indulge in. You clear your throat.
"I'm okay," you answer with a shrug and half a smile. "How about you?"
Oscar bunches the sleeves of his navy sweater to his elbows and then put his hands on his hips. "I'm okay, too. I was planning on doing some painting today." He indicates to the brush in his hand. "Would you like to help me with that? Or you could sort the books? You can choose what you wanna do."
He's so accommodating, so considerate, right off the bat. You hadn't really witnessed these qualities in any man but Tommy, Joel's younger brother. Truthfully, you avoided interaction with alot of people, especially men, so you didn't have much experience being alone with a man.
But you had witnessed the savagery of men in the outside world in your younger years, before you were found and rescued by Jackson residents, and that barbarity that scarred something inside your heart and soul.
It had conditioned you to be docile and compliant around others, to crave feeling protected and secure and wanted. You had learned to crush your opinions and needs in favour of self preservation, mechanisms that you still did regardless of the lack of threat and harm in Jackson. To have Oscar ask something as simple as your choice in a task at your workplace startled you.
"Oh," you squeak. You look over at the stacks of books by the counter. "Uhm, well...I'm really curious to see what new books we have."
Oscar gives a small laugh. "Yes, I thought as much. Well, I'll get started on painting and you can do the cataloguing. Sound good?"
You nod and can't help but smile. "Yeah. Where are you gonna start painting?"
"Well, I think that front door needs a new coat of lacquer," he says while he scratching his chin, his fingers on his beard making a rasping sound. "But all I have today is the paint, so I'm going to do the walls here out the front." He motions to the walls along the back of the front counter.
"That would be nice," you nod. Oscar bends down and picks up the paint tin before holding it at eye level to study the label.
"What'd you think of this? 'Light Summer Blue'," he announces with a grin. He looks at you and raises his eyebrows playfully. "Any good?"
You chuckle. "Lovely. It will surely lighten up the place. Maude kept the library pretty...."
"Dull?" Oscar offers. His head swivels around, surveying the surroundings. "Depressing?"
"Orderly." You finish. "Functional. She wasn't really concerned with creating a bright atmosphere."
Oscar hums and faces back to you. "Well, I reckon once you and I get started on this place, it'll look like a whole new library."
"Okay, then, let's do it."
You and Oscar spend the next three hours working diligently on your individual tasks. You talk, asking each other questions and learning bits and pieces of your journeys in this world. You learn that Oscar is in his early 40s and had lost his wife in the beginning of the apocalypse. He had survived in a QZ for a few years, then in the wild with different groups of survivors, until eventually stumbling into Jackson. He has now been in commune for five years.
It is so easy to converse with him. Conversation flows between you without awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. You still feel a little nervous at times, self conscious of appearing too sensitive or emotional, only offering details to trivial topics that didn't require you to discuss any kind of trauma. It was light. Oscar appears respectful, not pressing for more information than you give, instead asking you general questions about yourself.
Occasionally some of them stump you. It's foreign to you that someone cares enough to want to get to know you, to ask you so much about your likes and dislikes.
"My favourite time of year?" You repeat Oscar's question, tilting your head slightly in thought. "Well, that has to be spring. I love seeing the flowers blossom. Jackson looks really pretty in springtime."
You finish scrawling the name of the book laid out in front of you on the counter on a scrap of paper. You had recorded the details of more than twenty five books, and had categorised them according to their subjects. You drop the pencil on the paper and flex your fingers to ease the cramp that had began to ache your hand.
Oscar stands on the opposite side of the counter, his back to you while he moves the paint brush in long strokes over the wall. The blue paint proves to be a beautiful contrast to the ugly, dull brown colour that had covered the library interior for as long as you knew. It is almost hypnotic to watch the way Oscar's brush coats over the wall with the pretty new shade, as if cleansing the place.
"How about you?"
"I always liked Christmas time," he replies quietly. You clock the soft inflection in his voice, how it almost sounds sad. You still, silent as you watch him, wishing you could see his face in that instant and perhaps gauge some sort of reading on him in that moment. Your mind scrambles to think of another question to ask, but before you can say anything Oscar sighs and takes a step back from the wall to survey his handiwork.
"Well, it's getting there. I tell you what, all this work has made me hungry."
You glance at the clock on the wall and see it is just after noon. Lunch would be being served in the cafeteria now. You had been so preoccupied with the books and talking to Oscar that you hadn't even noticed the hunger slowly growing in your belly until now. He lays the paint brush on-top of the lid of the paint can and finally turns to face you. Your eyes flick to his face, surprised by the hopeful and shy twinkle in his dark brown eyes. He clears his throat.
"Uh...I was thinking...Would you like to go...to the mess hall and get some lunch with me?"
You can't recall the last time you had lunch with anyone besides your girlfriends. You hesitate, your thought automatically going to Joel. What would he say if he knew?
But you swift thwart the intrusive question; why should you care what Joel thinks? It doesn't matter any more. Not after the things he has said, the
What would be in the harm in going with Oscar?
"That would be nice," you respond softly. Oscar exhales a small breathy chuckle, like he's relieved by your answer.
You notice the flash of his straight teeth and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes, attributes that you think highlight his already striking appearance.
"Great, let's go," Oscar grins.
•••
He locks the library door behind you and tucks the key in his pants pocket before you walk side by side up the mainstreet towards the mess hall. You try to be conscious not to walk too quickly out of consideration for his injured ankle, but you can tell Oscar was is trying his best to maintain a steady pace.
"Sorry, I'm still a bit slow," he mumbles apologetically. "It's almost all healed up."
"There's no need to apologise." You give a little wave of dismissal. "It's nice not rushing. Especially on such a beautiful day."
And you were right. Rays of sunshine pour through clusters of dull white clouds while a gentle breeze cause the yellowing leaves on the ground to dance along the street. Birds tweet sweet symphonies from the tops of the trees and the aroma of baked goods float in the air.
The town centre is always vibrant with a flurry of activity, and you and Oscar watched the various community members going about their day. There are children kicking a worn ball around the street. There are some women on their way to the market with woven baskets tucked under their arms, as well as a group of patrolmen stalking towards the stables. There are others milling around the shop fronts that line the street. Witnessing the daily adventures of the residents of Jackson fills you with a sense of belonging and affection for the town you call home.
When you reach the mess hall Oscar hurries to grab the door handle and open the door for you to step through first. The gesture makes you smile. Oscar follows behind you, leaning over your shoulder to speak closer to your ear.
"Judging from the smell coming from the kitchen, I bet today's lunch is pumpkin soup. Smells a hell of alot better than the tuna casserole last week."
You giggle and weave inbetween the tables toward the bench you usually sit at with your friends. The hall is a little less than half full and primarily occupied by small groups of workers taking their lunch break.
"Sit down, I'll go get some lunch for us," Oscar encourages you. "You want some juice or something?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'm not really hungry," you mumble sheepishly, feeling your cheeks blush. "I'll eat a little though."
"Oh, no, that won't do," Oscar shakes his head. "You need a full meal. I'll see what they have. But promise you'll try eat as much as you can. Please?"
It's difficult to deny Oscar's request when his tone of voice is so tender, when the orbs of his eyes look so concerned behind the delicate rims of his round glasses. Without saying anything, you let out a small sigh of defeat and Oscar's face lights up in triumph.
"Attagirl," he grins. "Okay, be right back."
You watch after him as he makes his way through the clusters of tables towards the kitchen area. You smile to yourself. You hadn't made a new friend for a very long time, but the warmth between you and Oscar already has you feeling inspired. There is a a joyful hope inside your heart, a desire for more experiences and different opportunities, including new friendships.
A minute later Oscar returns from the lunch line carrying a tray with two bowls of pumpkin soup, two spoons, two rolls of bread, and a cup of orange juice. He walks slowly back to your table, concentrating on balancing the tray in his hands. You finds the small crease of his eyebrows and the way he bit his bottom lip as he focuses to be adorable.
When he approaches the table and sets the tray down carefully infront of you, he sighs dramatically with relief.
"Here we go. Sorry it isn't tuna casserole." Oscar pouts with feigned disappointment.
You snicker. Little swirls of steam rise from the bowls of soup before you, the delicious smell wafting up over you. "Looks like you were right - pumpkin soup."
You sit opposite each other and make small conversation as you eat, the words flowing between you easily, just like at the library. The soup was nourishing and tasty and you savoured it's flavour and texture unabashed, humming in appreciation every so often. You couldn't recall the last time you savoured a meal like this.
Suddenly a voice booms out from across the cafteria, a man calling out Oscar's name and interrupting a story he was telling you mid sentence. You both look up to the man who was trying to get Oscar's attention and saw it was Troy, one of Jackson's main patrolmen. He stands at the front door, grinning at Oscar.
"When are you comin' back to work, Baryshnikov?" Troy says good naturedly before heaving out a booming laugh. Oscar chuckles and shakes his head.
"Not until Tommy takes that damn rifle off your hands, you maniac!" Oscar shouts back.
The lighthearted teasing makes you giggle. You watch the interaction with amusement, enjoying the chance to see what Oscar is like when he socialised with others.
But your relaxed lunch date is completely shattered when Joel swaggers in through the door and comes to stand next to Troy, his features arranged into his usual scowl. Your breath catches in your throat and you freeze, unable to look away from him. Your stomach drops. Unexpectedly running into Joel was now something you dreaded, especially after he ambushed you last night.
And here in this moment you are in the company of another man, a scenario you had never been in before. What would Joel think?
Joel's dark puppy dog eyes sweep the cafeteria stoically. Your heart beat speeds up, thumping in your heart. It all seems to happen in slow motion. Your instincts scream at you to run, to escape so he doesn't see you, but you can't move.
When Joel's eyes land on you, time seems to stop all together. Your eyes lock for what seems like forever, but in reality it's only a couple of seconds. You can immediately recognise the moment when realisation hits him, the reality that you are sitting alone with Oscar, another man, and eating lunch together.
You notice the shift in Joel's body language, signs that were perhaps imperceptible to anyone but you; the subtle darkening in his eyes, the irritated tick of his jaw, the way his fists clench and unclench at his sides.
You wonder what he must be thinking, what thoughts are running wild in his mind. You guess he would be livid - you're well aware of his possessive streak, not to mention the old fashioned views he held about women and men socialising.
Oscar greets Joel with a casual two finger wave, oblivious to the tension between you and Joel. Joel gives him a nod of acknowledgement in return. Your hands figet nervously in your lap as you watch the interaction.
Troy slapped a hand on Joel's shoulder and jerked his head towards the kitchen.
"Let's get some grub before patrol," Troy tells Joel, slapping a hand on his shoulder. You can't hear what Joel says to him in response, he spins around and stalks back to the door. Before pushing it open and leaving, Joel pauses to glance back at you. The piercing coldness swimming in his orbs causes your stomach to roil, your lunch turning sour inside your guts. pool in your stomach.
Something tells you that you were going to regret having lunch with your new friend.
•••
From the beginning of the end of the world, after Sarah had died, Joel was a broken man. The agony of losing his only child, the only shining light of happiness in his life, had planted a seed of hate inside his soul that rooted itself and festered. The sorrow never eased, not even with time to dull the sharpness of memories.
Instead, the deeply entrenched hatred spurred him to tear things and people apart, to destroy them. He wanted everyone left in this fucked up world to hurt just as he did - irrevocably. Simply, Joel lost his sense of humanity.
He survived through the years by using brutality and violence, carving out a widespread infamy as a raider that incited fear in the neighbouring settlements and QZs. Joel repressed any emotion he felt would make him weak or unfocused. He abused pills and alcohol to quell the nightmares of Sarah and help numb himself from the hellish reality of surviving the end of the world.
Ellie had been the only person to penetrate Joel's exterior and piece back together some of the shattered remains of his heart. She had been the only person Joel showed any kind of vulnerability to and the depth of his love for her was immeasurable. It was partly this relationship that had convinced the townsfolk of Jackson that they could accept and trust Joel. The fact that he was a caring and attentive father to Ellie, in addition to Tommy Miller's older brother, made his entry into Jackson relatively smooth.
Joel was not a good man. He knew that. He never pretended to be anything otherwise, but he did keep his true nature just barely hidden under a facade. A facade that allowed him to assimilate without being asked too many questions. In a very short time he had proved himself as a valuable asset with his intellect and exemplary hunting and survival skills. He quickly became one of the lead patrolmen, alongside Tommy and two other men.
The boys and men in the town aspired to be like Joel and he effortlessly commanded respect from them. Tommy had begged him to accept the role as a sort of teacher to the younger men and boys, which Joel agreed to after much grumbling and complaining. He taught them self defence tactics, helped them perfect their shooting skills, and trained them how to properly skin a deer.
The women admired Joel's good looks and the doting father role he played to Ellie. When he first came to Jackson some of the women asked Tommy and Maria to play matchmaker and set them up on dates with Joel, but he wasn't interested. Tommy would just shrug his shoulders in bewilderment.
Joel could admit to himself that there were several attractive women in the town. Sure, there were some pretty faces, cute women who would giggle and wave to him across the bar, some shapely bodies that sashayed around the town centre begging for the attention of a rugged patrolman. But none of them sparked anything more than a sexual desire in him, a need that he could easily fulfill by jerking himself off in the privacy of his own home.
At the QZ Joel had semi frequent encounters with sex workers. Most of them were desperate women addicted to the pills he smuggled, something he used to his advantage. He enjoyed seeing them fall on their knees begging for a fix in exchange for a blowjob or a fuck. The power and control he yielded over them was thrilling to Joel. He didn't mistreat them - but he also felt nothing for them, only viewing them as warm holes he could fuck his frustrations into.
Tess had been the only woman he had ever trusted. She had wanted more, had yearned for a romantic relationship with him, but Joel could not give her any more than platonic partnership. There was simply no room in his heart for it. By the time he had arrived in Jackson, Joel had given up on the idea of having a woman in his life, even just as a sexual partner.
Until he met you.
The first time he saw you, he and Ellie had only been in Jackson for two days. He was standing with Tommy, Maria and Ellie in the main street near the cafeteria, only half listening to them discuss the layout of the town and the movie screening that night in the town hall. He was still on high alert, still hesitant to trust anyone, his eyes sweeping over the environment and the people around them.
You were walking down the street with one of your girlfriends. The two of you were chatting and laughing with a carefree kind of joy that Joel had thought no longer existed in this world. You wore a yellow sundress and a matching ribbon in your hair, a baby blue cardigan pulled modestly around your chest.
When Joel first saw your face he felt his breath catch in his throat. Your smile was beautiful - pure and bouyant. Your eyes were alight with a playful kind of glee, something sort of childish and charming. The physical attraction hit him like a thunderbolt, so overwhelming and so unforeseen that he froze in place, unable to look away from you as you passed by. His eyes roved all over you, from head to toe, and suddenly he felt the coil of primal hunger twist in his stomach.
You had glimpsed Joel as you and your girlfriend pranced past. You had locked eyes with him briefly and he immediately knew you felt something too - he could see it in the blush of your cheeks, the shy little smile you flashed him, the way you lowered your gaze bashfully.
He watched the swell of your ass and the sway of your hips as you walked away, his dick twitching at the sight. It was only when you disappeared into the canteen that he snapped out of his stupor and returned back to reality.
Joel was thankful that Ellie and Maria were too preoccupied with their conversation to notice the interaction between you two. But when he finally tore his eyes away from you he found Tommy already watching him, his expression unreadable.
Over the course of the following year, he collected bits and pieces of information about you from Ellie, as well as from conversations he overheard at the Tipsy Bison. He learned that you helped out at the school as a teacher's assistant a few days a week, some days as a cleaner. You came to Jackson when you were young. You had no family with you. He came to know you were not outspoken or loud like some of your friends. You were well liked by others, particularly the children and elderly ladies.
Whenever you happened to be at the same place at the same time as him, Joel surreptitiously observed you. Sometimes you were alone, going to and from work, sometimes you were with your girlfriends. To his satisfaction, he never saw you with any man.
Joel never allowed himself to really analyse just why he was so attracted to you. You were pretty, that's for sure. But there was something unexplainable that made you particularly attractive, a vulnerable sweetness about you that he found tantalising. A softness that made him want to consume you.
Joel had never experienced such a strong infatuation before. Despite this, there was no way he would try to pursue you; he had no reason to approach you or even talk to you, especially when you were so much younger than him. For the next four years he repressed his hunger, having to be content with opportunistic sightings of you, like a boy with a school crush.
Until one day Ellie came bounding over to him, a grin plastered on her face. She was so excited to tell him about a comic she scored from the teacher at the school. When she said your name his heart skipped a beat, though he kept his face as impassive as ever. Ellie wanted to introduce you to Joel, and although he protested, she managed to drag him to the school to formally meet you.
She was enthralled by your knowledge of books and comics, your passion for baking, the random bits of animals facts you'd accumulated over the years. She quickly developed an affection for you, Joel suspecting she viewed you as a sort of surrogate older sister.
You were so shy you could hardly make eye contact with him when you talked to him for the first time. His cock twitched in his pants when you said his name. He was never a big talker and inwardly he was so nervous to finally be in your presence, but he attempted conversation with you for Ellie's sake.
After that initial meeting you began to visit their home occasionally, always with one of your home made cakes or biscuits or banana bread. You were so generous and fucking domesticated, already a little housewife in the making. It was so very difficult for Joel to remain calm and casual during these visits. If not for Ellie's presence, he probably would have held you down on the floor and fucked the shit out of you the very first time you showed up on his doorstep.
But somehow he repressed his true desires, hiding them under a pretence of polite detachment whenever he saw you. He would offer you a gruff greeting and a few words of conversation all while covertly undressing you with his eyes.
After only a handful of these encounters Joel could discern that you had developed feelings for him. He noticed the lingering glances you would give when you thought he wasn't looking. He noticed how you'd blush whenever your eyes met his for more than a second. He clocked the way you'd stare at his hands at times, as if you were mesmerised.
Joel had managed to control his urges for three months after that first meeting.
Then one evening you stopped by when Ellie was out. You held a basket of muffins on your hip, your dress clinging to your body from the sticky summer humidity, a hopeful and hungry look in your eyes. Joel had seduced you in his kitchen that night, and ever since you had both been addicted to each other.
Because Joel had already mentally staked his claim over you, his urge to control you materialised rather quickly. He recognised early on that he needed to be somewhat gentle - atleast in the beginning. He had to be charming enough that you wouldn't be frightened away. He needed to be just the right amount of tender so that you wouldn't want to leave.
And so little by little, Joel sunk his teeth deeper into your flesh and tightened his hold on your heart. And soon, even the mere thought of losing you had made his pulse quicken and his head buzz with panic. He fell for you just as quickly as you had for him, but there was so no way he could ever admit it, to you or to himself.
Admitting his feelings for you would be acknowledging he was capable of emotions, and that he could be weak. It would surely be tempting fate, too. Surely something would go wrong, like you dying somehow.
Just like Sarah did. Just like Tess did.
So in an act of self preservation, Joel kept his true feelings locked away, deep inside himself. He would derail any conversation you tried to make about romance or relationships, making the excuse that he didn't want to disturb Ellie's life in any way. He would secretly relish the crestfallen expression on your face before fucking you senseless. He would placate you with amazing orgasms so you wouldn't mind so much that your heart was slowly being chipped away.
This strategy had worked quite well. Until recently.
Joel was totally unprepared for your speech that night of the dance. He had expected you to come to his home and fuck him, but he hadn't expected you to blurt out your feelings so candidly. You had caught him off guard and he didn't know how to respond to your open heart.
So Joel defaulted to being cruel, to shutting you down. Amittedly he was alot more heartless than he had intended to be, than he should have been. He knew you wanted more from him, things he just wasn't capable of giving you. He figured your little tantrum would pass - you were bound to realise how dramatic and ridiculous you were being and you would nestle right back underneath him, where you belonged. You just needed some time.
Joel knew your body so well. How you would feel so eager and needy and overcome with yearning to be full of him. Joel himself was so intoxicated by your own body and the control you allowed him that he was often overzealous in his actions. He would be so consumed by lust and the need to dominate you that the movement of his hips quickly became punishing, and the grip of his large hands became rougher and more careless.
He pushed through your boundaries with no remorse or care for your comfort. He forced you to forfeit your autonomy again and again. But it didn't matter. He always made you come, always assuaged the hurt with intense pleasure. The exchange of pleasure and pain was what you craved; you would have let him do just about anything to you.
The thought of you allowing anyone else that privilege made him feel demented with jealousy and rage.
When Joel saw you sitting with Oscar in the cafeteria at lunch time he couldn't automatically decipher just what was happening before his eyes. In the time Joel had known you, you never socialised so openly with men, and certainly not with any men like Oscar. To witness you sitting and eating lunch with an older patrolman - one of his colleagues, no less - had bewildered Joel. It took a few seconds for the shock to dissipate.
And then the flame of anger ignited in his stomach and instantly engulfed his whole being. It travelled up his spine and licked at his neck, his skin prickling in agitation. It surged through his arms and into his fists like an electric current.
It took all his might to stop from striding over to the table and punching Oscar in the face. It took all his restraint from notnthen dragging you out of the place by your hair. Despite his possessive obsession with you, he had never truly believed you would have the confidence or desire to actually leave him, or find someone else.
Joel was good at hiding his feelings. He had been practicing it for many years now. His patrol partner had no inkling of the storm raging inside Joel when he said he would skip lunch and go check the log books.
No one could've guessed.
Except perhaps you.
You'd known Joel well enough by now to know when he was displeased. You also knew that your actions would have consequences. But your audacity was what shocked and angered him the most right now. What the fuck did you think you were doing? How dare you sit with a man in public like that, let alone someone older than you? And another fucking patrolman, at that.
When he walked outside and eventually regulated his breathing, when he successfully constrained the rage threatening to spill from his mouth and hands, he could think clearly once again. He had to figure out what to do. Maybe you just needed a reminder of who you belong to, who owns you.
•••
After lunch you and Oscar returned to the library and resumed working on your individual tasks, although the fullness in your belly had dulled your productivity and gusto. Oscar continued to paint the wall beside the front door, humming quietly to himself whenever conversation between you lulled.
There were gaps of comfortable silence as you both worked, neither of you finding it necessary to fill the quiet, instead just basking in the peaceful afternoon of the library.
It was hard for you to concentrate on anything for very long when your mind kept returning to Joel and how he looked in the cafeteria. What could he have been feeling in that moment? What could he have been thinking? You wonder if he misses you at all.
But that shouldn't matter, should it? You aren't together anymore. Why should you care what he thinks, after how he's hurt you so?
It was just after 3.30pm when you finished the last of the cataloguing and shelving. You leaned against a book shelf and tried to stifle a yawn unsuccessfully. You heard Oscar chuckle.
You looked over to see him watching you from his position by the wall, his hands on his hips. He had taken off his sweater and was now wearing a crumpled grey tshirt with daubs of paint here and there. You could see the curve of his biceps peeking out from under the sleeves of his shirt, displaying his smooth olive skin.
"Bit sleepy over there?" He grinned.
You smiled bashfully and just nodded, then stretched your arms out to your sides and sighed wearily. Oscar turned back to the wall and looked it up and down.
"Well, I think that's enough for today. Gotta let these walls dry."
He packed up the tin of paint and went to the small sink in the storeroom to wash the paintbrush. You walked over to the freshly painted walls by the counter and appraised Oscar's work. He had done very well considering he had no paint roller and only a simple large wooden handled paint brush. Such a task required quite a bit of patience and dedication, you mused.
"What do ya think?" Oscar asked when he reappeared from the storeroom, wiping his hands clean with a rag.
"It looks great," you said with sincerity. "It already makes the library look so much brighter."
Oscar tossed the rag onto the counter and came to stand beside you. He was so close you could smell the natural scent of his skin intermingled with his sweat and a faint hint of something you thought was like cinnamon.
"Mm," he murmured softly, his eyes wandering over the expanse of the wall. "It does. You don't think the colour is too much, do you?"
You studied his face for a brief moment, taking in his features; the prominent shape of his nose, the distinct thickness of his eyebrows, the pensive downturn of his lips. He was so unassumingly beautiful. The sober expression of his face coupled with the tone of genuine concern in his voice was quite endearing.
"I think Light Summer Blue is perfect," you replied with a playful little smile.
Oscar glanced at you and huffed a breathless chuckle of mirth. You and Oscar surveyed his handiwork for a few more moments before he gave a soft sigh.
"Ready to call it a day?" He asked gently.
"Yep," you replied quietly.
Oscar gestured to the front door with his hand and you both ambled toward it. There was a palpable shift of energy in the air now, a reserved shyness between you two, as if you both wanted to linger yet neither knew what to say.
Neither of you spoke as you and Oscar stepped outside, or as he shut the door closed behind him and locked it with the key. He pocketed the key, turned to face you, and then cleared his throat.
"Thank you." Oscar said quietly. His eyes wandered from the ground up to your face. "For today. For being such good company, I mean. I haven't...I hope you had a good day."
"I did," you replied truthfully. "Thank you, Oscar. I'm glad we could work together."
Oscar gave you a small smile and you were sure you could detect a slight glimmer of hope in his expression. It was a kind of yearning you were sure mirrored the one you kept locked in your own heart - a desire for friendship, for understanding and companionship, for affection.
When you said farewell for the day and parted ways, turning to walk in the opposite directions of your homes, you wondered what was going through Oscar's mind at that moment.
•••
You really have to do some laundry. You have been too lazy to go to the laundromat this week, and now your dirty clothes pile is getting bigger. You rummage through your drawers now to try to find a clean pair of underwear to last you another day. You really wish you could find that comfortable pink pair you have - it is also the prettiest one you own, although it's nothing fancy. You haven't seen it for ages, come to think of it. You huff with annoyance at the thought that it may have been lost or forgotten at the laundromat.
You eventually find something acceptable and slip it on before dressing in your sleep wear. It's not yet dark but you like relaxing as soon as you get home. You've already decided to forgo dinner at the dining hall - you have enough leftover soup for tonight's meal, and you don't want to be around people. Kate has come to know that outside your work routine your habits align with your moods, and sometimes you need space to unwind. She will probably check in with you tomorrow, though. She really is such a good friend, you think.
You still remember the first time you two had met. Two young girls brimming with curiosity and unsureness of the world around them. A mutual interest in marbles and books and animals. In usual Kate fashion she had spoken to you first, not conscious at all to strike up a conversation about the beautiful horse she saw trotting through the town centre that morning. She was able to coax you out of your shy shell so quickly with her sparkling eyes and wide smile, and soon you were telling her your name and all about a book you read called Black Beauty.
You smile at the memory, how innocent it was. Compared to the harrowing reality of the world outside the community gates, Jackson was heaven on earth, a safe haven where families could grow and live in relative peace. Your found family of girlfriends and your contribution to the community was what kept you afloat in this life. And deep down inside your heart, so was the hope that one day you too could have your own family.
•••
That night you curl up on your couch, a cup of herbal tea balanced on the arm rest as you read a battered copy of Wuthering Heights. The glow of your lounge room lamp casts a mellow ambience around you, making you feel cosy and content even without a blanket covering your bare legs. You need to make the most of these evenings, for soon the crisp evenings will give away to chilly weather and you will have to use your fireplace.
You are so engrossed in your reading that the two solid knocks at your door startle you, making you jump. Your elbow almosts knock your tea off the arm rest and you have to steady it before it topples over.
No one knocks on your door at night. It is rare for you to have night time visitors - except for Joel, ofcourse. But Joel never appears at your front door. No, he usually skulks in through the laundry door, and usually when you're expecting him.
Not anymore though. You have started locking the laundry door again.
You slink off the couch and go to the front door, but when you reach for the latch you stop short. You feel vulnerable all of a sudden, like your sleep shorts and t shirt are too revealing for company. It could be anyone outside - maybe Maria, maybe Tommy. Maybe you should go to your room and change.
You shift on your feet, debating for a few seconds. Then there comes three heavy raps on the wood of your door, impatient and imposing. It could be urgent, whatever the matter is. Tou forgo the idea of changing and decide to open up and see who it is.
When you unlock the latch and swing the door open, you are taken aback to find Joel standing before you. He frowns down at you, his dark eyes cold with sullen irritation, his jaw clenched tightly.
"Joel," you gasp, holding a hand to your chest. "What are you doing here?"
"Need to talk to you," he mutters. You are about to speak but he shoulders his way past you, forcing your back against the door as he lets himself into your home.
Talk? Joel has never wanted to talk in the whole time you've known him. He isn't the kind to want to discuss anything. A pitiful flicker of hope stirs inside your heart that maybe he wants to talk about his feelings, that maybe he finally wants to open up and reconsider the potential of a real relationship with you.
He comes to stand in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, the glow from the lamp highlighting his his hawkish scowl amongst the shadows of the room. You shut the door and follow him with hesitant steps, stopping still just a few feet away.
"What did you want to talk about?" You ask gently, trying to tamper down the anxiety that has started to simmer in your tummy. You eye him warily, taking in the tense set of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw. "Are you--"
"What was that today, in the mess hall?" Joel snaps without any preamble. He pins you with a tense glare, his jaw ticking like he's trying to keep composed. He looks pissed, all the repressed anger from the mess hall now free, unstrained now you and he are alone in your living room.
Ofcourse that is what he wants to talk about. You know that he's angry about you and Oscar in the mess hall - you could sense it, could see it with your own eyes immediately. You have bared the brunt of his possessive attitude before - the interrogation sessions he'd put you through whenever you'd spent time at the Tipsy Bison with your friends, the subsequent punishment of rough fucking and gruelling, sloppy blowjobs.
