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youaremyhome · 5 months

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I’m suppose to be working on my finals but how can I when there are this literal pieces of art just there for me to read?!?!

With Mercy for the Disturbed

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: AU; Extremely Dubious Consent; Or Non Con; You decide but vibes are definitely off; Dark Fic; Rough Sex; Face fucking; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Bondage; Unreliable Narrator; Memory loss; Blasphemy; Discussions of religious disdain; Discussions of morality; References to suicide; Beware of the old man who’s crazy and lets all his intrusive thoughts win; Older man/Younger woman; Creampie; Light breeding kink; Like very light for the likes of me promise; Possessive Behavior; Kidnapping; Joel POV

A/N: Hello and hallelujah, I’m so happy to be posting this!! For a minute after I finished Pink I felt like it would be impossible for me to write anything else ever again, and felt so weird and without anything left to say. I struggled so much just getting these words down, and it was supposed to be something very different initially compared to what it turned out to be, but I think I quite like the final product. I hope you do too.

And one million kisses and thank yous and all the praise in the world to @frannyzooey for giving this a little looksy over before posting. You’re the greatest and the bestest, Kelli, thank you so so much :)

Please heed the tags carefully and err on the side of caution!!! The goings on in this are very strange and this is probably the darkest thing I’ve written to date.

Word Count: 8.8K

Read on AO3

He can’t remember her name anymore, but he remembers the number. It’s been seven hundred and thirty eight days since his daughter died.

Sometimes, he’s not sure if he even remembers his own name. He thinks it’s Joel, and the sound of it brings him comfort in a way, when it’s especially dark and confusing in his mind, and so he tells himself over and over again that that’s what it is. Joel. Joel. Joel. I am Joel. That that’s what it’s always been. That that’s the name she knew him as.

Sometimes you call him that too.

He used to be a father, and then one day, so suddenly he can’t recall how it even happened, he lost everything. Like dominos falling over in his mind – the girl, and then his memories and then the man with the face like his. He plays dominos all the time now.

In his spot in the sun in the big blue room, wearing his whites and his soft socks and taking the pills they force down his throat. He plays dominos, and he does his exercises, and he thinks of that daughter whose name he can’t remember. He says his own name over and over and over again so many times until it’s not even a sound anymore, only a buzz or a hum or a scream.

His beard is thick and his hair is long, and he does not recognize his own face in the mirror. All he sees are ghost green eyes and dark hair and a fathomless sort of failure. A father, no longer a father. He goes for walks in the garden, he eats the food they give him even when he doesn’t really want to, even when it tastes like ash or greater madness than the one he’s already swallowed. And he waits for you. All the time he waits for you to come to him, he watches the big doors that go out into the world he’s too frightened and broken to step foot in now, draws his fingertip over the gristle of scar tissue at his temple mended over invisible fracture, and he waits and waits, and he says his name and he thinks of that nameless daughter and he waits and he thinks: the morning after I killed myself, I woke up in the perfect place with the perfect white walls and now all I do is wait.

He sits in his chair in the corner now and counts the seconds for you to come for him. Always at this time, always when the sun is at that spot in the sky. When it rains, and he can't tell where he is in the world, and the clouds are swollen purple gray verging on melancholy and anger, he feels something like despairing. Something like the sort of insane they whisper he is behind his back now.

He watches the puddles filled with dark mercury grow and grow like the ocean rising out of concrete, and the orange tree that drips and weeps and sags and he thinks he feels very much that way inside too. Sometimes, when the sun shines and there are no clouds and he doesn’t feel so terribly downtrodden, or maybe worse than usual, each orange blossom opens like a hand reaching out for him. Begging him not to do it, not to think of it, not to go back to that bad place. Focus only on me, she says. Focus only on the blue walls and the perfect room and the place where the sun sits in the sky, she’s on her way, she’s almost here.

The first time they’d told him he was ill – or dead – the first morning in the perfect room, he’d been angry, affronted or offended, and he’d howled and fought and said I’m not fucking crazy, it’s only that my daughter is dead. But as much as he’d fought or kicked or screamed, wept until he was brittle and dry as a whale bone, they’d not believed him. And so, he’d come to appreciate the peace of the perfection surrounding him, the perfection of a lie, or the perfection that comes to visit him in the shape of a woman, soft and round in all the right places and pretty. Fuckable. He tries not to think of it. He swears he does. But there’s little else to consider in the perfect place. So really, he thinks of little else.

You’re almost here, he knows it’s almost time.

A few more moments of the sun in the place where it is until it’s in the place where it should be, and then you’ll be here, and he looks down at the stone in his palm, held for so long it’s turned dark with his sweat now. I shouldn’t have, but I brought you something, placed it in his hand, done that thing with your eyes and your mouth that told him secrets he wasn’t sure you were even aware you were telling him.

He knows that it’s November now because you’d said it was, and he doesn’t know why, but when you’d told him, he’d wept and wept and wept. Become inconsolable which had sent you to worrying, put the different sort of look on your face, in your eyes, the one that vibrates, that screams instead of whispers. And he’s positive you don’t know you show him that one, but he sees it anyways, you’ve got a shit poker face. And he’d told you between sobs and chokes, it’s November and it’s terrible and I can’t explain why except to say that it’s as though the earth has suddenly realized that she’s grown old and cold and there’s nothin’ she can do to prevent it except weep, and I feel very much like this in my own heart too. And when he looks back up at the sun, it’s finally where it’s supposed to be, and when he looks back at the double doors that lead away to all his fears and all the bad, there you are. You walk towards him slow and measured, and you’re perfect, perfect, perfect. Precious, impeccable, absolutely exceptional in every way. He wants very much to ruin all that pure magnificence.

He knows that he did something very bad after his daughter, after they took her, lots of very bad things to lots of very bad people. He knows this, he remembers this vividly, enjoys the memory of it, savors it like something sitting sweet and light on his tongue.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love with the idea of a girl who was gone who’d come from me who is never going to be again. Who I never made enough time for when there was still time to be made.

You always wear beautiful clothes, and it makes him appreciate the blandness of his own. That you stand out, that he’s merely a blank canvas for you to inflict yourself on. Wool skirts and silk blouses and sheer pantyhose he wants to rip to ribbons with his fingers. Makes him appreciate the beauty of you, faultless, guileless. Sweet in a way he’d never witnessed before like a kitten that’s so adorable you want to squeeze and squeeze and smother until it bursts. Big eyes and a full, soft mouth and breathy voice, and then you’re right there.“Hi, Joel,” and yeah, that’s right, he does know his name, you remind him of it all the time.

“Mornin’.”

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

The room you usually sit in to talk has a big painting of a field in it, a bear in the far off center up on its hind legs, somehow, appearing as if it’s dancing away. Even the paintings are mad here, but he likes it, wants to dance away into the far off unknown like that too.

“The middle of the day’s not the best time for fishin’ usually.” Sometimes, you let him start where he wants. Silent until he chooses to break. He pulls the thought out of nowhere. “Bein’ out there’s just the excuse, I suspect, in the sun and the water.”

He listens to the scratch, scratch of your pen. You write with one of those fountain types with the sharp point, and he wonders if you’ve ever considered how easily he could turn it into a weapon. How smoothly it’d pierce the soft, satin skin of your throat he likes to fantasize about. He would never. But he does like to think about it, pretends it’s a show of your trust, wonders if the guards and higher ups know you bring something like that in here with him. Scratch, scratch, scratch, and it makes his brain itch.

“You used to fish?”

“Think so.”

“Are you remembering?”

“Nah.” The morning after I killed myself, I lost my memories – it’s only that they’d hurt everywhere I’d touched them, and so I’d had to let them go.

“No?”

You’ve got the loveliest voice, and sometimes he wishes he could tell you to stop asking so many stupid questions about him and talk about yourself. Endlessly. He chooses a new route. “What is it about empathy that people find so difficult to be generous with?”

That soft hum in your throat he loves, the one he feels soothe that itchy brain of his. “Humans can be inherently selfish. We’re born with only ourselves, we die with only ourselves, sometimes that gets in our way.”

“No… Don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” He knows you like to lead him sometimes, like a game he doesn’t want to enjoy. “You’re the one saying we’re greedy with our empathy.”

“Forgiveness too,” he adds.

The click of your tongue, “Do you think you’re forgiving?”

“Not at all.”

Scratch, scratch. Once he’d asked what it is you write about him during these talks of yours, and all you’d said was notes. It’s the only time he’s ever been angry with you, refused to talk to you for three days after that. Only because if you wouldn’t tell him things, then he wasn’t going to tell you anything either. “Then what’s the point you’re trying to make? What’s your question?” But then he’d missed the sound of your voice too much, had felt the burn of your gaze on his skin too intensely, had masturbated too many times without satisfaction to the memory of your eyes on him that he’d been forced to relent. He needed the sound of your voice in his head also to be able to come.

“Why is it so difficult?” He asks again because he has to understand. Because he needs an answer desperately.

“It’s hard to see someone as simply themselves, simply human – a sentient flaw, so to speak – when they make a mistake. And yet, as grievous or offensive as something can be, we all do it eventually. Some people have no patience for that.”

“Even though they themselves will eventually, inevitably, do it too?” He can feel himself getting upset, his heart beating too fast, a cold sweat sprouting at the back of his neck while his face flushes hot and red.

“Yes.”

“That’s bad.”

You shrug, “Perhaps.”

“Selfish.”

Again, “Perhaps.”

And then the true source of his anger, “I think I’m like that.”

You nod like you understand, and he wants to shake you and make you see that there’s no way you actually could. “Would you like not to be?” It pisses him off when your voice goes all even and patient like that.

“Yes. I hate people like that. I hate people that can’t find it in themselves to forgive – to give someone a second chance.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He can’t help himself when he vomits the words, not fully expecting them to come out so slicked in truth as they do. “Because I wish someone would give me one, even if I don’t deserve it. F– forgive me– But even then… what does it matter? What does it matter if I’m forgiven, given a second chance, absolved of all my sins? Look at where I am. Look at what I've become. I’m entirely lost to myself. You know, sometimes I can’t remember my own name if you don’t remind me of it.”

“You’re Joel. You had a daughter. Her name was Sarah.” He flinches at the sound of it, wants to bare his teeth at you like a rabid animal. “Your brother is Tommy. He calls every Friday at three o’clock to ask how you are. You’re Joel Miller.” That’s right. The morning after I killed myself, I met my brother for the first time. The real him. The him who’s afraid of me. The real Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Sometimes the name rings familiar in his mind, again, when you remind him of it.

He shakes his head, swallows a gruff sound, tries to shutter the manic look he knows floods his eyes, reverts back to his initial thought, “False senses of moral superiority disgust me.” The sun’s shining in at an angle so that there’s a single tendril of sunlight wrapped around the slim of your crossed ankle, gripping the nylon covered limb in its light. Joel’s eyes shift jealously from that held piece of you to the shadow of far off rain he can see in the distance through the window, trying to find some measure of peace in the sight. It’ll reach here eventually, and he tries to ground himself in the inevitability. “Yes, there’s right and wrong. There’s also humanity. There’s also the right to grow and learn, and to make mistakes that, in the end, make you better. Who are you to condemn me? Is your glass house so pristine not a stain mars it? Grace, forgiveness, empathy… I find those infinitely more valuable than whatever false sense of good and bad you’ve decided makes me worthy or not,” he says, eyes cast towards the coming rain. He can feel your gaze on his face, and he does not want to acknowledge it.

“But the things you did were bad, Joel. You hurt people. You killed people.”

That makes his eyes snap back to yours for the way you say it. As if you’re sharing a bit of inconsequential news with him. The weather is about to hit, the rain is almost here. Can’t you see it, just there, in the distance? Voice so even and soft. Sometimes he calls you angel, when he knows he’s charmed you enough just to get away with it, when he’s said all the things he knows you want to hear from him and smiled all the right smiles that cost him so much. Voice like a goddamn angel, face like a goddamn angel. Everything else… like something come straight from Hell to drag him down to where he really belongs and never let him go.

He eyes you suspiciously. “The Bible says an eye for an eye. They killed my daughter so I took their eyes.” And then other parts.

“And then their lives…” And then their lives. He nods once, succinct. “You ascribe to the scripture?” You snap that little leather bound book open again, red, scratch in it once again, all your secrets about him. That itch returns, stronger than before. He bites down on it, chews it away within himself.

“What? Like I believe in it? Fuck no. Fuck religion. It isn’t real. A weak construct made for weak men in need of comfort. And– and… like what – it’s going to save my soul? I ate that a long time ago, angel. Look at where I am…” He shrugs, letting his head fall back in a circular motion, coming to rest on his shoulder. He can’t help but smile at you, he knows you hate it when he gets like this, all ornery and heretical.

You purse your lips, shake your head at him gently, and he wants to eat the lipstick from your soft mouth. “You believe in angels though… you call me–”

His smile cranks up another notch for a single beat. “Gotta believe in somethin’ that’s right in front of my eyes, don’t I? What d’ya think, that’m crazy?” And his eyes slide to the window again, smile melting off his face. “‘Sides they told me so–”

“Who told you what?” Voice slow, measured, all serious-like. He rolls his eyes, feels the stone of anger in his belly heat, spin, jump to his throat.

“They killed my daughter,” he spits like a whispered scream instead. The shadow of rain is closer. If the dancing bear were out there, it’d be lost to the deluge by now. “I should’ve done worse. I would have, had I not been thrown away in here.” He remembers that a man with a face like his left him here, but he doesn’t know who. He shakes his head, jostles the non-memory out of his ears, searches harder for the dancing bear, killed a bunch’a people, he murmurs to himself, once more again, because he likes the sound of it.

“So you’re talking about yourself. You want to be forgiven.” He doesn’t like when you tell him, when you don’t ask. It makes him feel like you know something he doesn’t, and he wants to know everything you know.

“No. I don’t know.”

“Do you feel thrown away, Joel?”

“I feel forgotten – impossible to remember,” his voice cracks at the end, eyes suddenly wet and hot.

“By who?”

“The world.” He can’t remember his childhood. He can’t remember what he was like as a child, and it makes him sad.

You’re quiet for a long time, no more scratch, scratch, scratch, no more itch. No more angel voice, and then, very soft, like you know you shouldn’t. “I remember you. I haven’t forgotten you.”

Once, a time ago because he can’t discern lengths of it anymore, it doesn't exist here in the perfect place, amidst what, he thinks, is a lot that you know you shouldn’t have allowed, you’d changed the routine up on him. Had sent for him, instead of coming for him yourself. When he’d stepped into the room where you have your talks, you’d been facing the big window, looking out at the green, the line of your shoulders and the dip of your waist and the swell of your ass in your skirt that shifts like water around your knees and the saliva pooling heavy in his mouth, it’d been too much, too much for a broken thing, and you hadn’t turned. Like the pen, like more trust, you hadn’t turned to face him even though he knew you’d heard the door snick shut behind him. He’d stepped as quiet as he could up behind you, quiet like when he was sneaking to kill, and he’d brushed a single tip of his finger up the length of one of your skinny, little ones, so much smaller and finer than his thick, brutish ones, stroked the palm of your hand. You’d made the tiniest sound, interrupted by a swallow, but he’d heard it. He’d heard the want in it. He’d not forgotten either, and he sees that sound in your eyes now, again, as you stare at him with an intention he’s not so fucking crazy that he doesn’t know you shouldn’t possess.

