Summary: The night before you leave the trailer park for good, your next door neighbor sneaks into your trailer in the middle of the night to show you what you're leaving behind.
Pairing: Perv!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Content warnings: modern no outbreak AU where Joel is not a dad, pre-negotiated kinks, dirty talk, unprotected sex (don't do that irl), somnophilia, spitting, one spank, one slap to Joel's shoulder blade, biting, blink and you'll miss it blood kink, one use of the word "slut", multiple positions, rough sex, breeding kink, Joel mentions his gut once
Word count: 2,522
Read on ao3 here
Author's note: wow wow wow! I was not expecting so many people to read "Nasty", let alone anyone request a sequel (thank you to the first person who suggested it: @chewie-bars), let alone multiple people. I am amazed and I feel loved and I hope you feel loved too. title for this one comes from reader describing Joel as "nasty and slimy" and attributing it to watching too much Sons of Anarchy in "Nasty". that is all me. I watched Sons of Anarchy years ago and am still down bad for Tig Trager and the rest of the sons. if the sons aren't "nasty and slimy" men, I do not know who is. okay anyway ty for all the love on "Nasty", please enjoy "Slimy"! <3
After living in the trailer park for sixteen months, you’ve finally put a down payment on a house. When you told Joel, he said he was happy for you, but you could tell (especially by the way he fucked you five minutes after) that he was almost sad to hear about you leaving.
In all honesty, he’s the only thing you’re remotely upset about leaving behind. Besides being a good fuck, he is kind, funny, and smart. Over the last sixteen months, you’ve learned that he’s got good qualities besides his cock.
Today, he helped you pack all your things up. You’ll sign the paperwork and pick up your key tomorrow. It’s your last night in Blue Moon Trailer Park, and Joel is determined to leave a lasting impression.
You had him over for dinner. Pizza at a card table, but it was still one last hurrah in the place you called home for over a year. He fucked you on the floor after dinner, right next to the spaghetti sauce stain on the carpet that was there when you moved in, and when he was done, he kissed you goodbye and promised to lock the door on the way out.
You trusted him to do that.
He didn’t.
At around 2:00 in the morning, Joel crosses the eight feet of grass between your trailers, walks up the steps of your humble porch, and lets himself into your trailer.
He looks down the hall. Your bedroom door is half closed. The closer he gets, the better he can hear your breathing. Deep and even. You’re definitely asleep.
Perfect.
You look so peaceful, so pretty.
It’s hot in Texas. It always is, even now, during the middle of the night in March. You’ve got the sheets tangled around your legs, baring your naked body to him.
Perfect.
You’re lying on your stomach, the arch of your spine and the curve of your ass on display.
Joel reaches for his belt and swiftly pulls it through the loops, discarding it on the floor, along with his jeans and t-shirt.
Now naked as well, Joel crawls up your bed, hovering over your body. He holds his weight up with his left forearm, and with his right hand, he starts gently caressing and squeezing your ass.
You mentioned taking some Benadryl before going to bed after sneezing so much at dinner. You’re probably out, giving Joel some time to play with you all by himself.
When you told him you found a house, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, fucking hardwood floors, and granite countertops, he was happy. You saved your money, and you found the perfect house to spend it on.
He was proud of you. He’d seen you eat Kraft macaroni and cheese for dinner twice a week just so you could save up for the couch you wanted to buy for your future house.
Everything’s coming up roses for you.
It’s deserved, definitely, but Joel, deep in his old, selfish, perverted bones, wants to keep you to himself.
He slips his finger between your cheeks and slides it down until he finds your hole. He finds you slick. It’s like your body’s ahead of your brain. Your body can sense him, knows he’s here. It’s ready for him before you are.
Joel leans his head down so his lips are moving against your hair as he speaks.
“Your pussy’s always such a good girl for me,” he whispers. “Sometimes nicer than you. You can be a brat, but she always wants to cooperate for me.”
Slowly, so as not to wake you, Joel pushes the tip of his finger inside, just up to the first knuckle, just to feel you.
“Probably gonna end up missin’ her more than you,” he murmurs.
It’s a lie, but you’re not awake to dispute it.
Joel eventually fully pushes his finger inside of you, and you let out the softest moan, still asleep, but responsive as ever.
“Yeah, I bet my finger feels good, don’t it? Bet ya ain’t gonna find another guy with fingers as thick as mine in the ‘burbs. No, ma’am. Shit like this ain’t found with them uptight city slicker pricks.”
He’s finding he’s more bitter about your move than he originally thought he was.
As he moves his finger in and out of your slick cunt and starts pulling more consistent moans from your throat, he gently withdraws his finger and licks it clean, the digit coming out of his mouth with a sharp pop.
Joel decides to turn you over. He wants to eat that sweet pussy just one more time before you leave for good.
He’s so careful. He gently gets his hands around your shoulder and hip, slowly turning you over on your back.
You don’t even stir.
Before he dives in, he gently pulls your legs apart, baring your sweet, gorgeous pussy to him.
He kisses your knees, then a few spots on the inside of your thighs, then he kisses your clit.
That last kiss pulls a soft gasp from you, but you still don’t wake.
He starts out with kitten licks, small stripes up the length of your slit.
Then he hovers his mouth above your cunt, lips parted, drool pooling in his mouth. He lets his saliva dribble over your cunt, and he finds that he really likes the sight.
He gathers more saliva in his mouth and aims to spit directly on your clit.
You moan at the stimulation, and Joel instinctively humps your mattress.
“Guess we both just discovered a new kink, didn’t we, darlin’?” he rasps before fully diving in, licking your pussy like a man gone mad.
With all the force he’s using as he eats you out, you finally start stirring.
Joel feels your thighs tighten around his head, but he doesn’t stop. He knows you want this just as much as he does.
“Joel…? That you…?”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. There’s only one person in the whole world who would break into your trailer in the middle of the night to eat you out. Obviously, it’s him.
He pulls your clit between his teeth and sucks.
“Oh…” you moan. You’re conscious, but barely awake. Your body still feels heavy; it’s probably the Benadryl, you think.
You don’t know how long he’s been between your legs, but it must be long enough to reach climax, because that’s where you’re headed.
“I’m gonna–”
“Good girl,” he rasps between licks. “Come on my face, darlin’. Want you to soak me one last time. Come on, let me wear my favorite lip gloss.”
You come with a giggle.
A fucking giggle.
‘Let me wear my favorite lip gloss.’
Joel cleans you up, and as his head rises, you see his chin, his beard, and, yes, his lips, are covered in your shine.
“Looking real pretty, Miller,” you whisper, your chest rapidly rising and falling.
“Your lips are lookin’ a little dull, sunshine. Lemme help,” he says before leaning down and crashing his lips against yours.
You taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue: sweet and a little tangy.
He moans into the kiss and pulls away with a sigh.
“Still sleepy?” he murmurs as he brings his hands up to play with your tits.
You lazily nod your head and look up at him through heavy eyes. “Mm. Gonna wake me up?”
Joel smirks so wide you think his lips might bust open.
“You can bet your pretty little ass I am.”
With that, Joel sits back on his knees and takes hold of your ankles, pulling you toward him. He gets you situated on his lap while he sits in the middle of your bed.
Before you know it, he’s feeding his cock into your cunt, and he’s just as quickly buried to the hilt.
“Jesus, Joel!” you shout, your hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, while your eyes practically bug out of your head.
“What?” he murmurs softly. “What, ya can’t handle it?”
You glare at him and tug on the back of his hair.
“Asshole,” you mumble.
Joel smiles, and he lets out a heavy sigh. Then his hand cracks down on your ass in response to the hair pulling.
“Just be a good girl and let me do what I need to do,” he says, smiling as he speaks.
“What you need to do?” you scoff.
He nods and bites his bottom lip as he tries to fight off his smile.
“Yep. We’ll both be better for it if ya just let me do my thing.”
As he says this, his fingers reach down and start gently rubbing your clit, pulling a soft moan from you, which shuts you right up.
“Mm… Now, there’s my girl,” Joel whispers, sounding almost fond as he starts thrusting up into you from below.
“Ya gonna start fuckin’ suburban dads once you leave this place behind?” he rasps, his lips moving against your ear. “Hm, baby? Gonna start socializin’ at t-ball practices to find some replacement dick?”
You let out a breathy sound between a moan and a gasp, and bring your hand down on his shoulder blade.
“Fuck you, Joel,” you mutter softly.
“What? Am I wrong?” he scoffs. “You like ‘em a little older. Don’t deny it, sweetheart.”
Whether or not he is right is something you’ll admit to later, not when he’s balls deep inside of you, so you shut him up with a kiss so forceful, he falls on his back.
Joel moans and brings his hands down to squeeze your ass.
“Gettin’ sentimental on me, darlin’?” he murmurs against your lips.
You bite his bottom lip in response, so hard that you start to taste something metallic-y.
When you pull back, you see that Joel is grinning, blood between his teeth.
You’re a little surprised at yourself, at how aggressive you’re being, and also how much you like the sight of Joel with blood-stained teeth, as well as being the reason for it.
“Joel, I–”
“You kinky slut,” he laughs.
“No, I didn’t mean to,” you try to explain, and he starts thrusting into you again.
“Sure,” he scoffs.
“I didn’t!”
“Okay,” he says, smirking like he’s doing you a favor by acquiescing.
Your eyes practically bug out of your head, and before you can think of another response, he’s pulling out of you and switching positions.
He twists your body around until your back is flush with his chest. It’s a bit of a struggle, but he gets inside of you again, and it all happens so fast, you think you might get whiplash.
Joel keeps his hands on your pelvis and starts thrusting hard.
“Joel!”
“Oh, hush. It feels good; don’t fight it, darlin’,” he mumbles.
“You’re the worst,” you moan, clenching down around him.
“Honey, I know for a fact I’m hittin’ your g-spot with this angle, and you’re sayin’ I’m the worst?” he scoffs. “Please. Least make it so your insults are true.”
Joel brings one hand up to start pawing at your breast, kneading and groping and rubbing the flesh, and you swear you might wake up the entire trailer park with how loud you’re moaning.
He almost covers your mouth, but thinks better of it. Why hide the fact he’s fucking you within an inch of your life?
“You’re gonna miss this. Sure, you’ll have an actual front porch, fuckin’ hardwood floors, and a full-size bathtub, but this?” he grunts, emphasizing the last word with a particularly aggressive thrust. “Aw, baby. You can’t get this in the ‘burbs.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” you mutter through gritted teeth.
At that, Joel rolls the two of you over, now pressing your body between his and the mattress.
“I don’t think that’s right, darlin’,” he whispers in your ear, almost tauntingly. “I think this past year, I’ve gotten you hooked on me, my cock, the way I fuck, the way I talk… I think whatever limp dick you manage to bag in the city ain’t gonna hold a candle to me.”
He slips his hand between your body and the mattress and starts rubbing your clit at a pace that can only mean he wants you to come, even if he has to force it.
Joel lowers his head so that his lips brush against your ear as he speaks in a low, raspy voice.
“You’re addicted, baby,” he whispers as he presses harder against your clit.
You whimper, muffling the sound by pressing your face into the mattress while your cunt spasms around him.
“Oh, that made you come, honey?” he teases, his tone mocking. “My pervy, nasty, dirty mouth made you come?”
You can only whimper in response as you try to compose yourself. Meanwhile, Joel’s thrusts start picking up, and then you remember he’s not wearing a condom.
“Joel… Joel, you have to pull out,” you murmur.
Joel kisses your temple. “If I pull out, how else will I give you something to remember me by?”
Shit.
You’re speechless, unable to react as Joel keeps thrusting in and out of your slick cunt until he spills rope after rope, spurt after spurt of his cum inside of you, grunting above you.
“Yeah, you just take it, baby. Take all o’ me. Grow me a cute kid,” he rambles as his cock delivers the last spurt of his cum. “Gonna give ya a cute baby belly to match my beer belly.”
You’re stunned; you can’t believe he actually did that. He seriously came inside of you.
“Joel–”
You jerk around just a little bit underneath him, but he doesn’t budge.
“Shh, baby. Just go back to sleep. You need your rest for the big movin’ day tomorrow,” he murmurs in your ear, his hand gently petting your hair.
Somehow, you do manage to fall back asleep, and when you wake up, the bed is empty.
As you get up, your legs and pussy sore from the previous night’s activities, which are the only reason you remember it was real and not a dream, you head to the kitchen to see if you have any food to eat for breakfast. On your kitchen counter is a box of the morning-after pill, and next to it is a note that reads:
Hope last night lived up to your fantasy, pervy girl. Wake me up at noon, and we can get started on moving day.
P.S. I’m proud of you. You did good, and you deserve this.
P.S.S. Apparently, you have a spit kink.
-Joel
Joel Miller is a pervert. He slaps your ass every time you walk by him, booty-calls you at 2:00 in the morning, and shouldn’t be trusted to speak in the presence of pearl-clutchers.
He is a nasty, slimy guy.
He is a big dick with big feelings…for you.
Tonight, after he helps you get moved into your new house, you will ask that he help you christen all the rooms, and as a reward for his help, you will slip him a spare key to your new house.
yesssss exaaactly!!! he is so nasty yet tender in his own way, I loooooove him!!! thank YOUUU for sharing your sleazy menace and your talent with all of us!! 😍🥰😘
Warnings: 18+. This fic is for LIMP DICK LOVERS ONLY. If y’all can’t rock with Joel’s flaccid cock, click AWAY 😫 Unprotected p-in-v / intercrural sex. Oral (m!receiving). Age gap unspecified but just know he’s AARP-eligible.
Word count: 3.0k
This wasn’t a problem he’d planned on having.
At twenty-five, he could’ve put you through the mattress four times over in one night and barely broken a sweat. At thirty-five, he could’ve bent you like a pretzel and fucked you eight ways to Wednesday twice a week.
Today, at the age he was, Joel Miller couldn’t stand from the sofa without feeling like bones were about to snap.
He wrote grocery lists and had to stop halfway to flex his hand. He pulled up his pants and damn near always felt a strain in his back. He kept a heating pad as a sidekick at work, and sometimes his baby brother teased him for it, then Joel would wag one liver-spotted finger Tommy’s way and say, ‘You’ll be like this, too, just wait.’ The Golden Years had a habit of sneaking up on people. Nobody warned him that one day he’d be waking up feeling fine and the next not able to wiggle his toes without a herculean effort. In short, old age sucked.
The only one who didn’t seem to mind as much was you.
And how could you? Joel always thought of it with some amusement. You hadn’t been alive long enough to know a single wrinkle, much less as many as he had, and your knees never cracked when you kneeled. He’d noticed that when you greeted him first thing that morning.
Mouth wide and eyes wider, you made for the perfect sight to his sleepy gaze when he lifted the comforter at 6 AM. Your tongue withdrew from the tip of his leaky cock.
“Your shift starts at seven, right?” you whispered.
Shit, he’d quit his whole job for one blowjob from you.
Joel nodded instead. He took a fistful of your hair and nodded again—keep lickin’ the tip just like you had it, honey, that’s it. His lids lowered. They nearly shut. Fifteen more seconds of this wet friction from your mouth and he’d be erect in no time. He knew he would.
These days, while his ‘morning wood’ was never quite what it used to be, and on some occasions like these he woke up completely limp, he was almost always able to coax his cock into it. Just took a little extra time and spit.
It wasn’t until your lips had slid up and down his soft shaft at least two dozen times and nothing stirred that Joel started to worry. He peeled the old coverlet back.
From where you lay between his legs, chin poised over his lap, you didn’t seem bothered. In fact, you were smiling. You’d just taken his flushed, bulbous head between your lips, and your tongue laved over the slit. Joel almost tore a hole in his throat at how good that felt—his groan was loud. The soft suckling noises of your mouth were slight in comparison, but they were purposeful and timed exactly right. His balls twitched.
He should’ve been rock-hard by now.
“‘M’sorry, sweetheart,” Joel grunted, watching you swallow down the soft flesh of him over and over again. “Damn thing just don’t wanna…cooperate this mornin’.”
“I don’t mind.”
You’d pulled off just long enough to say it. Then you were back to bobbing your head, eyes locked on his as you did
He didn’t deserve you.
That much was clear from the way you were sucking him dutifully—fucking cheerfully—like his flaccid dick was a three-star Michelin meal and you hadn’t eaten all day.
It was beyond the pale in the best way possible, and Joel felt guiltier and guiltier with every brush of your lips and tongue that followed. You shouldn’t have had to do this.
“Let me eat you out,” he said then. Abruptly. “Flip over.”
And he slid back on the bed, hearing the delicate, wet pop of his still-soft cock out of your mouth. You frowned.
“What the hell, Joel? I was just having fun,” you huffed.
You were what?
Was that not the most humiliating thing you’d ever seen?
“I can’t even keep a semi,” Joel retorted, almost as low. “Ain’t no use wastin’ our time on me ‘fore I gotta leave.”
Then he started to reach for your hips, about to turn you around and have his breakfast in bed, when your hand swatted him off. The other anchored itself on his thigh, and as you sat up, Joel could tell there was something more adamant in that. You regarded him with a scowl.
“If I wanted to make this about me, I would’ve grabbed my vibrator and gone to town already. This is for you.”
Before he could protest, you inched up some more.
You straddled the broad, muscly legs that had once been bracketing your head, and you placed a palm on his chest. You made him lean back against the headboard.
“Honey—” Joel started.
“Zip it, Miller.”
Well, goddamn. For a woman a fraction of his age and size, you commanded him well. He didn’t move a muscle.
He couldn’t deny that it turned him on, too. To think that you wanted him badly enough that you’d suck the sexual equivalent of a wet noodle and then get on top of him for more. Joel had to grit his teeth and steel himself when your hips shifted. You were bare under one of his t-shirts.
And your eyes were alight with rapt intrigue. Like he was something worth salivating over, and not some decrepit old man whose dick wouldn’t work. The smile you wore before had only grown bigger, and your thighs were squeezing his hips. Your heat was sliding up and—
“Fuck,” Joel hissed.
The breath was knocked out of his chest. That was how stunned he was to feel the seam of your cunt align with his length, which rested lazily across his lower stomach. You braced one hand on the headboard behind him, flattened the other palm to his chest, and again, lowered yourself, rubbed yourself, so that the underside of his shaft cut you down the middle. It parted your folds.
Your wetness was spreading down the length of him. Soft as it was, Joel was thankful he was a shower, not a grower, and he hadn’t lost too much of his size by not being hard. You were pressing yourself gently against him now, bracing your knees on the bed on either side of his body, and your gaze was gradually trailing to his face.
Your motions, much to his surprise, were slow. Sensual.
You weren’t in a hurry at all to get his dick hard. You simply followed what felt good: a little gyration of your hips, a press of your heat, gentle thrusts with your knees planted firmly on the bed. You were riding him, except you didn’t have him inside you at all. The expressions that crossed your face could’ve fooled Joel, though.
Brows knit together in a mixture of pleasure and purpose, you peered down at him and let out the smallest whimper. The sound was more like a breath, trapped somewhere in your chest and begging to be let out with each rut of your lower half. It was as if the action was getting you off—not fucking him, but humping him.
“That’s it, daddy…That’s—oh, fuck that feels nice.”
The speed of your motions increased the slightest amount, coating his cock from root to tip, and for a minute, Joel thought he might’ve stopped breathing.
He had stopped, briefly, just to suck in a breath and hold it, and, fuck, he didn’t want to let it out, because what if this was all a dream? What if he was seeing things, and you weren’t really grinding on his cock at all but laughing your ass off and leaving his bed? Heaving a sigh or rolling your eyes at the sight of him still not getting hard at this.
Joel looked down to double-check his traitorous dick.
The second he caught a glimpse of your sex and his sliding against one another, though, he let out a groan.
This had to be a fucking joke.
Go, go, go, go, GO! GROW!!
“You can do it, bud, just…” Joel trailed off, realizing that he was talking to his penis out loud. “Sorry. I’m…sorry.”
And truly, he was. He’d never felt more remorseful or dumb. On top of that, you probably thought he was nuts.
You only giggled in response.
You leaned back, dropped your chin, and directed your attention to Joel’s woefully soft and squishy member.
A fingertip prodded at it gently; he twitched.