But it isn't Joel's concern who you spend time with any more, and you don't need to justify your actions to him any longer. You just sigh and cross your arms, avoiding meeting his eyes. Your silence serves to infuriate him even more.
"Tell me!" He barks impatiently. "What the hell were you doing with Estrada?"
His harsh tone and booming voice make you flinch, still unable to hold his gaze. "We were just having lunch, Joel," you speak quietly.
"You goin' and havin' lunch with just anyone now?" Joel scoffs, his tone sour and mocking.
You want to argue that Oscar had asked you to lunch, that it wasn't even your idea, you just accepted it to be polite. But that wasn't quite true, because you had wanted to go, hadn't you? And you had really enjoyed it, too. You liked Oscar.
"We work together," you explain softly, finally glancing up at him. "And we decided to get lunch on our break. That's all."
Joel's eyebrows knit together in a confused frown. "Workin' together? At the school?"
"No. At the library."
Joel is silent for a few seconds as the information sinks in. "Wait," he hisses, his lip curling into a snarl. "You're alone with him in that fuckin' library?"
"What do you want from me, Joel?" You snap back. "Maria organised it - not me. It's my work duty."
"You've never worked with a man before," Joel's voice is low and measured.
It is a statement that doesn't need your confirmation, but the way he says it sounds almost accusatory - like you're lying, like he's caught you out in some kind of deceitful trap.
He takes a couple of slow strides toward you, his shadow looming behind him, menacing and tall. You try your hardest not to let your face betray just how intimidated you feel inwardly, but you are sure he can see it in your face. He always can.
"So what?" Joel growls, now standing right before you. He scowls down at you, his dark brown eyes alight with jealous rage. "He your new daddy now? Is that it?"
You stare back up at him, willing yourself to be brave enough not to shrink away from him despite the dangerous energy suffocating the small space separating you. You swallow thickly and shake your head solemnly.
"You let him fuck you?" He asks in a gravelled whisper.
Your face scrunches up in disgust. "No, Joel. We are work colleagues, that's all. But you and I aren't partners, remember?" You tilt your head slightly to the side, a minuscule part of you enjoying the way you are finally challenging Joel. "So it really isn't any of your business, Joel."
And that's what makes him lose it.
"The fuck it ain't!" He shouts. His hand strikes out to grab a fist full of your hair at the back of your head, using it to yank you close, forcing you to look into his eyes. You gasp, wincing at the stinging pull of your scalp.
"You belong to me," Joel grits out, giving your head a tight shake to emphasise his point. You cry out in pain, tears springing to your eyes "Everything you do is my fuckin' business. Do you understand?"
You let out a cracked sob, desperately wishing you could escape from his iron grip. Joel is so close to your face that you can smell the whiskey on his breath and the mixed scent of gunpowder and pine clinging to his clothes. His eyes bore into yours, steely with cold ire. You cannot recall ever seeing him like this before, so consumed by his own jealousy and wrath. It frightens you to your very core.
Before you can protest he lets go of your hair and shoves you backward so you fall onto the couch. You fall onto your ass with a thud and stare up at his imposing figure, your body now beginning to tremble with fear. You aren't entirely sure what he has planned, but with the way he clenches and unclences his hands you guess it won't be anything gentle.
"Get out," you croak out, sounding more confident than you truly feel. "I mean it, Joel."
"Who do you think you are?" Joel questions you sharply, incredulous that you are talking back to him and demanding something of him that you have never done before. "Callin' the shots all of a sudden, tellin' me what to do?"
Telling him what to do?
You have never had a say in what happens between you and Joel. You had silently accepted defeat and dismissed your own feelings and emotional needs time and time again. And now you have challenged the dynamic for the first time, he thinks you're trying to tell him what to do?
A renewed wave of heartache abruptly crashes into you, reminding you just how you two came to be in this situation. You shake your head at him, unable to stop your face crumpling with pitiful sadness. "I'm not calling any shots. I don't belong to you anymore."
"That so?" Joel challenges, raising his eyebrows. "Guess I have to give you a little reminder, then."
Before you can react his hands are on you in an instant. They roughly sieze hold of your sleep shorts, almost tearing the fabric. You squeal and try to kick him away, but he wrenches them down and off your legs before throwing them onto the floor.
"Joel, what're you doing?" You shriek, struck with horror and shame to be naked from the waist down infront of him. You scramble to stand up, intent on running, but he pushes you back down effortlessly, as if he's swatting a fly.
"I said you need a reminder of who the fuck you belong to," he drawls, voice rough as gravel, his eyes still trained on you. "Lie down."
You suddenly feel dizzy, like your whole world is tilting on an axis. A sickening feeling of dread swells and surges in your tummy.
Before you can react he takes hold of one of your thighs and effortlessly flips you over onto your stomach. You feel his huge hand press down heavily on the middle of your back, pinning you to the couch. You feel the dip of the couch as he settles behind you, wedging one knee inbetween your thighs and forcing your legs open.
The cool air hits your pussy and you shiver. You hate how utterly powerless you are in this position, and the fact you're half naked only exacerbates your vulnerability. Joel can basically do whatever he wants with you when you're prone, his larger body essentially blanketing your frame.
You gasp and plead for him to stop, but he ignores you. Your body jolts when you feel Joel stroke the back of his knuckles over your folds, a caresss that is a stark contrast to the oppressive hand on your back. You try to squirm away from his touch but you simply can't. Even though he's touched you like this so many times before, it feels so wrong.
Another plea dies in your throat when Joel splays your pussy lips open between his fingers, opening you wide and exposing your pussy hole. Shame engulfs you immediately, completely consuming you despite the fact Joel already knows your body more intimately than anyone else ever has.
"This right here? That's mine." You hear Joel drawl from above you.
You feel his weight shift on the couch behind you before he bends down to spit a large wad of warm saliva directly on your hole. You yelp at the unexpected sensation and shut your eyes tightly, embarrassment heating your cheeks.
"And only mine to fuck."
He withdraws his hand from you, then you hear the clinking sound of his hand working his belt open, and his zipper going down. Your heart sinks. You remember the words he spoke just a minute ago, about you needing a reminder of who you belong to.
You don't want this - you can't possibly give your body to him now, not after being interrogated, and certainly not through force. You may be used to Joel getting what he wants from you, but it is different this time. This isn't a harmless game of sexual domination; this is your dignity, your spirit, and he's close to breaking it beyond repair.
"Please," you squeak out in panic. "Please, don't."
He ignores you. You feel the round, warm head of his cock push against your opening. You press your palms flat on the couch and try with all your might to rear up to buck him off of you, but there is no use; Joel feels like an impossibly huge, heavy weight on your back.
"Big stretch, baby," he cooes.
"Joel, no, please!" You beg, louder.
You hate taking Joel when you're unprepared. It usually happens when he's been too impatient to claim you, too distracted by his need to blow off steam to properly prep you. You need his fingers to stretch you out, or atleast his tongue to help you relax a little, before you can comfortably take him inside you. When that hasn't happened and he bypasses foreplay completely, you are left whimpering and gritting your teeth from the way your delicate skin tears and your insides feel pulverised by the impressive length and girth of his dick.
You seem to stop breathing when Joel first feeds the head of his cock into your pussy. The initial stab of him entering you is sharp and burning, making your pelvic muscles spasm around him in response. Your hands instinctively dig into the couch material beaneath you, your whole body vibrating.
Joel mutters a curse under his breath and lets out a low groan. His blunt tip already feels impossibly fat just sitting inside your opening. You try to breathe through the ache of him stretching you but when he shifts his hips and sinks his length further inside you inhale a pained gasp.
"What's the matter, baby?" Joel practically purrs above you, a taunting edge to his tone. "You already forgot how good I stretch you out?"
"Stop," you pant out, breathless and pained. "Joel, please stop."
But he doesn't.
You let out a peircing cry when Joel slides the rest of his cock into your tight heat until his hips are flush with your ass and his balls rest against the lips of your pussy. The sensation of him so deeply seated within you is agony; the heavy pressure of him causes your walls to throb and your stomach to churn.
"Fuck," Joel moans. He keeps your torso anchored to the couch with his hand on your upper back while the other delivers a sharp smack to your ass. "Always feel so good around me."
He doesn't wait for your body to adjust before he starts fucking in and out of you with hard, measured thrusts. You wail with each deliberate, weighted punch of his cock, feeling like he is parting your insides and carving a space inside you. You know for certain he isn't trying to grant you any pleasure with the way his cockhead rams up into your cervix.
"Really feeling it now, aren't you baby?" Joel squeezes the flesh of your ass cheek in his rough hand. "I want you to remember this the next time you even look at another man."
Your groans spill from your throat, guttural and uncontrolled as his cock stretches your cunt over and over, sawing in and out of you without ever losing momentum. Your stomach muscles cramp and your ribcage aches to the point that it hurts for you to breathe properly. Your body sags into the couch beaneath him as if you are boneless, the onslaught of his thrusts too powerful for your body to brace against any longer.
You feel like a play toy, nothing more than a lifeless doll for Joel to fuck senseless. It seems to go on and on with no end in sight. Joel's stamina can be impressive when he purposely prolongs his pleasure, but you don't know what his intentions are right now. You don't know if he is just wanting to use you and cum, or if he wants to cause you pain and punish you for as long as he can.
Your mind goes blank and floaty, your vision hazy. You don't even register that you're drooling. You can no longer hear Joel's grunts and moans, or the faint wet squelch of your pussy being pummelled. You lose all sense of time.
Then without warning you are being rolled over onto your back. Your head lolls as your muddled brain tries to to catch up with what is happening to you. Your eyes roll, struggling to focus on the blurry sight of Joel above you. Locks of his hair stick to his sweaty forehead and his cheeks are flushed from exertion.
He doesn't look at your face as he swiftly repositions himself between your thighs and hikes one of your legs up onto his shoulder.
He quickly plunges his cock back inside you with one deft stroke. A throaty moan escapes your mouth and your back arches involuntarily.
"Suckin' me right back in," Joel rumbles, staring down to watch himself disappear inside you. "Pussy needs me, don't she?"
You expect him to resume using you, but this new position has Joel changing his pace. Instead of fucking you like he's punishing you, Joel rolls his hips in steady circles, dragging his length in and out of your cunt in a delicious rhythm that has you moaning softly in pleasure rather than pain.
Despite wanting so much more than this game of submission and dominance, you couldn't deny the animalistic arousal beginning to stir in your belly. Your body had become so conditioned to crave his fingers and his cock and his mouth. You are becoming more wet now. You hear it and smell it.
Joel wraps his hand firmly around your neck, not quite choking you yet, and flexes his fingers. The possessive action snaps your attention onto his face; you can finally focus on him now, the dark animalistic look of his hooded eyes and the scrunch of his brow, the way his lips part as he pants and groans, the vein straining in his thick, tanned neck. He looks like a Roman god above you, so strong and formidable, so irrefutably handsome. When his eyes lock with yours you feel his fingers tighten around your throat.
"Mine," he growls out.
The angle of this position has his cockhead tapping against your gspot with every wind of his hips. You whimper and moan, your body now overcome with shocks of pleasure that pulse through your core. When Joel reaches down and uses two of his thick fingers to rub tight circles over your clit, that pleasure intensifies in a way that turns you into a keening mess.
"Want you to come for me," Joel pants. "Come for me, you little bitch."
Joel's hand presses further against your throat, robbing you of air and making your eyes roll back into your head. Your orgasm builds quickly, making your pussy flutter around his girth with every stroke. Your bliss soon reaches its peak and your climax crashes into you, causing your body to shudder and shake from its force.
"Fuck yes," Joel snaps his hips faster now, starting to chase his own orgasm. "That's it, baby, milk my fuckin' dick."
He slides his hands up under your shirt to roughly grope your tits. You whine and moan, still incapacitated by the sheer intensity of your ecstasy. His movements become savage once more as he uses your body for his fill, drilling into you like a voracious beast. You feel his dick swell inside you before he abruptly pulls out of you.
Joel quickly pumps his dick with his fist before shooting warm spurts of cum onto your pussy. He groans loudly, his chest heaving as he empties his spend onto you like a dog marking its territory. You mewl, your clit tingling with every droplet that splatters down.
When he's finally done he heaves himself off your couch, staggering back to tuck himself back into his jeans. Your leg drops down like a lead weight, your body finally free but totally drained from your orgasm. Your head rolls to the side and you look up at Joel as he zips and buckles back up. The anger seems to have disappeared, his features so much more softer now, his brow more relaxed and his jaw no longer clenched.
An unexpected pang shoots through your heart to see him like this. This beautiful Joel, unburdened by aggression and emotion, so masculine and striking. You still love him. You still crave him. Tears begin to well in your eyes.
You open your mouth to speak, to say something you will inevitably regret, like how much you still feel for him, but your words die in your throat when he turns away to swagger to the front door. He doesn't even deign to look at you when he calls to you over his shoulder.
"Next time I see you with another man, I'm gonna ruin your pretty little asshole."
He slams the door shut behind him when he exits, leaving you tainted with his cum and your heart swollen with sadness.
summary: you decide to tell Joel your true feelings, but he forces you to walk away with a broken heart.
tw: degradation, slut shaming, noncon fingering, light choking.
word count: 8k
masterlist
Almost everyone in the Jackson community were in attendance at the barn dance tonight. Children of all ages were playing and running around the town hall and the streets of Jackson, the crisp autumn air filled with their laughter and the sound of country music playing. The adults danced in pairs on the hardwood floor space of the town hall as a small group of community members with different musical instruments played country tunes. Others stood around the floor drinking cider and beer and talking about the upcoming harvest, how mild the weather had been lately, and how Jackson needed more reasons to celebrate like this more often. It was 8pm and the festive spirit of the night had just begun.
You and your friends sat at one of the round tables dotted around the town hall, glasses of punch littering the table. Your eyes followed the couples gliding around the dance floor as you all spoke. The men and women looked so cheerful as they moved in sync to the music, their actions appearing automatic and effortless, the joy in their smiles and laughs undeniably infectious to the other town folk who were watching from the sidelines. Most of them were married couples but some of them were domestic partners, ranging in age from late teenagers right up to the most senior members of the community.
The courtship and reproductive aspects of the circle of life were crucial points of interest for many people in Jackson. Despite the hardships of the reality of the end of the world, life within the walls of the Jackson commune were quite simple; everyone was assigned jobs to ensure the town functioned successfully, people dated and married and had children, and everyone had a role to fulfil regardless of their skill level.
Your own dreams and hopes for the future were quite traditional. You wanted a life partner who would compliment you perfectly, someone to have children with and grow old with. You had lost your parents when you were only a child and the grief had rooted itself inside your heart, carving a deep well of sadness and insecurity within you.
Your yearning for the security of your own family had grown vehemently recently, perhaps punctuated by some of the milestones achieved within your friendship circle - an engagement, a wedding, a new baby.
Your smile curls against the lip of the glass as you take a sip of punch. You had enjoyed the company of your girlfriends, laughing with them and listening to their animated gossip. But there was only one person you wanted to dance with.
And he was never going to indulge you in that desire.
He wasn't at the dance tonight. In fact, he never attended any of the social events in town. He hated socialising any more than he had to. This was evident in the way he carried himself during day to day life living in Jackson; stalking wordlessly to and from his patrolling shifts and eating times at the mess hall, a scowl permanently etched on his face.
His name was Joel Miller. Considerably older than you, father to a teenage daughter, and one of the head patrolmen of the community.
His brother Tommy and his daughter, Ellie, seemed to be the only people who knew Joel well. You did, too, although you knew a different Joel to the one anyone else did. And you knew he wouldn't be at the dance tonight, nor would he be overly happy that you were there.
You glanced at the large clock perched on the hall wall. It was getting late. You should really get going - Joel would be waiting for you.
And Joel hated to be kept waiting.
You made a half hearted excuse of feeling tired to your friends. You slipped out of the town hall, leaving behind the cheer and festivity. You trekked to Joel's house under the cloak of the night sky, making sure to avoid the main street.
When you approach the side door of his house the butterflies in your belly were fluttering with anticipation. Even though your clandestine meetings had been happening for the past 8 months, you still felt the swoop of excitement every time you were going to see him.
You wonder if Joel feels the same eagerness you do.
Your feelings for him ran deep in your heart and soul - truthfully, you had been in love with him since the very first time you allowed him to devour you. You had never voiced these feelings though. You knew Joel never wanted a relationship, never wanted anything official, although your affection for him was clear. Clear in the way you cuddled up to him after sex, how you baked muffins and banana bread for he and Ellie, how you buried your face in his chest after he returned from a rough patrol shift, the mesmerised, pained look in your eyes when he pounded into you.
You wore your heart on your sleeve. Joel, on the other hand, was always stoic. He would evade all of your attempts at serious conversation, pacifying you with gruff cuddles and mumbled snippets of affection. Your heart was constantly on the verge of breaking, but you couldn't help being tied to him, your body and brain both addicted to him in the alluring and unexplainable haze of chemical, animalistic attraction, the innate need to be protected and fucked and owned by an older, domineering man. If only you could've chosen one more kinder than Joel Miller.
Just a few days earlier you had made the decision that tonight would be the night you confess your feelings to him. Tonight would be when you laid all your cards on the table and ask Joel to be with you, officially.
•••
Doing your best to swallow the anxiety rising in your chest, you stand infront of his door and pause for a minute to gather some courage. You then rap on his door lightly with your knuckles, waiting a few moments before opening the door and slinking inside.
You shut the door behind you and creep into the living room, the space dark except for the glow of dull light emanating from a lamp beside his armchair. He sits there now, nursing a shot glass of whiskey.
You come to stand in the middle of the living room with your hands clasped infront of you shyly, secretly hoping he will compliment your dress and the flower tied in your hair.
Joel sets his glass down on the coffee table beside his chair. He is in his usual attire of jeans and a flannel shirt, and from the small distance between you, you could already smell the faint scent of mahogany and pine mixed with his natural smell. The curls of his dark salt and pepper hair sit atop his head like a crown, the expression on his tanned face not betraying any hint of emotion, the steady gaze of dark brown eyes travelling up and down your body making you shiver.
"Hi," you smile at him.
His eyes flicker to meet yours and a slight smirk dances on his mouth. He hauls himself up out of the chair and takes a few steps to close the gap between you, his figure towering over you.
"Hey, baby," Joel murmers in his Texan drawl. You bite your lip as you study his face, admiring the patchy growth of his beard and the masculine square of his jaw. He really is so handsome.
His large hands reach out to grab ahold of your hips. They move up your waist and back down again as he stares into your eyes, the spark of lust already evident in his orbs.
"I went to the dance," you say quietly, your arms moving upward to wrap around his neck. He hums in response and you feel his hands trail up to your breasts, the callouses on his palms rough against the lace trimming of your dress. "It was fun."
He says nothing as his hands settle on the plush of your cleavage and began kneading there, drawing a low moan from you. He leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss, the taste of whiskey and an underlying sweetness meeting your tongue as his slips into your mouth. You subconsciously stand on your tiptoes and tighten your hold around his neck, encouraging the kiss to deepen.
One of his hands snakes around to your back and down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze and pulling you closer to his body. You can already feel his hardness against you.
"Joel," you gasp, pulling away from the kiss. "I missed you. Did you miss me?"
Joel doesn't respond. He roughly tugs one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder, grabbing your bare breast in his big hand and groaning at the softness of your skin. His other hand keeps a firm hold of your ass cheek, his grip leaving you without any strength to move.
You can't help but moan when he bends down to kiss your neck. You tilt your head to the side to allow him better access, running your fingers through his hair as you let your body surrender to the familiar dance of seduction that Joel always tangles you in.
"Joel," you gasp breathlessly. "I said I missed you."
"Missed you too," Joel mumbles against your throat. He begins to shuffle backwards toward the armchair, his hands still gripping your breast and ass possessively, shifting you with him. He falls back to sit down on the chair with an unceremonious thud, pulling you into his lap to straddle him, making you squeak in surprise.
Joel pushes you down to grind his erection against your crotch, his mouth still attached to your neck, now sucking on your delicate skin. You can't help but moan, sparks of pleasure shooting through your core.
You find yourself rocking against him, your fingers still tangled in his curls, now faintly aware of the wetness beginning to pool in your underwear. The skirt of your dress has bunched up to your thighs and has made it easy for Joel's hand to slip under the material and squeeze the bare flesh of your ass.
You suddenly remember the purpose behind you being here tonight. You need to initiate the discussion before becoming entwined in his web, before you are too distracted by his skilled fingers and warm mouth and the deliciousness of his cock.
"Joel," you whimper. "Please stop for a moment."
He detaches from your neck and leans back in the chair so you can see the drunk look of lust hooding his brown eyes. You sit up straight in his lap, one leg kneeling on either side of Joel's thighs, your core nestling directly over the erection straining behind his jeans. Joel brushs your nipple gently with the pad of his thumb as he stares at you.
"What?" He murmurs without a trace of concern in his tone.
Taking a deep breath, you sigh and idly toy with the curls on the nape of his neck, trying to formulate an opening dialogue.
"Okay, so...." You start softly, making a point to keep your eyes fixed on his. "Uhm, so...Cassie is getting married soon, right?"
Cassie was one of your best friends. Joel gives a small nod to indicate he is listening. His hand still caresses your ass, the other still cupping your breast.
"Yeah, well, I just...really I was wanting...," you stumble over your words, the beating of your heart thudding in your ears now. "I wanted to ask you to go to the wedding with me. As my date."
You blurt out the last part and press your lips shut tightly, eyebrows knitting together worriedly in anticipation of his reaction.
"I never go to those kinda things, you know that." He mutters, pulling his hands away from your body.
"I know, but--"
"They're your friends, not mine." He retorts evenly. "Why would I go?"
"Because the guests bring a date with them, to enjoy the occasion," you try to speak confidently, but you are unable to hide the faint warble in your voice. "Like their boyfriend or girlfriend, or whatever....so I wanted to ask you."
Joel runs a hand over his beard, sighing once more. "Sugar, I hate that shit - dressin' up and bein' around a buncha people I don't give a fuck about. It ain't for me."
"But they are my friends," you pout. "And they mean so much to me. And well, I want you to meet them. I want you to come with me."
Joel just looks at you, his expression tight and stern. You feel exposed, your heart cracking with frustrated rejection.
"Joel, I...I really like you," you whisper through the lump forming in your throat.
"I like you too, sugar," he says smoothly. His hands slide under your dress and up to the top of your thighs, his thumbs sitting at the edge of your panty line. "I like these sexy legs. Like what's inbetween 'em even more."
He isn't paying attention.
He is distracting you.
Again.
No, you have to do this now. No more sex. No more anything until you get it out.
You retract your arms and push away from him to stand up off his lap. You hurriedly fix the strap of your dress back up over your shoulder, stepping back to create some distance between you. You try to collect your thoughts as Joel watches you from his relaxed position on the armchair, a scowl etched on his face now.
"Joel," you sigh, looking at him with imploring eyes. Your fingers twist together nervously. "I don't just like you. I...I love you. And I want to be with you. For real. Like partners."
Joel furrows his brow, tilting his head slightly. "Partner? Are you serious?"
You can only nod your nod lamely, tears beginning to well in your eyes. He runs his hand down the lower of his face and sighs.
"Partner..." He huffs a small scoff, like he can't believe you're actually bothering him with something so trivial.
"What's wrong with that?" You question softly, genuinely curious.
He leans forward in the armchair, shaking his head again, something like irritated disgust written on his features. "You think this is some kinda romance novel? Come on. You and me, we ain't never gonna be like that."
His words feel like a knife slicing through your heart. A single tear breaks free and spills down one of your cheeks.
"You're mine - sure." He shrugs a little. "Mine whenever I want a quick fuck."
You feel the air leave your lungs, a pitiful sob escaping your lips. You take a step backwards, your limbs feeling shaky beneath you.
"But I ain't ever gonna walk down the street holdin' your hand, honey. I ain't soft like these boys runnin' around after you and your little slut friends."
The cruelty of his words and the matter of fact tone of his voice make your stomach roil. You instinctively wrap your arms around your middle as if you have been physically wounded.
"How could you say that to me?" You warble, more tears breaking free and spilling from your eyes. "After all this time...you've don't have any feelings for me, at all?"
A low growl rumbles in Joel's throat. He hauls himself up and quickly grabs a hold of your upper arm, his thick fingers sinking into your flesh. The unexpected pain causes you to cry out.
He stares down at you with steely dark brown eyes. "You always knew I ain't that type of man. But you just kept comin' back to get fucked again and again."
"Let me go," you sob, trying to squirm out of Joel's bruising grip. "You're hurting me."
"Don't you like that, baby? Thought you liked it when I hurt you," Joel snarls, momentarily squeezing your arm before releasing you with a force that makes you stumble against the wall.
"Why are you doing this?" You plead, voice choked with emotion, your vision blurred.
Joel turns to pick up his whiskey glass, tossing back the last shot of remaining alcohol. He slams the glass back down on the table and glares at you. You instantly recognise the cruel passion shining in them - a look you have seen many times, one that sends shivers up your spine with both excitement and fear, one that makes you wet yet causes a knot of apprehension in your stomach at the same time.
"Get on your knees," Joel says lowly. His hand flexes at his side.
"What?" You whisper back, your mind too muddled to comprehend what he is asking for.
"You love me?" Joel bites out, bitter and gravelled. "Then you do as I say. So get on your fuckin' knees. Now."
You bow your head and let the tears fall to the floor. You do love Joel, and while you had no idea what reaction you were expecting from him tonight, you never anticipated this. You knew he could be harsh, seemingly heartless at times, and he could be downright sadistic during sex.
But the level of Joel's ruthlessness tonight is unprecedented. You suddenly feel so tired; tired of the aching left inside your soul after your nights together, tired of pretending the unrequited affection didn't sting, tired of allowing your body to be devoured, manipulated and abused in exchange for meagre crumbs of attention.
"No," you reply, your voice thick. "I won't, Joel."
"What'd you say?" Joel growls.
You peer up at him from under your long lashes, feeling a renewed determination stir inside your chest. You lift your chin to stare back at him.
"I said no, Joel."
Joel frowns at the audacity of your refusal, a flash of confusion passing over his features. It only lasts a brief moment before being replaced with his usual scowl of displeasure. You both stare into each other's eyes in tense silence, as if challenging the other to initiate the next move. The beat of your heart seems distractingly loud in your ears - you hope he can't hear it.
After what seems like forever, Joel breaks the silence.
"Go."
You stand before him, searching his face for any trace of remorse or sadness. Any sign that he might be regretting what he's doing to you right now. But he gives nothing away.
His jaw ticks and he crosses his arms, looking at the ground.
"Joel--" you start, but he cuts you off.
"Get outta here," he mutters without meeting your eye.
Your eyes rover over his downturned face, uncertain of whether to obey him or stay. Could you try to resolve this, to salvage whatever is left of the ruins between you, this absolute wreck of dysfunctional intimacy?
You hesitate for a few seconds, deliberating.
But for the first time ever, you chose not to beseech Joel.
Instead you leave.
You don't look back as you walk out his door. You walk to your home, your arms wrapped around your waist in an effort to stop yourself shivering from the panic coursing through your body. Your breaths come out ragged and unsteady as the tears continue to stream down your face. You are thankful for the dark of the night.
As you make your way to your porch you promise yourself you would never let Joel Miller hurt you again.
Your home is one of the smaller houses in Jackson. A two bedroom weatherboard cottage that, despite desperately needing a new coat of paint, was quaint and perfectly suited to you. It's cosiness is comfortable and the unpretentious simplicity of its appearance felt safe. You have the comforts of a couch in your living room, along with a small bookshelf full of books, a bed in your room complete with a dresser and mirror, and hot running water. Although you don't have many furnishings and your most cherish possessions were sparse, you are proud to call the cottage your home, your sanctuary.
The morning daylight streams through the lace curtains of your bedroom window, its warm touch rousing you from your slumber. You managed to find sleep sometime after midnight, after replaying the scene at Joel's in your mind over and over. You cried into your pillow until you were too exhausted to stay awake.
This morning your head was aching and your eyes felt swollen. As soon as you roll over in bed the memory of the previous night comes flooding back to you. Groaning, you throw the blanket over your head and bury your face into your pillow, wishing you didn't have to work today.
Three days a week you work as a teacher at the school and the other two days you are scheduled to cleaning work in the mess hall. You realise you really should talk to Maria about the possibility of switching jobs. If you remained working in the mess hall then you were bound to run into Joel - the thought of seeing him makes you feel sick. Thankfully, today was a teaching shift and one you had been looking forward to - your class today was with the younger children and you had planned to teach them about the difference between insects with exoskeletons and endoskeletons.
Suddenly you remember the library book you forgot to pick up last week, a children's science book with illustrations that you needed for today's lesson. You look at the clock on your bedside table - good, you have enough time to shower, have breakfast and quickly pop into the library before the start of your lesson.
Begrudgingly you drag yourself out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom, stepping over the dress you wore last night that you had left discarded on the floor. You give it a half hearted kick to the corner of the room. You don't want to see it.
You stand before the bathroom mirror and strip off your sleep shorts and tank top. The puffiness around your eyes looks terrible, and you hope the warm water of the shower can lessen the swelling. Your eyes wander over your naked form, spying the fading hickey Joel had given you on one of your hips last week.
