Tags: minors DNI, extreme dub con, attempted assault (not Joel), murder, killer!joel, stalking, stalker!joel, dirty talk, pinv sex, oral sex (m receiving), mild cum eating, pussy slap, ass slap, threatening behavior, rough oral sex (m receiving), rough sex, facefucking, creampie, noncon creampie, breeding kink (slight), pet names, name calling, blood and violence, spit as lube, forced masturbation, basically buckle up bc this is dark
WC: 4.3k
Summary: Joel kills for you.
Divider: @/saradika-graphics
The snow crunched under your feet as you walked across the gas station parking lot. It was only 7 o’clock, but it was pitch black outside. You hated how dark it got in December. You made a mental note to increase your vitamin D supplements.
There were only two other cars parked at the gas station. Ever since you had that strange encounter with your date a few weeks back, you’d made sure to only go places where there were at least a couple other people. And while you felt slightly uneasy right now, you figured you’d only be in the gas station for a few minutes.
You just wanted to grab some beer to bring to your friend’s place. She was hosting some friends for the football game and you didn’t want to show up empty handed.
Reaching the door, the chime sounded as you entered. The cashier was busy ringing someone up, so you slipped toward the back of the store to peruse your options.
Your phone buzzed and you pulled it out just to see it was a Ring notification from an Amazon delivery to your house. You’d just installed the security system a couple weeks back at the encouragement of your friends.
“He’s a fuckin’ creep. You need to install a camera or something to make sure he’s not sneaking around your house.” Head nods and verbal affirmatives sounded around the table where you and your friends were seated.
You’d gone on a date with a man, Joel, one blustery November evening. The date was fine, fairly mediocre, but he was cute enough that you were interested in a second. That was, until he started to call and text you at all hours of the day.
He’d texted you before you’d even gotten home from the date, and when you didn’t answer within the minute, he called. The frequent phone calls and texts became too much and when you tried to let him down gently, he became even more obsessed.
He showed up at your work and when you confronted him between the aisles of the quaint bookstore, he claimed that you had told him where you worked while you were at dinner together, but you had no recollection of this.
It made you weary to go anywhere alone, but you had triple checked as you walked into the gas station that there was no one following you.
You heard the chime of the gas station door again, and peeked your head around to see the only other customer leaving.
With a brief sigh of relief at not seeing Joel walk in, you returned to the beer fridge and pulled out a 6-pack of Yuengling.
You passed the poorly stocked aisles as you navigated to the front of the store. The cashier had earbuds in and was scrolling on his phone. Appearing to be in his 40s and with a scruffy beard and unkempt appearance, he looked up as you set the beers on the counter.
He smiled wide to reveal a set of yellowed teeth and pulled his earbud out of one ear. “Hey there, sugar.”
“Hi,” you offered quickly, your eyes looking down at the beer as you reached into your purse to pull out your money.
“What’s a sweet thing like yourself doin’ here all on your own?” The question seemed dumb and you just wanted the conversation to be over.
“Just grabbing some beer, thanks.” You set a $10 bill on the counter and pretended to be distracted by looking out the glass double doors.
“Looks to me like you need a lil’ somethin’ more than just some beer,” the words fell slowly out of his mouth, like he was drawing them through molasses. Your chest tightened when you saw him lick his lips.
“Can you just check me out, please?” As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. What a stupid choice of words.
“Oh,” the man was smirking now, “I am checking you out, sweet thing.”
You rolled your eyes and said, “nevermind,” picking up the bill and turning to leave the store. But as your hand pressed against the cold glass, preparing to open the door, you felt hands at your hips, pulling you backwards.
“What the fuck!” You yelled, reaching down and scratching at the dirty hands that were pawing at your waist now.
He swiveled so that you were in front of him as he walked the two of you back behind the counter. Your heels squeaked on the grimy tiled floor as you attempted to stop him from pushing you forward.
You felt his nose and hot breath on the back of your neck, “mmm,” he groaned sinisterly, “ya smell so fuckin’ sweet.” He wasted no time in shoving his hand between your legs. You were wearing leggings and the heat of his palm pushed against your mound as he pressed his hardened dick against your ass.
A loud thud followed by the raucous chiming of the bells flying off the doorway caused your head to snap up. A broad form moved past the front of the counter and came around the side. You had to do a double-take before you recognized that it was Joel. His cheeks were pink and he wore a tan coat. His hair was mussed from being outside, and you wondered briefly just how long he’d been out there given his state.
“Get your fuckin’ hands off her!” He yelled. Before the clerk could even respond or take a step back, Joel was on him. He grabbed the shocked man by the back of his neck and threw him to the ground. You stumbled backwards, against the wall behind the register, your hands braced against the shelf of cigarettes.
The man made a moaning sound as his head hit the floor and raised his hands up in a defensive position. “Ple-” he started to beg but was quickly shut up by Joel kicking him in the side of the head.
Blood spewed from his mouth and fell on some cigarette cartons on the bottom shelf. You saw a glistening tooth in the pool of blood gathered by his head. Another kick from Joel’s boot landed against the man’s jaw, and you couldn’t stop yourself from shouting, “Joel! Stop!” More blood and teeth coated the floor.
Joel turned to look at you. His chest was heaving and there was nothing but fury in his eyes. His pupils were enlarged and his jaw was clenched, the muscles twitching as he stared at you. Your breathing quickened as you watched him. There was no easy escape for you and you feared what was to follow.
Without a single word to you, Joel looked back down at the pathetic heap of a man on the floor. He was shaking and there was a wet spot on his pants from where he pissed himself. He was sputtering nonsense, his eyes closed as he coughed up blood.
Joel’s large hand fell on the man’s chest, hoisting him up by the thin fabric and then wrapping his arm around the man’s neck. His eyes shot up, reaching up and desperately grabbing at Joel’s flexed forearm, but Joel was already squeezing.
You watched in horror as the man kicked his feet wildly, eyes looking pleadingly at you for help. Tears fell and cascaded down your cheeks as Joel released the man from his grasp, his body crumpling to the floor.
“Y-you killed him!” You shouted, completely gripped by terror.
Joel looked down at his blood covered hands and wiped them on his jeans before turning to look at you. “Fucker deserved it,” he said while still composing his breath.
“What the fuck,” you muttered, feeling like you were on the verge of hyperventilating.
“C’mere,” Joel commanded.
You shook your head no, your fingertips gripped into the steel shelving. Joel took a deep breath, trying to be patient.
“C’mere or I’ll make you c’mere.” He took one step toward you and it was enough for you to push yourself forward while saying, “no, no, I’m coming. I’m coming.”
You approached him cautiously, trembling fists held by your sides. Joel took note of this, glancing down at your hands then back at you. “‘M not gonna hurtcha,” he said in a weak attempt at reassurance.
When you were about six inches from him, he reached out and wove his still-bloody hand through your hair. You tried to hide your grimace as he lowered his face to yours and said, “y’really shouldn’t be out alone, ‘specially at night.”
You swallowed dryly and nodded your head. Prepared to pacify him however you needed to escape the situation.
Joel nodded his head slowly as you nodded yours. “So…” his eye contact was intense and it took all you had to not look away, “what’re y’doing out here, then?”
“I’m just-” your voice was soft and Joel interrupted you.
“Speak up,” he commanded.
You swallowed again before speaking louder, “I’m just buying some beer.”
His fingers had a grip on the base of your skull, keeping you secured close to him. You could feel his warm breath blanketing your face as he breathed. It smelled of whiskey and you wondered if that was why he was so unphased by the crime he just committed. You hoped it was that and not some sick alternative.
“Beer, huh?” Joel looked over at the counter then released his hold on your head. He stepped beside you and reached toward the 6-pack, plucking one of the cold beers from the cardboard container.
He popped off the bottle cap with his teeth, letting it clink to the floor. The beer glugged into his mouth and he swallowed it down, wiping the residue off his lips with the sleeve of his coat before extending the bottle out toward you.
You stared at him and he said, “drink.”
Worried that you might vomit if you tried putting anything in your body right now, you took the bottle and poured the smallest sip into your mouth. The liquid barely touching your tongue.
“More.” You tried to ignore the irritation in his tone.
You obeyed and tilted the bottle into your mouth, swallowing down the bitter drink as quickly as you could.
“Again.” You looked at him pleadingly but he was unwavering in his order.
Taking a big drink this time, Joel looked satisfied when you removed it from your lips. He took it from your hand and downed the rest.
You hadn’t eaten much this evening, prepared to engorge yourself in the snacks at your friend’s house, so the small amount of alcohol already had your head swimming.
Joel scanned you up and down. He licked his lips, but you found that unlike when the cashier did it, your thighs clenched at the sight.
He noticed the small movement and smirked. You cleared your throat and said, “I should get going.”
You looked toward the front door, hopeful that he might allow you to leave. But that was quickly dashed as his thumb and forefinger came to cradle your chin, tilting your face up to look at him.
“You can leave,” he said, “once we’re done.”
Your body was frozen. You stood still as you waited for his next move.
“I saved you.” He narrowed his eyes as he spoke, “dontcha think that earns me anything?” His head tilted to the side.
You were repulsed by the need growing in your core. This man was vile. Dangerous. You felt betrayed by your body as you felt wetness start to pool between your legs. The truth was that you did want him. Even before this moment, when you’d wake up to dozens of missed calls and texts. There was something about his obsession that flattered you. You’d simply followed your friends’ suggestions because you knew it was the right thing to do.
“Okay,” you replied softly.
Joel released his grip on your chin to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Okay, what?”
“You can do what you want.” You knew granting him full access was likely a bad idea, but the words came out before you could censor them.
You almost regretted it when you saw the twinkle in his eyes.
“Anythin’ I want, huh?” Joel bit his lip then took a step back so that he could see your full body better.
“Within reason,” you amended.
He chuckled darkly and replied, “wouldn’t dream of doin’ somethin’ you don’t like, angel.”
Before you could say anything else, his lips were crashing against yours. He tasted like a discordant mixture of whiskey and peppermint. He bit hastily at your bottom lip then licked into your mouth.
You obliged and opened wider to allow him better access. Your tongue twirled against his and before you could process it, you were moaning into his mouth.
Joel’s arousal peaked at hearing your melodic moans and he pushed his body against yours. His hand came to protect the back of your head as he lowered your bodies to the ground.
He was pressed against you, his broad form completely enshrouding you. Your eyes glanced to the periphery and you saw the teeth-pebbled pool of blood.
You gasped and pushed your hands against his chest, suddenly feeling trapped and sick to your stomach.
Joel pulled his head back and followed your line of sight. He smirked and looked back at you and said, “nuh uh, princess. We’re doin’ this right here.” He bent down to lick a thick stripe up the side of your neck. “Need ya t’see what I did f’you.”
“Joel, please,” you pleaded with him and tried scooting your body away, but it was no use. His lower body was pressed so firmly against your own that there was no way you’d be able to fight against him.
“Gonna have you beggin’ for a whole other reason in just a bit, angel.” He promised as he returned to passionately kissing you.
His plush lips worked diligently against your own. You couldn’t deny he was a good kisser. As he sucked your bottom lip in between his own, he lowered his hand between your legs, pushing his fingertips against your clothed hole.
You knew you were wet, but didn’t realize you’d leaked through both fabrics until Joel groaned, “oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ wet, Jesus Christ.”
Your back arched and you pushed up against his torso. He smiled and said, “gonna give ya what ya need, angel. Just gotta lay here ‘n take it, okay?”