“C’mon, you got this!” you cheered him on.
It was lighthearted. Easy. Kind of insane.
Here you both were, egging on his peri-geriatric penis to form an erection, when Joel should’ve been balls deep in you. Should’ve been giving you exactly what you needed, how you needed it, with little to no interference to your pleasure. And now here you were. Talking to it instead.
“I love you,” Joel blurted out.
He’d only said this a handful of times to date—your relationship was still relatively new—but at present, he couldn’t help it. You were making him laugh when just minutes ago he’d felt as humiliated as he’d ever been.
You leaned down to kiss him, and you said it back to him.
“I love you,” Joel murmured again, against your lips.
“I—” You shifted over his lap, so that your lower halves were re-aligned and he could feel you. “I love you, Joel.”
The sound of those words, paired with the soft, warm friction of your bodies moving in tandem, had pleasure pooling through his gut. Driving up his spine. Stirring something dark and familiar in his mind—arousal.
A second after that, something stiffened in his lap.
Just a little bit. ‘Stiff’ was the key word there, not hard—Joel tried not to grow too excited while it seemed that his dick was filling with blood and the flesh was gradually getting firmer than it had been before. Still, he grinned.
He was back to kissing you, and you’d felt it too.
Your fingers wriggled on his chest. You started rocking back and forth, a bit more quickly now, and hummed.
You pulled away to catch your breath.
“Does that…help?” you murmured.
“What?”
“My…when I rub— here?”
You were trying so hard to help. You must’ve had no clue it’d been two utterances of ‘I love you’ from your lips that had stoked the fire within him. The friction helped, no doubt, but it was you and what you felt that made it happen—got him harder. Joel’s grin stretched bigger.
“Sweetheart, it’s—”
“‘Cause we can switch it up a little. I bet variety helps.” Suddenly, you were leaning back and lifting your hips. You gripped the base of him, now almost upright between your body and his, and started stroking him.
That felt good.
That felt really good.
But anything from you was bound to feel like that.
Joel’s smile wavered momentarily as another jolt of pleasure coursed through him. He couldn’t control the reflex; his hips bucked up from the mattress, and in your hold, the head of his cock bumped right against your clit.
You whimpered.
Your slit was all but dripping with heat. Ready for him.
“Goddamn,” Joel grit out, eyes fixed on that spot.
“Jerk your cock against me, daddy.”
His gaze shot up.
“Yeah, baby?”
The man scarcely knew what it was that he was doing in the moment, or how this might please you—all he wanted was to follow what you’d told him to do.
He nodded dumbly. Grabbed the base of his partly-erect dick and guided the tip to your clit again. He rubbed it.
Your head dropped back on a strangled-sounding moan. Joel rubbed harder—faster, to match the rhythm of your hips—and his own lips parted, betraying a look of awe.
You were writhing above him, reveling in the sensation.
Joel blinked, and he completely forgot his predicament. He dismissed from his mind that slight, inconsequential matter of not being able to get himself hard, and he flipped you. Your body fell prone on the bed beneath him.
And, focused on his pleasure as you were, you might’ve protested. Joel was quick to cut it off when he rolled you onto your side and wedged a leg between your knees.
“Open for me,” he murmured beside your ear.
You whined, ‘Jo-el,’ weakly, but obliged.
“Daddy, it’s supposed to be for y—”
Your last words splintered off. Joel was pushing his dick between your thighs—drenched as both the insides of your legs and his length happened to be, it was easy—and he slid it back and forth. He sawed his half-hard cock like he was fucking you from the inside out, and your answering moan was enough to show him that you liked it. Your head tilted back, against his shoulder, and Joel increased the speed of his thrusts. He smirked.
“This is for me, baby,” he assured you quietly.
Then, he notched his tip at your entrance.
“And this…is for you,” he finished.
Just as your moan morphed into a whine once again, he was pushing in—no more than an inch, but in—and his own breath caught. Joel groaned at the warmth and the wetness, the sheer stricture of your cunt that seized his length like a fist. Your walls pulsed at the feeling. You leaked around that one intruding inch and reached behind you to grip Joel’s neck. You cursed softly.
“Shit, daddy. He’s— he’s in me.” Half-disbelief.
“That’s right. Ain’t that where he belongs?”
You didn’t have to answer that. You simply lifted one leg higher and let him rut in deeper. You fisted the hair at the nape of his neck, and you tilted your hips to him. You soaked him in warmth. Though he didn’t have a full view of your expression from behind, Joel could see that your jaw was hanging slack and your lids were heavy—the eyes rolled back at a third stab of his hips. He fucked in.
Joel still wasn’t fully hard. That was just another part of being old, and he was done pretending like he wasn’t the age he was. You didn’t mind the age he was. If the noises bubbling up in your throat, the wet squelch of your cunt every time he drove home, and the grip on his neck, the gentle, ‘Oh, daddy, like that’ wasn’t proof enough of how much you liked it, the tremors in your legs certainly were.
They were slight. Joel knew what they signified, though.
With three inches wedged inside you, he leaned down.
“Is my sweet girl ready to cum?” he pressed gently.
You bit your bottom lip once before whimpering:
“I— I wanna get you hard first, daddy. Please.”
It was like you needed it. That urge to put him first was unyielding, even in a condition like this, and Joel wanted nothing more than to sate the desire. He also wanted to give you the orgasm you deserved, so he ground himself into your ass. He withdrew to the tip, kissed the warm, sensitive spot behind your ear, then plunged back in.
You convulsed around him.
“That’s it,” Joel went on. His mouth was so close to your skin you were no doubt feeling the grit of his stubble with every word he spoke. He hoped you didn’t mind it.
“That’s a good girl. Daddy’s nearly there. Let the sweet feelin’ in, and I promise I’ll be right behind ya, honey.”
“You— you’ll be hard? You’ll get to finish, too?”
“Givin’ ya ropes an’ ropes of the stuff, sweet pea. Enough to flood your tummy with it. Just…gimme one…good…”
“Oh!”
You let out a cry when he drove in deep.
He wasn’t even sure how he did it; his cock just throbbed and pulsed and pushed through your heat like this was right where he needed to be. He pressed in to the hilt, felt his tip kiss somewhere close your cervix, and that was when it happened again. You clawed at his neck.
You raked your nails down harder and shrieked.
“Oh, fuck, Joel, fuck, fuck, fuck—I love you!”
And that was enough for him, too.
In all the decades of life Joel Miller had lived, he couldn’t recall a single time he wasn’t fully hard and able to cum. But here he was. As soon as you finished, he filled you up like it was nothing. It had to have been the intonation of those words, or else your fingers threading through his hair, pulling tight, and gushing your release all over his cock that helped him get there. Every last sign that you were his, that you loved him, pushed him over the edge.
He was mumbling the same into your skin with each hot, pulsing jet of his seed. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and nearly whimpered. He couldn’t help it.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Like a broken refrain, he kept grunting, thrusting, and pushing his cum as deep into your cunt as your body would allow it, and when he was spent, he kept going.
“I love you, Joel.”
You whispered it again. You hardly could’ve expected the effect it would have as soon as the words left your lips.
Joel wasn’t exactly prepared for it, either.
As tired as he was, as old as he was, he hadn’t thought it was even possible. But for the second time that morning, he found himself proven wrong. He let out a soft groan.
And, buried eight inches deep, drenched to the hilt in his own pleasure and yours, Joel felt it—he was finally hard.
His cock was swollen to full capacity, while his balls had just emptied themselves dry. Your bodies were drained.
Faintly, he caught wind of a laugh.
It rumbled through your ribcage and made its way to his. Joel dropped his head to your shoulder, grinning, because of course he got a boner right then.
“Down to run it back after work, old man?”
Joel chuckled. He glanced at the clock.
Leave in five minutes or you’ll be late.
He shrugged and pulled you closer.
“I think I’d better just call in sick.”
now imagine a follow-up crackfic where joel buys those gas station boner pills for funsies and gets hard as SHIT for fourteen hours and fucks you through every minute of it
((apparently any erection that lasts over four hours warrants a trip to the ER but let’s just pretend))
uh oh… the old man fucker voices in my head are intensifying by the second and I’m feeling like bouncing on it until his arthritis flares up!!! OLD MAN JOEL CAN GET ITTTTTTT!!! 🥵🔥🫠
tags: game joel or hbo joel as always, jackson! joel, a little kitten/daddy play, fauxcest?, darkish joel, bratty! reader, outbreak au, ellie doesn't exist, age gap (20s x 50s), a little spanking(s), slight choking, oral (f and m receiving)
word count: 2,409
summary: it’s bedtime and you hide from joel, not wanting to go to sleep, and joel has just the thing to tire you out...
a/n: here's something for you little nasty sluts. enjoy! (also thank you for the support on the foot fetish one shot i love yall's replies/reblogs LMAO)
"kitten." it no longer came out as a question after the first two times. it was time for bed, and you didn't want to go to sleep just yet, so you were currently hiding behind the closed-in desk that was in the small office of the house in jackson. joel looked everywhere for you, but he wasn't worried about your whereabouts. you recently found that you liked to hide from him when you weren't sleepy.
his heavy boots thudded up the stairs and along the hallway before halting. his eyes drifted to the open office door, pointing his good ear to the room to listen for any sounds before entering. you tried to control your breathing, hoping it wasn't noticeable.
joel's eyes darted around the room. nobody under the covers.
with a groan, he kneeled down with a hand atop the bed to look under the bedframe to no avail.
but in the cramped space you were in, what was supposed to be a slight adjustment turned into your elbow thumping the wood of the desk.
he slowly stood up, dark amusement written all over his features as he softly walks behind the desk. leaning forward, he plants his hands on the desk before curling his fingers of his right one, knocking on the wood three times. the fact that you could see his heavy, brown work boots right there made your breath speed up.
"you playin' hide n seek, kitten?" he speaks into the air, with a stern edge to his tone. when he doesn't receive an answer, his fingers grip the chair hiding most of your view , pulls it out, and slowly sits down in it. his knees, along with his elbows that rested on them, were eye level to you, then he cocked his head to the side, leaning down to make eye contact with you.
"hi, baby." he greets like he hasn't just caught you trying to evade going to bed at a reasonable time. your mouth opened and closed, avoiding looking into his eyes as your nightgown suddenly became very interesting.
"hi, daddy." you say, shyness and a hint of fear evident in your voice.
joel's gaze didn't soften. "hm." he simply hummed, his eyes dragging across your face deliberately, taking in the way you wouldn't look at him. the way your fingers picked and twisted at the hem of your nightgown.
nervous.
good.
"thought you could hide from me?" he asked quietly. he didn't sound angry, but calm. which was worse. shaking your head quickly, knowing you did the exact opposite of what he was asking you. his hand moved, unhurriedly, reaching it out towards you, wanting to pull you out from underneath the desk and into the light of the lamp lit room. you hesitantly took his hand, the rough skin of his hands such a contrast to yours.
those same hands that saved you from the raiders in the woods a couple months back. he had been watching you for days, intrigued by your white frilly dresses and hopeful eyes that were filled with naivety. after taking you back to jackson and taking you in, he quickly learned how compliant you were, having been raised by an elderly lady for most of your life.
all the townspeople thought it was so sweet how you called him 'daddy', but that name had a completely different meaning behind closed doors. he wasn't exactly sure why at first, but lately, you haven't been being the sweet girl you usually are.
having a little attitude with him, talking back, questioning his authority. so much so that he had enough of it one day, so he took it upon himself to bend you over his lap on the bed and laying harsh spanks on your bare cheeks with his huge hands, and it was somehow worse than the belt. but since you took the punishment so well, he brought you to a slow, pulsating orgasm with two of his thick fingers that brushed against your g-spot the whole time.
with the threat of the winter storm coming up, tommy's been ordering more patrol runs, and since joel was one of their best men, he had been away from you for longer periods of time, often cutting into your scheduled playtimes. but you never disobeyed his rule: only daddy can say if you can touch yourself.
"then why're 'ya hidin' from me, huh?" you hesitated again, your eyes dropping and shoulders sagging as if trying to make yourself smaller. you were still kneeling on the floor, but this time between his spread legs. "i'm not sleepy." you softly admitted.
joel was quiet for a moment after. "not sleepy." he repeated your answer, testing the words out and turning them over inside his head. his thumb and index finger gripped your chin, lifting your gaze up to meet his. "look at me."
"i know i've been gone a few days," he says a bit quieter now, breathing through his nose. "and i come back," he continued while his thumb brushed along your lips. "and all of a sudden, you don't feel like listenin' to your old man."
your breath hitches as he pushes your chin up a bit higher, an action of control. "i...i do listen, daddy" you said quickly, it was almost instinctive and to this, his eyebrows raise just barely. "d'ya?" he said with purposeful uncertainty. your lips parted, but no words came out. joel hummed, expecting your silence.
"'cause kitten, it sure don't look that way." he murmured, massaging his aching joints in his hand, eyes still on you between his legs. "first you start talkin' back to me, rollin' your eyes, now you're hidin' from me." he stops talking, leaning back against the cushioned back of the chair. "don't like that."
"i'm sorry, daddy." you were quick to apologize, genuine regret displayed on your face.
"yea, i know 'ya are. stand up." the command came out even and low, making your breath catch in your throat at the thought of another spanking on your sensitive cheeks. "no, please daddy! please don't spank me again?" you plead, your eyebrows furrowed together in fear as your knees began to straighten while you nevertheless obeyed his command.
joel's hand moved to your waist as he walked himself and the chair forward, the wheels rolling with his force, caging you between the desk and him. "get up on here." he pats the surface of the desk with one hand right next to your hip. just for a second, you hesitated, but the squeeze of his hand on your waist warned you not to disobey. you cautiously climbed back up onto the desk, the cool wood against the backs of your thighs as you do so.
it was wide enough to where your head wasn't hanging off the edge. as you laid on your back, you kept your knees together and your hands shyly covering your exposed panties since your nightgown had slightly bunched up.
he scooted up closer, his hands moving to gently spread your legs apart. "show daddy." your legs fall apart at his words, his lips pressing against your hands, kissing them out of the way. as he kisses your hip bones and thighs, he tugs your panties down and off of you, stuffing them in his shirt pocket.
he positions his head between your legs, warm breath hitting right against your center. "will 'ya be a good girl and let your daddy eat your pussy?" you take in a deep breath at the question, mind turning to mush as you nod feverishly.
"no. tell me. say, 'yes daddy, please eat my pussy.'" he sternly says, gripping the back of your thighs.
"y-yes daddy. please eat my pussy?" you blankly repeated his words so sweetly. his fingers graze over your stomach. his mouth opens, allowing his tongue to lick a slow, hot stripe up your folds. your body tenses up at his warm, wet muscle invading all of your senses. his tongue keeps the pace, up and down, up and down, slightly dipping into your hole.
he pulls away briefly to speak. "why can't 'ya just be my good girl again, hm?" he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can plant a wet kiss right over your clit.
"oh...daddy," your fingers scratch against the wood. "i am a-a good girl." it comes out as a whine, feeling joel's tongue circle around your clit in firm circles. his lips close around it, suckling it into his mouth and pressing his chin against your wet vulva, the juices sticking to his stubble.
"just want to love on 'ya, kitten. that's all i'm trying to do." the tip of his tongue was now flicking mercilessly against your aching clit, the release just on the edge but you knew better than to come without asking first. then you felt two fingers prodding at your entrance before pushing inside. "there 'ya go, princess. squeezin' my fingers so tight." he pumps them in and out, still suckling on your clit.
"imagine all your little friends seein' how you let your old man play with this pussy..." he trailed off. your back arched up off of the desk, fingernails digging into his forearms, and his hot tongue tasting every inch of your throbbing core.
"oh daddy, i don't ca-care..." that actually took him by surprise. "mm. turnin' into a little slut for daddy, huh?" with every slurp, lick, and pump of his fingers that vibrated through your whole body, you came undone quicker than expected in joel's mouth.
"mm. such a sweet thing," he spoke under his breath after licking you clean. "and still givin' me trouble."
"until i fuck you just how you want."
“o-please, daddy! i’ll be a good girl i promise,” you panted and moaned, feeling his thick cock slowly drag against your walls and the head of his cock pushing deeper and deeper to massage your cervix.
“yeah?” he breathed out, speaking almost clearly despite the tight walls just gripping the life out of him. “‘cause i was startin’ to think you like gettin’ spanked.” he emphasized it with an actual spank to your ass, jolting you forward but not too far due to the hand on your waist.
you were on your knees in the chair, face pressed against the back of it, and your ass in the air vulnerable for joel to do with you whatever he pleased. “i- i don’t…” you lie, trying to convince yourself or joel, you didn’t know.
“‘s that right? well let’s spank ‘ya one more time and see if that pretty pussy squeezes my cock again.” he kept one hand between your shoulder blades and the other one pulled back to smack your other cheek, easily proving his words. it made him groan.
he slowed down his thrusts tremendously, but didn’t stop. “tell me you’ll behave.” feeling every vein of his cock pulsate along your sensitive walls had you unable to speak clearly at the moment. “hmm?” he gently your hair in a makeshift ponytail and tugs just a little.
“‘m sorry, kitten. y’know daddy’s a little hard of hearing. what was that?” he speaks with a hint of amusement at having you so lost like this on his cock.
“mm, i-i-i’ll behave.” your fingers have the cushions of the chair in a death grip. you feel his belly on your back as he pushes back all the way inside of you as his hand slides from between your shoulder blades to around your neck. he pulls you up by it, connecting your back with his front as he speaks in your ear.
“that’s my good little girl. you listen to your daddy, okay?” his fingers put pressure on the sides of your throat, constricting your airway in such a delightful way. nodding your head, your jaw falls open.
“okay, daddy.” you gasp out.
“everyone thinks you’re this—” he hits an especially deep spot.
“oh my god!” you whimper.
“—sweet girl, using your manners, bein’ polite. when in reality, you love bein’ a dirty slut for your old man, ain’t that right, baby?”
his skin was slapping against yours now, along with the squelching wet sounds of his cock dragging your essence out of your pussy, some of it dripping from you onto the floor and the chair.
having two more consecutive orgasms will do that to girl. “won’t you be a sweet girl and suck daddy’s cum out of him.” he asks you so nicely you couldn’t resist. all you wanted to do was please your daddy.
he gently pulled his throbbing cock out of you and helped you get on your knees in front of him. your mouth opened and you pushed your tongue out without being asked to, making him smirk. “look at you, so eager for her daddy’s cock.” he fisted it, pumping back and forth while also squeezing it before slapping the underside on your flat tongue a few times.
“mmm, suck on it, kitten.” he growls, his large palm on the back of your head, coercing you forward. your lips wrap around his tip, moving your tongue along it too, bobbing back and forth.
“just like that.” he praises your actions. he pulls his hips back, taking his heavy cock in his hand and rubbing it along your cheek, nose, and lips. “oh baby, he loves your pretty face so much.” he moans then guides it back into your waiting mouth.
with that hollow of your cheeks combined with your tongue and those pretty lips around him, he feels his balls tighten up. “yes baby, you wanna swallow daddy’s cum?” his eyes screwed shut as he let the feeling overtake him. you tried to nod but it was a little hard.
“fuckin’ shit, there ‘ya go, honey.” you feel the hot spurts of his orgasm down your throat and inside your mouth. he pulls it out, still coming and some of it shot on your face, too. you swallowed what you could, opening your mouth to show him it was all gone.
joel was still catching his breath, looking down at you in a daze. smiling, he brings you up to meet his lips, not caring that there was still some of his cum on your face. as a matter of fact, he gathered it on his index finger and fed it to you.