He often marked you with bites and hickies. A way of claiming ownership of your body, hidden underneath your clothes for only you and him to see, your own personal reminder that it was Joel who you belonged to. You had never denied him this liberty, only protesting when the drag of his teeth or his sucks became too painful. A memory flashes in your mind suddenly, to a night when Joel had been especially rough with you and had bitten the flesh of your ass too hard, causing you to squeal in pain. The bruise had lasted more than a week. You remember the way he had massaged and kissed the area with a kind of gentle reverence, the touch of his large hands and the plush of his lips both soothing and arousing you at the same time.
The realisation that he would never mark you like that again makes your heart sink. But then you spot the bruise blooming on your upper arm where he grabbed you last night, the purple marks outlining the way his fingers wrapped around you. The sight conjures a different memory now; the way Joel's lips had curled into a cruel snarl as his words cut through you, the savage grip of his hand, the sheer contempt that had shone in his eyes.
It sends a shiver down your spine. You quickly turn away from your reflection and step into the shower.
•••
The morning sunshine warms your skin as you stroll down the street toward the town centre. You take a deep breath of fresh air. Today would be a new beginning. No more arranging your schedule around Joel's demands. No more sneaking around the backstreets of Jackson. No more being at his beck and call whenever he wanted you.
You have your day planned out. After your teaching shift you want to spend some time preparing for tomorrow's lesson, then you can find Maria and talk to her about changing jobs. You know you will still have to see Joel around town occasionally, but you want to limit the possibility of running into him or having any potential chance encounters. You need the distance in order to heal from him, from everything you had shared.
The town was already bustling with community members going about their daily business, children playing games in the street, men and women on their way to their jobs, shopkeepers opening their stores. As you walk through the town people greet you with friendly smiles. Some of the children call out to you and wave. You feel grateful for their affection and the sense of community around you, and deep down you hope that this comraderie and the sense of purpose your job gave you was enough to soothe the ache of your broken heart.
The library was a small building tucked away in a nook on the main street. It was a relatively small space comprised of several rows of neatly arranged shelves, two couches, and a very worn arm chair. Over the years the patrols had managed to collect an impressive catalogue of books from their raiding missions. Maude, the elderly librarian, managed the library three days a week and took her role quite seriously. You had always loved to read, books being an escape from the precarious world you lived in.
The library was a peaceful niche of Jackson that you enjoyed delving into, often curling up on one of the couches to read a novel in your spare time, Maude's quiet nature being the perfect company for your visits.
You enter the library and smile at the little jingle of the bell that sits above the entrance. You expect to see Maude standing at her usual spot at the counter, writing something down while muttering to herself. But this morning she isn't there. Instead, there is a man.
The unexpected presence makes you freeze still by the door. At the sound of the chime he looks up from the book laid out infront of him on the counter. You recognise his face as someone you've seen around Jackson before, but have never spoken to.
He is of average height and has short curly black hair. His short facial hair is thick - unlike Joel's patchy beard, you randomly think. His skin is very lightly tanned olive. The small round glasses he wears give him a studious quality, and his large dark brown eyes seem kind and welcoming. He is older than you, though not as old as Joel. He wears a dark knitted sweater and his overall appearance is bookish.
He is gorgeous.
"Good morning," he greets you, offering you a soft smile.
"Good morning," you reply, a little stiff. You cautiously step up to the counter, uncertain if you should be suspicious of Maude's absence. The man pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"How can I help you?"
"Oh," you frown and shake your head slightly, as if trying to shake off the awkwardness you feel. "Uhm, there was a book that I was supposed to borrow the other day. Maude put it aside for me."
"Oh, yes," he clicks his fingers and nods eagerly. "You're the teacher, right? Maude told me you'd be in. She put it under the counter. Something about bugs."
"Yes, that's right." You eye him cautiously. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
The man bends down behind the counter and retrieves a hardcover book with the title Kids Bug Science Volume II in large letters on the front, the one Maude had told you about last week. He places it on the counter and gives a small chuckle.
"I'm sorry, I should've introduced myself by now. Guess I get a little carried away at times." He smiles at you again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm Oscar."
He holds out his hand to you. You accept it gingerly and gave it a light shake, telling him your own name. His hand is warm and soft, but strong, masculine. You have not had another man touch you, even formally like this, since before you gave yourself to Joel.
The contact makes you blush and you avert your eyes to look down at the book instead of his gaze.
"Maude hasn't been feeling well, so Maria assigned me to help out in the library," Oscar explains as he braces himself against the counter, his tanned hands splaying on-top of the wood. "One of the patrols brought a load of books in just the other day, so there's some work to do."
"Oh," your eyes flicker back up to look at him, your interest piqued. "What do you usually do?"
"I work in the stables and sometimes on patrol," Oscar replies. "But I injured my ankle and I'm not really of any use at either job at the moment." He smiles ruefully.
There is a benevolent air about him, a gentle humility that shines through as he speaks. You begin to relax, no longer wary of him.
"I'm sorry to hear about your injury," you say shyly, "but this job must be great. It's quiet, you don't have to talk to many people, you can read as much as you like..."
Oscar grins at you and pushes himself away from the counter to stand up straight. "Yes, it's a nice change of pace," he agrees with a nod, "I like the peace, and reading, too. Do you like to read?"
"Yes, I do," you reply. You look down and shift on your feet awkwardly, inwardly hating the curse of your shyness.
"What do you like to read?" Oscar asks. "I can keep an eye out while I sort through the new books we got. So, if I find something I think you might like, I could keep it behind the counter for you."
His voice is gentle with sincerity but there is also an edge of eagerness in his tone, as if he yearns for conversation, as if he needs to prove his usefulness.
You are hit with the recognition that no one has shown interest in you like this for a very long time, if ever. It makes you feel nervous. You pick up the science book and hug it to your chest, comforted by its weight against you.
"That would be really nice," you respond quietly. You gather the courage to look up at Oscar and find his cheeks tinged pink, the corners of his mouth curled into a tender smile.
You spot the sight of the clock hanging on the wall behind him and the time makes you gasp - your class is due to start in 5 minutes.
"It was really nice to meet you Oscar, but I've gotta go," you smile apologetically at him. "Thank you for the book."
"Oh, no problem," Oscar waves his hand. "How about you write down a list of any books you might be after?" He suggests, holding his hand out palm up. "I mean, whenever you're free, or if you even want to. No pressure." He stumbles over his words as if he were nervous and it makes you giggle.
"That's a good idea, I'll do that. Thanks Oscar." You nod toward him one last time before turning to walk out of the door.
"It was nice to meet you, too!" he calls out to you as you pass through the threshold. You step back into the sunshine and smile to yourself.
I can do this, you thought, there are other people in Jackson besides Joel, more friends to make. Life can be exciting without him, I can be happy without him.
You hope that if you repeated these things inside your mind enough times that you would eventually believe it.
•••
The next three days pass by uneventfully. You teach your class, make notes for the next lesson, have dinner in the cafeteria with your friends and spend some time hanging out with them, then go home for the evening.
You know Joel's patrolling schedule like the back of your hand, so you're able to avoid the main street and the cafeteria hall and the local bar, The Tipsy Bison, when he's likely to be around. You talked to Maria about switching jobs and she said she needed to check the rosters to see what was available, but ultimately she granted you the relief of no longer working in the mess hall. When Maria questioned your decision to quit, you gave a mumbled, noncommittal response about needing a change. She didn't need to know your real reason, although the answer you offered wasn't necessarily a lie; you truly were determined to rebuild yourself, to start living your life how you wanted, and you really did need a change.
Tonight you sat with three of your friends at a table in the hall to eat dinner. You ate dinner together most evenings, catching up on gossip and discussing the events of the day, the plans for the next town event, what men your friends had their eye on. You were fortunate enough to have some friends the same age as you in Jackson and over the years your small circle of girlfriends had proved to be one of the main sources of happiness and comfort in life.
Kate, your closest friend, sat beside you at the table, scraping her spoon around her tray as she listened to the conversation happening infront of you. Your friends Jess and Rhi sat opposite you, engaged in a debate about some subject you weren't paying attention to. You were deep in thought about your lesson plan and what research you needed to finish before next week's class.
"Are we going to the Bison tonight?" Kate interjected.
"Yes!" Jess cheered, immediately abandoning the argument. "After the week I had, I need a drink."
"Ugh, same," Rhi groaned. "Let's get drunk and dance "
They all looked at you expectantly for confirmation but you were quiet, lost in your thoughts. Kate nudged you out of your trance.
"Hmm?" You hummed, head snapping up to look around the table.
"The Bison tonight, you coming?" Jess asked eagerly.
It was the last place you wanted to be tonight. You had always enjoyed the occasional nights spent at the bar dancing and drinking with your friends. You would laugh with them as you danced and drank beer and tried to play darts, all the while secretly being watched by Joel across the bar, both of you pretending to ignore each other until the end of the night when you would rendezvous somewhere and Joel would fuck you senseless. It had always been so fun and exciting. But now, the thought of the mere probability of seeing Joel at his favourite hang out caused a knot of dread in your stomach.
"I'm pretty tired." You mumbled. "Just going to have a quiet night at home."
"Boring!" Rhi declared. "Come on, we haven't been out in forever!"
"The barn dance was just a few nights ago," Kate laughed.
"But we didn't get drunk," Rhi corrected her. "And I didn't go home with the blonde ranger, either. So that doesn't count."
Your group continued talking about the plans for the night and what everyone was going to wear when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see Maria standing beside you.
"Hey Maria." You greeted her.
"Hey. Just letting you know that I took a look at the job rosters and all I've really got are patrol shifts."
"Oh," you mumbled, deflated. "Sorry Maria, I don't think I'd be very good at patrolling. I can't even shoot a tin can to save my life."
Maria laughed a little, nodding in agreement. "I know. Well, the only other option is the library. Maude isn't sure she will be up to working anytime soon, and Oscar might need some help. He was talking about doing some painting in the interior. Is that something you'd be willing to do?"
You couldn't help the broad smile of relief that broke out on your face. "That would be perfect, actually. Yes please, Maria."
"All sorted then," she nodded. "You can start tomorrow."
"Whose Oscar?" Jess asked in a whisper as Maria left the table. The girls look at you with raised eyebrows.
"Oh, he's looking after the library while Maude is sick," you picked up the bread roll on your tray. "He used to do patrolling and some other stuff, but he got hurt."
"Ooooh, I know him," Kate chirped. "He sometimes patrolled with Matt." Matt was Kate's older brother. "Kinda nerdy but cute, right?"
You pursed your lips together bashfully, unsure what to say in response. Oscar certainly was cute, infact he was quite attractive, but you didn't want to admit that to anyone. To your relief, Rhi suddenly squealed and leaned against the table to hiss excitedly about the blonde ranger who just strolled into the hall. Kate rolled her eyes.
"Could you be any more obvious?" Jess chuckled.
"By the way, I have a great idea for Cassie's wedding gift," Kate leaned against you affectionately. "You're gonna love it."
"Fantastic," you smiled. "I'll walk with you when we're done, and you can tell me all about it."
•••
After dinner Rhi and Jess went back to the house they shared to get ready for drinks at the bar. You walked Kate across town to the house she lived in with her brother and his wife, chatting along the way. The sun had already set and the sky had faded into twilight. The streetlights would alight soon. Not many people lingered on the streets of Jackson at this time; they were either eating a late dinner in the mess hall, or already settled into their homes for the night, or at the bar. A few teenagers stalked around the streets in small groups, presumably on the hunt for mischief.
"Are you sure you won't come out tonight?" Kate asks you gently as you both approach her house. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," you flash her a small smile. "I'm fine. I just need an early night. You guys go have a good time."
"Okay, well, get some rest." She embraces you. "Let's do some more gift planning tomorrow, yeah?"
You agree to meet Kate after your first shift at the library before saying goodnight. You leisurely stroll through one of the residential streets with your hands in your jeans pockets, marvelling at the first twinkle of stars appearing in the black night sky above you. You turn a corner into another quiet street, occupied by your thoughts as you sift through the events of the day in your mind.
You were enthusiastic at the prospect of starting work at the library, although you felt bad that Maude was so unwell; you made a mental note to visit her sometime in the next few days to check in on her health. You decide you would try your best to gather a small arrangement of flowers to give her, thinking that it may help to cheer her up a bit.
Halfway down the street you divert from the sidewalk to cut through a bunch of shrubs inbetween two houses, taking a short cut to lead into your own street. You are only a few houses away from your home when suddenly a hand clamps down over your mouth and nose, stifling your shocked squeal. An arm snakes around your waist and pulls you into the dark shadows between the neighbouring houses.
The air leaves your lungs as you are shoved hard against the side of one of the buildings. You recognise the scent of Joel's skin and the callous palm of his hand straight away, but the rush of fear continues to course through your whole body.
He has your back against the wall, his hand still covering your mouth and his arm around your waist, his body pressed flush against yours. Your eyes widen at how close he is, his warm breath fanning against your cheeks, his belly and hips digging against your lower half. The clear discrepancy between your height and size makes you feel like trapped prey, helpless and weak in his grasp with no hope of escape. You feel suffocated and frightened.
"Why weren't you at home? I was waitin' for you." Comes the rough drawl of Joel's voice in your ear.
He uncovers your mouth and you quickly swallow a gasp of air, the oppressive press of his body against yours making you feel like you have such little room to breathe. You shove your hands against his torso in a futile effort to push him away.
"Why would I be waiting for you?" You hiss, craning your neck to meet his intense gaze, your mind bewildered and disorientated.
Joel's brow furrows, his features hardening with displeasure. His eyes dart between yours, searching for some kind of explanation. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"
"We broke up." You try to remain composed and assertive but the unsteady tone of your voice betrays you. "Don't you remember?"
Joel's jaw ticks. "You think I'd let that happened? Just cos you say so?"
Your heart pounds in your chest. Your mouth feels dry. "I just..." you try to explain, "I..."
His large hand skates up to rest on the column of your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. "You think you make decisions between you and me?"
"I want more," you finally manage to croak, your voice soft and sorrowful.
"More?" Joel spits. "I don't give you enough?"
"I want more than just sex," you whisper back, angry at yourself for the tears springing to your eyes. "It's over."
"We ain't over til I say we are," he sneers back.
His grasp on your neck tightens, stealing your breath and causing more panic to flood through your body. You try to whip your head away to break free from his hand, but it's impossible.
"Stop," you whisper hoarsely, your tear filled eyes widening.
Joel keeps you pinned against the wall as his other arm uncoils itself from your waist. You feel his hand roam over your stomach and down to your jeans. Humiliation washes over you as he starts to unbutton your jeans, his breathing now becoming slightly ragged. His threatening hold on your neck has robbed you of the ability to protest any further.
"Little bitch," Joel snarls, his hand dipping into your underwear. "You want more, huh?"
He pushes two of his thick fingers directly onto your clit, making you twitch. When his fingers start moving in light circles, you can't stop your mouth from falling open and your eyes from rolling back in pleasure.
"This ain't enough?" Joel whispers huskily. "This ain't what you want? Cos I know you fuckin' love it. 'Soon as I touch ya, you turn into a whore."
The bite of his words force your glassy eyes to recenter on his face, the tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. Joel stares at you intently, his eyes appearing black under the glinting light of the lamp post.
He continues massaging the pads of his fingers on your clit, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your quivering lips. You sob helplessly, hating yourself for the wetness that was gathering in your panties despite the depravity of what was happening to you, despising the fact that Joel knew your body so intimately and was so adept at making you come undone. His fingers inch further to brush over the entrance of your pussy and instantly become coated in your slick.
"See?" He purrs, his Southern accent rich with his own desire. "No one knows you better than I do, baby."
Joel slowly slides his two fingers inside you, your wetness allowing his thick digits to stretch you open in a way that is exhilarating.
You can't help but moan, your eyebrows knitting together from the pleasure. He fucks you with his fingers, pumping in and out at with a slow, steady pace. Without thinking, you instinctively part your legs and grab onto his shoulders to keep yourself upright. He relinquishes his hold on your neck and shifts his hand to loosely cup your chin, his thumb stroking along your jaw. You shut your eyes and allow yourself to be consumed by his touch.
"That's it, baby," Joel drawls.
His fingers sheath all the way inside you and expertly curl up against your g-spot. You bite your lip in an effort to suppress your moans and dig your fingers into the rounded muscles of his shoulders. Your legs tremble and you start to feel that familiar intoxicating swirl of ecstasy coil in your belly.
"Joel," you whimper.
With his fingers deep inside you stimulating the spongy ridge of your sweet spot, Joel rubs your clit with his thumb. Your resolve was starting to break, tempting you to forgive him and succumb once more to his control. His eyes are zoned in on your features, darting over your mouth and eyes, drinking in every mirco expression that passes over your face.
"My little slut."
You open your eyes to see the warmth has left his eyes and has been replaced with animalistic hunger. You are suddenly aware that you can feel his erection digging into you.
You know that look. He's going to fuck you right here. Right now.
The realisation snaps you out of your trance.
"Stop," you whine.
You push your palms flat against his chest and try to shove him back, even though you know it is pointless. "I said stop, Joel."
"Ain't goin' anywhere," Joel grunts. His thumb continues circling your clit as his fingers fuck in and out of your wetness. You randomly contemplate screaming for help, to slap him, kick him, to fight back somehow, but realistically you knew it would only enrage him. And that would make things a whole lot worse for you.
Without warning, the loud sound of glass shattering rings through the quiet street. It is followed by the sounds of teenage voices nearby, their laughing echoing. Both your heads whip around towards the direction if the noise.
Joel claps his palm over your mouth, his movements coming to a halt, poised to see if anyone is approaching. The voices grow louder. You guess there must be atleast three of them close by.
When Ellie's distinct voice sings out to tease one of her friends, Joel quickly pulls his hand out from your underwear and steps back from you. He adjusts his hard cock in his pants. You hurriedly button up your jeans as you watch him, still terrified but relieved. He shoots you a scowl, his eyes dark with warning.
"I meant what I said," he says bitterly. "Ain't over til I say it is."
The voices grow closer now, Ellie's lilt loud and unmistakable in the chorus. You know the possibility of Ellie discovering you and Joel in such a compromising situation would force him to abandon his pursuit of you. Without saying another word, Joel turns his back on you and stalks away, the leaves and gravel crunching underneath his heavy work boots.
You remain in the shadows as you race to your cottage. You are in desperate need of the quiet haven of solitude of your home. Once safely inside you curl up in bed under the weight of your blanket and cry. You weep at the overwhelming mixture of disgust and sadness that twists in your gut. You weep for the deep ache inside your heart that Joel's callous attitude has left you with.
But perhaps the most painful thing of all is the self hatred you feel at the way your body still yearns for Joel.
Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. <3
Although I have completed this work, I have decided to rewrite some of the chapters and add some more to the story.
This is a dark fic set in Jackson. Please heed the warnings before reading.
series summary: your relationship with Joel Miller was a secret, one in which he would break you over and over. Tired of mistreatment you leave. But what happens when Joel cannot handle losing the control he has over you? And what happens when another man catches your attention?
warnings: dom/sub dynamics, physical abuse, emotional abuse, coercion, dubcon, noncon, assault, manipulation, allusions to eating disorders, episodes of depression, descriptions of nightmares, characters with PTSD, descriptions of violence, oral sex, anal, unspecified age gap, daddy kink.
because I can't let go of the No One But Me story and I miss our reader, I'm rewriting some parts and adding some more to the story. So for any NOBM fans, be on the look out for some upcoming updates!
You found that caming could be a lucrative business, that is till a client you don't know hunts you down and wants something a little more personal from you. He demands all you can give, until you can't give anymore.
Extremely Dark!Din Djarin
Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (Seriously this is the deadest of doves)
CW: 18+ MDNI!!!! Heavy Non-con, rough sex, choking, hair pulling, dacryphillia, somnophilia, sensory depravation, bondage, self-harm, suicidal ideation, graphic depictions of violence, straight up torture, breeding kink, pregnancy, non-graphic child birth, Stockholm syndrome, Anal sex, bondage.
Seriously, Din is not nice!! Please tread carefully. If you need more extensive tags check them on (AO3)
This story is very special to me. It gave me alot of inspiration in writing No One But Me as I fell in love with Kew's writing and ability to capture complex emotions while weaving an enthralling dark love story.
For those dark Joel lovers, I highly recommend you read Kew's work - you won't be disappointed!
summary: oneshot set in AU. You can't resist your boyfriend's uncle.
warnings: cheating, unprotected piv, unspecified age gap, degradation, creampie, dirty talk, sub/dom dynamics, slut shaming, possessive!Joel, bathroom sex, choking, no after-care, shame.
word count: 2,760
His hand rests just under your jaw, his fingers tensed around your pulse point. He could easily choke you right now, steal the air from your lungs and have you writhing and fighting for your life. The threat of his power burns into your skin, an oppressive reminder of just how much bigger and older he is than you.
You would probably let him, too. As long as he kept fucking you the way he is right now.
Joel stands slotted between your thighs, your knees spread wide against the sides of his hips, granting him access to where you've come to crave him the most. Since the very first time you had kissed him in secret, you had craved the taste of him on your tongue. And after the first time Joel had fucked you, had left his imprint on your body and soul, the craving had become impossible to shake, twisting into an ever persistent hunger that gnawed at your loins.
Having an affair with your boyfriend's uncle was deplorable. You knew how immoral it was. The shame clung to your skin, making you feel dirty and cheap. But still, you couldn't stop. No matter how many times you promised yourself to ignore him, to not accept his calls, to not even think of him. You just couldn't.
So here you are now, cornered in the cramped bathroom of the restaurant your boyfriend had chosen for dinner, letting Joel claim what little dignity you had left. You perch on the edge of the sink with your panties pulled to the side of your cunt, your skirt rucked up.
He rolls his hips back and forth slowly, splitting you open on his fat cock, stretching you open in a way that you've never been stretched before. Your hands cling to his strong biceps, fingernails sinking into the flannel of his shirt. Your eyes are rolled back, half lidded like you're drunk.
"You like gettin' your little cunt stuffed by an old man's cock?" Joel asks, voice rough like gravel. His brown orbs roam over your face, dark and blown wide with his own feral desire. "Yeah, you do. You fuckin' love it."
His other hand comes up to grab a fistful of your hair, tightly pulling at your scalp, commanding you to meet his gaze. The sting snaps you out of your haze. Your vision focuses on his featurs all at once; the crease of his brows, the plumpness of his bottom lip, the crinkles by the corners of his eyes. He looks so handsome, you think, especially with the silver threaded through his crown of curls and his patchy beard.
Before meeting Joel you would never have believed a man his age could have much of a sex drive, or any kind of worthwhile stamina. You assumed most men his age couldn't even get their dick hard.
Then Joel came along and promptly shattered that belief. Your mind was blown by his insatiable appetite and vigor. And now he continues to prove again and again that he's the best fuck of your life.
And unfortunately for you, it'll have to remain a dirty secret.
Joel tilts his hips slightly, angling the head of his dick to tap up against your g spot, sparking a delicious pulse of pleasure to ripple within your lower belly. Your lips part, a breathless moan escaping from deep inside your throat. He repeats the action again and again, causing you to squeeze around his length, greedily sucking him in.
"Just needed to get fucked by a real man, didn't you, baby?" Joel grunts, his upper lip curling into a snarl. His own words seem to spur him on. The hand around your throat tightens a little, making your breath hitch. His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches, like he's trying to restrain himself from hurting you.
The movement of his hips is unrelenting; steady, weighted strokes that reach up deep inside you, carving a place inside you that will surely leave your cervix bruised and your walls aching. You bite down on your bottom lip to stop the whimpers that threaten to spill out into high pitched moans. You have to be quiet. You can't risk making any kind of noise lest someone comes knocking on the door. You can't be caught, not now.
Meeting Joel in the restaurant bathroom not even halfway through dinner was just about the riskiest thing you two had done. You left first to go to the bathroom, then Joel soon followed with an excuse to go order another drink. The two of you had left Tommy and your boyfriend sitting at the table, oblivious and engrossed in a conversation about work and what mechanical work needed to be done on the truck.
Tonight was supposed to be different. On the drive to the restaurant you had internally resolved not to so much as give Joel a second glance. And you really had tried, too; you gave him a polite greeting, a small smile that didn't reach your eyes, despite the butterflies fluttering in your belly at the mere sight of his face. You tried to distract yourself from the scent of his cologne, but it was impossible with him sitting so close by. You had tried to act as nonchalant as possible at his presence, covertly digging your nails into the flesh of your thigh under the table to quell your anxiety.
Joel had matched your aloofness with effortless ease, always the master of control and constraint. It fascinated you how well he could hide his thoughts and feelings, how utterly uncaring he appeared to be. You sometimes wondered if he was even capable of loving a woman, of falling in love.
The facade was going well until you felt the warmth of Joel's large hand slip over your knee under the table. You stifled your gasp and quickly took a sip of wine. You tried to push your knees together but his wrist was so thick and unyielding that you surrendeded to his whim.
All while he was discussing the new contracting job with Tommy and his nephew, Joel's hand inched higher and higher up your thigh. You stayed silent, pretending to listen to the details of the new lumber shipment and cement deliveries, trying your best to keep a straight face while Joel's fingers crept closer to your pussy.
You hadn't fucked Joel for over a week, and although you still had sex with your boyfriend, you had not had a decent orgasm since. Your body was so tightly wound that his mere proximity was bordering on torturous. You needed him more than you ever thought possible.
The other men could never have guessed what was happening under the table. Joel maintained a composed facade, never once slipping up in conversation. Even when his thick fingertips started stroking the lips of your pussy through your underwear, his poker face didn't falter in the slightest. You, on the other hand, could hardly speak a handful of words without sounding breathless.
After a few minutes your thong was drenched, the scant material sticking to your throbbing clit. He was driving you fucking crazy. Frustrated with arousal, you wrenched his hand away and excused yourself to go to the bathroom, hoping desperately that he would follow.
And he did.
Ofcourse he would.
Joel needed your body as much as you needed his.
"I know you wore this slutty skirt for me," Joel rasps, Southern accent dripping with possessive desire. "Made me hard the moment I saw you walkin' in. I know that's what you wanted. Tryin' to drive me crazy, showin' off your ass like that."
Without warning he drives his cock hard into you, fully sheathing himself inside so that his pubic bone presses into yours. You hiss as the sensation of fullness crashes over you in an instant. It teeters on the edge of being too painful to tolerate. Your hips squirm as you try to get some relief from being impaled.
"Joel, it hurts. Please move," you plead with a trembling whisper.
He ignores you and remains still, his thick length nestled so deep that you swear you feel him in your guts. "What makes you think you can tease me like that?"
The hand tangled in your hair relinquishes its hold and shifts down to your mouth. Before you can answer Joel suddenly shoves two of his thick fingers past your lips and over your tongue. You try to speak his name but it comes out as a garbled gag when his fingers prod the back of your throat.
"Who do you think you are?" He sneers.
You try to jerk your head away but his hold on your neck keeps you pinned against the mirror with no where to go. You reach up to wrap your hand around his wrist, futilely trying to pull him back. His fingers press down on your tongue, pushing further past your uvula. You gag once more, tears springing to your eyes.
"I asked you a question," Joel snarls. "Who do you think you are?"
You aren't sure what Joel expects of you. You can't answer and your heart is racing in your chest. You can feel your pelvic muscles involuntarily squeeze. He studies your face intently, his features pulled into an expression of cold contempt. After a few more agonisingly long seconds he withdraws his soaked fingers, drawing a string of saliva from your mouth along with them.
"Seein' as you're too stuffed full of my cock to think straight, I'll tell what you are."
Without breaking eye contact Joel brings that same hand down to trail over your mound. You feel the tacky wet of your spit drag over your skin. His calloused thumb brushes over your swollen clit and you twitch. The contact is featherlight, teasing, no where near enough to satiate your need. You let out a soft moan.
"You're a whore," Joel croons matter of factly. "But you're my whore. You hear me?"
He presses the pad of his thumb gently onto your clit and begins to rub lazy circles over it. You're suddenly overwhelmed by sparks of exquisite pleasure, your jaw falling open in a silent moan, your eyelids fluttering.
"Yes," you whisper, gazing at him with lust drunk eyes. "I'm your whore, Joel."
He starts to roll his hips back, dragging his cock out of the tight clutch of your cunt before slowly sliding back inside. You gasp, fingers scrambling for his biceps once more. The buckle of his belt clinks against the sink as he fucks into you while expertly rubbing your clit.
"That's right baby," he nods, giving your neck a brief squeeze before looking down to where your bodies are connected. He lets out a rumbling groan. "Look at that fuckin' pussy. Suckin' me right in."
The unhurried rhythm of his cock spearing in and out of you is heavenly. The bliss is all consuming, making your head floaty and your limbs shaky. And although the sink digs uncomfortably into your ass and the joints in your hips protest the the angle Joel's manipulated you into, you don't care. All you can focus on is Joel.
"She belongs to me," he growls lowly. "It don't matter who you're with. Don't matter what you do. She's all mine."
He surges forward and crashes his mouth into yours. You moan, savouring the sweet taste of the wine on his tongue as he captures you in a hungry kiss. You reach up and card your fingers through his hair, tugging his curls, your own voracity suddenly intensifying with each second his tongue laps at yours. His hand remains anchored around your throat, a reminder of who you truly belong to.
All the tension from the past week, all the repressed hunger and torment courses throughout every inch your body. You can feel the coil of pleasure rapidly tightening in your belly, hot and electric. Joel can sense it, too - he can feel it, the way your walls constrict and the little stuttering gulps of air you inhale through your nose. It is so close, that ever coveted euphoric high that you can only seem to attain under the hands of Joel Miller.