You nodded feverishly. Your hands had grasped his coat and your fingers moved to start unclasping the snap buttons.
Joel kneeled back and swiftly removed his coat. He was wearing a faded blue t-shirt underneath and your eyes immediately went to his delicious biceps. He palmed himself through his jeans then unzipped them and pushed them along with his briefs down mid-thigh.
His cock sprang free and a string of precum connected to his briefs. Your jaw dropped as he lazily pumped his cock while he stayed knelt in front of you.
“Y’want a taste?” He asked, and it genuinely felt like an offer, not a command.
You nodded dumbly, your eyes glued to his weeping tip.
“C’mere, then,” he said softly as he stood up and beckoned you with his hand.
You hastily clambered to your knees, your thighs pressed tightly together as you opened your mouth to suck in his salty tip.
Joel hummed and leaned his head back. His hand fell to the back of your head and his thumb stroked your hair as you began to take more of him into your mouth.
“Oh, that’s it, princess. Juss like that.” He couldn’t help but buck his hips, furthering his cock into your mouth, causing you to gag.
“Shit that’s a pretty sound,” he moaned, needing to hear more of it. With one hand he pulled your hair back into a ponytail, and his other hand came to wrap around your throat. “Keep breathin’, darlin’, don’t wanna suffocate ya.”
And with that, he started facefucking you. You gagged and sputtered as his thick cock pushed into your throat, back and forth. He started with a slow pace, enjoying the feeling of your constricting throat. He could feel his cock in your neck from the outside, his thumb pushing against the visible bulge in your throat.
Your hands flew up to brace yourself against his thighs, digging into his muscular legs.
“Therrrre we go,” he muttered, then started picking up the pace. His balls slapped against your wet chin, your drool dripping down.
Tears pricked your eyes and he groaned at the sight, fucking into your throat harder and harder. You could feel every ridge and vein in his meaty cock as it slid in and out of your mouth at a rapid pace.
Desperate for more air and to cease the pain in your throat, you started hitting your hands against his thighs. The anguished slaps of your palms against his skin reverberated in the empty gas station.
Joel finally let up, pulling his cock out of your throat and grinning wide-eyed as you coughed and spit flew out of your mouth and onto the floor. You were on your hands and knees, trying to get as much oxygen as you could. Your head felt floaty and you wondered if you were going to pass out.
When you could finally speak, you looked up at him with defiant eyes and said, “I thought-” cough “you said-” cough “that you wouldn’t do something I didn’t like?”
“You’re tellin’ me y’didn’t like that?” Joel asked. He took a step toward you then dropped to his knees. You were now on your knees as well and Joel reached down and tapped the inside of your leg, urging you to spread.
You did, and he slid his hand up the inside of your thigh until his fingertips pressed against your crotch. He pushed hard, causing you to jerk away from him at the sudden, harsh contact. But when he pulled his fingers away, there was an unmistakable glisten on his fingertips.
Joel raised them to his nose and sniffed lewdly. “Oh darlin’,” he tsk’d and shook his head, “don’t you lie t’me now.”
He pushed you back until you were laying on the floor, your legs still propped up, knees pointed to the ceiling. Sliding your leggings and panties off in one go, he kissed the inside of your knees, one after the other.
“Now, you’re tellin’ me…” he leaned forward and kissed the inside of your thighs, forcing them open with his head. “That you didn’t like what juss happened?” His thumb came to rest against your fluttering hole and he swiped up slowly, collecting your slick on his finger before rubbing it into your clit.
All of the pent up arousal came out in one loud moan as you pushed your body down toward him, seeking more friction on your needy pussy.
Suddenly, a harsh slap landed between your legs, causing you to yelp and jolt with the intense sensation. “Answer me,” Joel demanded.
“I-I-I liked it…” you stammered, embarrassed and ashamed.
Joel’s palm ran up and down your dripping cunt, soothing the spot he just slapped. “Good girl.”
He removed his hand and spat right onto your clit. “Touch yourself,” he said.
You hurriedly moved your hand down to between your legs and started rubbing your clit in circles with your middle finger. “Inside,” he ordered.
You whimpered and pushed your middle finger into your hole, reaching as far as you could. You added a second finger and began fucking yourself. Joel was practically eye fucking you as he stroked his cock.
“On your tummy,” he demanded.
You rolled onto your front, trying to ignore the disgusting filth of the floor. Your cheek was pressed to the cold tile and you felt Joel behind you, his cock already prodding your entrance. You were flat on your stomach and he moved his hand underneath your hip to lift your ass up slightly, granting him easier access.
“Thatta girl,” he cooed in your ear as he bent over you.
He moved his cock from your hole and tapped it against your clit a couple times. Swiping it up and down your folds, you began to whimper, desperate to feel something fill your pussy.
“Joel, please,” you begged, “please fuck me.”
You heard him laugh as he said, “Toldya you’d be beggin’ me in no time.”
He pushed into you in one go and you practically squealed, trying to grab onto the floor to stabilize yourself. “Ow!” The stretch was unreal.
Joel laughed again, “y’wanted it, angel.” He started fucking you hard. “Now fuckin’ take it.”
His thick cock pulled and pressed against your walls. You felt like you were being split in two and prayed that your body would acclimate quickly to alleviate this burning pain.
“Oh shit, y’feel incredible,” he said as he continued thrusting deep into you.
You could feel and hear the slap of his heavy balls against your throbbing clit. Reaching your hand underneath you and between your legs, you started swiping back and forth against your sensitive nub.
“Oh yeah, princess,” Joel groaned, “make y’self come on my cock.”
You weren’t aware of the desperate sounds you were making until Joel moved the hair out of your face so he could see you better and said, “lookatcha, so dumb on my cock. Sound like a mewling kitten right now, angel.”
He raised your hips higher and fucked you deeper. The tip of his cock rubbed against your spongy spot and your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head. You squeezed your eyes shut as you rubbed furiously at your clit.
“Open yer eyes,” Joel said between thrusts.
You obeyed and looked straight ahead at the bloody dead body a few feet away. Joel chuckled as he felt your cunt constrict around him.
“Y’scared, princess, or turned on?” He gave you a couple powerful thrusts and you moaned.
He gave you a slap on the ass and you yelped, your fingers still deftly working on your clit.
“See what I did f’ya? Should feel lucky, don’t know what woulda happened t’ya if I wasn’t here.” His condescending tone pissed you off, but he wasn’t wrong. Regardless, you were going to get fucked tonight. Better him than some creep, you figured. Your mind got stuck on that thought as he continued railing you, your fingers stilling.
“Keep touchin’ yourself, ‘m gettin’ close,” Joel growled. “Want you t’look at that fuckin’ asshole while I fuck you. Want ya to come thinkin’ ‘bout how I saved ya. ‘Bout how I snapped his fuckin’ neck f’you.”
You moaned as Joel fucked you impossibly deeper. You felt so full, like your whole body was intended for this sole purpose. The way Joel’s hands gripped your hips as he pulled you back and forth on his cock made you feel like a dumb fucktoy at his disposal.
You stared at the body in front of you. Watched as the pool of blood slowly got larger as more blood seeped out. You became more wet, your slick dripping out of your cunt and landing on Joel’s balls as he fucked into you.
The coil tensed inside of you and you moaned loudly as the tension came to a peak and then snapped. Your hand fell to your side as your orgasm tore through your body, shaking as Joel continued his sporadic thrusts.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned. “Gonna fill ya up to the fuckin’ brim, baby.”
You panicked, your hands trying to reach behind you and push you off, “no, no!”
“Y’gonna fuckin’ take it, fuckin’ whore,” Joel continued groaning, his thrusts harsh and sloppy.
You felt him start to come, a rope of it shooting far into your spent cunt, but then he pulled out, his come painting your ass and sliding down your cheeks.
“Should be fuckin’ grateful,” Joel muttered, “coulda putta baby in ya just now.”
Your body was flat against the floor, his come slowly drying on your cheeks as your wetness and his bit of cum seeped out of your opened pussy.
Joel got down on the ground, his face level with your cunt as he stuck his tongue out and licked the pearl of his seed that dripped out of you. He slurped it, along with your juices, and licked his lips as he got up.
Pulling his briefs and jeans on, he looked down at you as he buckled his belt. “Y’good?” he asked.
Slight panic was building inside of you, thinking about what he had just done. What you had just done. You nodded your head.
You pushed yourself up on weak arms, then stood on wobbly legs. Joel reached forward to help you up, allowing you to brace yourself on his shoulder as he pulled your panties and leggings on.
Joel looked at the front doors and laughed, “imagine if someone had come in during all that.”
Your eyes blew wide. You hadn’t even thought about what would’ve happened if you’d been caught.
He seemed to see the fear in your eyes and he smiled. Leaning forward and planting a chaste kiss to your lips, he said, “you’re safe, princess. Time t’go home, k?”
You nodded and replied weakly, “okay.”
You walked by the counter with the 5-pack of beer, Joel moving behind you as he snagged another bottle and popped it open.
When the doors opened, you and Joel moved in opposite directions. You looked his way to see a black car tucked to the side of the parking lot, away from the street lights. He must have parked there intentionally.
You began walking quickly to your car and heard Joel’s voice roll across the parking lot, “see ya ‘round, angel.”
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
DESC: You are a Seraphite who was attacked by WLF soldiers and rescued by Joel Miller, only to find out he has a price for saving your life.
Mature Content !! Please DNI if you're a minor (under 18)
TAGS: Joel Miller x Female Reader, Dark!Joel, Kidnapping, Religious Cults, No Use of Y/N, Reader is Brainwashed, Possessive!Joel, Dubious Consent, Innocent!Reader, Religious Guilt, Religious Deconstruction, (Unspecified) Age Gap Relationship, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Joel Miller Smut, Kidnapping, Captivity
જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴
I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | more coming soon !
WARNINGS: Smut MDNI 18+ , inc3st , DDDNE, Noncon/Dubcon , Butt stuff , mean Joel, degradation , reader is described briefly.
Her old man’s hands were thick with scars, the kind that came from years of stubborn labor,split wood, stubborn nails, the occasional slip of a blade. Joel Miller wasn’t the type to apologize for his roughness, least of all today. His birthday. The house smelled like cheap whiskey and the faint, greasy residue of a half-eaten cake left forgotten on the counter. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight, and studied his baby girl across from him with a look that wasn’t quite a glare but wasn’t far off.
She was small for twenty, all sharp elbows and nervous glances, like a rabbit caught in the beam of a flashlight. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt, the fabric stretched thin from years of washing. She hadn’t said much since sitting down, just a quiet, "Happy birthday, Dad," before falling silent again. The words had tasted sour in her mouth, and Joel had known it. He always knew.
The TV hummed in the background, some old western with the volume turned low enough that the gunshots sounded like distant firecrackers. Joel took another swig from his bottle, the liquid burning a familiar path down his throat. He set it down harder than necessary, the glass clinking against the table. "You’re real quiet today," he said, and it wasn’t an observation so much as an accusation.
She flinched, just a little, and his mouth twitched. Ungrateful. That’s what she was. After everything he’d done, all the years he’d scraped and struggled to keep a roof over her head, and she couldn’t even muster a real smile for him. Not that he expected one anymore. But today was different. Today, he wasn’t in the mood to let it slide.