Summary: During the day, the Boston Quarantine Zone buzzed with life. People worked, slaving away under the military grip that kept order. But at night, deep in the underbelly of a crumbling hotel, was an entirely different ecosystem that thrived in the dark. One that was draped in lace and velvet, thick with smoke, sweat and secrets. And Joel Miller could always be found in the same room at the same time every night, though he never touched and he barely spoke. But he made sure that he was the only man you ever saw.
|| smut MDNI 18+ dark!joel x reader, QZ!Joel, reader is a sex worker (though there is only 1 scene with any semblance of 'work' with a customer that isn't joel), joel goes by 'hazel eyes', reader goes by the stage name 'kitty', dark themes, brothel, power imbalance, size difference, kind of innocent!reader, possessive!joel, jealous!joel, angst?, joel miller is a dangerous man, actually he's pretty scary too, touch her look at her and you die, pinv, grinding, lap dancing, fingering, f!recieving oral, some rough sex, missionary, stoic joel but he gets a filthy mouth when he's turned on, pet names, reader has no physical description but is starving from poverty, reader is afab, tension tension tension ||
a/n: where my dark joel girlies at? this is completely a self indulgent fic because all I want is joel miller to be obsessed w me
inspired by ethel cain's gibson girl
word count: 12k (got a bittttt carried away)
To the untrained eye, the Boston Quarantine Zone looked dead in the middle of the night.
Not quiet, but dead. The kind of darkness that pressed against your eyesight, the stillness of not a soul to be seen. Up in the dark windows of the buildings, curtains were pulled shut and lamps turned low. Burn piles still steamed into the late hours, the flickering buzz of lamplight the only relief from the night. There was no chatter, no footsteps, just the hum of rotting infrastructure as the last signs of life slipped from sight.
It wasn’t really empty, of course not. FEDRA trucks groaned past every five minutes like clockwork, their engines coughing and tires crunching on debris that littered the cracked pavement. Headlights broke through the darkness and swept across the concrete walls still stained with blood and protest graffiti that the painting crew had yet to cover. Soldiers sat in their trucks with their machine guns at the ready across their laps, eyes heavy from long shifts but nonetheless always watching.
Sometimes you wondered if they secretly hoped for someone to catch.
Most people knew better than to be out after curfew, that’s how you stayed breathing, after all. That was how you kept what little you had—your rations, your apartment, your teeth. You didn’t wander, didn’t make noise. You didn’t exist.
But underneath it all, in a velvet-walled hotel basement on the east side of the city, was an entirely different world. One that came alive at night.
It wasn’t exactly a secret. Even off-duty soldiers were easy to spot—feet kicked up, watching girls sway under low red lights, the walls draped in black and crimson fabric. The place still smelled like mold and musk, but there was something else too. Something smokey and warm. Almost inviting.
You remember the first time you were brought down there, and how it felt like stepping into another world.
You’d noticed the girl before, usually she was casually propped against a brick wall or street lamp, soldiers flirting with her and leaning into her as she smirked up at them. She was cleaner than most, her cheeks full, a softness to her stomach that only came from regular meals and hot water. Her raven hair caught the light in a way that made it gleam indigo in the sun. But you never saw her when the sun went down.
Until tonight.
Hiding in the darkness as she headed in the same direction as you, she moved with purpose. Her gait was graceful if not a little rushed to get out of sight. So, with all the courage and desperation you could muster, you matched her pace, asking her where she was from, where she got her nice clothes. She smirked at your questions, eyes raking over you, and tipped her chin to keep up.
She told you about how you could make good income if you were willing. Ration cards by the day, sometimes pills and booze. Even new clothes, if you earned them.
And so, desperate and dizzy, minutes before curfew when your options would shrink even further, you followed her.
You hadn’t expected the noise. It had been so long since you’d heard music like this, and it blasted from rusted speakers while men laughed and yelled and clapped as girls twirled on tiny stages or dropped into their laps. You watched black market currency being exchanged, a man flaunting a rolled cigarette for a girl to take from his fingers with her mouth, a few extra ration cards pushed into a black bralette, an unmarked bottle sliding across a table to another.
“Stay here,” the raven haired girl said, holding her finger up.
As soon as she left your side, you felt it. A presence, a pair of eyes on you.
Most of the men were too drunk or high to care, but someone was watching like a ghost in the shadows. You turned slowly, gaze scanning the dark corners of the room, but you saw nothing. Still, there was a prickle at the back of your neck that wouldn’t go away.
Then the girl returned with a man trailing behind her. Tall, lean, arms like coiled rope. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at, not with that sandy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. But there was something sour under the surface. Something that made you tense.
You knew a rat when you saw one.
“This is Gage,” she said. “Gage, this is my new friend. Cute, right?”
His eyes dragged down your body, slow and assessing.
“Very cute,” he said. “Though it’s hard to tell under all that shit on her face.”
You grimaced, knowing you must’ve looked rough. You hadn’t bathed in days because you couldn’t afford the bathhouse, not even close. You probably stank. Probably looked like hell.
“She wants to work,” the girl added, smiling at you with something sly in her eyes.
“Does she now?” Gage purred, hands on his hips. “You ever been here before, doll? Know what we do?”
You had a pretty good idea, but you still shook your head as you looked up at him.
“You got a name?” he asked, amused at your wide eyes.
You told him, and the girl giggled. The man reached out to you, and you cowered slightly, realizing now what this was, “That won’t do,” he said, twirling a piece of hair between his fingers, “But we’ll think of somethin’ for ya. Somethin’ real cute.”
He jerked his head toward a hallway lined with curtains.
“Come on. Let’s talk.”
And for whatever god awful reason that probably had everything to do with the hunger twisting your guts, you followed.
By the first week in the place, you were already in debt.
A long, scalding bath, clean clothes, makeup, a bed to sleep in had all come at a cost. You hadn’t even had a warm meal yet, and already you owed.
But it was better than where you came from, and so you stayed.
Trixie, you’d come to learn was the girl’s name, or, at least her given name, taught you the basics as she tailored you into the perfect succubus. She waxed and tweezed every inch of hair left on your body until you were raw and smooth like you hadn’t been in years. She said smooth sold better. So you let her. You let her show you how to apply eyeliner without shaking, how to paint on a smile that looked nearly real. She even shared a few bites of her lukewarm oatmeal when you were close to fainting.
Now, on your first working night, you stood in front of the chipped mirror in the communal girl’s waiting area, pink gloss shaking in your hand as you brought it to your lips. You didn’t recognize your reflection anymore, though you often tried to avoid it anyway. Everything about you had been softened, plucked, painted. Your sweatshirt and jeans were gone, replaced by a thin slip the color of wine.
Trixie appeared behind you, her fingers settling lightly on your shoulders. Her eyes met yours in the glass, dark and rimmed in smoky shadow. The corner of her lips lifted with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You have a customer.”
Your hand froze. “Already?” You hadn’t even gone out to line up for the potential suitors. You hadn’t been seen by anyone since you arrived a few days ago.
She nodded once, then leaned in closer, like she didn’t want the other girls to hear what she was about to say.
“I need you to listen to me.” Her voice had lost its usual lilt, the teasing edge flattened out as she spoke with her lips to your ear, tucking a piece of hair behind it. “You do not fuck around with this one. Don’t play dumb, don’t try to be cute. He doesn’t like games, and he definitely doesn’t like the whole bambi thing you’re giving me right now.”
Your stomach turned as you trembled, searching her darkening eyes in the mirror. “W-what does he like?”
Her gaze never left yours, “Quiet, obedience, and no talking. Not unless he speaks first.”
You swallowed hard. “How—? It’s my first day. How did he even know I’m here?”
Trixie’s voice dropped lower. “Gage says he saw you when I brought you in. Asked when you’d be ready.”
The ghost in the shadows.
The eyes you felt, but never saw.
“Kitty!”
Gage’s voice cracked through the room, sudden and booming. Everyone flinched, heads turning. His eyes were locked on you.
Right. The new name.
You stood, hands clammy as you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your dress.
Trixie reached out, her thumb swiping gently at the corner of your mouth where your gloss had smudged.
“Be a good girl,” she said, soft and sweet, like this wasn’t your initiation by fire.
The light was dim out in the hallway, humming overhead with a sickly yellow buzz. You followed the narrow corridor past drawn curtains and closed doors, the floor sticky in places, soft in others. You wished you could afford some shoes after they took your crappy canvas sneakers. Another thing to be earned.
Your eyes stayed locked on the planes of Gage’s back as he led you further in, stopping outside a door near the end of the hall. He knocked twice, then opened it. He didn’t step inside, didn’t speak, only gave a nod for you to go in.
The air in the room was warmer than the hallway. Still and thick with a mix of smoke and something sweeter like candle wax, maybe cologne. A few small candles burned low on the tables around the couch, casting flickering yellow light across the room just enough to see.
You stopped in the doorway, breath catching.
A man sat at the center of the room like it was built around him. Like it was waiting for him to fill it. Legs spread, boots planted wide on the rug. One arm rested along the back of the loveseat, fingers curling slightly over the worn wood, the other loose beside his thigh. He didn’t move when you entered. Didn’t shift or adjust. He took up the space without question.
His shirt was black, the fabric thinned and faded, stretched slightly over the broad cut of his chest. It hugged the curve of muscle beneath his arms, which were thick and heavy with the kind of strength that didn’t come from anything but hard manual labor.
He was equally terrifying and beautiful all at once.
As you stepped inside, you traced him in pieces. The width of his shoulders, the slope of his neck. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You weren’t sure why you were doing it. Maybe to delay the moment when his attention reached you. Maybe to understand the shape of something that could so easily break you in half.
His face was hewn from earth and fire, no softness or youth left in him. Features strong and severe, cut from time and consequence. A thick beard framed his jaw, dark with streaks of gray that caught in the candlelight. And a scar, jagged across the bridge of his nose only made him more striking. The sudden thought of running the tip of your finger across it flitted in your mind. Of asking him where he got it. If the other guy got to walk away.
Quiet. Obedient. Don’t speak unless spoken to.
So you gathered the courage to look at his eyes instead.
They were already on you. You hadn’t even noticed when they landed. Deep and shadowed, colored with something in between green and gold and something even darker. They moved slowly across you. He didn’t leer or oggle. They were empty, void of emotion or feeling.
And still, he said nothing.
So you stood there. Letting him look. Letting him see.
You tried to hold his gaze while your stomach coiled tighter, while your knees threatened to buckle. You drank him in like he was the only thing left in the room. And as his eyes met yours, steady and unblinking, you got the feeling he was doing the same.
“Close the door.”
Even his voice was low and controlled, vibrating in his throat like gravel and honey. You obeyed without hesitation, grateful for the excuse to break his gaze. Turning slowly, your shaking fingers found the knob, pulling the door shut behind you with a quiet click.
When you turned back, you didn’t meet his eyes. Your hands fidgeted at the hem of your dress, nerves coiling through your stomach until you thought you might be sick.
“Sit.”
You blinked, glancing up at him. He gave a slight tilt of his head, and only then did you notice the chair across the room—plain, wooden, placed just far enough from him to maybe let you breathe. You hadn’t noticed it before. You hadn’t seen anything but him.
Slowly, knees wobbling, you took a seat, crossing your ankles in the demure fashion Trixie taught you, fingers intertwined with each other in your lap.
You sat like that for a while. So long, in fact, you had to uncross and recross your legs multiple times, pins and needles vibrating through your muscles each time from lack of use. He stayed in his seated position, eyes on you, arm still hooked behind the back of the loveseat, never saying another word.
It was odd. You were warned about him, about this brutish, intimidating man, and yet… he did nothing. You knew what this job was—the physical aspects of it. And you’re certain he knew as well, since everyone seemed to know who he was, what he was capable of.
An hour later, three short knocks rapped on the door. You had been taught different knocks meant different things, and this one, short and quick, meant you needed to wrap up, that the buyer only had a few more minutes left with their purchase.
That was the first time he moved. He leaned forward, arm sliding down to reach for his pocket, eyes finally leaving your figure. You watched him closely, barely breathing. There was a grace to it, an ease that didn’t match his size. Like a predator stretching after a long rest.
He pulled out a few ration cards, and stood. His boots crossed the floor in slow, solid steps towards you, and your back locked straight against the groaning wood of the chair. He stopped in front of you and held the cards out.
“I–” your throat cracked with lack of use, and you gently cleared it. Don’t speak unless spoken to. But he hadn’t spoken to you.
“I’m not supposed to take p-payment.” you managed to say quietly, head ducking.
“I’d rather not give that prick anything I don’t have to.” he ground out, and you looked up at him then, at the clear disdain for the man who clothed you and put you to work, and his eyes were burning into you as he added, “Take it.”
“I didn’t…do anything.”
He still held out his hand with the cards.
After a beat, you gave in and reached for the cards, careful, trying not to touch him. But your fingertips just barely brushed his, and you flinched like you’d been burned.
If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Or maybe he was just used to it.
You sat frozen, heart hammering, heat crawling up your neck. Your legs pressed together beneath your dress, muscles tight with something you weren’t sure how to explain. Embarrassment. Tension. Fear, probably.
When you looked up at him again, his eyes were as unreadable as ever.
And without another word, he walked toward the door.
But the next morning, you had your first warm meal in weeks.
The next night, Gage came for you again.
He didn’t say who was waiting. Just jerked his chin like before and started walking, expecting you to fall into step. You did.
The corridor hadn’t changed. Same buzzing yellow lights overhead, same warped floor beneath your bare feet. The walls felt closer than they had the night before. Closer, or maybe just quieter. No voices behind the curtains. No music bleeding from the lounge. Just that thick, stale air.
When you reached the door, Gage opened it and gestured you inside. He didn’t follow. And this time, he shut the door behind you.
You turned, and froze.
He was already watching from the same position on the couch. His legs were spread, the faded denim stretched along his broad lap, posture relaxed as his arms bracketed the couch behind him. His gaze was steady on yours, though just as unreadable as ever.
“You again.” you said before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t sharp or even shy, just curious. You could almost swear there was a twitch of his lips. Nearly a smile.
You didn’t wait to be told. You crossed the room, the creak of the floorboards the only sound beneath the moth eaten rug, and sat in the wooden chair facing him. You kept your knees close together, hands folded tight in your lap.
“I was told not to speak to you,” you said, keeping your voice steady. Testing the line again, just to see if it would hold. You wondered how far you could push, how much you could get him to say. Since, after all, if this was going to be the same as last time, you’d be sitting in an hour’s worth of silence.
He didn’t look away. “That so?”
You nodded once.
His hand lifted to his face, slow and deliberate, scratching at his beard. The sound was rough, a scrape in the silence.
“Probably for the best,” he said. He was so hard to read. You couldn’t tell if it was amusement or dismissal, but clearly an end to the conversation. You pressed your lips together and didn’t say anything else.
So, you sat there while he watched you. Your skin burned with the feeling of his eyes on you, though they weren’t necessarily invasive. He seemed to be taking inventory, a slow assessment of the woman in front of him. The way one might watch a trapped animal so it would stay calm instead of bolting at the first sign of movement.
You didn’t speak for the rest of the time together.
But when he got up to leave at the sound of the three knocks, he walked across the room to you once again, and offered you more ration cards.
“Get some damn shoes.”
For the next week, he became part of your daily life.
The hazel-eyed man would come and sit with you. No touching or requests. Just silence stretched over an hour while his eyes stayed steady on you.
You learned to use the time as best you could. Some days, you let your mind drift, finding stillness in the quiet. Other times, you watched him in return—studied the slope of his shoulders, the line of his jaw, the way his hand always curled slightly when it rested on his thigh. When your eyes needed a break, you counted the amount of sun baked flies in the tiny window, the uneven cracks in the wall. Anything to keep from unraveling beneath the weight of his gaze.
At the end of every visit, without fail, he would stand, walk over, and hand you a small stack of ration cards.
And you would eat.
Every day now. Real food. Enough to soften your stomach, enough to put color back in your cheeks. The blush Trixie used to paint on was barely necessary anymore. Some of that was from the food. Some of it was from something else entirely.
Sometimes you caught yourself flushing before you even entered the room.
Because somewhere along the way, you started thinking about him in the hours outside of your time together.
Not obsessively. Just… quietly. The way you might recall a scent or a line of music. A flicker. A shadow. He’d become part of the rhythm of your days, and you didn’t know what that meant. At least, not in a place like this, doing a job like yours.
But you didn’t worry about other clients anymore. Gage hadn’t sent you to anyone else. Maybe because this man paid every day, maybe because he never asked for someone else.
Still, for all the time you spent together, he hardly spoke.
You’d managed to learn that he was from Texas. That he had a brother. But that was it. Two facts about him. Not even a name, no stories he was willing to tell. Nothing you could hold onto. He was a sealed vault, and you hadn’t even touched the lock.
“I’m putting you out in the lounge tonight,” Gage said, barely glancing at you as he counted the ration cards from your last session with your new regular. You always went straight to him after, paying down your debt of the room and board, of your clothes and makeup used each night. There was always something hanging over your head.
“In… the lounge?” you echoed, eyes widening, heart sinking as you stood in his office that night. The lounge was where women danced in scantily clad lingerie, music blaring and contraband was traded. You’d seen it the first night you were here, but never ventured out on the nights since. It felt…nerve wracking. So many eyes, so many wandering hands and snake-like smiles.
Gage gave a quick glance up, just long enough to show his annoyance before settling back into the creaking chair behind his desk.
“Yes, the lounge,” he said, bored. “You’ll need something new to wear.”
Then his eyes lifted again—this time slower, meaner. He held up the stack of ration cards between two fingers and smiled, all teeth.
“Guess that means I’ll keep these.”
He chuckled at your silence.
“Whatever tips you make tonight, those are yours. If you can manage to catch any of those creeps’ attention.”
You nodded. What else could you do?
He waved you off like a nuisance, and you left, swallowing against the lump in your throat, blinking hard to keep the tears from coming. That money had been your first real hope of paying anything down. Now it was gone.
More currency lost. Which meant the longer you had to stay here.
This place was a pit you were never crawling out of. But it was still a bed. Still a place to bathe. Now that you were eating regularly thanks to Hazel Eyes, it didn’t always feel so bad. Especially since you hadn’t needed to use what god gave you to make the money.
That night, Trixie came to your room with a bundle of black fabric draped over her arm.
“Suit up,” she said, tossing it to you.
You unfolded it, blinking. Your fingers ran over lace, sheer flowery mesh, and thin straps that tangled like spiderwebs.
“I-I’m supposed to wear this?” you stammered.
“It’s lingerie,” Trixie said with a sigh, already annoyed. “You’ve seen the other girls. Don’t shoot the messenger. Gage said you’re in the lounge tonight, so I brought you something to wear.”
Your skin prickled at the thought of putting it on. Of walking out there with nothing to hide behind. Dancing in the least amount of fabric you’d ever seen. Being seen.
Trixie rolled her eyes, grabbed you by the shoulders, and turned you toward the folding divider in the corner of your room. “Change. Now. We still have to fix your face.”
You ducked behind the divider, fumbling with the fabric, trying to figure out where each strap belonged and how to stretch it over your skin. Your hands shook as you hooked it around your waist, tugged it high over your hips. It barely covered anything, every inch of you feeling exposed.
“What’s wrong with my face?” you called out, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.
“Nothing,” Trixie snapped. “But hurry the fuck up. Since when did you get an attitude?”
“Since when are you so stressed?” you muttered more to yourself.
When you finally stepped out, she let out a low whistle.
“Oh hell yes.” she said with a smile.
You tried to return it, but it was more of a grimace. Your stomach twisted as her gaze swept over you, and instinctively your arms came up to cover yourself. She pulled you in front of the large cracked and dusty mirror, smiling over your shoulder as you looked at the reflection.
You were downright sinful.
The black bodysuit clung to you like it had been sewn in place. Lace traced every inch of the bodice, delicate patterns sweeping across your ribs and dipping down the center of your chest. It tapered high at the hips, the fabric thinning until it disappeared between your legs. Thin straps hugged your waist, another set wrapping around your hips like they were the only things keeping the sheer fabric attached to your skin. (inspo)
But Trixie’s smile faltered. Her brows pinched.
“What?” you asked quickly, covering your chest with both hands. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her hands dropped to her hips as she studied you.
“Haven’t you had the same customer these past few days? The one I warned you about?”
You nodded, turning around. “Y-yes.”
“It’s just…” She tilted her head, lips pursing.
Your heart thudded. Had you done something wrong? Was there a mark on your skin? Something that gave you away?
She shook her head. “Let me just say—every other girl I’ve seen come out of a room with him? They never walk out without bruises.”
Your eyes flicked down your own body. No black and blue hues, no soreness. Nothing but nervous sweat and hollow hunger.
“Bruises?” you asked.
Trixie raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “On their hips, their waists. Their legs and arms. I’m sure in more in places that I don’t want to see.”
