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#Battling a life-threating wound and infection with the fluffiest hair ever

Hummingbird - Part: I

Summary: In the quiet town of Jackson, Joel becomes consumed by a dark and overpowering obsession with his new neighbor. What begins as fascination quickly spirals into something much darker as he loses control over his desires.

3,6k

Warnings:  +18, MDNI, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, obsessive!Joel, stalking, voyeurism, dark themes, explicit sexual content, masturbation, age gap (not specified), unprotected PIV, noncon, sexual obsession, power imbalance, dark!Joel, inappropriate behavior

Part: I

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

In the quiet of Jackson, where the rhythm of daily life had settled into a predictable monotony, something delicate and strange began to intrude upon Joel Miller’s routine. It was a morning like any other, with the sun rising lazily over the horizon, casting a gentle golden hue across the town. Joel was out on his usual run, his steps methodical and unhurried as he made his way back to the his house, his mind occupied with mundane thoughts.

It was then, amidst the usual rustle of leaves and distant hum of the town awakening, that he first heard it. At first, it was barely perceptible—a faint, ethereal sound drifting through the air like a whisper from another world. Joel paused, his attention momentarily snagged by the delicate melody that seemed to dance just at the edge of his hearing. It was as if the air itself had taken on a subtle, musical quality, a softness that contrasted starkly with the rough edges of his usual environment.

He turned his head, his gaze searching for the source of this unexpected serenade. It was coming from the house next door, a modest structure that had always seemed unremarkable, shrouded in vines and surrounded by the casual chaos of overgrown greenery. The sound was so incongruous with the house’s unassuming exterior that it felt like a secret whisper from within, something hidden and precious.

Joel’s curiosity was piqued. He stood still for a moment, trying to catch the essence of the melody. It was a hum—a soft, resonant tone that seemed to rise and fall with a natural, almost instinctual grace. The notes were like tendrils of mist, curling through the air and slipping past his defenses. He could only imagine the source, but it was enough to make him linger longer than usual, his gaze drawn toward the window of the house.

He paused, listening, his gaze instinctively drawn toward her house. Through the window, all he could make out was a fleeting shadow, a delicate form moving gracefully inside.

At first, Joel thought nothing of it, dismissing the moment as an odd distraction. But as the days passed, something began to shift in him. He found himself increasingly drawn to that house, his curiosity growing with every glimpse of her. It started innocently enough, with stolen glances as he passed by, but soon it became more deliberate. His steps slowed near her house, his eyes straying toward her window, searching for even the slightest sign of her. He was fascinated by the way she moved, by the way her hands gently tended to the garden, her fingers brushing over the petals of flowers she grew with such care. Each sight sent a strange rush through him, something that made his pulse quicken.

· · ─────

The first time Joel saw your face, it struck him with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs. He had been watching, hidden behind the blinds of his window, when you stepped outside. The world seemed to pause, holding its breath as your eyes met his, just for a brief, charged moment. Your wide, innocent eyes framed by long lashes, and the natural rosy glow of your cheeks, made Joel’s chest tighten. You smiled softly, the gentle curve of your lips triggering something deep inside him. He felt it immediately—a need so intense it nearly overwhelmed him. 

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a relentless pressure building in his pants. His body reacted violently to the sight of you—his cock hardening painfully. He clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the overwhelming urge to approach you, to bridge the gap that separated you.

That was when the obsession began. 

He started to hear your voice more clearly, each utterance a sweet murmur that resonated deep within him. Even the simplest exchanges—casual hellos, friendly greetings—were like a siren’s call, drawing him deeper into his obsession. Your voice was a melody that seemed to play directly to his most primal desires. Every word you spoke, every laugh, every soft-spoken sentence made his resolve crumble.

As he observed you from a distance, he couldn’t help but be captivated by the way your clothes clung to your body—how your sundress gently swayed with each movement, exposing just enough to tease. The sight of your legs, bare and inviting, only served to fuel his obsession. His cock often grew hard and throbbing whenever he caught sight of you, straining painfully against his pants. The thought of you, so close yet so out of reach, drove him to the brink of madness.

One evening, as the golden sun dipped below the horizon, Joel found himself standing by his window, peering out at your house. His breath came in ragged gasps as he saw you stepping outside, your form illuminated by the fading light. You looked ethereal, your face soft and angelic in the warm glow. The sight of you made his cock pulse with need. He gripped the edge of the windowsill, trying to steady himself, but the pressure in his pants became almost unbearable.

He watched, nearly paralyzed with desire, as you walked to your mailbox, your hips swaying with each step. The way your dress clung to your curves made his mouth go dry. His hand instinctively moved to his aching cock, and he found himself pressing against it through his pants, trying to relieve some of the intense pressure. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of dirty fantasies—images of you, your soft lips wrapped around him, your body arching beneath him.

“Goddammit, baby” he cursed, his voice low and strained. “I need you so bad… fuckin’ want you so much…” His hand moved under his pants to his aching cock as he began to stroke himself slowly, his mind filled with filthy images of you. He imagined your soft lips on his skin, your body arching in pleasure beneath him. He imagined how you’d look at him with your pretty eyes as you took him between your soft pillowy lips. fuck.

The intensity of his desire pushed him to the edge as he whispered dirty thoughts about you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

With every stroke, he imagined you moaning his name, your body shuddering with pleasure as he took you, over and over again. Pounding into your little cunt. He could almost feel the warmth of your body against his, the way your skin would feel under his hands. 

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, eyes locked onto your unknowing frame as he stroked himself, his mind filled with filthy fantasies of you. “I bet you’d feel so good wrapped around me, fuck…” 

The thought drove him to the brink, and he came with a shuddering gasp, his mind filled with the image of you—innocent and sweet, yet twisted into his darkest fantasies.

· · ─────

Later, when Joel finally mustered the courage to approach you, he was a bundle of conflicting emotions—nervousness and raw, unfiltered desire coiling tightly within him.

The encounter had been a fantasy that had played out in his mind countless times, and now it was happening in reality. Every step toward your porch felt monumental, his heart pounding with a frenetic rhythm that echoed in his ears. His palms were slick with sweat, making his grip on the porch railing shaky as he approached.

He could barely contain the tremors that coursed through his hands and legs, the anticipation making his entire body vibrate with a desperate urgency.

You were seated gracefully on your porch, a book resting lightly in your lap, your legs crossed in a demure manner that only accentuated the delicate curve of your soft thighs.

The evening light painted you in a soft, almost ethereal glow, casting shadows that highlighted the gentle curve of your silhouette. Joel couldn’t believe how one could look so… pretty.

When you looked up and saw him standing there, your eyes widened with surprise, and a radiant, innocent smile spread across your face—a sight so pure and captivating that it made Joel’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hello,” Joel managed to say, his voice coming out rough and gravelly, betraying the tumult of emotions swirling inside him.

He struggled to keep his tone steady, forcing himself to act casual despite the intense craving gnawing at his insides.

Your smile only widened further, and your eyes sparkled with a blend of curiosity and warmth.

“Oh, hi! You must be Mr. Miller. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel’s gaze fell to your hand as you extended it in greeting.

Immediately his thoughts slipped to your delicate fingers gripping his throbbing member while he called you his goodgirl. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt a rush of blood pool in his cock, which was now straining painfully against the confines of his pants.

Every move you made seemed to amplify his arousal, and he fought to maintain control as he forced himself to look up at your face.

The sight of you, so effortlessly charming and engaging, was overwhelming. His cock throbbed again with an urgent need that he could hardly contain, and he struggled to keep his composure as he looked at you. Do you know, what you’re doing to him?

“Call me Joel,” he said, his voice low and strained, barely above a whisper. His hands were clammy, and he had to clench them into fists to keep them from reaching out and taking you right on the floor.

You continued to speak, your voice a soft, inviting murmur that wrapped around him like a velvet glove, soothing yet igniting.

“I was just out here enjoying the evening. How are you?”

Joel’s eyes traced every movement you made, every subtle shift of your body.

The way you leaned forward slightly, the way your pretty pink lips parted in a soft, engaging smile—all of it was a tantalizing display that made his cock strain even harder.

He could feel the wetness seeping from the tip of his cock, staining the fabric of his pants, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to discreetly adjust himself while maintaining a semblance of normal conversation.

“I’m doin’ fine,” he said, his voice barely audible.

All he could focus on was the way you looked, the way your eyes sparkled with an innocent curiosity that heightened his yearning.

His mind was consumed by a storm of lustful thoughts, barely registering the actual conversation. Do you feel this pull, too?

The more you spoke, the more his body betrayed him.

Every smile you flashed, every soft laugh that escaped your lips, was like a provocative tease that made his cock twitch with uncontrollable arousal.

His fantasies grew darker with each passing second, imagining what it would be like to press you against the wall, to feel your body writhing beneath him, to hear your moans of pleasure while he sucked your perfect clit into his mouth and doing that, and more, for hours.

The thought made him shudder with a mix of desire and frustration, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Each accidental brush of your body against his was like a jolt of electricity. You’re talking, but he only grasps half of it.

When you leaned in to grab something from the table, your soft, intoxicating scent enveloped him, making his cock nearly explode with a desperate need.

He could barely keep himself together, his thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of dirty fantasies.

You, looking up at him while sucking on his twitching balls. Licking between them and going lower-

He interrupted himself before he would go actually insane.

You laughed at something he said, and the sound of your laughter—sweet and melodic—was like a siren’s call that fueled his desire further.

He envisioned your eyes filled with innocent curiosity as you took him in. The thought made his cock leak uncontrollably, the wet stain spreading on his pants a testament to his arousal.

Look down, baby. Look what you’re doing to me. Give me a fuckin’ reason.

· · ─────

As the evening drew to a close and you finally excused yourself, Joel was left standing there, his body trembling with a mix of frustration and unfulfilled desire.

He watched you walk back inside, your silhouette framed by the warm light of your home, and the sight only deepened his obsession.

He retreated to his own house, barely able to contain the need that simmered just beneath the surface.

Later, as he lay in bed, his thoughts were consumed by you. Every moment, every touch, every word you had spoken replayed in his mind with relentless intensity.

His hand moved to his aching cock, and he began to stroke himself slowly, his mind filled with filthy images of you. He imagined your soft lips on his skin, your body arching in pleasure beneath him. The intensity of his desire pushed him to the edge as he whispered dirty thoughts about you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. My goodgirl. You’ll be such a good fuckin’ girl.

“Fuck, I need you so bad,” he groaned, each stroke of his hand sending waves of pleasure through him.

I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around me, hear you scream my name. I need to make you mine.

With each stroke, he envisioned you moaning his name, calling out to him. Daddy, sir, master, anything - as long as it’s you.

The thought drove him to the brink, and he came with a shuddering gasp, his mind flooded with the image of you—innocent and sweet, yet twisted into his darkest fantasies.

· · ─────

Joel knew his obsession with you was consuming him, but he couldn’t stop.

Every sight, every sound, only deepened his fixation. He was trapped in a cycle of desire and denial, the more he saw of you, the more intense his obsession became.

The twisted desire that had taken root in him was growing stronger, and he knew there was no escaping the dark, perverse longing that now ruled his every thought.

“I have to have her,” Joel whispered into the darkness, the words a promise and a curse. His mind was set on claiming you, making you his in every way. The thought of finally having you, of making you his possession, consumed him completely. He was lost in his obsession, and the only thing that mattered now was the need to make you his, no matter the cost.

Soon, we’ll be together - my sweet little hummingbird.

Hidden embers

Masterlist

Series summary: You return to your home state the summer after graduating college. The relentless Texas heat, the suburban southern bubble and your treacherous relationship with your mom give you the feeling this will be a long summer. That's until Joel Miller enters the picture.

Chapter 1 : Your welcome-back party brings a re-encounter with one of your dad’s old friends, one you don’t remember looking so good.

Chapter 2: Tensions rise during a church fundraiser, unexpected closeness with Joel begins to blur the lines between what’s right and wrong.

Chapter 3: Joel needs help with his yard, you need help with figuring your feelings out

Chapter 4: Joel made the mistake of touching you once and now it’s all he can think about.

Chapter 5: You and Joel have a much needed conversation to try and fix things, key word “try.”

Hidden embers

Masterlist

Series summary: You return to your home state the summer after graduating college. The relentless Texas heat, the suburban southern bubble and your treacherous relationship with your mom give you the feeling this will be a long summer. That's until Joel Miller enters the picture.

Chapter 1 : Your welcome-back party brings a re-encounter with one of your dad’s old friends, one you don’t remember looking so good.

Chapter 2: Tensions rise during a church fundraiser, unexpected closeness with Joel begins to blur the lines between what’s right and wrong.

Chapter 3: Joel needs help with his yard, you need help with figuring your feelings out

Chapter 4: Joel made the mistake of touching you once and now it’s all he can think about.

Chapter 5: You and Joel have a much needed conversation to try and fix things, key word “try.”

The Roommate Agreement masterlist

summary: Facing immediate eviction you needed a roommate and you seem to have found the perfect choice in Max Phillips. He's charming, tidy, works nights at a marketing firm and even fixes things around the apartment. He's the perfect housemate. . . except for those strange scratching noises coming from his room at night...

STORY TRAILER BELOW

PART I - D R A I N E D

PART II - S I P

PART III - T A S T E

PART IV - I M B I B E

PART V - CONSUME - coming September 2024

PART VI - S W I G

PART VII - P A R T A K E

PART VIII - S A T E D

Extras

Character mood board

The Roommate Agreement masterlist

summary: Facing immediate eviction you needed a roommate and you seem to have found the perfect choice in Max Phillips. He's charming, tidy, works nights at a marketing firm and even fixes things around the apartment. He's the perfect housemate. . . except for those strange scratching noises coming from his room at night...

STORY TRAILER BELOW

PART I - D R A I N E D

PART II - S I P

PART III - T A S T E

PART IV - I M B I B E

PART V - CONSUME - coming September 2024

PART VI - S W I G

PART VII - P A R T A K E

PART VIII - S A T E D

Extras

Character mood board

Uh, I'm the head of HR, so it's highly inappropriate for me to discuss this—

PEDRO PASCAL as MAX PHILLIPS Bloodsucking Bastards (2015) dir. Brian O'Connell

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate! 

Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome. 

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Reader/You (No y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.

Word count: 7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you. 

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said. 

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius. 

“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”

Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed. 

“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”

General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer. 

Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm. 

When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you. 

You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones. 

You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the general’s respective families. 

Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the general’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain. 

You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move. 

You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully. 

“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze. 

You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”

“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision. 

Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in. 

“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader. 

“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone. 

A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears. 

“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”

Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”

When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.

“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.

“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you. 

“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?” 

Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.

“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.

“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”

“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.

“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”

He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.

As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him. 

Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored. 

Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.

You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“ 

“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.” 

“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.

“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again. 

“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth. 

He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.

The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling. 

“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”

You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him. 

“What should I wish for?” You ask softly. 

Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”

Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.

Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder. 

With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly. 

The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”

“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.” 

You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you. 

“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.

“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment. 

When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.

“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.” 

If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty. 

Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.  

“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination. 

He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs. 

It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours, 

“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.

Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you. 

An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.

It is only then that the general reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”

You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”

You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it. 

“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”

“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. 

“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.

You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day. 

—

You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body. 

You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions. 

“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls. 

“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask father. I bet he’ll be eager.”

“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”

“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”

“That’s why I wanted to—“

“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”

Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground. 

“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”

You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden. 

Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened. 

You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”

“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.

“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”

“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.

“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.

A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.

“Why are you saying this?” You inquire impatiently.

“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.

“If things are as dangerous as you say then the general will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you. 

“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer. 

“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides. 

“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”

You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”

Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”

You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”

It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.” 

“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.

“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again. 

You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”

“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”

“Cassius…”

“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”

“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.

Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows. 

With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden. 

You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.

Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache. 

It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out? 

As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off. 

It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself. 

You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.

You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?

You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.

You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that. 

Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut? 

Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?

“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist. 

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen. 

You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin. 

It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs. 

You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.

.

.

.

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i'm literally about to start howling at the moon

heat lightning | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader - no breakout

summary: working late one friday night you help your boss joel to destress.

warnings: swearing, porn without plot, smut 18+ (minors dni!!), age gap (reader is early 20s and joel is pushing 40) <- but r’s age could be read as older if you want, dom!joel, praise kink, dirty talk, lots of pet names, a little degradation, oral (f+m receiving), a little size kink (basically joel has a big dick), unprotected sex (don’t do it!), a little orgasm denial, creampie, no use of y/n

word count: 5k

a/n: this is absolute filth. this is depraved. i don’t know what else to say. also probably the smuttiest thing i’ve ever written and i will take no responsibility for it. i blame it all on me being on my period 😌

main masterlist / ao3

Keep reading

brat! | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel is having a brat summer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! big ass age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 50s), enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, reader wears a dress, heels and lipstick but otherwise no other descriptions, use of pet names, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, manhandling, a little exhibitionism? fingering, choking, spitting, a little dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), cock worship, spanking, degradation (whore, slut), some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), creampie, one use of the word ‘daddy’, no use of y/n

a/n: this was fun! and naughtier than i thought it was gonna be 💀 i’ve never written a reader so far removed from my own personality lol and i’m kind of obsessed with how this turned out. anyways stream brat by charlie xcx and happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced before your eyes. The beating in your temples in tune with the bass vibrating in your chest. Around you the faceless bodies moved in slow motion. The heat rose around you as the sweat clung to your skin.

You’re sure you’ve lost your friends. Well, not lost lost. They were in the dancing crowd somewhere. Behind you, the same ugly guy had been rubbing up against you for a minute too long. You knew because you’d tipped your head back once and his borderline bowl cut hair, polo shirt with deep sweat rings under his arms, and tan chinos, were not it.

His breath stank of tequila when he leaned into your ear, “Hey,” he slurred, “wanna get out of here?”

And that had been your cue to leave.

With a scoff, you turned around to get a good look at him. You’d sized him up, made a show of it, and laughed in his face. Then you pushed your way through the crowd, coming up for air by the bar.

The earlier buzz you’d been sailing on, had weaned off a long time ago. It had been last minute, you weren’t even going out tonight, just having dinner with your childhood friends while you were home for the summer. But then one of them had ordered shots for the table just as the last plate had been cleared, and soon you were at the club cruising on a couple of glasses of wine and a lousy shot. Not that it mattered, usually you ended up twirling some sorry man around your finger long enough to get yourself a couple of rounds, before you’d excuse yourself to the ladies’ room and leave with your friends.

Looking down the bar, you searched for tonight’s victim.

To your right a group of girls huddled around the edge, waiting for their own drinks by the looks of it.

Not them.

Down to your left, a boy with a face full of acne fumbled with his card as he paid for a round of beers. He didn’t even look old enough to be in here, but that wasn’t your problem. You had to hold back a laugh as you watched him struggle to figure out how to carry the five beers he’d ordered back to his friends. He ended up gathering them in a circle to wrap his hands around, and you’d seen this go wrong plenty of times to feel the pull of an amused smile on your lips.

When he’d vanished into the crowd, your eyes flicked back to the bar, to the man sitting there– and he was a man. Probably somewhere in his fifties you reckoned, but he looked gorgeous. A real dilf. Your interest was piqued.

You slid down the bar.

He didn’t look particularly amused where he sat at a bar stool, nursing a beer in his hands. Who sits at the bar in the club? He looked nice. Brown hair, dark jeans, and a grey t-shirt stretched deliciously over his chest. When you got closer you could see a flannel resting beside him on the bar.

Is this what older men wear to the club these days?

He didn’t seem to notice you as you sat down next to him – either that, or he ignored you. You kinda wished for the latter, it would make it more fun.

You gave him a few more minutes of silence, of your presence, to see if he’d say something to you. When he didn’t you asked him over the music, “Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?”

You said it innocently, but like it was obvious and he hadn’t caught on yet. His head turned towards you, still unamused, but with his eyebrow raised.

Okay, you could work with that.

You didn’t say anything as he studied you, drank you in like you’d done to him from afar. You felt his gaze over your clinging dress, your bare shoulders, before they found your eyes.

Something tickled in your core, and you were reminded of how long it had been since you’d been properly fucked– fucked by someone who wasn’t some drunk guy at your college’s parties, but fucked by someone who knew what they were doing.

The man turned towards you; a smile tickling the corner of his mouth.

“Does that usually work f’you, sweetheart?”

You weren’t expecting his rebuttal, but you liked it. He wasn’t some boy who’d trip over himself for the privilege of being in the presence of you. The boys – they made it too easy – but this man would make you work for it.

Putting on your most saccharine smile you slid closer to him, “You looked so lonely over here– thought I’d keep you company.”

A scoffing laugh escaped him, and his head dipped, “’s that so?” His eyes found yours again.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you ignored his question, and brushed your heeled foot up the length of his calf.

“Ain’t ever been here before,” he kept his eyes on your face, his drawl pulling at the words and twisting up your insides.

“So, a virgin, huh?” you teased, and that seemed to amuse him.

“What– you’re here to pop my cherry?”

This time an amused smile pulled at your face. You liked this man. “Not without a drink first,” your foot slid down his calf, “what do you take me for?”

A bright sense of pride filled your chest when you made him laugh, filling you up with confidence.

“D’you want me to answer that?” he rebutted.

He didn’t say it with any malice, it was teasing and playful, and it pulled at the veil inside you. A genuine smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, “Probably not.”

“What can I getcha, then, sweetheart?”

“G&T?” you said, and bit down on your bottom lip coquettishly.

Turning away from you, the man got the attention of the bartender. You watched his profile, followed the line of his jaw, the shape of his nose. You decided then and there that your night was gonna end in this man’s bed.

“Sooo,” you sang, when you’d gotten your drink, “first time here, huh?” The man just nodded, before he sipped his beer.  

Not much of a talker, huh?

“You here alone, or? With the wife maybe?”

That pulled a laugh from him. “I’m here with my lil’ brother… bachelor party,” he shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten dragged in here, “he’s gettin’ married next month.”

“Ah,” you nodded and took a sip of your drink. “So, where are you heading next? A strip club?” you teased.

The man just shot you an unimpressed look, and you thought about how you’d never seen a man look so out of place, ever.

“What? The wife won’t let you?”

A sharp huff escaped him, “Ain’t got no wife no more,” he said matter-of-factly.

You took another sip of your drink to hide the smile from forming.

Bingo.

“I take it you’re a man who does what he wants, then?” you said it innocently, and subtly slid your hand over his knee. His eyes caught yours at the touch, and you swore you saw something change in them.

You’d hooked him now, all you had to do was reel him in.

He turned his body towards you – he did it slowly, like every muscle he moved had been calculated beforehand. Then he leaned in closer, his hot breath huffing against your ear.

“Takes one to know one, ain’t that right?”

Under your skin, you buzzed, your heart beating out of your chest at the new proximity. You had to stay cool, play it off, act unbothered. So, you pulled away slightly, and turned your head to meet his eyes.

“What?” he challenged with a raise of an eyebrow, “Ain’t used to people talkin’ back?”

When you didn’t say anything right away, a smug grin coated his lips, “Yeah, I know girls like you.”

“There’s no girls like me,” you argued back, his confidence both pissing you off, and turning you on at the same time.

“Oh, but there are– Spoiled daddy’s girls who ain’t had anyone tellin’ them no their whole life. They do what they want, and play with who they want– I know a brat when I see one.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he pulled away, that infuriating smug grin not going anywhere. The worst part was that he was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“But you like that don’t you?” you challenged, “I bet you live in some sad house in a sleepy suburban cul-de-sac, go to the same boring job every day, and wish your wife never left you.”

A flash of hurt could be seen across his face as those last words left your lips, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far. A beat of silence passed between you, the buzzing beat of the club music keeping the tune of the tension building.

You were about to apologize when he finally spoke, “You’re a rude one, aren’t ya?”

His voice didn’t sound as hurt as you’d thought, and you realize he was playing your game. You almost had him.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you challenged, hammering the final nail in the coffin.

“That depends on you, sweetheart.”

Outside the club, Joel (the man had finally introduced himself) leaned against the bricks of the alley as you fished a cigarette from your purse. According to your phone, your uber would be there in ten minutes. The fresh air had sobered you up slightly, exchanging the buzzing alcohol in your veins with excitement.

You didn’t know what you were in for.

Over your skin, you felt his gaze roll over you, and you let him look. Let him study your body filling out your sheer, white, almost see-through dress. You didn’t offer him a cigarette; he’d have to ask for it himself, or take it, if he wanted a drag.

“So,” you took a drag of your cigarette, savoring the first tar-y breath, before exhaling through your nose, “where are you taking me?”

Joel shifted his weight against the bricks as his arms crossed over his wide chest. “Whatchu call it? My sad house?” he said, his voice bordering on cold if it wasn’t for the smug smile covering his features.

You gave him a sultry look as you stepped closer, crossing one heeled foot in front of the other, slowly.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you tilted your head with an uninterested face, “Sounds fucking boring to me.” Your finger climbed up his chest, eyes traveling from his chest to his face. His stern face gave nothing away, as you took another drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke in his face.

Finally, he’d had enough. His large hand wrapped around your wrist, and tightened, before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. You let out an exaggerated huff as your body hit the bricks, your cigarette slipping from your fingers. He pushed himself up against you, and you couldn’t contain the satisfied grin on your face, pleased to have pushed his buttons enough to finally act.

“Oh, I’ll show you boring, brat.”

A rough hand danced up the side of your thigh and under the hem of your dress. Challenging him, you squirmed against the grip of his other hand around your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” he shook his head, and he was so close now you felt his breath ghost over your lips. With a twist of your arm, he pinned it behind your back, Joel now completely in control, and a buzz of arousal spread through your body at the thought.

“You listen’ up now, and I’m only gonna say it once: you’re gonna do as I say, when I say it, and no talkin’ back, we clear?” His voice was stern, but his dark brown eyes gave him away; how they’d widened with lust, blown out and dark. Your panties already soaked at the thought of what he had in mind for you tonight.

“Yes,” you said playfully, biting down at your bottom lip through a smile.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected as his rough hand on your thigh slid closer and closer to the seam of your thong. “Good girls who do as they’re told get rewarded, you understand?”

You nodded, sucking in a breath as you felt his fingers brush over your clit lightly. He was testing you now, teasing you, and pushing your buttons. You felt like you were on fire, burning from arousal; it licked up your thighs and flickered bright in your core.

Where was that fucking uber?

“But you ain’t no good girl,” he snickered, sliding his hand past your panties, “teasin’ me– tryna provoke me,” he shook his head, and a slick sound of your arousal could be heard as he worked two thick fingers through your wet folds.  

His finger poked at your hole where it ached for him. The thick tension between you weighed heavy with arousal as Joel leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Imma have to punish you for that, baby, put you in your place.”

A gasp left your lips as he pressed two fingers inside. The stretch stung slightly, but you welcomed the pain, liked it. A satisfied grin blossomed over your face as he started moving his fingers. They felt so good inside of you, so thick, almost like a cock, and the way his palm rubbed against your clit– it gave you just enough stimulation to push you towards the edge of an orgasm.

“Look at you, slut,” his breath was hot as he whispered in your ear, “so desperate to get fucked.”

A strangled moan escaped your throat, and you couldn’t help but grind against his fingers to chase the pleasure he was giving you. The degrading words and humiliation only made you wetter. Joel couldn’t get any more perfect– so far, he'd played his part to the T.

“In your– fuck!” You moaned as the pad of his fingers brushed up against your g-spot. Just a little more now, and he’d have you coming on his fingers.

“Didn’t hear you, sweetheart, y’need to speak up,” he taunted, continuing the pace of his fingers.

“In your d-dreams, old man,” you tried to spit out, but the pleasure he gave you was taking over, making you stumble over your words.

Quickly, Joel withdrew his fingers, sliding them up the front of your cunt, giving your clit a slap, before he backed off completely. You gasped; face pulled tight in a disappointed frown.

“What the fuck!?”

And then he fucking laughed, fucking laughed at you.

“I already told you, sweetheart, only good girls get rewarded.”

He stepped closer again, his hand cupping your cheek while the other pressed the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. “Clean up your mess, and we’ll see ‘bout that reward.”

Parting your lips, he stuffed his fingers inside your mouth. They tasted of you, a sweet-salty taste. You closed your lips around them, and sucked, letting your tongue tease around his fingers the way you’d tease his cock. “That’s it, good girl,” he grinned, and it sparked a small flame of pride in your chest.

When he was pleased with you, he slipped his fingers from your mouth. He let them glide over your lips, smearing your lipstick and coating your lips in your own saliva as a set of headlights illuminated the street. Then, he patted your cheek, nodding towards what you assumed was your uber as it rolled to a stop in front of you, “Go on, get in the uber.”

In the uber Joel was quiet, ignoring you as were forced to make small talk with the driver (you’d give him a bad review just for that). When you thought the small talk had been torture enough, Joel slid his hand up your thigh, resting his big palm right at the seam of your leg as he looked out the window. If your panties weren’t already soaked from what he’d done to you in the alleyway of the club, then they definitely were now as the anticipation only grew.

Joel’s house wasn’t sad at all. It was quaint, and suburban, but homey. Nice. No expensive designer furniture, but sturdy and of good quality either way. He had no rare art, but a decent amount of family photos and what looked like a child’s drawings. You stopped in the middle of the stairs to admire them. In one of them Joel looked as old as you were now, with a baby in his arms, in another he had his arm around the shoulders of another man who looked a lot like him, just with darker hair. His brother probably, the one getting married. The little baby was a little girl, and she grew up in front of you; birthday parties, first days of school, soccer uniforms. Your eyes landed on a photo of her in a graduation cap with Joel and the other man at her side, grinning wide with a college diploma in her hands. This man wasn’t who you’d thought. He had a family– a daughter your age. The wall of memories squeezed at your heart, made something inside you always kept hidden break forth–

“You comin’?”

Joel waited at the top of the stairs for you, his face pulled into a confused frown. You skipped up the stairs, happy to have left your heels by his door. When you got to the top, you pushed at his chest, “Just looking at your sad things.” With a roll of his eyes, he led you to his bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, but his voice was distant, the bite from the club was gone.

It felt like the perfect opportunity to play with him.

“No,” you blinked innocently, your eyes wide as you watched him unbutton his green flannel, “you’ll have to make me.”

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh, “I’m serious, sweetheart, I need to talk to you first.”

Talk?

“You can’t get it up, is that it? You’re too old?” you teased but sat down at the bed either way.

“You really are mean, aren’t ya?” His laugh sounded like a surrender. “A man wantin’ to be a gentleman and establish boundaries before he ruins her, and this is what he gets?”

Shaking his head, he walked closer, and cupped your head in his hands. “I plan on bein’ rough with ya, sweetheart, and I think that’s what you want too, isn’t it? Get fucked so hard you can’t think?” You nodded your head in his arms, the velvet bass of his voice going straight to your core.

“Listen’ closely– if I do anythin’ you don’t like, you say ‘red’ and we stop, and if you can’t speak then you pinch me, you hear?”

You nodded again.

“Words, baby, need y’to say it with that pretty voice.” His thumbs brushed over your cheek.

You nodded again, “Yes, sir… if I want you to stop, I say ‘red’, or pinch you.”

“Good girl,” he praised, “Anythin’ else?”

“Um…” Your front teeth caught on your bottom lip, “I’m on birth control– you can come inside me if you want.”

A noise rumbled in Joel’s chest. “Such a naughty girl,” his thumb brushed over the plump of your lips, “letting a stranger come inside her, huh?”

You nodded again, a wicked smile breaking against his thumb before you opened your mouth, and bit down. Not hard, just enough to pull a reaction from him, and you did.

Like a switch, the warm whiskey eyes faded into a deep black. The grip on your chin slid downwards, where it found your neck. He didn’t squeeze, but his grip wasn’t gentle either, holding you in place like a warning.

“You ought to treat me with more respect, brat…” he spat, his thumb digging into the column of your neck, “Apologize for your rude behavior.”

Against his hand, you shook your head to the best of your abilities, his grip tightening with your movement. You wished he’d choke you properly, make your head all fuzzy and empty– filled with nothing except for him.

“No.”

His face turned to stone above you, and you felt a giddiness flutter in your stomach.

 He didn’t like that.  

In one quick motion his hand was ripped from your throat as he stepped away. He didn’t look at you as he sighed, his hands falling to his belt buckle, sharp metal clinking.