The chair legs screeched against the floor as he pushed back from the table. She didn’t look up, but her shoulders tensed, bracing. Joel didn’t bother hiding his grin. He liked that,the way she knew what was coming, the way she still couldn’t stop it. He reached out, calloused fingers catching her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You gonna pout all day," he asked, voice low, "or are you gonna act like you’re glad your old man’s still breathing?"
Her breath hitched when his grip tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her jaw. "I—I am glad!" she managed, voice thin as paper. The lie tasted bitter, but she'd practiced it enough that it almost sounded convincing. Joel's thumb brushed over her bottom lip, rough as sandpaper, and she couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through her.
"Coulda fooled me," he muttered, leaning in close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. His free hand dropped to her waist, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt, and her stomach clenched. "You know what today is," he said, not waiting for an answer. "My day. And you're gonna quit squirming like some goddamn brat who don't know how good she's got it."
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. Crying only ever made it worse. His fingers trailed lower, pressing against the waistband of her jeans, and her hands flew up instinctively,not to push him away, never that, just to brace against his chest. The fabric of his flannel shirt was worn soft under her fingertips, but the body beneath was solid, unyielding. "Dad—"
The word cracked halfway out, and Joel's expression darkened. "Don't," he warned, "You don't get to whine at me. Not today." His other hand popped the button of her jeans with practiced ease, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper as his fingers slid past the fabric, rough and relentless. The TV droned on in the background, some nameless cowboy drawling about justice, but all she could hear was the ragged sound of her own breathing. Joel's mouth curled into a smirk. "There," he murmured, pressing deeper, "that's my girl."
The girl’s breath came in sharp, shallow hitches as Joel’s fingers worked their way inside her ass, the intrusion sudden and merciless. She dug her nails into his chest, to steady herself against the dizzying rush of pain. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but the set of his jaw told her everything she needed to know: he wasn’t stopping. Not until he was satisfied.
"You’re so damn tight," he muttered, voice rough with fervour. He twisted his fingers experimentally, and she choked back a whimper. "You’d think I never touched you before." The words were punctuated by another slow, deliberate thrust, and her thighs trembled against the chair. She could feel the wetness gathering at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t dare let them fall. Crying would only make him rougher.
Joel watched her struggle with a detached sort of interest, like a man observing a stubborn engine refusing to turn over. His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat, pressing just enough to make her swallow hard. "You gonna say it?" he asked, voice low. "Or do I gotta make you?"
Her lips parted, but the words stuck in her throat. She knew what he wanted,what he always wanted,but the shame of it coiled tight in her chest, suffocating. His fingers curled inside her, and her vision blurred at the edges. "Daddy," she gasped, the word tearing loose before she could stop it. "Please—"
The plea hung between them, raw and unfinished. Joel’s mouth twitched, something ugly flickering behind his eyes. "Please what?" he prompted, dragging his fingers out just enough to make her hips jerk forward, chasing the relief of emptiness. "Use your words, baby girl."
She sobbed openly now, her body twisting in a futile attempt to escape the relentless press of his fingers. "Daddy, stop—" The word broke into a wet gasp as he twisted his fingers deeper, the stretch burning like fire. Joel let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against her ear as he leaned closer, his breath hot and whiskey-soured against her cheek.
"Stop huh?" he echoed, his voice drips with amusement. He spread his fingers slightly, just enough to make her back arch off the chair, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. "You wanna tell me how bad it hurts? Go on. I wanna hear it." His free hand slid down to grip her hip, pinning her in place as his other hand worked her mercilessly, the rhythm slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every twitch of her body.
Tears streamed down her face, her chest heaving with ragged breaths as she clawed at his forearm, her nails leaving thin red lines in their wake. It didn’t matter,he barely seemed to notice. "P-please," she hiccuped, her voice small and broken. "It—it hurts—"
Joel hummed, tilting his head as if considering her plea. Then, without warning, he crooked his fingers, pressing up in a way that made her legs kick out instinctively, her toes curling against the floor. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough with something darker now. "That’s what I thought." He dragged his fingers out almost completely, leaving her clenching around nothing, before driving them back in with a force that knocked the air from her lungs.
Her vision swam, the room tilting at the edges as she choked on another sob. Joel’s grip on her hip tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there hard enough to bruise. "You’re gonna take it," he told her, his voice low and steady, like he was reciting a fact. "Just like you take everything else I give you." His thumb rubbed circles over her hipbone, the gesture almost soothing if not for the way his other hand kept moving inside her, relentless and unyielding.
Joel pulled his fingers out with a wet sound, and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness, her body trembling. He stood up in one fluid motion, his chair scraping back violently, and she flinched at the sound, too loud and too sudden. His belt buckle clattered as he undid it, the leather sliding free with a practiced tug. He didn’t look at her, not really, his gaze somewhere distant as he shoved his pants down past his hips, his cock springing free, thick and flushed, already glistening at the tip.
Joel's hands were rough as he grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her stomach with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs. The edge of the table dug into her ribs, as he pressed her down, the wood groaning under their combined weight. She barely had time to register the feeling of her jeans being yanked down past her thighs before she felt the blunt, wet press of him against her hole not where she expected, but higher, so much higher that her stomach plummeted.
"No—" The word burst out before she could stop it, panicked and raw, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the table's edge. Joel's chuckle was dark, humorless, as he dragged the head of his cock through the slick mess between her thighs, coating himself deliberately in her juices before pressing against the tight furl of her asshole.
"You are not allowed to say no," he murmured, breath hot against the back of her neck. His fingers dug into the meat of her hips harder, holding her still as he pushed forward without warning. The stretch was brutal and painful and she screamed, the sound tearing through the quiet room.
Joel didn't pause, didn't even falter,just kept pushing, inch by agonizing inch, until his hips met the backs of her thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside her. Her vision whited out at the edges, her knees buckling beneath her, but his grip held her upright, suspended between the table and his body. "There," he grunted, rolling his hips experimentally, the drag sending sharp, searing pain radiating up her spine and making her buckle. "Fuck, that's good."
Tears streamed down her face unchecked now, her breath coming in ragged, hiccupping gasps as she tried and failed to relax against the impossible stretch, he was too big and thick and there wasn't enough lube or prep. Joel's hand fisted in her hair, wrenching her head back until her spine arched. "Quit your damn crying," he snarled, voice rough with impatience. "You think this is bad? You don't know bad." His hips snapped forward, punching another choked scream from her throat, and he groaned, low and satisfied.
Her fingers dug at the table’s edge, splinters digging into her palms as Joel’s hips pistoned against her, each thrust a fresh wave of pain. She tried to twist away,instinct, useless instinct,but his grip on her hips only tightened, fingers pressing into the bruises he’d already left behind. "Stay still,cunt." he growled, punctuating the words with a sharp slap to the back of her thigh that made her jolt, her muscles clenching involuntarily around him. Joel groaned, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he steadied himself, his breath ragged against her ear. "Christ, that's tight."
The girl’s sobs were silent now, her throat too raw to make sound, her tears dripping onto the table’s scratched surface. She could feel him everywhere,the stretch of him inside her, the heat of his body pressed against her back, the rough fabric of his shirt scraping against her skin.
His hand left her hip suddenly, sliding around to press against her lower belly, fingers splayed possessively over the soft skin there. "Feel that?" he murmured, pushing down just enough to make her whimper. "You can feel me, can’t you? Right fucking here." He thrust harder, deeper, as if to prove his point, and she choked on a gasp, her legs shaking beneath her.
Joel chuckled, the sound dark and thick. "Bet you never thought you’d take it like this," he said, his voice rough with exertion. "Bet you didn’t think your old man had it in him." His free hand tangled in her hair again, yanking her head back until her spine bowed painfully. "Look at you," he breathed, his gaze dragging over her tear-streaked face. "God damn, you’re pretty when you cry."
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the weight of his stare, but Joel just tightened his grip, his fingers flexing against her scalp. "Nuh-uh," he chided, his tone almost playful. "Eyes open. You wanna act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one." His hips snapped forward again, the angle sharper this time, and she cried out, her vision blurring at the edges.
The girl’s breath hitched as Joel’s thrusts grew rougher, his hips slamming against her with a force that rattled the table beneath them even harder. Her fingers slipped on the sweat-slick wood, her arms trembling with the effort to hold herself up. Joel’s grip on her hair tightened, forcing her head back further, until she could feel the tendons in her neck strain. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice ragged. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze in the dim light. His pupils were blown wide, his mouth parted around heavy breaths. "There," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheekbone roughly. "That’s better."
His rhythm stuttered for a moment, his cock twitching inside her as he adjusted his stance. The shift sent a fresh wave of pain radiating up her body, and she bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood again.
Joel’s pace quickened then, his thrusts losing what little finesse they’d had, becoming erratic, desperate. His breath came in short, sharp bursts against her ear, his fingers digging into her hip hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks in their wake. "Fuck," he gritted out, his voice strangled. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum" His cock pulsed inside her, the heat of him unbearable, and she knew what was coming, she had known since the moment he’d pushed inside her. Still, when he came, it was with a force that knocked the air from her lungs, his hips jerking forward as he spilled into her with a low, guttural groan.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing,hers shallow and panicked, his heavy and satisfied. Joel’s grip on her hair loosened slightly, his fingers carding through the tangled strands almost absently. "There," he murmured, his voice rough. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" The question hung in the air, rhetorical, mocking. She couldn't’t answer even if she’d wanted to. Her throat felt raw, her lips swollen from where she’d bitten them.
Joel didn’t seem to expect a response. He pulled out slowly, his cock slipping free with a wet sound that made her stomach turn. The sudden emptiness was almost worse than the fullness had been, a cold, hollow ache settling low in her belly. Joel exhaled sharply, his breath warm against her shoulder as he straightened up, his hands leaving her body for the first time in what felt like hours. The absence of his touch was almost as jarring as the touch itself.
Her knees buckled as soon as Joel stepped back, sending her crumpling to the floor in a heap of trembling limbs. The hardwood pressed cold against her bare thighs, the grit of dust sticking to the sweat-slicked skin of her palms as she tried—and failed to push herself upright. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate, muscles turned to water, and she slumped forward with a quiet, broken sound that wasn’t quite a sob.
Above her, Joel sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Christ,” he muttered, toeing her hip with his boot like she was a stray dog he’d found on his porch. “Get up.” But she couldn't move he clicked his tongue and crouched down, his knees popping with the effort. His fingers curled around her bicep, hauling her upright with a rough tug that sent fresh pain lancing through her shoulders. “I said up.”
The world tilted as he dragged her to her feet, her vision swimming at the edges. She stumbled, her knees knocking together, and Joel’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arm hard enough to leave marks there too.
He didn’t let go as he steered her toward the couch, his steps measured and sure despite the whiskey still lingering in his system. The cushions sagged under their combined weight as he pushed her down, her body folding like a marionette with its strings cut. Joel stood over her for a moment, his shadow swallowing her whole, before he turned away with a grunt, disappearing into the hallway without a backward glance.
The silence he left behind was thick, suffocating. She curled in on herself instinctively, her arms wrapping around her middle as if she could somehow hold herself together. "I'm cold..." She murmured to herself as she rubbed her middle to warm herself up
The faucet in the bathroom down the hall groaned to life, the pipes shuddering behind the walls. Water splashed unevenly against porcelain,Joel washing his hands, probably, the way he always did after. Methodical. Unhurried. She stared at the ceiling, counting the water stains blooming across the yellowed plaster like ugly flowers. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
The pipes hissed as the water cut off. Footsteps, heavy and slow, padded back toward the living room. She didn’t look up, didn’t move, just kept her arms locked around herself like a vise. Joel’s shadow fell over her first, then the weight of him settling onto the couch beside her, the springs creaking in protest. The smell of whiskey and sweat clung to him, thick enough to taste.