Your stomach turned.
She leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “You know. From him.”
But you didn’t. Your face must’ve said as much.
“He’s not exactly gentle,” she added, blunt now. “Well… at least not with the others.”
You didn’t know how to respond.
Because you hadn’t told a soul. Not a single person in this place knew that he’d never laid a hand on you. That he barely spoke. That every time you stepped into that room, he looked at you for a while… and then handed you cards when it was time to leave.
You didn’t understand it. And you weren’t sure you wanted to. Because it’s not like it was a bad deal. You didn’t have to trade your dignity for the payment, and he wasn’t terrible company, although he was mostly silent. But still, there was something in the back of your mind that wriggled, that taunted you, that begged the question.
Why hadn’t he wanted you like he wanted them?
Trixie squinted, like she was trying to figure something out. Like she was running a tally in her head you couldn’t see.
But you just stood there in your little black nothing, skin flushed, heart pounding.
“Oh,” you finally said, voice quiet.
That was all there was to say.
You’d forgotten how loud the music was in the lounge. It throbbed through the floor and up your legs, filling your chest and head with a hazy, heavy rhythm. Red light drenched everything—the stage, the couches, your own skin. It pooled in corners and spilled across the leather, catching in the smoke that hung like a veil over the room. Everything smelled like sweat and perfume, sticky-sweet and cloying, with something sharper underneath.
You were pulled onto one of the smaller stages by a girl whose name you couldn’t remember. Some kind of gem. Ruby? Diamond? Probably Ruby. She always wore that firetruck red lipstick that smelled like cherry wax.
She pressed against you, laughing into your ear, her hips rolling as she ground herself into your lap. You held onto the cold metal pole behind you, using it more for balance than performance. The heat of her body against yours, the rhythm of the music, the way your knees brushed together, all blurred together in the dim light.
You weren’t sure if you were supposed to enjoy it or just make it look like you did. She was so good at pretending, her smile never slipped, and her eyes glinted in the dim lighting with a look that said you were doing fine. You weren’t, but she let you have it, and you appreciated the lie.
Ruby flipped her hair over one shoulder, hands skimming your waist. But then her attention snagged on something behind you. Her eyes lit up, lips parting in a sly grin.
You followed her gaze just in time to see a man leaning against one of the couches, waving a hand in the air, fingers pinched with a freshly rolled cigarette, mouth grinning like he already knew she’d come.
“Kitty,” she purred, breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll be right back. Keep dancing.”
She didn’t wait for your answer. She slipped off the stage, hips swaying as she sauntered over to him, arms already lifting to drape around his neck as she threw her leg over his lap. He welcomed her with a hand at her waist and a toothy grin.
And just like that, you were alone.
The red spotlight shifted slightly, catching on your skin, suddenly feeling like a heat lamp above you, all exposed and alone. You adjusted your grip on the pole and swallowed thickly. You didn’t know where to look. The stage felt too high. The eyes in the crowd felt too sharp.
You started to slide toward the edge, ready to duck off the platform and disappear into the hallway. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe you could vanish before someone else pulled you back up.
But then you saw him.
He was a shape at first—broad, still, shadowed. But then your eyes adjusted, and the shape became a man. Him. Sitting low in one of the booths, half-lit by the glow from the bar, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. Watching.
He wasn’t relaxed. Not like he was behind closed doors with you, in that worn-out loveseat that creaked under his weight. No. He looked different here. Bigger, hardened, his mouth in a flat line and his jaw was tight.
And he did not look pleased.
Heat crawled up your throat, settling in your cheeks as you began to cross the room, hips dipping gently with each step. Your new shoes caught the light overhead, glittering with every movement. The lounge pulsed around you, smoke in the air, bass in your chest, but your focus tunneled on him, on the weight of his gaze and the line of his mouth.
Every step felt so loud. So heavy. You didn’t know what this was, what you were walking into, but at least he was familiar, and right now, that felt like enough.
When you finally stopped in front of him, his gaze never left you, and you said, voice shy and quiet, “Hi.”
He leaned back, slow and steady, pressing his hands into the velvet cushion on either side of him. His knees spread slightly, posture settling into something wider. Bigger. And still, he said nothing.
Maybe this was a mistake.
You cleared your throat, fingers fidgeting with the dainty lace edge at your hips. His gaze flicked away for just a moment—scanning the room, taking in the space around him like he was cataloguing exits. Then his eyes came back to you, sharper than anything before.
“Sit.”
You hesitated. Because, truthfully, there were two ways you could go about this. Since there was no familiar wooden chair for you to place yourself, to cross your legs and wait for your timer to go off. No, you had the couch beside him…or his lap.
The smoke in the air curled in your lungs, the lights felt too warm, and a strange heat swam just under your skin. You weren’t sure if it was courage or just a lack of sense.
You knew him. Well enough. And it was time to push boundaries and see if it got you killed.
So, you climbed on top of him. Your legs bracketed his denim clad thighs, just hovering, poised just above his lap, waiting for a reaction.
But one never came. If anything, you saw the muscle of his jaw tick, but other than that, he stayed locked on you, not giving anything away. So you hovered there for a moment, uncertain.
You wanted something. So you let your hands slide up his shoulders, fingertips brushing the coarse fabric of his shirt. He was so warm, so broad and strong, and your fingers felt so dainty against the black of his shirt. You started to move, slowly rolling your hips in a soft rhythm against his lap. Testing the waters. Testing him.
His expression didn’t change. But his eyes stayed on yours, sharp and heavy, drinking in every breath you took.
"You’re mad at me." you stated, though you meant it more as a question, a tether. Your voice was barely audible above the music and you leaned in a little closer, pretending not to notice the way your heart kicked in your chest.
Still, no answer. Just that stare.
You swallowed and let your hands trail down his arms, forcing your voice to stay light even as your mouth went dry, continuing to dance on him.
“I’m not afraid of you, you know.”
A lie.
And you both knew it.
Slowly, his wide, warm hands found your hips.
The contact was light at first, barely there. But the moment he touched you, your breath hitched.
It was like every nerve in your body lit up at once.
Broad fingertips pressed into the bare skin of your hips, rough and warm and impossibly steady. It wasn’t a grab or anything forced like a warning. It was a claim. Quiet, controlled, and unmistakable.
You felt the heat of it crawl up your spine.
And your body—stupid, traitorous thing—moved into it. You shifted closer, just a fraction, your thighs tightening where they straddled him. Your hands slid onto his chest without thinking, palms flat, searching for something to hold onto.
Every other girl that comes out of that room never walks out without bruises.
And suddenly, the green eyed monster that lived dormant in your body roared to life.
You wanted them. You wanted to feel what it was like to have his fingers digging into your flesh, taking you, making it clear who you’d been with, keeping you there for hours instead of just staring and never saying anything.
You felt his thumb brush against the skin of your exposed ribs, thick and calloused, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
He leaned up a little, lips at the shell of your ear, making your skin prickle like it had been licked by flame. You didn’t dare move.
“Seventeen.”
His voice was low, nearly drowned out by the bass, but the words sliced clean through the noise. You froze.
He didn’t shift or raise his voice, just spoke like he was telling you about the weather, like the number didn’t matter. But his hand flexed once on your hip tighter.
“I counted seventeen men who looked at you like they’d already paid for a turn.”
He paused, letting it sink in, making all the blood in your body roar in your ears.
“I’ve been sittin’ here,” he went on, his mouth near your ear, so close the heat of it crawled down your neck, “wonderin’ how many of ‘em I could blind with my bare hands before anyone got the nerve to stop me.”
His breath ghosted over your cheek, warm against your skin, sinking into your hair, trailing down the curve of your throat.
“Would you be scared then, darlin’?”
Your throat went dry, your tongue sitting heavy behind your teeth as something kicked heavy in your chest, close to panic but you kept still above him.
Your mind felt like it was pulled by the jaws of two creatures. One was the lamb– the instinctual, fearful part of you that whispered to run, to scramble off of him and race back to your room, bolting the door locked and staying there, never to see or speak to him again. The lamb that cowered like a scared little cat. Like a Kitty.
But then, there was the panther. The thing with yellow eyes and gleaming teeth, the darkness you’d never quite understood but always felt. The one who curled its tail around your desire and need. The one who dreamed of him, hands between her legs, waking slick and aching in the dark.
You felt his hands move on you then, not restraining or trapping, but actually loosening. Like he was offering you a window out, letting that stray cat out who cowered and ran out into the street where she belonged. You could’ve moved, could’ve bolted like your instinct told you to.
But you didn’t. Maybe you should’ve.
Instead, you leaned forward an inch, your breath caught between your ribs as your heart constricted on itself. Every part of you was too warm, too aware of how close he was. He felt larger than life beneath you, your thighs aching with tension, a thrum in your legs that had turned molten.
You rocked your hips against him. This time, slower, firmer. No longer that teasing hover from before.
Your voice was a thread when it came. “No.”
Maybe a lie, maybe a partial truth. You knew, for a fact, as if it was clear all along, that he’d never hurt you. No matter how many girls he’d bruised or bent in half, you were different. He coveted you, protected you, watched you.
He didn’t break the silence again for a while, and so you moved again, letting your hips sway over him, lowering into his lap further and further until you could feel him beneath you, hot solid and growing. Something you’d imagined so many nights, chasing the ghost of it with your own fingers. And now, it was real. Now, your skin was burning, your breath turning shallow. That pulse between your legs grew meaner with every second of silence, every beat of his eyes locked on you, every time your body tried to interpret the weight of his attention.
When you finally dared to glance up again, his eyes were already on you. Nearly blown black with his widening pupils, drinking you in. And there was something else. Something that crinkled at the corners of his eyes, that glinted in the light.
A smile.
Crooked and proud, he grinned up at you and his fingers suddenly tightened where they laid against your hot skin, so broad and warm and rough to the touch. His half lidded eyes were sparkling with something like pride. Like satisfaction. Or maybe it was just the pleasure of watching you shivering above him.
His touch stayed steady on you, though it didn’t guide or move you. Just held you there while you moved on your own, swaying in his lap, brushing soft lace against rough cotton. Your nipples stiffened from the friction, every pass of fabric sending heat crawling across your chest.
“Go on then, pretty girl.” he murmured, “Show me you ain’t scared.”
You’d been thinking about him all day.
The weight of his hands on your hips. The quiet threat in his voice. The way his mouth had tugged into that barely-there smile, like he was just starting to enjoy watching you come undone.
It had been days since you’d seen him, but your body still remembered the heat of his touch. The pressure, and every inch of skin still hummed with the ghost of him. You’d been dreaming of him just last night; waking up with your thighs pressed together, breath shallow, shame curling low in your stomach. Not because of what you’d done, but because of what you wanted next.
You hadn’t seen him since. He’d tipped you enough to cover your room for days without working. That should’ve been a gift.
But instead, you missed him.
And tonight, you had a feeling. A curl of something low in your stomach told you it would be him again. That maybe this time, he’d say more. Maybe he’d touch you again. Maybe he’d let you touch him back. Maybe—stupidly, hopelessly—you’d learn his name.
You pictured the way it would happen.
He’d already be there when you walked in, sitting back in that same seat, legs spread, arms loose, watching you like he always did: like no one else in the world existed. You’d climb into his lap again, more confident this time, ready to feel him shift beneath you, ready to let things go just a little further. His hands would find you without hesitation. Maybe he’d speak to you, really speak to you. Let you hear more than one line at a time. Let you know something real.
And if he smiled again, that crooked one he had shown you in the lounge, you were pretty sure you’d come apart without him even having to try.
So when Gage leaned through the door to the girl’s communal area and called your name, voice sharp and flat, your pulse kicked up.
“Kitty, let's go.”
You stood too quickly and smoothed your hands over your maroon slip dress. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath came in short gasps, already walking toward the hallway, already picturing him on the other side of that door.
You opened it with your heart halfway in your throat.
But it wasn’t him.
It wasn’t Hazel Eyes.
It was a stranger.
Thin, wiry, and twitchy-looking, like he couldn’t sit still for long. His shirt clung to him from sweat, not size, and his fingers rubbed obsessively over his thighs like he was trying to wear holes into them. He grinned when he saw you—a crooked, eager smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.
Your stomach twisted.
He sat in the same place he always had, lounging back like he thought the pose gave him power. But there was nothing intimidating or steady about him, nothing nearly as controlled. His eyes darted all over you as you stood in the doorway, to your neck, your chest, your bare legs. His pupils widened as they moved quickly over you, so eager that you felt stripped bare before you’d even taken a step. He wasn’t much older than you, but he still was like a nasty stray dog with a piece of juicy steak held in front of his nose.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, patting the spot beside him on the velvet couch. His voice had that high, weaselly edge, “Come sit.”
You blinked, frozen. Your hand was still on the doorknob, and for a second, the thought of shutting it again flashed through your mind.
But instead, you stepped inside.
You walked like you were sinking through water, slow and stiff, every step a betrayal of what you'd hoped for. Gage hadn’t said who was waiting, but you hadn’t needed him to. You’d assumed. You’d hoped.
How stupid.
How foolish of you to think this job would ever be anything but what it was. You weren’t special. You weren’t different.
What were you expecting? That the man with hazel eyes would be waiting for you every night like it meant something? That your bravery and the slow, desperate grinding had gotten to him somehow? That behind those sharp eyes was a heart that cared?
He had a life outside of this place, unlike you.
You sat on the far edge of the couch, keeping a careful space between you. Hands folded, spine stiff, your eyes stayed on the curtain pooling in the corner of the room.
The man’s gaze didn’t leave you.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said, his grin tightening. “Promise I’ll be real nice.”
You didn’t answer. Just kept your eyes fixed on the corner of the room, on the red velvet curtain pooling on the floor.
He laughed, a jittery sound. “Shy one, huh? That’s alright. I like shy.”
His hand moved before you saw it coming, just a light touch on your arm, but enough to send a bolt of discomfort straight through you. His fingers were cold, too light, too lingering. You tensed, but didn’t pull away.
This was the job. You reminded yourself again. Over and over.
You stayed still. Because that’s what you were supposed to do.
He must’ve taken it as permission.
His hand drifted higher, fingers brushing your shoulder, fumbling awkwardly against your collarbone. Then, with one finger, he hooked the strap of your slip and pulled it down, slow and teasing, letting it slide along your skin until it fell limp against your upper arm. Not enough to show anything, but easy enough to pull down if he wanted to.
You swallowed hard, throat bobbing, the sound loud in the tight silence. Your skin crawled.
“MILLER!”
The shout cracked through the hallway like a gunshot.
You jumped so hard you nearly knocked the man’s hand away from your chest, your whole body stiffening as the hair stood up on the back of your neck.
The man jolted too. “What the fuck?”
The voice echoed again, louder, angrier.
“She’s with a customer, jackass! BACK OFF!”
It was Gage’s voice, pissed and scrambling. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. Suddenly, the door burst open so hard it bounced off the wall with a groan of the hinges.
It was him.
Hazel Eyes was in the doorway. Big and broad and absolutely fuming. He looked like he was burning from the inside out. His chest heaved beneath his flannel, shoulders rising and falling like he was holding something back with every ounce of strength he had. His eyes landed on the hand that was hovering just over your arm, fingers touching where the strap had been pulled down.
He didn’t speak, he barely even paused. But instead, he moved. Crossing the room in three long strides, he grabbed the man’s collar with a brutal grip, yanking him up off the couch like he weighed nothing.
The man barely got a yelp out before he was slammed into the wall hard. The plaster cracked on impact, the entire room shaking. Candles toppled from the tables, wax spilling across the floor as a side table crashed and splintered.
You barely could move, hands gripping the edge of the sofa seat as your heart flew to your throat.
The man stammered, trying to raise his hands. “Hey! What the–what the fuck, man?!”
But then Hazel Eyes grabbed the man’s wrist, fingers wrapping around his hand. The one that had touched your skin.
And without a word, without a warning, he snapped it.
The sound was sickening. Bone against bone, cartilage tearing, sharp, wet and strong.
The man screamed a high, pathetic sound as he crumpled at his feet, clutching his wrist with the other hand, body folding inward like he might disappear from the pain.
Hazel Eyes didn’t even blink.
“Jesus!” Gage gasped from the doorway, and your eyes darted between them, panic and something else spiraling through you—terror and relief tangled too tightly to separate.
He stood over him, chest heaving, jaw locked, face dark with fury that wasn’t theatrical, it was real. It was ancient and seething.
In the doorway, Gage still stood frozen, his eyes wide and mouth half-open like he was considering stepping in, but wasn’t nearly stupid enough to try.
“Next time you touch her,” he spat, “I’ll crush the whole fuckin’ arm. Now get the hell out.”
The man scrambled. Clutching his ruined wrist, he stumbled through the doorway, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to escape. Gage chased after him, still muttering something useless like an apology.
Then, Hazel Eyes turned to you.
You felt like you couldn’t breathe.
His eyes were still burning, his chest still rising and falling. He crossed the room again, slower this time, not saying a word. You stared up at him, your heart trapped in your throat.
His fingers, those same ones that had just broken a man’s hand, reached out. And gently, almost reverently, he lifted your strap. He pulled it back into place on your shoulder, and instead of pulling away, his fingers brushed over your cheekbone with the barest graze.
And despite it all, you leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed. His hands were warm and rough. Capable of so much violence, and yet touched you with gentleness.
His eyes moved over your face, taking in every part of you, but giving nothing away. He looked unreadable, steady as ever. As if he was unmoved by what had just happened.
Then his voice came, low and even.
“You’re done here.”
You stared up at him. The words didn’t make sense at first. Your brain caught on them like fabric on a nail.
“What?”
His jaw twitched, but his gaze didn’t shift, “I’m takin’ you out of here.”
You blinked, the words hitting harder the second time, but they still didn’t land right. You shook your head once, slowly, not understanding.
“You can’t. That’s not—”
“I can,” he said, cutting through your protest with the same cold certainty that had shattered a man’s hand only minutes before. “I did.”
He stepped back just enough to reach into his back pocket. The motion was calm, deliberate. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, yellowed at the edges, and dropped it beside you on the couch. You stared at it without moving.
“Debt’s paid,” he said. “Room, contract, clothing and late fees. All of it.”
You didn’t touch the paper. Your chest rose and fell, shallow and fast.
“They’ll come after me,” you said, hating how small your voice sounded. “You don’t get to just walk out of a place like this.”
“I’d like to see them try.”
Your stomach twisted. You couldn’t look away from him. His presence filled the entire room. The walls felt smaller with him standing there, blocking the door, shoulders squared like he’d made peace with violence a long time ago.
“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you do that?”
He looked at you for a long moment. You could see it behind his eyes, the thoughts moving like slow machinery, everything measured, deliberate, exact.
Finally, he spoke.
“You don’t belong here.”
“W-where…where am I supposed to go?”
His eyes softened a bit. You were slowly realizing this was the most he’d ever spoken to you before.
He turned toward the door, glancing into the hallway. It was quiet now. The chaos from earlier had died down. Gage was probably still occupied with damage control, or maybe trying to figure out if anyone would report what happened. Hazel Eye’s hand hovered just above your shoulder, not touching, but close enough to guide.
“Come on,” he said.
And so, you followed him.
The city air was cold and wet outside, heavy with the stink of rain and smoke. You walked close to him as he led you through the side streets, cutting between buildings and sticking to alleys, always with one eye on the shadows. He knew the back alleys, knew how to hide from the FEDRA trucks that grumbled by in the dead of the night. It was so dead, like the city was holding its breath right along with you.
Eventually, he stopped in front of a building that looked abandoned from the outside. The windows were dark, one of them cracked. The metal door was rusted at the hinges. He pushed it open with the weight of his shoulder, held it for you without speaking and led you up the stairs.
You made your way down the dark hall and he opened the door to an apartment. It was clean but bare. The furniture was minimal, just a couch, coffee table and a small radio in the corner. The kitchen was small but organized. There were bottles of booze littered around and bags of contraband. But it was still homely, with boots by the door and a jacket hanging to dry from the rain.
He locked the door behind you, then turned the bolt. You stood in the center of the room, your body suddenly aware of how thin your dress was, how quiet the space had become.
“You’re safe here,” he said, “You can…stay as long as you want.”