His thumb continues to stroke slow circles over your clit, using just the right amount of pressure to coax you to orgasm. When it hits you, your toes curl and your fingers grip tightly to his hair. Your pussy spasms and contracts around Joel's cock as you cum. A gush of juice spills from you and drips down his balls. Joel breaks away from the kiss to stare down at the lewd sight, panting heavily.
"Fuck yes, that's it, baby," Joel praises you. "Squirt all over me, you dirty little fuckin' whore."
Your eyes roll back into your skull while the waves of bliss wash over you, the blood rushing to your ears. It seems to last for ages. Joel keeps up his ministrations until the high eventually dissipates, when your body starts twitching from overstimulation and you have to beg for him to stop. He obeys, satisfied that you've had your fill.
He grabs the flesh of your hip and uses it for better leverage to pound his cock into you. Your hands drop from his head to weakly claw at his arms, the energy drained from your body. His hand around your neck is the only thing keeping you upright.
"I'm gonna fill you up now," Joel grits through laboured pants. "I want you to go back out there with my cum drippin' out of you, ya hear? Want you rememberin' who the fuck this pretty little cunt belongs to."
You nod as best as you can. You want him to use you, to wreck you, to mark you. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, moaning. It's not long before you feel his dick swell and pulse, momentarily expanding inside you like some kind of beast. He curses under his breath and slams one last time all the way inside you, balls deep. He sinks his fingers into the fat of your hip and groans raggedly as the first load of warm spend explodes deep inside you. You mewl, exhausted and boneless, completely submitting to his will, and let him fill you with several more spurts of cum. His ass flexes with each pulse.
"Fuck me," Joel mumbles against your neck, his hot breath tingling along your skin. His body sags into your front as he recovers, his slowly softening dick keeping his sperm plugged inside you. His hand finally loosens from your throat and comes to rest on one of your tits.
Joel never gives you much of an opportunity to indulge in the afterglow of your trysts. He's usually pulling out of you and hitching up his jeans to leave within a minute of unloading his balls. You don't let it get to you, although some times you can't ignore the tiny ache within your chest when you watch him turn away.
Joel sighs, weary yet content, and slips out from your cunt with a wet squelch. You groan at the raw emptiness he leaves you with. He steps back from the sink and tucks his dick back inside his underwear before zipping and buttoning up his jeans. You slide off the sink as carefully as your wobbly legs will allow you and readjust your underwear. You can already feel the sticky gush of semen begin to trickle out of you. You hope your boyfriend won't be able to smell it when you return back to the table.
You expect Joel to quickly duck out of the bathroom before you can even speak a word. To your surprise he doesn't. You glance up at him to find him already staring at you silently with an expression you can't quite place. His eyes shift between yours for a few tense moments, then he tenderly reaches out to cup your cheek.
You've never known him to be gentle like this. What is shared between you two has always been rough and deviant, never soft or sweet. It's such a striking contrast to his usually gruff demeanour that you aren't sure what to say or do.
But then the moment is over just as suddenly as it appeared. Joel buckles up his belt and turns away from you, escaping from the cramped bathroom without so much as a parting word, leaving you alone with the wretched feeling of grime and shame staining your skin.
Some thoughts about the dynamics of your relationship with toxic older boyfriend Joel. 🤤
• Toxic Joel who doesn't listen to you when you tell him not to cum inside you. He ignores your pleas and keeps hammering into you hard and rough. He pins your wrists to the bed to stop you from struggling. He can't resist burying his cock deep inside your cunt when his climax reaches its peak. He groans and shudders while he shoots his cum inside your pussy, not giving a shit that he's risking you getting pregnant. If it happens, it happens.
• Toxic Joel who secretly worries that you will leave him so he tries to make you as dependent on him as possible. He discourages you from pursuing a career - why should you bother when you can work as a receptionist at his construction company? He handles the financial aspects of every part of your life so you don't have to worry about bills, and gives you your own credit card for everyday use. Let me worry about all that grown up stuff, he tells you. You don't have a car because you don't need one, not when Joel drives you everywhere. If you need anything, it should be Joel that you turn to.
• Toxic Joel has a voracious sexual appetite when it comes to you. Your body is like a fucking drug to him. He craves you all the time. Sometimes he gets too caught up in chasing his own pleasure and goes really feral when he's fucking you - his pace turns punishing and the way his cock barrels in and out of you starts to hurt. Joel ignores you when you tell him to stop and try to push him away. Sometimes when he's fucking you doggystyle he hooks his fingers in the corners of your mouth and pulls taut, and you are so immobilised that you become like a fleshlight. He loves bunching your hair in his fist and pulling it tightly to make you cry. It never takes long for him to cum when he gets that rough, like inflicting pain on you heightens his pleasure. At the end of it all you're left a swollen, tired mess.
• Toxic Joel is so paranoid about you cheating on him that he has security cameras installed at all the points of entry to his house. Using a simple app on his phone he can see who is coming or going any time of the day or night. He checks it regularly when you're home alone and he's out of the house. One time your sister's husband came over to return a baking dish she had borrowed, and he went inside to use the bathroom. Joel watched the footage, outraged that you let a man inside your home, away from the view of the camera, leaving two whole minutes unaccounted for. Joel left work and drove straight home, where he spent the next hour interrogating you and berating you, accusing you of being unfaithful. He only stopped when you burst into tears and begged him to believe you. From then on, Joel made the rule that no man was allowed to enter inside the house without his permission.
• Toxic Joel refuses to wear condoms. I'm too old for that shit, he tells you, so it's your responsibility. You're on birth control pills but occasionally he fucks around with them (especially when he's pissed off at you) in the hopes that you'll get pregnant.
• Toxic Joel hates it when men look your way. When you're out in public he notices every side glance or blatant stare thrown your way and it pisses him off. He tightens his grip on your hand or slings his arm around your waist to keep you close to him, to show them you're his.
• Toxic Joel knows how to romance and spoil you like the queen you are. He takes you on shopping sprees and buys whatever your little heart desires - the only stipulation is that he must choose the perfume and lingerie that he wants you to wear. You have regular date nights where he wines and dines you at fancy restaurants then eats your pussy in the back seat of his truck.
• Toxic Joel insists on linking a tracking app on both your phones so he can know your location at all times. He regularly checks it throughout the day when he's at work, and obsessively whenever you go out for dinner with friends. It's not that he doesn't trust you - it's to keep you safe, to protect you - but when you linger somewhere for too long he gets paranoid that you're with another man, or doing something you shouldn't be. If you're late returning from an outing, he crosses examines you about what you've been doing. Sometimes he will sulk and give you the silent treatment for a day or two. You end up feeling guilty, although you did nothing wrong, and try to make it up to him by giving him a sloppy deep throating blow job, the kind he loves. He forgives you when he cums down your throat.
summary: DDDNE one shot set in AU. Just when you're starting to settle into your newly single life, your ex pays you a surprise visit.
warnings: toxic ex!Joel, Joel is obsessed with you, stalking, slapping, mentions of past domestic violence, controlling behaviour, toxic relationship, Joel is possessive and abusive, gaslighting, noncon fingering, pain, pussy inspection, degradation, slut shaming, edging, talk of cum, mention of birth control/pregnancy.
word count: 5,160
You spend your nights alone, usually curled up on the olive green couch that came with your tiny apartment. Sometimes you read a book. Sometimes you eat icecream from the carton while you watch TV. Other times, like the night before last, you just sit and listen to the symphony of the night life drifting up from the street below your window.
The array of sounds you can hear from the world outside your run down apartment serve as a reminder that you aren't alone. That even with your sparse belongings and uninspired surroundings, you are still enduring.
You had moved in three months ago and there were still some small kinks to iron out, but you were happy to there. It was a humble one bedroom apartment, cheap, with patchy paint work and an air-conditioner that rattled everytime you switched it on, but it was yours. You could overlook the leaking shower head and the rickety kitchen drawers because you finally had your own space, a home you could craft to your own liking, somewhere where you make the rules.
It has taken you some time to adjust to the solitude of living alone, but you're not actually lonely. Infact you are beginning to enjoy the quiet of having only yourself for company. You are gradually learning to be comfortable with your independence.
So much has happened in such a short space of time - a new job, a new apartment, a fresh start in life - that some days you wake up disorientated. Some times it all feels like a dream.
But then you remember.
•••
You are stretched out on the couch tonight, only half paying attention to the movie playing on your TV, letting your mind disconnect from reality for a little while.
You're about half way through watching a movie when you are startled by a rapping at your front door. You pause the TV and wait, thinking it could be your imagination. There is a momentarily silence followed by another couple of knocks.
Someone is definitely at your door.
Pertrubed by who it could be, you glance at the clock on your phone screen. 10.30pm. Who could be at your apartment at this time?
Maybe it's one of your neighbours needing a favour - the girl in number 5 is always running out of milk and the man down the hallway is always getting your mail by mistake. It must be one of them.
You look toward the door now and chew your lip nervously. You have to curse your landlord for not having installed a peep-hole. Fuck. You had expressed your concern about it when you first moved in; you didn't want to come off as paranoid but the thought of not knowing who was at the door made your stomach flip with anxiety. Your landlord had compromised and promised to put in a door chain lock instead, but nothing had been done about it yet.
You make a mental note to raise the issue again on Monday as you pull yourself off the couch and traipse over to the door, your socked feet sliding over the worn floorboards. You hesitate for a moment, leaning your forehead against the solid wood of the door.
"Who is it?"
"Tracy, from number 5," a cheery voice sings back from the other side. You exhale a tiny breath of relief before twisting the lock and opening the door.
Sure enough Tracy is waiting in the hallway, dressed in a halter top and a short skirt, gaudy pink high heels accentuating her slender legs. Despite being alot older than you, Tracy's social life is far more exciting than yours, for she always seems to be dressed up and going out.
"Gotcha the coffee I owe ya," she smiles at you with ruby red lips and holds out the glass jar of instant coffee for you to take. "Thanks doll. You saved my ass the other morning. I'm such a bitch when I don't have caffeine as soon as I wake up."
You take the proffered jar and laugh. She does a little twirl and sashays down the hallway and you close the door. You settle back on the couch and resume watching the movie. But not even five minutes later there comes another knock at your door.
That must be Tracy again.
You spring onto your feet and go to the door once more. You wonder what she might need this time. It doesn't bother you too much - you like Tracy, she seems fun, a free spirit. Maybe you should ask her to hang out sometime. You need to start making some new friends, after all.
But when you open it this time, you find that Tracy isn't the one waiting outside.
The person on the other side of the door is your ex boyfriend, Joel.
•••
It's like a jump scare in a horror movie. Your heart leaps into your throat and a startled gasp is squeezed from your lungs. Your brain panics and you try to slam the door shut.
But Joel anticipates your reaction. His movements are agile and swift, quicker than yours, and he is able to wedge his boot inbetween the threshold and barrel his way through the door. You squeal and scamper backwards, unable to do anything as he closes it behind him. Your heart thunders in your chest and when you hear the click of the lock slotting into place, your stomach drops.
You've got no where to run.
Joel then turns around to face you. It's the first time you have seen him in three months. Three months since you decided to end your relationship once and for all. Three months since you packed up your shit and left. Three months since you disappeared from his life.
He looks the same as always. Effortlessly handsome, even dressed so casually in his usual jeans and a green flannel. Despite his violent trespass he looks at you now with doleful brown eyes full of yearning, like a lovesick puppy dog.
How did he find you? Your brain scrambles for possible answers as to how he could've discovered where you live. You had been so cautious when surrending everything from your old life, essentially disappearing from the face of the earth (which hadn't been too difficult, considering how Joel isolated you from almost every opportunity to branch out and make friends, or even work).
But you know better. You know that when Joel decides to do something he doesn't rest until he attains his goal; for what Joel would describe as persistence realistically descends into nothing short of obsession. He'd fight tooth and nail to get what he wants.
You should've known he would come after you. You've gravely underestimated him.
Fucking psychopath.
"How did you find me?" You demand loudly, your heart still galloping in your ribcage. You blindly grope for the wall behind you, searching for anything tactile to stablise you.
"Baby," Joel begins, soft and supplicating. "Calm down. Please, just give me a minute."
"What the hell are you doing here?" You hiss, your face contorting into an outraged snarl. He holds his hands up cautiously, eyes fixed on yours like you're a cornered feral animal ready to sink your claws into him.
"I need you to calm down," he says in that same gentle tone.
"Calm down?" You seethe incredulously, your hands now trembling from the adrenaline. "How can I calm down? You've...you've stalked me! Tracked down where I fucking l-live!"
"Now darlin', I just need you to listen, alright?" He takes a couple tentative steps toward you. You press yourself flat against the wall, wishing you could somehow disappear through it and escape. "Baby, you gotta come back home."
"I don't want to come back," your voice cracks, tears pricking your eyes. "That's why I left, Joel. That's why I packed all my stuff and left."
"I need you, darlin'," he murmers tenderly, using the same alluring and coaxing tone that he does when he is trying to placate you.
"And I need you to leave," you try to sound assertive and commanding but you can't stop the wobble in your voice. Joel just shakes his head gently.
"Baby, you don't understand. I came to get you. You're comin' home with me, where you belong."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," you declare. "We are over! I told you that!"
"I didn't think you meant it," Joel argues back, agitation crackling through his tone as it rises in volume. "Thought you just needed some time to cool off. Then I go to your place to patch things up and find you'd fuckin'...left, totally disappeared. Why did you do that to me?"
"Because I don't want to be with you, Joel," you spit out harshly. "Not after everything you've put me through. How can you expect me to want you, after all your bullshit?"
"My bullshit? What the hell are you talkin' about?" Joel glowers.
"You know what I mean." You feel so small under his intimidating gaze, but you take a deep exhale and soldier on. "Your bad moods and your temper, and all the times you got jealous and acted like an asshole. Your need to control everything."
A flicker of something passes over his face then - a momentary slacking of his features, a split second of a drop in his facade that reveals something like guilt and shame, like he's been hit by memories of his past failures. Like the internal scars in your heart and self esteem have somehow visibly manifested on your skin, reflected on your face in purple mottled bruises.
Like the one he gave you just a few weeks before you left, after he had slapped you during one of your routine arguments about what you wanted to wear to Tommy's for Sunday dinner.
From the very beginning of your relationship, Joel had struggled with communicating his feelings. He was never a man of words and preferred to express himself through actions. It didn't really bother you - you found it kind of endearing in a way. But as your relationship progressed, it became apparent that Joel was more than just emotionally repressed.
You realised that he couldn't handle conflict well and was prone to rage when he felt insecure, especially in situations where you were involved. And it only got worse as his feelings for you intensified.
On the outside, Joel Miller was a handsome man who owned a successful contracting business. He projected an image of power and professionalism. But over time you discovered just what Joel managed to keep hidden under the veneer of a reserved Southern gentleman. You found that he was domineering to the point of obsession, and plagued with a fierce need to control everything that he held dear. Including you.
Especially you.
Joel's jaw ticks and he shakes his head, as if banishing ugly memories from his mind. "Don't act like you're innocent in all this. We both know you love to purposely piss me off."
You dig your nails into your palms to try center yourself. It is like you're in a daze, your mind totally discombobulated. The logical part of you would be screaming for help by now, but you're too blinded by your outrage. How dare Joel Miller hunt you down like this, barrelling his way inside your sanctuary and back into your life. How dare he stand before you and blame you for his flaws.
You ball your hands into fists and let out an exasperated groan through gritted teeth. "You really think I like arguing with you?"
"Sure seems like it," Joel scoffs, folding his arms. "Always runnin' your mouth about somethin'."
"Running my mouth?" You give him a pointed look. "Joel, you didn't want me to see my best friend on her birthday. You pouted and sulked for a whole week. You barely said two words to me the whole time. And then you showed up at the bar drunk and got into a fight with one of her brothers!"
"He was hittin' on you!" Joel argues back, jaw ticking with irritation. "And she's a sloppy fuckin' drunk, just like the rest of those girls she's always with. You know how dangerous it is for you to go out with her runnin' wild like that?"
"Dangerous?" You scoff mirthlessly. "You sound ridiculous! Just admit that you're a fucking control freak."
"You think I wanna control you just because I wanna keep you safe?" Joel hisses, fiery indignation flashing in his eyes.
"Is that what you call not wanting me to have a job?" You challenge back. "And deciding what clothes I wear, who I'm allowed to talk to? You're keeping me safe by constantly checking my phone log and messages?"
"I've been tryin' to guide you," Joel carefully corrects you. "Helpin' you make all the right decisions in your life. That's all." He closes the space between you and reaches his hand out to gently cup your cheek in his palm. "Because I love you," he murmers. "Because you're mine."
"Not anymore," you snap, jerking your head away from his touch. You shove your palms flat against his chest in a bid to push him away but it has no effect on his broad frame. "We are over!"
Joel's brows furrow as he glares down at you. His jaw ticks. "This isn't over. Do you understand me?" He mutters, voice rough and full of warning. "We ain't over. Not till I say so."
You can't stand how close he is. His very presence is suffocating you, pulling all the air from what was supposed to be your safe place. You try to sidestep out from his towering shadow, but he mirrors you, his brows furrowed with determination.
"No, you ain't runnin' from me anymore," Joel asserts, smacking his palm against the wall by your head and blocking your path. "You're mine and I ain't lettin' you go."
You feel your teeth involuntary clench from the frustrated ire coursing through your body. You don't know what pisses you off more; the fact that Joel feels so entitled to ownership over you, or that he doesn't seem to get why you left him in the first place.
"Ain't no one in this world whos gonna care for you the way I do, honey." He leans down to come closer to your face and you can smell his woody aftershave. His eyes shift over the features of your face, drinking you in. "You think I'm too hard on you or whatever the fuck - fine. But just remember that no other man will love you as much as I love you."
The panic rises once more inside your chest. He's too close, overwhelming all your senses. You can't stand to hear his voice any longer. It is no longer the honeyed Southern drawl that could once conjure butterflies inside your tummy and make your cheeks blush. Joel's words now are like a python coiling itself around your body, intent on strangling and pulverising all the fight from your very marrow.
"How you behave..the things you do...that isn't love, Joel." You duck underneath his arm and skirt to the other side of the living room. Joel whirls around to follow you. "And it certainly isn't what I want in a relationship."
"So I ain't good enough now?" He questions bitterly. "Found someone else, is that it?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me. Is it Frankie?"
Frankie. The one that got away. You broke up five years ago when he was struggling to ditch his cocaine habit and get his life together. You both moved on but never forgot one another. By the time he got sober and reconnected with you, you had just met Joel. You and Frankie had stayed friends for a little while - until Joel discovered your history and demand you stop seeing him completely.
You didn't know it at the time, but he had threatened to break Frankie's jaw if he ever spoke to you again.
Needless to say, you hadn't seen Frankie for a long time. Sure, you could've reached out to him in these last three months, but you didn't want to drag him into all this bullshit. It was better to leave it all in the past, including Frankie.
"Oh, fuck off," you mutter. "You know we are only friends. Were."
"He try?"
Your face twists in confusion. "Try what?"
Joel doesn't miss a beat, pinning you with an intense stare that makes your spine crawl. "To fuck you."
You're so tired of his suspicions and accusations, his unfounded paranoia and insecurity. You groan loudly and roll your eyes, which only seems to provoke him further.
"Yeah, he did," Joel surmises confidently, raising his voice. "And I bet you didn't stop him, neither."
"I haven't seen Frankie. And I haven't been with anyone," you say truthfully. "Not that it's any of your business."
"Oh, you haven't, huh?" Joel raises his eyebrows in feigned surprise. "Prove it."
You scoff and shake your head. "I don't have to prove anything to you, Joel."
"Come on," he urges with a tilt of his head. "Neither of us could go a day without sex. Hell, we used to fuck like rabbits. You really expect me to believe you ain't been with someone since me?"
"I haven't." You wrap your arms around your waist, suddenly feeling vulnerable. You don't care if he believes you or not, but you still wonder how a person could possibly prove their celibacy.
You catch Joel's eyes flicker down your body then back up to your face. The tip of his tongue pokes out to lick over his plush bottom lip before he speaks, smooth and nonchalant. "Show me your pussy."
Your breath catches in your throat and you splutter a little. Did you hear him properly? Did he really just tell you to show him your pussy? You blink, stunned for a moment.
"What?" You huff out nervously, eyeing him with caution. Joel stares back at you with a dispassionate expression, one that you can't quite read.
"You heard me. Show me you ain't had a man since you left."
You snort a disbelieving laugh. "No way. You're fucking crazy, Joel."
As soon as the words leave your mouth you perceive a distinct shift in his demeanour. All of the warmth drains from his intense brown eyes, replaced by forboding coldness. The corners of his lips downturn in displeasure. You catch his fingers fidgeting restlessly by his side.
"I'll leave as soon as I see that you ain't got another man's load sittin' inside you right now."
You make a face of disgust at Joel. There's no way you're going to undress and show him your private parts.
He really is fucking insane.
"No," you argue.
Joel's dark eyes remain locked on yours. You try not to let the power of his stare intimidate you but it's impossible when he's so much bigger, so much stronger. Your heart beat kicks up a notch when he takes a couple steps toward you, his boots scuffing along the floor. He looms infront of you now.
"Take your panties off and get on the damn couch." Joel commands, his tone measured and deliberate. "Now."
"You're fucked up, Joel," you sneer. "How dare you come here and demand that. Get the fuck out of my home."
Joel's palm lands a solid smack across your cheek. You yelp and stumble backward. Tears immediately spring to yours eyes and the side of your face flares with pain. You hiss and cradle your throbbing cheek with one hand.
Joel runs his hand over the lower half of his face sighs like he's weary. "See what you make me do?" He laments flatly. "If you just listen to me, I wouldn't have to do shit like that."
You glare up at him, hate etched clearly on your features. He can slap you all he wants - you're not willfully bowing down to him ever again. You're going to stand your ground this time.
"Get on the fuckin' couch," Joel barks out, irritated.
You don't move.
He growls with frustration before grabbing hold of your bicep and dragging you to the couch. He shoves you down onto your back and your head knocks sharply against the arm rest. He ignores your cries of protest and swiftly rips your shorts and underwear from your body, discarding them in a tangle on the floor.
"Now let me see that dirty little cunt," Joel grips your thighs with his large, calloused hands and forces them open. He kneels onto the couch and wedges himself inbetween your legs. You screech and smack your fists wherever you can - his shoulders, his head, his face.
"Quit it," he growls, dodging your blows.
"No!" You yell defiantly. "Get the fuck away from me, you psycho!"
Joel slaps you again. Your head lolls to the side from the impact. Your vision briefly turns static and there's a ringing in your ear. Your body goes rigid from the shock. He spreads your pussy lips open with his thumbs, exposing your hole. He stares down at the apex of your sex and let's out a low whistle.
"There she is," he purrs. "Lookin' just as pretty as I remember." His thumbs stroke gently up and down your labia, almost reverently. He groans quietly, a deep rumble in his chest. "Missed her."
You try to focus your blurred sight on your ex boyfriend hovering above you. Tears pool in your eyes and your lips feel tingly and swollen. "Stop," you manage to whisper hoarsely.
"Just gettin' started, honey," Joel murmers, sliding one of his thumbs up to circle lightly over your clit, making you twitch. "All you gotta do is lay there and take it."
He bows his head and purses his mouth before spitting a large wad of saliva onto your opening. Your muscles instinctively clench as it drips down from your pussy to your asshole. Overcome with humiliation and shock you screw your eyes shut, and your tears finally break free and roll down your cheeks in rivulets.
This can't be happening.
"Last chance to come clean, baby," Joel warns. "Cos I'm gonna know if you let some asshole fuck this pussy. Better you admit to it now."
You have nothing to say. He won't believe anything you tell him, anyway. All you can do is whimper and sob, snot now running from your nose. It intermingles with your tears and the salt stings your lips. His other hand splays over your ribcage, anchoring your torso firmly into the couch.
"Be brave for me, honey," Joel cooes soothingly, like he isn't about to perform such a depraved violation of your body. "Just wanna see if your cunt is still mine."
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers inside your pussy. You're so horrified from the violation and the pain of him stretching you open that your eyes fly open and you shriek loudly. You weakly try to clamp your legs shut but his knees keep you pried open.
"Hold still," Joel demands gruffly. "Be good for me and don't move."
You grip the edge of the couch cushion and grit your teeth as he stuffs his thick digits as deep as he can. There is nothing sexy or sensual about what Joel's doing; the act is far too rough, almost clinical in the lack of finesse, and it is close to agonising when he bumps against your cervix. Your body jolts.
"Stop, Joel," you croak. "You're really hurting me. Please."
You feel so full, your walls squeezing around him, as if rejecting him and trying to push him out. He retracts his fingers half way before pushing them all the way back in. He then repeats the motion slowly, almost experimentally.
"Still tight," Joel murmers. "You tellin' the truth, or are the dicks you takin' just ain't as big as mine?"
He does it again, this time stilling halfway to curl his fingers. He taps up against the sweet spot inside you that he's so incredibly familiar with, and the spark of pleasure it gives you makes you feel sick.
"Yeah, no one could stretch ya like I do."
Your hands cover your eyes in shame, desperately wishing for this whole exercise in degradation to end. "That's enough," you whisper.
"Gotta do it properly, baby," Joel drawls, slightly breathless. You can hear the hint of arousal in his voice, and with horrified revulsion you realise he is getting off on this. More tears trickle from your eyes. "It'll be over soon."
Joel starts to pump his thick fingers in and out of your hole, using that same rhythm he would to prepare you for his cock. You are mortified when you hear the faint squelch of your pussy as it starts to become wet.
"Yeah, she remembers who she belongs to," Joel smirks. He alternates between fucking you with his your fingers and stroking up against your gspot. He knows your body so well, knows the precise angle and the perfect tempo to turn you into a whimpering mess, and now he's using that knowledge to humiliate you.
And despite everything, despite how debauched and defiled you feel, your body cannot help but respond to Joel. His expert movements evoke pulses of ecstasy deep within your core that only intensify the longer he continues. In less than two minutes he has your toes curling into the couch and your hips squirming, and he doesn't falter for even a second.
You hate yourself for the moans of pleasure you cannot restrain inbetween your hiccuping sobs. He continues his exquisite torture and you can feel an orgasm simmering in the depths of your lower belly. Your thighs begin to tremble. The wet squishing noise grows embarrassingly loud as you gush around Joel's fingers.
"Fuck yeah," he groans. "You hear that, honey? Hear how she's fuckin' cryin" for me?"
Your clit is throbbing at this point, and you believe if he were to so much as graze it you'd probably cum on the spot. Your pelvic muscles contract in anticipation as your orgasm builds.
Please don't, you beg internally. You can't grant him the sick satisfaction; it would be like handing him your dignity on a silver platter. You bite down on your lip, your mind screaming at you to hold on.
"When was the last time you came, honey?" Joel coos. There's no way he doesn't know how close you are to coming. He's purposely taunting you, twisting the knife deeper, and you're grateful that you can't see his face at this moment. "You touchin' this pretty pussy every night?"
Your whole body is quivering from the momentum of his fingers scissoring in and out of you. Your breath hitches in short, shallow gasps and moans.
"You been thinkin' about me, baby?" He croons knowingly, voice silken yet rough with lust. "Rememberin' how good I make you feel? Yeah, bet you been fuckin' achin' to get fucked stupid on my dick again."
You're so close.
So close to falling apart at the hands of the man responsible for so much angst and chaos in your life. The man who, unbeknownst to you, has been tampering with your birth control pills in the hopes of getting you pregnant.
But you don't get to reach your climax before Joel abruptly withdraws from your slit. You groan like the air has been knocked out of your lungs, and your pussy squeezes around the sudden emptiness left behind. Your shaky hands fall from your face and you stare at him, stupefied, your cheeks flushed and your chest heaving.
"That should do it," Joel grunts. He holds his fingers up infront of him to inspect. They shine with your slick. He rubs his thumb over the pads of his fingers, like he's trying to decipher what the substance is. He then brings them to his nose and sniffs.
Joel loved the smell of you just as much as he loved eating your pussy. He would push his aquiline nose into your folds and greedily inhale your scent, like it was his own personal drug. He even confessed how he avoided washing for as long as he could afterwards, just so he could smell your juice lingering in his moustache.
He locks eyes with you now and pops his fingers into his mouth to suck clean. He hums with satisfaction, like he's savouring the taste. "Guess you were tellin' the truth after all. Ain't nothin' in there but that sweet pussy juice."
Your ruined orgasm triggers a renewed wave of rage and shame to wash over you. You wrench his hand off your stomach and wriggle your legs to try scoot away from him.
"Fucking told you," you mutter hatefully. "You got your stupid proof, now get the fuck away from me."
"Take it easy," Joel slips his hands around the outside of your thighs and holds you still. "Don't be like that, baby. You can't blame me for needin' to make sure, can ya?"
"You're sick," you mumble, wiping your dripping nose with the back of your arm.
"Just a man in love," he strokes his thumbs over your flesh, gazing at you with affection. "Are you finished bein' mad at me yet? Got it all outta your system?"
"This isn't some kind of game," you whisper tiredly. "This isn't something you can fix. I don't love you, Joel. You hurt me. And you scare me."
"I'll change," he says nonchalantly. You can hear the hollowness in his words.
"You've said that a million times, Joel, and you never did."
"I mean it this time."
You wipe the tears from your cheeks and shake your head. "I'll go to the police and get a restraining order."
Joel cocks his eyebrow and fixes you with a cynical look. "Honey, think seriously for a minute. Do you really think a little piece of paper is gonna keep me away from you?"
"Then I'll just keep running." You want to sound defiant and strong, but your voice comes out cracked and lacking conviction. You're so tired.