Taking advantage of the moment, you admired the man before you. How big and broad he was. How his t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, biceps bulging against the woven fabric. You studied his hands as they fiddled with his buckle, thought about how good they’d felt inside you earlier, the pleasurable sting as they’d stretched you out.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice cold.

When you didn’t move, he took matters into his own hands.

“Get. On. Your. Fuckin’. Knees.”

His grip around your wrist was tight, as he pushed you down. The hardwood floor dug into your knees as he manhandled you, sure to bruise tomorrow. He stood his ground in front of you, legs slightly parted as you were now eye level with his inviting bulge. He was big, and you felt your eyes widen. Even hidden away in his jeans you could see it, see the length of his hard cock strain against his thigh – it made your mouth water as you squeezed your thighs together.

“Look me in the eyes,” he told you, and your eyes flicked upwards – obedient for once. “Eyes up here at all times– Don’t you fuckin’ dare look away.”

He made it hard to do as he’d ordered, popping the button on his jeans, and pulling the zipper down. You wanted to see his cock, touch it, feel it inside you. He couldn’t possibly expect you to not look when it was right there.

"Disobedient slut.” 

The slap came quicker than the stolen glance, and your hand came up to graze your cheek on pure instinct. It stung under your palm, like a thousand little knives.

“What did I jus’ say?” He spat out the question, his hand gripping your chin to force eye contact.

“Look away?” you tried, your voice rising an octave.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he sighed, leaning closer, “I ain’t wanna hear any more of your fuckin’ attitude.”

His grip tightened on your chin and your mouth dropped open by itself, “Open your mouth– that’s it… wider, just like that.”

Then he spat, right into your mouth.

You flinched at the suddenness of it, but Joel’s grip on your chin held you still– kept your mouth open, as you felt his spit slide further and further into your throat. You had a feeling you shouldn’t swallow until he told you, so you didn’t, your head pliant in his hand as you let him study you. A wide grin spread across his face as he moved your head from one side to the other, his rough fingers denting into your skin as you waited for your next command.

“Swallow, brat.”

He let go of your face, and you closed your mouth, swallowing down his spit with an audible gulp. “Good girl,” he muttered and stood tall, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

The rough sound of denim against skin filled your ears as he freed himself. You were on your best behavior now, gathering your hands in your lap, sitting pretty for him as you locked eyes with him coquettishly.

“That’s better,” he said, “Actin’ like a proper good girl now,” he praised.

It took everything in you not to look, as he stepped closer.

With a fist tight around his cock, he brought the head to your mouth. He tapped it on your lips, smearing the precum beading at the tip and ruined your lipstick.

You wanted to taste him so badly, but he couldn’t know that. Pinching your lips together, you shook your head with wide coquettish eyes. His eyebrows pinched together in a frown, eyes narrowing at you as he pushed his cock against your lips.

“Open that pretty fuckin’ mouth, f’me,” he ordered.

Pretty. He called you pretty, and it was enough for you, you gathered, and stretched your mouth open for him.

“That’s it, wider.”

You twitched in surprise as he slapped the length against your tongue. It was heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his precum mixing with your saliva as he rubbed the head over your tongue, in and out, in and out – coating his big cock in your saliva, “just like that, baby, get it nice ‘nd wet.”

Closing your lips around the mushroom tip, you ran your tongue around it in circles, teasing the underside and the slit, before you tipped your head back. His cock bobbed in front of you obscenely, a frown formed on his face again and you knew he was about to tell you off.

Gathering a blob of saliva in your mouth, you spat on his cock instead. A low humming laugh rumbled from Joel’s chest, as he collected your spit and rubbed it in over his shaft in slow strokes. The spit dripped down, down over your front where you felt it darken the fabric of your dress. Subtly, you reached your hands behind your back to pull at the zipper.

“Yeah, that’s right, get those pretty tits out f’me.”

He let you maneuver out of your dress while he stroked his cock slowly in front of your face, and finally, you could get a good look at him. He was bigger than you’d thought from his bulge. Veins lining his thick shaft as you watched the way his fist moved up, massaging the tip gently, and down again in a slow, steady rhythm. At the base unruly curls of dark hair shone in the spit gathering, and you let your eyes wander downward to his balls where they hung heavy.

You wanted to taste them, too.

With your dress discarded on the floor beside you, you sat up slightly, spreading your legs and tucking your calves up to your thighs. Almost naked, safe for the thong splitting your cheeks, you arched your back slightly, making sure he got a good view of your ass.

A groan rumbled in Joel’s chest, and a hand came down on your head, “You want my cock, don’t you, slut?” he spat, slapping his cock on your right cheek, spreading your spit on your skin.

“Do you make all your girls wait this long or is it just me?” you tutted, almost rolling your eyes at him.

“There’s that fuckin’ attitude again.”

Slapping his cock harder against your cheek, he leaned forward letting a blob of spit drip from his own lips, coating both his cock and your face as he rubbed it in with his cock.

It was obscene, degrading, and you’d never been wetter.

In desperation to taste him again, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. The hand he’d used to stroke himself, wrapped around your skull, caging his cock between his hand and face as he started thrusting against your face, his heavy balls rubbing against your chin with every slow push.

It was messy, sloppy, and wet. He held your head steady with his other hand, while he continued rubbing his cock over your cheek, nose, and forehead. His spit mixed with your own as you lapped at the underside of his cock; trying to taste as much of him as he’d give you.

“You dirty little whore,” he smiled, “You like that don’t you?”

Under him you whimpered, clit pulsing with want as he made you his plaything, did what he wanted with you.

“Yeah,” you moaned unabashedly, licking greedily at the underside of his cock.

At that, he laughed, and the grip on your head loosened as he pulled back. You only had time to take a deep breath before he stuffed his cock down your throat. It was abrupt, and harsh – the hefty length of him making room for himself inside your mouth.

You couldn’t fit him all inside, gagging as the head of him hit the back of your throat. He held you there still, one second, two seconds, three seconds. Your hand found his thigh where you tapped at him, and finally he pulled away.

You gasped for air, your breath wet with spit as small tears pricked at your eyes. His hand landed on top of your head again, grounding you to the moment as he searched your eyes, checking in.

No, you tried to convey, you’re not too rough.

Pleased, his cock bumped against your lips again, and you dropped your mouth open for him again.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thrusting his cock back in your mouth, “let’me fuck that throat open.”

Dropping your jaw, you tried to make room for him in your mouth. It wasn’t easy, your lips stretched wide around the girth of him as you tried to calm yourself, to open your throat for him to abuse. His cock was easily the biggest cock you’d ever sucked, and you told yourself you needed to relax.

He pressed himself deeper, and you let out a whimper. “Work with me, slut, hold still.”

Trying your best to obey, you breathed through your nose, staving off your gag reflex the best you could as the head knocked at the back of your throat. His other hand cupped your chin, keeping your head still between his large hands. A tear rolled down your cheek when he rutted into your mouth, testing the waters.

“Good girl,” he praised, fucking gently into your mouth. Saliva gathered in your mouth, drooling down your chin with each thrust. “Such a fuckin’ mess– Look me in the eye as I fuck your throat.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping you steady as you locked eyes with him. It was difficult, tears clouding him in a vignette, but you did as you were told. He studied you closely, tested your boundaries, completely in control.

You gasped for air when he finally pulled back again. A wet string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. A proud smirk coated his lips, while his hand stroked your head in praise.

The small moment of relief passed quickly, and soon his cock was back in your throat, bruising it in a steady rhythm.

“Take that fuckin’ cock all the way down your throat, whore,” he spat, his thrust a little rougher now that he knew you could take it.

He had you at his mercy now as he ruined you. Ruined your throat, ruined your body, ruined you for other men. Tears mixed with snot, which mixed with spit as it ran down your chin, dripping lewdly onto your tits where it made a mess.

Over you, Joel rambled.

“Good fuckin’ slut.”

“Choke on that big fuckin’ cock.”

“You love it don’t you?”

And you did, you loved it. Joel made you feel useful for once in a life – a fucked up thought, but then again you never said you weren’t fucked up. Joel’s words were filthy and dirty, and as humiliating as they were he made you feel wanted.

You just wanted to be wanted.

Another gasp of air filled your lungs as he slipped from your mouth. His grip on your head was tighter now, his cock throbbing in front of you. As much as you wanted him to fuck you, you wouldn’t complain if he came down your throat. He’d given you so much already.

“Fuck,” he whispered and let go of your head.

You took the opportunity to catch your breath, sniffling as you wiped at the snot that clogged up your nose. His hand came down to squeeze at the base of himself, clearly staving off his orgasm.

“What,” you croaked, your voice hoarse after his assault on your throat, “you’re so old you can’t come now?”

His eyes darkened as they locked with yours, and a giddy bouncing feeling twisted in on itself in your tummy. You wanted to see what he’d do to you– how he’d fuck you, and if you’d have to push his buttons to see it, you gladly push the big red button.

His hand wrapped around your bicep, digging into the skin as he dragged you to your feet and pushed you towards the bed.

“Still a fuckin’ brat I see,” he spat, “We can’t have that can we?”

Putting on your best puppy dog eyes, you bit down on your bottom lip. “Who me?” you said innocently.

“Bend over, slut,” he ordered, his voice coated in a tone that said he was fed up with your bullshit. Strong arms turned you around, manhandling you, and pushed your front down on his bed, “’nd spread your fuckin’ legs.”

With a kick to your ankles, he forced your legs open. Tipping your head up, you locked eyes with your reflection in the window, like a camera lens capturing your ruin at Joel’s hand. He hovered over you, his eyes trailing over your naked body, laid out for him to take.

The first smack came quickly, hard, and brutal on your ass cheek. It made you jump, the muscles in your ass clenching as you tried to reel yourself in. Joel’s rough hand soothed over the burn immediately, and you turned your neck to find his eyes.

“I wanna hear an apology from you, brat,” he said calmly, one finger hooking into the lace of your thong.

You shook your head. Stubborn. “No.”

His head fell between his shoulders, while his finger hooked in your thong tightened its grip, and with a hard tug, he ripped it in two.

“Then I’m gonna have to punish ya.” He said it with a deep sigh, like he had no other choice.

You couldn’t hide the excitement that filled you at those words, your cunt now dripping with need. A need for Joel.

With the scrap of your thong now discarded his hand danced over your ass. You tried not to hold your breath, but he drew it out, and you couldn’t help it. The tension in the air so thick, you couldn’t focus.

Smack!

He spanked your other cheek hard, and the tension was released with a whimper. A tickling feeling of pins and needles spread through your cheek.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

They came in quick procession, your hands gripping the sheets for a lifeline as he put you in your place. Moans fell from your lips without abandon, and you felt yourself drip down your legs.

Smack!

“Look how wet you are,” he noticed, running a finger through your seam, “You like it? Only desperate whores like to get spanked.”

He leaned over you, his soft belly (when had he removed his shirt?) pressed against your back, coarse hair tickling your skin, as you felt his hard cock rub up against your sore ass.

“But that’s what you are, ain’t you? A desperate fucking whore.” His breath in your ear, had goosebumps erupt down your spine, and you sobbed out a whine.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered, and pulled away – taking his warmth with him.

Smack!

Tears pushed their way behind your eyes, not because you didn’t like it, but it stung like a motherfucker. Joel wasn’t all brutal, he rubbed your skin between hits, but fuck if it didn’t also hurt with pleasure.

“Say you’re sorry,” he demanded.

Turning around you shook your head, big wide eyes watching him as he spanked you again.

Smack!

“You’re tearing up, little girl– It stings doesn’t it?” he asked, voice laced with fake pity.

You nodded.

“Well, maybe you should be a good girl then– say you’re sorry.”

Smack!

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, voice cracking.

Finally.

Joel stopped immediately, his hand twisting around your waist to flip you on your back. His eyes danced over your body, almost tenderly but still full of lust. His hand moved up and down your sides, down the thick of your thigh before they gripped your ankles and tugged.

A squeal escaped you as he manhandled you, his large hands cupping your face while he fitted himself between your legs. “Good girl,” he cooed, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shook your head in his hands, popping your lip out in an innocent pout.

“No,” he cooed, removing a hand to fit between your bodies.

You gasped when you felt the head of his cock bump your clit, the first real stimulation you’d had since you’d left the ally by the club. Your hips bucked by themselves, chasing the friction of his touch.

“Who owns this cunt?” he asked you, dark eyes staring into yours as he dragged his cock through your soaked folds.

“You do, sir,” you sighed immediately, your whole body aching for him.

A wide wicked grin spread across his face, “Lookit you bein’ such a good girl– finally know your place, huh?”

With no warning, you felt the blunt head of him press at your opening, and then Joel pushed inside you. Your mouth parted in a gasp at the intrusion; eyes glazed over in bliss as you felt yourself get split in two around the girth of his cock. He was so big, filling you up inch by inch, a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself.

“There you go, baby– you jus’ take it. Take all that cock inside,” he grunted, eyebrows pinched tight.

All you could do was moan as you felt him bottom out inside you, “Shit,” you gasped, “So fuckin’ big.”

“I know, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he praised, starting to rock his hips into you.

He picked up the pace quickly when he was sure you could take it, splitting you open on his cock as he made you takeit. Under him you could feel yourself float away in the pleasure. His hand came up to wrap around your neck and a big smile spread across your face.

You felt so warm. Joel felt so fucking good.

He reduced you to a puddle, a puddle of pleasure and ecstasy. It was better than any drug you’d ever taken. Better than the first day of summer vacation. Better than anything you’d ever known. The sound of skin against skin faded away into a tranquil rhythm of pleasure. You belonged to him now, lived only for him and the way his cock felt inside you.

“Feel how deep that is?” he asked you, somehow having maneuvered your knees to press into your chest.

You couldn’t do anything other than nod, desperate and whiny. You needed to fucking come. Inside you, his cock bumped into a spot no other man had reached before, and a fluttering feeling coiled itself in your core.

You were so close now.

“Joel,” you gasped, searching for the words as he continued his pace, balls slapping hard against your ass.

“No,” he told you, teeth gritted, “You hold it, slut, you hold it ‘till I give you permission.”

Later, a thought of how he’d had you so close to coming without even a tap at your clit would graze you, but in this moment your thought were only filled with Joel. A hand found his bicep, you needed something to hold on to or you’d burst, and squeezed. Above you Joel’s groans and moans got louder.

“Hold it.”

Tears streamed down your face, as you heaved for breath. You were right there, right on the edge now.

Please, Joel, please, sir, please.

“Come.”

Arching your back off the mattress, you shook as you finally tipped over the edge of bliss. The sounds escaping your throat weren’t your own, they were someone else’s, someone possessed with pleasure.

A “Thank you,” fell from your lips, but you don’t think he heard you. Above you, Joel’s movement became more and more erratic, thrusting himself deeper and deeper before a loud groan vibrated through his chest.

“You take it,” he growled, “take all that fuckin’ cum inside.”

He slammed his hips hard against you, pushing himself as deep as he could inside you, and came with a loud primal groan. His cock twitched within your walls as he emptied himself inside your cunt, the warmth of him filled you up as he painted your walls with cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, burying his face in your neck, “That cum feels so good inside, don’t it?” he cooed, and you nodded, your hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back and thrusted inside you again, fucking his cum deeper inside.

He stayed inside you as you both caught your breaths. His weight felt good on you, you were safe, as you floated somewhere between reality and a space you’d never been pushed to before.

And you missed him when he pulled away, sliding his half-hard cock from your fucked out cunt, dragging you with him up the bed. You reached for him, laying your hand open against his sheets, but he didn't see it, eyes mesmerized by his spend dripping out of you. His fingers slid through the mess, pushing his cum back inside as his eyes found yours.

Then something in the air shifted, and whatever had come over you, was gone. His fingers left streaks of wetness down the inside of your thigh as he pulled away. For the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to say.

You were ruined now – he’d ruined you for everyone who wasn’t him.

You sat up, turning your head over your shoulder to watch him, watch how his eyes trailed your body.

“Smoke?” you asked, your voice more unsteady than you’d thought.

Joel shook his head as you slung your feet off the bed to find your purse. He sat up against the pillows resting against his broken bed frame. Your eyes raked over his naked body as you fished a cigarette from your packet; drank in his strong arms, his wide chest and followed the dark hair of his happy trail down his belly to his soft cock between his thighs, still coated in your combined cum. Between your legs you could still feel his thick spend leak out of you.

You brought the cigarette to your lips, and just as you were about to light up Joel’s rough voice spoke, “Out the window,” he ordered with a nod in the direction of the window.

Everything was back to how it was before.

A dramatic huff escaped you, “All right…” you muttered.

You felt too heavy– he’d messed with your head; made you show him the real you. He couldn’t see that. So instead, you put your mask back on, turning to face the window to conceal the mischievous smile threating to spill across your face.

“Daddy.”

Behind you, as you cracked open the window, you heard the bed creak. You played it cool, lighting your cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.

Joel’s breath teased at the back of your neck and over your bare shoulder, making goosebumps dance down your spine, “Thought I’d fucked the attitude out of ya,” his voice was stern.

“Guess I was wrong.”

i hope someone liked this? please don't leave a comment asking for a part 2, i already have some thoughts for a part 2, but a comment begging for it usually makes me want to abandon that thought. a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

the wedding night

hi: i wrote this in an afternoon on the bus and barely edited this. it only exists because seeing that photo of General Acacius made me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, this is just a debauched excuse to be railed by the man.

trope: forced marriage

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , names like whore because i am one, forced marriage, Au as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, pp in vv, dubconish, i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

"Take to the bed," the muscular man tells you in a raspy voice as you enter the bedroom, wishing you had your fur. "I leave early for battle at dawn." 

He makes no move to leave and so you glance from the waiting bed back over to the imposing figure standing by the fire. His tousled, greying curls are touched by the flickering reflection of the flames behind him. 

This is all new to you and almost surreal. You've been taken from your modest home and brought here to a lavish home in Rome. You glance over at your new husband timidly. 

"Are you to remain here all night?"

"We are wed," he replies with a wry grin. "Of course we shall spend the night together." 

You've been shipped here under your father's greedy love for coin. And now you stand here in the bed chambers of the man who became your husband only hours ago. 

General Marcus Acacius; a man double your age with the kind of quiet strength that made you anxious when you first laid eyes on him today, only moments before he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were announced as his. 

He drank only a bit of wine at the wedding, a stark contrast to the family of yours that acted like the animals in Marcus' stables with every glass poured. Of course they would celebrate; they'd made a small fortune on your marriage, having sold you off like cattle.

And you now stand across the room from him, your husband, General Acacius, Marcus. A man who served under the infamous Maximus. He cuts a fearsome figure both on and off the battlefield with his broad, muscled frame and serious countenance.  

You wear the traditional wedding night garment, a thin dress that is practically see-through. You pull your arms over your chest, hiding your nipples that poke through the thin fabric.

When you'd come to the room you'd been surprised to see Marcus there waiting for you, stoking the fire. You'd been told by the servants that your new husband would be preparing for battle all night. It had brought you some comfort.

But Marcus is here in nothing but his tunic cinched at the waist. His armour is in a pile by the door, his sword there as well. Without it he's still terrifying. 

Marcus notes the arms you hold over your chest for modesty and he feels arousal begin to drip lazily into his veins. 

"Undress," he says plainly, his dark eyes trailing over your body. 

You make no move to follow his orders. If anything you seem angry with him. His fingers twitch next to his thigh as he waits for your compliance. It doesn't come. 

The dark grey tunic he wears hangs just above his knees so when he walks over to you you're able to see his muscled legs rippling with power. You quiver as he finally stands in front of you. One thick forearm goes to rest against the wall above your head, his neck craning so he can look you in the face.  

"I said undress."

"You will not order me about as if I were your slave," you seethe, your head craning away from him. "I am your wife."  

"I am twice widowed," Marcus murmurs as his wide finger traces the curve of your delicate collarbone. "I have come to realize I have little need for a wife."

"Then why bring me here away from my family and my homeland? Why marry me at all if you have no need of me?"

"I have no need for a wife," Marcus repeats roughly, his exhalation landing over your face like a wine-soaked cloud. "But a man always has need for a ready cunt."

You rear back and your hand flies through the air so quickly he's clearly not expecting it. The slap you deliver to his bronzed cheek is so hard that he flinches back at the sensation, but his head remains facing you. 

"I am no whore," you hiss. You've never been spoken to like this. "Nor a hole for you to fill at your leisure." 

You're horrified when you see him lengthen under his tunic, thick and fearsome looking to your inexperienced eye. He smiles at you when you gaze back up at his face, a feral, ugly grin that has you backing against the stone wall as he advances, his pelvis nudging yours. 

"You will be fucked well," Marcus whispers. "So well you will happily call yourself my whore." 

You push at his broad chest, free of his usual armour and yet hard to the touch like iron. He doesn't budge, he just presses his pelvis into yours, pinning you to the wall. You feel him there between your legs, warm and waiting and large. 

His hand comes to grip your jaw, forcing your unwilling mouth to his. He kisses you fiercely, like he owns you. It disgusts you. He pries your lips open with his own and as he licks into your mouth his tongue tastes of sweet wine. 

You wince, trying to wrench from his grip. He only smiles, hands coming to meet at the collar of your nightdress.  You shriek as he begins tearing the delicate fabric down the middle and exposing your breasts to the chilled air. 

"I desire to see what is now mine," he murmurs, a hand coming to palm your breast. 

You bat his hand away, slipping sideways from him into the centre of the room near the bed. He doesn't look upset; he looks amused, as if he were playing a game. 

You hold the torn fabric of your dress at your chest, covering yourself as you back away from his advancing figure.  

"I am not your anything," you grimace. "Leave at once." 

Though your voice is strong you back away, a shuffled step for each strong stride of his until you feel the bed hit the back of your calves. 

"This is our wedding night," Marcus says silkily. "And we must consummate."

Before you can deny him he jabs his strong fingers on either side of your clavicle, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. You gasp when he follows after you, lifting the hem of your dress. 

His head is thrust under, making you kick out your legs in fear. What is he doing under there? Fear has you convinced he may bite you. 

You go to pull away further when you feel him starting to part your thighs. You squeal anxiously, twisting. 

"Get off!"

"Calm yourself, wife," he orders gruffly from beneath your nightgown. He's stronger than you, his hands wide and it's only seconds before he's got your legs hinged over his shoulders. 

You continue to cry out, desperate for escape. You're terrified of this brute of a man. 

His mouth finds your cunt swollen and wet and when he lays his wide tongue flat and licks a stripe up the seam you suddenly go quiet. You can feel him smile against the lips of your pussy. 

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing your sex reverentially before his tongue darts out to sample you again. It's been so long since he had a cunt this soft and sweet against his tongue. 

Your hips jump and Marcus can't help but smirk. Under your nightgown all he can see and smell is your sex, open widely thanks to his hands, glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. He feasts on you, groaning as he gets swept away by the sensations your whimpers create in him. 

 You're on your back, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling. A celestial pattern that mimics the night outside your window. Your chest heaves, nipples pert and straining as his mouth works against your cunt, making you tingle everywhere.

He's on his knees beside the bed, you're thighs hinged on his broad shoulders, the cream of your skin against his ears. He doesn't care that tomorrow his knees will ache because devouring you as you thrash for him on the bed has him feeling like a young man again. 

He sucks the lips of your pussy into his mouth with relish, his hips grinding into the edge of the bed when you cry out. You hear him chuckle before he continues and the sound reminds you that you don't want him touching you like this and bringing out these feelings you've only heard whispers about. Not a man who has decided you're nothing more than a thing to fill. 

"Ssstop," you slur above him, unable to focus as your vision blurs.  

"No."

You keen breathily, your hands scrabbling to grip the bed. His broad hands cup your ass, forcing your sex harshly against his mouth. You hear vulgar slurping noises coming from underneath your nightgown and your eyes roll back. 

You've never had a man before. Your mother warned you about husbands and their selfish desires in the bedroom. But this doesn't feel like what she warned you about. This feels good. 

You feel a pressure beginning between your legs and you panic, trying to force Marcus' head from between your thighs but he just grips stronger, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you down, his tongue wide and stuffing your cunt. 

When be begins to suck brutally at your clit, bliss overtakes you, causing your back to arch and a shuddering scream to leave your throat. 

Your hips undulate as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, stopping only when you begin to whine that it is too much. He licks you gently after that, cleaning the evidence of your orgasm with relish. 

With a creak he stands beside the bed and removes his tunic. In a daze you lay on your elbows, gazing up at his broad, muscular body knowing that if he wanted to he could snap you like a twig. His cock rests heavily between his legs, just as thick and long as you thought. Despite the pleasure he brought you there's still that glint in his dark eyes, a mockery that you can't stand.

"Get away from me."

Your cunt pulses, drooling with your previous release. You try to curl into a ball, facing away from him. 

You think he may leave you be but you feel his hand grip your waist. You thrash as he rips the rest of the nightdress off your body before forcing you onto your hands and knees. 

"It is now my turn to take, wife. Ready yourself." 

He pushes you down onto your belly, curving your ass up to the sky. Then he crawls over you, his hands pinning yours to the bed under his.  You feel him there at your entrance and you feel terrified tears stream over your cheeks. 

"No need for fearful tears," he assures you as his mouth meets your neck. "You will be crying for more of my cock soon enough."

You cry out as he pushes the head of his length between your dripping folds. He's much too big, the intrusion too great. 

"I will make this quick," he grunts. "For your benefit."

Marcus can hardly believe how good the velvet clench of your cunt feels sliding along his cock as he pushes through your virginal barrier. Not since his first wife has he come close to anything this divine.

His teeth come to grip at your shoulder, biting there, marking you as he feeds his cock into your pussy from behind. 

Your cries are muted, your pain ignored, because all Marcus can feel is bliss. Bliss as he marks you forever as his. Bliss as his thick cock stretches your walls, bliss as your pussy stings straining to take him all. 

And by the time he's buried with his hips against your ass, your shoulder is bruised with the indents of his teeth. 

"No more," you beg as he begins to move within you. "Let it be done." 

"We have only started," he muses, kissing your damp cheek. "The best is yet to come."

His frame is so broad it covers you entirely, like you're wearing him as a robe draped over your curved body. He rocks into you as his massive hands press yours into the bed.  

You feel him pull slightly out before buying himself within your womb. You cry out, head falling forward as the slick feel of his cock buries itself deeper and deeper with every subsequent thrust. With every pump he moves the both of you forward before pulling you back. 

And just when the pain is too great, you feel it morph into pleasure. The feel of him thrusting in and out going from sharp to a pleasurable throb. 

Marcus senses the change in you when your back starts to arch and your hips start to lean back to meet his. You're enjoying it now, just as he knew you would. 

"You like this."

He grins to himself when you don't answer and instead let your head hang between your shoulders. 

He continues to tease you, never letting up, waiting until your noises become breathless and needy and then he recedes, chuckling when you whimper his name. 

What feels like eternity later the two of you are slick with sweat, your limbs shaking as Marcus watches you from above. His hands are on your hips now, pulling you against him. 

He spreads your cheeks wide, groaning when he watches his thick cock filling your tight pussy to the brim. 

You're begging for him to give you the same pleasure as before, nearly sobbing with how cock-drunk you are. He feels so good buried between your thighs. 

Marcus only smirks down at you, a hand pressed on your lower back, urging your ass up higher for him. He thinks about all the things he's going to do with you before leaving for battle. 

The thought is exciting him, sending him erratically pumping as he tilts you back, hand coming to strum your clit as your spine kisses his front. He holds you on his thighs, spread wide and bouncing.  

"What are you?" He pants, his lips squished against your cheek, his fingers curling, making you see stars. 

"You're. . . You're wife," you manage to croak out, your hands gripping his forearm slung over your chest. 

He fucks harder into you, his cock hitting the spot your own fingers can never manage. It's causing more stars behind your eyes, your body limp in his grip like a doll. 

"What are you?" Marcus demands again, only now he punctuates his question with a firm slap to your cunt.  

You ache where he slapped, but a pleasurable one that sends you closer and closer to falling off the edge of bliss once more. Only this feels so much bigger, so much more intense than when his mouth was on you. 

"Say it." 

You writhe on his cock, held by one arm around your middle, the other fucking you with his thick fingers over your clit and his thicker cock splitting you with every upward thrust. 

"Please, Marcus."

Marcus is so sweaty, his muscles gleaming in the low firelight. He moans lowly, the sound making your toes curl. Then his warm breath is hot on the side of your face. 

"Say it and I will give you all that you desire." 

You're so close, that pleasure ebbing and coming back stronger with every swipe and thrust. You try to sound it out, but the shame overtakes you again.

"I am you. . . I am your. . ."

Marcus is groaning into your ear again, his thighs twitching as your arousal soaks down his length. But he doesn't stop filling you over and over, his eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of your milking cunt. 

"Say it." 

And now he presses the heel of his palm against your sex, holding you by the throat under your chin as your head snaps back onto his shoulder. Exposed like an animal Marcus stakes his claim, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking. 

"I am . . . I am. . ." 

His thrusting continues and now he forces you back onto your hands and knees, draping his body over yours, fingers and cock never stopping, only drilling you from a new angle. He watches your sweet ass ripple for him as he pounds into your cunt, marvelling at how puffy and shiny and perfect she is. 

"Say it," he booms and you can feel his thrusting growing staggered, his body fucking into you with all that he has.

And you can't hold the words back any longer, not when it feels like your very ecstasy hinges on them being said out loud. It tears from you, ripped from your very vocal chords as he sinks into you, your voice shrill and cracked as you scream it.

"I am your whore!" 

The answering groan of Marcus in your ear makes you cry out loudly, coating his stroking fingers with hot arousal as you cum. 

“My whore,” he hisses as you buck against him.

You shake the entire time, confused at how everything in you burst like a ripe berry on the vine and yet you remain outwardly unchanged. Surely you very soul must have left you at that pinnacle of pleasure. You've never felt anything like it. 

And yet here you remain, in his arms in his bed, human and alive. You both pant heavily, the room smelling of sex and sweat and the oils in your hair. 

Marcus tugs you against him and you roll towards his body, pliant and willing. His mouth finds yours but it's soft and delicate. Your hands run through his soft, greying curls. 

"Are you satisfied?" 

You ask it quietly, almost afraid to know his true thoughts. He's experienced in so many ways, twice your age, strong and capable. And yet the kiss he gives you is gentle. It curves as he smiles against your waiting mouth. 

"I am, wife." 

adult swim (joel miller x f! reader)

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

How You Can Help Palestine

Summary: A sexy stranger helps you learn how to swim and then you go back to his hotel for more fun. Rating: 18+ explicit Content: non-outbreak au, implied age gap, vacation au, swimming, fooling around in a pool, dry humping, public fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral sex, joel has a filthy mouth Word Count: ~3.9K

Author's Note: Saw this video on twitter and got equally charmed and horny. So here we are. Not beta'd, just kind of came out.

Why in the hell did you decide to take a vacation in Miami of all places when you couldn’t fucking swim?

At the time you booked the vacation, when you were staring at sheets of snow piling outside of your window. It was a welcomed summer reprieve that should’ve been filled with palm trees and coconut rum.

But here you are surrounded by four of your closest friends, lifting you in a circle like some sort of ritualistic sacrifice. Except you’re in a pool and they’re trying to teach you how to float on your back.

You don’t know why you never learned how to swim but you just never did. Where you grew up, you didn’t even have anything as close to a pond where you lived. But somehow all of your friends managed to swim and swim well, and now after a round of drinks and a full afternoon in the Florida heat has them confident in teaching you how.

But you are not confident. You are the opposite of confident, in fact, and your anxiety is only increasing with each moment. Worst of all, you're gaining an audience.

A hot audience.

You spot a man at the bar, his presence instantly commanding attention. Dressed in a vibrant tropical polo adorned with lush palm leaves and exotic flowers, paired with swim shorts. He looks relaxed, yet confident like he's not somebody you could easily fuck with. He stands out against the laid-back ambiance of the bar. His dark curls are slightly tousled, and a hint of a beard frames his chiseled jawline, adding to his charm. His eyes, a deep, soulful brown, seem to watch you with an intensity that is both comforting and unsettling. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and you have to look away for fear that your blush might become permanent.

"You're doing great!" Your friends continue to cheer you on.

"I'm going to die," you whisper to yourself, not so quiet as the man's smile grows.