You nodded numbly, arms crossing over your chest and rubbing your bare arms.
Seeing you shiver made him move toward the closet at the far wall and pulled the door open. You could hear the scrape of hangers, the rustle of fabric. He offered you a plain black t-shirt. Faded and worn, it looked enormous in his hands. He crossed the room and handed it to you, then turned to rummage in a drawer. When he came back, he was holding a pair of loose cotton boxers, the waistband stretched from wear.
“They’ll do for tonight,” he said. “I’ll get you somethin’ better tomorrow.”
He turned his back without asking, giving you a quiet moment to change. You slipped the dress off slowly, your body still running hot and cold, nerves frayed and pulsing. You pulled his shirt over your head, fabric falling to your mid-thigh. It swallowed your frame completely, the sleeves hanging low on your arms. The boxers were baggy and soft at your hips, barely visible under the cotton shirt. You smelled like him now. Like woodsmoke and earthy musk, it was intoxicating against your skin.
When you turned around, he was waiting for you to move, his back to you. But as he turned, his eyes were a different shade of darkness.
His jaw was tight. His mouth didn’t move, but his stare dragged over every inch of you like a hand. He didn’t speak or compliment. He just looked. Like he had no language for what he was seeing, like it made something burn in his chest he didn’t know how to smother.
You felt your cheeks go hot.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said finally, voice low and strained as he turned away to walk to the sofa in the middle of the room.
You shook your head, reaching out for his wrist, “No, please.”
He looked down at where your fingers wrapped around his skin, then back up at you.
“Please,” you said again, quieter this time after releasing his wrist. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”
Maybe that was what finally broke something in him. You couldn’t tell for sure. His expression didn’t change in any obvious way, but his shoulders dropped slightly, his posture shifting as if he had let go of something he’d been holding in too long. He didn’t answer you aloud, just turned and led you through the doorway to the right. The bedroom was simple, almost austere. A mattress sat on a metal frame just high enough to keep it off the floor, with a small table at the side and a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. It didn’t feel like a space made for comfort, but it was clean, private, and quiet.
You climbed in first, sliding under the blanket and pulling it up over your legs. The sheets were cold at first, but soft from repeated washing. You lay on your side, leaving space beside you, waiting without looking to see if he would follow. He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment longer, watching you. Then he sat down slowly, lowering himself onto the mattress with a weight that made it shift beneath you. He didn’t press against you right away. He lay still, close but not touching, his back against the pillows. But the silence stretched too long, and the ache in your chest pushed you to move first. You shifted closer to him, slowly, inch by inch, until you could curl into the crook of his shoulder and let your head rest against the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Surprisingly, his arm came around you with ease. There was no urgency in the way he held you, no claim, no demand. Just heat and pressure and stillness. His hand settled low on your stomach, warm and broad, his palm covering the soft cotton of his shirt stretched over your skin. You didn’t tense. Your muscles, for the first time in days, started to release. Your breathing began to steady. You felt the weight of your bones return to your body in a way that told you you’d been floating for too long without realizing it. The room was quiet except for your joined breathing, the low hum of something electric behind the walls, and the rustle of fabric where your legs shifted to tangle lightly with his.
After a long stretch of silence, your voice came barely above a whisper. “What’s your name?”
Because how long had it been since you met him? And you had no idea who he really was, not beyond the heat of his stare or the weight of his hands or the way he watched you. You wondered briefly if he even knew your name, or if it was just Kitty to him, like everyone else.
“Joel,” he said finally, his voice quiet, rough at the edges.
“Joel.” you repeated, testing it on your tongue. His fingers moved lazily against your side, tracing light strokes through the thin cotton of your borrowed shirt, and you looked up at him with a small, tired smile.
“Pleasure to meet you,” you said, and then offered your own name. Your real one. The one almost no one used anymore.
He didn’t answer, not in words. Instead, his fingers shifted to your chin, rough fingertips catching gently beneath it, angling your face back toward his. His eyes lingered on your mouth for a moment longer, heavy with something you didn’t quite have a name for yet. Then, slowly, with no rush at all, he leaned down.
His lips brushed yours, warm and soft despite the roughness of everything else about him. You felt the scratch of his beard, the tension in his jaw, the restraint in his body as he held himself still. You kissed him back, just as softly at first, your hand lifting to find his face, your palm resting against the edge of his cheek where his beard was sharpest. The moment stretched, quiet and close and steady. Not desperate or greedy. Just two people locked in something real for the first time, with no one watching and no price on your time.
And when you pulled away, breath catching in your throat, your lungs were already straining like they couldn’t get enough air.
But then, his mouth followed yours again, like he couldn’t get enough, catching your next inhale with another kiss. This was more urgent, deeper and needier. His hand lifted, cupping the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair. The pressure was firm was still so careful, thumb brushing the curve of your skull and angling you just the way he wanted. He kissed you like he needed you, like he’d been starving for it.
Your lips parted beneath his and he groaned, low in his chest, the sound vibrating through your ribs. The weight of him shifted, one hand bracing beside your head, the mattress dipping under him as he climbed over you. His body covered yours, solid and warm, blocking out the cold air and the rest of the world all at once.
You reached for him without thinking, both hands on his back, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. Your legs shifted beneath the blanket, one thigh slipping up along his side until it hooked over his waist, drawing him in closer. Your bodies aligned easily, like you’d done this before, like you were made to fall into each other this way.
The kiss deepened again. His hand moved from your hair to your jaw, holding your face steady as his tongue slid against yours, slow and hot. He tasted like whiskey and mint, like the only thing you ever wanted to taste for the rest of your life. You were arching up into him, chasing his tongue for more, desperate for him.
The blanket slipped down your hips. His weight settled over you more fully, and everything inside you went tight and hungry at once. You could feel him now, aligned with you, settling between your legs but kept apart by fabric. Your hips rocked up into him, letting yourself glide over the heavy outline of his cock. Something inside you shivered at the sheer thickness of it.
There was no hesitation anymore. Not from him, and certainly not from you. The air between your bodies had turned thick with it, every part of you alight with need.
Your fingers slid beneath his shirt and he grunted softly against your mouth, then broke the kiss only long enough to strip it off over his head. His chest was solid and scarred, his skin hot to the touch, and as he leaned back over you, he pulled the hem of his t-shirt—the one you were wearing now—up over your hips. His hands were large, his touch rough but reverent as he peeled the cotton away from your skin.
He sat back for a breath, eyes dragging over your body with a weight that made you feel flayed open, every inch of you exposed under his gaze. But he didn’t just look. He took it in, like he’d been waiting for this, memorizing you piece by piece. His jaw was clenched tight, his nostrils flared, his breathing heavy. The muscles in his arms twitched like he was holding back something animal.
“Been thinkin’ about this since the first time I saw you, baby,” he muttered, voice low and nearly wrecked. His hands slid up your bare thighs, spreading them apart with slow pressure.
His fingers trailed higher, brushing over the thin waistband of his boxers on your hips. He hooked a hand into the fabric and dragged them down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.
"Thought about it every time I sat with you," he said under his breath, "Every. Time."
You opened your mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. You couldn’t believe how talkative he was suddenly. You didn’t know how to respond as your breath caught in your throat as he moved between your legs, lowering himself until he was staring up at you from the center of the bed, shoulders broad and looming. His hands slid up your thighs again, thumbs parting you gently, reverently.
“Wanted to kill Gage for puttin’ you in that frilly little outfit on stage,” he said, quiet, almost absent, like it wasn’t a confession but just a fact. “Still might, for lettin’ that fucker touch you tonight.”
His hands guided your trembling legs over his shoulders as your back arched against his touch. You were already panting, your hands fisting in the sheets, your body betraying how desperately you wanted this, how long you’d been aching for it.
He gently worked the pads of his fingers over your center, trailing over the lips of your cunt, studying you, reverent in his worship of your most sensitive parts. His thumb rubbed brushed over your clit before running tight circles over it. And then, thicker than anything you’d felt before, his fingers stretched you open, slick sounds of your arousal filling the air along with your soft, needy gasps.
“Look at you,” he murmured, admiration deep in his voice, "So goddamn pretty,"
You reached for him blindly, one hand on his forearm, the other finding the dark hair at the top of his head. He kissed your pussy gently, a groan escaping him at the taste, his tongue working around your clit as your hips rocked against his fingers.
Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching around his wrist, and your voice broke open on a gasp. “Joel–oh my–”
He groaned into your slick center, the sound low and thick like gravel, like it pained him to know how much he loved his name on your lips. His fingers curled inside you, dragging slow and deep, curling just right against your velvet walls.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice muffled against you. “Gotta open ‘er up for me a bit. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”
You whimpered, legs falling open wider. “I can take it,” you breathed, barely able to think around it. “I can take all of you—please, I need—”
You couldn’t stop the tightening in your spine, the way your thighs began to tremble, muscles tensing as the heat surged higher and higher. Joel groaned against you, tongue flattening as he worked your clit faster, more focused now, unrelenting. His free hand slid up your body, warm and rough, until it cupped your breast, fingers spreading wide to hold you there.
But just as you were about to snap, about to feel those stars sparkling behind your eyes in white hot euphoria, he stopped. He didn’t pull away fast, just kissed your clit once, soft and slow, almost reverent. Then he slipped his fingers from you with care, even as your body cried out for more, your whine sharp in the silence he left behind.
Your body twitched in protest, hips still rolling gently like you could summon the friction back with enough desperation. Your breath came in quick, uneven pulls as your chest rose and fell, your fingers curling into his shoulders like maybe you could hold him there, force him not to stop.
He moved over you with predatory grace, his body eclipsing yours as he braced his arms on either side of your head. His eyes swept your face, studying the wreckage–flushed skin, parted lips, pieces of your hair sticking to your face with sweat.
He tilted his head slightly, and there was something in his expression that looked almost concerned, but there was a twinkle to his eyes as he cooed again, “I know, I know,” he cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he leaned in, lips brushing yours as he said, “But I need to feel it. Wanna feel you come around my cock, baby girl. Been damn near dreamin’ of it for too long.”
You whimpered, nails digging into his upper arms as Joel sat back on his knees, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs, guiding your knees higher, folding them gently against your chest. His eyes dropped between your legs, and his jaw flexed hard. You could see the way his breath hitched when he took you in, saw the slickness coating your thighs, how it glistened where your folds opened and dripped on the dark fabric beneath you. He ran one hand from the inside of your knee down to your thigh, slow and warm, grounding you.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Look at this fuckin’ mess.”
He took himself in hand and stroked slowly once, then again, watching you the whole time as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, rubbing it through the wetness before pushing just the tip inside. You gasped, the stretch already enough to make your eyes roll slightly. His hands moved to your legs again, steadying you.
It was slow. Achingly slow. Not because he was teasing but because he was savoring it, watching every inch disappear into you, watching the way your mouth opened, your body pulled him in, your fingers curled into his arms again and clung there. Your thighs shook in his hands, breath hitching on every inch. He stretched you, nearly feeling like his cock split you in half over him.
“Sweetest pussy I've ever had, feels like a goddamn vice around me, darlin',” he whispered, voice cracking a bit. His eyes watched himself disappear inside of you, and not until he was fully sheathed, his coarse dark hair tickling your mound, did he look up in your eyes, hand moving to tuck a piece of hair out of your face, “Talk to me, how’s that feel, hm?”
“S-so-ooh– feels so big,” you barely manage to get out between heaving breaths.
“I got you” he said, soft now, low and steady. “Gonna take real good care of you, sweet girl.”
He started to move slowly, hips rocking into yours with deep, steady thrusts, each one sinking further, stretching you wider, the warmth of him sinking deep in your belly with every push. His body was all heat and weight, his breathing loud in the room, his scent clinging to your skin. His hands never stopped moving—one dragging down the length of your thigh, the other brushing damp hair back from your forehead, his thumb stroking just beneath your lower lip as he stared down at you.
“You’re takin’ me so good,” he murmured, voice soft but ragged. “Like you were made for it. For me.”
You mewled beneath him, overwhelmed by the fullness, the rhythm, the steady pressure that refused to let up. He let your thighs fall open wide, folding you beneath him with ease, his body dropping down to press chest to chest. The coarse hair on his skin rasped against your nipples, the friction stoking another wave of heat between your legs, and you gasped as he moved deeper still.
“All mine,” he whispered, breath hot against your throat, his mouth trailing to nip at your jaw.
“Yours,” you breathed back, barely able to speak. It wasn’t just a word. It was a truth, dragging itself out of you like a prayer. You’d been his since that first night.
You moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again, your hands moving to his back, clawing at his skin as he fucked you slow, deep, steady. It was overwhelming in a different way—intimate, almost unbearable in how much he felt like he was giving you, how much of him you were taking in. It was too much and not enough all at once, every thrust dragging out a little more desperation.
The pressure was already building again, slow and thick between your legs. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, burying your face against his neck, thinking about what you heard. What you knew he was capable of. Wanting to see more, to feel more. That green eyed monster in your chest still growled, teeth bared, wanting to know. Because you wondered if he was hiding it for your sake, so you wouldn’t turn tail and run.
“I want more,” you whispered, breathless against his skin. “I want more, Joel. Please.”
He groaned at that, his hips faltering for just a second, and then he was pulling back, just far enough to look down at you again.
“Yeah?” he asked, voice soft but dangerous. He kissed your chin, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. “What do you want, pretty girl? You gotta tell me.”
Your lip trembled, part nerves, part anticipation. “I want to know what it felt like.”
You reached up, hands cupping the back of his neck, and pulled him close again, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I want you to show me what it felt like when you wanted to blind every man in that room. When they looked at me and you were just sitting there… watching. When you thought about me in our room. In your head. Show me how it made you feel, Joel.”
His entire body went still.
When he pulled back, it was slow and measured. His eyes found yours and they were no longer soft. His pupils had gone so wide that the golden hues were barely visible, just the thinnest ring around a black center. His expression had darkened, jaw tight, mouth a flat, unreadable line.
“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, baby” he said, voice low, quiet enough to be a whisper, but with none of the tenderness from before. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
You stared up at him, breathing hard, trembling slightly beneath his weight.
“Yes,” you whispered. “I do. I want it, Joel. Please,”
His hands tightened where they held you. One slid up to your wrist, pressing it gently, then pinning it against the bed above your head. The other gripped your thigh, rougher now, fingers digging into soft skin as he pushed your leg higher, spreading you wider beneath him.
The next thrust was suddenly brutal—deeper, faster, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force, his control unraveling in an instant. You screamed in bliss, head rolling back into the pillow, pleasure laced with shock at the sudden shift.
“You wanna see what it felt like?” he growled, voice gravel-dark as he fucked into you again, harder this time, his body moving with full weight of his fury now. “That rage you pulled outta me? That’s what it was. Every second I sat there, watchin’ you parade around for them, knowing you belonged to me.”
Your mouth fell open in a moan, your free hand clawing at his back, and he caught it too—both wrists pinned now, his body caging you in, his mouth just above yours.
“I watched them eye you like you were for sale. Like they could afford you. And all I wanted was to rip their eyes out and break their jaws for it.”
He leaned in, teeth scraping your jaw.
“I thought about this,” he said, biting your skin just hard enough to make you whimper. “About gettin’ you open and writhing under me. About markin’ you, makin’ sure they knew who you belonged to.”
You cried out as he drove into you again, deeper than before, pain and pleasure spiking hard through your core.
“You like that, baby?” he growled. “You like knowin’ what you do to me?”
You weren’t sure you could form a coherent sentence let alone a thought, so all you could do was chant yes, yes, yes, your voice high and wrecked, your body trembling beneath him, skin trembling where you stayed pinned open under his hands.
Joel shifted his grip, so he could hold both wrists in one broad hand above your head and against the pillows, the other moved to your face, cupping your jaw until he lightly wrapped it around your throat. He barely added any pressure, but the feeling of his rough fingertips around your neck made your eyes roll.
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath scalding against your skin, “If you hadn’t been in that room tonight,” he said, voice flat and deadly, “after I saw his hands on you—I would’ve killed him.”
Your breath caught, your body arching toward his. You didn’t even realize how much you wanted to hear it until the words landed.
“Would’ve snapped his neck. Maybe I should’ve.”
He kissed just beneath your ear, and his fingers flexed slightly around your throat.
“You get that? There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. No one I wouldn’t put in the ground. I would do anything.”
The monster in your chest stretched its claws. It purred at the sound of the quiet fury in his voice, at the fire lit behind his eyes. It licked at your wounds, lighting a fire in your bloodstream. Your blood roared with it, and your body surged up into his.
You cried out his name, back bowing as heat crashed over you. White-hot stars burst behind your eyes as your orgasm took hold, walls fluttering and gripping him tight, pulsing around the thick stretch of him inside you.
Joel let out a sound that was barely human—a ragged, guttural snarl as his hips snapped forward once, twice, then buried deep. His cock twitched inside you, his grip tightening around your wrists as he came with a low, broken groan, his mouth catching yours in a rough, gasping kiss.
You could feel the heat of him, the long ropes of his release spilling into you, the weight of him collapsing on you as he trembled, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours.
His grip on your wrists loosened, hands sliding free, only to curl around your waist, holding you close as he pressed his lips against yours, this time with gentleness.
Eventually, after the both of you caught your breath, he rolled off you slowly, your hips twitching as he pulled himself out of you. The bed dipped and creaked beneath his weight, but he didn’t move away. His arms found you again, broad, and thick, and pulled you with him, tucking you into the space over his chest with ease.
You let yourself be pulled into him, boneless and raw, your cheek pressed against his skin, still slick with sweat, the steady beat of his heart echoing beneath your ear.
Outside, the city moved on. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rumbled past, making its rounds through the dead of night. But the room around you stayed dark, quiet and warm.
After a long stretch of silence, you looked up at him. The question had been sitting in your chest for weeks, “Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”
His eyes, now hazel and soft in the low light, found yours. He didn’t answer right away.
“When you’d come see me…” your voice trailed. “You never said anything.”
He watched you for a second longer, then exhaled through his nose, the sound quiet, like the words tasted off on his tongue.
“Didn’t want to scare you.”
You didn’t say anything, just let him keep going.
“I didn’t know I had it in me, not like that. Not ‘til I saw you.” His hand moved absently, tracing your side. “There’s a part of me that ain’t ever really stopped wanting to burn the whole fuckin’ place down.”
Another beat of silence passed between you.
“I didn’t want you to see that,” he said. “Didn’t want you to know what I’d do.”
He didn’t say for you. He didn’t have to.
You already knew.
And when you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, you didn’t need to dream of him. He was already there.
taglist: @fridayf1ghting, @lizaispunk, @yourgirljasmiin, @ivuravix, @televangrl, @nymenate, @magicxmiller, @catch1ngmoths, @shivispunk, not sure if you wanted to be on the taglist but you did comment so: @aureatelys, @weirdoneattheparty, @gojosanna, @mani-pedro, @tobesolovelysstuff, @lowrisemiller, @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu, @sweetlylcv, @94namkooksworld, @lady-djarin
wills powers are not just about him becoming this sort of superhero
its about him accepting himself and being confident in who he is. he used that to tap into vecnas powers and use them for himself so he could protect the people he loves. he wasn’t given these powers like henry or el. he used his inner strength and love to find them. its all just so beautiful and special to me. and its not about him being the superhero
he is a hero, but its so much more than that. and that means when mike was looking at him like this
he wasn’t seeing his “superhero.” he was seeing his best friend finally come into his own. he was seeing the boy he loves discover the power he’s always had. not the kind of power that comes from a spell book, but power that’s innate. the power of love and acceptance.
will isn’t the superhero. he’s the sorcerer. the distinction is really important for wills character and for his relationship with mike
The story: You’ve been sold to Joel Miller, one of the most ruthless men in the Boston QZ. Luckily for you you’re unaware of his reputation as he doesn’t show those traits at your shared home.
Be Warned: NonCon eventual DubCon. Trafficking. Eventual brainwashing-reader has inner monologue. Joel is creepily sweet. Mentions of being drugged. Swearing. Pinv from behind. Talk of being sterile. Blow-job. Face fucking. Rough sex, some aftercare. Readers age not specified but is an adult. No description other than having boobs, vagina. Pls let me know if I’ve missed anything🖤 18+ MDNI
The rusted car was sputtering so much it was covering your sobs.