He smiles a little again, and you don’t return it, but it’s okay, he sees the sound of your want in your eyes anyways, and that’s infinitely more satisfying to him. “It would serve us all well to remember to try to be a little more empathetic, a little more forgiving.”

You swallow, shaken, he can tell. Shaken by that thing inside you for him he knows shouldn’t be there. You scratch a little in the book, say slowly, “It starts with you, I think, you have to forgive yourself first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. There are things you talk about you clearly have no understanding of. You’re young. You don’t know better. He understands. “I think… I think, I haven’t been myself lately.”

“Who have you been?”

And again, he doesn’t mean to say it, but you tell him so much you don’t mean to say either that he feels he might as well also. “Someone–” That anger again, he can’t help himself even though he desperately wants to. “Someone my daughter would be afraid of.” Full blown rage now. At you. Yes, at you. You force things from him he doesn’t want to give you, and there’s a thing within him that wants to punish you for it, take a pound of flesh in repayment. “I want someone to forgive me. I want to be forgiven. I want to experience it.” Truth is like fire, hypnotizing, seductive, once it catches, inextinguishable. He wants to hate you sometimes for forcing these things from him, for not giving him a choice, and worst of all, done so unintentionally, unknowingly. He wants to not give you a choice either.

“From who?” You ask. Silly little girl. You need to learn the art of restraint, of temperance. He should teach you.

“Our hour’s up.” He looks away, dismissing you. As if he’s the one in charge here, and not the one caged. Divested.

“No, it isn’t. It’s–”

“Our hour’s up,” head snapping back towards you, barking– “It’s time for you to go.” And something in his gaze must tell how far he’s been pushed, by you, for you jerk up and out of your chair suddenly, turning to scurry towards the door, not bothering to say goodbye, not bothering to turn back, not bothering to notice the clatter of your pen on the linoleum.

He watches you go, a single black seam runs up the back of your hose, and the sight makes him feel violent, eager for darkness and the solitude of his white box room.

He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the rain beats against the singular tiny window in his room, maybe the way it whispers at him like all the other things that whisper at him now, but he knows you’ll come before he hears the stunted jangle of keys, the sigh and click of his door, the bare pad of shoeless feet on the hard floor, you’d thought this through, your too fast, too shallow breathing.

He’s staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, cock hard, a little chafed. He wasn’t able to make himself come tonight, sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes he needs the imagination of your wet cunt more than just the mere memory of your voice in his mind and the remembered feel of your gaze on him, but he’s never let himself picture the full act of fucking you. Thinks it would send him to a level of unhingedness he’d find unable to restrain in your presence. He only thinks of bits and pieces of you, like a dissected doll pulled apart for his half pleasure. Never the full thing, ever.

You try and say whatever it is you want to say several times before it finally comes out, all choked and feigned regret, but you do try and put on a good show, swallowed up by nerves as you are. “I– I just– I just came to make sure you’re okay,” you whisper. You’ve never been in his room before. He’s never had you in his space like this, and it makes him leak.

“You didn’t come for that.” Voice slow, still wide eyed, looking up at the white domed ceiling, something like victory in the shape of a hymn pounding through his veins. He won’t look at you until he’s ready.

“I… I felt badly about how we left things this afternoon. I shouldn't have– I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t end our talk the way– the way… Joel?” You stutter, trail off, voice small and unsure.

He sees you move out of the corner of his eye. One step forward, two back, pressing up against the door again. Little bunny full of regret for coming into the wolf's bed, and he moves suddenly, swift despite his age still. He has little to do here besides move his body, make sure it doesn’t grow rust. He sits up quick as a whip, swinging his legs over the edge of his too small bed, planting his feet wide and sturdy on the cold floor. He can see the tremble of your throat even from here, the pristine lines of you. Your hair and your face and your tits and the tiny little pearl buttons of your blouse like soldiers waiting to be felled on the battlefield. He’s going to rip them from you, pluck the garments keeping you hidden away from your skin, spread you out, filleted.

“That’s not what you came here for, angel.” He shakes his head slowly, and your panic ricochets higher, makes his cock harder. Your arm reaches back for the latch slowly, fumbling behind you, and he braces his legs. Your other palm outstretched, fingers trembling. He gives you another slow shake, as if that small gesture could keep him at bay. “I hear all the things you tell me. Don’t worry. I always hear.”

“Wh– what do you mean?”

“I always see the things you want me to know. I know… I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t– I’m not sure… I shouldn’t have come.” Your hand finds the latch, angling your body to slip through as swiftly as possible, and his muscles coil tight and ready. “I just wanted– to– to make sure…” You pull the door open, move to slip away, and he lunges for you, catches the edge of the swinging door, lets you float in the lie that you’ve gotten away for a few seconds, scurrying a few paces down the dark corridor of his perfect place where he’s found his perfect girl.

The morning after I killed myself, I found an angel.

You make it as far as the bend in the hall before he’s trapping you in his grip, swinging you around so fast you bounce against the white tiled walls, cages you there, open mouth immediately at your jugular, biting down hard while his big palm completely smothers your face, forces your choked cry back down. His other arm wraps around your waist, lifting and dragging you back down the hall towards his white box and his little bed and all his fantasies, artery caught between his teeth, no more choices to be had, exactly like you leave him all the time. He whispers at you to be quiet, quiet, quiet, angels are always good, and then he’s shutting the door behind him, trapping you inside and plucking the keys from your skirt pocket, locking the two of you away together as you should’ve been from that first day.

You try and struggle in his arms, little feet kicking weakly at his shins, scratching at his sides where he has your arms trapped, but the sound of your fight is restrained, held low and gurgled in your throat, and he knows that you know that this is what you’d come for, that you’re getting exactly as you’d sought.

“Fight harder if you’d like,” he says low in your ear, throwing the keys to the far corner and wrapping both arms tight around you, pressing all the air out. Finally, fucking finally. He’s touching you, the plush heat of your breasts against his chest, the soft swell of your belly against his stomach. He’s so fucking hard he wants to rut into you like a beast. “I want you to be scared,” and it’s the foremost truth he’s ever shared with you. The heart of all his depravity. “I want you to want it so bad you’re terrified. As bad as I want it. I want you to not want it also. Want you to fight and cry and scratch and bite, and then take it anyways ‘cause I’m gonna to give it to you anyways. You always take all of my choices from me,” he adds on, voice going barely there, mumbled, pressing a tiny kiss to the tiny hammering pulse in your throat, and you let out your first soft moan. An angel singing right into his ear. Your fighting tells all sorts of lies. He hoists you higher, presses you closer, and you wriggle and squirm, grinding his erection into the soft apex of your thighs.

“Joel– stop, please– please. I– I didn’t think–” He bends his head to your breast, drags his nose over the hard peak he feels beneath the silk of your blouse, nuzzles there, enjoying the sound of your breathlessness, again that feigned shock. You’re right, you didn’t think, and it’s too late now. What did you expect would happen, coming here to his cage like this in the middle of the night? He catches the taut peak between the edge of his teeth, tugs gently, plucking your cords.

With a fist wrapped in the length of your hair he forces you to your knees at his feet, jerking your head back roughly so that your mouth falls open on a gasp giving him the opportunity to hook his fingers over the edge of your bottom teeth, stretching your jaw open wide. “Open– lemme see,” he orders. “I wanted you so bad,” dragging the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge of your jaw. “I want you so bad. All those days when you forced me to tell you things I didn’t want to tell you. I’m going to show you temperance now, angel,” he nods his head down at you condescendingly when you try and protest. I didn’t force you to do anything, “But you did. You did. You pulled things out of me I didn’t want to share. And now I have to have you. You always take all of my choices from me.” He clicks his tongue down at you, and there are tears in your eyes that go wide and something worse than frightened when he tugs the elastic waist of his soft white pants down, pulls out his angry erection and heavy balls. Your expression morphing from something worse than frightened, to something like desperate, like hungry, like his for the taking. And he’s big, he knows it. Much too big for the pretty little throat he’s about to force it down. But he’s going to be gentle, he’s going to help you, teach you.

“Joel, please–” And look at you beg, so pretty with tears in your eyes, running down your cheeks. He brings the searing brand of his erection to your cheek, presses the burning hot skin all over your face, coating himself in the wet of your tears, marking you in the thick male scent of him. And the feel of you, just like this, just this little bit – with his fingers still hooked over the edge of your teeth he turns your face so that your open mouth brushes against his length. “Taste– I know you’re hungry for it. Give it a kiss hello, little angel.”

Your eyes flash up to his face for a brief moment, almost too quick for him to catch, and then you’re pursing your mouth against him, swallowing the shudder that moves through his entire frame. A tiny kiss to the ridged underbelly of his cock, the drag of your lips against the length of him to the fat tip, and then another kiss with wet lips and enough tongue to undeniably lick up some of what’s slicking it. You want him, even if you won’t admit it, even if you cry or fight. It’s all he needs to know.

Still caught by the teeth he jerks your head back forward, opens you wider and forces his cock down your throat. You gurgle around him, whining, shrieking, false, he knows what you really want. Can feel it in the slicking of your tongue around the proof of his desire for you, he’s giving you everything he has, and he spits your name, purges it from his belly like an infection over and over again while he starts to fuck your mouth. Feels you gulp hard just at the right moment to get his leaking tip caught tight at the choking opening of your throat. He could come just like this. He could, he could. You’re all his. Fill your belly with his semen until it bulges, feed you himself until you’d never be without him. He lets his head fall back, looks up at the white dome, at the false home of the false God, tells you again, voice all cracked and broken and gone away from him, “I don’t believe in God anymore, but that’s okay. I have you to believe in now,” fucks harder, listens to your cries climb up the walls, savors the scratch and shove at his thighs when he tightens his fist in your hair to a painful degree. You always take all my choices from me, always. But he knows that if he’s to show you temperance he must exercise his own, and after a few more slick thrusts, he pulls wetly from your mouth, enjoying your whistling groan as you sag face first against his thigh. He pets your hair now gently, fingers twisting through the softness. He’d always wanted to feel it, memorize its texture, its scent. There is nothing about you that isn’t worthy of veneration, of doing the worst thing in the world just to have you, taste you, keep you.

He lets you rest for a moment, wonders at the fact that you haven’t screamed yet. You easily could, call for help, salvation, an escape. You haven’t, and it soothes him. Makes him feel disgusting in a way that doesn’t match up with how disgusting it should feel to force himself on his pretty angel; a self satisfied type of disgust. Something he should be more ashamed of than he truly is. But when you have so little, when you barely have yourself, when theft is the only means of self satisfaction, little recourse remains for creatures caged in perfect places with only bad avenues left to them.

He hauls you up by your underarms, lets his wet cock press trapped between the two of you, and he’s so close, so close, so close to what he’s needed for so long. He gathers you in his arms, cradles you gentle and with purpose. Tucks your hair behind your ears and wipes the tears and spit from your face, takes it the sparkle of your big wet eyes. So pretty. “Truly like an angel,” and chucks you beneath the chin when you shake your head at him. “You are. So pretty and so soft.” And then finally, like so many times he’d forced himself not to imagine it because he was terrified of what the fantasy would turn him into, no longer the dancing bear in the distance finding it’s escape, but a hungry one, a violent one, an animal so far beyond control all it could do was devour, he pulls you close by the tip of your chin and swallows your mouth whole. All tongue and teeth and the slick slide of your own fervor because yes, it’s there, tangling with his own mouth, pressing your own spit onto his tongue like an offering. You kiss him back.

You kiss him back.

And, “I want to make you my little butterfly,” he says, “Spread you open, pinned just for me to look at. Only me.” He whispers it into your mouth, soft and secret and true. He’d string you up if he could, split you open and peer inside, rifle through the shafts of your ribs like a lexicon that spells out the truth of who you really are. And then that sudden anger again, that furious stone spinning in his throat. His touch becomes harder, punishing, “You’re going to tell me everything about you,” he says with all that rage in his voice, spits the stone out at you. “You shouldn’t have kept secrets from me.” Fuck the little red book and the scratch, scratch, scratch. He’s going to have all your truths. He’s going to be the one taking all of your choices away from you now.

He hauls you towards his little bed, popping the pretty pearl buttons as he goes, knowing he’s going to go to his knees later to collect them like treasures for himself after this is done. He rips the blouse from your shoulders, shudders at your indignant little gasp with the sound of the tearing silk, and you’re all soft skin and fine lace and the prettiest thing he’s ever beheld with his own two eyes in this whole life.

You bring one delicate hand up to his throat, try and grip him there, push him back, but he presses into the touch, sucks at your mouth again, harder, biting, and you say onto his tongue that you shouldn’t, and please, Joel, just wait, but he won’t and he can’t and he tells you it’s useless to fight because he’s having you regardless.

“No, no– none of that. You’re going to take your fucking like a good little girl,” and something about his words or his tone or the look in his eyes must make the connection in your brian that this is happening click because you suddenly go boneless, head falling back to bear your throat for him, soft sound of concession slipping from your lips.

He goes in for the kill, he’s always been exceptional at that, after all. Teeth latched at your jugular, tongue up and across the slope of soft sugared skin, and you taste like salvation. He’s saved now, he’s sure of it. Everything he’d lost, his daughter, his mind, himself, he’s going to find it buried in your cunt. Joel is absolutely certain of it.

He divests you of your skirt, the pretty lace, leaves the nylons held up by tight elastic around your soft thighs, and then it’s all just bare skin and heat and your soft whimpers, the coolness of your hair between his fingers. He lays you out across the length of his bed, takes in the majesty of his winnings. An angel felled and caught. You lie there staring up at him, and there’s an innocence to your gaze that brings him to his knees, set down and at your mercy now. He parts your legs slowly, one small kneecap in the bowl of each palm, the softest skin he’s ever felt beneath these death roughened hands, and Joel could sob now, weep if he had the time for it. He spreads your thighs wide, palms dragging up the insides, calluses catching on the smooth nylon and watches the dip and hitch of your belly as you gasp and shiver.

“Are you scared?” He whispers right as his palms reach the uppermost part of your thighs, and you’re all softness and warm, damp skin, plush in a way that makes his mouth water and his gums ache, and then he’s finally laying eyes at the center of you, and you’re slicked in the gloss of your desire for him. Playing pretend, feigned fight and reluctance, but he’s looking right at the heart of you, and all he sees now is your truth. You shake your head no, let out a soft breath. “Look at this drippy little cunt,” and he drags his thumb over the pearl of your clit just as whisper soft as his voice is. A half screeched hitch claws up your throat, your thighs jumping at that first touch. He needs to see more, hooks a thumb at each delicate lip and spreads wide, but gently, so as not to hurt you. That’s for later. He stretches your little hole, enjoys the shy wink it gives him.