A damp washcloth landed on her, startling her. It was warm, almost hot, the steam still rising from it in faint curls. “Clean yourself up,don't want you soiling the couch” Joel said, his voice rough but devoid of its earlier edge. He wasn’t looking at her, his gaze fixed on the TV where the black-and-white cowboy movie was monologuing.
She picked up the cloth with trembling fingers, the fabric rough against her skin.She dabbed at her thighs gingerly, the heat of the cloth a contrast to the chill settling deep in her bones. The cloth turned pink, then red, and she swallowed hard, focusing on the way the fabric caught against her skin, the way the heat seeped into her muscles.
Joel’s arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing her shoulder absently, the touch incongruously gentle after what he'd done. The washcloth lay heavy in her lap, stained pink where she'd wiped between her thighs, and she clenched it tighter to keep her hands from shaking. The TV flickered, casting jagged shadows across Joel's face,hard lines softened by exhaustion, the whiskey finally catching up to him. His eyelids drooped, his breathing slowing to something almost rhythmic.
She didn't move when his arm slid down from the couch back to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her against his side with a grunt. The fabric of his shirt rubbed her cheek, smelling of sweat and tobacco and that cheap aftershave he'd worn for years. His heartbeat thudded under her ear, steady and unrepentant.
The girl held herself rigid against Joel’s side, But his breathing only deepened, his fingers going slack against her arm. The weight of him pressed heavier into the couch as he settled to lie down with her stuck between him and the back of the couch , his chin dipping toward her head. She dared a glance up,his eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open. Finally asleep.
Her own exhaustion dragged at her limbs, a leaden weight behind her ribs. The adrenaline had burned off, leaving her hollowed out, trembling with the aftershocks. Joel’s arm around her was heavy, suffocating, but she couldn’t muster the energy to slip free.
The girl’s eyelids grew heavier with each slow, rhythmic breath Joel took. The warmth of his body pressed against hers was an unwelcome comfort, but her body betrayed her anyway, sinking deeper into the couch’s worn cushions. The television’s flickering light painted stripes across the ceiling, blurring as her vision doubled. She tried to count them—one, two—but lost track somewhere between the third stripe and the sharp ache between her thighs.
The last thing she registered was the scratch of his stubble against her temple as his head lolled forward. Then nothing.
Sleep came like a thief, swift and silent, stealing her away from the ache in her body, the stickiness between her thighs. For a few blessed hours, there was no Joel, no hands, no teeth,just the yawning black void of oblivion.
GameWarden!Joel Miller x F!Reader
Explicit 18+ MDNI | 3.8k WC | AO3
Summary: Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules.
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Power imbalance. DUBCON (could be considered NONCON). Reader is into it but she still doesn't have a choice. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. Explicit smut. Oral (male receiving). Fingering. Violence. Manipulation. Unprotected P in V. Cum talk. Creampies. Dark!Joel.
Notes: Please read the warnings. HUGE thanks to @joelmillerisapunk for beta'ing. Also FYI Game Wardens (also sometimes known as conservation / wildlife / DNR officer) can have broader authority than police and can even search your person / property without a warrant, are expert marksmen and usually work alone.
M A S T E R L I S T | A O 3 | N O T I F S
You saw the sign and ignored it, like you always did, as you walked down your favorite hiking trail. The one that few people knew about. The trail that was always peaceful and quiet and you rarely met another soul. Your hidden secret that you loved to escape to. The one that had been marked as “Trail Closed” for months now for reasons you could never quite figure out.
As the forest thinned you finally reached the majestic bounty you sought. A quaint pond, nestled in the pines. The waters edge pebbled with rocks and ferns. Water lilies sparsely decorated the surface. What once was a sprawling picnic destination was now overgrown. Serene and abandoned to nature.
You knelt down and ran your hands over the stones, picking up and admiring their unique beauty of the ones that caught your eye.
You were so preoccupied taking in the comforts of the world around you that you never heard him. Never even considered there were eyes on you, watching you from behind some overgrowth.
“Excuse me, miss,” his voice startles you as you stand quickly and turn around. “You’re in violation of State Park rules and regulations.”
“Huh?” Your words come out sounding dumb and caught off guard. You quickly scan for the source of the voice and see some movement in the bushes, revealing a man.
He walks towards you, emerging from his hiding spot. A tall and broad man, head to toe in the standard olive green uniform that the wardens wore. A tactical belt and vest and a scoped rifle slung on his back. His toned physique mesmerizes you with each step forward.
“It’s my sworn duty to enforce the law and enact justice as I see fit.” His words were robotic and rehearsed.
As he got closer you could see he was an older man and incredibly handsome with some greys in his beard along his jawline. His hair was shorter with wavy curls, pushed back neatly with some silver catching in the sunlight. His skin weathered by the sun. His aquiline nose made his face look even more intense and powerful, matching his words. Broody and serious. This was a man who was in control.
“And you’re trespassing,” he lowers his voice, “in my territory.”
You were trespassing. He wasn’t wrong. You felt your body flush with a wave of panic, with a hint of arousal crawling somewhere deep inside you. Lurking and waiting with intrigue and fear.
“Area’s posted.” he says as he now stands in front of you. You are at a loss for words, caught doing what you thought was harmless.
He senses your panic and it rallies him to toy with you.
“This is a protected wildlife conservation that you’re messin’ with, sweetheart.” He pauses and changes his tone to intimidate you as he leans in close. “And you see, I don’t like that.”
You feel your heart race. Were you actually getting in trouble for taking an innocent hike in the woods?
“You know who I am?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest while he waits for you to speak. His veiny, chiseled forearms distract you. He looks so scrappy and dangerous.
“The Game Warden?” You hesitate.
“That's right.” he nods with a cunning smirk. “Name’s Joel, but you’re gonna call me Sir.” He enunciates it firmly.
You feel your body overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. You were scared but also felt a pulsing go through you when he spoke. You didn’t want him to be upset with you. Everything about him was screaming: dangerous, do not piss off.
“I’m sorry about trespassing. I didn’t know… Sir.” You added his title for good measure.
But you did know. You knew every time you walked past the sign at the entrance telling you not to. Bullshit was not going to fly here and only fueled him more.
“Lying to an officer too?” He shakes his head as it hangs low. He circles you with intimidation, looking you up and down. Lecturing you with silence and waiting for your reparations to be determined.
You can’t fight off that lukewarm feeling inside you that grows warmer. Slowly it gnaws away at your resolve. Seeing him with the tactical vest on that snuggly accented his chest and left his belly exposed with nothing but his green shirt covering it. The only spot that was vulnerable and soft. The rest of his body was strong, protected by his excessive gear, lean muscles and mean looks.
You see his name badge embroidered with ‘MILLER’ and accidentally whisper his name out loud like it's a question. Wondering who this man is and what his intentions are. In the peaceful calm of the woods in the middle of nowhere, your whisper may have well been a shout.
“Officer Miller.” He corrects with authority in his tone as he leans over you. “And I’m gonna have to discipline that mouth of yours.”
You’ve never been in trouble with the law before, and certainly never had a run in with a Game Warden. You knew they were essentially lone wilderness cops with a god complex and few restrictions. Still, you knew this was far from acceptable behavior. Everything about how he was acting was wrong. You open your mouth to protest, but hesitate on his threats. He relishes in how you work it out in your head that talking back isn’t going to get you out of this. You can only bite your tongue so long.
“I’ll report you.” You threaten back, acting like you have some moral upper hand to hang over him.
“Go ahead. Ain’t nothing you can do about your situation right now, sugar plum.” He scoffs. “Not to mention, s’your word against mine.” He stops circling and leans into your ear as his southern drawl makes the words sound smooth and buttery. Hot and melting on his breath as they drip out of his mouth.
“Wanna take a guess who wins?” He says deviously and you can feel his patchy beard scrape against your jaw as he pulls away. A shiver pulses through you, right down to your pussy. Beating to his unsought touch.
Why is this turning you on so much?
“You see darlin’, I’ve been watching you for a long, long time.” He circles again. “And you keep breaking the rules.”
Your heart races. This was getting serious. The realization hits that he can do whatever he wants and get away with it, and that is exactly his intention.
“On your knees, and hands where I can see ‘em.” he barks.
You obey, folding under his commands. Hoping your obedience would lessen the blow.
You drop down gently unsure of what exactly he was playing at, treating you like a violent criminal. You stretch your arms out to your sides with your palms up in submission. He stops just in front of you, scooching down so he is eye level. A tiny grunt as his knees bend. Tobacco and leather scents accompany him.
“I’ll let you off with a warning… if you promise me you won’t be doing it again.” He offers. Sweet words coming out slow and sticky like honey.
“I won’t. I promise. It won’t happen again.” You quickly plead. Foolishly hopeful this was it. Ignoring the conditional implication of his terms.
He stands back up with his arms crossed before raking one of his hands through his hair, thinking. He wasn’t buying what you were selling.
He paces in front of you. The obscene bulge in his pants was impossible not to notice as he parades it past your sightline. Back and forth, back and forth. He was packing more than just a firearm.
He stops directly in front of you so your eyes are mere inches from it. You look all the way down to his feet in an attempt to hide the red that flushes your face. Trying to dismiss your own arousal that was getting louder and wetter.
He reaches down to your chin and cranes your neck up to look at him with an urgency.
“Gonna’ need some convincing, sugar plum.”
Fuck...
He releases you and walks to the nearby weathered picnic table and lays his rifle down. He unsnaps his utility belt that was strapped over his waist and leg and tosses it along with his handgun in tow. It made his broad shoulders look even wider with his waist unhindered by the bulky gear.
The uppercase “WARDEN” embroidered on the back of his green tactical vest serves to remind you that he is an officer of the law. It taunts you as he takes his sweet time laying out his things neatly on the table while you wait with anticipation for whatever was happening next.
As he turns to walk back towards you, snatched in his vest, he tries to conceal the smirk pulling up from the corner of his mouth. You hate how good he looked, as if it could ever excuse how disgusting he was behaving.
He stands coolly just a foot in front of you and unbuckles the modest leather belt. The metal clasps clank loudly as he lets it hang down and unzips. He clocks your reaction as he pulls up his shirt enough to show his messy thatch of hair trailing down his lower belly.
He can’t be serious…
Reaching a hand inside his boxers he pulls them down slowly as his cock peeks out. Big and fat and leaking. Aching to be touched.
He is serious.
His eyes are focused intently on yours, watching them widen as you take in his cock. It's just in front of your nose as you look up and sit back on your haunches.
“Go on,” he growls and lowers his voice. “Convince me.”
He reaches his hand around his cock and pumps it. The broad head glistening in his precum as he drags his hand down his shaft. You wonder how long he had been watching you and if he had been stroking himself before he approached you. Maybe this interrogation was all foreplay for him. In fact, you were certain it was.
The hot feeling surging in your core surprises you. You were actually turned on by this pig. Still, you knew this was beyond fucked up. You hesitate with what to do next, conflicted by his abuse of power and the inappropriate way your body was betraying you.
“You gonna disobey a warden?” He threatens, getting impatient.