"You are not going to die," Jane, your best friend and the mastermind behind this whole scheme, says while her drink-fueled bravado wavers. "Besides, we're here if something goes wrong."

"What if I panic and pull you down with me?" You ground yourself, your feet back on. the pool floor.

"That's not going to happen, now focus."

"Jane, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think you've had too many Mai Tais."

Jane looks around, her gaze stopping on the hot guy at the bar, who's sipping a colorful cocktail while his gaze continues to linger on you.

"Well, I can think of worse people to drown with." She nudges you with a smirk. "Maybe Mr. Pool Boy will give you mouth-to-mouth."

You glare at her before glancing back at the bar, but the mysterious man is nowhere to be found. You try not to let your disappointment show, though. You really don't need more reasons to doubt yourself, and drowning because you were distracted by some hot dude feels like an embarrassing way to go out.

"Alright, I'm ready," you say. "Let's get this over with."

"Great!" Jane exclaims, "So, we're going to have you lay back, and put your arms and legs out, and--"

"'Scuse me."

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of the deep, velvety voice beside you.

"Yes, can we help you?" Jane asks, not missing a beat, hearing her shit-eating grin from behind you.

The man smiles at you. "Well, I was takin' a look at what you all were doing, and I figured I could offer my services."

"Services?" you ask him and you can see the scatter of grey in his scruff when his lips quirked up on one side. "Are you a lifeguard?"

He laughs and the sound makes you embarrassed, and a little flustered. You feel your face get hot again.

"Not exactly, but I do have some experience in the pool," he tells all of you. "I taught my kid how to swim back home and and it seems like these ladies are having some trouble and I'd be happy to take it off their hands." He looks to you, specifically. "If you'd like."

Your friends are looking at you and the man and you're not sure what to say, but Jane decides to answer for you.

"Actually, that would be really nice. We could use the extra help. I'm Jane, by the way," and she nudges your back while introducing you, moving you forward towards--

"Joel." He sticks out his hand and you take it, the massive grip of his hand engulfing yours. You can feel the callouses and roughness of his fingers, and you curse in your head anyone else that's had the chance to feel it in places that would bring them to their knees.

Joel lets go, and before you can ask what comes next, he pulls off his shirt and plunges into the pool, submerging himself completely before resurfacing with a shake of his head. Water cascades down his chest and broad shoulders, and his shorts cling to his thighs.

"Well, don't be shy. Get on in here," he beckons.

You and the girls are still standing there, watching him.

"Go on," Jane tells you, and you realize Joel was talking to you. "Get in there."

You give her a look and she pushes you down the steps further into the shallow end. The water is warm against your legs, and you wade forward toward Joel.

"Alright," he says once you've joined him. "We're gonna have you lean back, and just hold out your arms and legs for me. Sound good?"

You nod, swallowing thickly.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall," Joel assures you.

You do as he says, leaning back and putting your arms and legs out, and the moment your weight is supported by the water, you start to panic.

"It's okay, darlin', you're fine. Just stay calm." Joel's voice is low and soothing. "Just focus on my voice. I've got you."

You take a few deep breaths, trying to keep yourself from freaking out.

"There you go. Just relax. I'm not gonna let you go."

As he speaks, his voice a deep rumble, you feel your heart rate slow and the panic subside. You can hear the others cheering and encouraging you, but it's almost drowned out by the sound of his voice.

"There you go," he repeats. "Just relax, honey. I've got you."

You lift your feet up, and for a second you're completely horizontal, suspended in the water. Then you feel his hands under your back and the back of your head, supporting and guiding you as you float effortlessly on the surface. You look up at this handsome relative stranger

"I told you I'd take care of you," he says. "How's it feel?"

You let out a breathy laugh. "It feels amazing."

You stay like that for a while, his hands holding you steady as he talks you through it, his voice never faltering. And when you finally stand upright, the applause and cheers from your friends echo around you.

"Thank you," you tell him, still a bit breathless from the experience.

"My pleasure," he says, and his gaze lingers on you, making your heart race for a different reason. "Y'know, if you wanna get back to your friends I get it. But there's still so much I could teach ya if you're interested."

You can feel the warmth of his body so close to yours, and you can't deny the attraction between the two of you. You know it's reckless, but something about Joel makes you want to take a risk.

"Let me just tell my friends not to wait up."

-----------------------------

You're not sure how long it's been since you've been in the pool with Joel. But your friends are gone and other people have started to clear out. After dinner at the pool bar, and more drinks, the two of you are back in the pool. Joel was playfully tugging at your leg, trying to get you to join him in the deep end.

"Joel, I can't swim!" You're laughing as you cling to the wall.

"That's what I'm here for. C'mon, darlin', it'll be fun," he says, his hand reaching out for yours. "If you don't wanna go, we really don't have to but if you wanna come, you can trust me. I won't let go."

And that's all you need to hear.

You hop on Joel's expansive back, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Ready?" he asks.

"As I'll ever be."

He laughs. "Okay, here we go."

Slowly, he begins to walk into the deep end, taking you with him. The water rises to your hips, then your waist, then your chest. You can feel the firm muscles of his shoulders under your thighs, and the heat of his body against yours.

"Still good?" he asks.

"Yep."

"You know, if you wanna move your hands, I think you're safe."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

You hesitate for a moment before slowly removing your hands from the top of his head onto his tanned shoulders. Your legs tighten around his waist, your core flush with his back. He keeps walking deeper, until the water is up to his neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he wades around.

"See? It's not so bad," he says, turning his head to look at you.

You're so close to him, his face mere inches from yours.

"No, it's not," you whisper.

He turns back to bring you towards the edge of the pool. He sits you down on the side, keeping himself in the water. He hovers over you, his hand braced on the ledge, the other resting on your thigh.

"You did good tonight," he says, his thumb drawing circles on your skin. "I'm proud of you."

His praise sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core, and its taking everything in you not to scare off this nice stranger with your growing infatuation.

"Thank you. Really, I don't know what we would've done if you hadn't offered to help. Now I can actually enjoy the beach and the pool a little more."

He chuckles. "Well, I'm glad I could help." He tilts his head, his gaze soft and warm. "You know, you don't have to stop learnin' if you don't want to. There's plenty more I can show ya."

You're not sure how to respond, but the offer is tempting. You've already learned so much today, but the thought of learning more, especially from him, is enticing.

"What else ya got, Miller?" you ask, your voice low.

"Oh, there's a lot more where that came from," he says. His voice is deep, the words rolling off his tongue with a delicious drawl that makes your stomach flutter. He opens up his arms, and the water glistens down his body. "C'mere. Swim to me."

You bite your lip. "I don't know..."

"Remember what I told ya." Joel smiles. "I got ya. I ain't gonna let you sink."

You take a deep breath and jump back into the pool, slowly wading as you repeated his mantra in your head. Joel's eyes never leave you, watching as you move towards him, the water coming up to your shoulders.

"That's it, darlin'. You're doing great," he coos.

You finally reach him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you hold onto him. He chuckles, pulling you close.

"I knew you had it in ya." He murmurs. You can see the freckles scattered across his face, and the deep pools of his brown eyes. You feel his arms wrapped around you, his hands caressing your lower back, the warmth of his body. It's intoxicating.

"Thank you, Joel."

"My pleasure," he breathes, his voice low. You're not sure who moves first, but before you know it, his lips are pressed against yours, and all rational thoughts leave your mind.

The kiss is gentle, almost tentative, like he's waiting for you to decide the next move. You usually aren't the person to kiss strangers on vacation. But something about him makes you want to throw caution to the wind.

Your hands tangle in his wet curls, pulling him closer, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue skating into your mouth with the taste of alcohol. His beard is rough against your chin, and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips.

His hands wander down your back, grabbing a handful of your ass as he presses himself against you. Your tongue moves slowly in his mouth, matching the rhythm of your hips as you start to grind against his growing bulge.

He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, his dark brown eyes gazing into yours. "Sweetheart..." his hands squeeze your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and his lips graze yours. "We need to get outta here before I do somethin' stupid."

"Like what?" You trail the stubble of his jaw with your fingertips and look at him, testing him. Daring him to say what you both wanted.

"Like takin' you right here." He rolls his hips, the hardness of his cock rubbing against your clit through your soaked bikini bottoms. "Lettin' anyone who comes by see how pretty you look when I'm fuckin' you."

"Fuck." The moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Joel grins.

"I wanna hear more of that." He peppers kisses on your neck, and down to the top of your breasts. "Wanna hear every pretty sound comin' outta that mouth of yours."

"Then I guess we'd better get out of here," you say, breathless.

Joel helps you out of the pool and grabs a couple towels from a nearby cabana, wrapping one around you and sliding his hand around your waist. You liked how he towered over you, like he was already claiming you as your own.

He leads you inside, down the hall and to the stairs, the two of you making the decision knowing there would be less people around. You go up a flight up steps and you stop at a corner of the steps, turning around and backing into the wall. He crowds in on you, looking at you like he's ready to devour you.

He cups your face with his calloused hands, his lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss, your tongues moving in tandem. You grind against him, as he moans into the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair, his other hand grabbing a fistful of your ass. Caution and carefulness be damned, you just want him.

He moves his hands from your face to your breasts, tweaking your nipples outside of your bikini fabric. You whine into his mouth and his hand snakes between your bodies, rubbing you on the outside of your bikini bottoms. You gasp as his fingers rub the material against your clit.

"If I could I'd take you right here." he breathes, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Would you let me do that? Take you right here, where anyone could see? Where everyone could see what a good girl you are, lettin' me take you how I want?"

You arch your back, grinding into his palm as he rubs your clit through your damp bikini. "I might take you up on that."

He chuckles, and you can feel the deep rumble of his chest. "Well, I might just take you up on that later. But for now..."

He slides your bikini bottoms aside, dipping his thick fingers into your slick cunt, and curling his finger inside. He slowly moves them, fucking you open, and you have to cover your mouth to keep from moaning too loudly. He presses his lips to the base of your neck, kissing and sucking as he fucks you on his fingers.

"You're so fuckin' wet," he murmurs against your skin. "Love the way that little pussy feels. So tight."

You roll your hips, feeling his thumb rubbing against your clit and his rhythm speeds up. The echo of the stairwell amplifies every sound and the thought of someone catching you makes the whole thing that much more arousing.

He slips another finger inside of you, and you hold onto his arm as you hear his wetness sliding against his fingers. The sound of your soaked pussy echoes in the stairwell.

"That's it, honey, just let go," he murmurs. "Let everyone know how good I'm making you feel."

His fingers curl inside of you, and sends you over the edge. You wail as you feel yourself throb around his fingers, your cunt fluttering as he holds you upright.

He slowly pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, moaning as he sucks them off. You whimper as his mouth is on yours, letting you taste yourself. He holds you upright, adjusting your bikini bottoms and stroking your hair as you come down.

"Pretty girl," he says, peppering kisses on your face and neck. "You think you can make it to my room?"

----------------------------------

You knew you'd have some new adventures on this trip.

But never in your wildest dreams would you have guessed you'd find yourself here.

Sitting on a man's face as he ate you out.

Joel's big, calloused hands held onto your ass as he lapped at your cunt, his tongue running along your folds, his beard scratching your thighs.

"That's it, sweet girl," he groans. "Just like that. Keep ridin' my face. You're doin' so well."

He squeezes your ass as he spreads your cheeks, his tongue teasing your asshole and making you moan. He moves his mouth back to your pussy, sucking on your clit as his beard scratches the sensitive skin of your thighs. You ride him in earnest, your hands gripping his hair, holding him in place.

"Oh, god," you pant, grinding on his face. "I'm gonna cum again, please please please."

He hums against your clit, sucking on the sensitive nub, and your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out in what sounds like a pornographic moan as you shake, your cunt throbbing around his tongue.

He holds you through it, his hands on your thighs, keeping you steady. Once you've come down, he gently moves you off his face, lying back and breathing hard. His face is slick with your cum, his lips swollen and red. He looks beautiful.

He quickly recovers and sits up, moving to lay you down on the bed, his heavy cock slapping against your folds. He teases you, rubbing his length up and down your slit, coating it in your arousal.

When he finally enters you, it's heaven. You moan as he stretches you, your cunt gripping him tightly as he bottoms out. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

"You want it deep, pretty girl?" Joel murmurs, his breath hot on your ear. "Want me to fuck you so deep and hard, make you feel me for days?"

You nod, moaning and writhing under him.

He starts slow, rolling his hips as he thrusts in and out, the two of you moaning as you feel every inch. But his pace quickly increases, his hips snapping against yours, his balls slapping against your ass. He pounds into you and your mouth is open, In a silent scream, as you take every inch of him.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he growls. "This pussy's so fuckin' perfect."

You can't form any coherent words, you've never been fucked like this. You can't tell if it's because you know this is a passing encounter. After this vacation it's not like you'll see Joel again, so why not indulge yourself in a way you normally wouldn't? Guys back home were usually so gentle, treating you as if you were delicate.

But Joel is different. He fucks without mercy or shame in how much he wants you. He holds you down, pinning your hands above your head as he rails you, as if he wants to make sure you'll remember him.

"Look at me, baby ," he grunts, and you turn your head to see him, his pupils blown and his chest covered in a sheen of sweat. He lifts your legs higher, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes you scream.

"That's right, let 'em know how good I'm fucking ya," he growls, his lips hovering over yours. "Let everybody in this damn hotel hear how good you take dick."

You cry out, feeling the pressure build up as he fucks you harder, his cock hitting your g-spot. You've never felt this full, this wanted, this satisfied.

You can feel him getting close, his thrusts becoming erratic and his rhythm faltering. He lets go of your hands, one moving down to rub your clit, his other hand tangling in your hair. He holds you in place as you cum a third time, chanting like a mantra "please fill me up, please please" and Joel does just that. He lets out a guttural moan as his cock twitches inside you, his cum filling your throbbing cunt.

He collapses on top of you, panting, his weight a comforting presence. You run your hands along his broad shoulders, his muscled back, feeling the sweat that coats his body. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing featherlight kisses along the column of your throat.

You feel him seeping out of you as he pulls out, his cum spilling onto the sheets. He lies next to you, his arm draped over your stomach, his hand resting on your hip.

"Was that alright, sweet girl?"

"More than alright," you murmur, stroking his beard.

He pulls you closer, and you're enveloped in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you, his hands drawing lazy patterns on your back. You snuggle into his chest, your legs entwined.

"I should probably get back to my friends at some point, though." You murmur, half-heartedly.

"They won't miss you for one night," Joel murmurs.

He's right. You check the time on your phone and it's midnight, and Jane has your location. You've kept her updated until recently when you'd been too busy taking Joel's cock. She knows where you are, she knows you're safe and one or two more rounds wouldn't hurt.

"You know, I can always show you a lot more ways to swim," Joel drawls, his fingertips drawing patterns along the base of your spine.

"Oh yeah?" You smile, propping your head on his chest.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He grins. "There's the breast stroke, the backstroke, the butterfly. Pool is probably closed and I ain't got nothin' but a bathtub, but..."

You can't help but laugh at his stupid jokes, and he joins in, his eyes crinkling in the corners. You love the way he smiles, the way he laughs.

"We could also stay in, watch some movies, order room service, all that." He continues, his tone light, casual.

You raise your brow, amused. "Is this the part where you ask me out?"

He chuckles. "It's the part where I'm asking if you wanna spend the night."

"I'd like that," you murmur, your fingers running through his salt and pepper curls. "I can meet the girls back at the pool tomorrow and show them what I've learned."

Joel lets out a low chuckle, pulling you closer, his lips brushing yours. "Well, that'll be one hell of a show."

I truly love this series omg

'roommates' masterlist

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Series Summary: Your roommate, Maria, introduces you to her boyfriend's brother. You hit it off immediately, but when you find out the true nature of his profession, you both decide to remain just friends. But once the four of you eventually move in together, things get... complicated.

-or-

A lovers to friends to lovers fic

Series Warnings: no outbreak AU, language, smut (18+ MDNI), slow burn, cigarette use, some descriptions of porn (obviously), angst, mutual pining, jealousy, possessive behavior, infidelity (reader cheating on OC), alcohol use

Status: in progress

A/N: this idea hit me when I was reading @shellshocklove's I Wanna Be Your Lover. If you haven't had the pleasure, I recommend you reading it. It is a great story and very well written.

Chapters:

1. you're joking, right?

2. sparks on the Fourth of July

3. fun in the sun

4. swipe right

5. roll the dice

6. pitching a tent

7. jack and jill

8. forever

9. hold onto each other

10. home

One-shots/Requests:

Roll Call 2: reader and Joel watch some of his porn together

Asks/BTS/Inspo/Extras:

Joel's Likes/Dislikes

Floor Plan

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

Had dream last night that I was watching a trailer for a new movie where Pedro plays a MEAN old man- not Joel “mean” but like actually cruel and very sleazy. He had messy hair and a dirty wife beater on 😳 help something is wrong with me😫😫😫

(Also someone make/link a fic immediately lol)

In honor of Father's Day PEDRO PASCAL for Esquire Magazine 2023 ph. Norman Jean Roy

PEDRO PASCAL as JOEL MILLER The Last of Us (2023-) 1.06 "Kin"

intermission || one shot

shout out to @dinandwhiskey for feeding into my delusions for this one and to @skrunkly-scrimblo for the beta <33

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: movie night with joel doesn’t go to plan, or joel fucks your mouth while you’re sleeping. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ rating: 18+ warnings: [No Outbreak], established relationship, age gap [reader is 24, joel is late 50’s] , dd/lg dynamics, daddy kink, somnophilia [no explicit consent in this fic but she’s cool with it, therefore dubcon], oral [m receiving], face fucking, deepthroating, finger sucking, praise kink, pet names [little bug, little angel, baby, the works lol], references to tummy bulge, references to unprotected p in v sex, mentions of creampie, cum eating, reader can be carried [tho in my mind joel is huuuuuge so size kink as well], Joel’s POV. word count: 2.3k a/n: happy father’s day (iykyk) :3 ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. 

I don’t fall asleep during movies, daddy, you had sassed him. 

Whatever you say, little bug. 

That was an hour ago and now you’re resting your pretty little head against his belly, your hand tucked beneath your head. You look so peaceful. So pretty. So soft. So – pliant. 

He really shouldn’t. 

But then your hand slips from under your head and falls to rest a hair's breadth away from his clothed cock, it jumps in his sweats. You’ve practically pavloved him to react like that with just a mere graze of your fingertips. 

“You got no idea what you do to me, sweet girl, drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy over here,” his voice a low rasp, reaching for your fingers and gently pulling them from his lap, squeezing your fingertips twice before resting them atop his thigh. 

You’re completely limp, deep in your sleep and Joel is unable to control himself.

He snatches up the remote, hastily turns down the TV, shoves his gray sweats down to the middle of his thighs and frees his semi-hard cock. He wraps a hand around the base, gives it a firm tug, and rests the tip of his length on your lips.

He stills and swallows hard. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this, it feels selfish to take what he’s been desperately wanting from you — for the better part of an hour — when you’re unable to respond. He should wake you. 

But then, almost as if you’ve made the decision for him; your lips part and a soft moan releases from you, mmm, daddy. His cock twitches against your lips, opaque droplets already gathering at the slit. Your lips stay parted and the glistening tip slips between your plush lips. 

“Fuck– ” He groans at the sensation, eyes rolling back into his head, hand flying up to the back of yours, cradling your skull in an attempt to anchor himself as he slowly rolls his hips up into you. He stiffens fully at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him. It feels fucking incredible. 

How the hell did he get here? A rare lazy sunday night with you on his lap, taking a man almost three times your age in between your lips, letting him use you in your sleep. 

He remembers first laying eyes on you. You showed up on his porch one night, not too long ago, with sparkling eyes and a shy smile on your face. He didn’t even hear what you had said to him, too distracted by the soft skin of your exposed thighs just below the hem of your pale pink dress — barely covering the plump shape of your ass — and the flow of your hair as a wave of muggy summer heat swept past. He thinks it was something about the leftover cake from your birthday. He only guessed that from the sad, fat square slice of funfetti birthday cake held up in a flimsy paper plate before him, the letters jaggedly cut down the middle of the celebratory phrase.

Joel is a strong man; at least that’s what he tells himself. He knew you were too young for him. The split letters that barely spelled out twenty-four on your birthday cake told him as much. Trouble, he’d muttered. He still mumbles that occasionally when you push his buttons, though hours later, he often finds himself burying his length deep inside of you, tears pricking your eyes while he stretches your needy cunt.

But then you glanced up at him with wide, curious eyes and flashed him a big, toothy smile — the prettiest little thing he’s seen in all his long, hard years — and he cracked; his cement walls came crumbling down. He brought you inside his home, into his too-small bed, and fucked you until you cried, until you asked him for a break only to climb on top of him minutes later, begging him to feed you his cock again.

His cock pulses on your tongue at the memory, your voice high-pitched as you cried, Daddy, please, I want it. And Joel couldn’t resist his special girl. How could he? When you softly gasped into his mouth as he pushed the blunt head of his cock past your puffy folds — nuzzling in and making a home for himself — where he belongs. Your warm, drooling cunt sucking him in to the hilt, sheathing the entirety of his hard length inside your messy little pussy. 

Joel is a strong man, but not when it comes to you. 

Please, please, I need to feel it inside me. All the way up here, daddy, you whined, one hand gliding up your belly, the other fisting the fabric of your lace-trimmed dress. He just couldn’t resist you. So he fucked you and fucked you deep, until he was in the soft pouch of your tummy and poking through from the other side, just as you had asked of him. He fucked you full of his spend, until your poor, tiny hole couldn’t take any more of his cum. 

He’d damn himself to hell before he’d refuse you. He only hopes you don’t deny him if you wake. 

His deft, roughened fingers brush the hair out of your face before settling his hand back on your head. He sits up and leans over; marveling at the stretch of your lips around him, sweat beginning to pool at the nape of his neck and the corners of his temples. 

He feels filthy. A dirty old man. He’s never taken you like this before. But it doesn’t feel wrong. He’s only missing those pretty sounds you make —

You stir and let out a soft moan around him. Sweet Jesus, there you go. Your head dips lower down his belly, nestling more of his length into your hot mouth. Atta fuckin’ girl. Let me in, baby. Open up real big for daddy. 

“Such a naughty little thing, lettin’ me fuck your throat while you’re sleepin’, just needed to be full o’me huh?” He whispers softly, and at that, you hum. Joel can’t help when he bucks up into your mouth in response, saliva pouring past your lips and onto his graying pubic hair. 

“Fuck, baby, you like gettin’ daddy all messy? Like chokin’ on daddy’s big cock?” He taunts, a grin tugging on his face. 

Once again, as if you can hear him, you hum. 

You’re so damn responsive. Or maybe you just like having his dick in your mouth.  

“Fuck, yeah, you do,” he pants, his voice strained with restraint. His free hand glides down to the swell of your ass — the softest skin he thinks he’s ever felt — and hikes up the frilly hem of those pink sleep shorts that he likes a little too much — the ones speckled with tiny red hearts — over one cheek, grabs a handful of your plush flesh, and squeezes. You moan, and Joel feels your tongue twitch, feather-like, beneath the heavy weight of his cock, then pressing up against the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft. He bites down on his lip to muffle the loud moan that sneaks past his lips, the back of his head hitting the couch behind him. 

“Goddamnit, takin’ me so damn well, even in your sleep, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he babbles, his eyes shut tight as he revels in the feeling of himself in your mouth, the action movie silently playing on the screen flashes against his eyelids, measured shaky breaths escaping him. The strong hand on your head easing you lower and lower to take more of him, your lips now grazing the drool drenched hair at his base.  

Your mouth feels like velvet around him — warm and soft and so perfect that his hips cant upwards unconsciously, the pace of his thrusts increasing. He’s losing himself in the haze of his fast-approaching release, a deep-seated tension building in his gut, teetering on the edge until—

You splutter around him and Joel’s head snaps up to peer down at you, your eyelids flutter open against the soft glow of the television.

“Shit, baby. ‘M sorry,” he rasps and quickly retracts his hand from your head. Yet, you don’t pull yourself off him, instead you curl your weak fingers into his thigh. You don’t want him to stop. 

“You want me to keep going?” He asks gruffly, he knows you can take him, you’ve done it countless times since you have met. He’s trained you well. Yet, he needs to be certain he’s not reaching your limit. 

You drag your lips off his cock, an obscene wet slurping sound fills the too still air, letting off him with a pop and maneuvering yourself to sit up on your knees. “Yes, please daddy,” your voice still thick with sleep, peering up at him with an innocence to your needy gaze; a mixture of drool and precum coating your pouty lips. 

“Christ,” he mutters, under his breath. Such a pretty fuckin’ sight. One he reckons he’ll never get tired of seeing. He can’t deny you. Not when you look at him like that. 

“Okay, baby, here,” he murmurs, his hand retakes its place on the back of your head, guiding you toward his aching cock, your lips latch onto the fat head — all angry and red — and he inhales a shuddery breath as he watches your face contort at the stretch of him in your mouth. 

Your tongue flattens underneath him and he presses himself deeper into your willing mouth, filling you up and messaging the walls of your throat with the wide head of his cock. 

His grip in your hair tightens and a low groan rumbles in his throat, “There you go, baby, hold still.”  

Fucking hell. He could keep you here forever. 

“So goddamn pretty like this, baby,” Joel grits, “Love havin’ your mouth stuffed full o’ my cock, huh?” 

You make a low muffled sound around the length of his cock.

“S’right, you do,” he answers for you.  

His free hand trails down the length of your body, instinctively gripping the meat of your ass, dull fingernails digging into your skin, just barely grazing your puckered hole. You whine around him, the vibrations from your throat has him flexing his fingers your hair in response, and with shallow, quick thrusts of his hips, he fucks himself into your mouth. 

Fresh tears begin to sprout in your eyes as you gulp hard, your throat constricting around him. Joel feels his throbbing tip choked tight at the small opening at the back of your throat. The warm walls of your throat so tight — so good for him — the muscles in his belly tighten, and the hand on your ass is quick to join the other on your head, gripping your skull. “Shit— that’s it, angel. M’comin’.” His dick pulsates on your tongue, and a loud, guttural groan spills from him as hot, thick spurts of his cum coat your throat. His hand holds you there, firmly pressing your mouth flush to his spit-smeared balls. He feels you swallow around him again, and he whines quietly. The muscles in his jaw go slack, and his head falls back onto the couch while he lazily thrusts upwards, his leaking head bruising the back of your throat as he empties the last of himself into your mouth and filling your belly, his chest heaving from exertion.

He lifts his head when he feels you pull off him; you cough softly against him, the warmth of your breath brushes against his now softening cock, and his hooded gaze meets the sight of a thin string of saliva and cum dribbling from your wet, puffy lips, tears dripping from the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks. “Oh, c’mere, little bug, lemme see.” 

Just as he taught you, you plant a small, wet kiss on each of his heavy balls. Joel sighs through his nostrils. Fuck. What did he do to deserve you? You’re too good for him. You scoot over to sit up in his lap. Joel feels the slick between your legs through your tiny shorts when you press against his soft cock. He lets out a little groan; if he hadn’t just come, he’d be getting hard at the sensation.

His hand reaches to grip your jaw, angling your face up as you present him with your open mouth, the corners of his lips twitch at the sight of the walls of your little throat; empty, swollen, and used. 

“My filthy girl, you did so good f’me,” he cooes, coaxing away your tears and swiping your glistening lips clean. He pushes the pad of his thumb — covered in slobber and cum — into your mouth and presses it onto your tongue. Your wet eyes lock with his as you enthusiastically suck his thumb clean. 

Man alive. Maybe you’ll damn him to hell.

You release his thumb and giggle, biting your lip and smiling up at him dreamily. “Thank you, daddy, I liked it,” you rasp quietly. 

“Yeah?” He breathes, both of his hands on either side of your face, thumbs stroking your wet cheeks. 

Your wide, glassy eyes meet his gaze, “I like when you do things that make you feel good, it makes me feel good,” your voice hoarse and small, fingers toying with the collar of his t-shirt.

“Well – you always make daddy feel good, little angel,” he praises, leaning forward to lay a long kiss to your forehead that elicits a breathy sigh from you, your eyelids fluttering closed. 

“You tired, baby?” He whispers, tucking your soft hair behind your ear, fingers stroking down your hair and twirling the end of the gathered strands between his fingers.   

You yawn quietly and give him a slow, small nod, a sleepy smile to your face as you sink down in his lap, your weeping cunt throbbing against him. He’ll play with your perfect little pussy in the morning. Maybe your other little hole too. 

He chuckles at that. “Alright, little bug...” he starts, tucking his soft cock back into his sweats. He scoops you up into his arms; his weak, achy knees pop, and a low grunt spills from him as he stands, “Bedtime.”

TBR

Devotion 🖤 Masterlist

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

I. Stronger Together CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

II. Predator or Prey? CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

III. Path to the Future CH 9 CH 10 CH 11 CH 12

Epilogue Some Summer Sunday

Series Warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon-typical violence/death, death of clickers, guns, blood/injury, references to previous SAs (not described), Reader has low self worth & trauma, this group/cult is not feminist - women aren’t treated as equals, Joel has sexual relationships with other characters (not described in detail), possessiveness, manipulation, stalking/spying on, Joel gets mean, DubCon Oral, Joel gets abusive (verbally, mentally, physically (he hits, throws, and bites), thoughts of self-harm and suicide, talk of periods & pregnancy, unprotected PiV, oral sex (m & f receiving), come eating, DIRTY TALK, brief reference to breeding kink and creampie kink (but reader does NOT get pregnant in this story).

A/N: OBVIOUSLY this is canon-divergent, but it is post-outbreak. The events of outbreak day have not changed (sorry Sarah). Reader does have a developed background that plays heavily in her character arc, so in that sense she is very much an OC. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions.

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

AO3 LINK

MOODBOARD BY @strang3lov3 MOODBOARD BY @beefrobeefcal

*🖤*NOTES ABOUT THE CULT & JOEL BELOW*🖤*

ABOUT THE CULT

The Cult's Core Ideology

Build up a community (and supplies) to return to a thriving society that can keep people safe & find a cure.

The Cult Operates by its 3 Tenants:

How Joel does it (what he "preaches")

I. Build Trust (We are Stronger Together)

Makes people feel beautiful, important, HEARD

Shares the wealth (food, shelter, women)

Seeks Power & Control to get others to help him

II. Us vs Them (The Predator Vs The Prey)

FEDRA is the enemy, do not trust them

Assimilate or Destroy all other people/groups

Attack them before they attack you

III. Gather & Prepare (Create a Path to the Future)

You can never have enough, always take take take take

The community you create now will determine future society (fair, honest, hardworking)

Once you are well-prepared and rebuild, you can work on finding a cure

🖤

Notes about Joel and the Cult:

He and Tess began this community together in 2010 after they met Bill and Frank and they felt that the QZ was becoming too dangerous and unstable. They settled in a small, remote town in the mountains of Vermont. Tess helps him "run" the community but she has a submissive role. (Their dynamic here is different from canon.) Tess has his respect probably more than anyone else does but she is not looked upon like an equal by anyone in the community.

Timeline/Ages:

This takes place in the fall of 2012, so It’s been 9 years since outbreak day. Joel is 45, my HC for Reader is Early 30's (Tess is 39/40). Reader's exact age isn't given, but she was in her early 20's on outbreak day and I wanted her to have experienced a fair taste of an adult life before the world ended. I didn't want to write the reader as inexperienced or with too large of an age-gap, although I think 11-14 years is still pretty significant. She has a history that plays a significant role in her personality (wary, untrusting). She has been hurt/abused by men - both those that took advantage of her when she was young, as well as by those that she trusted/loved. There are very few physical descriptions but she is very much an OC. Note that her age is not something that's explicitly mentioned because I did want to keep it inclusive. I hope everyone who wants to read this can use their imagination to fit themselves into the story in a meaningful way.🖤

3 NEW shorts from Pedro’s Corona commercial

🎥 - Caleb Nyberg Is Dead

smother - part xiii: exhibition

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: your time in jackson is nothing like you expect - it brings up so many more questions than answers, leaving you frustrated. 16.7k words. chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! dubcon - stockholm syndrome, innocent reader, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 55), ddlg/daddy dom! joel, sub!reader, smut, harsh fucking, degradation, cum play, blink and miss it breeding kink, reader is referred to as a pet, reader wears a collar and leash (in public!!), reader has hair and outfits are described. if the darker tags aren't your thing please keep scrolling- i'm not responsible for the content you consume! a/n: it's been a month, thanks for sticking with me y'all. i'm very proud of the nuance of deeper emotions this chapter holds along with the pure insanity and for somehow making it almost 17k words along the way! also their shit is so fucked up and they're so codependent i'm obsessed with them! anyway! i know it's a lot but i absolutely get lost in building this world and am super thankful you all stay along for the ride. icymi there is some very delicious juicy art of these two i got commissioned here !