“My God… look at you,” he says with something like reverence in his voice. So slick and gorgeous. “I think this little cunt’s going to take me in very nicely.” He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit again, clicks his tongue when your knees try to struggle shut. “None’a that, angel. Be good for me now.” He presses harder at your clit, runs his thumb down to your twitching opening, passes there lightly, coating himself in your leaking slick. “I wanted you so bad,” he tells you, one more moment for confessions before he starts. “I want you so bad. And you’ve always taken all my choices from me. Forced me to stay myself when that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

“You’re Joel,” you whisper, and bring your hand to circle the wrist of the hand he’s petting you with. Not pushing him away or pulling him closer, only a gentle manacle around the thick of his bone. He looks up and into your eyes as he presses his thumb slowly inside of you, hooking it over the thin edge, twists you open slow and gentle and measured, gets you ready for the thickness he’s about to split you open with.

“That isn’t who I wanted to be anymore. I wanted to forget all that, all the bad, her, I wanted to forget all of it. I tucked her name under my tongue for so long it became blood, and I wanted it like that. And you didn’t let me.”

Your thighs shift restlessly around him, and you bring one foot up to the edge of the bed, anchoring yourself there so that you can begin a gentle rocking motion of your hips, fucking yourself slowly on his thumb. Your breasts heave and sway with the motion and his balls go so tight and so searingly hot, he could come just now like this from the sight of you, suddenly green and untried like he was in his youth. He didn’t think it was going to be like this, and it’s like he’s wasting your honor, stealing it from you, but something given can’t be stolen and his plans are foiled, he’s not in control but he doesn’t really care either. He finally has you.

He bends his head, brings his mouth to your slick swollen cunt and takes the first sip. Groans so deep in his chest he’s more animal than man suddenly, sucking hard and sharp on your clit, he pulls his hand from you and laves his tongue over the entire slope of your sex, tongue dipping into the well of you. He spreads your lips again, wide, stretches your hole and fucks you with his tongue, big nose pressed to your clit, drowning in your sweet musk. Your fingers twine in the overly long curls of his hair, and he grips your thighs so hard he’s sure you’ll be left with the mark of him later which only makes him rougher, stronger in his hold. With your grip in his hair you sing for him in soft moans and whimpers and more feigned resistance with whispers of no, Joel, and please, stop while you ride his face, his entire mouth covering your cunt, eating it. More beast than man, not Joel, not a father, not a brother, not a killer, only yours. Carved in the image you’d wanted him to be. The one you’d made him with your words and your looks and your scratch, scratch, scratch. All those times you’d asked him what do you want, Joel? And he’d never had an answer for you because what was he supposed to say? You, this, freedom, your wet cunt, the far off field and the dancing bear and my daughter back, alive, my brother, face not unknown. My name, my name, I want my name back. I want myself back. To be alive. I want to be alive. You come on his tongue, first with a shudder and then with a groan, your entire body flushes hot, and it’s a concession of yourself and a door opening, the first vestiges of what the rest of his life will be.

“You’ve got the sweetest little cunt, baby. Goes so tight and wet and fluttery,” he licks up the sticky sweet of your come, runs his tongue over the wet around his mouth, feels it trickle through his beard. “Think I’ll keep you.”

Pulling his shirt up and over his head, he crawls up the length of you, slotting his hips between your damp thighs, pushing his soft pants down his legs as he goes, gathering the small of your wrists in a manacle of his fingers to pin them up above your head. He drapes himself over your body, covering you entirely with his weight and pauses for a moment, nuzzling through the curtain of your hair to get at your ear, your throat, your smell. “Are you going to fight back?” He says soft into the small shell of your ear.

“No, I don’t want to.” You turn your head further to the side, bearing more of your throat to him.

He follows your orders, runs a line of wet kisses up the delicate column, tastes the pulse of your heart and the slope of your shoulder. “Why not?”

“I don’t have it in me. I’m not a fighter, I came from a place where there was always fighting, where I always had to do battle constantly. I don’t have it in me now, anymore, ever.” You turn to face him again, lick at the line of his mouth, suck on his tongue, your hips rolling now against him, his erection slotted between the soaked lips of your cunt, swallowing him in warmth. “But also, because you were right. Because I want you. Because I did take all your choices from you.”

Your words pull a groan, a whimper from him, and he pulls his hips back, presses forward, uncoordinated and slipping against all that slick, hot skin. He lets one of your wrists go, keeps the other trapped above your head. “Fuck– grab my cock,” and he feels the heat of your fragile formed hand wrap around the thick of his cock. An ugly, brutish thing held by perfection. You squeeze gently, twist just barely, and he feels his tip rim puckered skin, hot and round and persistent, probing against you as you try and find the right angle. “I’m gonna ride this cunt – hard. And you’re going to take it just how I give it. And you’re going to beg for more and harder and you’re going to thank me.”

Yes, yes, yes. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel.

You notch the tip of his cock at the wet mouth of your cunt, and then he’s pushing in, saving himself, finding salvation, returning or leaving himself, it doesn’t really matter anymore. He presses in, in, in all the way until he’s sitting hard and heavy and deep inside of you, and he’s sure he can almost feel your heartbeat when he bottoms out, balls pressed to the slick curve of your bottom. Your breaths scratch in whimpers against his ear, his hair fluttering in the wind of your gasps, and your free arm wraps tight around the back of his neck, your hips rolling to take more, impossible, for he’s already deep as he can be, tip to womb. But he shifts his weight, grinds against your cervix and enjoys the sound of your pained moan.

“You feel right there? Where it hurts? That’s where I fuck you full’a my baby, little angel.” And his thoughts are unhinged, his desires full of madness and future and possibility. He pulls his hips back, drops them and shifts his weight forward inside of you. “And right there?” Grinds against your most sensitive spot, “That’s where I make you cream all over my cock.” He pulls his hips back again, focuses the tip of his cock at that desperate place inside of you and with his hand gripping your bottom to the point of pain he pounds into that place over and over again. The slick wet, obscene sound of his cock fucking in and out of your drippig cunt rings in his ears, and he grits thourgh clenched teeth, “Say thank you, say thank you. Beg me for it harder.”

And you’re so good, so good, and all please, Joel. Harder, harder, more. You’re so deep, it’s so good, please, more.

He’s going to fill you up and mark you and keep you for himself, and he bends his head, wraps his mouth around the full and heavy weight of your bouncing tit as he fucks you into orgasm around his cock. Going tight, tight as a fist, so wet it drips down his balls and onto the already soaked sheet of his too small bed, and you come for him the way he’d never let himself fantasize about before. Your moans like a song in his ear, and it’s so fucking good, better than any dream, better than anything the voices in his head or the dancing bear could have ever conjured up. He shifts upwards, anchoring himself above you so that he can look down at you as he fucks down deep into your cunt, cock punching against your womb so that it hurts, so that the look on your face is folding in on itself, but good enough still so that your pussy convulses again in another forced orgasm. He wants to look at you as he fills you with his spend, turns you into something he owns after this.

“Gonna fill you up now– gonna fill you until you’re leakin’ me.” Your hands slide up the soft slope of his stomach, his chest, fingers dragging through the hair there, twisting and pulling on it, up to his face where you cup his chin gently, eye to eye and all wrapped up in your cunt he starts to come, the thick heat of his semen coating your womb while you milk him deeper, every last drop of every last part of him he has to give.

When he’s done he pulls heavy and wet from you, the sight of your swollen red cunt gaping from him, he finally pulls the slick ruined panty hose from your legs, the marks of the too tight elastic leaving brands in your soft skin, he fingers the grooves gently, clicks his tongue at the sight in reproach. The only thing leaving marks in your skin now should be him. He pulls your wrists back into his grip again, and the look on your face is almost melting in submission, soft and spent and sloppy, leaking cunt all covered in him.

He ties each delicate wrist to the iron frame of his bed, tight, he can leave marks here now, you’re all his, and returns his attention to the source of his salvation, ignoring your protests as he eats his own come from your cunt until you’re crying a little too loud to remain undiscovered, coming twice more before he gives you reprieve, but he’s the one taking all your choices now, and you have no say in what happens after this.

He eyes the forgotten keys he’d thrown to the dark corner of his white boxed room, “If you’re not good and quiet, I’ll leave you here for everyone to find, naked and fucked and leakin’ me. Pretty used cunt for the whole world to see, that what you want?”

“No, Joel,” you shake your head, all falsely innocent gaze sparkling up at him.

And he tells you how good you are because the two of you are only going to share truths with each other now, only going to share everything. “I had nothing for so long. Nothing. Not even my own body, not even my own mind. Now I have you, and I won't give you up for anythin’. You’re mine now. They all told me so.”

“Who told you?” You ask softly, but he ignores the question as he draws his clothes back upon himself.

“I find myself so hard to remember and so easy to forget, but you remember me. You said so, and now I’m going to make sure you never forget.” Joel collects the keys and the pearls brought to him for his salvation, the dancing bear is so close now, and wraps your shredded clothes back around you, unties your wrists from the bed only to re-secure them, and hoists you folded over his shoulder for the taking.

Joel lost his daughter, and then he lost his mind, but now he’s found you. And they said it would all be okay now that he’s found you.

The morning after I killed myself, I found the end of my suffering, and at the end of that suffering there was a door – behind that door, I am alive again.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#y’all gotta read this #so poetic #joel miller

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youaremyhome · 5 months

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I’m only on chapter two and holy moly do I love this, the writing??? The Greek mythology???? Fucking genius! ❤️

a lover’s pinch | masterlist

professor!joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni series summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. joel miller is entirely off limits. but now that you’ve had a taste, will you be able to keep your hands to yourselves? series warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, explicit smut, angst, secret relationship, joel has both his daughters, joel's profession is very ooc but the core of his personality [grumpy], lore [dilf], mannerisms [being a secret softy] etc etc are all as true to character as my two humble hands can manage. explicit warnings included in each part. main masterlist ziggy's moodboard | ziggy’s moodboard II sil's moodboard ALP playlist

#y’all gotta read this #seriously #in love #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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youaremyhome · 5 months

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i can be your pretty girl: series masterlist

🌟after your bodily insecurities stop you from exploring your sexuality, your dad's best friend offers to help you gain some confidence and help prepare you for experiences with men. as things progress with joel, you realize he's taking advantage of you, but that doesn't stop you from having a good time, too.

*this is a "series" but honestly they can mostly be read separately

**might be considered "dark" at points bc joel is kinda a pushy little pervert. sorry.

part 1: your visiting home and your dad makes you take a trip to the lake with him and his friends. joel suprises you when he helps you face one of your biggest fears (dbf!joel takes your virginity)

part 2: good girls take every inch (18+)after your dad's best friend takes your virginity, he decides he also needs to teach you the important skill of taking it up the ass

part 3: girls like you (18+)you begin to wise up to the way joel's been manipulating you and decide to try it out yourself.

part 4: if you give a miller some pussy (he's just gonna ask if his brother can have some too) (18+) you run into joel and his brother tommy at a bar, introducing you as the "slut I was you telling you about." threesome ensues.

part 5: three's a crowd (18+) dbf!joel miller x fem!reader x tommy miller II after your recent hook up with both joel and tommy, they decide to make good on their promise to either come down to your school and fuck you together or to fuck you at your family's annual backyard party, picking the latter.

#y’all gotta read this #seriously #👀👀👀#some good shit #joel miller x reader

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youaremyhome · 5 months

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Omg it is a series and I’m obsessed!

It is currently 5:40 am and the best thing to do is read glorious smut like this

girls like you (18+)

part 3 of i can be your pretty girl (can be read by itself)

dbf!joel x fem reader

word count: 3.5k

summary: you begin to wise up to the way joel's been manipulating you and decide to try it out yourself.

a/n: sorry for this, guys. I don't know. haven't been able to write much these past few days, and for some reason this is what I got for you all. a little darker than my usual fare. but not really that dark or anything

tags: explicit sexual content (18+), no outbreak au, unspecified age gap (college-aged reader), manipulative joel, misogynistic dirty talk, innocent/naive reader, degradation, like pretty bad degradation, unprotected sex, joel gets mean, dirty talk

Joel sat across from you, completely unwilling to hide the look of disdain on his face as he watched your boyfriend happily shovel food in his mouth, answering all of your father’s probing questions between bites. You had to hide your smile, finding it very cute how irritated he was getting.

“Computer engineering, huh,” your dad began, shaking his head with a smile. “You must be pretty smart. Be good to keep you around.”

“What, in case you get in a jam designing some website?” Joel asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“I bet you’d find it useful,” you add, a smile on your face. “I remember that time you came over here all in a rage about how you couldn’t get your computer to work…”

“And it was just because you forgot to charge it!” Your dad interjected with a hearty laugh.

Joel just huffed, shooting you a dirty look from across the table.

“I’m glad you could make it for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow,” your dad said to Ethan, desperate to change the subject from his friend’s rude comment. “Been hearing all about you.”

Ethan scraped together some reply about how he was happy to be visiting, but you were across the table distracting him. You had been rubbing your foot over his throughout the dinner, at first as a way to calm your anxious boyfriend. Now, you were running it along his calf, getting higher and higher as he spoke with your father.

“You’re the first man she’s ever brought home,” your dad told him. “I’m sure everyone on my side of the family’ll be so happy to meet you tomorrow at dinner.”

Ethan had difficulties responding, choking a bit on his food right when your foot reached his crotch. You were able to bend your leg without making it at all noticeable to your father, who was sitting next to you. But Joel, on the other side of the table, sitting right next to Ethan, would only have to look down at his lab to see your foot–covered only in black pantyhose–rubbing his cock through his pants.

And he did. You watched his hand ball into a tight fist immediately as he realized what was happening, jaw clenching. He looked over to meet your eyes, but you quickly averted your gaze back to your boyfriend, who was blushing and stuttering from your teasing. You were kind of impressed by how well he was able to continue explaining computer engineering to your father through it.

At one point, your father’s phone rang, and he excused himself from the table to take the call in the other room–instructing Joel to “keep an eye on these two.”

He certainly was, watching you with an annoyed intensity as you practically ignored his existence while you worked over your boyfriend. Ethan was gripping the edge of the table, trying to hide the effect your rubbing was having on him.

Joel took a moment to awkwardly check his watch, and Ethan took the chance to push your hand away from him, with a look that said, “Are you out of your goddamned mind?” When Joel looked back to the table, all he saw was an obvious bulge in his pants that was no longer being tended to.

“How ‘bout you take this opportunity to go to the restroom,” Joel muttered to your boyfriend, with a disapproving face and tone that you found adorable.