You wonder what if you refused? What if you didn’t play his game? What would he actually do? It still didn’t feel like there was an option other than what was right in front of you, demanding your obedience.
This was only ending one way. His way.
“No, sir.” You swallow and fight back the tears. You place your palms and claw your fingers into his thighs as you sit up straight. You start to open your mouth and look up at him with glossy eyes. Conceding to him.
You catch that spark of darkness igniting in his eyes. Burning hot and formidable as it spreads through him. Your misfortune was making him harder.
He parts your mouth open with the tip resting on your bottom lip. He teases it in and out, letting you feel the weight as the ridge catches on your lip.
God he was big.
“Give it a kiss first and be real polite.”
You close your lips over the tip and appease him with your gentle touch. Polite even. You suckle it delicately, drawing out beads of saltiness as it drips onto your taste buds. You can’t stop your natural impulse to flick his slit with your tongue and it makes him stiffen even more, twitching in response.
“Good girl.” he praises as he tangles his free hand in your hair. You wince as his firm grip pulls you closer to him. He pushes into your mouth. Inch by inch. The hand on his cock held it steady until you were adjusted to his size. He lets go and slides his hand above your nape, letting you take the full weight of his cock as you hollow your cheeks.
He was so thick.
You decide to give him something he wants without asking, attempting to entice him to be kinder. His roughness was starting to hurt when he pulled at your hair and dug into your skin. Relaxing your mouth he pushed further in without your protest. Nestled tight in your warm and wet paradise. You notice his urgency shift.
“Nice and slow. No need to rush.” He commands as you take him deeper. This order sounds more like it's for himself so he doesn’t cum too early. You can feel how close he is. He was ready to burst the moment you dropped to your knees.
You gag as the head hits the back of your throat.
“Oh, you sound pretty like that.” He moans as he closes his eyes and leans his head back. “Choking on my cock.” He makes a guttural sound as he nudges his cock even deeper into your throat. He was impossibly large as he fights to stuff you full.
“Hold still.” He fucks into your mouth. Harder. Harder. Harder. Pulling your hair too tight and pushing your head too far onto him as he bucked into you.
With tears in your eyes making your nose run you can hardly breathe. Gasping and choking and a cock stuffed in your mouth, bruising your throat with each plunge.
He snarls as he looks down to you, locking eyes. Blown out. Feral. Dark and desperate like he was giving in to his wildest, forbidden desires with no regard for you. It was a selfish need he was taking for himself and only himself. You were nothing. A wet hole for his cock to fuck.
He was coming undone. His moaning and panting echoing across the serene pondscape and tainting your safe escape forever. Even that memory he was taking from you.
You were waiting for it. Bracing for his hot spend to pour into you but instead he slowed. Thrusting deep into you with a grunt before dragging out his wet, dripping cock. He winced as it popped out of your mouth and you gasped for air.
This sick fuck was edging himself.
He wanted more. Needed more.
“Get up.” His haggard, breathy words bite at you.
He lifts you up by your hair. You quickly comply to relieve the pressure on your scalp as you stumble to your feet. A whine escapes you as he lets go roughly.
“Gonna make sure you learn your lesson today.” He gestures to the picnic table just a few steps away and you shamefully go to it.
He pushes you to lean over the bench and bends you in an ‘L’ shape. You press your arms against the seat to hold yourself up. He drags his hand down your back and around to your hips, admiring your delicate form laid out before him. He wanted to lose himself inside you.
He drags a hand between your legs and feels your cunt hot and wet against your shorts. He lets out a growl as his fingers get soaked along your seam.
You hate how good it feels to have him touch you where you ache for friction.
“Mmm…” he groaned as he breathed in your arousal on his fingertips. “Knew you wanted this cock inside you.” He ruts his hardness against your ass.
He slides his hands over your back. Over your hips. Down the sides of your legs until he stops abruptly. Fingering at something jagged in your pocket. Something you forgot was there.
“What's this?”
Your heart stops. You can tell from his tone that he knew exactly what it was.
He slips his hand in your pocket and pulls out two shiny stones you had collected from the waters edge.
Fuck.
“Caught stealing from the cookie jar.” He clicks his tongue to scold you. He was stacking his case with further evidence to hang over your head.
“Oh, Darlin.” He fakes a sympathetic tone. “You’re in big trouble now.”
It was then you realized he knew all along. He was watching your every move. He was waiting for the right moment to manipulate you to his will.
“Bad girl. Larceny is gonna cost you more than just an apology.” He drops the rocks carelessly and grabs your waistband, pulling your shorts and panties down to your ankles in one motion. You gasp as he makes you step out of them as he pushes you forward so your knees are on the bench seat. You catch yourself on the edge of the table. Half naked, exposed and totally fucked.
“Spread 'em nice and wide for me.” He knocks your legs apart with his knee as he stands behind you, his cock notched against your entrance and it sparks an adrenaline surge inside you when you feel his tip press into you.
“Please!” You beg him. “Please stop. I’m not letting you fuck me!” You spit out with an attitude. This was a line too far. A line he was intentionally pushing to see how far he could go before you fought back.
Unsurprising to you, he liked playing with fire.
He reaches out and grabs your neck with his wide grip, roughly pinning you prone against the table so you can’t move. He leans over, and hovers low to your ear as his shaft drags against your seam.
“Ain’t making you do nothing, sugar plum.” He pauses and breathes in the sweet scent of your shampoo as he prods you gently with his nose. Tantric and hungry with his movements.
“I can take you now and then we’ll be done with it, or I can take you in. S’your choice.” He loosens up his grip on your neck and sits back slightly. He feels the way you tremble under his touch, and the way your cunt throbs against his heat still pressing against it.
You feel it too. Something you can’t explain. A primal feeling of desire. Surrendering to your most basic human needs. That having him inside you might not be so bad. A rationalizing in your brain that you did wrong after all. It’s only sex.
Only sex. You’ve certainly done worse with lesser men under the guise of alcohol.
“I can promise you, they won’t be nearly this forgivin’ at the state prison.” He traces his finger down your spine, being delicate and gentle. Tracing until his finger runs into his belly pushed flush against you. He leans back and grabs his cock. Painfully hard and still soaked from earlier. He presses the head right against your swollen clit and rubs it against you.
You let out a moan and he knows he has you.
“Tell me you don’t want this. That you don’t want to cum all over my cock.” He strokes your clit with his head again and again. Knocking at your door and waiting for you to answer.
“I’ll make it real good for you, sugar plum.” Your clit pulses on his cock. Needy and hedonic. Forsaking any restraint you have left to say no.
You take a deep breath and curse under your breath, curling your fingers around the edge of the table as you sit up and face forward.
“Get on with it.” You concede.
He smiles wickedly. He was always going to get what he wanted in the end.
With you still sitting on your knees he locks his body against yours, his feet planted firmly on the ground. He pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest and wraps a hand around the front of you, rubbing and pinching at your clit with his rough fingers and dipping them into your hole. Spreading your slick. Stretching you open as he scissors his fingers.
His body against yours was so much bigger. Broad and strong. You were the mouse and he was the lion about to pounce. His heat piercing through your skin. You felt him line up at your entrance, nudging you with his tip.
There is no more patience or preparation. He needs to fuck you now. Needs to have that friction choking his cock that has been rock solid for too long. Without warning he thrusts into you again and again and again. Each time a little deeper and harder. His fat head catching on all your ridges as your pussy grabbed onto him.
It felt so fucking good and you hate it. You hate him.
He stretches you more than you’ve ever felt before. The initial pain subsides as he rubs your clit fiercely with his fingers. The pleasure inside you builds. He kept his word that he would make it real good for you.
He puts his leg up on the bench for leverage and bottoms out inside you with a grunt as he pulls you down on his cock. Fucking up into you and impaling you with his cock.
Your moans run away from you, loudly filling the air with obscenities. You feel your climax building up inside you. You’ve never been fucked so hard in your life and you are soaking him. You know he won’t last much longer.
“Please..” you beg him between moans.
“Please what?” he snarls as he fucks you harder, his cock ready to spill.
“Please... Sir. Pull out,” you beg him.
He laughs at your ridiculous request and ignores you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you hard against his body. One hand wrapped around and splayed over your belly and the other curled around your breasts and pushing on the front of your throat. He had you held so tightly to him there was no way you could stop him.
Your climax tears through you.
“Carry in… Carry out.” He recites the most basic of park rules between grunts while you brace for it. “Leave nothing behind.”
He releases into you. His hot cum coating your deepest walls as he empties into your cunt with the loudest orgasm. He pushes you down prone and fucks it deep inside you before he starts to soften, making sure you know he was deliberately filling you up with his seed.
He collapses on you and you breathe together for a moment. He leaves an unexpected kiss on your shoulder and another on your neck, silently thanking you for letting him use your body.
“Next time pay attention to the game cams, sugar plum.” he nods up at a nearby tree and he gives a side smile. Mocking your mistake.
He withdraws his cock from you and lets you fall forward, his cum already running down your legs. He eyes your mess with a smirk, pleased with his conquest.
“I’m always watching.” He says with a wink.
Tagging some cool people that I love very much and fellow Joel Hole comrades (please note if it’s too dark for your taste it’s totally ok to skip!)
Tags: minors DNI, dub con, stalking, stalker!joel, dirty talk, pinv sex, face slapping, threatening behavior, punching, beating, rough oral sex, oral sex (m!receiving), pet names (angel, sweetheart, baby), praise & degradation, marking, humping, grinding, yelling, crying, cum eating, suggested murder, killer!joel, violence, jealousy, home invasion, urination, masturbation, dacryphilia, swearing, obsession
WC: 4.9k
Summary: Joel checks out your new home, with a little surprise.
A/N: Based on this anon ask & @milla-frenchy's ask! I can't thank you all enough for the interactions on this story. We're all a little sick in the head for stalker!joel and I love it.
Divider: @/saradika-graphics
He watched you. It wasn’t unusual for him, but he wondered if you had started to know, started to feel, maybe. He saw it in the way your hips swayed as you moved across your bedroom floor. His eyebrows raised as you allowed your sleep shorts to fall around your ankles, lazily stepping out of them, and then how unhurried you were to re-dress yourself.
His cock ached in his pants. He tried not to touch himself, but the pressure against his zipper became too uncomfortable, so he palmed himself before unzipping his pants and giving his cock some more breathing room. The bulge in his briefs was huge and he continued applying pressure, relieving some of the ache.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Everything you did excited him. Everything you did was beautiful. You were beautiful. He found himself practically salivating at the idea of kissing you, tasting you, fucking you into that plush mattress, but that wasn’t what today was for.
No, today was for him to explore without you. Always so consumed by you when he was around you, he’d never gotten the opportunity to learn more about your space. His curiosity had grown every time he was in your bedroom - his eyes wandering to drawers, his foot catching on something under the bed, your closet that was cracked open just a bit.
You finished combing your hair in the mirror, pinning the front pieces back in a clip. Joel paid close attention, wondering one day if you’d let him fix your hair for you. A warmth spread in his chest as he watched you look in the mirror, a smile ghosting your lips as you turned to grab your work bag and then head out the door.
You’d moved again, this time to a condo on the other side of town. He wondered why you thought you could successfully evade him, and then remembered that you were just a stupid little girl who had a lot to learn. He smiled to himself thinking about all he had yet to teach you.