How could he have known?

Joel can’t help but turn over your words, the story you’d bravely shared with him that night, watching you twitch and move restlessly in your sleep while he kept watch. Poor girl. 

But he can’t think like that. He can’t let these needless sympathies pour in and distract him from protecting you, doing his solemn duty towards you. Make him feel more than he really should. But reflection is a fickle minded monster when you’re surrounded by darkness, nothing other than the softness of your breathing and the buzz of insects coming out for an early summer. 

Joel’s only respite from the swirling in his gut is when he allows himself only brief moments of sleep, the tiniest of naps when he simply can’t hold his eyes open anymore throughout the long, dark night until daybreak causes him to stir for good. He sits forward in a panic, the pressure and warmth of your closeness no longer there, sending his heart picking up for only a brief moment until he sees you, your back turned to him over by the cart containing all of your things. An old jacket, far too oversized, draped around your shoulders in the chill of the morning as you’re crouched down, digging through his backpack across the way, popping up to then give Willow a pat as she grazes on the dewy grass. 

He moves with a grunt to sit up further, his body stiff and aching, stinging eyes heavy and tired. You throw your head over your shoulder and give him a smile, the sight accompanied by your eyes shining along with it, morning light spilling in through the trees, just feels right. 

You’re over to him in a second, down on the ground, straddling his outstretched legs, throwing your arms around his neck and a soft press of your lips to his scruffy cheek. “Morning, daddy,” you coo sweetly, and Joel grumbles pleasantly, still finding his voice. “Was just gonna get a snack,” you explain, knowing that he had to be wondering why you were elbow deep in his backpack only moments ago. 

“Mornin’, sweet girl. You’re up early,” he says gruffly, finally clearing his throat. 

“Sun woke me up,” you say, nuzzling yourself against his cheek again. As much of a welcome show of affection you’re giving him, Joel feels like his mind is playing catch up with the droll version of you from last night that shared such tragedy with him and this flirty, bubbly you he’s seeing right now. 

“Hey,” Joel says, grabbing your now heated cheeks between his palms and looking you over. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” you chirp, sliding off of his lap and standing up, dusting yourself off. “I’m good, daddy.” 

“Not so fast,” Joel calls out, his vice grip on your wrist stopping you from moving any further. He tugs and you come back down to his level, crouching. “All the way. Daddy wants to talk to you.” When you oblige with the tiniest eye roll Joel decides to let it slide, only giving you a sidelong glance in warning. 

“You… shared a lot w’me yesterday… I don’t think you should be ignorin’ that,” Joel says once you settle back down into a straddling position. 

“I’m fine,” you quickly retort, suddenly leaning forward to try to kiss him again, hips grinding down enticingly. You know what you’re doing, and Joel would be an idiot to not remind you who’s in charge here. 

“Woah, blossom, easy,” he says, his hand easily finding the back of your collar and tugging, pulling you back from where your lips are heading towards his. “You’re tryna get a punishment here or something? Ignoring me when I’m talkin’ to you?”

You huff, shaking your head. “No… I’m just…” you whine, surging forward despite his hold to catch his lips on yours, planting a long peck there, trailing your nose down along his cheek to his neck after pulling off. “Just excited,” you murmur into his hot, dewy skin, promptly cut off when Joel yanks you back again, harder this time. You let out a tiny mewl, a sound caught between pain and pleasure, your blood running hot at the way he’s roughly handling you. You crave it now, need it like your own air, wanting him to show you affection in one of the only ways he knows how. 

Joel bristles, doubling down. “The hell? You want a spanking? You want daddy to have to hurt you? Hm? That what you’re after here?”

“No!” You squirm, fighting his hold now, feeling a sudden rage coursing through you, frustration that Joel can’t understand you, what you need right now. It’s overwhelming and you flare your nostrils, huffing to get out of the tight grip he has on you. “I… I want… to forget!” you spit out, your chest suddenly heaving with the weight of holding back your tears. “Again. I forgot for a long time.”

Joel softens, a sympathetic click of his tongue followed by his contorted face falling slightly, the sneer still on his lips but cracking quickly. His grip loosens on the back of your collar, threading along your scalp and then flat against your head, stroking. “Okay, honey,” he concedes. “I helped you forget all that bad stuff?”

“Mhm,” you admit simply, your voice now a hoarse little whisper. Your face burns hot from the heat of the moment, embarrassment for lashing out so severely on him, words now lost on you. 

Joel inches closer, scrutinizing eyes and his breath fanning hot, your head tilting to accommodate the incoming kiss. “You know how I feel about mhm,” he says, low and gravelly. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you squeak out, frowning with a familiar fear that creeps up on you, not knowing which way this is going to go with Joel. 

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, urgently, as his head moves forward with force, his hand splayed on the back of your head jerking you forward towards him as well. His lips clash with yours, heated and hungry, and your mind quickly empties as the tears that had been brimming burn your eyes, leaking out as you shut them and dive into the kiss. 

He laps into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip and sliding his tongue over the tiny wounds each time, your breathing heavy as you start to whimper at the sensation. Joel’s hands glide down the curve of your spine, both planted on your ass before his right hand delivers a hard smack to one of the cheeks. You jump, whimpering with a quiet yelp as your skin stings, the hurt fading just in time for another spank to be delivered on the same raw spot. 

“D-daddy…” you whine quietly against his lips, and you can feel his curl up, a sinister smirk as he delivers a third spank, watching your mouth gape open when you inhale sharply. 

“Daddy’ll make you feel all better, s’okay,” he mutters, his hand curving around your hip, bunching up the gown you’d slept in last night and wasting no time cupping your aching sex, relief flooding you but it’s not enough - more more more, the words running through your clouded mind so quickly you can’t be sure that you aren’t chanting them out loud in a whisper. 

“Jesus,” Joel whispers, his fingers curling along your slit, making you mewl softly when he brushes over your clothed clit. “Fuckin’ wet, you dirty little girl,” he says harshly into your ear, pulling you closer, delving his fingers underneath the band of your panties, shimmying them aside. He has to physically restrain himself for a moment, unable to believe what belongs to him, the way you gush at the smallest advances, just a few simple smacks on your ass and you’re done for, putty in his hands.

“Mhm…” you moan, your head lolling forward with eyes fluttering shut, and Joel responds by slapping your left ass cheek in warning, making you jump. “Yes, sir,” you correct yourself breathlessly.

“Get this cock every god damn day, still can’t get enough though, can you?” he spits out harshly, his fingers moving deftly underneath the fabric of your panties. “Daddy’s little fuckin’ cock whore.”

You clench your weeping, tight hole at his words, the way they send a zing right through your core, still never understanding exactly why you like it when Joel talks to you this way, but starting to mind less when it makes you feel such an indescribable sensation. It’s warmth, like you know deep down the words come from some place of care, of making you feel wanted, feel good, despite the content of the words coming out of his filthy mouth. And you find that you’re dutifully nodding at them, agreeing and almost proud to be the things he’s calling you.

“Y-yes! Yes I am!” you cry out when he stuffs you full of two of his thick fingers without any warning, the stretch painfully good as he delves deep. Your hips stutter forward on top of him, a gasp flying out of your mouth when he scissors his fingers open and then pumps them slowly.

“That’s right, you are,” he says, rough and raspy as he fucks you harder with his fingers, not daring to show you any mercy - you asked for this after all, didn’t you? To forget, to be distracted, and he was delivering. “Bet this ain’t even enough, is it? Want daddy’s cock fuckin’ you like this?”

You choke out a cry when he adds a third finger, spreading them wider inside of you and moving, but you find it in you to nod with a choked out please. You’re empty in an instant with already sweaty, rough palms grabbing at you and pushing you, flipping your body off of Joel and onto the ground. You land face down in the dirt with a tiny yelp of surprise, squirming before one of Joel’s large hands presses into your back, the other shimmying your panties down to the middle of your thighs. Just enough room for what you know he’s going to do to you. You hear him fiddling with the rough fabric of his jeans as he pulls himself free, thick and heavy, dripping and wanting for you just as much as you are him.

“Gonna take this,” he says roughly, his voice devoid of any kind of warmth as he shoves your legs apart underneath where he’s straddling you, and you feel the large head of his cock slipping between your thighs. “And you’re gonna say thank you.”

You strain out a choked sound, a pathetic cry when you’re full again the next moment with so much more than Joel’s three fingers. He buries himself inside of you without care or reserve, and your fingers clutch at the earth beneath you, dirt under your nails as you try to find anything at all to cling to, to ground you as your body lurches forward when Joel starts to thrust. You’re straining to push yourself up as he gains momentum to keep your face from the dirt, but Joel reaches forward and yanks both of your hands off of where they’re clawing at the dirt. He has a vice grip on your wrists, twisting your arms to pin them behind your back, making you cry out. 

“Daddy!” you cry hoarsely, tears stinging your eyes as you’re contorted further into the position while Joel’s cock pistons into you, splitting your world wide open as that familiar border of pain and pleasure rips through you. It should feel wrong, the way your arms are pinned behind you unnaturally, entire body wriggling in the dirt, your face now forced into the ground, but it only feels like home. At his mercy is where you find yourself time and time again, a place far more familiar now than anything else, and you loosen yourself for him, letting him mold your body to his in just the way he likes. 

You’re completely trapped under him, prone as his entire weight is above you, rutting into you with more speed, his breathing rough and quick, growling when he feels you tighten around his cock. The lewd, wet sounds are a stark contrast to the chirping of the birds singing their morning songs around the two of you while your own cries become more desperate. 

“Yeah, baby? You readyin’ to cream all over daddy’s cock?” Joel grunts out, tugging on your wrists, making your back arch slightly and you whimper out into a moan. 

Your entire body twitches at the words, knowing they’re true. “Yes, daddy, f- please!” you scream. Your insides are alight, begging for the release you desperately need. Not until it’s okay, not until he says so. 

“So tight for me, so fuckin’ tight stretched all around my cock, aren’t you? Poor thing, barely fit in there, don’t I, blossom?” he taunts you, and you sob into the dirt, nodding wildly as you feel the exact sensation he’s describing. It hurts so good, the way he always does, always promises to, and your mind empties as your climax starts to creep up on you. 

“Please please, I’m gonna -“ you whimper breathlessly, filling with satisfaction knowing Joel likes the desperation dripping from your lips. He relentlessly pounds into you, still holding back the permission you crave, tugging your wrists where they’re anchored behind you to force your back to arch slightly.

Joel shakes his head, his fingertips digging bruisingly into the plush skin of your hips. “Not ‘till you say thank you, like I asked, pretty girl,” he rumbles from behind you, and you can barely focus on his words when your insides are pulled so taut, his cock feeling even bigger at the angle he’s holding you. 

“Thank you, t-thank you. Please it’s - y-you’re so big,” you cry in a sorry sounding whimper, and Joel groans loudly -  it’s a rare treat to hear you express yourself so sensually, so openly.  

“Fuck,” he grits out, barely hanging on, wanting to hold back until you’ve had a chance to squeeze his cock like it’s what you were meant to live for. “Come.”

And you do. It’s violent, wracking your body with a newly found level of trembling as you tighten around him, your entire body given over to the pleasure of it. Your heart berates your ribcage as you moan out, losing your breath, head dizzy while Joel holds your body as it sags down further, completely lost in it. You hardly hear his praises but you know they’re there - telling you how good you are, how pretty it is to hear your noises, see you come for him. You relish in the remnants of it as you come down, knowing you gave him an extra enticing show today, proving your status as his good pet isn’t in vain. 

You’re not sure if Joel has noticed, and you’ve certainly never been able to find the words to express it to him without fear of burning up from embarrassment, but you love the moments just like this one. After Joel has seen your poor, fraught body all fucked out and decides it’s time to chase after his own high. He uses you so brutally, your own body just a toy, a vessel at that point, when he knows you’re sated enough. Even if he’d like to spend the entire morning pulling climax after climax out of you, enjoying you sweating and tortured, the two of you have places to be, so he just fucks you harder until he feels his pleasure building to that beautiful release. 

“Fuck all my fuckin’ cum into you, baby, you’d like that, my little pet,” he cries in stunted grunts before he does exactly what he says, only responded to by a weak nod while you whimper at he cruel way he’s used you to get there. You feel the wetness coating you, already begging to seep out, but you know today Joel will push it right back in. When he does, a thick finger pressing into you with a squelch, you twitch and make a tiny noise of protest at the overstimulation your poor cunt is feeling. 

“Good girl, takin’ it right back in…” he says, more gentle now as he observes his work from behind. Puffy, leaking, satisfied, and spent. Your face looking the same as stray tears roll off your cheeks and into the dirt below, but your lips turn up just enough that he knows you’re okay. 

He carefully watches between your thighs, then flicking to your face as he does the same motion again when he sees his spend leaking out once more. Your face screws up a little, eyes squeezed shut, but you don’t protest any of it like the good girl you’ve become. Joel’s fingers start to have a mind of their own, pumping back into you again, making sure every drop he can manage is stuffed right back where it belongs. 

“Daddy, what’re you -“ you croak out, your hips stuttering, body still unable to move as Joel continues to hold your wrists hostage, pushing his fingers in another time. It aches, your pulsing walls screaming at you to scoot away, yet you lean into it a little, the indescribable feeling of Joel’s hands worshiping your body clouding your brain.

“It’s so beautiful, baby, the way you take it all right back, like you want t’be filled up with me. Your body is desperate for it, knows what she’s meant to do,” he grumbles dreamily, lost in the fantasy of the moment, of the beauty laid before him. He could spend hours right here, pushing himself back into you, dreaming of the way it would take to you and swell you up with his baby someday. He’s tried to ignore the itch, knowing it wasn’t time yet, that he still had so much left of you to take before you two changed your lives like that. But the visions hit him hard in a moment like this, his forbidden, lustful instinct to breed such a sweet girl like you nearly made him half hard all over again.

You feel your heart start to skip a beat at his words and the insinuation behind them, unable to speak for fear of confirming his desires out loud. He still had you drinking the tea every day, never mentioned wanting to have children since that first conversation, but you knew the day was inevitably coming, your heart not quite sure it’s up for the task yet. You squirm before he finally stops, letting up and pulling his fingers out with another wet squelch.

“Good girl,” he coos, moving to lean down and place a kiss on the side of your head, running a loving hand down your spine. It makes you shudder despite the warm morning, the sweat coating your body. “Thank you for lettin’ daddy play with you a little longer.”

You grumble out a response tiredly, slumping into the dirt when your wrists are finally released, aching and likely bruised from his tight hold. You shut your eyes, your breath steadying, making you feel the familiar haze of sleep pulling at you, so worn out even though the day has only just begun.

Joel, seeming to read your mind, lets out a grunt of protest. “Mm-mm. Time to get movin’.” 

And so you’re left leaking in the dirt, body throbbing from the inside out and watching on while Joel packs up your things and makes you a quick breakfast by the campfire. For all the unknowns ahead of you today - new people, a new town, and new sights, you cling to the familiarity of Joel doing something some banal in front of you, ready to tackle it with him by your side.

It’s another clear day - beautiful and mild - and with the shining sun rising higher and higher, it’s almost getting to be hot outside. Joel tells you that you don’t have too long of a ride today before arriving in Jackson, and as excited as you’d been this morning, the reality of it starts to settle back into a steady, thrumming anxiety in your chest.

Normally Joel might get annoyed with your endless, anxious chatter about the world around you, random stories you cook up to reminisce on, going back to as recently as the week before born out of nervousness and nothing else to say. Remember when, daddy… to which he’d give you a nod and a grunt, saying yes, darlin’, I remember… each time, holding more patience than he was aware he had. But feeling how anxious you were as you two rode closer and closer, he couldn’t help that need pulling at him to protect what was his, to take care of you in whatever way you needed in the moment.

You’re mid sentence on another ramble when suddenly you see it - large wooden gates shortly off in the distance, walling in the town of Jackson. Several townspeople stand guard, one of them silently motioning for them to open the gate when he spots Joel, his eyes locking on your companion. 

You feel your muscles tense in a flash, goosebumps rising all over your flesh as the doors swing open, guards up top staring down, burning what feels like a hole right to your center. They know. They can see how I’m different, how Joel and I are different. You start to spiral, feeling every pair of eyes on the two of you as Joel guides Willow inside the town, wondering if any of them are familiar faces to him. Your whimper quietly, an anxious little hum and you feel Joel pull back the leash the tiniest bit, getting your attention. 

“Hey. Hey,” he coos, a quiet rumble right into your ear. “Eyes on me if you need to. It’s jus’ me and you.” You turn enough in the saddle to look back at him, catching the leash going slack in your periphery as you crane your neck. “Me n’ you,” he repeats, finding your eyes, blown out with worry. You give him a nod, feeling the leash going tighter again as he picks up the slack, the mischief in his eyes growing. “They know who you belong to, don’t they, baby?” he asks quietly, and you nod again, feeling the flutter in your stomach only grow, recalling what Joel said about the negative light you two may be viewed in here.

“Who is that, then, baby, hm?” he asks, flicking his eyes ahead and then back to you, checking his path.

“Y-you, sir, you,” you reply shakily, finding the familiar directness of his possessive questioning comforting to you right now, knowing it’s working as the distraction he’s meant it to be. 

“That’s right,” he says with that proud, arrogant tone he gives when you’re being obedient. “An’ who do you still have leakin’ out of you?”

“You…” Breathlessly, you lock eyes with him again, almost disbelieving of his dirty mouth. You didn’t think much Joel could say would surprise you anymore, yet here you are. “S-sir…” you quickly add on, making Joel smirk to see you catch yourself so quickly. 

“That’s a good girl, you’re doin’ good,” Joel says quietly, not failing to notice an abundance furtive glances from those who know him from prior visits and even more so from those who don’t. They all quickly avert their eyes as soon as they see his sweeping gaze coming for them, not fast enough for Joel to be unable to catch where their vision had been glued. You. Your beautiful young face, adorned with what was likely an anxious expression, the collar and leash in such sharp contrast to your pretty, innocent features. 

You dare to be brave, glancing off to the side and taking in the buildings surrounding you more closely for the first time. Jackson is cozy, not quite how you’d imagined it but not all that different, either. You knew it couldn’t be a sprawling metropolis like you’d seen in books, but it’s surprising even you just how bustling the main street is. Different communal services, shops, and homes lining a busy sidewalk with folks glancing over at you, and you pass them a weak smile that they don’t all return. They all give either a tiny press of their lips or shove their eyes to the ground once they see your collar, or just stick with blatant stares that you don’t have the nerve to hold. It makes your heart sink, and you hope you’re just imagining it all, ideas put in your head by Joel’s warnings about this place. Your eyes continue scanning, now avoiding any eyelines as you catch a saloon style bar and then smell the mix of savory and sweet coming from the bakery before you see it as you ride along. 

“Daddy, l-look! Have you been to the bakery?” you ask him in a hushed, excited tone, suddenly forgetting all your woes as you gesture towards the quaint, wooden building with a few small groups gathered outside.

“Once or twice,” Joel says with. tiny shrug, his refusal to elaborate quickly frustrating you. You’re purely overwhelmed with the selection here in Jackson - the myriad of functioning, helpful businesses, each one having its purpose and place. Most people in your prior community simply relied on each other - Christine being an expert seamstress, Jalynn great with leather work, and Lance skilled at leading hunting parties to bring home large catches to share. People had their sets of skills, but mostly it always felt like a team effort, borrowing from neighbors and exchanging things or trying to be mostly self-sufficient. Here, though, people seem to even have their own storefronts to help out the entire community. 

“Can we go? Please? How come you never told me there’s sweets here?” you blabber on, distracted enough that you fail to notice Joel pulling off the main street onto a winding side street lined with houses. 

“Hold your horses, sweetheart, yeah? We can think about it,” he replies, smoothing a palm down the back of your head and squeezing softly at the back of your neck, what you know to be a gesture of finality on the conversation for now. He pulls Willow to a stop in front of a small, single story home with a large porch, several chairs and a swinging bench adorning it. “I’ve gotta make a stop here, okay? C‘mon, hop down with me.” 

He slides off Willow effortlessly before offering out a hand, helping you land on your feet next to him. You’re trying not to pout, but your sour first few minutes in Jackson have only been exacerbated by Joel’s lack of enthusiasm about taking you to the bakery, or showing you around at all, really. You know he has business here, and that maybe he rarely has much time to spare for all the recent times he’s been here and in a rush to get back to you to have gotten you a treat from the bakery. Yet… you can’t help but feel disappointment crawling into your bones, settling deep. 

This ain’t a luxury vacation. You remember Joel’s words, letting them ring through your head as a quick reminder to manage your expectations here. This is a supply run, if anything. He’s being quiet, slightly cagey as he glances around himself, almost as if he’s on the lookout for something or someone particular. 

“Stay right here, I’ll only be a minute,” Joel commands while pulling from the cart hitched behind Willow a bounty of furs that he’s collected, all pristinely cut - one of his specialties he’s picked up over the years, or so he’s told you. You just watch, feeling small with your eyes wide and full of curiosity as a man comes to the the door, in his 40s or so with dark, cropped hair and a stocky build. He greets Joel in a way that shows they don’t know each other very well, that this is strictly business albeit not their first time doing it. Joel presents his wares and the man’s eyes seem to notice you for the first time over Joel’s shoulder, standing timidly with your hands folded in front of you next to the horse. The stranger quirks a brow, nodding in your direction, and you get the sense the man is only trying to make small talk, but Joel’s body language fully brushes him off, returning both of their focus to the task at hand. 

Joel disappears into the house for just a moment, returning with a bottle of whiskey, stashing it in his backpack before turning back to you. “Let’s go,” he says, gesturing for you to mount Willow once again but you don’t move, hating just how out of the loop you’re feeling and even more so how indignant it’s suddenly making you. He sighs, going a little softer. “Don’t want to ask twice, yeah, honey?”

“Who was that?” you blurt out, moving to stick one foot in the stirrups, beginning to hoist yourself up with a helpful push from Joel. He’s saddled up behind you the next moment, his energy making you nervous, unsure of himself and erratic feeling as it radiates off of him. 

“That’s Marcus. Once and a while he gets me one of those bottles, and seeing as you polished off the one I had the other night, I needed a new one. That satisfy your question?”

You pout, slinking yourself lower where you sit, wishing to make yourself smaller for him and to offer some help for your own burning embarrassment at the way he’d called you out. “Yes, sir,” you reply meekly, keeping your narrowed eyes trained ahead as Joel moves back towards the main street.

“I ain’t tryin’ to be mean, blossom,” Joel explains, leaving the words there, offering nothing further, but he quickly wraps a hand around your leash and then presses his closed fist to your chest, gently pulling you closer, your head leaning back on him. He plants a forceful kiss along the side of your head, sending a daring glare to the passerby that glances at the two of you.

“I know…” you grumble simply.

“We’ll get you somethin’ fun before this is all over, okay, princess? Daddy promises.”

You turn around and give him a tiny, crooked smile, nodding. “Okay, daddy,” you quickly concede, satisfied enough with his promise for now, knowing he’s typically bound to keep them. It’s not long before you’re back to the main street and coming up to a larger building, still with that same charming, wooden exterior, almost like the entire town is just like your home - the cozy little cabin with Joel. He offers you his arms as you slide off of Willow, landing right into them and he smiles softly.

You see his eyes flash with something unsure, like he’s struggling himself with what he’s about to say to you next. “We’re gonna leave this on, okay, blossom? Can you do that f’me?” Joel asks quietly, holding the leash up to your view. You swallow hard, hesitating when you know it’s risky, that Joel is already on edge as it is. 

“Daddy, I -“ A passerby brushes past the two of you, heading up the few steps leading to a porch on the building, a label of General Store in white paint on a wooden plank right above the doorway. The stranger casts a glance at the two of you before pushing open the door, heading inside. It’s one too many people who looked, and regardless of their expression, you’ve started spiraling, assuming that every peep, glance, and stare has malicious intent behind it. “Everyone is staring,” you say with a frown. 

“And do you care what they think about you?” Joel asks harshly, leaning closer. 

“Is - is it wrong if I do?” you stutter out, fiddling your fingers together, just wishing only for his approval, as you have for months. That gnawing bit in your belly, only seeking for Joel to smile upon your actions, your beliefs, your entire being. “I just want people to like me… to understand it. Is it really that… bad?”

“I already told you most people ain’t gonna understand, so you gotta get that through your head,” Joel says, lightly tapping a finger to the side of your forehead a few times. “It ain’t… bad, but it ain’t good, neither. To put it simply, blossom,” he says, clicking his tongue as he shifts on his feet. “It’s not normal, and people don’t like things that don’t seem normal.”

Your shoulders sag a little, torn trying to figure out a way to finally accept this truth and not let Joel down. Your Joel, who’s done so much for you, taken care of you, even showed you something apparently abnormal that you rather well like, after all - and none of it would have happened without him and his guidance. But what would they call you, if you trotted around town with this leash tugging at your neck? When nobody else around you dons one? What would their eyes say? What would they think, seeing Joel, nearly three times your age, at the helm of it all? How could it be that out of the realm of possibility for their minds to comprehend when Joel had made it all seem so simple? You feel your stomach rolling, afraid to fully commit to what he’s asking you to do, to put yourself out there in this way, but the amount of debt you feel you owe him… it’s too much to try to put off something you think deep down you might truly want. 

“Never thought I was very normal, anyways,” you say, your voice lifting with the forced tease of it, trying to not show your lingering doubts. Your lips curl into a cheeky half smile as you meet his eyes again and see his own grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

His eyes narrow with pleased determination. “Atta girl,” he coos quietly at you, his gaze almost sparkling with pride now. He gathers the leash tighter in his hand, tugging it to close the gap between the two of you, and you ready yourself for a kiss, but he pauses, taking in the moment. “We’ll get you a big reward for this, yeah?”

You let out a breathy, soft giggle. “Y-yeah,” you say. “Please.”

“Might be hard to believe, but this is my first time doin’ this too,” he says, pausing at your surprised reaction as your brows twitch upwards. He’s right - it is hard to believe he’s never been in this situation before, for some reason. He seems confident, cool, and collected as he publicly admires where the leash clips onto your collar, and you’d think he’s done this dozens of times before. “So we’ll do it together, mkay?”

“Okay,” you say softly, trying to give him a more confident smile but faltering, and if he notices, he gives no indication, simply turning on his heel and leading you away from where you’d been standing next to Willow and up the steps to the store. A tiny bell tinkles overhead as Joel pushes open the door, bringing you into the quaint but fully stocked room. Shelves line the walls, filled with different types of produce, eggs, milk, and a plethora of other groceries. The man who had brushed past you and Joel is still inside, browsing, but he’s decided to pay no mind to the two of you and you let out a grateful sigh. There’s a counter straight ahead from the door along the back wall, and you feel your heart thudding in your chest when you see someone standing behind it.

“That Joel Miller?” the middle aged woman says, peering up from the book she’d been lost in at the main counter. Long hair hangs down over her shoulders, slighting graying, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose that she promptly folds up and hangs off the collar of her shirt as she takes Joel in. Her clothing is baggy and masculine, just a slightly tattered short sleeve button up over top of a t-shirt but her features are soft and sharp, a strange mix of coldness and warmth in her sharp cheekbones and big, toothy grin. 

“Hey, Priscilla. Been a while,” Joel hums gruffly in response, stepping inside. The woman is all bright cheeks and smiles, part of her job of keeping things at the general store running, but what she’d never admit is her soft spot for Joel. She’d read his pain the day she’d met him years back, the old saying takes one to know one always ringing through her head when it came to Joel. Her face falters slightly as you slink in behind your protector, sticking close to his back as the sights of the store gradually come to greet you. It’s a true hodgepodge of items - along with all the food, there are old partial and full bottles of shampoo and various other toiletries, what looks to be a donation pile of all kinds of interesting household items and necessities. A sign underneath it reads Give and Take - Our Community Pulls Together! 

Priscilla’s eyes are on you for a beat longer, trailing where the leash sits in Joel’s hand as it wraps around his body to where you stand behind him. She watches you attempt to link your arm in his before he absentmindedly opens his elbow to offer you room to slide your hand through the crook, stepping further into the room. She searches Joel’s face, her light, beady eyes raking over him. “And who’s this?” she coos towards you, the kind smile still lighting up her face. “Never seen you with someone else in all these years, Joel,” she adds on more practically, leaning forward on the counter as if to get a closer look at you and see the answers written on your face. You try to smile back, your face and limbs a little shaky, but you hope it’s convincing as you wait for Joel to answer for the both of you, knowing he’d likely prefer to, anyways.

“Someone I’ve been takin’ care of,” Joel responds simply, avoiding Priscilla’s gaze by moving his way towards the case with baskets of eggs, a delightful sight of brown eggs in such splendid supply that your eyes widen. You mouth a tiny wow, separating yourself from Joel to stand up next to him, wanting to feel helpful by inspecting the baskets for the best lot.

“Hmm,” she mutters softly, unclear on if she feels one way or another about Joel’s response. “Well, you’re the lucky girl who's been getting all those eggs then?” she directs towards you, and you finally muster up enough bravery to look at her, nodding with a timid smile.

“Our favorite breakfast,” you tell her, and her warm energy makes you wonder if maybe Joel had been exaggerating about how things would go here, if Priscilla was any indication. She leans forward on the counter, chin propped in her hand, as if what you’ve said is the most fascinating thing she’s ever heard.

“You’re just cute as a button too,” she gushes with a tiny laugh. Your cheeks warm heartily, eyes averted away to a spot just beyond her as you dip your head down.

“T-thanks,” you murmur, “You - you’re very kind,” you add on, remembering your manners. Out of the corner of your eye you see Joel turn from staring down at the eggs to shoot you a look of pride, his hand coming behind you to skate his fingers over the small of your back.

“Very polite,” he says, leaning in and speaking softly, quiet enough you don’t think Priscilla could hear, and you beam over at him for a moment, feeling heat rising all the way to your ears. Joel turns back, finally selecting a hearty amount of eggs, ones you know you two will space out over the next month or two. You follow closely behind while he browses the store, a jar of jam handed to you for safekeeping before he collects various items - a bar of homemade soap, a tiny sack of flour, and some oats. You watch on despite wanting to move across the store to explore the miscellaneous section, filled with different toys, beauty products, and much more exciting, shiny things. You realize the leash is more than a symbol right now, but true, full control, even dictating where you can step inside this shop. 

You start to wonder as you look down at the haul why Joel is hellbent on living this way, when this community is so close by. Scraping by, rationing food, only eating what he’s been able to grow and having to hunt consistently for years when he could have it so much easier. The answers you could find to those questions may end up revealing more than you want to know, but the curiosity starts to eat at you. 

“Think we’re set here,” Joel grumbles as he approaches the counter, hauling a crate filled with all your goods plunking onto the surface of it. “Jus’ get my exchange items,” he adds, then hesitating for a moment, his hand held up with the leash before he unclips it. “Stay right here.”

You nod once, staring on with curiosity at his decision, but unable to think long before Joel is striding across the small room and out the door. You feel your feet shuffling beneath you, hands held tight and wringing in front of your belly. Priscilla’s watchful eyes are on you, hard but still kind as she tilts her head. 

“Started to wonder why he suddenly stocked like he was feeding another mouth. Must really care about you if he’s bringing you around, you know,” she suddenly says straightforwardly, and you whip your head from where you’d been staring anxiously at the door to her face, intrigued. 

“I-I guess…” you stutter out. “He just -“ You let your words hang, unsure what it is you’re even really trying to convey, anyways. 

“Maybe you can convince him, move him back to town,” Priscilla answers with a wink, seeming unbothered by your lost thought trailing off. 

You blink hard and feel your brows twitch inwards. “He lived here? Before?”

“Didn’t tell you that, huh?” she says slyly, her lips curving upwards, clearly amused and unbothered by spilling what seems to be a secret. “Forget I said anything then, dear.”