"Don't matter how many times you run. I'll find you everytime, baby," Joel dismisses you simply. He stands up off the couch, his knees cracking as he does. He grabs your hand and hauls you up as if you're weightless. You sway on weak legs, defeated and dizzy.
"Come on, let's get out of this shithole," Joel slings his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his armpit. "I'm takin' you back home so I can stuff that cunt full of my cum."
He presses a kiss to the top of your head, then whispers in your ear, "and I swear to God, if you ever try to leave me again...I'll break every bone in your body."
The next time you escape it'll be to a remote cabin across the fucking country.
hi, just seen that you haven’t posted in a while, hope you’re doing ok, I miss your writing! I’m going to read through your masterlist 🥰💕
Hi my love, thank you for checking on me 💗 to be honest I haven't had much of a will to write these past few months. The last time someone requested a fic and I wrote it, I got hardly any engagement, and that kinda deflated me. But maybe I'll post something soon, maybe fluffy for a change.
summary: DDDNE sequel to Bad Neighbours. Set in modern AU. Joel finds an opportunity to blackmail you and bring you to your knees.
warnings: unspecified age gap, misogyny, talk of drugs, slut shaming, mention of past noncon penetration, degradation, dubcon facefuck, forced throat pie, blackmail, dacryphilia, flirtacious!Tommy, mean!Joel, grumpy!Joel, possessive!Joel.
word count: 5,250
___________________________________________
Joel hadn't seen much of you around the neighbourhood lately. You had become something of a ghost in these last few months.
Since the night he had barrelled his way into your house and fucked the shit out of you, Joel had hardly seen you make an appearance. He hadn't seen you strutting around your driveway in skimpy shorts while you washed your cute little car. He hadn't seen you out for a jog around the block like you sometimes did. You never sit on your porch steps to paint your toenails anymore, either.
He had spied you coming and going from your house a few times, when he coincidentally peeked out of his living room window, but he could never get a good look at you. You quickly scurried to and from your car, always dressed in jeans and a baggy shirt, face tilted down in an effort to avoid anyone's eye. You were quick to get inside the house, never lingering outside to talk to any of the neighbours like you used to do. You hadn't had a single party at your house since that night, either.
That was to be expected, Joel supposed. Yeah, he could admit that he had been pretty tough on you, had maybe been a bit overzealous in reprimanding you for your carefree ways. But he hadn't really had any other option but to break your spirit, to put you in your place. There was only so much a man could take before losing his patience.
It pleased Joel that he had been the one to teach you some humility, that your unruly behaviour came with consequences. It satisfied him that there were no longer any nights of loud music disturbing his sleep. He was smug to no longer see any of your friend's cars blocking the street and revving their engines as they sped around the block.
Things around the area were back to being peaceful once again. Quiet, which Joel liked. But they were also a little....boring. Sometimes he found that he actually kind of missed the exerburance you brought to the neighbourhood, like a breath of fresh air.
He would never admit it, though.
And although things were quiet, there were still nights where Joel just couldn't get to sleep. Nights when his mind wouldn't stop ticking no matter how many shots of whiskey he downed. He'd lay in bed, body weary and muscles tight after a long day at work, and the sweetness of sleep would still evade him.
In those lonely hours of the night Joel's mind would often drift to you. He hadn't been with a woman since that fateful night with you, and his body fucking craved the feeling of a woman's soft curves pressed tightly against him. He didn't just crave just any woman though - he craved you.
His cock would be throbbing with the memory of your pussy clenching around him, the way your body trembled as he punished it for your vivacity that Joel deemed so offensive. He'd fist his cock while imagining you beneath him writhing and moaning, his own groans filling the empty darkness of his bedroom. It never took long for him to climax, cum spurting over his knuckles and stomach as he moaned and grunted like a pathetic old man.
He would lazily wipe at the mess with his shirt, doing a half assed job before tossing it on the floor and finally collapsing into sleep.
___________________________________________
One Sunday afternoon Tommy came over to discuss plans for a site the Miller company was currently building on. Joel sat at the dining table with a cup of black coffee in hand as he listened patiently to Tommy report the latest issues that needed dealing with.
From the very first day it had proved to be a stressful project to work on - in the first few weeks there had been a delay in the timbre and brick shipments, followed by stormy weather that set the schedule back by atleast a month. Bad luck seemed to follow, with half the labour crew then struck down with a stomach bug that lasted several days. Tommy grimly joked that the whole operation seemed to be cursed.
Joel was close to tearing his fucking hair out. He was working longer hours in an attempt to catch up, and when he wasn't on site supervising and directing the crew he was on the phone to different building supplies companies renegotiating contracts. The mental load was exhausting. Sarah was always telling him to go on a vacation, to get away from it all and take a break. Maybe she was right.
Joel was secretly relieved when Tommy downed the last dregs of his coffee and stood up to leave. It was Joel's first day off in weeks and he was looking forward to kicking back and watching the football game with a beer or two, just by himself.
"By the way, I need to borrow the DeWalt," Tommy casually mentioned as they walked out the front door. "Gotta reinforce some screws on the deck at my place."
"Yeah, yeah," Joel dismissed with a gruff wave of his hand. "Just don't forget to return it this time."
Tommy's head swivelled around, surveying the neighbouring houses while Joel dug his car keys out of his pocket and fiddled around with the garage key.
"Where's the princess?" Tommy asked, jerking his head toward the direction of your house. "Ain't seen her in a while."
Even with his back to Tommy, Joel knew exactly who he was talking about, and his jaw ticked in irritation. He didn't know why his little brother's teasing pissed him off so much. He certainly wasn't jealous. Why would he be jealous of his brother eyeing a little slut like you?
"What do I look like - head of the fuckin' neighbourhood committee?" Joel grumbled, unlocking the garage roller and bending down to haul it upward.
At that very moment, as if tempting fate, your car came rolling down the street with its windows down, obnoxiously loud pop music blasting through the speakers. Both the brothers turned to watch the car skirt past and zoom into your driveway.
"Well, speak of the devil," Tommy huffed a chuckle.
Joel didn't expect his stomach to flip a somersault the way it did, like he was actually excited or something. Get it together, Jesus Christ. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms to maintain an detached facade, but he still couldn't drag his eyes away from your house.
The car door swung open and its driver stepped out, revealing not you but another young woman around the same age as you. She climbed out and almost instantly spotted the older men staring at her across the way. A smile spread over her face and she waved at them.
"Oh, hey!" She called out. "Excuse me!"
Joel glowered, squinting across the road. Tommy returned her wave with a lazy two finger salute.
"Well what d'ya know," he murmered to Joel. "Looks like somebody wants to say hello."
The two men watched as she practically pranced across the street and up Joel's driveway. She was wearing a tank top that showed off her cleavage and jeans that Joel thought were much too tight.
"Hi," she smiled brightly as she approached them. "Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you could help me out?"
Joel narrowed his eyes down at her. She was no where near as pretty as you, but she had that same peppy spirit you had - before he broke it, that is. She was also instantly annoying, he deduced.
"What is it?" He grunted.
"I borrowed my friend's car. She lives across the street," she hooked a thumb back toward your house. "And well, the engine keeps cutting or something." She gave a sheepish grin and looked between the two brothers. "Either of you guys know much about cars?"
Joel had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't have the patience or the energy to deal with your airhead friend batting her eyelashes and expecting him to fix your damn car. He wasn't running a charity here. All he wanted to do was retreat back inside and flop down in his recliner like the weary old man he was.
Tommy seemed to sense his older brother's exasperation, for he took a step forward and gave the girl a kind, genial smile.
"You've come to the right place, sweetheart," he said, oozing charisma in the effortless way he always did with women. "Name's Tommy. How about I come over there and take a look at what you're workin' with?"
Your friend giggled, an airy and flirtatious sound that grated on Joel's nerves. "I'm Maddy. And yeah, that would be awesome."
"Let's go," Tommy winked at her.
Joel gave a disapproving shake of his head as he watched the two of them cross the street back over to your driveway. Typical Tommy, he thought. Always the knight in shining armour, always the one playing the good guy hero just to get some pussy.
But while Joel was partially disgusted at Tommy's predilection for playful banter with women, he couldn't help feeling a little impressed, perhaps even the slightest bit jealous of how easily women fell under his spell. Joel certainly was the more reserved of the two, always the stoic and pragmatic counterpart to Tommy's convivial personality. He had never been the kind of man to possess the finesse for seducing women, and the older he got the more woefully out of practice he was becoming. So out of practice, in fact, that his last sexual encounter had consumed his subconscious and became the centre point of all his fantasies.
Joel sighed before sauntering into the garage.
___________________________________________
A short time later Tommy swaggered back over to Joel's, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans and his boots clicking over the driveway cement.
"Alternator's shot," Tommy announced to Joel, as if Joel actually gave a shit. "She's gotta take it to a mechanic."
"Too bad," he replied flatly, grabbing the drill from his work bench.
"Yeah, too bad," Tommy echoed, grinning wolfishly. "She needs a ride to town, so I offered to take her."
The implication of his words clicked when Joel caught the cocky expression written all over Tommy's face.
"Fuck sake," he muttered, shoving the tool into Tommy's middle. "You ever think about anythin' else besides gettin' your dick wet?"
"Hey now, I'm just bein' a gentleman." Tommy grinned, opening his truck to toss the drill into the back seat. "Helpin' a young lady in distress and all."
Joel just scoffed. He was more than ready to retire to his armchair and zone out for the rest of the afternoon, to forget about all the stress and headaches that he had been dealt with these last few weeks. He was about to say goodbye when Tommy leaned over and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial murmer.
"Wild little thing, too. She left some blow in the glovebox."
Joel pulled away and frowned at Tommy, not bothering to hide his disgust. He hated drugs - hated what they did to people, hated how they ruined lives. But what did it matter to him if your friend dabbled in them?
"So what?" He grunted with as much indifference as he could muster. "So she's a slut and a junkie. Congratulations."
Tommy laughed heartily. "You're such a fuckin' square, man. Just thought you might wanna tell the princess her friend left her a little gift."
Joel's eyebrows raised at the mention of you. "The hell's that got to do with me?"
"Well, you're gonna be the one holdin' onto her key. For safe keeping." Tommy spun a set of car keys around his forefinger, that same shit eating grin spread across his boyishly handsome face.
"Goddamnit, Tommy, don't drag me into this mess!" Joel hissed angrily. He could feel his blood pressure rising by the second.
"Maddy ain't got a key to get into the house," Tommy replied with a shrug. "Needs somewhere safe to keep the car keys. You don't gotta do anythin', just wait for her to show up."
He tossed the set of keys to Joel, who managed to catch it with a clumsy fumble of his hands. Maddy came trotting over at the same time, her tits bouncing as her hips sashayed. She snapped a wad of bubblegum between her glossed lips and grinned over at them. Tommy gave Joel a sly wink before turning to open the passenger door of his truck for her.
"You ready to go, little miss?"
___________________________________________
The anticipation of seeing you gnaws at Joel's nerves all afternoon. He can hardly focus on the football game on the tv, his eyes flickering to his longueroom window with every flash of outside movement that catches in his periphery. He has no idea when to expect you, when you might end up on his doorstep to retrieve your keys, so he remains alert to the sounds and sights that could signal your arrival.
It's not like he could call you and ask when you'd be home. There had been no reason to exchange phone numbers when you had first moved in - even though he was sure you had with several of the other residents on the street. Would you even answer the phone if he did call? Maybe you'd prefer text instead - he heard somewhere that young people only text these days. He hated texting and how his large thumbs couldnt quite hit the letters properly, how it took so long just for him to type the most basic message. Sarah had laughed at him once, calling him an old man when he complained about not understanding text talk or emojis.
The sun eventually sinks into the west and dusk spreads, twilight stars twinkling against the backdrop of the purple sky. Joel wonders aimlessly around the house, searching for small chores to complete to keep himself distracted, but the restless energy buzzes throughout him like a live wire, making him agitated and excited all at once.
Maybe he should've refused to take your keys and told Tommy to fuck off and sort it out himself. He was the one who jumped in to help your friend, so he should be the one to deal with you.
But Joel knew Tommy better than anyone else, and he knew just how magnetic his little brother could be with the opposite sex. He had also noticed the lingering, lustful glances Tommy threw your way whenever the two of you happened to be in the neighbourhood at the same time. Tommy would surely love any excuse to catch you alone and try get into your pants. If he succeeded, he would rub it in Joel's face and never let him forget it for the rest of his life.
And the more Joel thought about it, the more that tiny seed of ugly jealousy inside him grew stronger. You weren't Joel's and you never would be, but the irrational possessiveness he felt seemed uncontrollable. He hated you, but you had gotten under his fucking skin, clawing your way into his flesh like a tick so he couldn't get rid of you. And even so, he couldn't stomach the thought of another man sinking his dirty fucking dick into your perfect pussy.
Joel forgoes dinner and plants himself on the couch with a couple more beers. Yhe alcohol flows through him, calming his nerves as the blue glow of the TV casts shadows over his face. He even unintentionally falls asleep for a brief nap, only snapping back awake when a loud used car sales advert blares through the sound system.
It's late at night when a muted knock at his front door alerts him to your arrival. Joel springs to his feet and swipes the keys from his coffee table before stalking to the door. His heart pounds as he opens the door.
You stand there on his welcome mat with your head bowed like a scolded puppy and your fingers twisting nervously infront of you. His eyes scan you up and down, taking in your casual outfit of jeans and a baggy hooded sweatshirt. He wonders where you have come from - work, perhaps, or possibly school. Maybe a boyfriend's.
Joel keeps his expression impassive as he stares down at you wordlessly. You say nothing, and the heavy silence hangs in the air between the two of you. It seems to go on forever before you find the courage to utter something that has Joel straining forward to hear you properly.
"My friend gave you the keys for my car," you speak in a whisper, still not looking at him.
The sound of your gentle, feminine voice makes his cock twitch in his jeans. Just the sound of you, the mere sight of you on his door step has the blood rushing to his cock. His massive hand flexes on the door knob as he fights the primal urge to drag you inside his house and throw you onto the floor again.
Fuck. He needs to stay in control before he blows this whole thing.
"Can I please have them back?" You ask meekly.
Oh, you are so fucking sweet when you're timid like this. Joel inhales a measured breath in order to calm himself. He crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. "Yeah. But first we got somethin' to talk about."
He sees the slight flinch that jolts through your body, the way you automatically tense up at his choice of words. He keeps his eyes trained on you like a hawk, waiting patiently for a response. You ball your hands into fists and when you speak again your words come out shaky and stuttered.
"I-I can't...t-talk...right now..."
"I suggest you come inside and listen to what I have to say," Joel replies calmly, uncharacteristically soft, almost paternal.
You finally lift your chin up to meet his gaze and he's surprised to see you scowling at him. You look disgusted and annoyed, like he's some kind of creep propositioning you.
"I don't want to hear what you have to s-say, Mr. Miller," you snipe. "Now give m-me back my keys."
So you are still a bratty little bitch, Joel thinks. Still got that entitled attitude. His jaw ticks once. Even though you're scared, you still have the balls to try stand up to him. It's almost admirable - if he didn't have so much contempt for you.
"And what about that little baggie sittin' in the glovebox in your car?"
He cocks an eyebrow at you expectantly. You stare silently back at him, your face pinched into a confused frown as your mind tries to decipher what the hell he's alluding to.
It takes a few moments for the cogs to turn, for the realisation to hit you, but there's no mistaking when it does. Your face drops almost instantly. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes open, but no sound comes out.
A tendril of wicked amusement coils inside Joel's belly. Oh, you look cute when you're scared. "What you got to say about that?"
"It isn't mine," you blurt out. "It doesn't belong to me - it's my friend's."
Joel gives a derisive snort. "Really think the cops'll buy that bullshit?"
"The...the cops?" You question nervously, the colour draining from your face.
"Yeah, the cops," Joel bites back. "You think I ain't gonna tell them about this? What kinda person would I be to let illicit drugs come into a good neighbourhood like this?"
"M-mister Miller, please," you plead pitifully, a shrill edge to your voice now. "I swear to you, it's not mine--"
"That cocaine is stashed inside your vehicle," Joel cuts you off sharply. "Cops won't give a shit if it belongs to your friend - they'll find it in your car and haul you on down to the station so fast your head will spin."
Your eyes begin to well with tears as you shake your head, disbelieving and petrified all at once. He has to suppress the cruel grin threatening to break out over his face.
"Oh, you better believe it," he warns you. "My daddy was a cop. I know how the law works, sweetheart. Don't think they'll let you off the hook just cos of your pretty face."
"Please," you whisper, "please don't."
"They'll charge you with possession, at the very least. It'll go on your record. Might not look too good to any potential employers. Ain't too many folks who'll be happy givin' a druggie a job."
You start to cry, your nose and cheeks tinging with pink as fat tears drip from your waterline. "P-please," you sob hopelessly.
Joel watches you cry, his features fixed in a mask of calm indifference despite his cock being half hard. He's breaking you down so quickly; you're caught in his web now, tangled and terrified, and he's about to reap his prize.
"S'pose we could come to some kind of arrangement," Joel muses, more casual and cordial than he has ever sounded before. "Why don't you come inside so we can talk about it some more?"
You sniffle and drop your head back down in defeat. You give a little nod of your head, a sad gesture of acquiescement that makes Joel's stomach flip with perverted excitement. He presses back against the door to give you space to pass through the threshold, covertly inhaling your scent as you slip past.
He shuts the door and locks it.
You shuffle into the middle of Joel's living room and he follows behind you, his hands are already working on unbuckling his belt.
"Now I think I might be able to keep quiet about that little stash," Joel says as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans. "But I'm gonna need some convincin'."
You stand awkwardly by the couch, your eyes downcast and fixed on the carpet at Joel's feet. He shoves his jeans and underwear down his thighs, freeing his aching half erect cock and heavy balls.
"So go ahead and convince me," he murmers, cupping his sack in his hand and giving it a light squeeze. Your face crumples and a fresh set of tears spill down your cheeks.
Joel might enjoy watching you cry, but what he really wants to see is you crying while his cock defiles you, and so he doesn't care to make this scene stretch out longer than it has to. He's waited too long and now the pent up anticipation of it all is making him even more irritated.
"Get on your knees," Joel commands coldly. "Hurry up."
You slowly sink to your knees in the carpet, hands shaking as they come to a rest on your thighs. Joel takes a couple strides until he's standing directly above you. He wraps his fingers around his cock and jerks it twice, slow and leisurely.
"Don't even think about bitin', or else you leave this house with no teeth at all, you understand me?" He warns you sternly.
"Yes," you whisper back.
"Yes sir," he corrects you.
"Yes sir."
"Good. Lick my balls, bitch."
A look of revulsion passes over your features and your lips curl with revulsion. He angles his cock slightly upward to give you better access and shuffles closer so that your face is only inches away from where he wants your mouth. He swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, gathering the precum and smearing it all over the tip.
"Go on'," Joel rasps above you. "Show me how you use that tongue, sweetheart."
He watches in predatory fascination as you reluctantly poke out your tongue and give one of his balls an experimental lick. You grimace a little and pull away, clearly disgusted at the sensation of his pubic hair against your tongue.
What a prissy little bitch you are, he thinks.
When you lean in again and give another half hearted lick, he feels his patience start to wear thin.
"Come on, I ain't got all night." Joel grabs a hank of your hair at the back of your head and shoves your face closer to his ball sack. You let out a pathetic little sob. "Make this good for me, 'else I'll march your little ass down to the police station myself."
His threats seem to scare you into action. You start to lick a series of slow stripes over the seam of his sack, your nose nudging the underside of his cock. Joel groans, fist tightening over the head of his dick as he watches you.
"That's it. Give 'em both some attention."
You shift your tongue to lathe the other ball and he let's out a gravelly moan. Maybe Joel's just touch starved and horny, but you're actually pretty good at this shit. Do you do this for all your boyfriends? Maybe in a more normal, less fucked up scenario, this is an act you actually enjoy performing, with a man you trust and have feelings for. A man who isn't old enough to be your father.
"Now kiss 'em. Make it sloppy."
He senses your hesitation and flexes his hand in your hair in a subtle warning. He'll slap you around again if he has to - surely you would've remembered just how painful that was. But luckily for you, Joel doesn't have to; you begin to place wet open mouthed kisses all over his ballsack, your lips and tongue simultaneously smacking and sucking the wrinkled skin. Aroused tingles flood Joel's body and he hums with satisfaction.
"Dirty fuckin' mouth you got," he growls lowly.
You continue to caress his balls with slack, spit soaked kisses. You're a fucking natural, he marvels. But if you keep going, he will end up shooting his load very soon.
"Alright, alright - enough," Joel pants, jerking your head away from his balls. "Now open your mouth."
You obey and let your jaw fall open. There is nothing seductive about the detached way you move, but the authority Joel weilds over you right now excites him enough to make up for it. He rubs the head of his cock over your bottom lip while you stare up at him with vacant eyes.
"That's it. Keep that fuckin' mouth wide open. And remember - no teeth, bitch."
Joel snaps his hips forward and unceremoniously pushes inside your mouth. He moans as the warmth of your tongue envelopes the underside of his girth, expanding over his skin like silk until the head of him knocks the back of your throat. You gag instantly and his other hand quickly grabs hold of your hair in anticipation that you'll try push away. But to Joel's surprise you don't.
Seems you have well and truly been beaten into submission.
"Yeah, you know your place now, huh?" He taunts. "Learnt not to talk back and just take it, isn't that right?"
With his hands glued to each side of your head, Joel begins to draw his hips back and forth, steadily fucking his cock in and out of your gaping mouth. He relishes in the choking sounds that gurgle from you each time his fat tip jabs deep into your throat hole. Tears trickle from your eyes and down your cheeks, leaving streaks of mascara in their wake. Your saliva coats his shaft and leaks down your chin, messy and wet. You look a goddamn wreck.
Fuck, you're even more pretty like this.
Joel moans, low and gravelly, his adams apple bobbing thickly in his throat when he swallows. Even though you are doing the bare minimum right now - not sucking or jerking him off, just simply keeping your jaw unlocked - you still feel fucking incredible. There is something so indescribably sexy to Joel about ruining a spoiled pretty slut without hearing her run her mouth or act like a brat. To his dismay, he realises he is not going to last much longer.
But he is content with keeping a measured pace; he sees no point in forcing you to try swallow his dick and vomit all over him. No, he's perfectly happy with weighted thrusts that stretch your lips painfully and that cramp your tongue. He takes pride in hearing the wet thwacking noise every time his balls smack against your chin.
Though Joel's gaze is fixated on you, you don't make eye contact with him, instead staring blankly at his exposed pubic area. He breathes heavily through his nostrils as his orgasm gradually builds, the pleasure of defiling your face too great to temper. He's waited too long to have you again, spent too many lonely nights fantasising about you to be able to hold back for very long.
"Gonna cum down that slutty little throat. And you're gonna swallow every last fuckin' drop," Joel pants.
He fucks your face for another minute, able to prolong his pleasure for just that little bit of extra time. Just before he's about to cum, Joel plunges his cock as far deep your throat as possible so that your nose presses into his pubic hair, and he holds your head in his tight grip. His orgasm crashes into him in one huge powerful wave. He groans loudly and his cum explodes inside your mouth and shoots down your oesophagus. And this time you do fight back - you try in vain to pull away while you gag violently on his seed.
"No runnin'," Joel growls breathlessly. "Swallow it. All of it. Go on, you little cunt. Fuckin' do it."
You do as your told. He finally releases your head with an uncaring push and you fall back onto your ass, coughing and sobbing. Joel's chest expands and falls with his heaving breathes as he comes down from his high. Christ, that was the best orgasm he's had in fuck knows how long. He props his hands on his hips and takes a few moments to let the light headed feeling wash over him.
You don't take as long to recover as Joel does. You scramble to your feet, unsteady but quick, and swipe your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater.
"Keys," you croak out brokenly. "Now."
Joel doesn't bother to acknowledge you as he hitches up his underwear and jeans. You did good. It's only fair he returns your precious keys, seeing as that was part of the deal. He digs into his pocket and takes out the object in question.
"Keep that shit outta my neighbourhood." Joel finally deigns to glance at you. "And I'm sure this goes without sayin', but no tellin' anyone about this little exchange of ours, neither." He gives you a pointed look. "Think you got a pretty good idea what could happen if you don't listen."
You nod your understanding. You look like a cheap whore with your lips swollen and your eyes puffy from the tears you're still crying. And although Joel feels smug pride with the knowledge that he's the cause of it, he's tired now and just wants to sleep.
"Get the fuck outta here."
He tosses you the keys. You catch them, hands shaking, then you scurry to the front door. You escape and slam the door shut behind you.
Joel sighs, weary and content. He staggers to bed and falls into a deep sleep, the scent of your shampoo tainting his fingernails.
summary: DDDNE sequel. General Acacius visits you a second time.
warnings: dark!Acacius, captivity, slavery, noncon PIV, noncon oral sex, degradation, unspecified age gap, ass play, threat of anal.
word count: 2,500
"And again."
His words are resonant and commanding, the rich timbre of his voice cutting through the dimly lit palace bedroom in a way that makes your spine shiver. The only other sound audible to your ears is the panting of your breath, coarse and wet, as you try to regain your composure.
You're kneeling on the ground naked as Acacius stands before you, one meaty hand fisted in your hair. His erect cock, thick and slick with spit, is mere inches from your face. It has only been a minute since he stalked into your room and practically threw you to the marble floor, but you already look a wreck - saliva and tears dripping down your chin and onto your chest, your eyes glassy and your lips swollen. You can smell the faint scent of the perfumed oil he bathes in underneath the stench of his sweat.
You're terrified, your mind scarcely clinging to reality as your sense of self preservation keeps your body upright on your knees. You don't know how you're going to endure this for much longer, physically or mentally.
It's not that you are a stranger to carnal pleasure. You have had some experiences with a man or two in your village during moments of passion hidden within secret nooks of hazy summer afternoons. You had been emboldened by youthful curiosity and lust in those times; those thrilling trysts had given you the perfect opportunity to explore your body and the pleasures it could experience, especially with a man.
But nothing has prepared you for what General Acacius is currently subjecting you to. You have never pleased a man with your mouth like this before. In fact, you aren't even sure how a man can derive any pleasure from such an exercise of aggression.
But then again, General Acacius is not the average man. And your pleasure is not the focus of your role as his mistress. He had made it clear the first time he took you that all you were expected to be from this point on was a vessel for his cock.
He towers over you now, his burly body naked, scarred flesh and hulking muscle on display like a Roman God. The silvering curls of his hair are damp with sweat and stick to his forehead. His lips are slightly parted as his chest rises and falls with his breaths, head tilted downward to watch you with steely brown eyes that blaze with savage wantonness.
"I said again," he barks out, giving your head a tight shake and making you shriek in pain.
He's becoming impatient with you - a dangerous thing to risk with a man like the general, but you aren't purposely being defiant. The last thing you want is to earn his ire but you're struggling to withstand his tortuous pursuit of gratification. You have witnessed him in battle, have seen first hand just how ruthless and barbaric his nature can be, and you have come to understand that his sexual appetite is just as sadistic.
You must stall for a second too long, for Acacius pinches your nose between his fingers, making you instinctively gasp for air. He takes the opportunity to jolt his hips forward and stuff his cock back inside your mouth until the head taps against the back of your throat.
You gag instantly and try to jerk your head away, your nails simultaneously digging into his thighs, but his hold on your hair is like an iron anchor, making it impossible for you to escape.
"Hold it."
You can't do anything but obey him. You stare up at him with wide, panicked eyes, willing him to have mercy on you. After a few excuriating seconds Acacius takes his fingers away from your nose, generous enough to let you breathe. You try your best to inhale through your nostrils but your sinus feels clogged and the intrusion of his cock between your lips is too suffocating for you to concentrate.
"Deeper."
He pushes your head further down his length, stretching your lips painfully. The head of his dick stabs into your throat, causing you to splutter and gag even more. You screw your eyes shut while your stomach muscles tense as you fight the urge to vomit.
"Good," Acacius lets out a gravelly moan. "Good whore."
His hand remains threaded through your hair while the other one shifts to cup under your jaw, his fingers squeezing firmly to keep your mouth pried open. He then begins to rock his hips back and forth slowly, guiding the head of his cock to saw in and out of your throat in lesiurely strokes, never withdrawing from your mouth. It slides heavily over your tongue, saliva pooling around the velvety underside and dripping from the corners of your mouth. His ballsack slaps rhythmically against your chin, sticky and wet with your spit.
All you can do is succumb to his will and just take it. You are vaguely aware of a pulsing sensation inside your cunt, your muscles involuntarily tightening and unclenching in time with his thrusts.
It's humiliating.
"Stay just like that, whore." Acacius orders you, only the slightest hint of breathlessness betraying his detached veneer. "I will continue to train you until every one of your holes can take me without resistance."
His words are like an arrow straight to your heart. Until just a few days ago you were a free woman living a simple existence in your ancestral village, full of joy and promise, surrounded by your loved ones. You were content with your humble life. You took pride in contributing to the community, labouring as every other peasant did in order to enjoy the wealth of fresh fruits, vegetables and produce.
But it all changed when the thunderous sound of galloping horse hooves and men's voices cut through the peaceful backdrop of your settlement. With the swoop of a single Roman sword your idyllic world was slashed to shreds. Everything you held dear, including your very identity, was cruelly snatched from underneath you and defiled and obliterated right before your eyes.
And now here you are, imprisoned as a sex slave and on your knees to service the very man responsible.