He waited until he couldn’t see your car anymore, his cock now leaking through his underwear after having watched you for so long. Joel could be patient, especially when he wasn’t around you. He shoved his cock back into his pants, zipping them up as he stood from the bush and moved toward your back sliding door.
It was his first time in this new place of yours, grateful that you no longer had a roommate to complicate matters. He took in a deep breath, wanting to memorize the smell of your home. It was a subdued floral scent that matched you so well. It felt like a scent he’d smelled in his dreams about you. He closed his eyes to fully breathe it in.
Then eagerness grabbed hold of him, and he began to explore. The living room was pretty bare, nothing grabbed his attention so he went to the kitchen, opening the fridge.
He’d already had somewhat of an idea as to what you liked to eat, given that he had rescued a bag of your groceries before, but seeing the full inventory was exciting to him. The first thing that he noticed was the lack of meat; he only spotted a half-eaten ring of cocktail shrimp in the back of the fridge. He smirked to himself, a silent joke about how he was the only meat you needed.
Picking up the pint of blueberries, he opened it and popped one in his mouth, enjoying the burst of flavor as he placed them back in the fridge and took note of the other produce. There was an array of berries, nondairy creamer, sliced veggies besides a container of dip, and neatly stacked containers of leftovers. He sifted through the pantry quickly, just curious about what snacks you preferred, before he moved to the bathroom.
When he entered the room, he realized that you truly were just a tidy person. Everything seemed to have a place. Everything looked clean. He opened your shampoo and body wash to smell them. He pumped a dollop of your vanilla body lotion onto his palm and then rubbed it into his rough hands. It took every ounce of self-control he had to not bring the lotion to his dick. Later, he thought.
He finally moved into the room he was most excited for. Your bed was made and he couldn’t help but to crawl into it, first kicking off his shoes that he had forgotten to take off by the door. Oops.
The mattress gave underneath him, curving around his body and swallowing him as though he was always meant to be there. He rolled onto his side, burying his face in your pillow and inhaling deeply. Sweet was the only word that came to his mind, over and over. It was the main word he associated with you. You looked sweet, tasted sweet. Even your cries were sweet, as he would move himself inside you, feeling your sweet pussy clench down on him, listening to your sweet whimpers. He finally understood what people meant when they said they had a sweet tooth.
His hands gripped the sheets and he didn’t even notice he was rutting against the bed until his cock throbbed. He needed you, and suddenly he regretted his decision to let you go to work. You didn’t need that job, anyway. He’d take care of you, provide for you, so all you needed to think about was him. Lay your head in his lap as he stroked your hair; he’d remind you over and over what a sweet girl you were. He’d let you hold his hand as he grew hard underneath the fabric that separated you. Eventually, you’d look up at him with pleading eyes, and he would know exactly what you needed. Pulling his cock out, your lips would already be wet in anticipation. He’d feed it into your sweet mouth, cooing, “aw, look at you…so desperate for my cock, huh baby?” He’d let you be dumb for him, he wanted you dumb for him, needy with no other thoughts in your head aside from him, him, him.
“Fuck!,” he gritted out, turning onto his back quickly so that he didn’t come in his pants like a teenage boy.
When his erection finally started to subside, he left your bed and began to explore your closet. He flipped through your clothes, making sure his fingers touched every piece. He wanted his touch on you constantly, grew hard again at the idea that there wasn’t a single piece of clothing you could put on now that wouldn’t carry him with it.
He moved to the drawers of your dresser, rifling through the top one that had your panties. He could feel his cock leaking as he picked up and examined every piece. He yearned to see your folds pressed against the fabric, to make it wet and sticky against your soft skin. Once again, he hadn’t noticed that he was humping the drawer itself until it started to close. He reached down to palm himself. It had been a few weeks since he’d had a release, only allowing himself to edge to the thought of you.
He battled with himself about taking some of your panties, but he didn’t feel right taking what was yours. These were items that you had worked for, chosen with care. The thought of you searching for something only to realize he had stolen it from you felt like a betrayal that he couldn’t justify. So, he sighed and put them all back, even folding the ones that hadn’t been folded.
He went to your nightstand next, pulling open the drawer and freezing. Clenching a fist at his side, his blood ran cold at what he’d discovered. He was afraid to pick it up, angry that he’d chuck it at the wall the second it met his palm. But he took a deep breath, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around the vibrator.
It was long and purple - two pronged so that part of it could enter you while the rest nestled against your clit. You didn’t need this. Why did you think you needed this? He thought back to the orgasms he’d given you - the way you clenched around him, tight as a vice, the way your whole body trembled with aftershocks. Had that not been enough?
He grew angrier and angrier the more he thought about it. He saved himself for you every time - his load growing heavier in his balls with each passing day that he didn’t allow himself release. And you…you were just coming whenever you wanted? He knew that you’d used your fingers, already scolded you for it when he caught you. But this felt like a new level of betrayal. At least when he’d caught you before, you were moaning his name. He hoped, but couldn’t be certain, that it was the same when you used this.
In a fit of anger, he stormed to your bathroom and dropped the dildo into the toilet, unzipping his pants and pissing. He watched the water turn yellow and then shook his cock, letting the final drops drip down below before fixing his pants. “Fucking bitch,” he murmured.
He wished you were here. Wished that he could grab you by your beautiful hair and swing you onto the bed where he’d fuck you so deeply that the only thing you’d remember at the end was his name. But in his state of anger, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to do that without smacking you around a little bit first. It brought him a sense of relief to picture your handprinted cheek, or your ass reddened with his spanks.
You needed to be shown. He thought he’d made it clear that you were his, but maybe you didn’t know that he was also yours. Maybe you’d misunderstood. Maybe that was his fault. He walked out of the bathroom, running a hand down his face and shaking his head.
It’s okay, he’d wait for you. He took a seat on the couch, checking the time. He’d already been here a couple hours. You worked down the road and would typically come home in the late afternoon. Your shifts would vary day to day, but he was pretty sure that today was one of your shorter ones.
He didn’t realize how wrong he’d been until he woke up to the sound of the front door lock clicking. The living room was dark now, the only light coming from one above the kitchen island.
Sitting up, he removed his hand from his pants, unsure how it got there even though it wasn’t particularly unusual for him. He readjusted himself, rubbed his eyes, and waited to confront you about the unpleasant discovery he’d found.
But, his stomach dropped when he heard two voices. Light giggling echoed on the other side of the door, and Joel sat in the shadows, awaiting what was to come.
“I just moved in, so it’s not much,” you said with a level of shame. Joel wanted to shake you. He wanted to tell you to shut up, that anyone should be honored to be in your space, regardless of its condition. But he bit his tongue, equal parts eager and dreading to see the man that you had so undeservingly brought to your home.
The man didn’t say anything to your statement, simply entered your abode and followed you into the kitchen. It was an open concept living space, so Joel had a front row seat to your interaction.
“Would you like something to eat?,” you asked with a sweetness that Joel wanted to drink right up. You opened your fridge and he caught your hand briefly come to rest on your stomach. You were hungry.
“No, I’m okay,” the man replied. He stood with his hands in his front pockets, observing you. He was tall and slim, not nearly as built as Joel. He had light brown hair that was swept to the side and looked about as average as they come. This was what you were attracted to? Joel would’ve started feeling insecure if he had given it much more thought.
“Oh, okay,” you said, turning back to face your date and smiling. “How about some water?”
“Sure,” he said, lacking any amount of enthusiasm or gratitude. Joel felt his anger growing more heads.
You reached toward a cabinet, pulling down two glasses and filling them up with filtered water from the fridge. Handing it to the man, Joel saw your cheeks blush. He wanted to bite them - wanted to mark you so that any man would know you already belonged to someone.
There was brief silence as the two of you sipped from your glasses. You opened your mouth to say something and were interrupted by the insufferable bastard across from you.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “we can probably just cut to the chase…I think we both know what we’re doing here.” He walked around the kitchen island to get closer to you. He reached out, his hand skimming down your arm. “Isn’t that right?”
Joel was caught off guard by the man’s brazenness, and it looked like you were, too. You stammered an incoherent reply, looking down at the ground before looking back up at him. The corners of your lips pulled upwards but Joel knew it was a fake smile. He needed to rescue you.
He crossed the living room in large strides, you gasped when you saw him emerge from the shadows. The man didn’t turn to look at Joel until he already had a grip on his arm.
“What the fuck!,” he shouted, reaching to try and release Joel’s grip on him, but before he could even touch Joel, he was thrown to the ground, his head slamming against the tiled floor.
Joel didn’t say any words. He didn’t need to. He just grabbed the man by the collar, hoisting him so that his upper body was lifted from the floor, Joel straddling his legs as he loomed over him. He pulled back his fist then slammed it against the side of the man’s head, immediately knocking him unconscious.
“Oh my god!,” you shrieked, backing up until you knocked against the fridge.
Joel turned to look at you, his hand still gripping the man’s shirt, his other hand held in a bruised fist. His features softened as he took in your scared expression. “Darlin’...” he spoke as he dropped the man to the ground and stood up to walk toward you.
The kitchen light cast a large, brooding shadow behind him as he stalked toward you. You couldn’t help but tremble, terrified of what he was going to do to you, to your friend.
He stood a foot away from you, not reaching out, as though you were a scared bunny and he was nervous to startle you any more. He looked to his side, pulling out a bar stool that had been tucked under the island. “Sit,” he commanded.
On wobbly legs, you did as he said. Your eyes stared down at the smooth wooden surface. You heard the fridge open, heard him grabbing things, the sink running, a bowl sliding from the cupboard, a spoon clanging against the porcelain. He opened the pantry door and you heard more soft commotion - the crinkling of a package, the soft pop of a lid, then more clanging of a spoon.
“Eat,” he said, sliding the bowl underneath your line of vision. He stood opposite the island, waiting for you to obey.
Your eyes widened when you saw the contents of the bowl. A bed of greek yogurt was topped with an assortment of berries, a sprinkle of granola, and a circular drizzle of honey. There was even cinnamon dusted on top. You didn’t want to give in to him. Part of you wanted to throw the bowl onto the ground just to defy him. But you were so hungry…
The first bite was heavenly, you sighed as you chewed. Work had been so busy, you hadn’t had time to eat. You were eager to get home and make dinner, but your work crush had asked if you wanted to hang out when your shift was done, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. Only, now you wished you had.
To be honest, your ‘work crush’ wasn’t even so much of a crush, as a distraction. A much needed distraction from the man who now stood across from you, broad shoulders blocking your view of anything else, as he watched you take bite after bite.
He waited until you finished chewing the last bite to slide your glass of water in front of you. He didn’t need to give you a command - you understood, chugging the rest of the glass and then setting it down.
When you looked up at him finally, you saw it. The way his shoulders were squared, anything but relaxed. The way his pupils were zeroed in on you. The crease between his brows. The furrowing of his forehead. The way his lips were set in a straight line. He was angry.
“Bathroom. Now.” He took a step back, waiting for you to take the lead.
Your heart was beating rapidly as you hopped down from the barstool and started walking toward the bathroom. You couldn’t make sense as to why that was where he wanted you. Usually, he couldn’t wait to get you into bed. You grew more and more uneasy as you walked down the narrow hallway and turned left into the small, well-lit room.
You saw it as soon as you walked in - the toilet seat up, urine present along with your well-used vibrator.
“Explain,” he ordered. He was standing in the doorway, taking up nearly all of the space, as you stood in front of the toilet.