Ethan just scrambled out of the dining room, mumbling an apology. You did your best to not roll your eyes at him, annoyed that you couldn’t get him to come in his pants right next to Joel like you had hoped you’d eventually do.

“Cute trick,” Joel muttered in a quiet voice, shaking his head at you. “Think you’re all grown up now, huh?”

You had spent the entire dinner making eyes at Ethan, giggling at all of his (admittedly lame) jokes and praising him and all of his achievements at school. He just shyly smiled at your sweetness, probably grateful that it was helping to put on a good first impression for your father and his side of the family.

You had only been officially dating for a few weeks now, but you told him it was important for him to come to your family’s Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Truthfully, you didn’t like Ethan all that much. He was a little too dorky for you, and you felt like he never actually listened to you when you spoke. That didn’t matter to you, though, considering you were only planning to use him.

Joel always came over to eat dinner with your dad the night before Thanksgiving. One of their weird traditions that you figured was only born out of Joel’s loneliness. You were grateful for the near certainty of his presence, though.

Your plan was pretty simple; parade your new boyfriend around until he gets so jealous that he fucks you into oblivion.

The truth was, you were beginning to believe that Joel was right when he told you that you weren’t going to find a man who could fuck you better than him. You had been more than promiscuous the last few months–choosing to go to parties and find random guys to fuck instead of writing papers for class–all in the hopes that you’d be able to find that high you had experienced when Joel had used you.

At the time he had convinced he was just a dutiful teacher, but you knew that that’s all it was for him, using the wide-eyed little virgin for some perverse thrill. It disgusted some part of you, the part that was still mild-mannered and prudeish. Joel had done a pretty good job of fucking that out of you, though. The other part of you, the much bigger part, was desperate for whatever nasty, depraved shit he could teach you next, because you certainly weren’t getting it from the boys at school.

You figured that, if you egged him on hard enough, he’d have no choice but to make it ten times nastier.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you finally replied, hiding a smug little smirk, playing along with the role you loved so much, the role you’d been missing the past few months.

“You know what I mean… thought you said he was just some boy you fucked sometimes? Why’s he suddenly your boyfriend?”

“Oh… no, that wasn’t Ethan. I met Ethan just a month or so ago… after the last time I had visited home.”

Joel laughed, tossing his napkin onto his plate. “Didn’t realize poppin’ your cherry was me giving you permission to whore yourself out to your entire campus.”

Just then, your father returned to the table with a smile, excitedly telling you about how your extended family was meeting up at a nearby bar for drinks.

Joel looked at you with a frown. “Shame, you were just saying that you were feeling sick. Guess you’ll have to stay behind.”

Ethan finally returned to the table–face still red–which gave Joel a good reason to roll his eyes like a teenager for a moment.

“Don’t bother sitting down,” Joel told him with a smirk. “We’re going out.”

“What about you?” He asked, face racked with concern when you stayed seated.

Before you could muster a reply, Joel was quick to intervene. “Not feeling well. She’s gonna head to bed early, but we should still enjoy the night, right?”

Suddenly, all three of the men were looking directly at you. It was clear Joel wasn’t going to give you control in this situation without putting up a fight first. You just smiled and nodded your head, mumbling something about how you’d feel better after some sleep.

While the men grabbed their coats and headed to the door, Joel made sure to take a moment to lean down and whisper in your ear. “Nice fucking try, baby.”

It wasn’t more than two hours later that you heard your bedroom door creak open. You had waited in bed the entire time, doing your best to not reach your hand into your panties and relieve the tension burrowed deep inside your body. It was dark in your room, but you could tell from the silhouette in the doorway that it was Joel, with his broad shoulders and tall frame illuminated in the distant hallway light.

“Waitin’ for Ethan?”

You smiled, pretending to nod in earnest.

“Left the poor bastard at the bar with your dad and his brothers,” Joel said with a chuckle, taking off his jacket and tossing it on your floor. “Looked like a little boy when he tried to put back some whiskey.”

“So what are you doing back here?”

He walked towards your bed until he was standing over you, looking down at you. The slight glow from the fairy lights that you’d hung in your room years ago was enough to let you see the dark glint in his eyes. It was similar to the look of desire that he’d given you before, but it wasn’t exactly the same. There was something new, a certain kind of anger to it.

“Need’a teach you a lesson.”

From the closer distance, you could smell the whiskey on his breath.

You feigned ignorance, looking back up at him with wide eyes. “For what?”

“Enough of the fucking act,” he snapped. “Think you can try’n humiliate me with the likes of that? Couldn’t even find a man to try and make me jealous with, huh?”

You listened with bated breath, beginning to fear that you’d gotten him more upset than you intended.

“Maybe it’s just like what you were scared of… you’re not good enough for real men.”

His words cut you in a way that was no longer sexy to you, and you realized your plan was falling apart. Joel had caused a sudden surge of anger within you, and you snapped back.

“Fuck you.”

Unfortunately, under his cold gaze, you couldn’t quite get the statement out without stuttering. A small crack in your voice was enough to get Joel smiling; he knew he was back in control. Whatever shred of power you had held over him earlier that evening was gone.

“I know he can’t fuck you as good as I can.”

You did your best to overcome your nervousness and fight back.

“You’d be surprised by what he can do.”

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You let a small smile grow on your face. “He can go again and again, and he always gets me off. I know it’s not fair to compare you guys, though… considering you’re so much older.”

That seemed to be the nail in the coffin for Joel, and before you knew it, he was kneeling on your bed, with each knee on either side of your hip, his crotch nestled against yours. He grabbed at your hands, which were busy slapping at him in anger, and pinned them above your head with a firm grip. He waited until you finally settled down, staring back at him.

That dark part of you that craved Joel’s domination was awake, and you could feel yourself getting even wetter, trying to control your breathing so as to not give away how much he was affecting you.

“Think I can’t fuck you like that?”

He began to grind the bulge growing in his pants against your cunt, which was only covered by a thin nightie. You resisted the urge to whimper at the friction, to move your hips against his. Instead, you just slowly shook your head as a reply.

“‘S cute that you two met in some feminism class, considering it was only a few months ago that you were begging me to take your virginity and teach you how to fuck so that you’d finally be worth something to men.”

The sentence shocked you in a way you weren’t expecting. If that was the way things were headed, you decided to go right along with him.

“Funny, I remember it different,” you began, practically baring your teeth at it. “All I remember is some old fucking perv desperate to finally get some action again.”

Joel responded by tightening his grip on your wrists and giving a rough thrust of his clothed erection against your crotch.

“You don’t actually walk around thinking you’re some empowered woman, right?”

In all the time you’d known Joel, the only time you’d ever heard him sound misogynistic was when he was fucking you, which only helped to make you more turned on by it all. You knew he’d be able to see it on your face, to hear it in your heavy breaths and stifled moans.

“‘Cause I saw you for exactly what you are. Desperate little slut eager to serve men.”

His words and constant movement finally forced you to let out a pathetic, strained whimper, causing him to give a smug little chuckle.

“Knew it even before I bent your little cunt over for its first cock. Written all over your fucking face, baby.”

With the hand that wasn’t busy pinning your wrists over your head and into the mattress, Joel began to paw desperately at your breasts, forcefully pinching at your pert nipples.

“Men can spot a bitch like you who only thinks with her cunt from a mile away.”

The repressed, scandalized part of you knew that you should be disgusted at the statement. The other part of you–the one that probably watched way too much porn–just let out a humiliating moan at the thought of him calling you his bitch over and over while he pounded you into the mattress.

It was something a man like Ethan would have never dared to say during sex—never would even think to say it.

Joel must’ve been able to tell how much you wanted it; he just kept smiling while he watched you squirm under him.

“Whores like you oughta respect older men… you all need a daddy to show you your proper place.”

You certainly weren’t expecting that word, but you did appreciate the way he finally began to pull his cock out of pants. It was just as big and swollen as you remembered it, and you let out a moan just at the sight of it, especially the bit of precome already coating the tip. You must’ve gotten him quite riled up.

“Walk around campus like you’re some strong feminist woman, meanwhile your professors are all fuckin’ ya, and you’re getting gangbanged in every frat house.”

In any other context, you would have laughed at what must’ve been Joel’s pornography-addicted understanding of college. With him stroking his cock above you, however; you just rolled your hips against him and let out a small whimper. Something about playing into his depraved little fantasy got you off, too. That’s something you knew right away, when you saw the first hint of Joel’s perversion months ago.

“Doesn’t that bother you, Joel? Imagining me getting fucked by all those other men?”

He scoffed, smirk still on his face as he began to rub his cock against your cunt, slipping up and down between your embarrassingly wet folds. You let out a strained moan, unable to stop yourself from rubbing back into him, indirectly begging him to slip it inside you.

“No way,” he muttered. “First cock to take all three of your holes for the first time. My fuckin’ pussy.”

You kept rolling your hips against him, silently begging for him to touch you. You were in a battle with your body to not respond to Joel, to keep teasing him and frustrating him. You were losing, though.

“You seemed pretty bothered by Ethan.”

Joel practically laughed in your face. “Only bothered by you thinking that any part of your body–even your cute little foot–belonged anywhere near a dick that wasn’t this one.”

You couldn’t handle his teasing anymore, both verbal and physical. All of his degradation must’ve been working, because you were ready to act exactly like the whore he was accusing you of being if it meant that he would finally get his dick inside of you and his thumb on your clit.

“Please,” you moaned, giving Joel as innocent-looking of a pout as you could manage.

You weren't even annoyed by the smug smirk on his face anymore, which only widened once you finally cracked for him.

“Good girls apologize after they’ve acted up.”

You did your best not to roll your eyes at him, which would have only ended up with more “punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Joel. Please.”

He took his hand off his cock and brought it to your face, roughly grabbing your chin. “Gonna have to try a little harder than that, baby.”

You groaned, feeling tears begin to form in your eyes. “I won’t do it again, I swear.”

“Damn right you won’t.”

His hand snaked down to your neck, wrapping his fingers around it and pressing down. He wasn’t choking you hard enough to cut off your breathing completely, but the pressure was overwhelming, especially as it mixed with the whole new form of arousal growing inside you.

“Need ya to promise me,” he began, leaning down even further, his face only inches away from yours. “That you’re gonna be a good girl for me from here on out. Don’t wanna hear any more shit about you fucking random boys, and I definitely don’t want you bringing them home with you.”

You nodded, ready to agree to anything if it meant that Joel would get you off.

“Just call me, baby, and I’ll come fuck you in your dorm, if that’s what you need.”

You nodded, a whimper falling out of your mouth as he finally removed his hand from your neck and gave you a chance to breathe fully again. You didn’t hate to imagine the faces of jealousy from all the girls on your floor when they saw Joel leave your dorm after listening to the sounds of your moans for a couple hours.

“Bet you’d like that,” he said with a chuckle as he finally positioned his cock at your entrance. “Can even invite me over to show Ethan a thing or two, for his next girlfriend.”

You didn’t even feel bad at the mention of his name, thanks to the feeling of the tip of Joel’s cock entering you. You just let out an embarrassing moan, bucking your hips up to try and get more and more of him inside.

Joel made a small tsk noise, pulling back out of you. “Already acting like a fucking whore again.”

“But it’s for you!” You quickly whined, trying to wrangle your arms out of Joel’s grip in desperation and annoyance. “Please!”

“Not fucking you until you act like the good girl I remember from summer.”

Your tears began to fall down your cheeks, and you were convinced that your body had never been more desperate for relief than it was then. The “good girl” from summer already felt like a distant memory, thanks to Joel’s dedicated work on you.

“I’m sorry!” You yelped. “I promise I-I won’t try anything like this ever again. You’ve always been so good to me, I just wanted to get your attention again.”

You felt the grip on your wrists ease up ever so slightly, and you realized what he wanted.

“I need you, Joel,” you said, your voice now practically a whisper. “I need you to take care of me and teach me and, and… everything. I should’ve never even tried anything with anyone else, ‘cause you were right. None of them even came close to making me feel the way you did.”

Your words came out between hiccups and gulps of air, still crying and writhing underneath him.

“I’ll be so good for you, Joel, please.”

His cock eased into you slowly, then a quick thrust and you knew he was fully inside of you, that familiar stretch back again. You yearned for the ache that his cock gave you, and you had been yearning for it ever since he first gave it to you.

“Finally,” he muttered with a groan, not wasting any time in beginning to slam in and out of you. “Finally a good girl for me again, just as sweet as I remember.”

You couldn’t decide if you liked his praise better or his degradation, and, in that moment, you figured it was best to get a disgusting mix of the two.

He finally began to rub at your clit, which only made your head feel dizzier.

“Gonna make you come so hard that you forget that boy even exists, sweetie.”

You believed him.

He let go of your wrists just to grab at your waist, pulling you up before flipping you around on the bed. You put up no fight at all and just stared at the headboard in front of you, feeling Joel’s greedy hands grab at your ass, landing a nice slap against one of the cheeks.

“Such a pretty girl,” he muttered. “Wish I could just hide you away from every other man on this fucking planet.”

He took only a moment to rub his cock against your cunt again, and you loved the slight squelch of the movement of your wetness, whimpering softly for him just how he liked it.

It seemed to be enough encouragement, as he was quickly sinking his cock back inside you. You grabbed at the bars of the headboard, trying to handle Joel’s girth from this new angle for the first time. It helped, especially as his pace quickened to a brutal rhythm.

“Thank you,” was the only comprehensible thing you could get out of your mouth, along with moan after moan.

You don’t know when he first opened the door, but, as Joel finally pulled his softening cock out of you and his come began to leak, Ethan made his presence well known.

“You’re fucking sick, you know that.”

The sound of Ethan’s voice should’ve shocked you more, causing you to spring out of bed and come up with an apology. But, as you laid there in a post-coital–post-Joel–daze, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit about it.

You figured his comment was addressed to Joel, but when you turned around, Ethan was looking right at you with malice in his eyes. It only took a moment for him to decide to grab his suitcase and backpack, shaking his head in disgust.

“You need some fucking therapy or something.”