This was the second time Acacius had come to your chambers since imprisoning you. He had left you ruined and weeping that first visit, stuffed full of his cum and leaking all over the lavish sheets of the magnificent bed you were to sleep on from now on. You aren't sure how long it has been since then, if he had left the city to conquer another township or had remained in Rome.
You don't even know how much time has passed since the fateful day the Roman army decimated your village; you have no concept of time except from the rising and setting of the sun outside the locked windows of your balcony. The world continues to exist outside of the four walls of the opulent room you have been confined to, while you resign yourself to the life of a mistress to the most infamous war general in the land.
The cold marble floor bites your kneecaps while tears leak from your eyes, warm and stinging as they trickle down your cheeks. Acacius continues to fuck your face with the same measured momentum, drawing a constant rivulet of mucus from your nose and filthy gurgled retching from your throat. His massive hand on your jaw is like a vice holding you in place and you can already feel the bruises that will surely bloom under the weight of his calloused fingers.
His hands are so wide and thick that he could crush your face with ease, you think. If you want to survive you have got to try get through this, just long enough for him to cum. You plant your hands onto your thighs and dig your fingernails down in an effort to distract yourself from the assault. Your nails imprint into your flesh, determined to pierce the skin and cause a flare of pain, to give your mind something else to focus on instead of the violation of your body.
The strategy works, and what seems like several minutes pass by. All that can be heard in the room is the guttural retch of your throat being abused and the repeated wet smack of his balls, punctuated by the occasional groan from Acacius.
Your mind floats away from your physical being. You become disconnected, so much so that you don't register your top teeth unexpectedly scrape over the ridges of his cock. You don't realise your mistake until he hisses angrily, then suddenly releases your face from his grip to land a prompt slap to your cheek.
Your eyes fling open, vision blurred and dizzied. An anguished wail escapes from the raw ravages of your throat as a burst of pain explodes at the side of your face and radiates all throughout your cheekbone.
"Are you really so careless, or do you think yourself brave enough to wound me?" he growls, yanking at your hair and causing your scalp to prickle painfully. "Answer me, you little slut."
"I'm sorry!" You croak, gasping for air through panicked breathes. "I-I didn't mean to!"
Using his grip on your hair Acacius hauls you up onto your feet, his actions more swift than your muddled brain can comprehend. He shoves you backward onto the bed and you let out a shocked cry when your back hits the mattress with a thud.
"It seems I have yet to properly break that spirit of yours," he huffs down at you, his lip curled upward in reproachful irritation. "But I assure you, it is no matter of concern to me - in fact, I will very much enjoy being the one to tame you."
Despite the fear churning inside your stomach, his threatening words trigger a flame of indignation to lick at the nape of your neck. You have to bite your tongue to fight the impulse to argue back, to question the lack of logic in his accusation. Did he really believe that you had purposely tried to injure him, despite being so much younger and exceedingly inferior in physical strength?
You ball your hands into fists, tears of frustration welling within your eyes. Was it not clear that you had tried so hard to appease him by being pliant and submissive? You bite your lower lip and will yourself not to cry. It would be pointless to cry or argue. Arguing would do nothing but further provoke Acacius's temper and give him a solid reason to hurt you; although, you suspect, he would gladly do so with or without a legitimate excuse.
"Open your legs," he orders.
You tilt your head up and stare past his head of curls to look up at the cream white ceiling, unable to meet the intimidating icy gaze of his brown eyes. You obey and part your legs wide enough to display your cunt to him. He plants his knees on the bed inbetween your legs, the shadow of his massive frame shrouding you like a beast of prey descending upon its defenceless victim.
Acacius takes hold of one of your legs and hoists it upright so that your ankle rests against his shoulder, then positions himself closer to the apex of your thighs. He fists his cock and drags the head up and down over your clit, making your breath catch in your throat at the dull spark of pleasure that unexpectedly curls within your belly.
You wonder vaguely if the general has been with many women; if he has lain with willing partners or taken only slaves, if he possesses a harem or prefers to use only one woman at a time. He's undeniably attractive with his regal aquiline nose and tanned skin - surely he wouldn't be lacking in attention or proposals from the opposite sex, be they from the noble society or from amongst the commoners. You wonder if he is married, if he would treat his potential wife with as much cruelty as he does you.
"Let's see if your cunt remembers her master," Acacius purrs, voice husky with desire.
You tangle your hands in the silk sheets beneath you, a surge of dread coursing throughout your body. When you feel the heat of Acacius's cock head against your opening, your pelvic muscles instinctively sieze up. He had left you bleeding and swollen last time and you're terrified that he will leave you just as ravaged and broken.
He attempts to push inside your pussy but you're too tight and he fails to penetrate you even an inch. He tries twice more without success, tsking under his breath before he spits a wad of saliva onto one of his thick fingers and slides it unceremoniously into you. You whimper quietly, involuntarily clamping down on his digit. He growls, annoyed, and begins scissoring it in and out of your hole, slowly breaking you open.
"You can either open yourself for me or I can tear you apart doing so," Acacius mutters coldly. "It makes no difference to me."
You take a deep breath and exhale shakily. He's going to fuck you whether you're prepared or not, and for your own sake you must do whatever you can to lessen the pain. You move your other leg open further to try spread your lips, a wordless gesture that signals your submission.
Acacius removes his hand from your core and grips his cock once more. You take another deep inhale when he lines back up against your hole, then exhale slowly when he successfully begins to push inside of you. Even though his movement is unhurried, the burning stretch is agonising and you croak out a distressed cry.
He rolls his pelvis against yours, feeding half the length of his cock into your pussy. He pulls his hips back but then plunges forward again, coaxing another wrecked sob from the depths of your lungs.
"You're still so tight," Acacius remarks, a hint of amused intrigue in his voice.
He thrusts back and forth, over and over, until your pussy has finally stretched enough for him to smoothly drive his fat dick in and out of you. A symphony of your tormented, tear filled moans accompany every stroke, mounting to an unrestrained screech whenever he knocks against your cervix. You hear a satisfied rumble reverberate from his chest.
"There is no sweeter sound than that of you keening for me like a bitch in heat."
You truly feel like a bitch in heat, being so thoroughly dominated and degraded as Acacius pounds into you with animalistic vigour. The warmth of his body is stifling, and droplets of his sweat spill from his brow and drop down onto your jiggling tits. His rhythm doesn't falter for even a second, not even when he brings his hand to his face and spits saliva over his fingertips.
You don't realise his intention until you feel his spit soaked finger swirl around the outer ring of your asshole. He slips it inside suddenly, and you squeak in shock. You curse, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation of something foreign breaching your back hole.
"This will be my next claim to conquer," Acacius announces with a cocky smirk. "Will you be ready, pretty one?"
notes: this is the final instalment for this series. It has been my greatest writing achievement so far as a writer in this fandom and I am proud of it. Thank you to the readers who have always commented and engaged with me and given me the inspiration to keep going. I hope this was worth the wait for you.
*Six months after the events of the final chapter*
According to the guards manning the radio towers, the extensive perimeter bordering Jackson appears undisturbed by any threats or danger. Since the stand off with the band of raiders and the shoot out there hasn't been a hint of trouble in the air. Joel himself has not come across any sign of the infected or raiders in the last six months but he still takes his patrol duties seriously. He embarks on his own survilence walk every day and reports his findings via radio twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. He likes being useful, to still be able to fulfill an important role for the community while not living inside the gates.
The only time Joel ever sees another person is when Tommy makes the trip to the cabin to deliver Joel's monthly supply of rations. Joel never quite realises just how much he misses human contact until the moment he spies his younger brother approaching through the woodland.
Tommy has been his saviour, the only thread holding his life together; if he had been left alone at the raider's cabin that day he would have remained there in the snow alone and weeping until he collapsed, left to succumb to the elements and for his body to eventually rot into the earth. It was Tommy that stayed with him and held him until all his tears had dried, all while you were transported back to Jackson with the group of patrolmen who had accompanied Tommy.
It was Tommy who had made sure Joel was close enough to town to keep an eye on. Tommy who had given his older brother another chance at life, the only one who had refused to let him be swallowed by the self destructive and poisonous shadow that has plagued him since the day Sarah died.
The two still hadn't talked much about what had happened - perhaps both men were too ashamed, or maybe because there just wasn't anything more to say, for the salient points were the most simple. Joel kidnapping you had been repugnant, inexcusable. Oscar had loved you and he had died defending you, a tragic outcome that Joel could not have foreseen. Maybe Tommy did not see the need to punish Joel any further, for his state of suffering seemed punishment enough to endure; in a dreadful twist of irony Joel was reliving the pain of once again losing that which was most precious to him.
The brothers unload the wagon together now, Tommy handing Joel supply items one by one which he stacks on the porch. Tommy hauls a sack of flour and passes it over to Joel when he clears his throat and speaks.
"So, uh, Ellie told me somethin' last night," Tommy says in an offhanded, casual sort of way. Joel's hands tighten around the sack at the mention of Ellie's name and his head snaps up to look at the other man.
"Ellie?" He rasps, eyes flitting over Tommy warily. "What happened? She okay?"
"She's fine, just said she wants to see ya." Tommy turns to grab a basket of fruit from the wagon. "Didn't say why, though, so don't ask me."
Joel's breath catches in his throat at the same time his heart skips a beat. Did he actually just say Ellie wanted to see him? He gawks at Tommy, mouth parting in disbelief, uncertain if his bad hearing was playing tricks of him.
"What?" Joel murmers weakly.
"Yeah, she said so last night after dinner," Tommy gives a slight shrug. "Asked me to organise a meetin'."
Joel dumps the sack of flour onto the porch with a grunt and sets his hands on his hips. He frowns and blinks rapidly, nonplussed and unsure how to process the news. He's been dying to hear any news of Ellie, always swift to inquire with Tommy about how she's doing, but this is completely unexpected. Nervous excitement begins to bubble inside his guts, but along with it is a troubling mix of trepidation and alarm.
Joel stares down at his boots with a contemplative scowl on his face, his mind already slipping into a silent state of deliberation. He cannot forget how Ellie looked that fateful night, the way heart wrenching way her youthful face twisted with anger and betrayal. In that moment his world had shattered, just as Ellie's trust in him had been shattered, and he truly believed that she would hate him for the rest of her life.
What has changed within this last six months? What could have happened to persuade her to want to see him?
"You can come back to town, meet her and hear what she has to say. If ya want, ofcourse." Tommy tactfully suggests, placing the fruit basket next to the flour. The action snaps Joel out of his thoughts and makes him shift his weight between his feet.
Joel runs his hand over the lower half of his face and clears his throat. "Uhm, yeah, alright. Sure."
Tommy leans against the porch column and crosses his arms. "How's about you come into town tomorrow afternoon? Have your meetin' with Ellie and see what happens after that."
Joel's eyes sweep over Tommy skeptically. He honestly thought Maria and the council would never let him in through the gates ever again. He deduces that Tommy must have omitted some pretty big details about just what had gone on out there at the raider's cabin, about the relationship dynamics with you and he. If Maria had known he had raped you and abused you there's no way in hell she would agree to let him anywhere near Jackson.
If she had known, Joel reckons she would have even come to the cabin on her own just to confront him, gun in hand ready to shoot his face off.
As much as he dislikes Maria, Joel cannot fault her for her zealous protectiveness for her community and it's members. Joel had always recognised why she was so vigilant and defensive, but it is only now that he feels he properly respects her for it. She's a fierce and strong woman, someone Ellie would probably aspire to be one day. Maybe he's always been too jealous of Maria to really appreciate her, too resentful of her importance in Tommy's life to give her the esteem she deserves.
Despite all this, the long standing bitterness comes through in the biting, almost sarcastic tone of his voice. "Maria's gonna let me in?"
Tommy seems to ignore it, not rising to the bait. "Yeah. But you gotta hand in your guns and any other weapons at the gate, still follow the rules like everyone else."
Joel rolls his eyes. "I know. I ain't stupid, Tommy."
As much as he detests the thought of relinquishing his guns, he knows he has to toe the line. He cannot take Tommy's diligence personally. Besides, he would be more than willing to forfeit his weapons for a chance to see Ellie again, to finally be able to speak with her. Hell, he would do just about anything to stand before her and tell her how sorry he is. Even if she were to roll her eyes and flip him off and stomp away, he would still be grateful to spend even a minute sharing the same space as her.
His mind buzzes with the potential scenarios that could be awaiting him back in Jackson. Maybe Ellie would forgive him and welcome him back with a hug. Does she miss him? Perhaps she is open to hearing his side of the story and wants to understand why he did what he did. Or maybe she just wants an opportunity to unleash her anger and disappointment, like you did when he last saw you.
You.
Oh.
He's finally going to be back on mutual territory, going to be stepping foot back in the town where his life changed forever that moment he first cast his eyes on you. Fuck, what if he sees you?
While Joel cannot predict what your reaction to seeing him might be, he isn't even sure what his own reaction may be. Would he have the courage to try talk to you? Would he still feel intense shame or would his desire to touch you and breathe in your scent eclipse all his instincts of self preservation? Would he grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness?
"And you can't go causin' trouble with that girl."
Tommy's stern tone catches Joel completely off guard, slicing through his internal musing like a knife. He hadn't mentioned you, had given no indication that he was even thinking of you, yet somehow Tommy could tell what was going through his mind. He isn't sure what pisses him off more - the fact that Tommy seems to know him so well or the authoritative tone he just used.
Joel exhales an irritated sigh and crosses his arms across his chest, not caring to hide his annoyance as he stares down Tommy. "Didn't say shit about her."
Tommy appears unperturbed by Joel's show of intimidation. He narrows his eyes at his older brother and shakes his head. "I ain't kiddin'. I don't wanna hear that you've gone to her house or where she works. You leave her alone and let her get on with her life."
Joel shifts his gaze to the ground and kicks at the dirt with the tip of his boot. Even though he hates the way Tommy is speaking to him right now, Joel knows he cannot argue with him. Joel knows he is being offered a precious opportunity, a second chance to live a stable life, and in order to accept it he must foresake old habits and feelings.
He also feels undeniably indebted to his little brother; it was Tommy who advocated for him to be a guard at the cabin, Tommy who hadn't given up on him, Tommy who saved you and ultimately gave both of you a second chance at life. He owes his younger brother an unmeasurable amount of grace and respect.
"I'm trustin' you, Joel," Tommy then whispers, his voice sounding much softer, almost pleading. "Please don't mess this up."
"I won't," Joel murmers, mustering the courage to look up and meet Tommy's eyes. "You have my word."
The following afternoon Joel saddles up Tex and makes the journey to Jackson. Tommy will meet him halfway at one of the checkpoints. The whole ride Joel's stomach is knotted with anxiety and his palms feel clammy. He feels sweat drip from the nape of his neck down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. He curses under his breath.
Thoughts of self doubt crawl inside his head, taunting and snide and full of hatred.
You don't deserve this. You're a failure. You're a piece of shit. No one needs you.
He almost decides to abandon the whole plan and turn back when he spots Tommy's figure in the distance, his arm raised in a wave.
Ellie asked to see you. You gotta do this. Joel's inner voice of reason speaks. He rides on to where Tommy waits and the two brothers continue on together.
••••••
It is a surreal and dizzying experience for Joel to ride through the gates of Jackson once more, back into the town that had become his home with Ellie for the last five years. It is like a dream, one loaded with a sense of foreboding that conjures an angst to swirl low within his guts. He does not know how his return will be received, if he will be met with disdain or ridicule or something worse; the unknown only compounds his shame and he feels incredibly self conscious. He holds tightly to the reins of his horse in an effort to ground himself, to summon the courage to continue on through the massive gateway that guards his home. That guards Ellie. And you.
Joel senses the eyes of the gate guards on him the whole time, gawking at him with tentative intrigue like he's a wild animal liable to snap and attack. It makes him intensely nervous and uncomfortable but he forges on, taking slight comfort in the fact that Tommy rides beside him.
They ride to the stables and leave the horses to pasture then they walk back to Tommy's house. Joel feels even more conspicuous walking through the main streets; he hates the obvious stares from the townsfolk that mill about the paths and houses, and although he can't hear what they whisper to each other he can guess what they are saying about him.
He's dangerous.
He's the reason Estrada got killed.
He's nothing but trouble. Once a raider, always a raider.
When they reach Tommy's house Joel is inwardly grateful to trudge through the threshold and escape the exposure of being in public. He feels like a monster.
Maybe that's what I am.
"Go on and take a seat." Tommy shuts the door behind them. "I'll get us somethin' to drink." He shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the coat hook while Joel wanders into the living room. "Ellie's gonna be by later after work."
A glass of whiskey sounds perfect right about now, Joel thinks. He collapses onto the couch with a heavy sigh, his joints screaming in relief as he sinks into the plush cushion beneath him. He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes.
That evening Ellie returns to Tommy's house after work duty at the barn. When Joel hears the front door open and close, the scuffed sound of boots being haphazardly toed off, his whole body becomes rigid where he sits on the couch. When he hears the long awaited sound of Ellie's voice singing out to Tommy, his breath hitches in his throat. His hands fidget nervously by his sides and his heart hammers in his chest. This is the moment he's waited for for six months.
There's shuffling and the hushed murmur of voices coming from the hallway and Joel has to remind himself to relax some, to let his lungs inhale and exhale. The seconds tick by agonisingly slow as he waits for Ellie and Tommy to walk into the living room. When they do, Joel immediately hauls himself up from the couch, springing to his feet like a soldier. He locks eyes with Ellie's large brown orbs and feels like he might be sick.
"Ellie," the whisper falls from his mouth, anguished and desperate. On instinct his hand goes to reach out to touch her but he quickly stops himself, dropping his hand back to his side.
"Joel." She gives a cool nod of acknowledgement and crosses her arms, back straight and proud, demeanour assertive but not hostile. She looks older, more mature. Her posture is confident and self assured. Joel's gaze flits all over her face, feeling uneasy as he absorbs the expression on her face - neutral, almost impassive. There's no fire, no anger. Not yet, at least.
How on earth did she change so much in just six months? Joel wonders. And despite their adopted roles of father and daughter, Joel does not feel like the much older adult right now. In fact he feels small and sheepish under her gaze.
"Well, I guess I'll leave you two to talk," Tommy chimes in, breaking through the awkward tension of the room. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on one of the arm chairs before turning back to the hallway. "Maria and the boys'll be home soon, so ya'll try not to kill each other," he calls out.
Now alone in the living room Ellie and Joel continue to stare at one another in silent suspense. The longer Ellie remains unspeaking the more Joel's discomfort grows. Out of habit he props his hands on his hips and clears his throat, but there are no words for him to say. His eyes eventually fall to the floor, ashamed and unable to bear the weight of his daughter's piercing gaze.
After what seems like several minutes, Ellie's voice cuts through the air around him like a knife.
"You lied."
Joel flinches, shutting his eyes against the impact of her harsh tone, as if it were a slap to his cheek. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. His eyelashes flutter open and he looks up at her.
"I did," he agrees in a whisper. He sees her chest expanding underneath her forearms as she takes a deep inhale. He realises she's trying to keep it together, trying to stay composed.
"You fucked up, Joel."
"I did. Please let me explain," Joel blurts, unable to hold back the desperation that has been building up for so long in her absence from his life. "Sit down and hear me out, Ellie."
She doesn't move; she stays firmly planted on her feet, a flickery fire of obstinacy now dancing in her eyes. He sighs and motions to the couch with the sweep of his large palm.
"Please," he pleads, soft, beseeching. She keeps him waiting for another few seconds in limbo, eyeing him with mistrusting indecision. Joel is about to utter another plea when she acquiesces and flops down on the armchair opposite the couch.
Joel has to restrain the exhalation of relief that bubbles inside his chest. He takes a seat on the couch directly facing Ellie and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
"Thank you for askin' me to come--"
"You lied," she repeats bitterly, her large round eyes still piercing into him. "You fucking lied to my face, Joel."
"I know," he mumbles, wringing his hands together nervously. "But I had to. I did it to save you. I did it to keep you alive."
"It wasn't your decision to make," Ellie hisses, tears pooling in her brown eyes. "You did it because you're selfish."
"I did it because I love you," Joel counters with a hoarse croak, the overwhelming emotion inside his chest threatening to burst as his own eyes flooding with glistening tears. "In a way you can't understand. And I would do it all over again. I'd do anythin' to keep you safe. I just...I hope you can forgive me."
The hardness in Ellie's eyes soften slightly. "I don't know if I can forgive you," she utters tearfully. "But I'd like to try."
She urges Joel to explain his side of what happened, and so he does. She listens with minimal interruption as he recounts what transpired with Marlene and the Fireflies, trying his best to be as clear and concise as he can, and by the end of his speech he feels utterly exhausted. With tears streaming down his face he apologises for concealing the truth for so long. Ellie ultimately accepts his apology but says she still needs some space; she'd like for him to come back and live in Jackson but it'll take time for their relationship to mend. He immediately accepts the new conditions, nodding to indicate his understanding, unable to speak without tears continually leaking from his eyes and trickling down his cheeks.
I haven't lost her forever.
The two of them stand up at the same time, awkward and stiff, unsure of where to really look. But then, with a mutual understanding that doesn't need spoken words, they move closer to embrace one another - Ellie slips her arms around his middle and Joel instantly envelopes her small stature with his own, his body eager and needy for the physical contact, for the confirmation that this isn't just a figment of his fantasy.
He stifles the beginnings of another wave of weeping, repressing it so it clogs his throat, and presses a light kiss to the top of her head. It is a simple gesture, a token of paternal affection that seems unremarkable, yet for Joel it signifies so much; it declares not only his obvious love for Ellie but his gratitude for her grace and acceptance. He feels so peaceful, so content that he could luxuriate in this moment forever, and it is all because of Ellie that he's been allowed such a feeling.
And when she detaches herself and pulls away from the hug it feels like a piece of Joel's soul is being ripped away from him. He hides the crestfallen reaction from his face as best as he can, trying to kill the slight wave of panic that rears inside his core. He has to remind himself that she is still a teen after all, still made uncomfortable by charged displays of emotion, but most importantly she's still here, alive and in the flesh and wanting to forgive.
A few seconds later Tommy wanders back into the living room to check in on them, an apron tied around his waist and a carving knife in hand. He looks pleasantly relaxed, his face serene in a way Joel hasn't seen for a long time.
"Jesus!" Ellie exclaims, startled by his appearance. "Were you listening from the hallway the whole fuckin' time or something?"
Tommy barks out a laugh. "No, I wasn't. As a matter of fact I was preparin' dinner for you two knuckleheads."
Joel glances between the two of them, trying to gauge Ellie's reaction. He worries that it'll be too much for her to stick around for dinner, that she has already exhausted her capacity to be around him. He anticipates that she will feel too awkward to stay and will instead make a quick escape to her friend Dina or wherever she goes these days. He wouldn't blame her, either.
But Ellie surprises him.
"Good," she quips to Tommy, a grin spreading across her face, her mood relaxing into something more jovial and cheeky. "Cos I'm starving and I missed that thing you do with the cabbage and potatoes."
"Well get your ass in the kitchen and I'll show ya how to make it," Tommy chuckles in response. "Ain't that hard."
Ellie groans and rolls her eyes dramatically. "Do I always have to do everything?"
"You don't do half as much as you should," Tommy corrects, grinning. "Now getcha ass in the kitchen." She slinks toward the hallway, every bit the contrary teenager, and points to the knife in his hand.
"Hey, you may rule the kitchen, but don't forget who kicks your ass at axe throwing," Ellie teases playfully. Tommy lets out a rumble of laughter as she passes out of the living room, oblivious to how Joel silently watches their interaction with profoundly sad envy in his heart. Tommy shoots him a small smile.
"Come on, brother, come help peel some potatoes," Tommy tips his head to gesture toward the kitchen. Joel discreetly wipes an errant tear leaking from the corner of his eye with a knuckle and follows his brother.
Later that night he walks back to his house alone, his limbs heavy and his belly full, but with significantly less weight burdening his shoulders. When he first enters through the front door the deathly quiet and still darkness within the place is unnerving - it triggers the deep seated paranoia that something could be lurking around the corner. Something poised and ready to pounce on him and tear his throat out. Or someone waiting to debilitate him just enough to steal all his belongings.
Checking over a place before bunking down was a habit of self preservation Joel developed early on in the outbreak. Despite Jackson being the safest place imaginable in this world, the habit had never quite died out. He slowly reaches a hand out to flick on the light switch in the living room, the yellowish light illuminating the room instantly. He squints, eyes swiftly surveying the area; there is no sign of life and everything is within its place, untouched and abandoned.
He sees one of your books laying ontop of a strewn blanket on the couch, a remnant of the life you once lived with him. The casual domesticity of it sends a pang of longing through his guts.
After checking through each room on the ground floor Joel drags himself up the stairs, his knees creaking with each step. Once he's satisfied that there is no sign of danger in the house he shuffles to the main bedroom, shedding his jacket and tossing it on the solitary chair in the corner. He sees the bed, still unmade as it was the night he left it, sheets in a tangle at the bottom of the mattress. There's an empty mug on the night stand, as well as your hair brush.
He collapses onto the bed and presses his face into one of the pillows. He catches the smell of your shampoo on it, the faint scent of *you*, and he inhales deeply in an attempt to chase it. Fuck, how he wishes you were here right now, your body curled against his and your face nestled into his neck. The space feels so empty with your absence that it feels unnatural to lay there without you.
Joel sighs heavily and wraps his arm around the pillow to clutch it tightly to his chest. He needs to have a shower and change his clothes, but he's so worn out. The bed is so comfortable, too - so much so that he can't really muster the will to get up straight away. He closes his eyes, intending to rest just for a few minutes, but he ends up drifting off to sleep for the rest of the night.
Now that he has officially returned to live in Jackson, Joel stands by his word and does not seek you out. He does not show up on your door step to coax his way inside your home with either apologies or force. He does not accost you like he has done in the past, pouncing on your unaware form to catch you off guard. He leaves you alone to carry on with whatever daily routine you've established without him.
It an exercise in torture for Joel. But as fate would have it, it only takes a few days of him being back in Jackson before he runs into you.
It is late in the afternoon and he's on his way to the stables to check in on Tex and talk to the stable hand about getting new shoes for the horse. He crosses the street and turns onto the main road, planning to stop in at the leather store on his way to get a new belt for himself. He's too preoccupied with his thoughts to realise that he's ventured nearby the library.
He glances around at the trickles of people wandering around the street as he walks, secretly hoping he might run into Ellie. He hasn't seen much of her around - once at a family dinner at Tommy's and a couple of times at the mess hall - and he's desperate to spend some time with her, even just to be in the same room as her.
Joel doesn't find Ellie's face amongst the residents on the street, but there is a figure that appears familiar to him, just 20 yards to his left. He throws a casual glance in the person's direction, then his head swivels comically in a double take when he realises it is you.
Joel feels like he's been struck by a thunderbolt. He freezes and his eyes go wide in shock. You are turned away from him but he can recognise it is you; he knows your body and your movements so intimately that he is adamant he could recognise you anywhere, from any angle.
There's a pastel green ribbon tied in the loose pony tail gathering your hair together. You're wearing a simple blue cotton dress that falls just past your knees. A light sweater covers your shoulders and arms. Your clothes are new, for he has never seen them before.
When you whirl around to face him Joel's breath gets caught in his throat. Your body is turned toward him but you don't look up, too focused on tucking the stack of books into the crook of your arm while juggling a set of keys. It's a small mercy for Joel, for he thinks if he made eye contact with you he would surely die on the spot.
You look just as beautiful as you did when he first laid eyes on you more than five years ago. There's a healthy glow to your skin and your cheeks are no longer hollow. Your hair looks thicker. You've put on weight. You look radiant.
Once you've tucked the keys in the pocket of your dress you start to walk away from the library. Joel panics and quickly darts back around the corner of the grocery store. He feels pathetic cowering against the wall of the store, hiding like a cowardly fool, but he's utterly shaken by the coincidence. He just isn't ready to face you again, not when he's so ill prepared, not so unexpectedly.
And anyway, you hate him. Who knows what your reaction would be if you saw him? You could scream and run away. You might slap him right there in the middle of the street and tell him to get fucked. He wants to keep a low profile for as long as possible now he is back, and having a public confrontation is the last thing he needs.
But like a moth to a flame, Joel needs to see your face.
He peers out from around the corner to watch you cross out into the main street and walk down to the cafeteria. As you advance closer toward the grocery store your features become more distinct. With your eyes glued to the mess hall in the distance, you are oblivious to his hidden presence. He tracks you like a hunter, as still as a lion stalking an unsuspecting gazelle.
It is only when you pass by the store, when your side profile comes into view, that Joel recognises the most noticeable difference in your appearance. He sees the prominence of your rounded stomach pushing against your dress and the realisation hits him with a nauseating force that threatens to bring him to his knees.
You're pregnant.
You're fucking pregnant.
Joel's heart suddenly constricts in his chest and his head instantly feels dizzy. The world around him becomes slanted and he has to grip the edge of the building to stay upright. His lungs feel tight, as though all the air in his body is being squeezed out. He screws his eyes shut and blindly unbuttons the top of his flannel to loosen the material from around his neck.
Shit, fuck, just breathe. Breathe. You're okay.
You're pregnant.
How the fuck are you pregnant?
You've moved on - you must have. You've found someone else and now you're having another man's baby. You've forgotten all about Joel, about everything you shared together.
Joel feels as though a thousand knives have been plunged into his belly. He wrestles against the hysteria as bile rises in his throat and he has to fight to swallow it down.