You had cried all the way to the apartment-even though you were heavily drugged, Joel let you. He didn’t get angry, he just let you get it all out-eventually wearing yourself down, slumping on the backseat. In the corridors of his apartment building, onlookers gave questioning glances-to be honest, if they knew the truth, what the hell were they gonna do? Help you? You didn’t know about Joel’s reputation-a blessing in disguise. He didn’t come off as violent but very patient and calm like this was a normal arrangement but I guess in this day an age-it is. Joel’s apartment was tidy, not ocd level but he likes a clean house. He guided you to his couch, and told you to sit.
“I ain’t gonna hurt ya, darlin-unless you make me, I’m here to take care of ya but I won’t take any bullshit from’er.” You curled up on the couch, sobbing into the cushions, “I just wanna go home.” Joel sat down next to you, placing a hand on your hip-making you jolt up. “Easy, baby. Listen, this is your home now. You’re gonna clean, cook, the works-you’re my little housewife. But while I’m out, you’ll be chained up in our room-comfortable of course, ain’t gonna treat ya like some dog.” You couldn’t believe how calm he was telling you this horror story that is your life now. “You’re gonna fulfil other wifely-duties as well of course, baby-it’s why I chose ya. I’d prefer if you just complied so I won’t have to force ya but it’s gonna happen either way” You pleaded with him, still sobbing into the couch. He runs his fingers through your hair, “so fuckin soft-cmon, let’s get you cleaned up. Get that face all pretty” he woos, completely ignoring you.
He ushered you towards the bedroom, your feet slightly stalling, not knowing what horrors are ahead. “Dont worry, baby, we’re not gonna fuck tonight. Gotta get you settled, know the ropes of your role, learn the rules, and then we’ll talk about fuckin-you’ll blow me of course and hand jobs..Need these boys drainin-it’s been a while-since a woman anyway” he gestures to his balls, cupping them. You felt sick.
The shower sprayed to life, jittering every so often, Joel strips you naked, “you won’t be needing these anymore, darlin.” Shaking your old clothes at you, with a smug look. You’re too busy staring at the green tiles, dissociating…still not believing this is happening. Joel looks you over. You were his perfect woman. Body to die for-he couldn’t wait to get his hands on it-pretty hair, gorgeous mouth-and at the inspection at the warehouse, you had the prettiest cunt to go with it. “Yup this one’s for me. She looks tight.” He said over your cries. And as a bonus-you were sterile. A procedure that was done against your will years ago but now, it was kind of a blessing-So no pulling out for Mr Joel Miller. He was thrilled to say the least. “Can fill you up as much as I want, huh?”
“I’ll leave you be for a few-but then I’m gonna come join ya, baby-okay?” it wasn’t a choice. You stand under the water, washing away this shit pile of a day, no matter how many showers you take or how hard you scrubbed your skin, you’ll never feel clean. You’re just a shell of a person, you don’t have a life or a personality now-Joel will choose them for you.
True to his word, he waited a few minutes, gave a few gentle taps on the door and entered. “I’m back, sweetheart. You all lathered up for me? Can’t wait to get my hands on you.” You don’t make a sound, you think he prefers it. There’s no shower curtain so as Joel strips, he doesn’t take his eyes off you, your tits just inviting him-the man’s literally drooling. “Fuckin hell-look at’em. Gotta get my hands on those babies.” You cover yourself but you know it’s pointless, he’s going to do it regardless. He tuts at you, “uh uh, baby, move your hands.”
As he steps in the shower, you move away a little, he pulls your back against his chest, “where you goin, baby?” He chuckles, running his calloused hands over your soft skin, smoothing over your thighs, waist, and his big hands find your tits. “Fuck me-“ he grits out, “-I’m a lucky son of a bitch.” You can’t help but yelp out as he squeezes them, pinching your nipples, “talk to me, baby-you likin this? Let me hear ya.”
“Yes, Joel-I like this.” Your words were hiccuped, tears streaming down your face, mixing with the water. His cock nudges your ass and from the feel of it, he’s hard and big. As he wraps his arms around your waist, you cringe at his touch but disguise it as a shiver, letting out a small hum and that did it for him. You were okay with this apparently, a hum of approval, “let test that mouth of yours, baby. Let you get use to the big fella.” He spins you around, your eyes gone wide, “don’t worry baby, just a few ins and outs and if we like it-we’ll carry on. I won’t cum in your mouth though. Wanna do this properly.” Whatever that means.
Joel sinks you down to your knees, the tiles paining them already. “I love shower blow-jobs, sweetheart-so best get use to it.” Now face to face with his massive cock, his swollen tip nudges at your mouth. “Cmon sweetheart, do as your master wants. Open wide.” You comply, gulping as you open your mouth, no waiting he starts sliding it and out and of course he was gonna like it, he’s a man after all. Through gritted teeth talking over the spraying water he grabs holds of your head with both hands, tilts his hips and a starts to roughly thrust, making you take him faster and deeper. “That’s it sweetheart-let me fuck that sweet mouth. Gonna fuckin come already-shit”
The waters going in your mouth and up your nose, you can hardly breathe, you moan around his cock and gag a few times, Joel pulls back. “Fuck-sorry, sweetheart. Lost myself for a minute there. Yes-gotta train that throat of yours. I’m a lot to take I know-“ he strokes his cock a few times, “you stay right there baby, gonna cum on those pretty tits. He strokes his cock faster, nudging his tip at your lips, “give him a kiss, sweetheart-gonna be your best friend from now on.”
It didn’t take long for Joel to cum, he gripped your hair and aimed for your tits. “Take it all, sweetheart-fuck me-fuuucck.” He lets go and slaps his hand on the tiles, leaning over still spraying you. “Yesss-shit. Goddamn!” He pants above, giving your head a little pat. “Good girl. Bet your cunts spectacular-dunno how long I can hold off, sweetheart.” The words filled you with fear and dread.
Ten days. Ten days Joel waited. He came home after a rough day and told you, “baby, gonna need that sweet pussy of yours tonight. No more waiting.” He said it was a meaningless fuck, so he took you from behind, wanting your first time face to face to be special. His tenderness made you gag. You slapped and punched him to get off you, sobbing “pleases” but he was so strong, ending with you pinned face down, and with a low voice he warned you. “Hey! I’m going to fuck you whether you want to or not, or whether you’re awake or not.” It was the first time you saw his dark side. “I’ll make you pay for any disobedience, Sweetums.”
He devoured your pussy, edging you twice, “gotta get my girl ready, huh? But no coming yet, ya hear me”, sliding his tongue over your puckered hole and lines himself up, “just breathe for me, baby-it’s best if you do.” You hold your breath- foolishly, and his cock stretched you open, it felt like you were being torn in two. Your eyes watered, body tensed up, he was a lot to take-“you just gotta relax, baby.”
“Takin me so good, baby! Good girl.” His pace quickens, deep groans coming from behind you. Your ass is his favourite, loves squeezing it til it bruises, and in this position, the man was spoiled. “Stay nice and quiet f’me yeah. Even when ya cum, sweetheart.” His cock is torturously dragging through you, hitting at that soft spot that his monster cock never fails to miss so it seems, again and again. You have to bite your lip to stop your pained moans, which is failing tremendously, you drop yourself ontop of the pillows, and scream into them. Bunching it up, knuckles turning white from how tight you’re gripping.
The muffled sounds are satisfying to Joel as he carries on pounding you, “I’m-almost there -baby. Get yaself ready.” Moving one hand from the pillow, you circle your clit, you need this over, it’s borderline hurting now-Every thrust is like a stab. “Please Joel-“ you mumble into the pillow. He can’t hear you-he’s gone, doing everything he can to get there. “Gonna-take-it-all aren’t ya-like a good girl, good girl for your master“ He grips your waist, digging into the skin as he cums, grunting, panting-just a few more jerks of the hips to ride out. Joel straightens himself up, giving your ass a slap, “worth the wait, and the price, baby-fuucck me.”
Please let me know what we all think. It’s not dark dark but fuuuucked right? I’ve got another two fic ideas for this reader and Joel so they shall along in the next few days*cough*, weeks.
summary: You weren't denying that what you had done was wrong, that it was the one taboo your kind had. But you chose it anyway. Chose them. And now, you paid the price for it. (Don’t fall for my poetics, this shit horny as hell)
|| smut MDNI 18+, jackson!joel, jackson!tommy, omegaverse, alpha!joel, alpha!tommy, omega!reader, a/b/o dynamics, no threesome, no incest, taking turns, mating, biting, possessiveness, territorial, pinv, knotting, lumberjack!tommy vibes, grinding, doggy style, topping from the bottom, f!recieving oral, fingering, kisssssinggggg, lil bit of dirty talk, praise kink, breeding kink, reader doesn't have much personality as she's in heat and is just pure instinct to get knocked up ||
wc: 11.5k
a/n: thank you to my love @pearlessance for your tommy expertise and looking over his section to make sure I got him right!! ilysm
Joel
There were two bedrooms.
For a lonely cabin in the woods, it wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t Jackson, that cozy community with its electricity and neighborly kindred spirit, but it was something. It was home. The walls smelled of pine sap and old smoke from the wood stove in the corner, and the floors creaked in a way that reminded Joel of winters where sound traveled differently. It always seemed quieter, slower, full of memories of a time before.
They'd been given the resources they'd needed and still traded regularly with the town, only being a couple miles away since people knew they were useful despite what had happened. Hunting, fishing, hauling. Useful was something a man could still be, even after everything else had been stripped away.
Jackson wouldn't have them back, not after the taboo they'd committed. And of course everyone knew right away. Besides the way word traveled at the speed of light in such a small community, it was also a curse of their kind. Others were able to smell that something had changed, it clung to every breath, to the skin, to clothes. It stuck in the fibers of their very being.
Even out here, miles from the gates, Joel could still feel the weight of that knowing on his back, like the eyes of god that never stopped watching.
Claiming one omega between two alphas wasn't only frowned upon…it was downright blasphemous.
But Joel had made his choice, and so had his brother. They were exiled for it and ended up here, in this small cabin in the woods, where one bed lay bare with only a sheet and a quilted blanket, no pillows or fuss until it was time. When you would shape it into what you needed—a little nest, your safest space.
The other bedroom was for sleeping, though Joel hadn't always welcomed the idea of sharing a bed with his brother while you slept between their two warm bodies. But when they'd tried separating in the beginning, giving you choice of which brother's bed you wanted, it had turned ugly fast. Possessive. Two grown men with their hackles high as you'd make your choice of one bedroom or the other.
So this was the way. One bed for sleeping, one for mating. A truce.
He was making the bed now, the one for mating, knowing any day now you might start your heat and be needing a clean, safe place. The linens were fresh from where they'd hung overnight to dry, cold beneath his touch as he tucked the corners, fabric stiff and flat. His palms worked slowly across the seams, your scent living within them even now, even in the quilt he laid across the mattress. It stirred something in his chest, memories, of you face down, ass up, presenting yourself to him. Memories of your sweet, blissed out face as he knotted you again and again. It made his loins tighten, his jaw clench and unclench, a small smile flitting his features as he hung your clothes up in the closet. Sweaters and jeans that smelled even stronger of you as he brushed his knuckles along the fabric once it hung in neat lines.
Your coat was gone with you into the snow, having asked Tommy to take you with him to check traps. You always wanted to help, wanted to prove you were part of the team, eager to carry your own weight out there instead of sitting by the wood stove while the men worked. Joel never asked you to do anything—he wanted you warm, fed and rested, your hands wrapped around a steaming mug instead of rope or freezing in the snow. But you were stubborn and bright and Tommy had said yes, and that was that.
His brother liked to show you things. How to track, how to tell poisonous berries from friendlies, the way animals could be hunted humanely. Tommy's voice always had a little easy hum in it when he talked to you. About anything. Like a wolf pleased with something soft and gentle and open. He still went back to Jackson for trades, the one people greeted and spoke to, the one they hadn't fully turned their backs on.
When Joel went, folks didn't look him in the eye for long. They gave him what was necessary and no more. He came home with medicine, salt, fruit, freshly baked bread. Tommy came home with that plus a little barrette someone thought you'd like, or a knitted beanie one of your old friends wanted you to have. Sometimes you'd even have letters to exchange, Tommy always bringing home answers in stacks of papers from the people you left behind. Joel felt the jealousy in the titch of his jaw sometimes, sharp and animal, the same way a dog might bristle when another was offered something he was not. But he swallowed it down, would rather bite his own tail off than say it out loud.
He wondered if you missed them—your people. When he'd asked, you'd said you wanted to see everyone once spring came, once the roads thawed and travel wasn't so much of a risk. For now, you were content and happy to be with them in a warm cabin. The life you'd chosen with them had felt right to you. Except… Joel knew that you still believed that this might not be forever. That in time, the people of Jackson might look at the three of you and see more than what you had done.
He wasn't sure that would ever happen with him in the picture. But he wouldn't take that hope away from you, the belief in a future you wanted.
And just as he was walking across the threshold of the second bedroom into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him, the sound of the front door opening carried into the cabin, letting in a breath of cold air that brought your laughter with it. Low and content, it was a sound that often softened Joel's hardest thoughts, his shoulders dropping a fraction at the image of you now in the doorway, smiling. You were grinning at his brother when the two of you stepped inside, your fingers pulling your gloves from your hand finger by finger, Tommy easing your heavy winter coat from your shoulders. He just watched, watched how the snow darkened the floor by your boots, how you pushed your unruly hair back from where it had hidden under your hat.
When you finally looked up and saw Joel, your expression brightened in wattage, something warm and glittering rising beneath a dazed softness, and you moved towards him without hesitation. Lifting onto your toes, you looped your arms around his neck to greet him.
"Hi," you said, smile wide and toothy, voice carrying a kind of breathless glee.
You smelled like the woods, like the frost of cold breath and iron from the traps.
And you smelled like Tommy.
"Hi, baby," Joel replied, wrapping thick arms around your warm body (he'd traded an entire elk for Jackson's thickest jacket for you). He lifted you from the floor and planted a fat, long kiss on your lips, his scent enveloping you now. He’d gotten used to the overlap of scents: yours, so velvety and vanilla and cashmere; Tommy’s, gunpowder and mint from the sprigs he’d crush and chew; and Joel’s, a musk with the tang and warmth of good whiskey.
"How'd it go?" he called over as he set you back down to your feet, hands lingering at your hips, reluctant to let go.
"As good as it could," Tommy answered from the closed doorway while he tugged off his boots with a low groan, his toes flexing in his socks as he shook the cold from his feet. He pulled the rope of animals tied to his bag up for Joel to see, and Joel gave a short nod of acknowledgement before his eyes returned to you. He took in the way your body relaxed into him, thought your brows were lightly pinched, arms now wrapped around your own belly as you laid your head on his chest.
"Let me make ya some tea, baby," Joel offered, cupping your hands in his, bringing them to his mouth, "you're freezin'," he breathed, huffing warm air into the hollow of his hands where he held your little fingers in his. You hummed dreamily, eyes fluttering shut, welcoming the feeling of him so close.
"I've got it," Tommy said as he meandered into the kitchen with renewed purpose, though his voice came out short. He reached for your favorite mug with the little owl stamped on it, filling it from the canteen of safe water.
"It's fine," Joel said, spine tightening then easing again, "Pass it here, I'll warm it up. Can't make tea with cold water, leaves won't steep right."
"I know how to make a cup of tea," Tommy shot back.
Joel clenched his jaw but swallowed his pride, softening his face as he looked at you once again. Your cheeks were blazed with chill, nose frost bitten and lashes damp where snow had melted. Your eyes, though sleepy, moved between the two of them. You always had such a quiet attention on the two of them, aware of their moods and mannerisms more than they were of their own.
"Come lay down with me," Joel offered softly, his hand settling against the small of his back, guiding rather than pulling. His voice soothing itself out for you, "Tommy can finish up."
You followed him to the couch and eased into it with a long, tired breath, letting him draw you between his legs and over him, laying on your side, your head against the solid rise and fall of his chest. Close. Where you belonged. Your fingers curled around the edge of the wool blanket that Joel wrapped around the two of you, settling into one another as you breathed him in, a thicker, warmer musk beginning to lift from your skin as you pressed yourself closer, as if your body was seeking his heat without thought.
Joel held you there, his arms circled around your waist, hands resting against your ribs while your breathing slowed and drifted, the two of you slipping into something that felt like a contact nap, skin and fabric and warmth layered together while the cabin went quiet around you. He felt every small shift you made, every soft sigh that left your mouth, the heaviness in your body that told him you were giving in to rest after your long trek in the wilderness.
He listened as his brother moved through the kitchen, half aware of every movement: the scrape of the iron kettle, the rattling of tin against wood, and the smell of chamomile and cinnamon rising as his brother added the leaves and sprigs to the now steaming water. Joel watched all of it from the corner of his eye, aware of his brother's presence the way an animal remains aware of another.
You reached out when Tommy brought the mug toward you, your fingers loosening from the blanket so you could take it gently from him, your smile soft and hazy. Tommy smiled back at you and leaned down, his face close, his lips brushing your nose in a gesture that might've been sweet if Joel's body hadn't reacted out of instinct: a rumbling growl starting in his chest and thrumming in his throat in warning.
"Stop," you sighed, not startled, only tired, leaning back into Joel as he shifted upright so you wouldn't spill, your back to his chest now, his weight and warmth hopefully soothing to you.
And when your tea was gone and your eyes finally grew too heavy to fight against, Joel gathered you up in his arms and carried you to the sleeping bed. He settled beside you and drew you in close, the two of you tucking into each other the way you always did, limbs threaded together, breath shared, the room dim and quiet around you.
The day closed its weary eyes around you, dark settling gently over the cabin in a blanket of stars, the world shrinking to the sound of a branch that kept sliding along the roof, the wind in the trees, the quiet of winter. By the time Tommy came in and lay down at your other side, Joel only half noticed the long, tired sigh that left his brother's chest, the weight of an arm finding your body in the dark, all of you gathered there in the quiet, unaware of what was kindling beneath.
Tommy
He woke to heat the next morning. It was heavy, syrupy in a way that made his brain claggy, unable to put thought to anything for a long while, as if a furnace had been opened beside him, embers blasting hot air on a winter morning. He blinked his eyes half open, lids stiff with the thickness of sleep. The first thing he registered was your smell, your hair, your skin. That heady sweetness he always associated with you, the familiar vanilla deepening into something richer, thicker, like molasses warming in the sun, his nostrils flaring as he dragged more of it into his lungs.
He buried his nose into your hair and stayed there, breathing you in, only dimly aware that the blanket had been shoved down toward the foot of the bed in the night, your sleep pants thrown off somewhere with it, both tangled together at your feet. You were curled up into him, bum tucked tight against his lap, your body so small in comparison to his massive breadth, like a river of life in a valley of two mountains. You were so god damn warm in the cradle of his lap, skin blazing against his, legs drawn in and your breath still steady and deep and trusting.
Tommy's arm slid further around your waist without thought, only pure instinct. His nose stayed buried in your hair for a long moment, then lower into the warm hollow of your neck where your scent filled his mouth, making it fill with saliva, making him yearn to open his teeth and lick and wrap his jaw around you. It was sweet and dizzying, his cock twitching where it pressed into your little ass, your soft heat nestled back onto him.
You sighed dreamily, pushing back into him, a small, almost helpless movement, your body seeking his warmth even in sleep. The sound you made…it made Tommy's jaw clench, made him sort of purr to soothe you, pressing into the clutch of your perfectly outlined core with his thick member. He fit so perfectly against you, thicker and harder as he dragged up against you slowly, his breath growing heavier, his hands more insistent as they pulled you in. His minds eye was full of memory of the last time he'd taken you like this, laid out for him on the other bed and stuffed you full.
Across you, Joel slept deep, your arms still wrapped around his middle, face tucked into the crook of his armpit, his chest rising and falling beside your cheek. Even so, you pushed back into Tommy, nestled your perfect little warm center into his lap, hips snug against him. Like it had been made to fit him, the line of his cock through his briefs fit between your soft and puffy crux while your heat closed in on you. You weren't quite ready yet, though it was blooming, softening you, ripening.