Joel just laughed. “Ya got that right.”

all joel taglist: @mishala005 @i-likemygymteacher @imonmykneessir @marleyybluu @elthreetimes @eggnox @imagines-of-the-fandom @tinygarbage @staywildmoonx @elissaaa @Oldsoul1518225 @earthtogrogu @love-the-abyss @doenaior @worhols@methebaby @suzmagine @m1vfs@beewhohatestea @ktheunready @tusk89 @casa-boiardi @killerrxger @jae-michael@itty-bitty-baby-face

@spideyman-peter @brittmb115 @spaceface25 @pedrosballsack @spxctorsslxt @endlessthxxghtt @jawgrinder @ellieslver @subconsciouscollapse @joelmillersno1hoe@nanascupid @ryebreadsworld @nega-omega @fatgaywhore @totallynotastanacc @mochi-baby-xoxo @softmullet @sarahhxx03 @crazyworldofsiani

@boinkybarness @gracevnn @trisaratops-mcgee @laysmt @happy--birthday--kiddo @gothamgurl2024 @azure_waves @educated-zombie @munsonrry @uncassettodiricordi @atticrissfinch @starvolce @bbyanarchist @elegantduckturtle @pattwtf @lilipads @walkintheprk @voteforpedro09 @jennieasfrance @oscillatewildleey @winwin70 @sciencefictiondoes-blog @trisaratops-mcgee @lovers-liability @ichigodjarin @untitledarea @sphmltfndm @sciencefictiondoes @Jordyvav @blackvelveteen1339 @sarahhxx03 @Papipascalispunk @warm-tea-and-otp @staywildmoonx @educated-zombie

#y’all gotta read this #joel miller x reader #so yummy

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youaremyhome · 5 months

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I need this to be a whole series, totally in love!! ❤️

good girls take every inch (18+)

sequel to: i can be your pretty girl (but also can be read on its own)

word count: 3k

summary: after your dad's best friend takes your virginity, he decides he also needs to teach you the important skill of taking it up the ass

tags: explicit sexual content (18+), no outbreak au, unspecified age gap (college-aged reader), manipulative joel, innocent/naive reader, inexperienced reader, dirty talk, anal, degradation, unprotected anal sex, joel gets a little mean

request: "I can be your pretty girl anal sequel 😩 🙏🙏🙏"

You were surprised to hear the knock on the door so late in the afternoon and even more surprised to find Joel standing on your front porch with a 12 pack of beer and a big grin.

“Hey, sweetie,” he said as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Didn’t know you were visiting your dad this weekend.”

You smiled at him and nodded. “Staying for the week… he, uh… he got called into work again, so he’s not here right now.”

You shifted awkwardly under his gaze, struggling to maintain your eye contact. The last time you saw him, he was taking your virginity in the back of your camper. He had left the next morning, without saying goodbye to you or your dad. You had worried that you had done something to upset him, but you were too nervous to call and ask.

Months later, and you were back home for a week while you had time off. You had been anxiously hoping to run into Joel. Your dad was confused when you suggested that he invite his friends over for dinner one night, having no idea that you were just angling to fuck his friend again.

“How’ve you been?”

You stuttered a little when you tried to tell him that you were good before returning the question.

“I’d be a lot better if you invited me inside, darlin’.”

“Oh!”

You quickly shuffled out of the way, holding the door wide open for him while apologizing. He just smiled at you like you were the most adorable thing in the world, kicking his boots off and headed straight towards the couch.

He asked you a few more questions about school, and then you asked him about his work. It was all pretty standard conversation. Until Joel made sure it wasn’t, that is.

“Happy to see you again, you know….” He looked down as he said it, like he was feeling bashful. It was unexpectedly disarming. “I wanted to call you, but… well, was worried you didn’t wanna hear from me.”

“W-what do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I was a bit rougher than I shoulda been. You’re just too beautiful… lost control.”

“No! It’s okay,” you replied fast. “I… I really appreciated what you did for me. It’s um… helped me out a lot.”

He looked back up at you with a quirked eyebrow. “Oh really? Been fucking lotsa guys?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that…”

“Haven’t put what I taught you to use at all?”

“Yes, actually… I’ve been sorta seeing a guy at school.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Joel asked, and you couldn’t help but notice that he was clenching his jaw.

“No, no,” you quickly corrected. “He’s just a guy I… hang out with sometimes.”

Joel smiled, shaking his head before taking another sip of his beer. “Can’t believe it… what is it the kids call it? A fuckbuddy?”

Your eyes widened involuntarily at the word, and you dropped your gaze down to your the beer in your hands.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, rubbing your shoulder. “It’s natural… everyone needs some relief from time to time.”

You felt warm from Joel’s touch, and you had to stop yourself from leaning into it.

“You gotta tell me something, though.”

You looked back into his eyes, eager to answer his questions. You hoped that he would see you as a more confident woman now, not just some scared little virgin shaking under his touch.

“He doesn’t fuck you better than I did, right?”

You were embarrassed by how fast you said no, shaking your head quickly.

He just smiled, leaning back in his chair, with legs spread and his hands in his lap.

“What all does he do to you?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“How does he fuck you?”

“The normal way, I guess,” you began, voice low and cheeks blushed. “Like how we did it.”

“You let him fuck all your holes?”

The vulgar question made you squirm in your seat. You wondered if you knew how much you loved to hear him talk about you like that, objectifying you no matter how uncomfortable you appeared.

“N-no,” you mumbled, looking down at your hands. “Just my mouth and my…”

Joel looked like he was fighting the smile on his face. He sat forward again, picking your chin up with his hand. “Your sweet little pussy?”

You just nodded, focusing on not breathing too hard while you stared into his eyes.

“Say it.”

“What?”

“You’re a big girl… don’t gotta be afraid to talk about this sorta stuff with me, sweetie. Tell me that you let him fuck your sweet little pussy.”

You shifted in your seat, desperate to get some friction between your legs. “I… I let him fuck my sweet little… pussy.”

He chuckled, letting go of your chin. “Good girl.”

You were reminded of how wet his condescending praise got you.

“Not your ass, though, huh?”

You shook your head fast. “No, never. God, I… I can’t even imagine.”

“Never touched yourself there?”

“No.”

He made a disappointed noise, shrugging. “You should consider trying it… it would make you much more popular with the boys.”

“I… I don’t know,” you mumbled, nervously playing with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Too scared to try something new with your boy?”

You shrugged, not wanting to admit how scared you were of the idea of anal sex. Suddenly, you felt like the same mousy virgin you were months ago.

“It’s okay, baby,” he muttered, placing his hand on your knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Can be intimidating, I’m sure.”

You just nodded, too nervous to speak.

“You know, I, uh… I helped you out with an issue like this before… Could do it again, if you want.”

“No… thank you, but, um, that’s okay.”

As much as you wanted him to fuck you again, you couldn’t imagine his sizeable length inside your ass.

“I’m sure you’ve done it with a lotta girls, though…”

He gave a small laugh. “Me? No, no. Always wanted to, but… never did. Was gonna be my first time, too.”

You finally looked back up at him in disbelief. “Really?”

“Always been a dream of mine,” he mumbled, his hand inching off your knee. “I meant what I said… about how everyone’s got needs. I do, too, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” you said instantly, full of guilt. You’d been getting off to the memory of Joel for months now, and, with his help, you were able to have more confidence with the men at school. He had really helped you, and you didn’t do anything to pay him back.

“Maybe I could… try…”

His hand returned to your knee, squeezing the flesh of your thighs. “You would do that for me, baby?”

You prayed that he would change his mind and just fuck you normally. Your fear was still strong, and you lacked any confidence in your ability to actually take him.

“M-maybe… or we could just do it like how we did before?”

He didn’t seem pleased by that idea, letting out a quick sigh.

“You wanna impress your little friend, right?”

The only man you really wanted to impress was sitting right in front of you, with his hands running up and down your thighs. The feeling of his calloused hands against your skin reminded you of the first time.

You just nodded at him, like you had done then, and watched him smile.

“Glad you’re still a good girl,” he muttered, leaning in for a kiss.

You pulled away, hands on his chest. “Wait… but… I don’t have any lube.”

“Guess we just won’t use it,” he mumbled.

“What?”

He laughed at your shocked face. “Kidding, sweetheart. Bet I wouldn’t even be able to get a finger in without lube.”

You weren’t even confident of your ability to take one of his fingers with lube.

“How about I take you back to my place? Got some stuff we can use. Besides,” he muttered, looking at the clock on the wall. “Don’t want your daddy coming in and finding his precious daughter getting assfucked by his friend.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, rolling your hips as Joel lapped up the wetness that had accumulated during your talk. And the ride over, where he began stuffing fingers inside you–with the other hand on the steering wheel–to “help calm you down.”

He had brought you to his bedroom immediately, pushing you down on his bed and pulling your pants off, eager to start eating you out. He kept licking up your slick and then pushing your legs further apart so that he could spit it on your hole, muttering something about natural lube.

Luckily, he finally pulled a real bottle out. He wasted no time in lubing up his fingers, but the sight only made you more scared. He was quick to reassure you that he’d go slow, that he wouldn’t “tear you up.”

“I-is it gonna hurt?” You whispered while he began to rub the tight ring of muscle with his wet fingers.

“No, no. Like I said… gonna go slow.”

With that, he began to push his middle finger in, and you began to squirm on the bed at the sudden discomfort. Joel just put his other arm over your hips and held you down flat against the bed while he continued to work.

“Fingers are too big…”

He grabbed at your hand and brought it down between your legs, causing you to sit up on your elbow. He brought your finger to your ass.

“Stick yours in, sweetie. Smaller than mine… Loosen it up for me.”

You were mortified by the thought, but the look of carnal desire on his face was too sexy to say no to. So, you closed your eyes and began to work your finger inside of yourself, wincing a bit at the pain, wishing your fingernails were a bit shorter.

“Wiggle it around,” he muttered, and the low timber of his voice, heavy with need, spurred you on even further. You even noticed his hand at the crotch of his pants, rubbing his bulge.

You did as you were told, and eventually your entire finger was inside yourself. He instructed you to let him try again.

“This is the wrong angle,” he finally muttered, still trying to shove his finger inside of you. “Get on all fours, baby.”

It was the most vulgar position you knew of, and you hated the thought of being probed by Joel like this without even being able to look into his face. You didn’t want to disappoint him, though, and the feeling of just that part of his finger inside you had you eager to feel more.

So you complied.

“Fuck,” Joel muttered, running his hand along your body, admiring how you looked in the new position. “Spread your ass for me, baby.”

“C-can you turn off the light,” you whispered, feeling insecure.

He just laughed. “No fucking way.”

Just like the first time he fucked you, it seemed that his own desire was outweighing his consideration for your fears. Somehow, that turned you on.

You did as you were told, spreading your ass open for him with your hands. You’d only ever seen pornstars do this.

Joel whistled, laying a hard slap on your ass. “So fucking sexy, baby. Saved this little hole just for me, huh?”

He must’ve been growing impatient; he was less careful this time when sticking his digits inside of you, causing you to groan at the stretch.

“Feels good, though, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, eyes shut tight as you tried to let your desire for Joel overcome the pain you were feeling.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a good girl,” he muttered, beginning to prod your hole with a second finger. “You know how to make a man feel good.”

You just nodded, desperate for him to believe that.

“So fucking tight,” he muttered as his second finger began to stretch you out in a way that you couldn’t believe. “Gonna feel so good around my cock, baby.”

Your fingers gripped the flesh of your ass as you continued to hold yourself open for him. The feeling of both of his fingers inside you was overwhelming, but the second he began to make a scissoring motion inside of you, you fell forward, your face now pushed against the mattress.

Joel chuckled behind you, muttering something about how this spreads you out even more for him. He let you pull your hands away so that you could grip the sheets as he pushed in a third finger, groaning through the pain and pleasure of the stretch.

“J-Joel,” you whimpered, feeling him beginning to move his fingers in and out of you. “I-I don’t know if I can–fuck! If I can do this… h-hurts.”

“Quit your whining, baby,” he muttered, slapping your ass again with his other hand. “Fucking turn off.”

His sweet, caring facade was beginning to crack, and felt your hips beginning to rock against his fingers. You even whimpered when he finally pulled them out fully.

You wondered, for a moment, if he was actually going to let you get away without putting his cock inside your ass. Instead, though, he was merely getting up to grab a pillow, shoving it near your face.

“Something to bite on, if you need it.”

You swore he was smiling when he said it.

He walked around to the other side of the bed, and you watched him lazily stroke his cock with his left hand. He motioned for you to move forward, shoving his cock in your face.

“Lube it up for me, baby.”

You spat on the head before pulling it into your mouth, working to take more and more of his length down your throat. His groans helped encourage you to try harder, to get the entire thing inside of your mouth, coating it with your spit.

He pulled out, giving you a few light slaps on the face. “Good job, sweetie.”

Before you had time to express any more concerns, Joel was walking back around.

“Never fucked an ass this tight,” he muttered to himself, running his hand over the flesh of your ass again while he rubbed himself with a copious amount of lube.

“I… I thought you said you’ve never done this before,” you whispered, turning your head around to look at him.

He laughed, looking into your eyes with a cruel grin. “Ah, fuck. Forgot I said that. Guess I’m a liar.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but instead of words, a pained yelp came out as Joel began to push his cock inside you. You took his advice, biting the pillow in front of you while you tried to ride through the pain.

Joel wasn’t in pain at all, though; he just groaned as his cock sunk deeper and deeper inside you. He took a slow pace at first, but your tightness was clearly pushing him to care less and less about the pain you were enduring.

“Fuckkkk,” he moaned. “I know it hurts, but you’re being such a good fuckin’ girl for me.”

Your hips were moving forward practically on their own, an involuntary response to the pain of Joel’s cock pushing deeper inside of you. He didn’t seem to like that, but he eventually got tired of pulling your ass back towards him.

Instead he just pushed your body flat against the bed, and got up with his knees against the top of the mattress. From this angle, you had nowhere to move away from him, not that you could, considering Joel’s body was firmly on top of yours.

You knew Joel was never going to get his full cock inside of you, at least not without much more stretching. It would’ve taken a long time, and based on the grunts and groans spilling from Joel’s mouth, he didn’t have a long time before he would be filling your ass with his come.

“Look at you,” he muttered, beginning to rock his hips gently, letting his cock move in and out of you at a slow pace. “Letting me pin you down and fuck your ass like a whore.”

You moaned against the pillow, beginning to understand why people liked anal. The pleasure was finally starting to outweigh the pain. Though, you noticed you were also enjoying the pain, to a certain extent.

Especially when Joel was saying such nasty things.

“Your dad’s gonna wonder why you’re limping when you come home. You gonna tell him it’s because you let Mr. Miller ruin you with his big cock?”

You were too gone to even bother coming up with responses, just focusing on the feeling between your legs. It was a foul position, but you liked being pinned down by Joel, liked the way his body felt on top of yours.

He finally began to pick up the pace, and you felt tears in the corner of your eyes.

“Joel,” you whimpered.

“Yeah, say my fucking name, baby. Tell me this cock stuffs you up better than that loser you let fuck you.”

“You’re filling me up way better, Joel,” you choked out, beginning to rock your ass backwards.

He must’ve noticed, starting to chuckle. “That’s right, you fucking love this, don’t you? Act like a shy little girl, but I know you’re a fucking slut for me. Letting me use all your holes.”

You just nodded along, moaning as he nestled himself deeper inside you with each thrust. You would have never imagined how much of him you could take.

“Oughta just drop outta school, you know,” he said between thrusts. “Come live here with me… let me tie you up to the bed so I can use these pretty little holes whenever I want.”

It was a grotesque fantasy, but it had you rubbing your cunt against the bed with desperation.