Breathe, goddamnit, breathe.
He endeavours to focus on inhaling long, measured breaths through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. He stays like this for several minutes, disconnecting from his surroundings until the distress begins to ebb and he has regulated his breathing.
Once his blurry vision has cleared and he is able to take a breath without choking, Joel makes his escape. His feet feel so heavy, like his boots are made of lead, but he tries to move as stealthily as possible through the spaces between the stores. He ambles through the bushes to make his way to the residential areas, his brain buzzing like a live wire.
How could you have moved on so fast?
Who is your new man?
Are you happy?
He isn't sure how far along you are but he guesses atleast 6 months. Are you in good health?
Joel takes the back streets until he reaches Tommy's house. His hands fidget nervously by his sides as he waits for someone to answer his thundering knock on the door. He knows Maria is out organising things with the committee, but Tommy should be home; he has been on night patrol lately so he's probably still in bed, or atleast still in the house.
Joel waits as patiently as his panic stricken heart allows before urgently knocking again, even louder and harder this time. "Come on Tommy," he calls gruffly through the door.
He hears a series of thuds coming from inside the house before the front door swings open. Tommy blinks sleepily from behind the door, his curls tousled. Joel doesn't bother to exchange any pleasantries, instead trampling through the threshold and shouldering his way past Tommy.
"Well good afternoon to you, too," Tommy quips as he shuts the door closed. Joel strides into the living room and Tommy shuffles after him, scrubbing at the corner of his eye with a balled fist. "Ya want coffee, or somethin'?"
Joel drops down onto the couch with a heavy plonk and covers his mouth with his hands. He's momentarily robbed of speech from the shock of his discovery, unable to utter a sentence with the lump of emotion that has formed inside his throat. Tommy doesn't realise anything is wrong until he comes to stand across from where Joel sits and sees the older brother's broken expression.
"Joel?" Tommy utters, frowning with worry. "You alright?"
He can't answer, too stupefied by what he had just witnessed, and only manages to shake his head. He closes his eyes for a few seconds and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the imminent confrontation. He drags his hands away from his face and lets them drop between his legs, gripping them together as if he is trying desperately to restrain himself from moving.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Joel's voice eventually croaks out, strained and broken. He opens his eyes and stares up at Tommy, tears swimming in his eyes, unable to disguise the hurt and betrayl he feels so deeply within his core. "You knew all this time and you didn't tell me?"
Tommy knows exactly what Joel is alluding to - ofcourse there could be only one reason for Joel being so emotional. Tommy had purposely kept this aspect of your life a secret from Joel out of respect for you, but he knew Joel would find out sooner or later. He sighs wearily and rubs the back of his neck, his face scrunching into a wince.
"Why?" Joel challenges, louder, more demanding.
"She's gettin' her life back together," Tommy states resolutely. "Ain't anyone else's business what she's got goin' on right now. I only found out a little while ago, anyway."
"Who...whose the father?" Joel asks, his voice thick with emotion. Twin rivulets of tears have broken free and begin to trickle down his cheeks but he makes no move to brush them away.
"I don't know," Tommy lies, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I want you to leave her alone, Joel. You gotta let her get on with her life without you. After what you put her through, she deserves whatever peace she makes for herself."
Joel bows his head down between his shoulders and sniffs. It's true - he's put you through so much undeserved suffering and he certainly has no right to disrupt your chance at a happy life, one free from the repercussions of his destructive obsession.
But fuck, what if it is his baby?
It could be, couldn't it?
Maybe the 20 something year old plan b didn't work. Maybe there was a time when he wasn't quick enough to pull out before he came. Maybe he had been too careless.
Joel knows he cannot disturb your life, but if it *is* his baby, he also knows that there is no way he would let you raise the child alone. He still loves you with a fierce possessiveness that he will never truly be rid of. No matter how much introspection he does or how much he changes his behaviour, a flame of greedy desire to own you will always exist within him.
And now just the thought of your baby potentially being his has rekindled that possessiveness he had managed to keep smothered these last few months.
"And what if it is mine?" Joel challenges heatedly, angling his face to look up at Tommy. "Just how am I supposed to let her alone if that's my baby she's carryin'?"
"Because if that's the case then it'll be up to her whether or not you are gonna be involved, Joel," Tommy retorts evenly. "She will reach out if she wants to. And until then - if that even happens - you're to stay the hell away from her, you hear me?"
"Yeah, Tommy, I fuckin' heard you," Joel scoffs and slumps back onto the couch, his body sagging dejectedly into the cushioning. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, wishing for a reprieve from the exhausting buzzing inside his mind, but all he can picture is you in that blue cotton dress cradling your swollen belly.
When Maria had told you that Ellie asked to see Joel and that he would be visiting her in Jackson for an indefinite period of time, you were surprised but not displeased. As a matter of fact you were gllad that Ellie initiated contact with Joel. You could only imagine the misery the two of them have suffered through for the last six months without any closure or discussion about the Fireflies. They are father and daughter, for all intents and purposes, and it would be a tragedy if there were no attempt to repair their fractured relationship.
"Okay," you replied, feeling a bit odd and stiff. "I mean, that's good. They need to talk."
Maria eyed you dubiously. "You sure you're okay with it? Because if you're not, you just say the word and we can arrange the meeting another way. Maybe Ellie and Tommy can go to the cabin--"
"No," you stopped Maria, "it's okay. Really. He can meet her in Jackson."
Maria's lips pulled in a tight line as she scrutinised your face, searching for something that could indicate that you were hiding your true feelings. You gave her hand a reassuring pat.
"It's okay - I promise, Maria. It's a good idea for them to meet."
"He's been told to stay away from you, just so you know," she declared. "If he approaches you or does anything to threaten you, you need to come to me or Tommy."
"I will," you had vowed.
That was two weeks ago.
Joel has supposedly been back in Jackson for two weeks and you have not seen him once. He has not made an appearance at the mess hall when you have been there for dinner almost every night. You have not seen his head of chocolate curls within the sea of people at the communal movie night in the town hall. You haven't spied his imposing figure stalking around town on an errand, or with Tommy.
You wonder if he's laying low and holed up inside his house, or if he actually listened about staying away, purposely avoiding you at all costs. Did Tommy threaten him? Or maybe Joel did not care about you anymore? Maybe he is over whatever your relationship was, finally broken from the spell of obsession. It seems unfeasible that Joel, a man so fanatical about maintaing control of a situation, would follow another person's orders to refrain from doing something he wants to do. So perhaps he no longer feels any emotion toward you.
Perhaps he doesn't want to see you at all.
You don't know why but you find the thought physically painful; it sends an unexpected pang of disappointment and rejection shooting through your heart down to your guts, a twisted pull of your insides that cannot be attributed to a contraction.
Do you no longer matter to Joel?
It would be easy to get lost in the endless ocean of questions and contentions about the past, about the codependency and complexity of emotions that so defined your relationship with Joel - but somehow you find the willpower to correct the trajectory of your thoughts.
You shouldn't care at all about how he feels, you caution yourself. All you need to worry about now is you and your baby.
You repeat this mantra inside your head. You try your best to honour yourself and your worth by not dwelling on memories of Joel. You go about your day to day tasks and try not to think of Joel, but the possibility of running into him on the streets is in the back of your mind every time you step out of your cottage. You are not afraid - you know you're safe here in your community and cannot be hurt. You don't think you would run from him, just as you don't think he would try hurt you.
You don't want to admit to yourself that you actually do miss Joel at times. You're so horny from the hormonal changes these days that you regularly fuck yourself on your fingers to memories of him pounding into you or devouring your pussy. You cum hard each time, your skin sticky with sweat and your limbs twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You luxuriate in the short lived bliss, loving how your mind goes hazy and your body feels like it is floating.
It doesn't last long enough, though, before the shame starts to creep in like a dark cloud over your head. Are you that fucked up? You must be - because fantasising about the man who abducted you just a few months after first raping you is sick, perverted. Depraved.
Your face flushes with guilt and disgust. How can you crave the touch of such a horrible man? How much you possibly miss him in any way, after everything he has subjected you to? The spiral of shame plagues you after each time, yet somehow it does not end up deterring you from masturbating the following times. The urge for gratification is too strong, overriding your righteousness to the point that you cannot resist the high that comes from your carnal satiation.
Tonight you lay in bed amongst a nest of pillows, wallowing in the familiar feelings of guilt when you feel an abrupt kick to the underside of your ribs, pulling your attention from your thoughts, stealing the breath from your lungs for a split second. I'm here too, the kick seems to convey. Don't forget me.
A smile curls at your mouth and you rub your hands over the expanse of your middle.
What Joel did doesn't matter anymore, not when you are holding your future in the palms of your hands. Having children and a family of your own had always been a dream of yours, an aspiration you were never entirely sure you would ever experience in this life. Yet here you were with your belly round, hair thick and lush, your face slightly puffy, breasts swollen. You were going to be a mother. And it was Joel who gifted that to you; he was always going to be a part of you, a part of your life, and such a truth no longer pains you to admit.
You have no idea, but Joel has been watching you every day. He doesn't stalk you (no, not really, he tells himself) but he finds himself drawn to the centre of town more and more, particularly on the days you work at the library. It didn't take long for him to decipher your new work duty routine; you work at the library Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays, then the school Thursdays and Fridays.
It surprises him that you are so active within the community these days; your Saturdays and Sundays are busy with a range of different ventures, from volunteering in the mess hall kitchen to helping facilitate activities for the children in the town hall or at the school.
You were never so...involved before. He watches the way you interact with those around you, how your face radiates such a serene, joy filled energy, how free and easy going you look when you toss your head back and laugh. He cannot recall ever seeing you like this. Witnessing you so happy, glowing and round, makes his stomach flip.
You are so beautiful that it almost hurts Joel to see. This had always been you, who you were as a person - kind and caring and wanting to do good. But your light had been so dull while you were with him, eclipsed by his overbearing disapproval of you partaking in anything he deemed unnecessary or a waste of time.
Joel feels a tendril of shame crawl up the back of his neck at the realisation. He had deprived you of the right to be your own individual, crushing your autonomy in the palm of his hand, and in turn had deprived himself of knowing this beautiful version of you.
Fucking idiot. Any man would be proud to have you as their woman, would happily walk down the street holding your hand and supporting you in doing whatever your heart desires. It should've been him. He should be the one by your side encouraging you. He should be your partner.
And through his furtive surveillance Joel quickly comes to the conclusion that you don't actually have a new partner in your life. There is no man showing up at your doorstep to spend the night at your cottage. He doesn't see you visit any strange houses that he doesn't recognise as one of your friend's. You're alone or with your gaggle of girlfriends, occasionally Maria.
There seems to be no room in your life for another man - perhaps there is no room in your heart, either, after all that it has endured.
Joel hadn't actually considered this until one day when he followed you to the town cemetery. He had been confused at first, wondering why you would be stepping foot in the depressing plot of fenced land used as a burial ground for the town.
And then it belatedly struck him that you were there to visit Oscar's grave.
Truthfully, he had not given the dead man much thought in the last six months. He had witnessed so many people die infront of his very eyes that he had become desensitised to death, particularly of those he had no connection to. And Oscar had been one of the people he had no reason to mourn. He was a decent man, sure, but he was no more special than any one else.
Joel watched you awkwardly descend to your knees and place a small bunch of flowers against the humble headstone, a d he felt the first niggling pang of guilt hit behind his ribs. And when you began to weep into your hands, your shoulders quaking as you mourned, Joel felt so uncomfortable that he decided to abandon his shadowing for the day. It felt wrong to spy on you during such a private moment of grief, yet in Joel's heart of hearts he knew the real reason was because he couldn't bear to see you so sorrowful. He couldn't stand to see you mourn a loss that he was instrumental in creating.
For the rest of the day Joel's mind was plagued by the sight of you crying beside the gravesite. The guilt remained inside his ribcage, an unrelenting and dull stabbing sensation chipping away at his sternum. Ofcourse you were still in mourning for Oscar - for the friend you had lost, for the man who had loved you so much that he sacrificed his life to rescue you. He felt like an asshole for not realising it earlier. Ofcourse you haven't found another man to be with - how could you possibly give yourself to another man when your heart is still broken?
It also means your baby cannot be anybody else's but his.
That you're carrying his child.
The conscious recognition of this is like a lightbulb being switched on; it stirs that familiar swirl of hot possessiveness in Joel's belly and his heart swells with pride at the thought that you are swollen with his seed, forever marked by him. It makes his cock twitch and weep with precum at the thought.
But along with the burning need to possess also comes the need to safeguard you. How could he possibly stay away from you now? It is simply impossible for him to just leave you alone when you're carrying his baby. What kind of man would he be if he were to neglect his duty as your baby's father?
Fuck Tommy, he thinks.
Nothing can keep Joel from minding what belongs to him.
Every day he observes you from afar, always from the safety of the shadows, trailing a good distance behind you as you walk to work in the mornings. He weaves between houses and bushes to remain discreet in his spying, not once risking complacency incase you sense his presence. He takes advantage of the crowds of people that mill about the streets, using the anonymity the throngs offer to watch you leave in the late afternoons.
Clandestinely escorting you to and from work becomes a daily routine for Joel. With the restrictions Tommy has placed on him, it is the only way for him to make sure you are safe and healthy - seeing you with his own eyes, trying to judge from your appearance and gait if you're tired or struggling to move with the added weight of your belly. God almighty, what he would give to be able to hold your hand and guide you himself, to keep you protected by his side, to stand proudly beside you.
Joel returns to his patrol shifts but insists on the night duty so he can continue keeping his eye on you. He pushes through the patches of broken sleep to maintain his routine, for his brain seems to crawl with thoughts of you every minute of the day, even while he sleeps. You haunt him like a ghost, the image of your face and body burnt into his very soul, the memory of the sound of your voice whisperings inside the shell of his ear. His palms itch and his legs are restless. He has no respite from the the internal pull toward you, the invisible string that tugs deep within his belly, urging him to go to you. You wants to ravage you, to cradle your face within his large calloused hands, to kiss your soft lips and claim you for himself again.
He feels like a starved man - starved of you. He hasn't heard your beautiful voice for six months. Six months without your delicate fingertips grazing over his skin, making him prickle with goosebumps. Six months without your voice purring his name, sensual and needy, intoxicating him with its sweet lilt. Six months without your body pressed against his, without the weight of your soft breasts and the hug of your thighs on his rough, scarred skin.
There are so many things Joel needs to know, so many questions only you hold the answers to. Will you let him provide for you? Will you let him be there for you and your child? Do you miss him? Is it possible you could ever feel love for him again, even in the most miniscule capacity?
How much longer can he go on like this, skulking in the shadows like a phantom, tormented with the knowledge that you're the mother of his unborn child and he is forbidden from even speaking to you?
Joel's heart is restless. It cannot be still, cannot be at peace, under the weighty reality of his circumstances, and he fears he cannot possibly endure such torture for much longer.
You're locking up the library one late afternoon when your body is suddenly struck by an excruciating contraction. You gasp in pain, dropping the set of keys at your feet, totally overcome by the intense wave of cramps that sieze your insides. You've never felt such a thing before and it leaves you breathless.
Another hits you almost immediately after the first and causes you to cry out. Your knees buckle and you collapse again the door, unable to support yourself as you slide down to the ground. Your arm curls around your middle and you screw your eyes shut against the pain. You try to breathe through stuttering hitches of gasps but your mind panics.
Oh my god what is happening? Am I going into labour?
You've got to get to the doctor. This can't be it, can it? You're around seven and a half months - that's what Dr. Amber said at your examination just a few weeks ago. Where's Maria? You've got to get some help, crawl out onto the main street or something, yell out---
Your thoughts are interrupted by the gentle yet firm weight of someone's hands on your shoulders. Your sagging body is lifted slightly upright, then you feel the warmth of a palm press against your cheek. You feel boneless, unable to move.
"Baby, are you okay?"
The voice that speaks is one you know well but have not heard for many months. You know the masculine timbre and rich accent intimately, and despite having not heard it for so long you are still sure that you could recognise it anywhere.
"Joel?" You whisper, slowly fluttering your eyes open to gaze at him. Joel is crouched down on one knee infront of you, his deep brown eyes searching over your face with worry. He keeps your face cradled in one large palm, the other cupping your shoulder.
The sight of the man before you doesn't scare you or make you want to scream. You aren't scared at all. But being so close to him and feeling his warm touch in such a vulnerable moment is still startling, still makes you recoil slightly inward.
"It's me," Joel murmurs, "I ain't goin' to hurt ya. I just saw you fall and came runnin'. What happened, baby?"
You don't have time to analyse the probabilities of just how Joel could have been so close by at the exact time of your current emergency before another contraction squeezes your insides. You cry out and your face contorts into a grimace.
"It's okay," Joel cooes quietly, "it's okay, you don't have to talk. I think you're havin' a contraction. Is this your first time feelin' 'em?"
You nod your head and whimper, eyes still shut. "Please get Maria, I need her, I need the doctor."
"We don't have time to go lookin' for Maria," Joel murmers. He strokes your cheek with his thumb and hums soothingly. Although you can't do anything but allow him to, your instincts don't scream for you to escape. It feels strange, yes, but not entirely unpleasant. You gradually lean into his touch, in desperate need of some kind of comfort, his skin like a cool balm against scorching heat.
"You're gonna be alright, baby. Listen to me - I'm gonna get you to the doctor, gonna take you to the clinic and get you checked out, hear me?"
"I don't, I don't...think I can stand," you choke out, tears beginning to leak out from the corners of your eyes. The residual throbbing from the contractions continue to invade your insides. Getting on your feet and walking even a few steps seems impossible.
"Don't cry, honey," Joel utters, soft and calm. "We're gonna do it together. Just hold onto me, get your arm around my neck."
Unless you choose to crawl on your hands and knees to the clinic you have little choice but to go along with the plan. This could be an emergency. You could be in labour, and giving birth on the stoop of the Jackson library isn't how you were planning on delivering your baby.
"O-okay..." you whisper shakily. Joel carefully manoeuvres one of your arms to slip around the back of his neck, then slides his arm around your back. His hold is not tight but supportive, strong.
"On the count of three I'm gonna lift you up, okay? Open your eyes for me, baby, look at me." Joel all but pleads, tone supplicating and needy. You bring a shaky hand up to your nose and swipe at the moisture that has collected there, then you slowly open your eyes and look up at him.
Joel watches you intently, with so much tenderness and sadness in his eyes that you wonder if he himself will start crying too. He nods, encouraging you to listen.
"On the count of three - one, two..."
He guides you to stand up from the ground when he utters three, his movements cautious yet confident as he practically lifts all your body weight up himself. Your head swims with dizziness and you sag against his chest on instinct, swaying slightly on your feet, your arm still curled around his neck. He holds the back of your head in his hand and presses you delicately against his front.
"Good job, baby," he whispers, tilting his head down to press a feather light kiss on the top of your head. He can't help but breathe in your sweet scent, a mix of your usual smell along with something faintly floral and milky. "Now we gotta get you to the clinic."
"Can't walk," you mumble into his shirt, the familiar sandalwood and pine scent filling your nostrils. Another contraction swoops over you, constricting your uterine muscles in a squeezing hold that robs your lungs of breath. "F-f-fuuuuck!"
"Shit," Joel whispers to himself, starting to feel the crawling tingle of anxiety begin to sizzle throughout his brain. He cannot bear the sight of you suffering like this. His head swivels around as he tries to piece together the quickest route to the clinic. With the pain you're in even the short cut past the barbershop will be too far for you to walk.
He's going to have to carry you there himself.
He stoops down slightly to whisper into your ear. "I'm gonna pick you up," he strokes your head. "So you just hold tight to me--"
"Joel, no," you protest, shaking your head weakly. "No, I'm too heavy."
"You ain't," he counters firmly. "Trust me." He takes a breath, then whispers softly, amending his tone. Please, trust me."
You hesitate, whimpering in pain, your hand coming up to fist at his collar. You have no other choice if you want to actually get to the clinic.
"Okay," you respond in a defeated whisper.
It's all the confirmation Joel needs to hear before he bends his knees and suddenly scoops you up into his arms like a bride. He grunts with effort to stand back upright and jiggles you slightly to adjust you in his arms. You keep your eyes shut tightly and nestle your head against his chest, so overwhelmed by the dizziness and pain that you fear you may faint.
"I got you," Joel mumbles as he takes the first couple steps with you in his arms. "Don't gotta worry 'bout a thing."
He carries you through the main street and around the corner towards where the clinic is located, a small building sandwiched between the pharmacy and the infirmary. He whispers words of reassurance to help calm your nerves, to let you know you aren't alone, that he is here to help. He hopes that his presence can help alleviate even the tiniest bit of pain you have to endure. You don't speak in return, only bleating weak cries every so often, and it makes his heart crack.
Joel's lower back throbs and his joints ache with each step but he pushes on. He is so conscious of the weight of your round belly across his torso, so mindful that he doesn't rock you too hard. My baby is there, he thinks. That's my baby.
He ignores the stares from the townsfolk around him and keeps his head held high, resolutely focused on his duty to get you to the doctor as quickly as he can, as safely as possible. He doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks; you are in crisis and you need him, it's his job to taken care of you. Both of you.
He bursts through the door of the clinic with his chest heaving. The doctor and nurse on duty rush over to you and hurriedly lead Joel to lay you on one of the examination beds. Your eyes snap open as you're lowered onto the flat surface, the warmth of Joel's body stolen away from you all too soon.
"Joel," you whimper, eyebrows saddled together and sweat beading along your forehead. You look so scared, so distressed by this unprecedented and unknown turn of events. Seeing you so fragile like this tugs at his heart strings, makes him want to cradle you in his arms like a small child and keep you cuddled into his chest for as long as he lives.
Joel crouches down so he is level with you and clutches your hand reverently in both of his. "I'm here, baby." He answers, one of his thumbs brushing over the back of your hand. "Ain't got nothin' to worry about."
He is so ready to finally to be able to prove himself to you, to show you that he is capable of change, that he can be the man you always wanted him to be. He is going to be right by your side to give you everything you need, to do whatever he can to make you comfortable and content and happy. God, how desperately he wants to be the reason for your happiness.
The nurse in attendance hovers at the back of Joel, her features pulled into a stern frown. "Excuse me," she cuts in, "the doctor will need to do an examination. You will need to leave now."
Joel is about to shoot her a glare over his shoulder when your voice pipes up, small and dainty from where you lay on the bed. "Please go get Maria. As soon as you can," you implore him. "I need her here."
It makes him a few seconds to process your request; he stares at you dumbly, blinking, mouth parting slightly in shocked confusion. Maria? Then it hits him, the delayed understanding like a stinging slap across his cheek.
You want Maria - not him. You're telling him to leave, to go away and send Maria in his place. Why don't you want him here with you? He just helped bring you here, carried you in his arms, to get you help. It is his baby inside you. Why would you prefer Maria here next to you and not him?
The raw ache of rejection pierces Joel's heart and travels down to the pit of his stomach. He has been so excited about your pregnancy that he didn't even remember the glaring fact that he remains undeserving of simply being in your presence.
Why had he been so stupid to think you would've welcomed him back into your life?
Joel tries to school his features to hide just how devastated he feels, trying with great effort to keep his expression neutral and nonchalant, to swallow the thick lump of disappointment lodged within his throat. Okay, he thinks, if that's really what you want, he will give it to you.
The doctor asks you something, the beginning of a series of questions about your pain, stethoscope already poised above your belly. You turn your head away from Joel to answer her question, simultaneously retracting your hand from his hold. It feels too sudden, too wrong, the way you slip from his grasp so easily. He wants to protest, to reach out and take your hand back and assert his presence, but everything happens in a blur.
The nurse quickly ushers him from the room, briskly escorting him to the door and gesturing outside like she is banishing a pathetic stray dog begging for scraps. Joel slinks out of the clinic in a daze, head hanging heavily with shame and dejection.
That's it? That is all? After six months of pining for you, of dreaming of you, dying to finally touch you and hear your voice - you push him to the side like you don't give a shit about him, like he's a stranger.
A fucking stranger. Like you had never bared your body and soul to him, like he had never tasted the salt on your skin or woken up with your limbs intertwined with his. Like you and he had never shared a sacred kind of intimacy that left his soul shattered and destroyed once you walked away.
••••••
Maria has been inside the clinic for the last hour. Joel has been waiting outside the whole time, pacing restlessly along the stretch of pavement outside the door like a caged tiger stalking from one end of its enclosure to the other. She had barred him from marching in with her, a firm shake of her head as she warned not now, Joel before disappearing inside the doors.
Now all he can do is wait. His body courses with nervous energy, all the muscles in his body tense and primed to face whatever potential catastrophe could be lurking around the corner. His traps are raised and rigid, fingers twitching by his sides.
If anything has happened to you, if that doctor and those nurses haven't done their goddamn job properly and you are still in pain, he'll tear the whole place apart. He will whisk you away from their incompetence and take you home and take care of you all by himself. He will make sure you're comfortable and well looked after.
Joel is so lost in the echo chamber of his thoughts that he almost does not hear the sweep of the door when Maria exits.
"Maria-" he begins but she quickly cuts him off.
"Joel, she's okay," Maria says firmly, leveling him with a direct stare that tells him she means business. "False labour. She will be kept in under observation for a few more hours before they release her to go back home."
Joel expels a heavy, ragged breath of relief and drags a hand down his face and over his mouth. The news alleviates the invisible weight of stress from his shoulders that has threatened to make his knees buckle for the last hour.
You are healthy, you are safe, you are okay.
"You were the one who brought her in." Maria states flatly, her dark eyes piercing into Joel. "Pretty interesting coincidence that you just happened to be in the right place at the right time, huh?"
Joel glares back at her, the tired features of his face suddenly hardening with icy irritation. He should've expected some kind of interrogation for helping you, like he's committed a goddamn crime or something.
Undeterred by his gruffness Maria maintains her assertive composure, crossing her arms under her bust and giving a slight shake of her head. "You were told to leave her alone, Joel. What will it take for you to let go?"
His jaw clenches. He hates the tone of her voice, the knowing condescension of her rhetoric question, everything about this whole damn situation. But he has to abide by these new rules and expectations, including giving due respect to someone in a senior position of authority like Maria. He huffs a scoff and turns his head away, unable to bear the weight of her stare any more.
"Go home, Joel." She utters before turning on her heel and stalking away from the clinic. He remains glued to the spot, his jaw ticking, both thumb nails digging into the bones of his forefingers. He stays in place for a few minutes internally deliberating with himself over whether to stay or go. He eventually accepts defeat and settles on going to see Tex at the stables.
••••••
That night Joel tries not to think about you. He tries to occupy himself with chores around the house, little tasks that he's neglected to keep up with since he's been trailing you, but it is impossible. His mind constantly wanders back to you laying on the clinic bed, wisps of hair matted to your sweaty forehead, your face strained by the pain and scary uncertainty of what you now know was false labour. His heart aches to imagine you in such a state without him. It makes him angry to think it, in fact.
Joel cannot suppress the deeply rooted instinctual need to be close to you, to ensure you are safe. No matter how much whiskey he drinks, no matter how much aimless cleaning he does or mindless pacing of his kitchen, he cannot quieten the beast rattling within him. When he glances over to see your blanket and books on the couch, still untouched during all this time, like he couldn't bear to pack them away, he knows what he must do.
Joel shoves his feet into his boots and hurries out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. He can't stop himself now. He has to open the cage and release what's been imprisoned inside him all this time - all the love and guilt and regret, the yearning and dreaming, the infinite sadness and infatuation he still feels.
He keeps his head held high throughout the walk to your place. He stalks through the middle of the streets, not bothering to hide in the shadows now, no longer caring to keep himself hidden. His long legs carry him with purpose and determination, and before he knows it he is already setting foot into the front yard of your cottage.
Despite how bold and self assured he was on the walk over, Joel feels the courage slowly begin to deflate from his body as he ambles up the stone pathway to your porch. His boots have tread this track more times than he can count, through rain and snow and sunshine, yet the familitary of the surroundings offer no comfort to soothe the nerves that now begin to bubble in his guts.
Shit. He's really doing this - going in gung ho to confess his love and devotion without even knowing just exactly how you feel. For all he knows, you could tell him to get lost and slam the door in his face.
But he has to try. He has to atleast see you. There's too much at stake not to.
Joel feels like he has not crossed the path up to your porch for many years, and now with the uncertainty of how this spontaneous visit will go, there's a split second of hesitation before he raps on the door with the back of his knuckles.
The porch light flickers on almost instantly, illuminating him in warm dull yellow light, then he hears the click of the lock turning. Then the door creaks open.
Everything seems to happen in slow motion and the sound of his heart pounding floods through his ears. When you pull the door open wide and Joel lays his weary eyes on your sweet face, he feels the insides of his belly turn a somersault.
You stand at the door blinking rapidly for a moment, clearly preturbed at finding him to be the one disturbing you at this time of the evening. Despite the bags under your eyes, your face appears youthful and fresh. Your hair, loose and flowing, looks soft and shiny, the way it always does when it has been freshly washed and dried. You've obviously had a shower and washed the stress off the day away.
You're wearing an oversized grey sweater with the word HARVARD written on the front in red block letters, along with a faded pair of pink sleep shorts. Joel can't help how his eyes drift over your bare legs, marvelling at how clear and supple your skin looks. His gaze then roams all over your body, drinking in the sight of your belly and swollen breasts bulging against the grey fabric of the sweater.