He reached to splay a wide hand over your belly, pressing down on your womb, making you whimper as he brought you closer. You garbled something viscous in your dream state, perching your ass even higher, so he could feel it blaze against him, clit pulsing like a heartbeat for him. He could feel how slick you were through your panties, rubbing against the hardness of him until he was really aching, heat meeting heat, your scent turning richer and heavier in the space between breaths.
He understood now, all of it settling into his mind with a certainty he'd come to recognize.
Why you had wanted so badly to join him yesterday, why you'd let him push you up against the trees between checking traps. He'd kissed you so soft and sweet, though you'd been the one to hike your legs around his hips and grind against him, moaning for the world to hear. It had been your little omega whines that had him grabbing a fistful of your coat, turning you around and pushing into the layers that covered your ass, much like he was now. He'd heeded every lupine instinct, to calm you into submission, with his thickening cock between your ass. He told you to not be so greedy, that he'd fuck you proper if you could stay awake long enough that night, but not out in the wilderness where infected could hear your crying. You'd pouted, but obeyed like a good little thing.
Tommy knew what would happen—that by the time you got back, you'd be sleepy and dazed, though he hadn't realized this had been why. A heat beginning to bloom. No wonder he was so close to taking you then and there in the snow. No wonder you were so god damn happy to see Joel, no wonder the men had been at each other's throats over a cup of fucking tea. And yet, even though he knew it would happen, the beast inside of him had wanted to rip his own brother's throat out for taking you, comforting you, kissing you like that. A curse of his kind.
The past twenty four hours had been drawing them towards this… like always.
Every few months it caught them off guard all the same, always creeping in slow and almost patient. Until it wasn't. Until it demanded the three of you heed an instinct as old as time. It was like a hunter circling its prey through tall grass, unseen until it was already upon you, warping the mind, bodies running on smell and heat and need more than logic. Tension would always coil between the three of you, tight and unavoidable and jaw snapping. It always was stupid things too, small things that made them possessive in nature, over their right to claim your sweet ripe cunt when it was ready.
It was how they had lost Jackson, too.
Tommy had already been there when you arrived with your family, skin and bone and unmated, still learning how to belong to a place that was so civilized at the end of the world. He had helped you acclimate, maybe drawn to you in ways he hadn’t yet understood, something quiet and patient in the way he watched you take to the town. You befriended him easily, trusted him slowly. You always said it was because he looked you in the eye when he spoke, because he kept his promises, because he was a good man in a world that had almost forgotten what that meant. He never asked you to trust him outright. He built it with you through that first winter, and then into the bright, trembling promise of spring. It wasn’t lightning or fire. It was brick by brick, laid steady and true.
And when your first heat struck, you came to him and let him take you, as natural as anything, as if the world had always meant for it to happen that way. You had been so soft for him, so open, so perfectly attuned to the bond that settled between you afterward.
And then Joel came back.
He walked into Jackson with Ellie at his side, wearier than he had been the time before, as if the road had carved deeper into him. The air around him felt different. He was unmated too, and he met the onslaught of attention of other omegas with a sourness that kept most of them at arm’s length. But Tommy saw the way you reacted to him, and the way Joel took to you in return. It was as if you had been the only one able to draw the sword from that stone-bound heart, different in the way Ellie had chipped away at it.
And you looked at Joel with a softness Tommy had never seen Joel receive from any woman, from any omega. It confused you, it confused the brothers. But you never hid it, not once did you pretend or lie or cover it up. You would ask Tommy if Joel might join for dinner, if he’d come along on patrol even when he didn’t have to, if he needed anything, if Ellie needed a hand with the garage. You just wanted him near.
Tommy had never been blind to it, he had never been the kind of man to turn his cheek to the way you and his brother looked at one another. It wasn't hungry or wandering, not disloyal. It reminded him of those early days with you, when you'd first learned how to trust and didn't yet know the feeling of being a mate.
Joel fought it longer than either of you.
He stayed closed off, denied your requests of spending so much time with him, as if he knew it was wrong, what a sin it was to be so close to another man's omega. Tommy knew that look on his brother all too well, from the years of surviving together, of the ruptures and sutures between them. The way they'd chosen different roads to meet again, losing each other, coming back to each other. He wouldn't lose his brother again, not to something as good as this. It was hard for all of you to go against your ingrained pack dynamics, that a mated omega could and should ever be interested in another alpha. But you kept reaching for Joel anyway, and Tommy watched silently as his brother started to give in, inch by inch, a man who didn't quite understand the ground he was standing on. His brother was scared, he'd come to realize. Maybe afraid of the sin he would be committing by giving into you, maybe afraid of what Tommy would do or think of him. Joel never cared about anything else. Family always came first, brother loyal to brother, a blood bond nothing could change.
And then your next heat came.
It was the moment everything tipped into truth. You'd cried and cried and cried, wailing that you didn't want to hurt Tommy, that you wanted to be with him, but something was changing in you, like your heart was branching off to make room for Joel in this , that you'd needed both. You refused to be split apart, as if being asked to cut off your own limb.
And Tommy…Tommy somehow heard you. Yes, there was the natural jealousy, of wondering what his brother had that he didn't. He felt the wolf in his lungs snarling at the idea of sharing his mate. But there was something else, beneath it all. A pack, a brother, a history. He thought of all the ways he'd lost Joel before, how long it had taken to mend what had been broken. And you were here, bringing them together in an entirely new way, remaking them in flesh and bone and heart.
Nothing had been lost or stolen, it had only grown and changed shape. And so, giving into it all on one cloudless night, Joel had taken that heat, knotted you, bit into your neck and took you. And you'd cried, but not tears of grief but of relief, of something deep and new finally being allowed to exist.
Tommy came to you the next night, his claim alive and steady and unwavering, and the three of you wove together in a way that could no longer be undone. It did not fracture or break any of you, neither brother ripped into one another's throats, but instead, a pack was created. One that should not exist and yet…did. Bound by something that wouldn't be taken or shred.
But Jackson was not as understanding.
The wind carried the smell of the three of you through the streets, layered thick with thrice the scent from that little house now shared by you, a bond braided between two alphas and one omega, saturated and unmistakable. To the town it was wrong, blasphemous, the scent of it making other alphas restless and sharpened with territory, omegas nervous and withdrawn and betas uneasy and alarmed. There was pacing and low snarling whenever any one of you drew too near, as if the very order of things had cracked and some ancient law had been broken in the marrow of the pack.
Arguments began to flare more often, fists flying and shoulders colliding, alphas clashing with teeth bared and voices raised too close to violence. Patrol schedules had to be changed when tempers snapped at the gates from nothing more than the trace of your scent drifting through, men who had worked side by side for years suddenly standing at each other’s throats. People threatened Joel and Tommy openly, first with warning growls and then with rough hands, cornering and spitting and hurling insults, while unmated alphas started circling you in uneasy orbit, unwilling to touch yet unable to understand how an omega could have more than one mate. Bonds everywhere felt more fragile than they ever had, a social structure that had endured for years now straining beneath the proof of you — because if big bad Joel Miller could claim you while you were already claimed by another, then what was stopping anyone else, and why shouldn’t other alphas do the same?
So the three of you left. Or maybe the town made the choice for you, it didn’t matter in the end. Jackson no longer wanted you, and Tommy couldn’t bear to watch the place he helped build turn cruel around you. Joel grew overprotective and violent to anyone who came close, and was happy to get away, to be alone with you and his brother, though Tommy knew better. He knew he missed Ellie. She came to visit when she could, Dina at her side, the two of them carrying their own kind of forbidden bond—alpha with alpha.
You flipped in your sleep suddenly, jostling Tommy from his memories. He thought he might've fallen back asleep, because Joel was out of bed, though he could hear his bare feet padding around the house turning then to a soled scuffles of boots. The house stunk to high hell now, too many scents mixing together in the wake of your beginning heat. Tommy buried his nose into your hair once more to inhale more of your sweet scent. The gland at his neck pulsed, his cock throbbed. He slid his hand down your back and over your ass where you'd flipped around in his arms, and hiked your leg over his hip. He let you grind on him the way he knew you liked.
"Mornin'," he murmured in your ear.
You hummed, chin tilting to lick at the salt of his beard, where his skin was leathery and thick from years of sunlight. You mouthed openly past his ear, finding that succulent little spongy patch of pheromones, and began to lick at it in earnest. Tommy rumbled a deep, pleasured growl in his chest, pulling you even closer, shunting his cock up against your weeping covered cunt, letting you have your way, if only for a little bit.
"What a good little omega," he purred, "but you know we can't do this here, don't you, baby?"
"Don't care," you garbled, moaning again as you dragged your perfect cunt against the thick outline of his cock. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lose control too fast like this, his body ready to tip into rut before you were anywhere near prepared, especially with Joel still in the house.
And as if summoned by the thought, Joel appeared in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, rifle resting against the other, his revolver tucked into its holster at his side.
“I’ll be back,” he said, jaw set tight.
Tommy’s eyes were half-lidded, lost in the way you kept grinding against him, hardly able to make his brain work outside of the thought of your ripeness, “M’kay,” he muttered.
“There’s stew in the kitchen for 'er,” Joel said, gaze lingering on you. “She ought to eat, then she should go nest.”
Tommy glared up at his brother, "Don't you got somewhere to be, Joel?"
Your lips unlatched from Tommy’s neck, your hips pausing. You lifted your head, feverish and dazed, eyes glassy as they blinked open.
“Joel?”
"Yeah, baby?" he said from the door. Tommy's lip was curling, baring his teeth.
“You’re leaving?” you asked meekly, turning your head toward him.
“Yeah, hun." he said, his arms crossed, "I’m gonna check if that deer herd came back by the ridge, let you settle in with Tommy before I come back, alright?”
“Don’t go" you whined, "… not before—you promised you’d always—” You began to fuss in Tommy’s arms, voice shaking, and both brothers looked at one another. Tommy felt his temper spark, while Joel’s eyes warmed with a small, knowing smile.
“I didn’t forget, baby. You just seemed a little preoccupied,” he chuckled, leaning against the frame.
You shook your head, arm slipping from Tommy’s neck as you reached a hand toward Joel.
This was always the worst part, the hardest part—watching you want both.
Joel hesitated, watching his brother for half a moment, and then moved through the room. He carefully approached the bed, a fist dipping to hold his weight against the mattress, almost forcing your body to turn with it, as he bent down and kissed you goodbye.
What was supposed to be a short little peck, however, grew longer and longer, your hand now gripping at the back of Joel's head as you moaned into him. Tommy saw how your tongue dipped out to trace the seal of Joel's mouth, which he opened for you, unable to contain himself.
Tommy let out a thick, blood curdling snarl as your pussy pulsed against his cock.
Joel finally broke the kiss, a thin strand of spit still connecting your mouths. He pressed one last, heavy peck to your parted lips and grumbled, “Bye, sweetheart. Be good.”
You sighed contentedly, letting him go with one little scratch to his ear, and closed your eyes as he pulled away.
Even as Tommy listened for his brother's receding footsteps, waited for the front door to open and close, for the house to settle into quiet once more, his nose was invaded by his brother's scent. You settled back into his arms with another simpering sigh, pressing your warm body up into him.
But Tommy's temper was already short, reacting to another being so close to what was his, his brain losing its wiring for logic already.
The muscles in his jaw were tight as something low and mean rose from deep in his chest. He was never angry at you, but instinct made him ugly telling him to bare his teeth, to reclaim, to crowd every inch of Joel's scent from the room.
You whimpered softly, your glazed eyes watching the shift in him, your body going tight, a faint, small keening slipping from your throat.
You tipped your head back without hesitation, craning, baring yourself to him. Your pulse fluttering beneath your skin with compulsion, submission offered, acceptance sought. You didn’t say a word, you only yielded, soft and obedient in his lap, as if you knew exactly what part of him you were soothing.
For a long moment he hovered there, breathing hard through his nose, fighting against the urge to snap, teeth lowering to your neck to only press there to your gland, not biting or licking, though he was bullish with his breath against you. You opened your legs around him, letting him grind harder into you, and he took that as enough.
He began to give in, not to the jealousy and protective nature, but the instinct him to soothe his omega. He closed his mouth and it found your chin, your jaw, then down to your neck, a firm press just shy of a bite. You gasped and shuddered in his arms, fingers curling into his shirt, your breasts, soft with hardening nipples pressed up into him. He softened as you softened, now fully kissing along your neck, licking and inhaling you until your scent melded with his.
"Okay, okay," he murmured, quieter now, his heads spreading over your back, your rump, pulling you closer, guiding you, "You're alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I've got you."
You keened, body going soft and pliant again, a sweet little mewling for him to take and take, but logic was still a part of him, his rut not fully in charge of his brain yet. He would be a good alpha, he would take care of his own before himself now that his brain was back in his control.
"Let's get you fed first, baby," he said, tutting when you began to whine and squirm again, "you need food in you, and we'll get your room set up, you like your nest, don't you?"
His thumb brushed your cheek as he looked at you fully, mouth pressing softly against yours, both of you humming into the warmth.
"Yes, alpha," you said softly, your voice not entirely your own, but still you. You were still there, also not entirely taken by heat.
"Come on then," he said, sitting you up, "heard there's stew."
By the time you’d been fed and watered, Tommy had taken himself outside to busy his hands with the woodpile while you made your nest. The air was colder out there, crisp, easier to count his breaths, each cold lungful after the next, shocking the heat from his system. He told himself that was why he stayed a while, splitting log after log until his shoulders ached.
And yet, he could hear you through the cabin walls, attuned to every move you made.
There was a bit of shuffling, a drag of blankets and movement, thumping of a mattress as you rearranged and tucked and burrowed, no doubt rubbing your smell all over that second bedroom. Every now and then you'd made a soft keening of pain that hit him so hard he nearly drove the axe clean through the stump instead of the log perched on it. His hands tightened around the handle, knuckles white as the snow beneath him, his world narrowing to that sound alone. And after finishing the pile of wood, he stood silent for a minute, waiting, ears straining to hear your next movement. But you'd gone so quiet, so still, there was nothing.
And then there was a hand on his arm.
He jolted at the touch, nearly jumping out of his skin, his ears trained on the cabin behind him, not realizing your footsteps in the snow had crept up silently as a mouse. You were already beside him, already shivering, and he turned to see your face, fevered, glassy-eyed, your cheeks aflame and your hair a mess from all your rubbing and rutting into the pillows.
“Honey, what in the hell are ya—” he started, already reaching for you, hands finding your arms, trying to pull you close. Your whole body was trembling, your skin like burning ice. You looked miserable.
“You’re taking too long,” you whined, fists clenched under your chin, spine bent against the cold, burning and trembling all at one, body blazing under frozen skin. “I’m hurtin’, Tommy. Please.”
He nodded, okay, okay, he was whispering, pulling you in as he unzipped his coat and wrapped you in it, hoisting your legs around his hips like instinct, like he didn’t even need to think. Your arms clung to him, your face buried in the sherpa of his collar, bare toes pressed against his back under the coat. You rubbed up against his belly, slick already soaking through to his shirt.
"You stink," you murmured, petting his gland behind his ear with the one at your wrist. His eyesight blurred, brain scrambling—he needed you in your bed now before he took you right here in the god damn snow. The softness of your skin, the sweet heady scent you invaded him with, it was giving him a full body ache, setting his cock into overdrive, the knot at the base pulsing with need. His gut was churning for it, his mind monopolized by it.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped into the heat of the cabin, barely noticing the fire, barely noticing the ache in his arms, every sense tuned to the way your slick had started trailing lower, soaking into the waistband of his jeans, sliding against his skin like a brand.
In the bedroom, your nest had been made up of belongings—his old sweater tucked near the pillows, the one you’d stolen to sleep in before, still faint with his scent. Joel’s shirt was there too, and all three pillows from the bed stacked just so. It looked cozy. It looked like you. Like how your mind must’ve worked in that heat-fog, reaching for comfort, for home, for him.
"Aw, this looks real sweet, honey,” he said as he laid you down gently, easing you into the middle, your back against the pillows, your hair splayed wild, "how are ya feelin', hm?"
"Itchy," you said, crossing your arms around your chest, clutching opposite shoulders, your knees knocked together and rubbing for friction, "warm—s'like…" you were dreamier, a little delirious maybe, eyes searching the ceiling as if searching the sky, "it's like summer inside my belly—it's an ember, like I've swallowed the sun and I'm burning and glowing and ohhh, Tommy,” you whined, hands moving to clutch your womb, "I need you, please please please,"
He was already on top of you, your murmured pleading silenced by his lips on yours, both of you moaning. You opened your legs for him without hesitation: submissive, baring yourself, belly up, giving and wanting so badly for him to take you.
"You make me fuckin' crazy," he rasped, brain gone claggy with this vision of you, "pretty little thing with a sweet little pussy, hm? Gonna let me knot you, honey?"
You were nodding before he even finished, making him chuckle as you clutched at him with little kitten paws, beginning to cry out as he palmed at your covered mound.
“Oh, yeah,” he sighed, leaning down to look, dragging his hand gently between your thighs. You hadn’t put your pants back on. Just those soaked-through panties clinging to your cunt like a second skin. “Yeah, she’s almost ready, baby. Can feel it.”
"Ready now," you whined, petulant as ever, kicking your feet uselessly.
He tutted back, "not quite, let me take a look," he said gently.
You nodded, stuffing your fist into your mouth to keep from crying out as he peeled the last of your layers away, stripping you bare, revealing the heat you’d been hiding. Your legs fell open wider than before, pliant and wet, your body desperate to be touched.
Tommy hummed, low in his chest, something like pleasure or gratitude or hunger. He stripped himself quickly all while keeping his eyes on you. His coat, his undershirt, his jeans. His gaze never left you. Your cunt was flushed and puffy, practically begging, not quite swollen to peak, but near enough to drive him out of his mind. He didn’t even try to slow himself down, dropping between your thighs once he was bare, hooking his hands beneath to yank you closer and licked a slow, greedy stripe through the slick you’d made, catching the taste of you on his tongue like it was the only thing he’d ever need again.
Your moans reached him as if from underwater— warped, distant, warbled with need— and when he glanced up, your head had tipped back, your mouth open, your hands fisting the blankets as you rocked against his mouth. But all he could think about was the way your body was preparing for him, giving him everything he’d need to take you, to knot you, to keep you.
He was obsessed.
He devoured you like you were his last chance at breath, licking and sucking and slurping up every ounce of nectar you made. He buried his mouth deeper, until you were thrashing above him, gasping for more, your voice cracking as you begged him again and again—more, more, Tommy, please, not enough, it’s not enough—
He quieted you with two fingers shoved deep inside, fucking them into you hard and steady, scissoring them open to stretch you, curling until he found that spot, the one that made you seize and cry out like you’d been touched by flame. He watched your body clench and pulse around him as he hooked them tighter, yanking your climax that belonged to him.
He had you turned over in an instant, flattened against the bed, belly to the blanket and cheek buried into the pillows you'd so sweetly made your nest in. His weight pressed over you, his teeth to the back of your neck. There was no part of him left that could be called human, his rut taking over his body, flooding his veins with the need to breed his sweet little omega, your scent invading his head. You cried out, but pushed your little cunt against his heavy cock, spreading your slick against it as he pulled his remaining layers away, bare to you as you were bare to him. Mirrors of greed, of this animal instinct rooted so deep in each other's bones that all logic and civilized manner had gone from the room.
He inhaled your molasses-sweet scent as he pushed your knees wider with his own, pulling your ass up to present to him, and pressed his cock into you without preamble. He began to rumble, a soft little noise to soothe your cries until they turned only to sweet sighs of pleasure, seating himself deep to the knot. The head of his cock was pressed to your cervix, as if your womb suckled him in, pulled him all the way home.
"You can take it, baby, it's alright," he rumbled into your neck, kissing your jaw, "tell me how that is, tell your alpha how you're feelin', sugar,"
You couldn’t form the words. Just a breathless cry, a moan that broke open into a sob, your mouth slack with pleasure, lips parted and wet. Spit started to pool at the corner of your mouth, a glossy trail running down your cheek, and he was there immediately, licking into it, tasting you. Your tongue met his, a kiss sloppy and slow and open.