His hands found their way to your shoulders, giving him more leverage to pound into your ass without mercy. It was painful, but you knew that the second you’d be able to start touching yourself, you’d orgrasm immediately.

“Good girls take every inch,” he choked out.

After that, he was unable to get coherent sentences out. He spoke in disparate fucks, muttering goddamnit in between. He was lost in his lust, snapping his hips harder and harder, not caring about your pained sobs.

By the time he let out one last strained grunt and began to spill his come inside of you, you too were a babbling, incoherent mess, shaking underneath. He let his cock soften before he finally pulled it out of you, taking a moment to stretch open your ass one last time to admire what he had done to you.

“So good for me,” he muttered, helping you to turn around on your back, watching you wince from the pain. “Now I’m gonna make you come until you cry all over again.”

a/n: sorry for taking forever on this. thank you for reading <3

#y’all gotta read this #joel miller x reader #so so so dirty

548 notes · View notes

youaremyhome · 5 months

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No words but to say that I love this series and these terrible men 🫶🏽

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: Your handler comes home early to celebrate, and you can’t help but think of the day you first met.

Word Count: 5.4k

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Dubious Consent, Unreliable Narrator, Smut (Gun Play, Fingering, Vaginal Penetration, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk/Degradation, Exhibitionism), “Accidental” Groping, brief mention of Spanking, Murder/Dead Bodies, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Possessiveness, Shock Collars, Pet Names (lollipop, sucker, etc.). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Let’s give a warm welcome to Lloyd and his lollipop. Took me a moment on this one to find the motivation to write, but here we are! Happy First Sunday of Attic Wives Advent! ❄️🎉🍾🙌🏻

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

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One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Spinning around the room, your head dizzy with the motion, you travel. Skirt billowing, the swish of fabric against your thighs. Around, around, around. An endless dance inside the walls of your confinement. Soft music fills the air, strings and winds blending in a harmonic melody and filling your head as you glide.

The song ends and you pause. Halted by the sight of your handler in the door.

“Mr. Hansen,” you greet in surprise. “I thought you weren’t due for another few days.”

Stepping to the side, you find the calendar. No month or date, but days marked in little boxes. The one three days away circled to indicate his return. You point to it, as if it will provide its own explanation.

“And miss our anniversary?” Lloyd says with a hand over his heart. “Never. That pansy ass only took an hour to finish, a pop to his gullet and I was on my way home.” He mimes the shot with his fingers, pointed at your chest. “Now give me some sugar.”

You step forward and tilt your head, the perfect angle for him to slant his lips over yours and devour. You swoon against him. His mustache tickles, but it’s a sensation to which you’ve become accustomed—even enamored.

He hums against your lips and shoves his tongue past them. You meet each venture, each lick. Your fingers smooth over his sweater and shoulders until you reach the nape of his neck, scratching at the short hairs there. His knees buckle and he wraps his arms about you. He tastes sweet, like always. A little tart, like sour apple. One of your favorites. Probably rolled one of his lollipops around his mouth before arriving. He never eats the grape or cherry ones before he kisses you—knowing you hate that they taste of medicine.

“Mr. Hansen,” you gasp against his lips. The cool metal of his suppressor trailing over your body.

He chuckles and pulls back only to capture your shock in his gaze. His tongue swipes over his lips and his eyes burn with his hunger.

The gun lowers in its quest. Nudging between your thighs and pressing tight against you sex. Your fingers grip tight. Nails biting into his skin. Metal against your bare pussy.

Your eyes remain locked. His drinking in each minute expression that flits across your face. A smirk sits under his mustache. His hand rocking the gun against you. You lift on your toes. But his free hand cradles your nape, keeping you put.

A mocking concern furrows his brow. “You don’t like that, sucker baby?” he asks.

Your breath hitches and you whine. Why he has to look at you with that false pity and infantilizing voice, you don’t know. But you feel the rush of arousal it sends between your thighs.

“Sir,” you pout, “please.”

His face lifts in amusement and he keeps the motion of his hand, stimulating you with his gun.

“You know how much I love keeping you on my flavor saver,” he purrs with a predatory grin. “The thought of you on my gun?” He growls and rocks his hips forward, grinding his hard cock against you through his khakis. “Such a good, juicy girl for me.”

You whimper as the smooth metal of the suppressor’s tip catches on your clit. Your lips press together, hips canting toward the stimulation.

“More, please,” you request, your voice breathy and head tilting toward his.

He takes your invitation, kissing you again and stealing your breath. His free hand begins to wander, plucking at your nipples and smiling when you squeak in pain against his lips. But his hand travels further down, squeezing your ass and smoothing over your upper thigh.

A strange dull pain radiates from the exploration of his fingers. You blink in confusion and pull back a second. A glance down at his hand sees his finger buried in the fabric of your dress, the tender spot nearby. Your head tilts in curiosity, but you think nothing of it. Legs bumping into all sorts of things—an inexplicable tender spot or two never amiss.

But Lloyd stops. He grasps at your skirt and pulls it higher to expose the full extent of your thigh.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice dripping lust.

“Nothing,” you squeak. “It’s nothing.” You try to brush away his fingers or guide them somewhere more distracting.

But just like a dog with a bone—a very large bone—he doesn’t let you go that easy. His eyebrow quirks. His chin lifts just a little. And you’re spinning on your heel until he has your back pressed to his front.

“Now, sweet sucker,” he coos in your ear, “you wanna try that again?”

The smallest click reaches your ear. You know that sound. Have heard it far too often. The safety on his gun clicking off. Your heart spikes in panic. Yet he once again grinds it against your sex. Head fuzzy with a cocktail of panic and pleasure, you buck back toward him. He grins and presses a kiss to your cheek from behind.

“Tell me,” he grits with a tweak of your nipple. You gasp and reach for his hands. “Ah, ah,” he chides, keeping your grasp away from his gun, “don’t wanna do that, sweetheart. Don’t want an accident.”

You tip your head to catch his eye. He stares down at you, ever cool and cocky in a way that reminds you of the day you met.

“I—” You stop to lick your lips. His gun slides against you once more. Your eyes flutter closed.

“That’s right,” he purrs, “Tell me what’s happened to my candy girl.”

Another knock of the gun against your clit. Your lips press together, holding back a moan. You shake your head, hoping to clear it. “I must have bumped up against something while you were away,” you burst, trying to keep your thoughts straight with the delicious press of his firearm and cock clouding your mind. “It just twinged a little. But I’m fine.”

Lloyd hums, but you can’t see his face. Too focused on the starbursts on the backs of your eyelids. So close, so close to your climax.

“Baizen!” he barks from behind you. The tone of his voice enough to make anyone with a lick of sense freeze.

“Sir,” you ask, voice breathy and hitched as his free fingers join the barrel of the suppressor. “Why does he—” He pinches your clit, chuckling at your surprised squeak, before finding your entrance and plunging his fingers into your core. You moan, question instantly forgotten.

Your head tips back to rest against him. He presses another kiss to your skin. Tongue tracing toward your mouth and licking over your lips. He hums and you squirm with the bristly tickle of his mustache.

His fingers tease your entrance as you mewl and sway your hips, needing him to fill you. “You hear that?” he asks right by your ear. The squelch of your arousal embarrassingly loud compared to his whisper. Your lips press together and your head shakes. “God, you’re so sweet for me, sucker baby.” His teeth catch on your lobe, nibbling while his fingers sink into you once more.

Footsteps echo from outside your door. The heavy beat of their tactical boots, familiar from their patrols, approaching. Your stomach flip flops. Never once have you understood Lloyd’s need to display you. But you know better now than to fight it.

“You called, boss?” the man—Baizen, you assume—asks. He clears his throat but enters the room and stands at ease.

Lloyd’s fingers remain relentless—toying with you, keeping you on the brink, your head clouded with the ever growing need to cum. And he doesn’t respond, not for a minute. Letting the other man’s discomfort compound with your gasps and moans.

Half-distracted by you and continuing with your mind-altering torture, he states, “You let my girl get hurt.”

Baizen blinks. His brow furrows. He tries to catch your eye. But you know better.

“Of course n—”

With a final flick to your clit, the gun disappears. You only register the swift pew-pew of a double shot moments later when Baizen’s body hits the floor. Blood flows from the bullet wounds, two straight to the heart.

The safety clicks back on and Lloyd raises the gun. He examines your slick juices coating the metal and smiles. A gleam of satisfaction sparkles in his eyes before he drops the gun and wraps his arm around you, caging your body to his. His fingers curve within you and your knees crumple. Lloyd lowers you down, following you to the plush fibers of your fluffy rug. You whine when he pulls his fingers out of you, but he presses his lips to your throat in placation while his zipper snicks on its descent.

You sink your fingers into the sheepskin to prepare yourself and with little warning he plunges in. A wounded sound spills past your lips. Pain sparks at the sudden stretch but so does a exquisite thrill at having him inside you again.

Lloyd’s relentless. The moment he seats himself inside you to the hilt, he melts on top of you. A deep groan presses against your head before his hips snap back and he plunges into you again. Your pulse thrums and your fingers wring the fibers of your rug, mouth gaping as the sounds of your pleasure punch out of your chest. Each thrust another devastation to your sanity, losing yourself to the pleasure.

A deep guttural satisfaction hums from deep in his chest. Fingers grip tight at your hips. In response, they cant back, searching for more, grinding for stimulation.

“Just like that,” he breaths on a loud praise through his moans, “let me hear those slutty, slutty sounds, lollipop.” He grunts, fingers flexing at the flutter of your pussy around him. “God, I love you.”

You can’t respond, even though you’re supposed to—stroke his ego, sing his praises, shower him in affection in return. Your mind blank, save for thoughts of how he fills you. Stretches you to your limits with each clap of his hips against yours. No contemplation. Just bodies joining together in an exercise of rapture.

But he won’t accept that. That he forces all coherence from your head with his cock, words forgotten in his drive toward climax. His right hand releases your hip and without his support you collapse. Prone on the rug, he doesn’t waver but continues to bury himself in you as far as he can and wrest moans from your slack mouth. Your head tilts back, guided by his fingers gripping your throat.

“You’re so far gone,” he chuckles on labored breaths. “Look at you, so adorably pathetic.” He tuts and pauses, sheathed within you to grind his hips to yours. You release the rug and your hand flutters over his at your throat. His voice dips deep and deadly. “What do you say?” he prompts.

You mewl and blink, fighting back the heady fog of your lust. “I love you, too, Mr. Hansen,” you slur.

His head lowers, nose inhaling the smell of your hair, finding the hinge of your jaw. “Damn right.”

His hand releases your throat, letting you bury it back in the fluffy rug beneath you. Instead, as he resumes fucking you with abandon, it finds the apex of your thighs. Murmurs of delight leave him at the squelch of your arousal and his fingers grind against your clit which throbs for attention.

You cum with a keening cry, legs shaking with it and trying to squeeze shut. But Lloyd keeps you open, accessible for his use.

He grunts and his hips stutter. Relief wells up inside you, almost as orgasmic as your own climax. He cums, filling you to the brim. A weak moan spills past your lips, parched and thirsty.

With a pleased hum, he snuggles closer and pins you fully to the rug below. You both breathe heavy and his hum turns into a familiar melody. “Lollipop” by The Chordettes fills your ear. When you manage to turn your head to glimpse him over your shoulder, a cocky grin pulls at his lips.

That grin. The lock of his normally coiffured hair that falls into his eyes. Your mind flashes back to another moment—similar and very different and just as earth-shattering.

The bell dings. You glance at Naomi, flirting with a tall man, his back to you. You hesitate a moment before your feet find their way to the right spot without her. Under the dump bucket at the water park. Overhead you gaze up at the giant bucket—over 1,000 gallons of water ready to fall. Others join you, glancing at each other with glee. Your heart jumps with anticipation.

The bucket tips, the bell still sounding in your ear. Your eyes close. But you couldn’t have known to brace for the impact.

The force of the water buffeting you punches the air from your lungs. Feet faltering in their position, you start to slip on the wet floor. You can picture it. Your skull smacking against the pavement. Pain. Blood. Waterboarded by hundreds of gallons of water. Not a pretty picture.

Sudden strong hands grasp at you. One around your waist, the other accidentally gropes your chest. But they turn you away, shielding you from the rest of the deluge. A body presses against yours and keeps you tucked against them until the water runs out.

You breathe a moment, shocked by this stranger’s quick thinking and decisive action. Their hands release you and they step into your view.

“You okay?” he asks, a strand of wet hair flopping over his forehead. “Sorry about the uh—” His hand raises and flexes. Your cheeks heat and you clear your throat. “I just saw you falling and didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Thanks,” you mumble with a shy smile. “It’s silly, but I swear I saw my life flashing before my eyes.”

His lips quirk toward a smile beneath his mustache and your belly makes a nervous swoop. His dripping clothes cling to his frame. A low chuckle spills from him as he wrings water from his open Hawaiian shirt. You try your hardest not to stare at the white undershirt, transparent and outlining his muscles. Your teeth sink into your lower lip. You glance over your shoulder toward Naomi, now approaching with a smile on her face.

“Well, uh,” you mumble turning back with a shy tap of your toe, “how can I repay you for your…” But by the time you look back, the stranger has disappeared.

“Look at you,” Naomi says with a pinch of your shoulder. You flinch and look at her. “Soaking wet. Don’t you just love it?”

You shake your head with an uneasy chuckle. “Not exactly. Let’s go do that Tornado thing.” You herd her toward it, hoping to distract her from what just happened. But, still, you glance back hoping to catch a glimpse of the handsome man who saved you.

He doesn’t leave your head the rest of the day, even as you step out of the hotel shower that night and begin to dry yourself off with the fluffiest towel you’ve ever used. You hum to yourself and sigh, pushing thoughts of your mystery man aside for a moment. Naomi suggested a club nearby and you trudge to your luggage to pick an appropriate outfit. The club scene was never yours, but it is Naomi’s. You take a picture of yourself in the mirror and text her for approval. Seems only right since she’s treating you for this whole trip—the hotel, the food, the water park—all on her daddy’s card. It’s nice to be the heiress of a business empire.

A text comes back after a moment. Gorgeous! 😍

Your brow quirks at the response. Used to her responding selfies and abbreviated text speak, your thread full of them.

Everything alright? You ask.

A minute passes. Nothing. You sit at the foot of your bed, keycard passing through your fingers while you wait. She’s usually glued to her phone. Why it’s taking her an age to reply, you don’t know. You check the time, tap the card against your phone screen, take a glance around your room to make sure everything’s tucked away.

A knock bangs on the door. You jump, startled. That’s not like Naomi at all. You stand and fidget with the short hem of your dress.

Hesitant steps take you to the door and you look out the peephole. A man, tall with dark curly hair and glasses, stands outside your door. He looks one way down the hallway as if speaking to someone else.

He says your name in a forceful, clipped command. “Please open the door. For your own safety.”