“But -“ you croak out, interrupted when the bell above the door tinkles softly again and Joel steps back inside with one of his bags. His hand motions to you to come towards him as he shuffles over to the miscellaneous section you’d wanted to explore earlier. When you’re back at his side, he quickly clips the leash back on and you tuck yourself close. 

“Help me put these out, okay blossom?” he says quietly, leaning towards you. You nod, and he reaches into the bag, pulling out a wooden toy - a train car with what appears to be working wheels. “Find a good spot for this, yeah?”

Your mouth falls open a little, hand reaching slowly and gripping the toy, feeling the smooth wood, the sharper edges as your hand wraps around it. You’re just staring at him, wide eyed, and wondering what’s going through his head at the moment. It felt like that first afternoon you’d discovered his private woodworking room all over again - that sensation like a punch to the gut, something so brokenly human about this man that at the time, you didn’t know if you could grow to love. 

“What? Like I didn’t know you’d have found my lil’ workshop by now, darlin’?” Joel says with a raised brow, and you press your lips together, breaking your eye contact with him and looking down. 

“‘M sorry, daddy,” you mutter, fiddling with the toy before placing it on the shelves in front of you on an empty space next to some similar items, all older, beat up and scratched plastic toys that don’t hold a candle to Joel’s craftsmanship. 

“Thas’ alright, honey. Knew you’d be curious, can’t help yourself sometimes,” he says pragmatically, pulling out another toy, this time a small airplane, putting it next to where you’d set the train. Something about it continues to pull at your heartstrings, the fact that Joel gives back to this community he’s not even a part of. But one that he once was, apparently. It makes your heart sink when you think about it, such a big secret for something so relevant seeing as you’re standing here with him now. You realize all over again that you maybe don’t know anything about the man standing next to you as you gaze at the toys now sitting on the shelf together, something you’d never have expected from him.

“Hey d-“ you start, but Joel is already looking over his shoulder at Priscilla and calling out to her. 

“Got jerky too, want it in the usual spot?” he asks, getting a nod from the woman. The moment is whisked away from you as he starts walking back towards the food displays, and you have no choice but to follow, tugged along by the leather around your neck. A blur of thoughts follows you, but Joel finishes displaying his spoils for the town without another word to you. 

“‘Till next time,” he says gruffly, dismissive as ever to Priscilla who watches you as you’re stuck to Joel like glue when you move to the shop’s door. 

“Nice meeting you,” she calls out in her brusque yet warm voice, and you give her a tiny wave over your shoulder. 

“You too,” you say, knowing it was too late and far too mousy for Priscilla to likely have even heard it, but you can feel the pride radiate off of Joel for the polite interaction between the two of you. 

“Did a good job,” he says, turning to you after packing up the cart, sensing the nerves radiating off of you.

“Thank you, daddy,” you reply quietly, feeling a simmering disappointment inside of you after Priscilla’s private conversation with you had been cut short. It made your head swim, wondering what she’d have said if she was given the chance - what was Joel hiding in that tightly locked past of his?

He tsks, shaking his head. “Know it’s just us, but remember what I told you this morning, yeah? Let’s practice that.”

“Y-yeah… But I don’t want to, da-“ you pause. “Uh, I don’t want to get in trouble. It doesn’t feel right,” you whine. 

Joel lets out a huff. “You ain’t gettin’ in trouble. I’m the one who told you to do it, blossom.”

“But it’s just us…”

“An’ if someone comes along, talkin’ to us, what are you callin’ me in front of them?” he demands, hip popping as he places on hand on it.

You swallow, lashes fluttering quickly as you force your mouth to move, eyes squeezing shut. “Joel…” The word sits heavy in your mouth, unnatural even if you’ve still called him by his real name in your head. It goes against everything he’s pounded into your brain for months, practically since the first day he met you - that the titles that he’s asked you to use for him demand respect, so why stop now?

“Okay, good job, sweetheart. Jus’ remember how easy it was to learn before to call me those names, hm?” he asks, quickly thumbing your chin.

“But whyyy?” you ask, knowing you’re toeing the line once again towards aggravating Joel and earning yourself a punishment. “If we’ve already got… my special necklace and everything…”

Joel crouches a little towards you, making himself less imposing. He cups your cheeks between his hands, forcing you to look into his dark eyes, study the weathered features of his face. “Think it’ll blow all their tiny little minds too much if we use my special names in front of them,” he teases, a twinkle coming to his stare. You twist your lips into a reluctant smile and giggle softly before it turns into a fuller laugh. 

“Y-yeah, guess you’re right,” you say with another laugh.

Joel lightens up too, giving you a wink. “We’ll jus’ keep it our little secret for now, okay?” He’s so quick and easy to convince you, always sounding so sure of himself, the experience with the world you know he has. He makes it so easy to simply trust him, take his words as law and bring them into your own worldview, changing it at the drop of a hat.

You give him a more resolute look and a nod before he releases your face from his hands. “Okay,” you tell him, seeming to satisfy him. He quickly motions for you to mount Willow again, and once the two of you are seated, he starts to move through the main street once more.

“Let’s go on and get Willow to the stable. Best we do some walkin’ in town, show ya around a bit, get you your reward,” Joel says, winding the two of you through the main street, feeling even more crowded with several other people on horseback riding through and a bustle of people chirping and laughing and seeming like they belong here. Your skin crawls with a sudden self consciousness, unable to find how you could fit into a place like this, even if for only a day, just as a simple passerby. You frown, shrinking your shoulders inwards and deciding to focus downwards, instead, on the patchwork denim of your overall pants. Joel’s exception to wearing a dress, claiming he understood that wearing one on horseback for such a long ride wasn’t fair to you. Now that you were out of your usual dresses, you missed the feeling of it, glad you had one packed in your backpack to change into at some point. 

You two dismount at a large, wooden stable, surrounded by several corrals for the horses, and you saw at least a dozen horses grazing, trotting, and lazing about in the sunshine. It lifted your anxious spirit, always having felt drawn to horses, and it’s a rare treat to be in the presence of so many of the beautiful creatures at once.

Joel decides to unclip your leash, sensing your discomfort, and it’s a surprising act of mercy towards you. “Wait here,” he commands, leaving you by the outside wall of the stable as he leads Willow inside. You want to panic, for some reason, all the unknowns of this place tearing into you. You find that you can see Joel through the slats in the wood and the little windows for the horses to peek their heads and muzzles out, eyes too anxiously transfixed on his movements, when he’ll return to you, to notice the other people milling around you.

You lean your back on the wood, neck craned and you smile when you see him emerge through the large, open entrance to the stable and make a beeline towards you. His hand is nearly outstretched, ready to take yours as soon as he reaches you, the other leaving the leather leash dangling from it, begging to be re-clipped to the o-ring. “Alright, le-“

“Joel?” a male voice interjects from across the yard. 

“Shit.” The single word, expelled in a grunt under his breath, and you watch in a stomach twisting moment as his hand drops, and Joel’s entire body turns towards the voice and steps away from you. 

“Hey there, Tommy,” Joel says cooly, his southern accent thick and strong as it rolls off his tongue. 

“The hell? Weren’t gonna tell me you were in town?” the man apparently named Tommy asks, and you can hear the slight jest in his voice, mixed in with something real, like a long standing hurt is buried deep in there. He quickly moves forward, giving Joel a hearty hug with a pat on the back, you seemingly staying unnoticed flat against the stable walls. 

“This is me tellin’ you. What, am I ‘sposed to come runnin’ right to your place and announce it?” Joel asks, but the other man’s attention is now elsewhere. You’d seen the moment it happened, halfway through Joel’s sentence, when the dark, curly haired Tommy had seen you, so clearly waiting a few feet away for Joel, had put together the pieces as he realized Joel’s hand had been ready to grab yours, had seen the leash hanging from the other. Tommy’s eyes are wide at first before narrowing, raking up from your feet, where your worn boots stand with your toes pointed in towards each other, to your anxious, overall-clad body and ruffled pink tank top underneath. And then that roving gaze had stopped dead at your neck. It sent a pulse of heat all over your entire frozen, unmoving body, your blood suddenly running cold at the cruel inspection his eyes gave you, whether they meant to be or not. You feel like an organism under a microscope, scrutinized as his head slowly cocks.

“Who… is this?” the man asks, gesturing towards you, but the question isn’t meant for you, almost like you’re not even there. Joel’s face is flushed, frustration evident on his features, his mouth drawn into a tight line before he sighs quietly. This was what he’d been avoiding, why he’d been looking around so nervously since the moment you’d arrived at those gates. “Joel…” he says more quietly as his eyes fall again to the leash in Joel’s hands, the shiny metal clip catching with a glint in the sunlight. 

“This is Tommy,” Joel says simply with his head turned towards you now, a hand outstretched towards Tommy.

“Oh, that’s it? This is Tommy. His brother, did he mention?” Tommy snips, scoffing in Joel’s direction. You only shake your head for a moment, stunned beyond words. “Didn’t think so.”

“Don’t start, Tommy,” Joel says in warning. You watch on as Tommy runs a hand through his dark curls, shaking his head more quickly now, foot tapping along the ground.

“Then don’t be bringin’ fuckin’... this,” Tommy retorts, eyes flashing to you, undoubtedly getting another look at the leather wrapped around your neck. “I mean… What the hell, Joel?” You feel your heart sink to new depths, the cruelty displayed exactly what Joel had tried to warn you about - discussing you without any awareness of your presence, like you’re an object to be fought over. It’s a stark contrast to how you’d been treated by Priscilla not so long ago, but maybe she was the exception, after all. 

“What the hell is goin’ on is none of your business, that’s what,” Joel counters, his voice getting louder, his tone more dark. You can feel the air changing, the anger between the two of them rising, and you swallow hard, realizing that it’s you. You’re the cause of all of this, already stirring up more trouble than it’s worth for Joel by simply being here in Jackson with him. Your eyes are suddenly blurry, blinking fast with a prayer that your tears disappear more quickly than they’d arrived. When Tommy catches it, he pauses with his mouth open, ready to go on another rant that’s cut short into a staccato breath. 

“God damn it,” he says brusquely, staring at you, seeming to finally realize the massive blunder he’s committed when he was blinded by his rage. He lets out a long exhale, stepping forward to close some of the gap between you two. His face is now soft and kind, his lips turning up underneath his bushy mustache. “I- I’m sorry, sweetheart. That was… fuck - let me try again - I’m Tommy. And I need to have a word with my dear brother here, if you don’t mind.”

You give him a quick nod, still blinking hard, using the back of your hand to wipe at your eyes. You want to speak, to tell Tommy it’s okay, that all of this is okay, how much you care about Joel, but words fail you. Joel turns towards you with a tiny growl at the back of his throat, one you know isn’t meant to be directed towards you. 

“Just. Stay here,” he says quickly, huffing as he follows Tommy around the side of the stables, out of sight. 

“You’re scarin’ her Tommy, are you happy now?” Joel chides out as soon as they’re around the corner. As much as they’re out of your eyeline, their voices are still traveling over to you, and you want to move and tell them, unsure of just how much you actually want to hear this heated conversation between brothers that seems to be so concerned with you. But your curiosity gets the best of you, and you shuffle even closer to the corner of the stable where they’re speaking just on the other side, holding your head down towards the ground. 

“Scaring her? What, like she’s a lost little puppy? You’re bringing ‘round strays now to my doorstep?” Tommy quickly interjects with scorn lacing his tone, incredulous eyes scanning over his brother’s confidence when he should be showing any semblance of shame.

“Oh, your doorstep, really? Don’t be fuckin’ dramatic,” Joel scoffs, folding his arms across his chest with a shake of his head. “And don’t talk about her like you know her,” he adds, lower, a protective growl behind the words. 

“I’ll be dramatic all I god damn please when you’re bringin’ a fuckin’… child up here an’ actin’ like everything’s fine.”

Your cheeks burn with an intensity you’re not sure you’ve felt before, a strange dizzy sensation tearing through your head. Was that really how you looked next to him? Was that really how Tommy saw you? Saw Joel? You want to rush around to the other side of the stables, turn that corner and speak up for yourself and defend Joel, but your feet only shuffle a little more, allowing you a peek around the corner where you see them in a tense stance, facing each other. Tommy’s hands are on his hips, Joel’s crossed over his chest, both at a stubborn standstill. 

“Who is she, anyway, Joel?” Tommy says more calmly, a clearly difficult attempt to tamp down some of his anger.

“She’s…” Joel lets a long, stale pause hang in the air, leaving Tommy staring on with an expectant expression, stunned. “She’s someone I take care of,” he says, repeating the same line he’d given Priscilla earlier. “She’s… mine,” he adds on with a growl, unable to help himself.

“Yours? And just how did she come to be yours, Joel? Jesus, the fuckin’... thoughts I’m having right now. I - I can’t… please, Joel, tell me you didn’t…” Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose before letting his hand fall in exasperation. 

“I jus’ fail to see how this is any of your god damn business, Tommy.”

“Like you stay out of my business all the time, right?” Tommy snorts. “Honestly Joel, have you gone fuckin’ crazy?”

There’s another long, tense pause, and then Joel sighs. “Just… leave us the hell alone, Tommy. Thought maybe you’d be willin’ to listen at the least,” he scoffs loudly. “We’ll be on our way, get the fuck out of your hair.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Look, I didn’t mean to be - but Joel -“ Tommy reaches out, grabbing onto Joel’s bicep, gripping on tightly. You stare, open mouthed, as Tommy’s eyes find his brother’s when he deigns to turn back towards him. He looks desperate, the dark brown wide and searching, almost pathetic. “She’s not - you have to understand how this looks, given your history.”

“Oh you’ve made it more than clear, Tommy, thanks,” Joel punches out with a scornful chuckle, tugging himself out of the other man's grip and shaking his arm off as he turns away. You move your head too late from where it was peeking out around the corner to watch the heated conversation, and you freeze as Joel and Tommy’s eyes lock on yours. 

“God damn it,” Tommy murmurs to himself, watching the hurt, confused look written all over your face.

“C’mon, baby, we’re gonna head out of Tommy’s hair now, yeah?” he says, striding over with his voice softer, determination in his eyes as he glares back at Tommy who is chasing after him. He’s reaching out to take your hand, and your fingers naturally unfurl from where they’d been clasped tightly together, letting him dwarf his hand over top of yours. 

“O-okay…” you croak out of your betraying throat, cursing it for being unable to say anything until now. Maybe things would be different if you’d been able to. Maybe neither of them would be so upset if you’d been more brave. 

“Shit, no - Joel! Wait!” Tommy calls out, catching up to where Joel has your hand tightly, leading you towards the main door of the stable. You turn back as Joel pulls you along to see Tommy’s eyes - wide and concerned, with a hint of what you wonder if you’re mistaking for fear. He catches your eyes and you only see sadness morphing quickly there, wondering just why he’s so distraught. The fight did seem pretty brutal, but the sense you get is the history between these brothers is beyond complicated. Joel had never even mentioned him to you before now, and that fact raises even more questions thrown into the swirling mess of your current mindscape. “Just - I’m sorry, alright? Please Joel. At least come by for dinner or somethin’. Stay with me ‘n Maria. Promise I’ll… talk. No yelling.”

Joel stops, you halting dutifully right at his side, putting your eyes to the ground as your cheeks continue to burn in shame and embarrassment. “Please…You owe me at least that,”  you hear Tommy say again, softer and more desperate, and you feel Joel shift his weight next to you, see the shuffle of his boots out of the corner of your eye. “

“Fuckin’ hell Tommy,” Joel grunts with an exasperated scoff. “Alright.”

You inhale sharply in surprise, whipping your head to look at his face now, trained on Tommy’s with his lines set hard, brow furrowed deep and jaded as he takes in his groveling brother who now looks ten times lighter.

“Alright, then.”

Tommy had you ride back to his home with you, saying there was plenty of room for Willow to graze and roam in his yard and a place for all your perishables in his home. Just as he was about to welcome you in to the comfortably sized, two story home with open arms, he paused, stopping you and Joel on his porch. 

“Just. Let me warn her first, yeah? She wasn’t expecting any… visitors today.” You can tell by the way Tommy says it that he doesn’t mean just any visitors - that Joel, and you, by association now you suppose, comes with its own warning.

“Yeah, fine,” Joel replies with a dismissive wave of his hand, exasperated. He’d expected as much, knowing how Tommy and his wife are. His hand immediately comes to the back of your head as soon as the screen door bounces shut behind Tommy and he disappears. 

“Alright?” he asks, looking down at you. Your lips part, surprised by the question, this type of check in from Joel. Sometimes his sweet moments are far and few between, and sometimes they come in clusters, never knowing which you’re going to get. 

You give him a weak nod, focusing instead on the distant voices you can hear from deep inside the house to attempt to hear anything at all from them. You’re starting to feel the need for a shred of hearing any kind of honesty out of the situation, what’s truly going on here, or if your collar really was enough to set off Tommy and whoever else was in that house.

“A what?” you hear a female voice say, the volume rising significantly from the far away murmurs you’d been trying to zero in on. 

“Just… we should talk to ‘em. For me, please.” You think you hear from Tommy, more hushed, but followed by approaching footsteps on the old hardwood floor. Tommy comes back into view, followed by a woman whose dark eyes flash over Joel for just a moment before finding you, flicking quickly over your features. She’s pretty and natural looking - her dark skin and long dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail, outfit simple and utilitarian but still flattering. Her face is serious, none of the warmth you’d been hoping for, but you’re quickly learning to stop letting yourself down with these expectations.

“Joel,” she says, hard and blunt, crossing her arms. “Nice to see you.” You can’t help but feel less than convinced by her delivery as you glance between the two of their strained expressions.

Joel clears his throat next to you, and gives a curt nod. “Likewise.”

She turns to you, a soft smile finally playing on her lips. You can still see the tense way she’s holding herself, her words bit back for Tommy’s sake. “I’m Maria,” the woman says before laying a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Tommy’s wife.”

“Hi,” you say, putting your hand up in a weak wave and giving them your name. It’s strange, saying it out loud, all the pleasantries of meeting new people you haven’t experienced in so long. You then realize neither you nor Joel had said it when Tommy discovered you two at the stables - to Joel, you have many names, but your given one isn’t necessarily one of them. 

“Well, come on in,” Maria says, yanking on the screen door and whipping it open. She’s nearly in a huff, buzzing with energy that has nowhere to go, emotions running high that you still don’t quite understand. You certainly can see Joel’s point that people generally reject the abnormal, might pass judgments on the two of you, but the strain you feel here is deeper than all of that, you’re sure of it. You and Joel are led through a cozy foyer with a coat rack and little console table on one side, and the stairs on the other. It opens on either side into other rooms, and Maria takes you all to the left into what looks like the living room. 

“Well, uh, sit on down,” Tommy says when you hesitate at Joel’s side, fighting the urge to hide behind him, cling to him and meld yourself into his skin.

“C’mon,” Joel says, settling himself in a large, puffy chair that sits adjacent to a loveseat. You feel lost since you’re unable to sit next to him, and when he catches the way you glance at his lap, the ground between his legs, he shakes his head, making a desperate pull go through your heart. You step past to the loveseat, cramming yourself as close to the armrest as you can, as close to Joel as possible. You sit forward - too stiff, you know - wanting to get your body to the edge of the couch. He shoots you a compassionate but hardened look, and you’re struggling to understand why he chose to sit separately from you. Why it’s always this bigger game at play that you’re stuck on the outside of.

“Drinks, everyone?” Tommy asks genially, a tiny nervous chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck, hovering near the couches and chairs and leaning back on the armrest of one. Maria gives him a nod, seating herself next to you and sliding back on the couch. 

“Sure they could use some water. You feeling thirsty?” she asks you, and you blink in surprise to be addressed so directly.

“J-just water,” you say, the end coming out more like a question, your wavering voice so unsure of itself. 

“Why don’t you help me grab ‘em, Joel?” Tommy says, and Joel glances between the couple with a furrowed brow and tiny shake of his head. 

“She stays with me,” Joel clips, his hand twitching towards you from where it lays on the nearest armrest. 

“You got to be k-“ Maria starts, sitting forward, exasperated, but Tommy quickly jumps in, stepping further into the room to be more of a physical interruption.  

“Can see her right from the kitchen, Joel,” he says, even tempered, gesturing towards where the living room opens right into the large kitchen, light spilling in and illuminating all the white tiles and warm wood tones. 

“Fine.” Joel shifts with a grumble, pushing himself up and leaving the room with Tommy. 

“I- I can go with him -“ you stutter, practically reaching out after him, feeling your heart picking up its pace. This feels wrong, your mind screams at you, the separation piercing at you like a knife even if like they said, you can clearly see Joel lumbering around the kitchen with his brother. 

“So,” Maria trills a little too harshly, clearing her throat. “You’ve been… staying with Joel?” You suppose you have, but you’ve hardly thought of it so much as staying there anymore. It was your home, the place you’d been making memories with him, experiencing all these new things, falling in love. She sees your anxious, bewildered expression, wide eyes wondering how to answer, or if it’s even okay to say anything. “Hey, it’s alright, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Make s-sure I’m okay? What…? Yes, I’m okay,” you say, growing a little indignant at what she’s insinuating.

“Yeah?” she says softly, giving you a nod, turning her body a little more in your direction, creating a little bubble between the two of you. “And you like Joel? You’ve been spending a lot of time together?”

“W-well yeah…” You try not to narrow your eyes at her. You know she means well, that her and Tommy seem very taken aback by your arrival, your existence, even. Like Joel said, it may not be the most normal situation, and you can feel the good natured intention behind her questions, but you’re not quite sure what kinds of answers she’s seeking. What proof does she need to decide whether it’s okay for you to be here with him?

Maria feels your hesitation, the way your answers are short and packed with as little information as possible, and she keeps pressing. “How long do you think you’ve been there?”

You chew the inside of your lip, finally deciding you want to answer her as honestly as possible. “A while, like, um, since the winter. February, maybe. I lost track.” You look to see Joel giving Maria a sidelong glance from the kitchen, half focused on what Tommy is saying as he fills four glasses with water.

“Okay… that’s okay,” she says, bringing your attention back. “You can tell me, if something is wrong, or you don’t want to stay with him anymore, honey. Tommy and I know Joel pretty well, actually, did you know that?” 

You shake your head to both things she’s said. There’s no way in hell you want to be separated from Joel, and if that’s where the conversation is going, you can feel yourself shutting down already. “Yeah, well… no, not really. I never heard about him having a brother. B-but I never asked…”

“Yeah, they fight sometimes, you know how brothers are,” Maria replies with a tiny laugh. “So you… uh… can I be direct with you?” she finally asks, getting straight to the point. You only swallow hard and nod, feeling your stomach turn.

“That’s enough,” Joel booms, crossing over into the living room with two glasses of water in his hands. “We didn’t come here for an interrogation, Maria.” 

She pats your thigh briefly, then brings her hands back to her own lap. “Later,” she whispers, giving you a wink that leaves you feeling dizzy and anxious. Joel hands you one of the glasses, an absentminded command of “drink” falling from his lips before settling back into his chair. You do as he says, both Tommy and Maria clocking the way you instantly bring the glass to your lips and sip in long, thirsty gulps before setting it on a side table. 

“Now, this the reason you haven’t been stayin’ in town for long recently, Joel?” Tommy asks, sitting down on the matching chair to Joel’s, placed across from where you sit with Maria.

“Never stayed long before,” Joel quips back, relaxing back smugly with his arms crossed over his chest. His insolence is filling the room, this brotherly side of him something so new, and for the first time you’ve learned there is someone who can truly get under Joel’s skin.

“Well, that ain’t true. You used to -”

“Enough,” Joel booms out, leaving Tommy with his mouth open before he snaps it shut. You feel a flutter in your stomach - there it was, another allusion to Joel’s past quickly snatched out from underneath you.

“Well, used to stay more ‘n half a day before, you jackass. ‘Till a few months ago…” Tommy teases, eyes shifting to you with a playful raise of his eyebrows that wavers into something judgmental for a brief beat when his eyes rake over your neck again. You know that there’s more than just the collar there, too - Joel’s marks from the other night had to still look fresh, although you hadn’t noticed them much in the mirror this morning. They were too common for you now, part of who you are to pay them as much mind as you used to. Sometimes you thought they were beautiful, strangely, the different stages of the bruising that intermingled whenever Joel decided to remind the world who you are, where you belong. 

Joel gives him a grunt of approval, rolling his eyes. “Don’t like to leave her alone,” he says practically, refusing to tease Tommy back. You can feel his bad mood permeating the air from being pushed too far earlier, starting off way too far on the wrong foot. Joel doesn’t let things go easily, you’ve learned that about him all too well.

Tommy seems to notice, but quickly brushes off Joel’s sourness and decides to press on in his attempts to lift the mood. “Can we convince you to stay longer? The summer solstice celebration is tonight, could be fun for her,” Tommy says in a gesture to you. “An’ if this is someone, er, special to you, then we want to get to know her, Joel. Get to know you,” he says the last part directly to you, seeming to realize just how much they’d been referring to you like you weren’t even in the room. For some reason it hadn’t bothered you much - you were getting too used to being property over a person at this point, you think. And in conversations like this - complex, laden with hidden meanings, difficult to weave your way through - you preferred to stay more of a fly on the wall, anyways. You can feel the strain in Tommy’s voice, the pure restraint it’s taking to do as he’s promised and keep things civil for now after his and Joel’s outburst earlier. 

“I don’t know, Tommy,” Joel starts, glancing to your wide eyed, intrigued expression. Your ears had perked up at the mention of the festival, you couldn’t deny that, but it also filled you with anxiety to think about being around so many of the townspeople, trying to blend in. “That what you want?” he asks, softer, turning towards you.

You make a nervous little hum, thinking, then shrug. “Dunno, er, maybe…” you admit, trying too hard to tell Joel what he wants to hear, to let him make the decisions as he’s always so keen to. The truth is that you did want to experience things, new things, having had your fill of them with Joel has made you eager to see more of the world beyond the cage you’d been trapped in for so much of your life.

“Think you’d like it a lot,” Maria says, giving you a smile. “Or at the least, don’t you want a good meal in you today before heading off?” she adds on. Their appeal is hard to deny, and you give Joel a tiny, encouraging smile when he looks to you again, trying to gauge your comfort level. Your eyes silently plead, if only for your own selfish reasons to stay here and learn more to help you understand Joel better through the people who have known him much longer than you. He sighs, fingertips brushing through his wiry beard.

“Yeah, fine, alright. Dinner.”

“Alright, then,” Tommy booms out, his tone light as he reaches over from his chair, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “You’ll stay the night, then? Can’t have you two leavin’ so late.”

Joel grunts, gearing up to say something about the two of you camping just fine, you can see it on the tip of his tongue, but he deflates slightly. You think that maybe he’s been wanting this too, itching for some connection with folks that he hasn’t had in a while. This is his family, you realize, maybe all that’s left of it, and you can’t blame him for giving in when you can see how staunchly defiant he still wants to be. 

“Y-yeah, we’ll stay.” You can’t help your tiny smile at his words, brushing your fingers to your mouth in an attempt to hide it, but you feel Maria’s eyes from where she sits next to you, still studying, still intrigued.

“I’ll show you upstairs, where you can put your things,” she says before standing up, leaving you to follow. You hesitate when Joel doesn’t join you two, and pause next to where he still sits in the plush armchair. 

“Go ‘head, blossom,” he says quietly, to your surprise. You silently pick up where you’d set your backpack next to the couch and give him a tiny, timid nod.

Maria leads you upstairs, your eyes fixed on where Joel still sits, the back of his head going out of view as you ascend to the second level of the house. You frown, and Maria tries to give you an encouraging look over her shoulder as she takes a sharp right at the top of the steps into an open doorway. 

“Do you want a shower? I know it’s a long way to get here. We’ve got plenty of hot water.”

“S-sure,” you say, glancing around the bedroom. It’s not spacious, just a few pieces of furniture adorning the light soaked room as the window catches the bright afternoon sun. There’s an intricate, metal framed bed right across from the doorway, a faded quilt draped over the mattress and two nightstands on either side, faded and dusty. A large wardrobe takes up most of the other wall, completing the matching set with the side tables. “Yes, please,” you say, not wanting to be rude. 

“Do you have clothes? Something to change into?” she asks, leaning against the wall.

“I-” you mutter, remembering the dress you’d worn last night and into this morning, now stained from the way Joel had pressed you into the dirt hours ago. “I can just wear this.” You look down at your overalls and brush the pockets with your fiddling fingertips.

“I’ll bring you a few things, and maybe some pajamas for tonight?” Maria insists, and despite the anxiety creeping in that it won’t be something Joel picked out for you, you give her a polite nod to not rock the boat. It feels like the least you can do, to accept her kindness, someone so clearly a caretaker.

“Thanks,” you respond mousily, letting her lead you to the bathroom, just adjacent to the room you’re staying in.

“Towels are in here,” she says, tapping a cabinet next to the doorframe, “And I’ll leave some clothes in the bedroom, okay?” She pauses at your anxious expression, softening but a look of confusion on her face, trying to pinpoint the source of your worry. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want…”

“N-no, it’s… very nice of you. I just…” you peer past her, down the stairs, where you can hear the distant rumble of Joel and Tommy’s voices. “They were fighting,” you tell Maria, lowering your voice.

“Brothers fight,” she says again with a shrug.

“Because of me, I think.” You frown, suddenly feeling self conscious, unsure of why you’re sharing so much with a stranger, but your heavy heart was beating so painfully, so full in your chest, you needed to unload some of it on somebody.

Maria steps into the bathroom further with you, leaning her hip against the counter. “They haven’t seen each other much in a while. Joel has been… distant. Tommy was probably just hurt when he saw that Joel hadn’t told him about you. That boy doesn’t always know how to handle his emotions. Well, that goes for both of them,” she says thoughtfully. Maria’s faltering voice isn’t fully convincing, but you hope that’s the reason, not the way you’d been feeling them passing judgment, sizing up the situation.

At your lack of reaction, she bores her eyes into you. “How well do you know Joel, hun?” she asks softly but laden with insinuations and you inhale sharply, tearing your eyes from where they’d been studying the baby blue floral shower curtain to her face, scanning it. You can feel the heat creeping onto your cheeks, anger flashing in your eyes. Your defense of Joel always comes so swiftly, so strongly, from a part deep down that has attached itself to him completely.

“I do. I know him. He- he’s good to me!” you say defensively, making Maria shoot you another skeptical look. She swipes her fingers over her eyes, rubbing them, and you notice she looks conflicted, tired.

“Hey, I didn’t say he wasn’t.” She touches your arm, just barely, lowering her defenses for a moment. “Just be careful - you’re a sweet girl, I can see that. But there’s some things you should know -” she starts, and you feel the breath pulled from your lungs, readying yourself to shake your head at the coming confession from her when the noise of the two men downstairs shuffling around distracts her in the tense silence.

She turns back to you, regret lining her features. “You know what? Let’s just get you clean and fed first. I- I’ll leave the clothes in the bedroom for you,” she says hastily, turning on her heel and closing the bathroom door behind her before you can say another word.

The shower is too hot, everything too much as your mind spins, your skin burning with frustration and unsaid words, ruminating on the little you got from Maria. What could you need to know? Could it have to do with what Priscilla had started to tell you in the General Store earlier, too? You slam the handle of the shower down, turning off the water and wrapping yourself in a towel, feeling the sting of tears prickling at your eyes. You hadn’t expected this newly found freedom Joel had offered you to feel so constricting, so isolating. You’d wanted to see the world, but maybe the world hadn’t wanted to see you in return. At Joel’s, you always knew your place, exactly where you belonged and how to behave. You had the information you needed, the past having no place living with you in those four walls despite your always clawing curiosity about Joel’s. 

You pad out of the bathroom in your towel to the bedroom, where Maria has left out what appears to be pajamas for you - soft shorts and a tee shirt, along with a dress. You touch the cottony fabric, the pale pink color slipping through your fingertips. Without even knowing, you think she’s picked out something that Joel may have dressed you in as well. You smile, your troubles forgotten for a brief second as you slide it on over your head, letting the light fabric fall over your body, the dress hitting you mid thigh, shorter than you’d expected. You pull your lip between your teeth as you continue to grin softly, knowing Joel will find you a vision in this dress, especially true as you fix your ribbon back into your hair. The thought of Joel seeing you and lighting up in that subtle way he does carries you forward to the stairs, ready to bound down and towards those strong, comforting arms that feel like home. 

Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all. 

Joel’s eyes avoid his brothers as they sit at the kitchen table, drinks in hand. He’s looking out at the backyard through the window, where Willow grazes on long, untrimmed grass, basking in the sun. When he looks back to Tommy, his eyes are swirling with concern, questions, and judgment that he’s sick of dealing with already. “Quit lookin’ at me like that, jus’ say whatever the hell you need to say,” Joel snips to his brother.

Tommy sighs, rubbing anxious strokes along the back of his neck, the skin blooming red before it drops back to the glass on the table. “Just… why the… collar, Joel?”

His brother’s squirming as he pushed the words out gets a wily grin from Joel, impressed that he’d even be able to finally ask the question that was on his mind. “‘Cause I like it,” he replies simply, sending Tommy’s mouth opening and then closing, thinking heavily on his next words.

“I mean, I’ve heard about things like that before, bein’ part of people’s lives in the bedroom and whatnot, but why in public?” Tommy’s words are practically wrenched out of him, painful as he broaches the sensitive topic, and he winces.

“‘Cause… I… like… it,” Joel repeats, slower, leaning forward with daring eyes. “And she likes it.”

Tommy practically snorts, throwing his calf over the opposite knee as he sits back. ”Does she, now? Or just ‘cause she’s got you tellin’ her she does?” 

Joel almost doesn’t take the bait, latch on to the challenge Tommy has thrown his way. But he can’t help but defend you, defend what you two have, in some way. “She does,” he affirms, whether Tommy believes it or not is out of his hands. “Makes her feel safe.”

Tommy stares off, lost in thought for a moment, hardly seeming to have heard Joel’s feeble attempt to absolve himself. “You know I’m a pretty open guy,” Tommy muses slowly, “But… she’s real young. She… even legal?”

“What’s legal, anymore, hm? You see judges and juries out here putin’ infected on trial?” 

“Why d’you gotta be so fuckin’... headstrong, such a stubborn asshole, Joel? I’m just tryin’ to -” Tommy asks, clearly already flustered by his brother’s cool attitude, far too cool for the situation at hand. He looks at his kin, his dark eyes, familiar features, but recognizes him less than ever.

“She’s old enough,” Joel interrupts, taking a long swig from the glass of water before drumming his fingers on the table.

“C’mon, Joel…” Tommy pleads, his dark brown eyes soft. “I’m just… what I’ve said before still stands, you know.”

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes. “Which one? You’ve made more ‘n enough promises to me before that turned out to be utter shit.”

“T-that there’s someone in town… someone you can talk to about things. These kinds of things. Same thing I offered after everythin’ went down before. You know, help with workin’ through stuff.”

“And you think I look the type to need help workin’ through stuff, do you?” Joel snips back.

“Jesus Christ, Joel, yes, of course you fuckin’ do. You - you know that you do.” Tommy’s hands, thrown in the air, fall dramatically to his sides, looking at Joel in disbelief.

Joel’s silence stretches on as he swallows hard, biting the inside of his lip. “I don’t need it. I’m… doin’ fine. Better than before. Knew I shouldn’t have stayed – where is she –” he starts to mumble, standing up in a hurry to find you, the scooting sound from the kitchen chair grating as it rings through the room.

“Joel, you know I just care about you – you’re my fuckin’ brother. I want you… to be alright.” Tommy is persistent if nothing else, always has been. When he suddenly thinks acting like the caring, responsible eldest sibling will make up for all the years he was an immature wreck, it grates on Joel’s nerves faster than he wishes. But he sees the good buried in his words, past the condescension and judgment - he only wants to see his brother doing well. Take care of him like Joel had done for all those years. But only if “doing well” fits into his box, falls in line with his terms. Joel’s chest heaves as he stands, frozen for a moment looking down on Tommy where he still sits at the kitchen table, suddenly looking years younger, the picture of his little brother he’s always fought with, and always found a way to make up with, too. 

“I know,” he grits out, devoid of emotion and warmth, only a simple fact. “Can we jus’ go to dinner? The hell is she?” he asks, stalking towards the living room when he hears the familiar pitter patter of your feet coming down the wooden stairs. He’d likely notice the too concentrated smile on your face, the strain behind it if he wasn’t so focused on the dress you had on, the way it flowed out behind you as you came towards him like a dream. You fought to keep your shaky smile, afraid to admit that you’d staked yourself out at the top of the steps when you’d heard arguing from the kitchen, witnessing most of the bickering Joel and Tommy just had. The hurt was becoming unbearable - the war inside you telling you to continue trusting Joel fighting with the terrifying notion that there could be things out there that would change your view of him forever.

He swings a hand around your back, pulling you close, fingers splayed across the small of your back, immediately distracting you from the negativity inside your mind. “Very pretty,” he mumbles, and you giggle, smiling more genuinely at his praise. It was a welcome relief to know he liked what you were wearing, even if it wasn’t from his approved selection. You feel your heart squeezing tight as he takes your hand while Tommy comes into the room, calling out for Maria.

“No leash tonight,” he whispers as the four of you ready to leave, and you feel a sudden relief wash over you combined with a strange desire to feel the safety of it again. You can’t make sense of any of it, the way you feel torn in two on every front right now, this place messing with your mind more than you’d ever expected. 

Jackson’s main street - where the mess hall is, Tommy tells you as you walk along - is crowded, making you gratefully distracted again as you take in fresh face after face, clinging close to Joel and using him as a shield. He walks proudly with you by his side, happy to play into that role for you, to keep you sheltered as you push through the crowd gathering in the main square. You see people abuzz, putting up strings of flowers everywhere, and your eyes go a little shiny and starry, loving the spectacle and color of all the wildflowers.

“For the solstice celebration,” Maria comments to you when she catches your captivated glances around the square. You eagerly nod, showing you heard, but you remain speechless as you crane your neck to keep the sight in view when you four turn the corner to enter the large mess hall. What looks to be a cavernous, old barn, converted into a dining area with rows of picnic tables covered in gingham tablecloths, all decorated with votives for tonight’s celebration. People are still finishing stringing up extra lights and flowers in here as well, and your smile lights up further, enamored by the display of humanity at its sweetest.

“Now, you really like living with my grumpy ass of a brother? You can tell us the truth,” Tommy asks, turning his gaze to you once you’ve all sat down with your trays of food, and you stun a little, intrigued by the way the conversation has shifted from outside the stables earlier today to now. He breaks out into a spirited grin, and you find yourself unable to hold back your own smile, nodding. 

“Y-yeah, I do,” you tell him, and you catch the way Joel looks at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking, pleased. “It’s real nice there, we can see the mountains and everything. And there’s a creek, oh and hot springs!”

“That so? Be nice to see it sometime, huh?” Tommy says, reaching across the table to Joel, playfully shoving his arm. Joel only shakes his head, but you see the amusement in his eyes as he finally lightens up, his lip twitching upwards.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe we could discuss it,” he concedes more amicably, dropping a hand below the table to your thigh, unseen by the others. His way of telling you he’s proud of you, he’s happy with the way you’re behaving, opening up to his family. He absentmindedly strokes circles with his fingers, squeezing the flesh between the movements, climbing higher and higher, teasing the hem of your dress. His fingers speak his words for him - keep eating, act normal, no moving, no reacting - and you sit still as his rough fingertips climb upwards to the inside of your thigh, putting a forkful of the roasted vegetables into your mouth, keeping your wavering face as steady as you can. 

It’s hard to follow the conversation as Joel’s fingers brush near the apex of your thighs, teasing you more intensely, only to move away at the last moment and start the process over again. You want to groan out of frustration, your cheeks hot and embarrassed at the prospect of being caught if you make a wrong move.

“What kinds of things do you like to do, then, sweetheart?” Tommy asks you, his attempt to get to know you better for Joel’s sake, and you blink hard, clearing your throat, tuning out the feel of Joel’s hand as much as you’re able to, not trusting your voice to make anything resembling a normal sound right now.

“I- uh- I -” you stutter, and Joel glances at you with a knowing smirk, brows lifted in amusement.

“Don’t go shy now, you can tell ‘em. She likes readin’ a lot, don’t you?” Joel teases, his pointer finger brushing outside your panties and you nod heartily, holding back a whimper.

“Y-yes. I like reading. Da- J-Joel and I read together a lot. And the garden, gardening together…” You find it hard to keep your focus, attempting to ignore the pleasure ramping up between your legs but split between wanting to give in to it and keep the conversation at hand.

“Yeah? Y’all bring some of your stuff along for the shop?” Tommy asks, seeming to be well aware of Joel’s trading habits here in Jackson.

“I remember the zucchini Joel brought us a few years back,” Maria chimes in, sounding a little forced, her observant eyes scanning you and Joel with scrutiny. 

“We have lots of it this year, Joel says,” you pipe up, beaming at your accomplishment with Joel. “Always turns out real good, actually when we cook it.”

“Oh, look -” Tommy interrupts, gesturing behind you and Joel to the other end of the room, where a cart is being wheeled in. It stops near the food serving station, a townsperson transferring plates from the cart to the table, and you squint to try to get a better look. “Think they’ll have some special desserts for the solstice, pull out all the stops,” Tommy says to you with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and you feel your chest tighten in excitement. 

“Did promise her somethin’ sweet, actually. Didn’t make it to the bakery earlier,” Joel says, shooting a furtive glance to Tommy, who looks down sheepishly for a beat. Joel’s fingers pull away, the comforting warmth of him now missing from between your thighs, but he shifts to stand up, and you realize that he’s put your needs ahead of his own. He’d wanted to mess with you, tease you, get in your head, but he’d made a promise earlier, and as Joel has always said, he means what he says. It makes your heart go a little soft as you watch him scoping out the plates from afar, squinting himself now, only hoping to make the night a little more special for you.

With your chocolate chip cookie in hand and a grin on your face, you head back out into the street with higher spirits, the four of you conversing genially and naturally. You wonder if the adversity of the day could really, finally be behind you all now as the air feels lighter around the group, if maybe they were starting to understand just what you and Joel had been trying to demonstrate to them. In whatever twisted way they saw you, the truth was that you made each other happy, and if they could see that, then maybe everyone would stop staring, fighting, throwing out those passive aggressive digs at each other. Maybe brothers could be brothers again, and Maria would stop giving you that wary gaze like she couldn’t wait to get you alone and tell you all the secrets she was holding onto.

The sky is glowing, ablaze with orange light from the sunset, the lights strung up along the buildings all starting to stand out more as the sun goes down. It’s truly magical - the chatter of people, laughter surrounding you - even at its best your community had never been like this. There was always such reservation in every movement, every conversation, like someone was watching at all times, ready to crack down on any uncouth behavior. Which you suppose to them, someone was.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Maria coos, nudging you. You feel a sense of normalcy washing over you, unworried about the overheard truths you’d sneakily heard earlier, just wanting this to work so badly that you’d give up your own comfort, your own curiosities, to live like this, arm wrapped in Joel’s and strolling along a street full of excited folks going about their lives. This place was a tiny paradise, hidden away, one you wanted to be a part of, even if only on these small visits with Joel. You know he lives in that cabin for a reason, away from the hustle and bustle, and you’ll gladly stay there with him, for another chance at this.

Joel pulls you closer, stopping to let you admire the scene - live music, flowers, and the general joy of it. Even if it’s not even close to something he enjoys, he sees the spark it ignites in your eyes and wants to give you this moment before taking you back to the silence you’ve become accustomed to. His hand grazes your side, bunching the dress up a little as he tickles you accidentally, hitting just the right spot. You almost don’t hear through your laughter and the music: a strange calling - your name. It’s desperate and loud, coming closer, and your heart hammers suddenly, blood running cold but your skin prickling with white hot flames. Your name. It’s too foreign, used too infrequently to sound like it belongs to you anymore. At what point is a name no longer yours, if you’ve become what you have to Joel?.

But it’s real, it still calls, panting as it reaches you and you’re thrown into thin, wiry arms you almost don’t recognize at first. It takes too long, the words stuck on your tongue as protestations and questions murmur around you from the others, hard to grasp onto anything as the world spins faster, the voices fading into a blur. You finally manage to choke out a mumble into the shoulder you’ve been pulled into, a cry that finally turns its way to speech.

“J-Josie?”

TBR

FABLE OF THE DOG : 3. Little Freak

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1, Chapter: 2,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Rough Sex; Size Difference; Spanking; DD/lg Dynamics; Dom/Sub Undertones; Forced Orgasm; Dirty Talk (like really forreal); Small Boobie Rep; Biting; Over Stimulation;

A/N: really sticking my finger in the father wound and wiggling it around in this one :))))))

Word Count: 10.3K

Read on AO3

3. Little Freak

You pull your sticky fingers from the damp bed of your underwear, the not enough little orgasm you’d been able to rub out still pulsing hot and cold through your cunt. 

Horrible man—you’ve never wanted anyone or anything as badly as you want him to need you. And no, not a wanting sort of thing, not a wanting sort of desire—that’s not what you’d demand from him. It’s specific, this thing: it’s that you want him to have no choice in the matter, you want him to be forced, to see no other recourse but you because that’s just how necessary you feel to him. 

You want there to be no thought, no compunction in him—only you. 

Even more, because lies are worth nothing here in your own mind in your cold bed—

—You want him to love you. 

The way your father never did. The way no man ever has, not really. 

Face buried in the dark for a moment, you groan softly before sliding belly first off the silk bedding onto your knees, pushing yourself up off the floor unsteadily. You toe your boots off and then step tiptoe on the end of each sock to pull them from your feet. It’d not been a lie—you’re not drunk, limiting yourself to only one tonight, and no liquor, because you knew you needed to be able to focus on the taste of his tongue when you inevitably got your hooks in him, hoping, knowing he’d take your bait and follow, but now, it’s a wholly different sort of buzz zinging through you. 

All him. All man. All Joel.

He’d been flavored of smoked whiskey and mint, a hint of tobacco, and you wish you could’ve been more faithful in your pursuit of enjoying the chewing of the leaves he always has, you’d tried for years but couldn’t bear the texture, the green gnashed between your teeth, earthen and organic. It’s not for you, your tastes veering to something hotter and sweeter. But you’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and every endeavor at a connection, no matter how small, had always seemed like a valiant one. 

Stupid birthdays. Disgusting leaves of mint. Dead fathers and daughters and all the different ways we hurt each other. 

Stumbling coltish and uncoordinated, newly birthed down the staircase, you push your way out the back door. He’ll have gone to bed now, you know they’re going up the mountain early tomorrow morning to check on one of the herds, but you’re desperate for one more second of him, being spit out of the house of your dead parents, hunting for the last hint of his presence riding on the fresh air off the Tetons and all this land that’s all yours now. 

You veer left then right, a zigzagging dance across the green lawn until you’re far enough away from the house it’s like you can pretend to ignore the ghosts you’re readying to exorcize. One knee hits the ground hard and stinging, limbs loose and strengthless, you feel the stab of a little rock against the curve of round bone beneath easily broken skin, catching yourself on a palm, another too hard scrape and then you’re rolling over into the grass, settling on your back to look up at the stars. 

There are so many, an infinite number of lights winking like watchful eyes back at you, and you wonder at the sort of childhood that lends itself to laying in the grass like this beside a parent that loves you and wants you and carves space in their life for a child they'd forced into the world. It should be some sort of crime, you think, immediate execution sort of barbarity, to have a child and not love it the way it demands. 

Back of your hands open at your sides, palms to the watching sky, you close your eyes and imagine what it’d be like to have the hand of a father holding it, one that would want you—not a mother because what is she in reality to you but an imagination figure you can’t even truly conjure up? That much of a stranger is what she is—such an alien thing you can’t even bother to dream her. 

Drawing your knees up, you press your bare heels into the earth and the wet placket of your panties is ice cold and sticking uncomfortably now, breeze against it. You shouldn't be thinking about this shit, but you think you might cry anyway, sucking in too fast breaths, forcing them out in attemptedly slow little puffs through your nose. A wave of sudden grief, then a plateau, the nauseating up and down of it all. You should be thinking about him, about your victory tonight, about making him so angry he can’t help himself, about what’ll come next—his skin. But that’s the thing about him, Joel, isn’t it? Always has been—the incongruous, make-no-sense feelings he’s always pulled out of you since you’d first set eyes on him, fourteen years old and tender and so alone you didn’t even know there was another way to be but abandoned. 

A laugh then—huffing and sardonic and again, incongruous, because now you really are crying. Tears leaking back, hot and fat to pool in your ears and salt the earth beneath you—unloading your grief into the grass as if God were beside you. Nothing will grow here again because of you if you’re not careful, and that’s the next worry—

If he never needs you the way you’re demanding of him, you won’t be able to stay here. 

You won't be able to live here and love him and not have him, and you could force him, perhaps, in your own ways. But you’ve done so much of that your whole life—forcing unloving men to look at you and take you into their arms when they’d never really wanted to give you the thing you’d always wanted most. 

The tender truth: it would be so much better if Joel decided to need you because he wants to, because he can’t fathom another way than just that. 

And you don’t think you’ll ever be able to live with anything else besides such. 

Another forced out laugh again—just to feel the feeling of it, go through the motion, mountain air a roundabout gust in your lungs, then to your left:  “What’re you laughing at, weirdo?”

Ellie, long and loping and beautiful, come to your rescue. She throws herself down onto the ground beside you and doesn’t even have to ask a thing about it when she places her rough hand in your soft one. 

Working girl, mover of mountains, changer of lives. 

Ellie has always known how to know you, and it has always been an incredible comfort. 

The two of you lay there for a few quiet moments. Friendship as an entity has always been a strange thing to you who have never understood love in a non-transactional way. But the thing that Ellie has always given you, it has always been an incredibly straightforward sort of understanding, simple—that of one abandoned child to another, perhaps. 

“Are you drunk?”

“Why’s everyone always fucking asking me that?” Said with another laugh but of the real sort this time, despite the bite in your voice. 

“You’re a hazard. What can I say?”

Undeniable. “Oh, shut up.” You dig your nails into the back of her hand, trying to scratch her but probably ruining your manicure instead, she squeezes your knuckles in sideways, hurting you way more than you could manage her. A yelp, and you say, “You know what I’m excited for?”  

“What’s that?”

“Skijoring.”

“Fuck no, dude. I almost died last time.”

You snicker, “Yeah, that was the fun part for me.”

Elbow to the ribs, and, “Asshole,” she laughs. And then you’re quiet again together, still gripped by the hands, and it’s the sort of comfortable only two girls who’ve been together since they were truly girls can be. 

“You see Cassiopeia?” She points her finger way north. 

“Do you think I should stay?” You see it, and easily, and you know if you were somewhere not here, it wouldn’t be so simply found. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Because of Joel.” It isn’t a question. You’ve never said it with words to her, but she’s always known. 

You hum instead of answering, can’t say it out loud anyway just yet. “So you finally asked her.” Dina, she knows what you mean.

And Ellie hums now in turn too. The both of you are so fucked up. Can’t say a thing out loud. 

“And?” 

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Good.”

“Just good?”

Ellie groans loud and long, baying goat, and you tell her so, which gets another knock to the ribs. “Turn around and don’t look at me so I can tell you.”

You roll over towards the mountains and feel her face the house where she doesn’t see ghosts like you do. 

“But you’re not allowed to say anything—just say okay. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I think—well, you know…,” she gruffs, voice dipping low and dropping off before she can say the words out loud again also. Everything’s a secret code here, even the stuff that shouldn’t be.

“You think?”

“You’re such a fucker. I know.”

You hum again but the good and happy sort, pressing your lips together to keep the misty eyed smile at bay. “Okay,” you say back just as low and just as gruff. 

“S’why I think you should stay,” she adds. “If I can find happy here, so can you.”

“I’ve never been able to before.”

“But you’re different now.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah—can see it, you know. And this place is different now too—will be different.” 

“I was afraid to come back for such a long time. It seemed like the worst thing in the world.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before she says: “You’re not supposed to be afraid of your father.” A very obvious thing—or at least it should be. 

You feel her turn to look at the back of your neck, and you peer over your shoulder at her and when your eyes meet, she looks so sad, like she’s so sorry for you but without the pity, and you do understand what it is she’s saying despite never having had that fearless experience. 

“Aren’t you?” A shrug of your shoulder and a helpless laugh but also maybe with real humor accompanying it. Because yes, you’re not supposed to be. You always were anyway. It’s funny in an impossible to understand way. 

A beat and then, “Can I say something fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

“He isn’t here for you to be afraid of anymore.”

Funniest of all, you’re the most sad about this. And what you don’t say to her, perhaps for shame or that child’s feeling of having done something wrong but not necessarily understanding what that wrong is—sometimes it’s inevitable, missing the monster. 

“Maybe you needed him to die.” Yeah, fucked up. You’d already thought the same thing and were chock full of guilt for it. “Maybe it was like—like I don’t know. It was never going to be the way it should have between you, but now you can remember him, fuck, I don’t know—different. Not that you wanted him to die, but now the reality of him isn’t here for you to see, so you can just remember it all however you like or not.”

“So I should lie to myself?”

“Why not? There are worse things you could do. There are worse things you do do.”

You snort. “Is this what your method is?”

“Yeah. Like—like sometimes, when I’m so happy I can’t believe it’s me feeling it because she makes me that happy, Dina,” she says her name with love, “I pretend nothing from before was ever the way it was, and it’s only here and now and me and Dina and the ranch and there was no shitty, abandoning father and no dead mom and no nothing and only Joel is my dad and it’s all always been okay.”

Joel. 

At the center of everyone’s happy dream, why is it always him? 

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll try it.” She reaches behind her back then, pawing at your hip until you give her your hand again, and you were wrong. She’s changed too. She can say things now. She’s always had those too perceptive eyes and that too big heart, and she’s changed now in a way that makes her not afraid to let it out and use these things anymore. 

You tell this changed Ellie now: “You know that like— that like… I don’t know how to say it. When a person’s life seems like it should be perfect, and you have everything. Everything should be good, right—but it’s just not. Your parents should be kind, they should be loving. They should be attentive and give a shit what happens to you, and it probably seems that way to the whole rest of the world except for the people that have to witness the humiliation behind closed doors, but it’s really just not, and then they probably look at me and wonder how my life could be anything but rose colored, and it all just seems a little silly and empty. Doesn’t it?”

“Nah—don’t know. My life was always shit before I came here and found Joel and Dina and all of them and you. And I'd seen enough to recognize what you were and how it was. Nothing ever looked rose colored to me—just looked like more shit.” You laugh again out loud now and for real, squeezing more tears out over your hot cheeks when she joins you in the sad hilarity as well. 

When her voice is finally steady from the belly laughs again, she says, “It’s a grief pyramid, we’re all just going around hurting each other in the name of our ghosts and call it an excuse, an offering to their memory and act like it’s okay. But it’s fucked up. That’s why I decided to stop. I stopped pushing her away, I told her—well, you know. I told her.”

“Say it, loser.” You bump your butt into hers. 

“Not to you—leave me alone.”

Say it, say it, say it, you sing. 

“I love her, fuck off.” And a little clog of emotion sticks wetly in your throat.

That’s the real question, honestly: How do you make someone love you? How do you make yourself into someone people can love?

“It’s a grief pyramid,” she repeats. “You have to choose to stop adding to it.” And she’s quiet again for a long time, and you can’t fathom how it is one stops building onto something they’d been born into. You think on it so long the feel of her palm clutching yours starts losing itself to sleep in the grass and the breeze comes off the mountains like a blanket over the two girls who’d become women before them until she says again, “Anyway, that’s usually the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid.”

-

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothin’.”

“Nope. You’re definitely doing something.” He angles the phone away from her prying eyes, trying to shield his shame with the palm of his hand. 

“Mind your own damn business, kid.”

“Is that an Instagram account?” Ellie howls like a banshee, Tommy coming up behind him to reach over his shoulder to try and rip the phone out of his hand. He holds it out of his reach. 

It’s just that he couldn’t help himself. He’d heard the boys all talking about it on the ride back down after their long day of work—your Instagram page—as if he knew what the fuck that was. He’d had to search it up on the internet when he’d gotten a moment alone in the bunk, cracking open a beer, muscles exhausted from the hard ride and having to haul a heifer out of a bramble she’d gotten herself caught in, he’d realized it was a thing young people put photographs and such on, a social media thing. But when he’d gone to search your name, it’d told him he’d needed to make an account of his own. Growling in frustration, he’d slowly made his way through the process, too big fingers punching at the too tiny keys of the stupid phone you’d forced on him. 

“Can you shut up and just show me how to work this thing. And stop your goddamn howling—Dina’s gonna think she’s dating a hyena not a girl.” She slides into the seat next to him, taking the phone from his grip to finish setting up the account and type in your name, a deck of pictures loading up for him to hunt through like a vandal. Photographs of you in all sorts of different places, draped in fine clothes and jewels and your fucking perfect ass right there for everyone to see. 

Oh my God.

“How many people can see this shit?” He asks Ellie, angling the phone back towards her. 

“You’re so nosey, man,” she chastises. “Thirty-seven thousand followers.” And a long, impressed whistle from Tommy who he’s going to punch in the face after he’s done with this. 

He swallows hard. “What’s that mean?”

“That thirty-seven thousand people are following her and looking at her pictures, Joel,” his brother says. “Man, how fuckin’ old are you?”

“Yeah, you’re not that old, Joel. Come on.”

“Go away now. I’m busy,” he tells the both of them, going back to doom scrolling through your pictures. One’s of you in barely any clothes at all, an itty bitty orange bikini, hands on your ass and sand where his tongue should be.

Joel feels insane again. 

“Pervert.”

“Joel… I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think there’s steam comin’ out of your ears, man.”

“Fuck off.”

Blessedly, they leave him to suffer in peace after a while, and thank Christ for that because eventually, the ex-boyfriend shows up in the scroll of pictures too. There for everyone to see in posts dated several weeks back—even one of the two of you kissing, you on his lap, fuck that. Good looking, shiny-boy sort. Joel’s left eye twitches at the sight of the sort of man he has never been, could never be for you, someone of your caliber. 

The memory of your cunt grinding against him last night flashes through his mind and his cock throbs once and hungry. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, adjusting in the suddenly too tight seat of his jeans. 

A clusterfuck is what it is—this sudden melding of the memory of the girl-child you used to be, the one that up until only recently lived in his mind, good and golden, and the woman you are now. With both figures meeting together with all the characteristics he’d always admired in you, your kind heart, your honesty, your generosity. You’ve turned out to be an exceptional woman, and it’s difficult to let the distant perception from before meet the lust he feels for you now and grapple with it without feeling sick to his stomach about it all.

It’s all an inevitability though, anyway. He knows this just from the rewind memory play of last night, the taste of your mouth and the little sounds you'd made for him, because of him, the way your hips had rolled over his lap desperately seeking. 

You’re ending up on his cock one way or another—inevitable. 

He’s never claimed to be a good and honorable man—never played the part of one either. He’s not about to start now. 

Clicking on the picture of your sun bronzed ass in the tiny bikini again, he imagines himself biting and eating it, shifting his legs restlessly, taking another long pull of his beer. Tapping twice on the image, he tries to zoom in to the apex of your thighs—he’s going to hell, he’s so fucked up, doesn’t matter—when a little heart appears in the center of the image. He clicks it again and the heart appears once more, refusing to zoom into what he wants to see up close. Fucking piece of shit phone and fucking Instagram—frustrated and hard and pissed off at the fact he’s yet to see you all day, he locks the phone, slamming it face down on the kitchen table, and downs the rest of the can. 

If he doesn’t get a hold of himself soon he’s going to burst, gut all twisted up into a hot knot of coal. Sick with jealousy and anger and lust, aggressive, the taste of your sweetness ringing in his ears and the sound of your moans on his tongue—his head is not on straight and he better get it fixed quick or all this pent up frustration is going to come out with teeth to take a chunk of flesh out of you. 

Groaning loudly, he lets his head fall back, thumbs digging into the sockets of his eyes until he sees stars and not the sight of your slick swollen mouth made that way by himself. He wonders if you slept well last night, if you thought of him, if you’d made yourself come the way he’d ran home to the little foreman’s cabin Kelly had given him years ago, to do himself. Jumping in the shower to jack his leaking cock to the image of what it would’ve been like if he’d been brave enough to pull that flimsy little tease of a thong to the side, let his cock out and force it inside of you, make you take it until you were crying and coming so hard you’d never think to even look at another man again, much less kiss him. 

He should’ve hit that fucker harder. He should’ve kissed you longer. 

He needs to force you to take all of those goddamn half naked pictures down. No one should get to look at you like that except for him, and he doesn’t give a fuck how insane he sounds. 

Outside, he can hear the cowboys hooting and hollering at something, egging each other on louder and louder, the scuffle of them shoving each other and horsing around. He sighs once and long, too tired to deal with their shit right now. All he needs is an evening of peace to get his head on straight and relax and will his boner down for a few hours. He’s acting like a goddamn randy teenager, walking around hard and aching half the day. 

Heaving himself out of the chair, back hurts, he grabs another beer before he’s pushing the bunk door open to the sight of half the team huddled together and peering around the corner of the bunk towards the house. 

“The hell’s got y’all clucking like a bunch of hens?” He asks, coming around them to stop dead in his tracks when he lays eyes on what it is that’s got them all worked up. 

That same ass he’d just been trying to zoom in on, right there in the flesh for the whole ranch to ogle at. Stretched out on one of the sun loungers from the deck, dragged out into the center of the lawn with a little table set up next to you. You’d even gotten someone to scrounge up a huge umbrella, a misting fan spinning lazily, spitting a damp sheen of water every few minutes, a drink and a speaker playing some girly song, whole goddamn set up for all of these fuckers to stand here and take an eyeful of your perfect ass. 

Joel tries to take deep breaths, counting back from ten in his head—fails. He’s going to be calm and cool and collected—not. He isn’t going to lose his temper—sure. 

Fuck that. 

He’s going to spank your ass so hard you can’t sit for a week.

“If you all don’t find something to do in the next thirty seconds,” he growls at them all through clenched teeth, “I swear I’ll have you slingin’ shit for a month.” The can in his grip pops loudly between his fingers. 

They all take one peek at the look on his face and scatter like chicken shit until it’s only Ellie left smirking beside him.

“Take this,” he shoves the can at her and starts towards you. 

“Bro—” He ignores her. Hey! She calls after him, voice demanding now, stopping him in his tracks before he can go get exactly what he’s been denying himself from the moment you kissed him two nights ago. 

Giving him that look she gets when she needs to remind him she knows exactly who he is and that he can’t ever hide it from her, she chews on her cheek for a second before she says, and he doesn’t mistake it, it’s a warning: “She’s a real peach. You know that. Pretty and soft and sweet, but easily hurt. Needs gentle handling, even when she wants to pretend otherwise.”

It pisses him off. Bad. “You think I don’t fuckin’ know that? I understand her—” thumb to chest. Because he did—does. Because he thinks that he really always has. It’s undeniable that he has what you have, what Ellie has. Even what Oswald Kelly himself had had and what he’d seen in Joel when he’d decided to save the life of a no good man in a no good spot with a no good future in front of him—that sadness, that lost doggedness about you all that makes you so like one another, even despite your immeasurable differences.  

The two of them look at each other for another long moment, and Ellie knows, Ellie always understands. With a roll of her eyes she spins on her heel, muttering to herself, slugging back Joel’s discarded beer.

Slowly, he rounds back towards you, afraid as if he were looking down the barrel of a gun, just as dramatic, as well. Objectively, he knows you’re doing this on purpose, to piss him off and rile him up and get a blow out reaction out of him. He tries to remind himself of it as he marches towards you, and if he were smarter or less inclined to take your bait, he’d take a beat to finish that count to ten reversal in his head and calm the fuck down before he gets to you—but honestly, he just doesn’t feel like it. 

All he sees instead is the baby pink barely there string bikini you’ve got on, the slope of your back gleaming in the sun, slicked in something shiny, the damp from the mister, the lush curve of your ass and the shine of your hair resting face down on your folded arms. 

You’re all sunkissed everywhere, and he’d really rather just give you what you want already. 

“Get up,” he growls down at you. 