He began to move, thrusting deep inside, grinding harder, pushing forward into your soft, velvet channel with a need so sharp it bordered on pain as his knot began to thicken. The squelch of your pussy taking him was obscene, feeding his rut-drunk head as it swelled with a hunger that had him baring his teeth at you, biting at your shoulder, almost ready to bite your gland.
"Gonna fill you up," he said, tongue thick and panting, "Gonna breed you real good, baby, give it to me, open up, honey, sweet pretty omega,"
His praise did exactly as he intended. You pushed your ass back into him, presenting, yielding, your cunt softening fully around him as his knot swelled to meet you, his cock held tight, gripped like a clutch with you at its center, sealing the two of you together as he sank his teeth into your neck and broke through, pheromones flooding his mouth at the same time his cock spilled into you, filling you with his come.
He was shaking with how good it was, how you tasted, how delirious the bond and the heat and the release made him. His brain went white and quiet with it, the raw thrill of doing what his body had been made to do, of filling his omega, of giving and taking in the same breath. You moaned as you locked together, your body accepting the seal, and when sensation slowly began to thread its way back into him, he reached under you and pressed his fingers to your clit.
“Come on my knot, sweet thing… come on, there you go… come on alpha’s knot, it’ll be so, so good,” he murmured into your neck, voice shaking with pleasure as he coaxed you through it.
It didn’t take long, what with both of you caught in that same bliss‑heavy state, your cunt tightening and fluttering around him as you came, your body pulsing against his knot while his vision swam and his breath stuttered in your hair, the world narrowing to nothing but the lock of the two of you together.
You
Once, when you were only a few years old, your mother had offered you a spoonful of honey to take with your medicine. You’d been wretchedly sick, unable to stomach a single thing, but somehow the honey stayed down. Thick and golden and too sweet, but you let it slide across your tongue and pretended it made you feel better. Your mother always chastised your sweet tooth. Said you'd never survive the world the way it was now if you kept turning your nose at anything that didn’t taste like sugar. Said you'd starve before you learned to be grateful.
You thought of honey now, feeling like you were made of the golden syrup: slow to move, heavy and warm, your thoughts thick and barely dripping. You thought, maybe when you could walk again, when your brain came back to you, you’d write a letter and ask for goat’s cheese. Goat’s cheese and honey. Oh, that would be something.
You could feel Tommy, the press of his chest to your back, the lock of his knot still thick inside you. He was so warm, the weight of his praise like sugar on the tongue, so soft and endless in your ear, calling you good girl, sweet thing, pretty omega, his. His voice soaked through your skin like syrup, made you pliant, quiet, sunk. You didn’t move, you didn't want to. The biological need to just stay, so open and wet, to let your alpha hold you and knot you for as long as he needed had saturated your mind.
You weren't sure how long it had been—you, spread out, rump up for Tommy, your body was so warm and your mind so quiet, blissful. Tommy's voice had started to fade, or maybe he'd stopped speaking, you weren't entirely sure. His words still floated in your head, and you could feel his lips against your neck, suckling, licking, soothing.
But there was a shift beginning.
Tommy was grinding up into the seal of the two of you, harder now, pushing up against a place already full and locked. His weight shifted forward into you, forcing your back to bend further, a roll of his hips like he was trying to push his cock further into you. The knot tightened and clenched against your slicked entrance in a way that made your breath hitch, your face pinch.
He was growling now. Face still close to your neck, and you whimpered, your brain coming back to you, worried you'd upset your alpha somehow. Had you done something in your haze to make him like this? You were trying so hard to be good, to stay melted and open, but the friction of his knot began to hurt a little, enough to bring you to your senses, opening your eyes.
And then you saw why Tommy was acting so.
Joel was in the doorway.
Joel
The hunt had steadied him for a while, the crack of frost beneath his thick soled boots and the clean bite of winter air along with the rhythm of breath, inhaling cold air to scrape the sweetness of his throat from that morning. It had taken everything in him to not bite his own brother's head off, to keep his mind straight when he bent to kiss you. To not kill his own kin when he'd been growled at.
He brought the deer he'd caught hanging in the cold outside the cabin now, where Tommy would take over the rest of the work, cleaning it by the brook nearby that was still running in the dead of winter. It was a system they built for themselves so no one bled into the other's time with you.
He thought it would be soon enough.
But the moment the cabin came into view over the ridge, the smell of you invaded him. It rose up, wrapped its syrupy weight around him, cloying and sweet. And though it was clouded by another alpha’s claiming scent, he could still smell your velvet richness underneath. By the time he crossed the threshold into inside, it was laying on the back of his tongue, making him pant and drool for it. For you. The parts he'd leashed into obedience were thrashing around his ribcage now, his vision narrowing, rough air dragging into his lungs as he heaved in your scent.
He braced himself against the doorway and tried to breathe like a thinking man.
The house was so warm and alive with you, the smell coming from the bedroom door was not something a man could outrun.
He could see the curve of the bed as he opened the bedroom door, the second bedroom, the one meant for fucking and knotting and taking and then he made out the vision of your nest. A tangled spill of blankets, clothes, linen smothered in your scent. You were there at the center of it, body scorching and glistening with sweat and slick. And your eyes…heavy, gaze unfocused and dazed, your breath hitching as he came nearer.
Tommy was laid over you, shoulders wound tight as his eyes found his brother in the doorway. Joel recognized the aggression of a rut, the way he was being threatened with bare teeth and a low growl from the bed. He felt the same thing rise in him like a tide.
But he swallowed against it, hard, though it didn’t go anywhere. It just settled deeper, coiling low inside him, hot and insistent, begging him to step forward, to close the distance, to drag you out of that sound and into his arms, to do something, anything, that would stop that fragile tremor in your voice as you whimpered against Tommy's rough grinding.
Joel's rut hadn't taken him fully yet. But it was there, glinting like a knife edge in the dark, waiting for one wrong breath to tip him over. As he watched your brow pinch as Tommy's weight shifted and the way your fingers curled against the sheets, Joel thought he might break his own brother's neck in half.
"Get out," Tommy snarled, nothing like his usual voice, this one was thick and mean and teeth-baring as he pushed his hips harder against you, making you wince, “Don’t want her smellin’ like you.”
Joel couldn't help the way his lip pulled over his teeth, but he did his best to tame it, only looking at you, your sweet face turning from bliss to grimace, "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked.
You whimpered, and he thought it could've been in the shape of his name.
Tommy's lips went to your ear, shushing you, cooing at you. Everythin's alright, darlin', Tommy's here, your alpha is here, baby.
Joel’s jaw clenched. The room felt too small, the air too thick, heat clawing up his spine. He rubbed the back of his neck like he could work the fever out of his bones, trying to hold on to the last of his reason. "When you're done, get her in the bath, right?" he couldn't bear to look any longer, watching his brother felt like knives to his own chest, "gonna go heat the water,"
Tommy didn’t answer, but Joel knew he’d heard. He stepped out of the room, crossed the main space, and made himself busy.
Before it would be a bloodbath.
It wasn’t long before Joel heard the murmur of voices again — yours light and sweet, brightening at the edges, while Tommy’s came out low and strained, the sound of a man trying to bring himself back down to earth. A few breaths later you appeared in the bathroom doorway, warm and cheeks aflame, Tommy at your back with his hands resting firm at your hips. Joel’s eyes went there first, fixed on the place where his brother held you, and he knew why it caught him, even if he didn’t want to say it to himself.
“I’m gonna go dress the buck,” Tommy muttered, his voice rough around the words. He bent to press his mouth to your neck, lingering there longer than necessary before letting you go.
You turned into Tommy then, looping your arms around his shoulders, kissing him full and soft, as if you didn’t know what that did to the room. Joel had to look away. His brain felt loose and molten, control stretched thin inside him, and another second of watching might have snapped the rubber band of his mind.
“Love you. I'll be back, alright? Go on, now.” Tommy said against your lips, his hand patting your hip one last time before he looked past you at Joel, offering a steady, warning look.
“I’ve got her,” Joel answered, a low sound in his throat as he stood and took you into his arms. You smiled as you were passed from warm hands to warm hands, letting Joel guide you toward the bath.
“You stink too,” you murmured as you folded into his chest once the door had closed and Tommy's footsteps receded. Joel had stripped down to thin cotton boxers before you'd come in, and he knew you'd be like this—pressing your face into the thick hair across his chest. He welcomed it, holding the back of your head as you smothered yourself in his scent.
"You do too," Joel teased, smelling your hair. He could smell the pheromones, the thickness of gun smoke still smothering your velvet vanilla scent.
“No,” you said, almost sulking, “I smell… I smell so good.” You hummed against him as you began to kiss his chest, open mouthed, your arms wrapped around the solid line of his body. “And now I’m gonna smell even better.”
Joel walked you to the bath, a quiet chuckle in his chest as he pulled you away so he could bring his hand to rest over your belly, feeling it protruding a bit, “All full, hm?”
You nodded with a soft, content sound.
“Gonna need to fix that,” he said, voice going low as his tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Get in. Let me clean you.”
You let him ease you into the tub, hissing at the heat before settling down into the water while Joel moved behind you, pulling your hair back and working it into a neat plait that lay down your back. The two of you stayed there in the quiet, your body loosening as the warmth sank in.
Joel knelt at the side of the tub with a bar of soap in his palm and began to wash you, slow and careful. Your arms, the spaces between your fingers, over your breasts and your belly, washing you of his brother's scent. And then between your legs.
You hummed again and let them fall open as his hand abandoned the bar of soap. He pressed his fingers gently around your swollen folds, slick and come already like honey in the sudsy water.
"Oh, this just won't do, sweetheart," he chided.
You opened your eyes, furrowing your brow at him.
“Look at this mess he left in you,” he said, shaking his head while he pushed two fingers inside. He gloried in the way your mouth parted on a gasp, watching the way your face fell and how well you took his thick fingers as he worked them inside you, scooping the spend from your wet heat in slow, measured motions.
His lips pulled back to show his teeth, hungry, he was fucking starved, his gaze fixed on you while your hands wrapped around his bicep and he pressed further into the tight hold of your body, relentless in his need to have you clean and marked by him and only him.
"That's it," he cooed, kissing your open mouth, licking inside, finally, finally tasting you. You crooned, whimpering as his thumb found your clit, a pearl that had swelled with his touch, "you've been a good girl, haven't you? Gonna be a good little baby for me too?"
You nodded, whining, so desperate for him you'd hitched your knees over the sides of the tub, the water sloshing around as you rocked your hips with his fingers. He scooped out the last of his brother's spend he could reach inside of you, and began fucking you with his fingers in earnest, "How's that, baby?"
"Moreeee!" you cried, nubby nails digging into his skin.
"Greedy," he tsk'd.
You stuck your bottom lip out, "Please."
Joel smiled, something that often felt so foreign in his cheeks, but with you— with you, out here, in the middle of nowhere, and his rut finally burning his mind into thick molten lava at the sound of you begging for him so god damn adorably—it was easy.
He kissed you again, harder, growling low against your cries, blood thick with heat, instincts guiding his every move. His mind was gone. His rut had taken over completely. He stuffed a third finger inside, and you wailed his name.
“Alpha — oh Joel — Joel, Joel, Joel—”
A symphony orchestrated for him alone.
You gushed around his fingers, head thrown back on the lip of the tub as he kissed your jaw, nipped at your chin. And as you trembled through the aftershocks, he withdrew his hand from your slick cunt and hauled you from the water, hands under your arms, lifting you to the floor with a towel that barely made it between you. He pawed at you more than dried you, his hands everywhere. You yelped when he pinched your ass, pushing weakly at his chest and out of his hold.
Something sparked in his chest.
Your smile slowly grew, knowing, mischievous.
"Don't even think about it." Joel growled.
You turned and ran.
Joel’s brain snapped into predator-mode instantly. He knew you loved this part, that was the only reason he let you get as far as you did. You bolted through the door, breath quick and high, weaving around the furniture in the living room. At one point, Joel shoved a chair clean across the room, making you freeze with a startled gasp in the corner.
Naked little thing, chest rising and falling, your back pressed to the wall. Your nipples were peaked, hard and eager, adrenaline only fueling your heat, thrusting Joel into his rut. He thought he might lose what little mind he had left, the shadow of himself completely gone at the sight of you like this: cornered, panting, glistening, wanting.
“Don’t be scared now, little omega. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
You shook your head, eyes widening.
He tilted his head at you like a predator watching a rabbit twitch.
"Yes," you admitted, quiet as a mouse, "yes alpha, I did."
"Tell me why."
You were silent, scared, but he knew better.
“Say it,” he breathed. “Tell me who you belong to.”
"You, alpha, I like when you chase me." you whispered as he came closer and closer. He approached slowly, an animal closing in on prey, and then lunged. His arms slammed to either side of you, caging you against the wall, making you cry out.
“S’okay,” he murmured, inhaling deep, catching the clean scent of your freshly bathed body beneath the reawakening haze of your heat. “Don’t be scared now. I’ve got you. Look at me.” He nuzzled into you, nose finding your jaw, your ear, the little pieces of hair that began to fall from your braid.
You turned your sweet little face toward him, eyes glossy and relieved. He kissed down your neck, across your chest, licking and mouthing at your breasts, giving each nipple attention before continuing lower. His tongue dipped into your navel. His hands were rough on your thighs, groping, massaging, stroking your skin like it soothed his own.
"Oh," he breathed, inhaling you at your core. He laid his nose over your mound as he knelt in front of you, taking his fill of ambrosia.
You smelled so fucking incredible, his mouth watering, opening for you without command, only animal now, as he licked and ate at your slick, wanting cunt. Your cries were so pretty for him, he'd stay there forever, worshiping you, eating you, the only place he wanted to be. He ate and ate and ate, licking, inhaling, his brain on a high nothing would compare to. His chin, his nose, his cheeks were covered in your slick, and he was so greedy, open mouthed and taking more.
And then you were coming again, shaking and trembling and barely able to stand on two feet, and he was scooping you into his arms. He kissed you as he walked, both of you slick and hot, his cock aching. He didn’t give a damn that the second bedroom still smelled faintly like his brother anymore. He was going to fuck you there and make it smell like himself instead. He was going to mate you there. You were his omega. You wanted him.
He laid down on the bed, his back to the pillows and sat you on top.
“Come on now,” he said, voice graveled and thick, tongue heavy in his mouth, gums prickling with the urge to bitebitebite, “Be a good little thing and ride me, honey.”
You rocked your hips against his boxers, the fabric soaked through with your nectar and his dribbling pre arousal, the lips of your core so perfectly shaped around the thickness of him. You scrambled to pull them away, letting his cock bob freely, both of you sighing in relief. You were already wrapping your delicate little hand around it, fingers not even able to touch, and positioned him at your center. He brought his hand down to cover yours, helping you, letting you sit yourself on him. He watched, enrapt by the way you breathed heavily, a gushing, beautiful wash of slick shining against your thighs, darkening the hair around the base of him.
And as you notched the head of him, the thick ridge of it inside of you, Joel knew he was done for. He was no longer Joel, but only an alpha with his perfect little omega. His omega that took him in when he was nothing but a lone wolf, belonging nowhere and to no one. And you'd committed a taboo just to have him, to show him how good life could be.
You cried out as he pushed up into you, and his thick hands gripped your hips, guiding you, rocking you. Skin to skin, cock to cunt.
"Joel—you're so…oh god," you sighed, hands flat on his chest, your eyes twisted, brows furrowing. Neither of you moved except for that gentle rocking, and he could just barely see the bulge of himself in your tummy.
“Yeahhh, still so fuckin’ tight, baby,” he growled, pushing his hand down where he saw your belly protruding. “Made for my cock, huh? Can you feel it? Right there? My brother didn’t even fuck you right—couldn’t’ve. You feel too fuckin’ tight. He get in at all? Bet he didn’t. Bet you were savin’ this sweet little cunt for me.”
“Don’t be mean,” you whined, petulant again. He didn’t want to upset you, you just made him so fucking insane.
“I love you both, you’re my—ohhh fuck—” your voice broke as your brain seemed to melt mid sentence, your body jerking when he thrust up hard, hips grinding deeper. You pawed at his chest, nails dragging through the thick, wiry hair there. “Please, please, knot me, Joel. I need it. Need it so bad I’m burning up inside. It's like a galaxy in my tummy and you're—I’m—oh, oh, please—I love you so much, I love you, I love you…”
His heart may have soared if he wasn't so lost to his instincts. His hand flew to the back of your neck, bringing you down onto him, and he wrapped his arms around you so tightly as he began fucking you in earnest.
“I love you too, baby,” he snarled, lips at your ear. “Love bein’ your alpha. Love fuckin’ you. Gonna knock you up, make you all round and swollen with my pups—fuck fuck fuck.”
You were wailing in his ear as he thrusted mercilessly into you, skin slapping skin as you held onto him. You were crushed to him, your breasts pressing into his chest, bellies sliding against one another.
“My favorite girl,” he panted, “Takin’ my cock so good now. What if it took this time, huh? We wouldn’t even know whose the pups were, would we, baby?”
You hiccuped against him, burying your face in his neck, suckling at his mating gland.
He gasped, as if coming up from drowning at the feeling of your lips, his pheromones filling the air. One of his hands came up from its crushing weight against your back to pet at your hair, his hips still thrusting, but slowing, keeping a steady rhythm as you garbled against his neck, your mouth wrapped around his most sensitive gland.
“That's it,” he whispered into your hair, “That's it. Bite down now, baby. Take your alpha. I'm yours. My sweet little omega. The most perfect girl. Prettiest girl. Only goddamn thing I got left in this world. Bite me, honey. That’s it—ohhh…”
Your teeth closed in on his gland, his blood and pheromones filling your mouth so delightfully Joel was only half aware of your moaning as your cunt squeezed around him for your third orgasm. His cock pulsed deep, thick spurts of come filling you, his knot swelling at once, sealing you both with a brutal ache.
Joel growled into your neck, teeth bared, sinking into the soft place he’d been kissing for days, for weeks, maybe forever. He bit down, hard, marking you, bonding you, everything in him breaking apart and knitting back together around this one truth—you were part of him, and he was part of you.
You mouthed at the wound you'd left, suckling instinctively, still panting through the aftershocks. His hands didn’t stop moving, one arm tight across your back, the other petting your head, soothing and possessive all at once as he kept you pressed to him, knotted and full and trembling.
Joel nuzzled you, feeling his mind coming back to himself piece by piece as he breathed warmly into your skin, his beard rasping gently along your cheek. He felt like he was waking from a fever dream, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as you both lay there together. He thought he'd never have the words, the thoughts, the right way to tell you how much this all meant to him. But you felt the same, whispering your secrets back as you stayed lock together, floating in the sweet, golden haze of after. Of love, of something holy and like nothing else.
You
It was only a few hours later that Tommy returned, the low creak of the front door stirring you from sleep where you lay in Joel's arms, both of you nestled in the bed he'd carried you to in the sleeping room. Your body was spent, marked, sore in the sweetest ways. He had dressed you in your sleep clothes, and he'd put on his own. Your heat had softened to a lull, a temporary hush between storms. You weren't burning for it anymore, though the embers still kindled in your belly, just under the skin. It wasn't over, and you'd be taken again tomorrow when you woke with a fire again.
But this was the time to breathe, to wake and break bread and be together.
Joel stirred behind you, lifting his head like a wolf catching the scent of his brother, but there was no fight in him now. Only the steady, bone deep understanding of what you were—what all three of you were to each other. You reached for Tommy as he stepped into the room, watched the lines of tension ease from his face as his eyes landed on you. He looked tired, like he’d run miles to come back to you. Maybe he had.
You opened your arms and he came.
There were no words at first, just the shifting of bodies finding each other, the quiet breath of relief when you pressed your cheek to his chest and felt Joel’s hand stay at your hip. You held them both. They held you back.
You knew you'd wake with heat in your belly again tomorrow, your cycle something that wasn't tempered in a day. But that would wait for now. It would let you have this.
You wondered if you'd ever make it back to Jackson. If the world could accept you as you were, But here, in this borrowed house at the edge of the world, you had something no one could name or take.
You let your eyes drift shut again. You were so warm and full, it was easy to slip into sleep like this. You were home.
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