You step back and turn toward your room. Panic spikes up your spine until you shiver with it. You step toward the bed, then the bathroom, then the window not knowing where to turn.

“I’m from the FBI, Agent Denny Carmichael. I must insist you let me in.”

Your fingers tremble as they tap Naomi’s number on your phone. It continues to ring and ring before going to voicemail. The agent stops talking. But you hear mumbling from just outside.

You drop you phone by your purse and approach the door again, trying to hear what he’s saying.

“Look,” he says, an edge of frustration to his tone, “Naomi Jackson has received death threats from foreign organizations. We’re working closely with the CIA to mitigate the threat, but she has been taken into protective custody for the time being. And, until this threat passes, you will need to be under our protection as well.”

You swallow hard. Stomach transforming into a pit of dread. You look toward the peephole, hands clenched with your apprehension.

A heavy sigh comes through the door. “Would you like to see my badge?” he asks.

Making sure the chain lock remains in place, your hand finds the doorknob. You twist and open it a fraction, standing behind the door to shield yourself.

Agent Carmichael’s hand slides his badge holder through the gap. You snatch it away and close the door. His hand slaps it with a bark of “Hey!”

You flinch from his shout but take a long look, verifying his name and his status as an FBI agent. It looks legitimate—at least to your eye.

With a final moment of hesitation, you unlatch and open the door. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I just—”

Agent Carmichael holds up a hand to silence you. “You were startled and scared. I understand, but we need to move. Now.”

He grasps you by the arm and guides you down the hallway, head swiveling back and forth. You can only guess he’s looking for threats. Would you really be in such danger?

Your feet can’t move as quickly as your escort wants, but you try to keep up. It’s a whirlwind of back exits from the hotel, avoiding staff, and being shoved into the back seat of some sort of black sedan. Agent Carmichael explains nothing else, even when you notice a woman sitting in the passenger seat beside him. He simply starts the car and begins to drive.

“Uh, hi, hello,” you mumble to greet the woman.

She gives no response. Almost as if pretending you weren’t there at all. She turns to the other agent. “I can’t believe he changed his price.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Agent Carmichael replies in low tones with a peek over his shoulder at you. Your eyes glue themselves to the tinted window, pretending not to listen. “He’s not likely to do it again.” With another glance to capture your attention, he says, “Just a few more minutes until we hand you over to your handler at the airstrip. He’ll take over your protective custody from there.”

“Alright, thank you.” You sink lower into your seat and play with the hem of your dress.

The airstrip is desolate save for one small plane, another black sedan, and a man standing beside it. From the backlighting you can only make out the shape of his broad shoulders and large stature. He leans against the car, almost at ease. Though it doesn’t calm your buzzing adrenaline and anxiety, the display of nonchalant confidence reassures you just a little.

Your escort car pulls to a stop a few feet from his. Agent Carmichael opens the door behind the driver’s seat and grabs your bicep once again as he takes you closer to the man.

One glimpse of the mustache and slicked back hair and your mouth gapes on a gasp of recognition. Without thought, your hand raises to point at the man and you blurt, “You!”

“Hey lollipop,” he greets with a cocky strut toward you. He produces the small candy from his pocket and offers it. You take the lollipop by its stick and hold it close. “Looks like I’m gonna be taking care of you.”

“Hello again,” you say, feeling more at ease with a familiar face—especially one who had been so helpful earlier that day.

Agent Carmichael clears his throat and steps forward, placing you behind his shoulder. “Have you delivered the asset to the live drop?”

The man scoffs and pushes the agent away with a sweep of his hand. “Of course I have. I’m not some candy-ass rookie—I get the job fucking done. Now, are we?” His arm wraps around your waist, guiding you gently to his side.

“Yes.” Agent Carmichael spins on his heel and returns to his car. He drives away, his partner in the passenger seat glaring out the windshield as it turns.

You look up at your assigned protector, his eyes locked on the retreating car until it’s out of sight. Only then does he look to you and smile. Your lips press together to suppress the shy smile ready to break through.

“The name’s Lloyd Hansen,” he introduces himself. He offers his hand and you give it a quick shake. “Let’s get going.” Lloyd directs you to the plane and you start walking toward its stairs. “By the way, before you start wondering, your luggage and personal effects should be shipped to our safe house. Just takes a while to make sure our tracks are covered.”

You pause on your climb up the plane’s stairs, turning to him on the step below you. “Thank you, Mr. Hansen.” Your heart starts to calm. Your handler has everything in hand. Everything will be fine.

Which wasn’t exactly true. Though, it had taken you about two weeks to realize just how wrong you were.

The first hint was the mansion. The huge structure and sprawling grounds supposedly your safe house—not very inconspicuous. The second was the large staff. All ready and willing to help with any little thing, and already set in a routine. He explained it away at the time with a vague story about the seized assets of a drug lord. But then your luggage arrived without your cellphone or tablet. And Mr. Hansen insisted on you staying in the renovated attic—a gorgeous space full of light and luxury, but quite restrictive and remote in the long-run. Hints number three and four.

When he stopped answering your questions about the FBI and Naomi’s case, and started to find too many reasons to put his hands on your body, the penny finally dropped.

The first time you tried to run away, he spanked you so hard you couldn’t sit for a week. He threatened worse the next time. That was also the first night he slept in your bed. You woke up to his hard on pressed between the cheeks of your ass and his hands cupping your tits. To your utter confusion at the time, he didn’t do anything else. Just walked uncomfortably from the room and left you to your own devices until that night’s dinner. That was when he spilled—cocky smirk twisted on his lips.

That foreign threat to Naomi? He was hired by the CIA, specifically Agent Carmichael, to deliver her directly to them. How lucky for you that you’d caught his eye during his surveillance and he’d decided to change his deal. The heiress in exchange for her friend. That was hard to swallow. Thoughts of what had become of Naomi filling your head until it felt like you’d pop.

The second time you tried to sneak away, it’d taken months to understand the guard’s schedule. To count the minutes in your head until their rotations. Then to find out how the household staff worked. Which maids cleaned the floors below and when. The cooks, the housekeeper, the head of security. Mr. Hansen’s travel routines. And the technology everywhere. It was impossible. But you almost got away. Just a few feet from the top of the back wall before they caught you.

When Lloyd had returned, he introduced you to the collar—the electric collar. Locked now around your throat and a very persuasive tool to keep you in your attic.

How long ago was that? Months, at least. You weren’t the best at keeping track of time. Though Lloyd helped with his penchant for celebrating anniversaries—if he could be trusted. Still, the days tended to blur together.

All you know is the fight left you a while ago. Resistance doesn’t deter him and it’s so much better when you just enjoy it. He’s not mean without reason, and he is what he initially proclaimed himself. Your protector.

Lloyd stands with a groan and you jolt at the feel of him slipping out of you. He hums with pained pleasure.

Your fingers run through the fibers of your rug, turning on your back and staring at the ceiling. Head tilting to the side, you listen to Lloyd putter around your room. He picks up your perfume bottles, catching your ear with the clink of sitting them back in their tray. You look to see what exactly he’s doing. He leans against your vanity, pants pulled back up but fly undone.

He smirks as he looks down at you. “That’s what I like to see.”

Heavy steps approach from the hall and a knock sounds at the door. Lloyd pops up.

“There they are.”

You follow him with your eye. Siting up more fully to watch him kick the body out of the way of the man and dog standing in the doorway. Your head tilts in confusion, but you know to say nothing. Just straighten you skirt, hold back the grimace at his cum starting to drip out of you, and wait for his explanation.

Lloyd takes the leash with a nod to the man. “Take care of this shitbag, will you?” He prods Baizen’s body once more with his toe before turning back to you.

With a proud smirk, he leads the dog over—maybe a giant schnauzer judging by its little beard and large size. It’s then you notice the sparkly yellow ribbon around the dog’s neck. You wait, looking up to the man who once proclaimed to be your handler. He’s sure to give you some sort of cue.

“Happy Anniversary, lollipop!”

You blink. “Happy Anniversary, sir,” you return.

He crouches down and smacks a sloppy kiss to your lips. “What d’you think of your present?”

“Present?”

The dog steps forward and sits right in front of you. Lloyd gestures to him and hands over the leash. You take it, trying to piece together the bits of the puzzle—at what exactly he’s doing.

“He’s yours,” Lloyd explains. “Been raising him since he was a puppy to be the perfect guard dog for you. He’s smart and strong. He’ll be perfect for when I’m not here to keep you company.”

“So,” you wonder, reaching out a tentative hand to pet the dog before you, “he’s mine?”

The dog dips his head and sniffs before rushing forward and nearly tackling you to the ground. You push him back and situate yourself better. He finds a comfortable spot sitting in your lap, though he’s far too big to be a lapdog.

Lloyd chuckles. “Yup. He better be. Been scent training him to make sure he knows you. Even if he’s only just met you.” His head tilts and he stands back up. “You wanna know his name?”

You nod, running your hands through the black fur along the dog’s back. You snuggle into him without realizing, but he just sits for you, seemingly content with your embrace.

“Shadow,” Lloyd commands, “perimeter.”

Immediately, the dog steps away from you and begins patrolling around the walls of your room, sniffing along each. Looking for something—probably a threat.

“He looks like a shadow,” you say with a glance to the man standing above you.

“Huh,” Lloyd says with a cock of his head, “I suppose he does.”

Shadow finishes his circuit and returns to you, his shoulder pressed to your side.

“At ease,” Lloyd says.

Your dog relaxes into you and searches for your hand to begin petting him again. You’re happy to oblige. Your lips purse, holding back hope with your new companion by your side. Though, from your keeper, you can’t hide anything.

He tips your chin up to meet his eye with two fingers and asks, “What’s on your mind, sucker baby?”

“Will I get to take care of him?”

“Well,” Lloyd hems, “you won’t have to bathe him or clip his nails. We’ve got someone to groom him—”

“Will I get to take him on walks?” you ask before you can stop the interruption—almost regretting it.

Lloyd clicks his tongue and bends to tap his hand against your cheek. Almost a slap. “You thinking about leaving me?”

Your head shakes vehemently at the glint in his eye. Too close to displeasure.

“Of course not, Mr. Hansen,” you assure, standing up and clutching at his shirt, pressing as close as possible in an effort to wipe away any of his misplaced suspicion.

He hums and runs his hands along your sides. Smoothing them up and to your neck, he taps on the collar. You swallow hard.

“Your perimeter has been expanded,” he says, wrapping his hand around the side of your throat and drawing you closer. “You can go all the way out to the balcony and watch him in the garden. Isn’t that nice?”

You breathe steady. Though your heart sinks and you can hardly stomach the disappointment, the slightest expansion is something—less than what’s allowed a dog, but something.

“I can go outside?” you ask, quiet and hesitant. Fearing that somehow he might think better of it.

Lloyd keeps you close as he guides you toward the balcony door. Tall French doors opening onto a sun-soaked expanse of space.

“Go on,” he prods.

Your first steps with bare feet on the tile, you cannot believe you’re allowed this. A breeze brushes your cheek. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. The blue sky widens overhead, spotted with fluffy white clouds. You breathe in the fresh air and your heart lifts and keeps rising. It’s a gorgeous day.

Lloyd says something behind you, but you pay it no heed. Too caught up in the taste of freedom. Thoughts of a star-speckled sky spur plans of sleeping outdoors. Feeling the rain again, the chance to crunch through snow. Part of you doesn’t understand the bubbling joy welling within you at such an insignificant delusion of freedom. You never dwell in those thoughts, afraid of what they might spark.

Your hands grip the hard stone railing, leaning to look down at the lush gardens below. Shadow races out the downstairs door and runs around the corner. You watch him until he’s out of sight.

Steps approach from behind. You glance over you shoulder and meet Lloyd’s eye. The gratitude of your gaze meets the hunger of his.

He steps closer and bends you over the rail, his hips pressing his hard cock against your ass. His hands cover yours on the stone and he runs his nose along your throat until he reaches your ear.

“Happy Two Year Anniversary, my sticky sweet girl,” he husks, the grit of arousal dripping from his words. He sinks down to his knees and flips up your skirt. With a dip of his head, he latches onto your cunt. You jolt, but can’t move away. All you can do is moan and let your body become his again.

#y’all gotta read this #lloyd hansen x reader #dark #may god have mercy on my soul

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youaremyhome · 5 months

Text

Omgomgomg this man! This man is unbelievable and yet I wish I was in that hut with him everyday

The Agenda Today

A Lloyd Hansen Mini Series

PART SIX

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.7k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART FIVE | MASTERLIST | PART SEVEN

00:00

The walk back to your hut was dreadful. Your confidence at getting it over with—‘it’ being Lloyd having his way with you—was beginning to wane. Lloyd sauntered beside you, a proud smirk plastered on his smug face. You maintained a poker face. Of course, under any other circumstance the idea of barely consenting to any sexual encounter made your skin crawl—it wouldn’t ever happen. But if giving Lloyd what he wanted meant keeping Gracie safe, you would do anything.

It took everything in you to not halt abruptly in your walk as soon as your hut came into view. You knew deep down that even Lloyd knew you were faking it, but you didn’t want to crack. You had had mindless sex with men before—though you were much younger & into partying more. Unfortunately, there was no vodka or joints being passed around. This you would have to do entirely sober.

Lloyd walked close behind you as you climbed the small set of stairs to the hut. The doors to your room were already open. Holding your head as high as you could, you breached the threshold, knowing that when you left the hut again you wouldn’t be the same person.

You reached the end of your bed before turning around, watching warily as Lloyd slowly closed the doors behind him. There was an appraising look on his face as he looked you up & down. But it wasn’t of a sexual nature. It was like he was shopping at a dealership, trying to understand what the dealer was saying & what they were selling. He didn’t want to be scammed.

Clearing your throat, you shook your hair behind your shoulders, straightening your spine, “Well?”

With that, Lloyd lowered his head to an angle where his eyes looked most predatory. He remained leaning against the double doors, showing no sign of moving towards you. A cold sweat broke out underneath your pits. The way he watched you, observed you, made you more anxious then you already were.

Before your anxiety & doubts could expose you, you grit your teeth behind tightly pressed lips, crossing the small distance to him. Not looking to see what he thought of you making the first move, your hands instantly went to the leather belt that looped through his pants. Your hands were shaking as you unbuckled the accessory. Lloyd wouldn’t get the best of you, you couldn’t allow it. If you had to call the shots in this instance to get it over with then you would.

You had just dropped his belt to the floor & began to unbutton his pants when a large hand slipped under your chin, gripping your neck harshly. A small, choked gasp escaped you at the sudden assault. Lloyd held you by your neck at a distance, forcing your eyes to meet his own. He was studying you, & you could tell that what he was reading he didn’t particularly like.

“What’s the rush, nanny?” Lloyd questioned, “I thought you liked it slow.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, the air to your lungs slowly waning.

“I’m just giving you what you want.” You strained.

Lloyd cocked his head, “I want to enjoy this. And if I let you keep going the way that you’re going we’d be here for only five minutes.”