With a tightened chest, you simply stared at him, wide-eyed and unknowing. Your brain wasn’t catching up fast enough to understand what it was he wanted from you.
“Stupid girl,” he gritted out as he made one long stride to where you were standing, his hand coming to clutch around your neck as he shoved you against the cold wall. “I said fuckin’ EXPLAIN!!”
Your body shook with his yell, vibrating from head to toe with fear as tears began to spill over. You were too afraid to even grip his wrist, your hands balled into fists at your side as he held you against the wall by your neck. Your eyes looked sideways, unable to focus on the terrifying man in front of you.
“I swear to god, little girl. I’ll give you one more chance to look at me and explain or so help you.” He applied slight pressure to the sides of your neck, not enough to cut off oxygen and with enough slack for you to speak.
You were still too scared, too afraid to say the wrong thing, so you continued staring off, avoiding eye contact. You could hear his deep breathing, could feel the restraint he was holding onto desperately.
“Goddammit,” he whispered, before his voice grew louder and he shouted, “Fuckin’ look at me!” A slap flew across your face, whipping it to the side. You yelped, instinctively bringing your hand up to rub at the stinging spot.
What you didn’t notice was Joel shifting his hips further away from you, trying to hide his growing erection. He hadn’t anticipated that slap to feel so good, and he immediately had to fight himself to not drag you into the bedroom and land more marks on your beautiful skin.
You looked at him, tears continuing to flow. Joel did his best to ignore them. They were beautiful, so sweet, but he struggled with the fear in your eyes. Part of him loved that you were just looking at him, his gorgeous, wide-eyed doe, but the other part wanted to protect you, bring you in close and convince you that you were safe with him.
His anger started to win. He gripped your neck even harder, and this time you weren’t sure if you’d be able to speak even if you wanted to.
“Since you’re apparently too dumb to understand, I’ll explain, angel…I save myself for you. But y’knew that, right? I’ve told ya before…and it hurts me…Do you understand? It hurts me that you can’t do the same for me…” He shook his head, moving his face closer to yours. “And then you have the audacity t’bring home some boy? Some idiotic boy who wouldn’t even know what t’do with you if he got ya in bed?”
His other hand came up and braced himself against the wall next to your head. You were terrified that he was going to hit you again. You started to shake your head back and forth, anything you could do to indicate to him that you were wrong, that he was wrong, that this was wrong.
Joel’s fingers were tapping against the wall, eager to meet your skin again, but he used what little self control he had left to keep them plastered to the tile. He opened his mouth to reprimand you again, but then was shocked when you began to move.
Your jaw pressed against his hand, pulling downwards, your eyes still peering up at him. He allowed the movement, pulling his hand away so that you could guide yourself down. His lips parted when he saw you on your knees.
You rubbed your palm against his bulge before unzipping his pants. He watched in awe as you wet your lips, pulling out his thick cock and looking up at him, waiting for his approval.
His breath stuttered before he gave you a nod. He relaxed his shoulders when he saw you smile, only slightly, and then bring the head of his cock into your warm mouth. Your tongue rubbed circles on the underside, stimulating his most sensitive spot.
Both of his hands were on the wall now, bracing himself as he looked down and watched you bob your head up and down his length. “Fuck angel, y’feel so good…”
He let you be in control for another minute before he started to move his hips in a sawing motion, moving deeper and deeper into your mouth. When his cock nudged the back of your throat and you gagged, he moved one of his hands to your hair, brushing it out of the way. “Shh, baby…you can do it…show me how sorry y’are, huh?”
And the truth was, you were sorry. Sorry that he’d found you again. Sorry that he broke into your home. Sorry that he defiled your things. Sorry that you led your co-worker into danger. Sorry that you could only masturbate to the thought of him. Sorry that part of you was relieved to have his cock in your mouth. Sorry that you missed him, maybe as much as he missed you.
You moaned against his cock, squeezing your thighs together as you sucked eagerly.
“Aw, you moanin’, sweet thing?” He began to pick up the pace. “You like being used, huh? Like being reminded of who you belong to. You’re mine.” He gave a brutal thrust, causing you to slam your hands against his thighs. “Say it, you’re mine.” He withdrew his cock roughly, you sputtered.
“I’m yours,” you spoke in a whisper, not taking your eyes off of him.
He stared down at you, his cock dripping with the mixture of his precum and your spit. It was red and angry, all of the previous anger he felt toward you moving straight to his dick. You were on your knees, nearly worshipping him.
“Move to the bed, sweetheart,” he said in the softest tone you’d heard from him yet.
You went to the bed, removing your clothes on the way there. It was a little chilly, so you pulled back the comforter and slid underneath. You waited for him, listening for his footsteps. But instead, you heard the splashing of water, then the sound of a trash bag, footsteps receding, and then the sound of the sink, followed by the flush of a toilet, and the sink once more. You realized he was disposing of the vibrator.
When he entered the room, he was still hard. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw you curled up under the blanket.
“Y’tired?,” he questioned, moving to the bed and standing beside it so he could stroke your hair as he looked at your form underneath the comforter.
“Not yet,” you mewed.
He exhaled a laugh and then pulled back the blanket just enough so that he could get underneath with you. His clothes had joined yours on the floor. You moved against his warm body, pressed against him as though you had no memory of the fear just minutes before.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing your lips gently. “Never seen anything quite as beautiful as you.”
Tears pricked your eyes once more and you looked past him.
He furrowed his brow. “What’s a matter?”
You drew in a breath, exhaling as you said, “Nothing, I just…don’t always feel like it.”
The crease deepened as he asked, “Feel like what?”
“Feel beautiful,” you answered.
His face softened and his eyes searched your expression, searched to see if you were being honest. His skin felt cold all of a sudden, thoughts racing and heart pounding as he tried to understand what you were saying to him.
Words didn’t come to him, so he decided to show you.
He climbed on top of you, pulling the comforter around his shoulders so it draped over both your bodies. “Legs up,” he said against your lips.
You pulled them up then wrapped them around his hips. “Good girl,” he whispered, giving you another kiss, “good fuckin’ girl.”
He moved inside of you slowly but without stopping, allowing himself to fill you as full as he could. You moaned, arching up into him. His arm came to wrap around you, filling the gap that your back had just created so that he had your body held tight to his.
“Hold on to me,” he murmured.
And you did, your arms around his neck, legs wrapped tightly, your head even ducking down so that your forehead pressed to his shoulder.
Then he began deep, languid thrusts. He pulled out of you almost completely before sliding right back in. You could feel the throbbing of his cock, the firmness of the head pressing to your cervix with each complete thrust, the thick veins as they rubbed against your walls again, and again, and again.
You’d never been fucked the slowly and deeply before, but you loved it. You squeezed onto him as he maintained his pace, over and over. His groans rumbled your ear as your head burrowed into him. Both of you had your eyes closed, focused fully on the building sensations.
The closeness of your bodies allowed your clit to rub against his coarse pubic hair, the slow friction becoming everything you needed. Joel felt you tightening around him. He continued his methodical pace, relishing in your tightness and warmth.
“You’re all I want,” he whispered, “all I need.” He continued fucking into you, and even though his eyes were closed, and he wasn’t looking at you, you didn’t know if you’d ever felt so seen.
“Perfect, my perfect angel,” he cooed. “Where,” he grunted and you felt his balls pulse against you, “where d’you want it, baby?”
“My mouth,” you answered breathily.
“Shit,” he moaned, “gotta make ya come first. Come on baby, come f’me…please, angel..need it…ugh…need it…”
You moved your hips along with him, somehow deepening the thrusts even more. His throbbing cock bobbed against your spongy center inside and it was enough to have you moaning loudly, your teeth sinking into his shoulder as you shuddered through your intense orgasm.
He tried to stay inside you as long as he could, but it felt too good. So he pulled out with a groan, grabbing you by the hair and sliding you down so that your open mouth latched onto his cock immediately.
You created suction, hollowing your cheeks as he groaned devilishly, bent over you as his hips stuttered and he came in large, salty spurts against your tongue and down your throat.
“Ohhh fuck, darlin’...shit, just like…ugghhh…just like that…..so fuckin’...so fuckin’ good f’me.” He waited for you to lick him clean before he pulled away, bending down to give you a kiss before laying beside you in the bed.
Your chest was heaving. You were spent, exhausted. He pulled you in close to him, wrapping his arms around you and positioning you so that you were face to face.
You were expecting some amount of pillowtalk, aftercare, but instead what you got was, “Y’know I gotta kill him, right?”
Your glassy eyes stared at him. Your brain was fuzzy and soft. You wondered just how much he’d managed to get inside your head, because before you knew it, you were nodding.
“Okay,” you said.
He kissed your forehead and got out of the bed, walking around and pulling on his clothes.
“Get some sleep. I’ll see ya ‘round, angel.”
AO3 | masterlist | part six | YSFL masterlist
Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from list!
this is my fic for @pedgito's Spring Fever writing challenge with these prompts: Slasher, Camp, & Sensory Deprivation (sorry, took camp pretty loosely here)
|| nsfw 18+, DDDNE, DARK!JOEL, slasher!joel, cnc!!! dubious consent!!! if it aint for you scroll tf on by!!! stalker vibes, fingering, sensory deprivation, fear play, mask kink, predator/prey, forced orgasm ||
a/n: alright fam I was gonna wait to post this but that anon this morning pmo. sooooo enjoy!!! the pic of joel is mine I took from the game.
this fic is not for everyone!! heeeeed the warningsssss
You’ve never known darkness like this.
A darkness so thick, so absolute. There was no moon, no stars, no relief from the smothering, blinding darkness. It was just…black. The kind that makes your head swim, makes your ears strain for sounds that aren’t there. Or ones that are. You don’t know what’s worse.
You’ve been running for what feels like forever.
Your lungs burn, your legs are lead, each step feeling heavier than the last. The underbrush fights against you like mangled hands—branches clawing at the flesh of your arms, brambles catching on the exposed skin of your thighs. The uneven ground is a cruel thing, tripping you up again and again, sending you crashing into tree trunks, the bark scraping into your palms as you barely catch yourself before hitting the dirt.
But you don’t stop.
Because something or someone is behind you.
You don’t know how far. You don’t know how close. But the sound of it has been chasing you, steady and relentless—the snap of branches, the dull thud of heavy footsteps somewhere just out of reach.
You’ve completely lost track of time. Your one and only source of light was left behind what feels like a lifetime but was only a matter of days ago. There was simply no time to think of your flashlight back in your tent when you had to run. But you don’t know how long it’s been since then. Everything past survival has blurred together.
You don’t know where you are.
But you have to stop.
You have to stop.
You won’t make it much farther if you don’t. Your legs are giving out beneath you, every step turning into a stumble, every breath dragging too hard, too deep, too loud. Your hands shake as you catch yourself crashing down between the thick, twisted roots of a tree, ignoring the ache in your knees, the sharp edges of the bark biting into your spine as you press yourself against it.
It’s quiet now.
The first real silence you’ve had in hours. Maybe it’s over. Maybe you ran far enough.
You think of your only saving grace, stashed deep in your pocket, and you dig your fingers past fabric and grit, searching for the thin slip of cardboard. When you finally pinch the matchbook between your fingers, pulling it from the confines of your shorts, you blindly flick it open. Your hands are clumsy, stiff and shaking.
Five matches left.
You hesitate. It’s not safe here, but the dark is worse. You can’t even see your hands in front of you. Can’t see anything. It’s like your eyes are stretching, playing tricks on you as they try to pull something—anything—out of the blackness.