He's always found you attractive regardless of what you're dressed in, but there's something about the simplicity of the casual clothes you wear at home that has always turned him on. He remembers how sexy you looked whenever you'd slip into one of his flannels, how sultry he found you in a pair of baggy shorts and a ratty old shirt you'd borrowed from his closet.
Joel wishes he was close enough to smell you again, to properly savour your scent, to properly gauge just how much it has changed with the pregnancy. He wonders if you taste differently, too - an image flashes in his mind of him kneeling before you, face buried between your thighs, lapping and sucking at your core. He bets you taste even juicier and sweeter than before.
That familiar tug of lust filled ownership pulls at his belly and makes his cock twitch in his jeans. He suddenly realises he has been gawking at your body while you stand before him at the threshold of your door, your eyebrows raised expectantly. His cheeks heat with embarrassment and he clears his throat, planting his hands on his hips in his signature serious stance.
"So, uh...," he begins dumbly. "Uhm, you're home..."
"What are you doing here?" you whisper, sounding tired, already too drained to deal with whatever reason he has for appearing on your doorstep at this time of night.
"I, uh...I wanted to check in on ya, see that you're okay," he responds quietly, his gaze roving over your face. "After everything that happened today."
"I'm okay," you answer with a mumble, self consciously pulling your sleeve cuffs over your hands. "The doctor said it was something called Braxton Hicks. They feel like real contractions but they aren't."
"Okay," he nods and looks down at his boots, chewing the inside of his cheek.
Fuck, what was he planning to say? What should he say? Joel know he has never been great at conversation - or really communication in general. He knows it was a big reason why you could never connect with him as well as you could with Oscar. He has spent the last six months dreaming about you incessantly, about the things he would say and all he would do to express to you his true feelings; but now the chance has come to fruition, Joel feels stupefied, as if he could not vocalise a single sound or thought.
After a prolonged silence, your gentle lilt breaks through the stillness of the dark night.
"I'm tired," you half sigh, half yawn. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
His head snaps up in panic and he reaches a hand out to you. "No, wait!"
You instinctively flinch away from his touch like he's going to strike you, and the sight of you huddling back against the door causes that familiar pang of shame and regret punch into his guts. He quickly drops his hand back to his side but doesn't look away from you. The chance to articulate and redeem himself is quickly slipping out of his grasp - he needs to speak before it is lost entirely.
"I'm sorry," he blurts out urgently, sincerity softening his puppy dog eyes. "'M sorry if I scared you today, comin' outta nowhere like that. I know I was s'posed to be keepin' away from you." The dam breaks and now the words seem to tumble from his lips easily; he has to takes a breath to steady himself. "I just couldn't...I couldn't stand by when you were in so much pain."
You look down at your rounded belly and nod. "Thank you," you murmer. "For helping me and taking me to the clinic."
Joel sighs softly and runs one of his hands through his greying curls. "Don't thank me," he asserts gently. "You never have to thank me for anythin'. I'll do whatever you need me to."
He watches as you silently absorb what he's said, how your eyebrows crinkle into a slight frown and your lips press into a tight line. Emboldened by your lack of words, he continues to spout out the thoughts that now seem to flow freely from his brain to his mouth.
"I'll do whatever," he repeats, desperation creeping into his voice. "You need anythin' and I'll do it, I'll help you. I mean it - anything."
"Why?" You challenge bluntly, now lifting your face to meet his gaze. There's a hardness in your expression now, and something like anger swimming within your orbs. The terse change momentarily startles and confuses him.
"What do you mean?" Joel questions, almost sheepishly.
"I mean why?" You ask again sharply. "Why are you acting like this? So kind...like you really care? Is it just so you can control me again?"
His posture loses some of its rigidity, his shoulders sagging. He's suddenly aware of how dry his throat is. "No...I just...I want to be there for you...," he mumbles lamely. "With the baby and all..."
You sigh heavily, frustration evident in your voice. "I've managed this far along without you."
"I know," Joel swallows thickly, adams apple bobbing in his throat.
"So I don't need your help," you snap with irritation. "Even though I'm tired and my back hurts and my feet are sore, I don't need your help."
"But--"
"No," you interrupt Joel sharply, now scowling at him reproachfully. "After everything you did, after all you put me through - you think you can come back now and try to take over my life again?"
He shakes his head, eyebrows saddled together sadly. "Baby I swear that ain't it."
"Just go," you grit out. He hears the slightest warble cracking in your voice, the vague sheen of unshed tears misting your eyes - a glimpse of vulnerability that makes Joel want to pull you into his arms and cradle you tenderly.
He should go. You've told him to. He should drag himself back to that big lonely house that you no longer call home and leave you alone. He should wallow in your cold rejection and lick his wounds in the solitude of his loneliness. He wants to defy your command and fight for you, but he's so scared pushing you away any further.
All Joel can do is nod his head and whisper okay. He'll have to let you go for now - atleast for tonight. You're probably overwhelmed from the events of today and the unpredicted arrival of him at your doorstep. You need to rest, to perhaps think about what he's said a bit more.
Joel resigns to letting you go. You're starting to retreat back inside your cottage, back to the cosy safety of your space, but he is abruptly struck by a pressing need to ask you the question that's been rattling around his brain since his return to town.
"Wait, please," he croons. He steps closer to the threshold and presses his hand against the door frame - it is a gesture to get your attention rather than to intimidate you, but it still alarms you. You let out a little gasp and curl back against the door, a hand quickly shooting out to settle protectively on your belly.
As if he would ever fucking hurt you with his child growing inside you, Joel thinks indignantly.
"I'll go, I'll leave you alone, I swear. But just please... tell me," he pleads, staring into your eyes with such delicate intensity that it looks like he may weep. "I need to hear it."
"What?" You whisper, timidly peeking out at him. Joel swallows thickly, his pulse thrumming in his neck.
"Is that baby mine?"
He watches you intently, how your lips press into a tight line and the way your eyes close shut as soon as the question leaves his mouth. You take a shaky breath through your nose before opening your eyes again to stare back at him. He watches helplessly as a lone tear begins to trickle down from the corner of one of your eyes.
"It is," you whisper back, voice cracking.
A sound escapes from Joel, something between a gasp and a choke. His hand clamps over his mouth as if his breath has been snatched directly from his lips. All you can see is the woeful knit of his eyebrows and a film of tears reflected in his chocolate brown eyes. You stare at one another for what seems like an eternity, neither of you speaking a word.
So much has happened between the two of you, so much tragic history intertwined with passion, and none of it can ever be forgotten or revised. The culmination of it all now resides in your womb.
"'M sorry," Joel's baritone voice eventually croaks out. He slowly removes his shaking hand from his face. "'M so sorry for everythin' I ever did to hurt you. For all the bullshit I put you through, how I treated you. You didn't deserve any of it."
You're crying now, tracks of tears streaming down your cheeks, your nose tinged pink and your bottom lip quivering. Joel shakes his head gently and sniffs.
"Don't cry, darlin'," he whispers, his own voice thick with choked emotion. "Don't ever wanna see you cry again."
You drag your sweater sleeve over your eyes and sniffle. You look so small, so fragile. Joel can't control himself - he comes closer to you, boots scuffing over the door saddle so that he is on the precipice of entering your cottage, and reaches out to cup your cheek in one of his rough palms. To his surprise you do not resist him. You stare up at him with large eyes and wet eyelashes, and Joel swears he can feel a charged current of energy pass the air between you both.
"Please," Joel whispers hoarsely. "Give me a chance to redeem m'self. To be a part of my baby's life, to give you everythin' you deserve."
His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek tenderly as he gazes down at you, unbridled adoration and passion twinkling in his orbs. God, how he wishes he could kiss your sweet lips, all salty and damp, so that he can finally taste you once again. He imagines slipping his tongue into your mouth while his hands explore the expanse of your soft, ripe flesh, touching what is his.
"I....," you whisper back breathlessly, staring at him with languorous intensity that almost seems as if you're becoming bewitched by his presence. "I don't...I'm not sure if I can..."
"Let me try," Joel insists in a hushed murmer. "It'll be different - I'll be different. Let me take care of you both."
You're so close to saying yes, he's sure of it. He can sense your resolve waning with the way your cheek nestles heavier into the palm of his hand, in the way your body leans just the slightest bit closer to him. Just say yes, he wants to urge you.
But then you're blinking away your tears and taking a shuffling step back from him. He watches you, confused, as you straighten your spine to stand more self confidently. The dreamy fragility disappears from your eyes with the fluttering of your lashes, the spell broken.
"I can't trust you, Joel," you say to him simply. The emotionless and robotic quality to your voice makes his stomach clench. "I can't trust you not to lose control again and hurt me."
You retreat to slip backward behind the door, disappearing from him like a ghost. When the door closes shut in your wake Joel does not raise his voice to argue in protest; he does not pound on your door demanding to be let it, or break it down with his fists like he may have done in the past. He is not disheartened or angry.
Instead, he leaves your cottage without uttering a single word and begins the lonesome walk back home with a renewed sense of hope cocooning his splintered heart.
One week later
You just can't seem to get comfortable. The cramps inside your ribcage and the aching of your lower back are incessant, offering no reprieve no matter how many times you readjust your position in bed.
It's the same every night. You are constantly swapping sides, or switching from laying on your back to propping yourself upright against the headboard, trying to find the best arrangement to soothe your reflux as well as the pressure on your bones.
You usually end up finding a position that works, atleast for a little while, but lately the pursuit of sleep has been an arduous task. You read each night, long enough to try distract yourself from your discomfort and to lull your mind to sleep, but it's just not working very well. You're up to relieve your bladder so often that even if you do get comfortable you have to forfeit your new found peace just so you don't wet the bed.
Tonight is no different. You heave yourself onto the right side of your body, grunting with effort, but the pressure on your sciatic nerve only makes your discomfort worse. You whimper and try to knead your hip with the palm of your hand in an attempt to lessen the pain.
Shit. You'd kill for a massage right now, or atleast a couple extra pillows to cushion your hips. Your current pillows seem to have lost their bulk and feel far too flat, no matter how much you fluff them. You're in dire need of a pillow with more volume to support your bones, and it looks like you'll have to trade some goods to acquire a decent one. You really should've done that sooner, you lament to yourself.
You remember what Maria had said one time when you visited her and Tommy - how she would have him rub her back every night when she was pregnant with their boys, how he would hunt high and low around Jackson to source whatever she was craving at that point in her pregnancy. He had encountered her hormonal wrath several times, Maria told you while laughing, but Tommy took it all in his stride like the dutiful husband he always was. He had been her biggest support all throughout those months, Maria confessed. And he remained so as the boys got older.
You were happy for your friend, but as you listened to her recount the fond memories of her pregnancy you couldn't temper the wistful sadness bleed into your smile. It must be so comforting to always have someone by your side, to be there in the late night hours to talk to you when you can't sleep, to be there in the morning when you wake up ravenous and needing food in bed. To have a partner to weather the good and the bad.
Would Joel have done the same for you as Tommy did for Maria? you wonder. Would he have traded whatever he could for the endless loaves of bread loaded with jam that you so craved? Would he have gently pressed the span of his large calloused hands all over your back and legs and hips to try grant you some ease?
You really don't know, but you can't forget how gentle his touch was when he swooped you into his arms and carried you to the doctors clinic. You can't forget the care he took in every one of his steps, the low pitched praise he uttered into your ear.
It's been a week since that afternoon, a week since he turned up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, apologising and asking for a second chance, and you haven't been able to forget how he looked.
Sorrowful hooded brown eyes full of hope and desire and shame. The downturned curl of his lip as tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the scruff of his facial hair. The greying locks of his hair looking tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through them in distress.
His face was still as handsome as you remembered. He looked older though, despite less than a year having lapsed. Bags hung heavily under his eyes and the crinkles around them seemed more prominent. His hair was longer, curling down the nape of his neck, silver threaded through it; he hasn't had it cut for a quite time, probably since before he left Jackson.
You still remember the smell of him, too. That alluring mix of pine and sandalwood and Joel's distinct scent, masculine and heady, both calming and intoxicating. It seemed even more potent to your enhanced sense of smell. It had engulfed you as you laid in his arms on the way to the clinic, and then again when he had stood on your cottage porch. A single sniff had conjured memories of his naked body ontop of yours, his thick arms bracketing you as he fucked you with slow, steady rolls of his hips. It made your clit throb and your pussy clench.
You growl with frustration and roll over to the left side, facing toward your bed side table and lamp. You've been so horny, too, but bringing yourself to orgasm never truly satiates your appetite. Why did you still feel that niggling tingle of lust when you saw Joel, when you smelled him? Why did your body still respond to him in such a primal way?
It must be the pregnancy hormones, you guess. That's got to to be the reason.
But how could you explain the tugging of your heart strings when he had begged for a second chance to take care of you and your baby? Why had you felt so tempted to fall into his arms right there and give in to his pleas, to let him hold you and stroke your hair once more and whisper sweet things to you?
Another wave of acid reflux suddenly bubbles up your throat, causing you to dry wretch. You grimace at the burn and quickly reach over to the bedside drawer and slide the top shelf open. Kate had kindly procured candied ginger from someone in town just for your reflux and thankfully it proved to be an effective remedy. You blindly grope around for the small round tin strewn amongst the random items inside the drawer.
"Come on," you mumble to yourself.
You shuffle over to the edge of the bed to peer inside the drawer. You really need to organise it sometime - there's pencils scattered amidst loose sheets of paper, bits of string, a lone winter mitten and streams of different coloured ribbon. You sift through it all but when your eyes land on two particular items, your hand suddenly pauses.
You had purposely hidden them away out of sight months and months ago. You had even managed to forget about them.
But now they spring out at you, still partially hidden by the other random things in your drawer, like buried treasure peeking out from amongst ruins.
The tiny glint of the pendant stone catching on the light of your bedside lamp - the necklace Joel had gifted you. Beside it sit Oscar's small round spectacles, the reflective sheen from the glass lenses twinkling.
Your fingers carefully take hold of the spectacles and set them down on the top of the drawer. You do the same with the necklace, curling the chain in a coil before setting the stone ontop of it beside the glasses. You reach back into the drawer and retrieve the candied ginger, greedily popping a piece in your mouth as soon as you open the little tin. As you chew you stare pensively at the objects beside you.
Tommy was kind enough to give you the glasses before they buried Oscar, as well as one of his sweaters. He figured you would appreciate it, that owning something belonging to Oscar would bring you a small sense of comfort.
He was right.
You still think of Oscar. Not a day passes by where you don't. There is always sadness in your heart when you do, but the passage of time has allowed the sorrowful regret to ease slightly. You're able to recall happy moments with Oscar more clearly now, able to recognise pockets of joy with more appreciation.
You find the memory of him in the simplest of things - in the twittering song of the morning birds outside your window, in the first moist bite of a freshly baked muffin, in the cosy touch of your fuzzy blanket on a cold night. You think of him when something funny happens at work and you know he'd laugh along with you. You think of him when they serve his favourite soup at the cafteria, when you catch the scent of something cinnamon in the kitchen.
You lay your head down on your pillow and hike the blanket up over your shoulder. The ginger seems to have quelled the severity of your reflux and your chest feels less constricted. You sigh softly and your eyes close, starkly aware of just how depleted of energy your body feels.
You drift off to sleep with the sound of Oscar's voice in your mind, gentle and silken.
"I love you. Always have. Always will."
Joel comes for you again, the following Sunday afternoon.
You're returning home from the community kitchen at the mess hall. There's a town dance on tonight and you volunteered to help bake the cakes and scones on offer. Your weary feet drag you along the street, soles throbbing inside your shoes. You can't wait to get home and settle into bed with a cup of tea.
You round the corner and make your way down your lane, unrushed and waddling. You admire the clusters of buttercups dotted along the sidewalk - they remind you of the pretty pastel yellow baby blanket Rhi knitted you just the other day, and it makes you smile.
Then something catches your eye when you approach your home.
Your pace falters a few steps and your heart skips a beat when you spot a tall figure standing on your porch, their back facing you.
Who could that be?
You ask yourself the question, but deep down you know.
You know it's Joel.
Even before you see his face, you know it's him. There's no mistaking it's him, from the outline of his broad shoulders under his flannel shirt, from the length of his long legs and the silhouetted curly crown of his head.
You urge yourself to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and to continue walking to your cottage. He remains with his back to you until your shoes scuff over the pebbled ground leading to your home - and then, like he's sensed your arrival, he turns around. He's momentarily startled by the sight of you, as if he's been caught off guard while doing something secretive, but he quickly recovers. As you come up the porch he shuffles to the side to give you a respectable amount of space.
"Hello," you greet him, flashing a tight smile. Joel gives you a reserved nod in return, his hands fidgeting by his sides, his eyes darting from you to the ground nervously.
"What are you doing here?" You ask, eyeing him with an air of wariness. He opens his mouth but before he can answer your question your gaze drops to something half hidden by his body. "What is that?"
He moves another step to the side, unceremoniously revealing what he was concealing - a rocking chair made of dark brown wood, elegant yet simple, not large yet not small.
You let out a gasp of surprise, your eyes widening.
It is clear from the second you see it that the piece of furniture is stunning. It is sturdy, made from a fine quality wood, though you have no idea what kind. The backing is comprised of four thick vertical slats that attach to a solid curved square seat. The chair legs are similarly thick, while the arm rests and rockers are long and tapered. It looks newly hand crafted, the surfaces expertly sanded and varnished.
It's a work of art.
"It's, uh, it's a rockin' chair," Joel needlessly explains, sounding both bashful and nervous as he sweeps some imaginary dust from one of the arm rests. He avoids your gaze, his eyes roving over the chair instead.
"Oh my," you murmer in awe. "This is...Joel, this is beautiful."
Joel nods, sitting his hands on his hips. "Thought it might come in handy for when you need to settle the baby, or rest, or whatever."
You can't help the flutter of butterflies that materialise inside your belly at his words, or the heated blush that involuntarily creeps over your cheeks. With a hand resting on your stomach you take a step closer to get a better look at the chair. "Where did you find it?"
"I made it," he answers simply, his jaw ticking contemplatively. "It's maple wood. 'S the best I could get."
You don't know anything about the distinctions of different wood or what constitutes a good quality wood, but you have no doubt the kind Joel used is superb. It looks sophisticated with its rich, dark tone and it looks strong, able to bear the weight of someone much bigger than you.
You trail your fingertips over one of the arm rests and admire the lacquer finish on the wood, how smooth and polished it feels on your skin. "You really made this for me?"
"Mmhm."
Joel made this chair for you. With his own hands, he made it for you. You knew he had made a guitar for Ellie once, and she had mentioned he used to whittle, but actually seeing one of his creations in person was breath taking. Words couldn't adequately describe how impressively beautiful Joel's work was. You're stunned, for no one has ever done something so extravagant for you in your whole life.
"Thank you," you say quietly, words weighted with sincereity. You feel brave enough to peer up at him now, this formidable man with such complex emotions held behind his brooding facade. "That's... really so thoughtful, Joel."
He glances down at you to finally meet your gaze. His expression is tender, and you notice a pink tinge spread over the apples of his cheeks. "Don't gotta thank me," he murmers. "Do you like it? I do okay?"
"Like it?" You smile warmly up at him before looking back at the chair. "I love it."
Joel huffs out a little noise, something sounding like relief. He swipes his hand over his mouth, trying to hide the elated grin cracking over his face. "Good. Go ahead. Sit, try it out."
He rests his ass against the porch railing and folds his arms, watching as you shuffle to sidestep to sit down in the chair. You lower yourself into the seat and lean back into the backrest, a quiet groan of satisfaction spilling from your lips.
"Oh my god," you purr, stretching your arms over the arm rests and curling your hands around the edges. "It's so comfortable."
"That was my aim. You know, for it to be comfortable for you." Joel watches you intently, the corner of his mouth turned up into the slightest smile. "Wasn't sure if it would have been better to upholster that seat or leave it be, but then it would've taken longer, and well, traditionally a rockin' chair doesn't really have one, anyway--"
"Joel," you interrupt him calmly, "it's perfect how it is."
His dark eyes flicker over your face, seemingly searching for something, then he gives you the smallest of nods and a hushed okay.
You press your foot into the porch wood and push your weight backwards, giving the chair an experimental rock. You hum appreciatively as it rolls smoothly back and forth, enjoying the soft creak of its weight shifting with each rock.
"I probably won't even sleep in my bed anymore," you joke, grinning at Joel.
"Whatever makes you comfortable," Joel concedes casually. "As long as you and the baby are safe."
You hum in response and continue to move to and fro lazily, shamelessly relishing the gift he's given you. Joel remains in place watching you, his eyes lingering over your face and your round belly.
"Where do you want it?" He asks you, voice soft. "You can keep it out here for when you want fresh air. Or maybe you want it in your bedroom?"
"Bedroom, I think." You let out a loud yawn and cover your mouth with the back of your hand. "Speaking of which, I'm going to take a nap."
You stop rocking and move to get up out of the chair, but before you do Joel quickly moves to your side to help you; he places one hand gently on your lower back and holds his other out for you to take. You're a little startled at first, but when your hand slips into his bearish palm you swear you can feel all the tension in your body vanish.
"Easy now," he murmers as you heave yourself up to your feet with his support.
"Feel like I have a bowling ball for a stomach," you quip, feeling a little self conscious with how heavy your body feels.
"Ain't much longer to go now. Just gotta rest and take it easy." Joel's thumb rubs gently over the back of your hand, the light touch of his calloused digit causing a pleasant shiver to run up your spine. "Mind if I move that rockin' chair inside for you?"
It's a good idea - there's no way you could shift it yourself. You unlock the front door and let Joel into your cottage, allowing him passage into your private world that he hasn't seen for so long. He nimbly manoeuvres the chair inside and carries it to your room without saying a word. You follow behind him, unable to stop yourself from admiring the view of his strong shoulders and back, and the way his jeans hug his ass.
Joel sets the chair in the corner of your bedroom and steps back to assess how it looks. You stand in the door way and lean against the frame, one hand stroking along your belly as you watch him.
"That okay?" He asks, casting his eyes to you. "Figured you'd get some light closer to this side of the window."
"Yeah," you agree, trying to stifle another yawn with the back of your hand. "Thank you. I better sleep now, before I have to go back to the hall."
Joel frowns, puzzled. "Why do you have to go back to the hall?"
"I'm going to the dance tonight," you answer wearily.
Joel's mouth falls open like he's going to speak, but all he does is stare at you dumbly, like he's struggling to comprehend what you've just said. His heart beat has swiftly kicked up and his mouth suddenly feels dry.
You're going to that dance, the one he heard Tommy mention the other day. You're going to that town dance, probably with your friends. You always loved dancing - and fuck, you always looked so damn good doing it, with a carefree grin on your face and a delighted sparkle to your eyes. And here you are now, standing before him looking so tired with wisps of hair mattered to your forehead and splotches of flour printed on your dress, your middle protuding and your feet swollen, and he thinks you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
Joel loves you, unconditionally and ardently. He wants to see you bouyant and light hearted and doing what makes you happy. He wants you to dance and laugh with your friends.
And he wants to be a part of it, too.
"Will you go to the dance with me?" Joel blurts out suddenly, brows knitted together above his hopeful puppy dog eyes. His adams apple bobs nervously in his throat as he stares at you.
Your face pinches into a frown, clearly wondering if you had misheard the question. Did Joel Miller really just ask you to go to a town dance? "What?"
"I asked you to come to the dance. With me. Please."
You tilt your head slightly and eye him with dubious uncertainty. "Joel, you hate dances..."
"I want to go," he asserts adamantly, his gaze still locked on you. "I want to take you. You can dance with your friends, with whoever you want, I won't stop you. You can be there all night, if you want. But I just wanna be there with you."
Joel is trying his hardest not to sound too insistent or forceful. He wants you to understand that he knows you still have the automony to refuse him, even if he's begging on his knees. He wants you to know that he isn't trying to control you.
But now you are chewing your bottom lip, looking increasingly anxious the more he talks, and he can't help but panic that he's scaring you off.
"Joel," you begin slowly, cautiously, "last time..."
"Won't ever happen again," Joel promises solemnly. "I won't ever hurt you like that again, I swear to you. I just...I want to be close to you, that's all."
He takes a tentative step toward you, his fingers restlessly flexing as he tries to tamper the instinctual urge to reach for your hand. To his relief you don't move back from him or flinch away - you stand your ground and hold his gaze, and he swears there's a slight softening of your expression now.
"I love you," he confesses, sadness staining through his hushed, sober tone. "And I know you probably feel like you can't ever trust me...but please..."
"Joel," you sigh, "I already told you..."
"I know, I know," he interrupts, holding his hands out like you're a skittish animal. "I know you can't trust me not to lose control - I understand that. But I want you and our baby in my life. So I'm askin' you to...to start over, as friends, or somethin'...maybe just go to this dance and see how you feel..."
Fuck, he scolds himself internally, I sound like a fucking dumbass.
You remain standing at the doorway unmoving, watching him with an expression he can't quite read. He feels ridiculously self conscious now, vulnerable and idiotic in his inability to articulate the complex jumble of thoughts and desires inside his heart. For a fleeting moment he considers abandoning this whole thing and high tailing it out of your home with his tail between his legs.
Then you speak.
"Okay." You say simply.
Joel gawps at you, dumbfounded. His stomach flips a somersault. "What?" His voice comes out in a decompressed breath from deep within his lungs, barely audible.
"I said okay," you repeat yourself plainly, giving a little shrug. "But if I feel unsafe at any time, or I don't want to be around you--"
"Yes, I'll leave, right away," Joel nods vigorously. "I'll do whatever you want."
"What if I ask you to carry me all the way home when I'm too tired to dance any more?" You joke, shooting him a silly little grin. Joel laughs at that, unable to hold back the smile that spreads over his face.
"Darlin', for you I'd break my damn back carryin' you around."
He means it, and from the way you're looking at him, he thinks you may believe it, too.
"I'll be ready at 7."
Joel closes the gap between you with a few short strides of his boots. He stands before you, tall and rugged, the features of his handsome face soft with adoration as he gazes down at you.
"I'll be here to pick you up at 7 sharp."
There's a magnetic energy surrounding the two of you in this intimate moment, a pulling force that neither of you can resist. It is an emotive kind of synergy borne of soulful connection and physical attraction, something neither of you quite understand but of which you cannot deny.
So when Joel leans in and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, you don't move away or protest. And when you unexpectedly grab hold of his hand and place it carefully over the middle of your pregnant stomach, he doesn't dare say anything to ruin the fragile moment.
It's the beginning of something new, something bright and full of hope for you both. And this time it feels safe.
Reading the dark prompts list by @thehydraethereal got me thinking about Joel forcing himself onto reader when she's sore and tired. Just a little drabble I couldn't get out of my mind. 🤤
warnings: noncon PIV, painful sex, mention of creampie, breeding kink.
"Go ahead. Tell me no again."
Joel snaps his hips once more, jamming his cock further inside of you. You shriek and squeeze your knees against the sides of his belly, your hands pitifully batting at his solid chest.
"Come on, I wanna hear it," he chuckles cruelly, entertained by your weak attempt to fight him off. He captures both of your wrists in one of his hands and pins them down on the bed above your head. "You had so much to say just a minute ago. Runnin' your smart little mouth, tellin' me no, like you actually have a say in what I fuckin' do."
You had. You'd told Joel no several times, had said that you were still too sore from last night to have sex again tonight, but he didn't care. His hands roamed over your ass and squeezed your flesh as he licked and sucked at your neck - moves that usually made you wet and needy quickly, moves that usually turned you into putty in his hands. However, tonight your resolve was unwavering and his attempt to seduce you were met with half-hearted efforts to push him away.
But the more you rebuffed Joel the more aggressive he became, until eventually he roughly stripped you of your camisole and panties and forced you onto the bed. You suspect that it wasn't so much your unwillingness that pissed him but rather your firm refusal; to Joel it signified insolence and a lack of respect, two things that he hates with a passion.
Now he has you trapped beneath him as he takes apart both your body and mind. For it isn't just the feeling of him stuffed into your pussy that feels so invasive; it is also the sight of him hovering so close above you, the twinkle in his predatory eyes staring down at you, the way his warm breath beats down on your face. He's everywhere all at once, assaulting all your senses with the brute strength of his body and his persistent will to dominate you.
You turn your face away from him, looking toward the bedroom wall instead. You're on the verge of tears and you're trying with all your might not to weep - you don't want to give him the pleasure of seeing how distressed you are.
Joel pulls back until the head of his cock is close to sliding out of your swollen cunt, then he thrusts all the way back inside with one smooth forceful stroke. Your back arches and you squeeze your eyes shut, gritting your teeth to try suppress your cries of pain.
"That one hurt you, baby? You gonna cry now?"
He repeats the motion over and over, slow weighted strokes that knock the air from your lungs. You can feel every ridge and vein of his heavy length with every torturous drag of his hips.
"That's okay," Joel murmers soothingly. "You can cry if you want." He leans down to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. "Won't change a damn thing though. You're still gonna get fucked like a breeding bitch."
Unable to repress the hurt any longer your tears finally spill over your waterline and you weep. Joel grabs one of your tits and kneads it roughly in the palm of his large hand, a deep rumble of satisfaction purring from his throat.
"Yeah baby, keep cryin' on my cock like that."
Joel dips down to kiss you, mouth engulfing yours with hungry and sloppy sweeps of his tongue. You whine into his mouth and he moans in response, his facial hair scratching against the sensitive skin of your chin and cheeks. You can only hope and pray that he will cum soon and be satisfied with filling you up just once tonight.
thank you to @saradika-graphics for the divider and @thehydraethereal for their prompts found here.