One eye winks open, peering up at him before you press up on your elbows to take in the sight of him scowling down at you, and he can’t help it when his eyes flit down to the sight of your breasts cupped precariously in the tiny bikini, skin all sun flushed red against the soft baby pink fabric. You look like you’re made of sugar and sweet fruit and like you’ve come here specifically to ruin him and his whole life and all his self control. 

Hmm? You smile up at him wide and teasing. Oh, he’s feeding right into your shit, and you piss him off so badly. 

He’s never been this hard in his entire life, he’s even made dizzy with it. 

The little wisps of hair at your temples are sweat soaked and curling, looking silky soft. A thousand little details about you and your body—the white of your smile and the flushed heat of your cheeks, sun burnished bridge of your nose starting to freckle—that he can’t help but notice. 

Get. Up, he grits through clenched teeth. No one in the whole world deserves to see you like this, looking so beautiful, especially not him. Shading your eyes with the palm of your hand, you scrunch your nose up at him, and he’s got half a mind to bark at you to not do that when he’s around or he’s really gonna lose it. Your smile beams brighter. 

“What’s wrong, Joel? Havin’ a rough day?”

“I swear to Christ, if you don’t get your ass up and in the house right this minute, I’m going to put you over my knee right here in front of your whole ranch to witness, little girl.”

You smile up at him again and a muscle at the corner of his jaw flutters madly, he’s about to crack a fucking molar. “Hmm, I don’t think so.” And you flop back down again so that the soft of your ass jiggles slightly, arching your back just a little so that he’s growling once, right before he’s gripping you by the elbow and pulling you upwards against his chest and dragging you all bare and slippery limbed to your feet. You smell like coconuts and sweet sweat and saliva pools heavy beneath his tongue. 

“If you wanna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you like one. You get me?” He yanks you towards the house screeching like a banshee, let go of me, you fucking psycho, you howl. A too little fist swings towards his face, and he catches it in his palm, squeezing tight and feeling your thumb tucked inside your fist. 

“Stop that—you’re gonna hurt yourself.” More squawking and howling, skinny wrist slipping from his grip to take another swing at him. “Don’t even know how to throw a goddamn punch—Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t tuck your thumb.” He hauls you up higher against himself, getting a better grip around your waist so he can carry you bodily up the steps of the deck. 

You jam your heels into his shins, and he huffs and puffs, trying to keep his hold on you. I’m gonna kick your ass, you screech again, scratching and pinching at his forearms. 

Joel is too old and too goodman tired for this. 

“No, you’re not. And if you think I’m gonna let the whole goddamn ranch and all the boys stare at your bare ass all day, you’ve got another thing comin’ for you.”

“Well, I’ve gotta show it to someone, don’t I?” You sass back, trying to elbow him in the throat while you’re at it. Blood boiling, catching you by the small joint, he pulls your arm bent behind your back, other forearm banding against your stomach so that his hand is splayed at your hip, feeling the satin soft skin, slippery in your suncream. 

And sure, he might be too old or too tired for this, but his cock is still hard as anything at the feel of you all against him like this. 

Pushing the door open with his hip, he shoves you inside. The late afternoon sun paints the cool interior in shades of gold and beaming white; everything is beautiful and pristine as always, and yet tinged with the red of his temper and lust. His temples beat in tune with his too fast, pumping heart. 

“Where’s Dina?” He’s still got you caught in his grip. He does not plan to let go. 

“Let me go, you mother ffff—” He gives you one hard shake, hearing your teeth click and rattle. Little doll caught in his grip. He can do anything to you—and you won’t be able to stop him. 

“Where is she?” He asks again, and something in his voice must snap you alert because you settle for a brief second, a little shiver skipping down the length of your spine that he follows to your full ass. He tugs you back, barely moving and slow, just that little bit further into himself so that the lush curve presses against the hard length of his cock—and there it is, the little knowing gasp, finally understanding what it is you’ve gotten yourself into.

-

“She—” Your belly is suddenly so hot and tight, heartbeat starting up behind your navel. Suddenly knowing what it is this is about to be, and yet now finally confronted with the reality of it for the first time, you can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll be like. “She—I don’t know. She went into town, I— I think,” you stutter, brain short-circuiting, desperate to feel that hardness again. “Waiting for Ellie—they’ve got plans there tonight.” His entire hand is wrapped around your forearm pressed against the small of your back, long, thick fingers overlapping against each other, and you roll up on your tiptoes, trying to arch your back further into him. 

He grunts once, exasperated, and then shoves you forward again, rough enough you’re stumbling over your own two feet, full on aggressive panting bull at your back. 

That’s good, he says so low you barely catch it before he’s pushing you up against the wall by the front door, cheek smushed against the silk printed wallpaper. 

Your mother decorated this room years ago, melding the masculine taste of your father and her love for European decor. The walls, wrapped in hand painted English wallpaper on the top half, and paneled at the bottom with a mahogany so fine it gleams an amber golden glow when the afternoon sun shines in through the windows just so. 

Everything beautiful; still, even after all this time. 

He holds you there for a long moment, his breathing quick and shallow, bellows of hot air at the nape of your neck, disturbing the escaped hair from your claw clip curling there. 

“Joel?” You ask once, voice wavering just a little bit because he suddenly feels so large and imposing behind you that something like trepidation beats behind the soft of your kneecaps. You know he worked all day, and his big body is a steaming blaze of heat, waves rolling off of him to burn the naked length of your back and limbs. 

He pulls your arm trapped between his forearm and your stomach to the small of your back to join the other, holding you there in a lock pinned against the wall, reaching up slowly to let your hair down, long and swinging. You listen to the clatter of your clip against the hardwood floor, and then he’s circling the side of your neck, the tiny beating pulse held in the cup of his palm so that it feels as if it’s reverberating back into your head, a staccato rhythm, and echoing all through your body. A chiming bell, ringing and ringing and ringing, telling you that it’s time now. His hand smooths down the slope of your throat to your shoulder, and you listen to the rumbling half humming moan he lets out at the feel of your sweat sticky skin, then down the flat wing of your scapula, thumb nail scraping against the edge of your jutting bone for the way he’s got your arms trapped behind you. 

You let out a high pitched whine, almost a scream, another puff of sound in the assimilation of his name, pleading now, rolling up onto your tiptoes again to push your ass back against the hard of his cock. Everything is so, so sensitive. 

Quit, he snaps once and mean. Ordering. In a tone that says he’s in charge, and finally. 

It’s such a relief. 

You whine again, higher, needier, like you’ve never felt before, and there’s a nauseating thrum of electrified butterflies in your tummy, sticky sweet and cloying for attention. Joel, please, again and the wings beat faster. You’re sure he’ll enjoy the sound of your begging, it’s just something you know. Tiptoes straining higher so that the soles of your feet ache, he smooths that work roughened palm down the slope of your spine, thumb against your vertebrae, feeling the round little notches of bone beneath sensitive skin until he’s reached the twin dimples at the low of your back right above your ass, and presses there and hard—mean—so it hurts. Keening loudly, you crush your cheek harder, harder against your mother’s wallpaper until the bone aches, until there’ll surely be an indent of your shape left in the wall, and his thumb digs even harder anyway, gripping you tight enough to bruise. 

This is how it’ll be—surprising, but also not. In all your years of imagining, you still don’t know what it is you expected.

“You’re carved so fine,” whispered against your skin and gooseflesh spreads like wildfire, nipples going tight and aching. His nose skims the slope of your nape, smelling you. “S’like you’re made of sugar. Is that what you’ll taste like too?” And his words are slurred, drunk-like and you feel the same way also, legs on the verge of giving out.

You press your hips back again, desperate for any sort of pressure, and he jostles you once, hard enough you bite your tongue. Quit moving, he snaps, shoving his knee between your legs and spreading you wide and immobile, thigh hooked over his own so that the toes of that leg barely skim the ground and now you’re precariously balanced on one foot, held up and pinned entirely by him. 

 Caughtcha, he murmurs.

You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. 

The palm at the low of your back splays wide, his long fingers reaching from side to side and pressing hard against your skin and then all of a sudden he’s gone, and only for a second, before he’s back and slapping you hard and painfully stinging on the ass. A downward swipe of his thick fingers so that it really fucking hurts, and then the palm is back at the small of your waist, hooked thigh over his leg, unable to move, unable to do anything except take it. 

He presses your belly into the wall, and the pressure is so intense and so deep—his breathing is so rough behind you. You know he worked the mountain all day, he should be exhausted, but the strength he’s trapping you with belies the possibility. 

His hand goes away from your back again, and he’s spanking you once more, and you can’t tell if it’s harder or not this time, if it hurts worse than the previous, but the fire pain of it snaps all the way down from your thigh to your calve, pooling there in a knot of painful ache. An animal baying noise warbles in your throat, he tuts once, a cooing click of his tongue and cups your ass right at the rose of pain he’s left, kneading the skin gently, palpating the hurt like he’s looking for the physical imprint of it beneath your skin. 

“Yeah, baby? Like that?” You sing the little animal song for him again. “S’what you needed, right?” His voice now is not the Joel-voice you’ve always known, but it is the one you’ve always dreamed of. The kneading fingers slide whisper soft down the back of your thigh, up again, down again, callused skin scraping. On the up again, his thumb catches at the edge of your bathing suit wedged between the cleft of your ass.

And lest he thinks he’s bested you, you say, “Yes, that’s what I needed,” and he laughs a rough laugh that makes him sound like he’s been gutted. 

He squeezes the thick of your ass between his thumb and forefinger, an almost pinch and then smoothes his thumb beneath the pink edge along the curve, precariously close to danger. The sound of his name loses meaning, you’re praying it in a litany almost, over and over, begging. Hush now, he gentles, more in a sort of voice you recognize while your heart beats so hard against the wall it must surely sound like someone’s knocking on the front door for entry, like it must surely send echoes all through the ghost-house. 

His smoothing thumb continues its journey until it’s between your thighs, pulling the wet lycra wide away from your skin so that he can tuck the rest of his fingers flat against your cunt, and now he’s there. 

One of you says the word fuck another lets out a whimpering sort of noise—you’re not sure which is who, it’s all only a cunt-throbbing need you know he’s feeling leak and pulse against his hand. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs all reverence like. Joel—touching your cunt and sounding like he can’t believe it. His hand slides back along the curve of your sex, and you really are so wet the sound of it is slick and lewd, his fingertips at your entrance, a gentle probing and then forward again, a circling not touch around your clit, like he’s learning for himself this new little place that belongs to him now. Your mouth falls open on a spit-full moan, your eyes closed because you don’t even have strength now to keep them open and watchful. You’re so wet for me, he says again and again like he can’t believe it all either. 

He drags his finger flats against you once more and then another time and then taps twice with all four of them, two little almost slaps to your clit that make a sticky wet splashing sound. Good girl, and you don’t know which part of you he’s talking to. You’re practically leaking onto the floor, trying to widen your hips, arch your ass back further and present your cunt to him for fucking. And then his fingers side to side in a swiping motion and fast. 

Oh God. Oh God. Inside, inside, you need him inside. He needs to go inside. 

“Please, pleeease, Joel. Oh, please.” Delirious.

“Please?” His fingers move fast and your vision goes entirely away. “Please what? Please what? You, please.” He switches front and backwards again, and then two fingers draw a little ghost circle at your entrance. You, please, he says again. His hand flips over, palm facing downwards, and he starts to slowly, slowly press a single tip of one inside. “Please behave. Please don’t— don’t—fuck— please gimme a second to breathe, to think, to catch up. God, fucking tight little cunt. I’ll never fit in here, baby.” 

Your vision whites, then blacks, then goes blinding bright and colorless—zero frequency. Up to the first knuckle, and he wiggles the tip inside, making you cry and squirm, pulls out and then two fingers are pressing inside and downwards. “We’re gonna have to take it so slow in this little cunt.” Shit—shit.

“Oh my God, yes.” 

Your hips shiver and shake as he penetrates you, his forehead tucked against your shoulder so he can look down at what he’s doing, and drool slides along your mother’s wallpaper from the corner of your mouth as he pushes his fingers in and out of you so slowly, the slick slide, the pressure against your front wall so heavy, and spread so wide like this but held so immobile—it all makes you feel like you’ll wet yourself with such little control over your body. A few slides in and out again, “Good girl, just a little more,” before he’s wedging a third into the mix, trying to put it inside of you as well. A little more? The stretch is too much, burning, and you wail and cry, arching again but this time to get away instead of steal more. 

“Okay, okay. It’s alright,” he soothes. Hush. “It’s okay.” He pulls his fingers entirely out and covers the slick mess of your mound with his entire palm possessively. Rubbing soothingly at your wet, his fingers slide over the satiny smooth skin of your lips. 

“You’re all bare,” he whispers, shocked.

You swallow hard once, shoulders and neck starting to ache. “I— I got lasered.”

“Lasers?” Voice confused. 

“Yeah.” You swallow again, can’t catch your breath. “Yes.”

“Gotta see.”

He pulls you from the wall, shuffling you like gambling cards in his hands, that’s what this is, a gamble, so that you’re facing him as he walks you backwards, bikini bottoms askew and cunt bare to your parents living room; your dead father’s best man about to fuck it raw. 

Pressing up on your tiptoes at the same time that you’re tugging him low by the collar and the slightly too long hair that curls over it to press an open mouthed kiss to his lips with eyes kept open. You need to see his face, his reaction, that even though he’s all rough, he’s still Joel and he’ll still take care of you now. 

One strong forearm bands around your back, pressing you up high and close to his chest, fingers tangling in the bikini string at your back so that it pulls tight and bites into your skin, the other reaching around the back of your thighs to take a squeezing handful of you ass as he lifts you clean off the ground, lumbering slowly towards the couch while the two of you stare at each other with something that smells suspiciously of wonder. 

On the high ground now, you stare down at him, held as you are and kiss him again, for real this time, with tongue, an eating of his mouth. Trying to taste him as deep as you can go, digging your manicured fingernails into the rough whiskered planes of his cheeks until he grunts roughly.

Showing him that you can hurt him too. 

His knees hit the edge of the couch, one palm going to the back to hold himself steady as he sets you down, following your path to fold over you nose to nose. Watching each other for a blink, predator, predator, lashes tangling and then his mouth is sliding wetly over your burning cheekbone, drawn out groan like dying. Down to the hinge of your jaw where he sucks sharp once and his tongue flutters down the column of your throat, tasting your pulse, his palms everywhere at the same time too. Over your shoulders and down your goosefleshed arms, cinching at the nip of your waist to slide around your hips and to your ass, pulling you forward and open when he goes to his knees on the floor at the edge of the sofa between your spread thighs, with you draped diagonally across the cool leather that sticks to your sweaty, coconut flavored skin. 

One palm slides down your chest, dragging over your breast, the other catching at your nipple with this thumb, nail scraping and pulling the wet fabric along with him, baring you to the first glance of his eyes. A sound that’s a little like a whimper precedes his latching mouth, sucking hard and with teeth so you’re arching and crying and when your head rolls to the side, eyes bleary and barely seeing, he’s got your small breast in his mouth, jaw hinged wide and hungry. His teeth scrape, one wide palm sliding over your thigh to the back, pushing your knee up high and open to your shoulder, lips skim over your belly, smell so fucking good, sharp edge over your hip bone and the lave of his tongue, taste so fucking good.

“I’m gonna eat your cunt.” Bikini askew, one little tit bared to the cold AC, nipples hard enough to hurt, he pinches it once and mean and stretches the soaking wet center gusset of your bottoms wider.

He looks and looks and grins and everything inside of you pulses. 

Boyish smirk and a cocky glance up at you, oh, pretty, “Perfect little princess pussy, huh? I see now.” He sticks his thumb into his mouth, pulls it out with a pop to rub it spit slick against your clit. Yeah, yeah, like that, and you can’t help the whining cry. 

Pushing your other thigh up high, the grin turns to something a little more menacing before he bends to your cunt, whole mouth covering you there like he’d swallowed your breast. His thumbs dig painfully into the backs of your thighs like they’d dug in your back, leaving little spots of hurt all over your body is what he’s doing, spreading you wide open.  

Every touch is possessive, full of ownership. 

“What are you doing to me?” He groans as he eats your cunt, doing exactly as he said he would, flat of his tongue licking all over you, dipping inside. Purse of his lips then and he’s sucking hard and pulsing in quick successions, and there’s your first one—little gush of slick and your belly so tight it hurts, you need something inside of you so bad—your first orgasm forced from you and onto his tongue, swallowed down into his stomach. He groans like an animal—doubles his efforts, tongue spearing inside, pulling away to press two fingers in—fuck, fuck, and you grab hold of your own thigh to keep yourself open for him, knees trembling beside your ribs. 

The hand not inside slides across you, smearing slick over your belly, it’s everywhere, and presses down as he crooks those two fingers forward. His hair’s all fucked up, eyes glazed a maniacle shade of hazel that makes him more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him and also hotter than you could’ve ever dreamed, that boy’s smile again. 

His mustache is soaked in you. “Little pussy’s so small ‘nd wet, baby.” He wiggles his fingers, pets against the blindingly sensitive place inside of you. “Feel that?” Fingers twisting—almost too much, the stretch burns already and just like this. 

“Please, put it in,” you beg stupidly, a tear leaks and then another, not at all smart of self preserving. 

He clicks his tongue, and you can’t tell if it’s soothing or condescending or both, your eyes screwing shut at what he’s doing to you, trying to paw at his shoulders and pull him towards you at the same time. “Can’t—too small.”

No, no— His palm at your belly presses down, fingers petting forward, again, again, head bent once more to suck on your clit, licking it roughly if a tongue can be rough because it’s heavy and strong and intentional—I can take it. There’s your next one, obeying the come here order of his fingers. Mid-come and he’s forcing that painful third one from before inside, and now it’s split open and sloshing wetly—your cunt—hiccupping into another left over shaky orgasm, fucking hurts a little bit. More tears and his soft chuckle—you’re really in it now. 

When he slurps at your leaking again, fingers leaving you to gape empty and wanting, your hips shiver, trying to shake him away and rock against him at the same time. He says something you can’t make out, can’t even open your eyes, you just need a second, you swear, and then the clink of his belt, the shuffle of clothes, and he’s pulled his shirt over his head—you’ve enough mind left to open your eyes for this. 

He’s so strong, built for fucking and working and heaving. You knew this already, you hadn’t needed to see him without clothes to know. 

And all yours now, too. 

Your fingertips paw greedy at his chest, muscular, the thickly corded arms and shoulders. One hand wraps around the slim of your ankle, manacling you while he undoes his fly, your heart skips with the split of the zipper’s teeth and pulls his cock out, letting it fall heavy on your stomach—a threatening, aggressive thing. It drags against your cunt, so big it doesn’t stand up straight and jutting like the others you’ve been used to, but bobs low and hanging.

Reaching forward you flit the tips of your fingers over the wide head—barely there butterfly touch—and your hand looks comically small next to the thing as you pet at the dark head swelling out of the thick skin around it, soft and burning hot—he growls like a wolf at your touch.

 “I’ve never— I’ve never… with one like…”

He pulls your hand forward, wrapping it tightly around the thick length with his fist over yours. “Nah, baby. You’ve never had one like this. It’s alright—I’ll show you how to take it.” 

You’ve half a mind to roll your eyes at him, but he distracts you with the soft touch at the split indentation in your knee from your romp in the grass last night. “What happened here, little thing?” His words and his touch are so soft, eyes warm and caring, as if he weren’t threatening at all, as if that thing that’s about to split you in half and make you cry hasn’t started to slick itself back and forth between your legs, parting the lips of your cunt, sticky sound on every pass with his fist wrapped around himself—too many things happening to you all at once by his hand. 

“A rock hiding in the grass last night.” You start to roll your hips minutely against him, presenting your similarly torn palm for his appraisal, no, no, my poor baby, he kisses the little hurt while the fat head swipes over your clit, pressing against your hole—a little gasp and you circle his wrist at your knee, anchoring yourself. 

He frowns. “Last night when?”

“After you left me.” Pouting back. 

Cooing once and low, “You shouldn’t go out alone at night, anything could happen,” pressing again at the mouth of your cunt. Fuck, now— 

“Wasn’t alone—”

The head notches and stays, “Without me then— Deep breath now, baby.” He grunts on the first push inside, and your back arches tight as a bowstring, hand splaying wide at the center of his belly and his long fingers wrap around your breast tight, holding you in place, deep breath, he says again. 

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh my God.”

He pitches his hips forward once, just a little, just a small shove, and you tense, sharp whine hiccuping through you. “Oh, it’s too big,” pressing harder at his belly as he edges deeper again, an inch and then another, literally splitting your cunt open for himself, thumb swiping slow and gentle over your clit, forcing little shudders of pleasure out of you amidst the pain. 

“See, told ya.” It’s slow, slow until he makes it fit, watching himself sink inside of you the entire time, until you’re rooted on his cock, breath coming is quick, sucking pants, puffs out through your nose, body flushing hot and then even hotter. He folds over you, groaning loud and long, deep grinds and small shoves, and then it’s so much, too much until there’s no room left inside of you at all, that dull ache pain of his tip pressing against your cervix. 

You’re going to be so sore tomorrow, it hurts, it hurts, but he plays with that place anyways, covering you with his body to press his face against your breasts, mouthing wet and hot at your nipples, biting hard to distract you from the pain inside. Your fingers twist in his hair, hot and damp at the roots, sweaty musk smell of a hard day's work, masculine, making you wetter for him. “It’s alright… it’s alright. You can take it. You’re such a good girl.” And then a fuck, and he’s mumbling your name, how good you are again, how well you’re taking your fucking. 

“This what you wanted, right? To get caught on my cock?” The palm cupping your ass tips you up and forwards, forcing him inside just that little bit more. Your knees are at your shoulders, folded entirely under him, and the tip of his cock is still there where it hurts the most while he pants and sweats on top of you. A cramp of heat moves like lightning down your back and something goes loose in your cunt, your womb contracting once, accepting its fate as you start to come around him, milking him deep inside of you. You start to cry for real now too, fingernails dragging against his naked back looking for blood—sobbing, actually, not just crying. 

He bites your breast hard, grinds further not letting the orgasm stop, “God—I’m so fuckin’ deep. No one’s ever been this deep, right? Tell me, baby,” he begs, sitting back and dragging you boneless, still coming, into his lap, little girl splayed wide over his knees on the floor. You sink further down onto his cock, and he kisses your hot cheeks, letting your cunt drip down him. His belt digs bruisingly into the back of your thighs and it all hurts—he really is so deep now, head tucked firmly at your cervix, and he feels like he’s getting thicker, harder, like he just needs to be sunk deep like this, as deep as he can get so that all your cunt needs to do is work him until it milks the come right out of him. 

Your head lolls back on your neck, supported at the edge of the sofa. “No more—” You don’t know if you mean it, but it is just on the verge of too much now. You’re so sensitive. 

“Yes more.” He starts to lift his hips again, pulling back and shoving, not a lot, but enough that it’s like a little punch inside of you each time. “As much as I say.”

Whining, “No—I can’t.” You roll your hips against him though, the both of you moving, straining against each other, his wide hands around your waist shifting you up and down like a doll on his cock. Your eyes finally open again, and the sunlight spears in through the windows in buttery blinding shafts, sparkling dust motes dancing above as he fucks you. The sound is all so wet, everything from his lower belly to the open front of his jeans is soaked. “I don’t like it anymore,” you lie. 

“I don’t care,” and he gives you the first really rough thrust, not a pounding but with enough strength behind it that you get that heat cramp again, feel like you’re going to wet yourself again, there’s so much pressure in your belly. 

You’re going to come again. You are coming again. It feels like you should say thank you. 

He laughs, little cock sleeve, and you can’t understand how it’s so intense when the fucking is so slow—so good anyways—who cares about anything. His name slips through your lips without them moving, and he’s laughing again, a little mean and you tell him so, but still tender, still endeared by you. 

You push his face away weakly, a mumbled, “Nasty old man.”

Nuh uh, he hums, taking both of your wrists in his grip and pressing them back to the leather edge on either side of your head, forcing you into an arch so that he can latch his teeth at your throat and suck. The rolling of his hips pick up speed, just that little bit, the heat coming off him boiling up to steaming and his sweat drips onto your skin and disappears inside of you—everywhere you’ve got him inside of you. 

“Birth control?” All broken up with pants and your jugular between his teeth. 

Flexing fingers, hands going away to numbness, he’s got you held so tightly, not being so careful of his strength anymore, his cock drags and it’s so wet and sensitive and swollen inside of you, it feels like he barely fits even more than it did before, like there’s definitely no more space inside of you for him at all.. “Yeah—ye—ah, ahh,” can’t get your voice to come out right with your clit grinding against his pelvic bone like that. “Implant right here.” You turn your face towards your left arm, tipping your nose the hidden little bump right beneath your skin. He clicks his tongue, kissing it softly.

“Poor baby. That’s good. That’s real good, baby. Just be good and lemme come in you now. It’s okay.” He spreads his thighs wider, pushing up with his knees into you now. Oh fuck— “But you gotta give me one more. I want it—it’s mine.” And the way he’s got you arched, the spot he hits inside is more intense than the others. He grunts rougher now, biting your throat so hard you’ll be left bruised all over and on the inside too. One palm lets go of your wrist to grip your bottom, long fingers slotting on either side of his impaling cock, pulling you to him so tightly the orgasm is squeezed out of you forcibly and hurts all the worse for it. You’re limp and boneless now, and he starts to pump his come into you in thick spurts, belly all suffused with heat and your name a groan in his throat.

His fingers, parted around his splitting cock rub at the slippery skin of your labia, back and forth to your asshole, holding and cupping the place he’s claimed, and he comes so long, hunched over and rutting into you, filling and filling until the wet squelch is even louder and you can feel the thick come being forced out of your stuffed full cunt. 

You want to say his name, trying to move your lips, but your tongue rolls uselessly inside your mouth, all you are is a shivering cunt, a muscle spasming and spasming around him. He nuzzles at your throat, finally unlatching his teeth, licking away the hurt, pressing a soft kiss to the sore spot. You can feel him playing in the leaking wet now, fingering at your puffy cunt, well fucked and filled. 

You want to tell him you didn’t think that the bikini was going to make this happen, pull this out of him. 

At least not like this. You don’t think you could’ve ever imagined it’d be like this. 

His mouth, hot on your jaw once more before he finally picks up his head to look at you, and his eyes make you want to cry, all that manic heat is gone now, replaced by some softly smoldering ember. You don’t think anyone in all the world has eyes the color of hazel he’s got. Something that should belong to some fiercely guarded precious stone, they glow, amber opal like, burnished in the setting sun’s golden glow.

“You okay?” His voice is very soft, and only for you.

You nod, chin tipping to your sternum, face flushed with so much unbearably pleased heat you’re unable to find your own. 

Tilting his head to get at your mouth, he kisses you long and soft and open mouthed, licking your tongue, tasting you completely. And when he pulls back he has that same look you feel on your own face—that same unbearable pleasure. Shocked wonder sprinkled into it.

Look at what we’ve done and together and how good it is—

A smile and then a laugh from both of you, giggling like school children into each other’s mouths, and you’ve always thought he has some strange effect of appearing all man one second and then smiling and boyish for the flash of a single moment the next. And you don’t think you understand how someone who’s been through so much can still laugh the way he does. You smooth your finger over the arch of his eyebrow, thumbing at the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. Gorgeously strong man, and you suppose, looking at the wider picture, his life here, Ellie and the boys and a whole full life, you understand it, just a little bit—all the ranch’d given him. He has so much here—centered by the land as its heart. 

You’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and finally, voice found—the feel of his heartbeat inside of you—it’s like finding a dream, “I’m okay,” you tell him. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

the way i screamed… this man gives us everything we depraved sluts with daddy issues want.

is it that sweet? (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist | a/n i've had no motivation to write lately but this randomly popped into my head the other day and suddenly my brain was like okay let's roll!! let's do this!! let's jump in!! so idk what that says about the current state of my subconscious. anyway this is filth! pls read the warnings! love u. summary: you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right? rating: 18+ explicit warnings: pervy!joel, age gap, voyeurism, coercion, objectification, sneaky picture taking, nude photos, paying for sexual favors, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy pronouns up the fuckin wazoo, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex, standing sex, creampie word count: 8.4k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

He's been watching you for about an hour. You'd sussed him out almost immediately after settling onto your beach towel and digging into your bag for your sunscreen, mildly aware of the shape of him in your peripheral vision. He's old, definitely in his late fifties, but certainly not the most unattractive man who could be eyeing you. You're used to it by now anyway, almost feed into the way men seem to gawk at you sometimes now that you've finally thrown caution to the wind and stopped giving a fuck about your beach body. You used to be self conscious about your curves, your tummy, your thighs - you decided this summer that it had to stop.

And you're glad you did. Because now he's staring at you, this unnamed, completely anonymous middle aged man only a few feet away. And it feels fucking good.

Should it feel good? Probably not. Should you tell him to buzz off and leave you alone? Take a picture, it'll last longer, something like that? Probably. But will you? No.

You like feeling his eyes on you.

Older men like you, you've noticed. They stare. They stare more than men your own age - boys, really. Twenty somethings who try to play it cool and more often than not come across as disinterested in their interest. They're cowardly, obnoxious. And you suppose some older ones are too, especially the ones with wives - they want you to be impressed by them, ooh and awe over their high paying jobs and big mansions, their fancy cars that they think make up for their tiny dicks.

But every now and then you'll come across one like this. You can read him like a book, peering at him from over your sunglasses every so often as he lounges behind a vibrant blue umbrella. His eyes caress your bare shoulders and chest, your exposed stomach, your soft thighs. They linger on the places they shouldn't and it makes you tingle. He's appreciating what he sees, basking in it, taking his time.

You could be content just lying here and letting him look. He is handsome after all, greying curls and soft scruff flecked with white, golden skin that almost glows underneath the sun. His legs stretch out over his own towel, long and lean and strong. He's got a soft looking belly, hanging out a little bit over his trunks, and now your eyes linger for a little longer than they should.

But you won't say anything. If he wants to talk to you, he has every opportunity to. You're not going anywhere for at least another hour, not until the sun starts setting and it's time to head back to your friend's vacation home. You've only been in California for a short period of time, but it's like it's somehow molded you into a different person - a more confident, sexier version of yourself that's been dying to get out for years. A version of you who lets this old man stare and get his fill as you smirk and turn over on your towel, arching your ass up into the air.

Oh, he likes that. You can tell because of the way his jaw clenches, neck tightening as his eyes fall to the globes of your cheeks. With a barely there smirk, you arch a little more, stretching and flexing and letting him take in the way your bikini bottoms barely contain them. Your breasts hang low onto your towel, practically overflowing from their own containment, and you have to admit - you're getting a little wet posing for him like this.

He licks his lips, eyes flickering downward again to something closer to him, something in his hand. You crane your neck a little bit to peer around the blue umbrella, and your breath hitches.

He's taking pictures of you.

It's obvious now, should have been obvious this whole time, really. Only one of his hands has really been visible, the other settled low against his side behind the umbrella. Now you can see that he's got his phone angled toward you, the camera peeking slyly out from behind the blue nylon as he repeatedly taps his screen with his thumb. To test him a little further, make sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you push down into the sand with your hands and rise up a little bit on the towel, almost into a lazy downward facing dog. Your tits jiggle below you, threatening to escape, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as the man adjusts the camera to get a better angle. His thumb and forefinger glide across the screen, undeniably - and unashamedly - zooming in.

You're definitely wet now. You know you shouldn't be. You know this has probably gone too far and you should get up and leave, potentially tell someone about the creep on the beach taking photos of women in bikinis.

Instead, you make eye contact with him, settling back down onto your towel with your ass still perched a little in the air. He seems to freeze, eyebrows going up in the realization that he's been caught. In response, you blink slowly at him, pout a little bit as if to say, Really? You arch your back a little more and shimmy your hips, tilting your head as you continue to gaze over at him, eyes going a little hooded.

Come fuck me, you're almost saying, even though you know there's no way in hell you're gonna let him. It's just funny to watch him squirm, phone gripped tight in his hand as his adam's apple bobs in his throat. You arch a little more and then grind your hips into your towel, flattening yourself against it, holding his gaze. You rest your head and smile at him teasingly.

He's getting up and shuffling toward you in no time at all.

"Hi, darlin'," are the first words out of his mouth when he reaches you, and you certainly did not expect a Southern accent to fall from those plush lips. He's gorgeous really, now that you can see him up close - wide shoulders and big arms that strain against his white shirt, strong chest covered in little freckles, chocolate brown eyes that shimmer in the sunlight.