You pull out a match, feel for the strip, and strike it fast.
The spark flares bright, too bright, your pupils contracting hard. The flame wavers between your fingers, small and flickering, but enough to push the dark back. Enough to let you see—
Movement.
No. Not movement. Reflection.
A quick, sharp gleam across the clearing. Faint, almost nothing, but there. Something smooth catching the light and throwing it back at you in a thin, distorted line.
You squint, trying to make sense of it. Not water, but almost like glass—warped, uneven.
Then you see it. A round, fogged-over lens, slightly misshapen, reflecting the weak glow of the match. Another next to it. Not eyes, but something meant to mimic them.
And metal. A hard, curved surface, dark but slick enough to catch the light, the shape of it unmistakable now.
A gas mask.
Your stomach turns violently, bile rising in your throat.
The figure doesn’t move—if it even is a person, you can’t be sure. The lenses catch the weak light, blank and unblinking. It could be a trick of the dark, your eyes playing games with the shapes between the trees. You feel like you can hardly trust them anymore.
Your match goes out.
Your breath catches, sitting too high in your chest, refusing to move. Reaching for another match, your fingers stiff, you fumble for another. Four left.
You strike it fast. The flame bursts to life, searing bright for just a second—just long enough for you to see—
Nothing.
No reflection. No mask. No shape standing where it had been before.
But the night is no longer still. And beyond anything else, you know for certain that you are no longer alone in the darkness.
There’s something else now, shifting in the brush, the dry snap of twigs underfoot. Not the wind or an animal. The sound is deliberate, heavy in a way that makes your skin crawl. You push yourself back into the tree, feeling the rough bark dig in, grounding yourself in pain, in something real. Your eyes dart, straining past the reach of the weak light, desperate to find what you know is there.
You hear him before you see him.
"Hey, kiddo."
Something presses against your face before you can scream. Cloth, warm from body heat. Your hands shoot up too late, fingers grasping uselessly at a grip too strong. The scent floods in fast, thick and sickly sweet, curling through your lungs as you gasp.
The match drops from your fingers, the light immediately snuffing out as it hits the dirt. Your limbs go weak, your thoughts stutter, tilt, and a numbness spreads through you like ink in water.
And then, like the night around you, your vision goes black.
You’re not entirely sure if you’re in the same place or not.
The last thing you remember is the scrape of his voice in your ear, low and thick as the cloth smothering your mouth. The sickly-sweet scent still clings to the back of your throat, coating your nostrils like tar. Your throat burns for water as your stomach churns, but the instinct to stay still, to stay quiet, keeps you from gagging.
Rough bark digs into your skin, so you make up your mind that you must still be up against a tree. The rope pulling your arms behind the trunk is tight, thick and coarse around your wrists. It bites into the skin like it was tied with purpose, meant to hold. You tug once—useless. The knots don’t budge.
You try to move your feet, to stand, to kick free, but it's no use. They’re like dead weight, sore and leaden from your exhaustive hike through the unknown. The dirt is dry beneath your bare legs, your denim shorts beginning to ride up your thighs as you squirm around.
You haven’t opened your eyes yet. You don’t want to.
You force your breath to steady despite the cotton mouth dryness behind your lips. Inhale. Exhale. You tell yourself you’ll open them on the next count of three. Or the next.
You’re busy willing yourself not to cry when you hear the heaving footsteps around you, no other sound joining them. No crackling fire, no sound of any nocturnal creatures. You wonder just how far from any nearby camp you are anymore.
You open your eyes the first time to the sound of a match being struck. The bright orange light flickers against the back of your eyelids before they flash open, the sight of the gas mask is so close now that you flinch as it crowds your vision. If it wasn’t for the flame flickering against the glass, you might be able to see the eyes behind it. The lenses are fogged up, catching the firelight in warped, fractured shapes. The filter hisses slightly as he breathes in slow, deep inhales.
Thick, calloused fingertips press against your jaw. You flinch, trying to pull away, but his grip is firm, pressing your head back against the rough bark behind you. The flame flickers between you, throwing long, shifting shadows.
The match burns out, the darkness swallowing you again.
Only two left now.
You can still hear him, like without your vision your other senses suddenly come alive. The dull, mechanical sound of air pushing through the filter. The rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his body so close that the space between you feels like it’s shrinking.
“Hello, darlin’,” he whispers, all southern warmth stretched over something sharp, like velvet hiding a blade. His finger swipes against your bottom lip, and you realize it’s cold and wet with water. Your mouth opens without meaning to, your body responding before your mind can catch up. The moment the moisture touches your skin, something inside you claws forward, desperate.
Before you even realize it, your tongue dips out to taste it.
His low laughter makes you feel filthy.
His fingers leave your mouth, tracing along the lines of your face instead. The way he holds you is rough and unyielding.
"You know," he says, his voice curling low, slow like molasses, "I didn’t mean for it to be like this."
Your body goes rigid.
"I’m sure they were real nice folks."
The memories you’ve kept locked away, stuffed deep in the pit of your mind, tear their way to the surface. Images, voices, flashes of what you lost to the masked man with a crowbar.
“But you…” he continues despite how hard you squirm in his hold, “I just couldn't resist.”
His left hand presses against your bare calf, and slides upwards- until his fingertips graze the hem of your shorts. Goosebumps rise under his wide palm, you try to ignore the heat that's beginning to pool between your thighs– there’s a part of you that realizes that you shouldn't be enjoying this, but your body is already starting to want it.
His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles over your thigh. Sightless in the dark, every other sense sharpens. His skin on yours, the heat of it, the grit of his callouses, like you can feel him more clearly than you’ve ever seen him.
And his scent. He smells like sweat, leather, something burnt. It clings to the air between you.
His hand rests wide and heavy against your leg, fingers splayed like he owns the ground you’re sitting on.
And he’s humming under his breath.
It’s soft at first, barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. But after a moment, it clicks. He’s matching the rhythm of your heartbeat. The steady, frantic pulse trapped in your throat, the way your chest rises and falls unevenly, he’s humming along to it like a song only he can hear.
Then, his hand lifts from your face, and absence of touch should be a relief. It’s not.
The sharp crack of a match striking fills your ears. Another flare of light floods your vision, pupils shrinking fast as they try to adjust.
Your eyes squint against the burst of light. It sears into your vision, blinding for a moment before adjusting, and in those few seconds, you see him clearly. The flickering glow dances across the fogged-up glass of his mask, catches on the curve of the lenses, and for the first time, you see his eyes behind them.
Brows furrowed over hazel irises, pupils blown wide. That wicked glint has nothing to do with the matchlight. He’s looking at you with an intensity, like a predator watches something cornered.
He’s taking you in.
“What a pretty little thing. My girl.”
Ah.
The words land like a brand, something final and irreversible. Your breath snags, your body going stiff, muscles locking against the weight of ownership in his voice.
"C’mon now," his voice is soft again, deceptively gentle. The matchlight flickers between you, glowing bright as his hand moves from your leg to press into your jaw again, holding you steady, keeping your lips just slightly parted. His eyes track from your mouth back to your own wide stare, pupils swallowing whatever color was left.
"You were doing so well a moment ago."
He lets his hand fall back to your knee, nails scraping light, teasing lines up the inside of your thigh. Your breath stutters, body trembling against your will, and when his fingers dig in just slightly, a soft gasp slips past your lips.
“Oh, there we go,” he says quietly.
The match goes out.
Only one left.
You expect him to strike it immediately, but he doesn’t. The air feels thicker now, the kind of silence that’s only there when someone wants you to feel it. The realization makes your skin crawl—he’s waiting. He knew how many you had left. He’s drawing it out, pulling the tension tight, making sure you feel just how little control you ever had.
The sudden click of his mask clangs in the dark night as the vision of him burned into your retinas starts to fade. You hear the thud of it on the forest floor, and suddenly his breathing is quieter, though closer.
Your ears strain, waiting for the next move.
And then you realize just how close he is when something wet and muscled presses against the underside of your top lip.
A sharp, obscene sound leaves his throat at the first taste of you. His tongue drags along the inseam of your lip, slow and savoring, his free hand tightening back around your jaw, keeping you still. You should turn away. You should pull back. But the sudden flush of heat rolling through your body keeps you rooted in place, keeps you from moving at all.
His lips press against yours—not applying pressure, just there, ghosting over your mouth, the barest contact. He breathes into you, slow and controlled, and when you exhale, he inhales sharply—like he’s drinking it in. Like he’s stealing the very breath from you.
It’s too intimate. It makes your stomach twist, makes your skin prickle with something ugly and deep and wanting.
His tongue swipes over your lower lip, and the moan that escapes you is involuntary, slipping free before you can stop it. His mouth curls into a smile against yours, slow and knowing, before he presses deeper, taking. Your tongue meets his, a slick, tentative slide, and the moment you respond, his fingers push further up your thigh. The movement makes your hips shift forward slightly, an instinct you don’t want to acknowledge.
You’re almost ashamed of how much your body responds to him.
He pulls back, just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth, teasing, testing. His hand on your thigh moves, fingers trailing higher, just below the thin barrier of your shorts, pressing against the soft fabric stretched over your core.
“I knew you’d want this,” he murmurs, voice rasping against your skin as his lips trace up your jawline. His middle finger slides beneath the hem of your shorts, pressing into the damp heat of you, and your body jerks hard in response.
A breathless moan pushes out of your throat. You can’t stop it.
“That’s what made you so different from them, sweetheart.”
His words coil through your spine, wrapping tight and unrelenting. Your hips stutter, rocking forward into his palm before you even realize you’re doing it. His breathless laugh is pure satisfaction, curling against your throat as he pushes his middle finger under your panties and against you, teasing, taunting.
He groans quietly at the feeling of your pooling slick, his finger rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit, coaxing another trembling sound from your lips before he presses into your clenched entrance. Another finger joins the first, stretching you open, and the sensation forces a choked cry out of you as your body arches against the restraints.
“Oh, you love this, don’t you, sweetheart?” he says, voice dripping with certainty, "Just like I knew you would."
You do. And you hate him for it.
His fingers move inside you, curling just right, pressing into the spot that has your stomach tensing, your thighs trembling. You can feel the slick heat between your legs, against your own skin of your thighs, the way your body responds faster than your mind can catch up.
His other hand lifts from your face. The snap of a match striking cuts through the dark.
The firelight licks across his bare face, and he’s devastatingly handsome in a way that makes your stomach drop, that makes you forget to be afraid of him. Gleaming eyes catch the flame, and his beard, salt-and-pepper and close-cut, frames full lips slick with your spit.
“That’s right, darlin’,” he murmurs. His fingers don’t stop moving. “Been watchin’ you for a long time. Even before I killed your little gang back there.”
But before you can react, his mouth is crashing against yours, tongue and teeth and heat, swallowing the choked noise you make as his fingers push deeper, thrusting slow and controlled, forcing you higher, closer. The pressure coils in the pit of your stomach, tightening, unbearable, the tension building so fast it almost hurts.
His voice is still against your mouth, words pressing into your lips like a brand.
"You know my name," he says. His thumb circles just right, pressing against your clit with devastating precision. His fingers curl inside of you, and your entire body locks up, legs trembling, muscles pulling tight.
"I wanna hear it when you come around my fingers." he growls, “Say it.”
Your body breaks open around him, a sharp gasp ripped from your throat. A sound between a prayer and a plea.