"Hi," you say with a smile, blinking up at him.

"I'm sure you saw what I was doin'," he seems a little embarrassed, voice apologetic as he scratches the back of his neck, "I know I shoulda asked, but you seemed so relaxed, I didn't wanna disturb you."

Bullshit, you only came over because I smiled at you. Any other reaction and you'd have run for the hills.

"I'm Joel," he reaches his hand down for you to take. For some reason, you shake it without hesitation. "I'm actually a photographer, believe it or not."

Huh. You raise an eyebrow at the words, doubt immediately swimming in your mind as you assess him.

"If you're a photographer, where's your camera?"

He chuckles, "Back at my hotel. I just came out here to relax, wasn't plannin' on takin' any photos. But then I saw you, and, well..." he smiles at you sheepishly, "You're just so pretty, darlin'. Never seen somebody like you before."

The words are not special. They're nothing you haven't already heard, nothing he hasn't probably already used on countless other women. And yet... you smile back at him, cheeks warming a little at the way the compliment sounds coming out of his mouth in particular, all Southern and sweet. "Thank you."

His eyes suddenly leave yours to flicker back toward your body again, scanning the length of you. As if on instinct, almost to show off, you tighten the muscles in your ass cheeks and then release, letting them jiggle a little bit under your swimsuit. He swallows tightly.

"Would you be interested in posin' for me, sweetheart? There's a little spot down the beach, outta sight. Still public though, of course. I wouldn't ask you to go anywhere unsafe," his eyes linger on your ass for a few more seconds before he's meeting your gaze again, soft and sincere, "I'd love to get some pictures of you in that bikini, and some with it off too, if you're comfortable with that."

Oh, he's fucking brave. You can feel disgust brewing in the pit of your stomach, a scowl beginning to dawn on your face. This is where you should draw the line. This is where you should get up and leave, tell him to go to hell, tell him he's a pervert and-

"I'll pay whatever you think is fair," he continues, "How's three hundred as a starting point?"

On second thought...

"Beautiful, baby," he's telling you softly, "You're so pretty like that."

You hum in contentment, laying in the sand with a little smile tugging at your lips as Joel maneuvers around you with his phone, snapping pic after pic as you peer up at him through rays of sun. You're a little ways down the beach now, in a sparser area behind some rocks. He was right about it still being public - if something happened, you know you could raise your voice the tiniest bit and be heard immediately by people on the other side. Somehow though, despite his forwardness and slightly perverted habits, you trust that he isn't going to force anything on you.

You've already got three hundred dollars in your purse. He'd given it to you before you'd even gotten up from your initial spot on the beach, placed it in your hand with a grin as your eyes widened. You suppose you could've taken the money and run, but part of you wanted to play it out, test the limits, see what else he'd pay you for.

Which leads you here, laying sensually in the sand with the strings of your bikini dangling a little looser off your shoulders and hips, a little careless, a little more teasing. The poses so far have been pretty basic, and you've tried your best to emulate what you think a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated would do. Based on Joel's responses - excited nods and gentle praises - you think you're doing a good job.

"Turn over now," he tells you with a playful grin, "Put that cute little ass in the air again for me."

It should be demeaning, the way he's talking to you. There's a lot about this situation that should be wrong, and yet you can't help but feel pride swell in your chest at his directions, his compliments. You do what he says, flipping over to dig your hands into the sand and arch your back, turning your head to eye the camera directly with a sultry little smile on your face.

"Perfect," he's murmuring, thumb tapping the screen like his life depends on it, "That's so perfect, honey." You listen to the fake little shutter sounds the phone makes, still wondering if he's even really a photographer. Would it even matter? Wouldn't you have still let him do this anyway?

With this new angle you can feel the loose strands of your bikini top starting to slip, unraveling at the back and trickling gently against your sides. You watch with what should be a worrying lack of urgency as it cascades down onto the sand below, leaving you topless.

He whistles low under his breath, "Well, would you look at that. The girls are out."

"That's an extra fifty," you say with a coy eyebrow raise, "Or else I cover them back up."

"Extra fifty, no problem" Joel echoes, "Can you shake your ass for me again, darlin'?"

You nod, tilting your head and peering back at him as you tighten and release your muscles with a giggle, basking in the way he stares at it, like it's a five course meal he's about to devour. You do it a few more times, arching your back a little more and spreading your thighs slightly to allow for more recoil, more jiggle. He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat and you grin.

"How much to take these off too?" he lowers the phone and peers at you with pleading eyes, brown and soft, "Huh? How much extra to show me this lil' peach, honey?"

You grimace, looking down at the sand and trying to calculate an appropriate cost in your brain. You bite your lip, "You know that's not the only thing that'll show."

"I know," he murmurs, eyes trailing downward again to eye your ass, still perched high and plump, "Your peach and your pussy then, how much?"

Fuck.

"I won't touch you," he promises softly, "You can just tug it down and show her to me, lemme see her up close, yeah?"

Her?

Her.

"Christ," you mumble under your breath. He's filthier than you thought, and not in a bad way - in a fucking hot way. "Another fifty," you decide, voice firm, "And... and I wanna see you put the money in my purse first. And no touching my... her."

"I can do that, sweetheart," he's already digging into his wallet and yanking out the money, opening your bag slightly to place it inside. It could be counterfeit for all you know; this whole thing really might be a completely worthless venture, and yet -

He watches as you reach backward to untie the strings of your bikini bottoms, doing it in one fell swoop and then spreading your thighs again, knees digging into the sand. You arch and press your face against your towel, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin at the knowledge that he's staring at where you're now completely bare.

You hear him groan, a rough little sound that goes straight to your core, and a few little shutter sounds go off, "Now, that's a pretty little pussy you got there, baby."

Heat rises throughout your body, up through your chest and to your cheeks. You turn a little to look at him shyly, lashes fluttering when you see where his gaze has settled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, honey, she's so pretty," he breathes, "She's all wet. Leakin' for me, you see that?"

You can't see it of course, but you can feel it; feel the way you're dripping, knowing that he can see it, has a 1:1 view of the way you throb and drool for him. This random old man who about twenty minutes ago you'd never spoken to in your life.

"And your little clit is sayin' hi to me too, babygirl, can see her pokin' out." Fuck. You squirm a little in place as his camera continues to go off, legs spreading a little more unconsciously as you tilt your head downwards and close your eyes. Your clit twitches under his stare.

"Swollen little thing," he breathes, barely loud enough to hear, "Perfect pussy."

Jesus Christ.

"Roll over for me again, sweetheart," you hear him say quietly, "Show me all those pretty parts."

You don't know why, but you whine a little at his words. It's subconscious, a burning desire you can't describe as you slowly flip over and lazily lay back on your towel to show him your entire naked body. He stands over you with his brow furrowed in a gentle kind of way, eyes appraising you up and down like you're some kind of goddess. And fuck, he's kind of making you feel like one.

"Legs open a little bit, baby, that's it." You obey, spreading your legs and looking up at him with lidded eyes, lips parting a little. You bring your arms up to rest behind your head and he takes note of the way your tits bounce for him, shivering back and forth beneath his gaze. "You're perfect," he murmurs, "You're absolutely perfect."

"Stop," you say, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face, "M'not perfect."

"But you are, darlin'," he shakes his head, eyes full of wonder as he kneels down to get some closer pictures. You watch as he brings his phone down directly in front of your pussy, snaps a few close-ups of your puffy lips and swollen clit. "I'd love to kiss her, honey, if you'd let me."

"N-no," you say quickly, though your voice cracks, "No touching."

"I'll pay you extra," his eyes return to yours, locking your gazes, "You name it, baby. I'll pay anything to taste how sweet you are down here."

You look at him calculatingly, tilting your head. Anything?

"Two hundred," you practically whisper, "In the bag."

You're half expecting him to tell you that he's run out of money, that he couldn't possibly give you any more than the four hundred he's already blown on this. But he surprises you, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet and tug out the bills. It's like he has an endless supply, and you're beginning to wonder if maybe this is a hobby of his, something he prepares for, carries money around to be ready to spend on women like you. Maybe he's rich rich, has unlimited money to throw away, and this is just his weird perverted thing he does on the side of something else.

Maybe you should have asked for more.

But he's already kneeling back down into the sand and you're already opening your legs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them and lean his head forward to place his lips gently against your pussy. You watch with heavy lids as he kisses you so softly there, his mouth tender and inviting and deliciously scratchy from his scruff. Without really thinking about it, you reach down and run a hand through his curls, smiling a little fondly as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

"That feels nice," you breathe, watching as he continues to press incredibly slow and gentle kisses to your cunt in an almost respectful way, a reverent way.

"Good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against your core, "Want it to feel nice for you, baby."

You let out a soft moan the second his tongue breaches your folds, wet and warm. You watch as he closes his eyes and seems to get lost in it, tasting your pussy like it - or she, as he'd said - is some rare delicacy he's never indulged in before. He trails the tip of his tongue through the mess you've made, maneuvering your puffy lips and flicking it against your clit. Your hips buck and another moan slips out, quiet and pitiful.

"That's it," he murmurs against you with a little half smile, "So sweet for me, honey." He dives back in immediately and slowly plunges his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you a few times before carefully pulling back and opening his eyes to peer up at you again. God, those brown eyes are fucking sinful. He gives you one more smile and then reaches down to grab his phone.

"Gonna get some more pics of this messy girl, okay?" he breathes, and you're a little startled when his left hand is suddenly coming down to touch you there, two fingers carefully scissoring you open. You don't say anything, too horny to protest, too intrigued to see what he's going to do. "Gotta open her up a little," he tells you softly, answering your unspoken question, "Wanna take a little peek at what she's hidin' inside her, baby."

A little whimper falls from your throat again as his fingers scissor you wider, holding you open and baring your hole to his camera. You can feel your walls twitching and pulsing, contracting and leaking; you can only imagine what it looks like. Your eyes roll a little when his middle finger taps your clit, another gush of arousal flooding past your opening.

"Look at this lil' hole, huh?" he's murmuring, but your eyes are closing and your head is falling back onto the towel as he plays with you, "Oh, she's alllll messy for me down here, baby. And it's no wonder your clit came out to see me, she loves gettin' played with, don't she?"

Christ, he knows how to talk. His words send another helpless little sound past your lips, thighs trembling as he slowly caresses your clit with his finger, pressing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.

"Aw, you're all sticky here again, baby," he whispers and you whine, feeling your juices dribble down toward your ass, "Shh, I'll take care of it," and then he's leaning back in to lap at your folds, a little faster this time, more desperate, "Tastes so good, pretty girl. So sweet."

He suckles your clit into his mouth and you let out a breathless moan, brow furrowing as he suctions the swollen nub and lets one of his fingers fall to slip inside your entrance. You're so close you can feel it, coiled inside and ready to snap at any moment, his thick index plugging you deliciously as his tongue swirls. You tighten around it, thighs squeezing a little around his head, and then-

He's pulling away, removing his mouth and finger. Your eyes flutter open and you watch as he stands up with a little groan, older age apparent in the way he clutches at his back and exhales once he's upright. You want to tell him to get back down here, finish what he started, but part of you feels like it'd almost be letting him win, somehow. This perverted creep on a public beach that's somehow managed to lure you away and get you naked, take photos of your body and eat your pussy. He doesn't deserve to have you beg for him - even if you want to.

"Can you stand up for me now, honey?" he tilts his head, squinting against the sun and smiling like he didn't just ruin your orgasm.

On shaky legs, you manage to pull yourself up from the sand and stand before him in all your naked glory, legs crossing a little as you squeeze your thighs together. He smirks but doesn't say anything about it, instead angling his phone toward you again and snapping some full length photos. You immediately do your best to go back into Sports Illustrated mode, posing a little and trying to ignore the ache between your legs, the relentless throb of where his mouth just was.

"Squeeze your tits together for me," he tells you, voice a bit deeper, rougher, full of arousal, "Cup 'em a little, show me those cute lil' nipples."

You do as he says, biting your lip and showing the camera exactly what he wants to see. Your nipples are peaked and hard, begging to be teased and tugged, but you refuse to do it yourself - you're not giving him the satisfaction, not after what he just pulled. He takes a few up-close pictures, camera so close to them that you shiver with sensitivity, the smallest bit of air from his movements causing them to tighten even more.

"Those are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs softly, gaze trailing upwards to meet yours, "Can I give 'em a kiss too?" God, his eyes are so fucking soft and sincere, like fucking boba pearls. You wonder if anyone's ever been able to say no to him.

You swallow, keeping eye contact, "For another fifty, sure."

He chuckles at that, "You drive a hard bargain, darlin'."

"I know what I'm worth."

He smiles, nodding slowly, "That, you do." He pulls out his wallet and slips another bill into your bag, then shuffles toward you again. You try to keep your breathing calm when one of his hands comes up to cradle your bare back, pulls you in a little bit as he lowers his mouth to your right nipple. With hazy eyes, you watch as he presses the softest little kiss to it, then does the same to the left.

Part of you wants to pull back and say that's it, that's all you get, just to see what he does, give him a taste of his own medicine. But then he's wrapping his lips around the pebbled bud and suckling, your eyes going glassy, jaw dropping a little as your hands come up to hold his shoulders. Your pussy throbs at the sensation, thighs rubbing together again as he suctions just the right amount and swirls his tongue all over the hard peak. It's impossible not to let a quiet moan fall past your lips, something he returns with a little mmhmm around your nipple, a wordless I know.

It feels so good that you feel your guard going down even more than it already has, feel your head falling forward to rest against his. His greying hair is so soft, so warm from the sun. You blink slowly and inhale, cheek smooshing into his temple as he sucks and sucks and sucks, then turns his attention to the other one. Little whimpers are tumbling past your lips, your hands squeezing and caressing his shoulders as you feel yourself starting to drip down your inner thighs.

It's so fucking intimate, much more intimate than you anticipated. And when he finally pulls away and comes back up to peer into your eyes again, leaving your nipples puffy and a little sore, you betray yourself by leaning forward to kiss him softly, tugging his bottom lip into your mouth and returning the favor with a little suckle. You feel him smile against you, the hand on your back tightening as he brings his other one up to tangle in your hair. His lips are plush and wet - a little chapped from what he's just done to your nipples - and he tastes like pussy.

It's fucking heavenly.

"I wanna show you somethin', babygirl," he murmurs against you after a moment, and you nod a little too quickly, a little pathetically. You're starting to realize that you're losing the battle here, if there ever even was one.

He pulls back a little, eyes still soft. You watch as he reaches down to his swim trunks and unties them, heart suddenly in your throat as he slips his hand inside and comes out with an absolutely beautiful dick. It's long and thick, rounded and full at the tip with an extremely suckable looking mushroom head, as well as a prominent vein trailing up his shaft that makes your mouth water. You both stare at it for a few seconds without speaking, your lips parting but no words coming to mind.

"You wanna take some pictures with my cock, honey?" he asks you quietly, and you think he's probably looking at your face now, watching your expression, but you're still just staring at his dick.

"W-what?"

"Just a few, like...well..." he shuffles forward a bit and very gently presses the warmth of his cock against your bare stomach, letting the tip sit just above your belly button, "Like this."

Your brain is blank.

"That okay?"

His cock is so heavy.

"Darlin'?"

And warm.

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his big hand, "I know, honey," he murmurs, "You just gotta say okay."

Okay?

"O-okay," you finally whisper.

"Yeah?"

Yeah. You think it but don't say it, can't say it. You feel beyond overwhelmed, eyes still glued to where his throbbing tip is smooshed into your belly. You can't stop looking at it, ogling it, awed by its impressiveness and girth, the way it leaks a little onto your skin. You've never seen a dick this pretty before. You almost forget that you're standing there without any clothes on, barely aware of the shutter sound as he snaps multiple pictures on his phone.

"Good girl," he murmurs softly, "That's a good girl, just look at it."

Every few seconds he repositions a little, pulling you in closer to capture the way his cock stands at attention between your bodies. Precum gurgles from the tip and makes a sticky mess in his happy trail, dribbling down onto your skin. Without thinking about it at all, completely unaware of even doing it, your arms are suddenly around his waist, holding him close with your gaze still locked onto his cock.

"Yeah, that's for you, baby," he tells you softly, grinding his hips a little bit against yours and essentially fucking his cock against your stomach, "You did that to me."

It's only when he suddenly takes a small step back, holds the base and angles it downward to gently prod the sticky head against your pussy lips, that you finally come to your senses.

"Wait," you gasp out, yanking yourself back from him and shaking your head, "W-wait a second."

"M'sorry," he says quickly, brow furrowing as he puts his hands up. His cock hangs from his trunks almost comically, bobbing up and down as he takes a step back, "Shoulda asked first."

"Y-yeah, you should've," your voice cracks, heat flooding your face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then, that was too far." Why the fuck are you apologizing to him?

"S'not too far," his words are gentle, alluring, "We're just havin' fun, aren't we honey? You were havin' fun, got lost in it. It's okay."

You take a breath, staring at him as you try to get your bearings. Were you having fun? Is this fun? What the fuck are you even doing right now? Your thoughts are cloudy, hazed with arousal and attraction to this complete stranger in front of you. Are you really gonna let this continue? Is it really worth it? Your gaze falls back to his cock and the question is almost answered for you.

"What am I doing?" you ask aloud, a breathless little laugh escaping your lips.

"You're just havin' fun with a new friend, s'all it is."

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble, "Is that what you are? My friend?"

"I'll be anything you want me to be, darlin'," his mouth turns up at the corners, eyes sparkling, "I sure would like to be your friend."

He peers at you for a moment, waiting for you to speak. Your mouth opens a few times but no words come out, your thoughts scrambled as you try to make heads or tails of this situation. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're still completely naked, and you quickly peek your head over the rock formation to make sure there's nobody nearby - there isn't.

Why are you checking?

"C'mere," Joel finally says, and you turn back to look at him with your lip between your teeth. He's standing there with his arms open a bit, cock still heavy between his legs. By all accounts, a fucking perv. And yet...

And yet.

Fuck it.

You're back in his embrace in no time, hooking your head over his shoulder and allowing his cock to press warmly into your skin again. You close your eyes and sigh as he brings one of his hands downward to squeeze your ass.

You know what he's going to ask before he even says it.

"Can I put it inside you, darlin'?" he murmurs softly, pleadingly, "Just to get a pic of your pussy all full?"

You don't say anything.

"Won't take more than a minute," he urges, "I promise, baby. Just wanna see it stretched around my cock. Don't you wanna see that, pretty girl? I'll pay extra, whatever you want."

More silence.

"I know you wanna see it," he's relentless, his other hand coming down to squeeze your other cheek and pull you impossibly closer, "You wanna feel that, don't you, baby? Big cock fillin' you up before you go?" His middle finger slides between your cheeks and settles at your pussy, slowly teasing your entrance, "Don't gotta do anything at all, just gotta stand here, we'll do it standin' honey."

"Standing?" you ask softly, pulling back to look at him with intrigue, and your response suddenly has him grinning from ear to ear as he slowly inserts his finger. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed as he fills you with it.

"Standin'," he repeats, "Just like this, baby, don't gotta do anything 'cept open your legs a little for me. You can do that, can't you?" The hand on your ass comes up to hold your chin; he pinches it gently between his finger and thumb and gives you another soft look as he starts to fuck you in earnest, "I know you can, 'cause you're a good girl, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," you breathe, arms tightening around his body.

"Yeah," he adds a second finger, smile faltering into a sympathetic pout when you let out another soft moan, "And you want that cock, don't you? I can see it all over your face, honey. Don't gotta pretend."

"I do," you whisper with a nod, swallowing thickly and trembling in his arms, "I want it, I do."

"So..." he's waiting for you to say the words, to tell him to go ahead and put it in, do what he wants, let him take control. His fingers are relentless inside of you now, plunging in and out at a speed you know he's purposely using to distract you, cloud your decision making.

Which is why his eyebrows go up in surprise when you're suddenly reaching down to grab tightly to his wrist, yanking his fingers out of your pussy in one swift pull.

"Three hundred," you state, "Take it or leave it."

To your surprise, his face alights with a gigantic smile, a deep laugh tumbling past his lips as he nods and digs his hand into his pocket, seeking his wallet one more time, "Yes, m'aam," he grins, "I'll take it."

You've never had sex standing up before. Not like this, face to face and completely upright with your feet planted on the ground. It's a little awkward at first, Joel having to crouch a little to align his hips with yours, one hand gripping your waist while the other grips his phone. God, this fucking phone. You're pretty sure you'll never wanna see a phone case with this ugly shade of cerulean blue again, let alone hear those obnoxious shutter sounds.

Your annoyance is quickly overpowered by the sensation of the warm head of Joel's cock pressing gently to your pussy. You look down to watch, lip between your teeth again as Joel snaps image after image of the way his tip crowds your outer lips, pushes them apart. You have to admit, it's certainly a sight to behold.

"Yeah, look at her open for me, baby," he's murmuring, thumbing the base as he slowly rubs his cockhead back and forth through your folds, "Bloomin' like a little flower."

The top of your head rests against his shoulder, face angled down to watch what he's doing. A tiny whimper falls from your lips when he very slowly eases the head of his cock inside of you, the stretch barely noticeable with how wet you are. He releases your hip to reach down and open your pussy lips with his thumb and forefinger, exposing where you're joined.

"Tell her to smile for the camera, babygirl," he whispers, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can't help but feel a gush of arousal at his words, soaking his cock even more, "Good, that's good."

He feeds his cock to you slowly, making sure to take as many pictures as he can. Little whines and squeaks erupt from your throat and your hands claw at his back, fingers tangling in the white crocheted material as he fills you up. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside of you that he suddenly tugs his trunks down a little more to expose his balls, heavy and round and full. You stare at them with a longing in your eyes you can't describe, lower lip trembling as you watch them bounce and settle against where you're joined.

"There you go," he murmurs, snapping one last picture before tossing his phone into the sand and bringing his hands up to cradle your back, pulling you close, "All done, baby, that's it."

Your toes curl in the sand as you embrace the feeling of being so full of him, his tip pulsing delicately inside the deepest parts of you. A distant thought in your brain wonders why he just threw his phone on the ground, but it doesn't seem to matter when you feel like this, so full and wet and warm, lost in a hazy glow. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out quiet little whimpers as he pulls you in tighter. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, seemingly reveling in the moment too as you stand there listening to the ocean waves, impaled on a stranger's cock.

"How's that feel, honey?" he asks you softly, thumbs tracing shapes along your bare back, "Hm? Feel good?" You don't answer, just nuzzle your face against his skin and let out another soft whine, hands clamoring underneath his shirt to grip his back. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know, baby."

You both stand there for what feels like forever, until you finally have enough sense to pull away from his shoulder and get a look at his face. He's watching you fondly, brow furrowed, eyes still incredibly soft and inviting. He really is gorgeous. Pervy, but gorgeous.

"You dropped your phone," you mumble, words faint and slightly slurred.

"Don't need it anymore," he murmurs, "Got my pictures."

"Then why are you still inside me?" you ask softly, eyelashes fluttering, "If you're done?"

He shrugs, smiling, "'Cause it feels good, don't it?"

You stare at him for a few seconds but end up nodding regardless, turning your face a little to peer over at the ocean, "It does," you admit, "Feels really good."

"Mmhmm," he kisses the top of your head again, then your temple, stroking his fingers through your hair. The way he touches you is reverent, delicate, like you're something fragile he needs to keep safe. It's not what you'd expected, that's for sure. But something you're not as sure about is what happens now, where you both go from here.

It doesn't take long for him to decide.

You feel his thumb on your clit, drawing your attention away from the ocean and back to his presence. You peer at him through bleary eyes, a dazed little smile curving your lips as he carefully rotates the swollen nub. His belly caresses yours, warm and soft, and you smile even wider.

"Feel good?" he asks you again - tender, kind.

"Yeah," you whisper.

The hand on your back comes up to cradle your hair, pulling you in close again and allowing you to rest your head against his smooth chest. You moan as his thumb picks up speed, the sound muffled by his tan skin.

"You want me to make you come, honey?" he murmurs, fingers brushing carefully through your hair, "You wanna come all over that big cock inside you?"

"Yeah," you repeat, a little broken this time, "W-wanna come."

"You've been so fuckin' good for me, you know that?" he breathes, barely a whisper, brow furrowed as he continues to rub your clit, "Posin' all pretty, showin' me that soft little pussy, lettin' me taste her," he gives a low whistle, shaking his head, "And now she's all full, huh? She full?"

You nod, eyes rolling a little, "Y-yeah." Apparently yeah is currently one of the only words in your vocabulary.

"She all messy for me?"

Again, you nod, expression blissful as you let out a moan, "Yes, Joel," you whimper, and you're pretty sure it's the first time you've said his name this whole time. It's like you've been trying to be disconnected from it, from him, and now suddenly he's everywhere; inside you, in front of you, above you - there's no escaping him. And you don't want to escape - what you want is him. Badly. Desperately.

He seems to realize this at the exact same time you do, the moment he hears his name fall from your lips. Which is why you're not surprised in the slightest by his next words.

"What if I wanted a pic of my cum leakin' outta this little pussy?" he whispers, mouth suddenly directly next to your ear, sending insane amounts of pleasurable tingles throughout your whole body, "Huh? How much would that cost? Tell me."

"You can't," you mumble, lightheaded, but you're lying to yourself, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you, the movement of his thumb and the girth of his cock.

"Only take a few seconds, honey, m'already close," as he speaks, you feel his hips slowly begin to buck, cock pulling from you for only a moment before easing back in, making you shudder, "You don't gotta do nothin', 'cept show me how she drools when she's full. You can do that, can't you baby?"

"Joel," you whine again, eyes shut tight as you dig your toes into the sand, holding tight to his back as he slowly starts to fuck up into you. He's so big, so thick, plugging you full and then leaving you again, slow and warm. You can only imagine how it would feel to have him burst inside of you, to fill you to the brim.

"I wanna see her drool, honey," he murmurs, voice desperate again, full of arousal, "Wanna see her push it out."

"Fuck," you moan, high and whiney as you suddenly grip both sides of his face in your hands to peer directly into his eyes, "A thousand," you whimper, your hands clawing at his scruff as his hips pick up speed, as his hands fall to your waist and hold tightly as he starts to pound up into you, "A thousand and you can come in my pussy."

He presses his forehead against yours, lets out a guttural sound and then hisses, "Deal."

And for some reason, you believe him.

Getting pounded while standing upright is a fucking trip. His nails dig into the pebbled flesh of your hips, knees bending and unbending as his cock fucks up into you relentlessly without stopping or slowing. Your hands are still holding his face, eyes locked with his as your mouth pops open in a silent scream, thumbs digging into the apples of his cheeks. Holy fucking shit.

"I know, I know, I know," he's groaning, voice wild and unhinged, groans vibrating in his chest, "Fuckin' take it, s'what you were made for, honey. Knew it the second I saw you, knew you were gonna go wild on that dick."

"Please," you moan out, tears pricking in your eyes, the sensations almost too much to bear, "Please, please." You don't even know what you're begging for, thoughts muddled as you release his face and wind your arms around his neck, "Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, don't stop, please."

"I got you, honey, I got you," you feel his thumb return to your clit as he speaks, the sounds of your skin slapping together almost rivalling the sound of the ocean waves, "You gonna come, pretty girl? Huh? You gonna cream on my cock?"

"Yes," you practically squeal, and before you can really process what you're doing you're suddenly jumping up from the sand to wrap your legs around Joel's waist, ankles tangling together behind his back. He has no issue shifting positions, his arm cradling you and holding you in the air while his thumb continues to ravage your clit. You feel it building in your stomach, tightening more and more with the insistent pressure of his thumb and the continuous thrusts of his dick hitting your cervix over and over.

"Ohh, I feel her, baby," he groans in your ear, "Sloppy little cunt wants to make another mess, doesn't she?" And that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you, your legs squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter around Joel's body as you moan and whine and cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and shaking in his arms. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, arguably one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sob into his neck.

"Joel," you whimper, pussy pulsing repeatedly around his dick through the aftershocks, "Joel, come inside her, please."

"Oh, fuck."

You feel it then, the twitch of his cock and the warm ropes of his release pumping into you. You sigh almost dreamily, burying your face in his shoulder and listening as he groans, feeling the way his fingertips dig into the soft plush of your ass. It's steady - there's so much more than you thought there'd be, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper again, murmuring his name one more time as he empties himself.

You stay like that for a moment, the ocean loud in your ears, all other sounds seemingly drowned out by the hiss of sea against rock and sand. Eventually, he carries you a few steps to your towel, your ears ringing and his body trembling a little as he carefully lowers you down. You let go of him a bit reluctantly, a pout on your lips as he lays you out and then slowly pulls himself from you with a wet squelch.

"Good girl," he's murmuring - you realize he's been saying it the whole time - "Good girl, that's it, open your legs."

There's no hesitance at all anymore, not after that. You open your legs wide with abandon and sit up on your hands, watching with heavy lids as he grabs his phone from where he'd discarded it, bringing it down to your leaking pussy.

"Look at that," he breathes, awestruck, and your eyes trail downward to see what he sees. You feel heat return to your cheeks when you see the way his creamy white release is slowly beginning to dribble out of you and onto the towel.

"Wow, that's a lot," you whisper with a faint little giggle, eyes coming back up to look at his face as he watches it drip. You're not sure he hears you, intensely focused on where you're swollen and leaking, but you don't mind. You push back lazily on your hands and smile fondly at him as he takes his precious photos. In the afterglow, you find that the shutter sounds aren't that annoying, not really.

"Open her up for me, baby," he tells you softly, "Spread her wide and push it out."

You sit up a little, feeling drowsy and dreamy as you reach down and pull yourself open with your hands. You apply a little pressure, closing your eyes in a daze and hearing the wet little sounds as you push his cum out of you and onto the towel. You hear him groan, hear the shutter sounds again, and you can't help but grin.

"Are they good?" you ask him, genuinely wondering, "Is she pretty?" As you speak you pull yourself a little wider, allow him to take one more picture as close inside as possible before he pulls it away.

He looks up from his handiwork with that familiar soft smile on his face again, brown eyes shimmering in the sun that's already beginning to set, "You're perfect," he tells you, "And don't argue with me, I just gave you almost two thousand dollars."

You snort, releasing yourself and falling backwards onto the towel to stare up at the sky. Your limbs feel heavy, eyelids drooping as you watch Joel in your periphery slipping his soft cock back into his trunks, as well as his phone.

"It's real money, right?" you ask, a little unsure.

"I promise it's real money," he says with a chuckle, walking over to stand over you, "D'you wanna come back to my hotel with me and get cleaned up? Maybe have some more fun?"

You bite your lip, "Would you pay me?"

"I'd pay you."

Admittedly, as reality begins to wash over you, the idea doesn't sound anywhere near as appealing as it might have an hour ago. With a little effort, you sit up again and reach for your bikini, half buried in the sand near your feet.

"Nah, I think I'm good."

Joel reaches his arm down and you take it, letting him help you to your feet. As you put your bikini back on, you watch with a little smile as he digs the rest of your money out of his wallet, slipping it into your purse like it's just second nature at this point - which, it basically is. He stands there then, a little awkwardly, like he's not sure what to say.

"Well, uh, thank you, darlin'," he finally says, taking a step back and nodding toward you with a kind expression, "Not many girls would have, um... not many would've done this. I'd offer you my number, but I get the feeling that's not what this is."

You wince, shaking your head, "Yeah, this, uh- this isn't gonna go anywhere, sorry. But it was fun."

He nods, "It was. And, I mean, those pictures aren't just gonna collect dust, I can tell you that much."

You laugh, walking forward a little to pick up your bag. You stop in front of him and, after hesitating for only a moment, lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck - a goodbye.

"Have a good rest of your summer," you tell him as you pull away, heat rising in your cheeks again as he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, "And uh- maybe try to be a little more covert with that camera."

This time it's his turn to blush, his cheeks tinging a dark shade of pink as he laughs and tosses you a wave, turning to begin walking away from you. He only makes it a few steps, and then-

"Hey, Joel?"

He turns on the spot, a hopeful look in his expression that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, that maybe you're making the wrong choice.

"You're not really a photographer, are you?"

His blush deepens, a look of embarrassment crossing his features, "No, I'm not. But after today, I just might try my hand at it."