“Why? That all you good for?” The subtle insult wasn’t intended. But with your air supply getting cut it was hard to hold back the hate you held for him.

“Ooh hoo hoo.” Lloyd chuckled but an amusing smile never crossed his lips.

You nearly reluctantly apologized when Lloyd switched from your throat to your shoulder, adding enough pressure to force you to your knees. You hadn’t been planning on this.

“I think we oughta put that mouth to better use.”

Lloyd finished what you had started unbuttoning his pants. He held your shoulder tightly, to ensure you wouldn’t fight back or try to escape. Fortunately for him, you had no plans to do either. You needed to be compliant.

Pushing his pants down past his thighs, he exposed a pair of snugly fit white boxer briefs. He was already growing in size & what you could make out made your mouth dry. This was really happening…

You couldn’t look away as he pulled himself out. It was big, & angry. Lloyd yanked you closer, making you almost headbutt his hardened cock. You caught yourself on his muscular thigh.

“Open up, nanny. Show me where you get so confident.”

No feeble protest could pass your lips before Lloyd was forcing himself into your mouth. The corners of your mouth strained at the size of him. Your tongue nearly forced to the back of your throat as he made room for himself inside your mouth. Your vision blurred as he pushed himself further, hitting the back of your throat. You had never done it like this.

A low groan came from deep within Lloyd’s chest as he began thrusting his hips forward, jolting you back. You continued to grip his thighs, a small whine lodged somewhere around his thickness as he fucked your face. You forced yourself to breathe through your nostrils, needing to feel like you weren’t about to gag to the point of vomiting all over his cream colored pants. Above you, you could make out that Lloyd was grinning down at you, blatantly enjoying the sight of you choking on him. His assault on your mouth produced enough saliva to begin seeping out from the sides of your lips.

“C’mon, nanny. I know you got more than that to offer.”

His words made you cringe. Yet against your better judgement, you finally closed your lips around him, forcing your tongue to run along the underside of his dick. The action produced an inhuman growl from the sociopathic man above you. When you looked up a second time, the grin had fallen from his face; a look of pure, unadulterated hunger possessed him.

In a flurry of movement, air returned to your lungs, rushing in, & you were being tossed in the air. You landed with a small ‘oomph’ atop your bed. You barely had a chance to lean onto your elbows when Lloyd was on top of you. It was with a horrifying realization that he was already naked. In the amount of time it took you to fly across the room to the bed & recover from the landing, Lloyd had already removed his pants, underwear, & top. All you had on your body was the maxi dress. You knew it wouldn’t stay on for long.

Lloyd firmly gripped your wrists, bringing them above your head, locking them together with one hand. His other hand begins to trace the length of your body, taking time to pause in special areas. You say nothing & do nothing as his hand wanders with intent. He looks up at you as his hand finds the hem of your dress, bringing it up to your knees. You look away, finding a point in the room to stare at. You were being as compliant as possible, it didn’t mean you had to watch him do it too.

The raising of your dress stopped suddenly. The man above you pushed off, standing ahead of you. You felt yourself frown. What was he up to? But when nothing happened after a few seconds, you braved turning your head in his direction. Lloyd stood tall & proud, his sculpted arms crossed against his thick chest as he stared at you. But he didn’t look happy, or even—for lack of a better word—horny. Your eyes regretfully dropped further. He wasn’t as full as he was when he first pulled himself out.

Lloyd narrowed his eyes, forcing you to sit up.

“What?” You questioned. You were beginning to get annoyed yourself. Why wasn’t he taking what he wanted? The sooner he did the sooner it would be over with & you could put it behind you. But he was stopping… it made you nervous.

“The fuck you doing?” He seethed. His reaction left you at a loss.

Unable to find the words, you glanced down at your dress. What were you doing wrong? Trying to appease him, you began to reach for the straps of your dress to pull the top down. Your fingers had barely touched the fabric when a hot pain flashed across your cheek.

Lloyd had slapped you.

A yelp escaped you as you held your cheek. The abrasion that was still healing had split open. Blood on your fingertips.

You stared up at him in glowering hate.

“What the hell?!”

“You said you liked it rough, nanny. I’m only providing.” Lloyd returned, matching your facial expression.

“I’m giving you what you want!” You raised your voice, your whole body shaking.

Lloyd leaned forward until both arms were on either side of you on the bed, his nose practically brushing against your own, “I want your fire.”

You were fed up with this man & his childish games. Pushing yourself back, you kicked up your legs, not giving him an opportunity to stop you as you used both feet to kick him in the lower abdomen. Lloyd grunted, bending further at the waste. You scattered backwards, trying to get out of his reach. But Lloyd grinned devilishly, “That’s more like it.”

His hand caught your ankle, dragging you back towards him. You threw a closed fist, hitting him on the side of the head.

This was not how you & Raj fulfilled each other’s needs. There was no violence. But Lloyd appeared to want something more than just rough. You feared for your own well-being as Lloyd’s head snapped to the side with your punch. You went to throw another when he blocked it with his forearm, his other hand backhanding you. The slap forced you to lie backwards, stars dotting your vision. It was reminding you too much of his assault in the bunker.

In a flash, Lloyd climbed on top of you, straddling you. His hands found the top of your dress, tearing it in two like it was made of paper. A harsh gasp left your mouth. Your reached up, your hands finding his thick neck, your nails digging into his skin. Lloyd’s eyes fluttered at the action, seemingly enjoying the pain you were giving back. You tightening your hands around his throat but it didn’t deter him. He ripped the dress out from your mostly nude body, following the useless fabric with a yank & snap of your underwear.

You were completely naked.

Lloyd knocked your hands away from his throat, one of his own grasping you by the neck. Immediately you began to thrash underneath him. He reveled in it. Using his knees, he parted your legs, squeezing himself between your unwilling thighs. If you could’ve breathed, you would’ve cried out at the feeling of his head pressing against the entrance to your tight heat. Lloyd never unlatched his hand from around your neck as he bit along the tops of your breasts. The bites hurt, leaving you knowing you’d have marks & bruises from his teeth.

“Lloyd—” You forced out, your voice scratchy, “please.”

He raised his head, his eyes hooded with desire & pleasure. A sinful grin appeared beneath his mustache, “As you wish, nanny.”

With no warning, Lloyd sheathed himself with one thrust. You cried out, the pain shocking your body. Tears skipped down the sides of your face as you struggled to take all of him. Lloyd growled lowly, bracing his hands on your hips to push himself as far as he could go. You weren’t wet in the slightest. It felt like his dick was made of sandpaper.

Then as quickly as he had entered you, he pulled all the way out. You were momentarily relieved until you felt something wet & hot between your legs.

You shot upwards in horror, “No!”

But Lloyd placed a solid hand on your chest, forcing you to lie down as he delved his tongue along the folds of your cunt. You cried softly, his tongue flicking the sensitive nub before swiping it downwards to delve further. Your legs shook around him, your hands subconsciously finding the top of his head. Your fingers were constantly moving from trying to push him away to tangling themselves in his hair to pull him closer.

It disgusted you how good it was beginning to feel. A pleased sigh passed through your O-shaped lips as he lapped you up. You felt your hips gyrating beneath his ministrations. God, it felt…divine.

The noises you were making began to grow louder as he pushed you closer to the edge. A finger joined his tongue, sliding into you now with ease. The intrusion was almost welcome. You couldn’t deny how wet you were becoming, how horny it was making you, how desperately your hips pushed up into his mouth.

“Stop.” You whispered, unable to use your voice confidently. You felt Lloyd smile against you. Lloyd’s tongue joined his now two fingers, moving gingerly against you.

You grunted, feeling yourself so so close to that gnawing tension waiting to explode deep inside you. Lloyd wrapped his arms around your hips, pushing you as harshly against his face as he could. Then, with one swipe & suck over your bud, you came undone.

A silent cry left your lips as you grabbed his hair, pulling on it as you rode his tongue, your orgasm consuming you. Lloyd never stopped as you came around his fingers, his tongue continuously sucking you, forcing a surprising second smaller orgasm through your whole body. Tears still danced down your skin but you could no longer tell if they were from the pain, or the pleasure.

“Fuckin’ hell, nanny.” Lloyd’s voice sounded faint, muffled. You felt his teeth graze against your skin as he nipped his way up your middle to your tits, “You’re gonna become my new favorite pastime out here in the jungle.”

Words, thoughts, morals escaped you as you slowly found your way back to your body. You swallowed, your mouth dry. Your muscles were at ease, your body still gently shaking.

A hiss slithered between your teeth when Lloyd sheathed himself a second time. This time, your body welcomed him. One of his hands found the back of your neck, gathering the hair there to force you to look at him. It had been a long time since you came like that; it left you feeling dizzy & sluggish.

“Look at me as I fuck you.” Lloyd’s hooded gaze met your own. You fucking hated this man. You hated who he was, what he was about, how he got things done, why he did what he did. Most of all, you hated how he made you feel. And in that very moment, it was nothing but ignorant satisfaction.

He snapped his hips forward, a mutual moan shared between the two of you. Your hands gripped his sides, your nails dragging down his back. In a matter of seconds, his thrusts had sped up. The two of you never dropped eye contact as he fucked you mercilessly. He pressed his forehead against yours, your panting breaths mixing together. The room filled with sounds of flesh on flesh & your shared grunts & groans.

“Raj has never fucked you like this.” The mention of your boss—and lovers—name momentarily took you from the heat of the moment. Through the sensual fog that possessed your mind, everything began to come back to you. Lloyd’s hands dropped to your ass, angling it upwards so he could reach the deepest parts of you. Then as quickly as the fog had cleared, it returned with a vengeance.

The new angle forced a cattish mewl to escape you. Lloyd smirked down at you, pleased with your change in attitude. You reacted. Without warning, you slapped him. The thwack reverberated through the room. Lloyd didn’t stop in his actions but glared hotly down at you. His hand gripped your throat as his thrusts became harsher, more painful. Your hips cried out in pain as he pressed himself closer against you, your legs spreading obscenely wide.

“You hit me again—” He didn’t finish before you slapped twice more. The second one harder than the first two. His cheek was a bright red. A short-lived triumphant grin spread across your lips. That would surely leave a handprint.

But your smile was swiftly diminished as Lloyd wrapped both hands around your neck, using the angle to jackhammer fuck you. His teeth gritted & his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The speed ignited the fire in you once again & you felt your crescendo building. Air remained trapped in your lungs as Lloyd forced you both to the edge. Then, just before you felt your knot coming undone, he released your neck. Air rushed back into your lungs & you half choked, half-moaned through your orgasm.

Lloyd came with you. His head having fallen to the crevice of your neck as he grunted loudly. Your wails & groans matched, informing anyone outside the hut what exactly was going on in there. Lloyd collapsed on top of you, his chest coated with light sweat pressed firmly against your own. The two of you remained like that for quite some time, catching your breaths. Your vision swayed until your conscious mind returned to you.

When it finally had, Lloyd was already slipping back into his underwear. For a moment, you transported back to your early 20’s, remembering the few men you let into your apartment for a night of fun in the sheets. Then how almost immediately after it was over, they would dress, toss you a mediocre ‘thanks’, then leave never to be seen again.

But who stood before you wasn’t some guy you had drunkenly flirted with at a bar. It was Lloyd. He had kidnapped you, he had threatened Gracie, he killed Wanda, he beat the shit out of you. And now he had gotten you to successfully come for him a handful of times.

A sudden rage enveloped you at that moment, & dismissing your nude & likely bruised body, you flung toward him. For the umpteenth time, you slapped him. But you didn’t stop at that. You beat your fists against him, kicking your legs out, wanting to hurt him as much as he had hurt you. Lloyd had the audacity to chuckle at your attempts, easily maneuvering you until your back was pressed to his front, his arms locked around your upper body, holding your arms in place.

“Hey, hey, now, what the fuck.” He smiled against your neck as he spoke, “I thought we just had fun, there.”

You ripped out from his arms, spinning to face him. You pointed your finger at him, seething, “Fuck. You.”

Lloyd pursed his lips, amused, “I just did, sweetheart.”

“No.” You sobbed, sneering at him, “No, you—”

“Don’t act as if you weren’t willing & as much a part of that as I was.”

“I wasn’t!” You yelled, “That’s not what—”

“You had in mind?” Lloyd cockily walked towards you, his head angled as if he was consoling a crying child, “You thought it was going to be in & out, just like that.”

You shook your head. The memory of everything that just happened flooding your thoughts. You had participated in it, but you didn’t want it to be like that. You didn’t want to enjoy it.

Lloyd reached for you. You tried to pull away but he was stronger anyway. In a surprisingly gentle manner, he pulled you to him, caressing the top of your head, “It’s okay, nanny. I won’t tell anyone you enjoyed it.”

When he pulled you away long enough to offer a condolence smile, you wanted nothing more than to rip that hideous mustache off his face. “That’ll be our little secret.”

He let you go then, bending at the waste to gather the rest of his clothes. You remembered then that you were fully naked. Though the dress was useless, you still used the fabric to cover yourself as you sat on the bed.

“Your honey Raj will never find out.” Lloyd spoke casually & light-hearted to you, “Promise.”

“Fuck your promises.”

“Hey, now.” He stared at you wide-eyed, stern, “I let you see the brat, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t argue there. Moving forward, you changed subjects, “So, now what? You got what you wanted. Do I get to see Gracie regularly?”

Lloyd slipped his shirt over his head, sauntering over to the mirror above the dresser to groom his mustache. He ignored your question for a moment longer before he clasped his hands together, facing you, “I’ll tell you what, nanny.”

You already weren’t liking where he was going.

“I’ll let you have your regular schedule with her, the one you had before I picked you guys up.” You rolled your eyes at the comment, like he had rolled into school to pick up his kids for the day, “You can teach the brat math or play dolls or hunt for seashells, whatever it is you feel like doing to distract yourselves.”

You really weren’t liking where this was going.

Lloyd eyed you playfully then, “But then once you’re done with her. You come to me. You come take care of me.”

Your mouth went dry. You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“But I thought—”

“Once isn’t enough, nanny. Once is never enough!” He laughed, “Unless you’re ugly, then once is plenty.”

You shook your head. It was unbelievable.

“Or.” He continued, approaching you. Once he reached you, you tightened the fabric around your body. He smirked at the action but didn’t address it. Lloyd took your chin in his hands, his fingers pulling down on your lower lip, “I make it so you never see her, & you take care of me anyway.”

For you it was a lose-lose, for Gracie it was a win-lose, but for Lloyd it was a win-win. You closed your eyes, wishing you could wake up from this nightmare & find yourself back at the villa. Wanda in the kitchen with Gracie at the counter drawing.

Opening your eyes, you glared up at him.

“What’ll it be, nanny? The suspense is killing me.”

“You win.” You muttered, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You were going to anyway.” He said what you already knew, “But at least you’re halfway on board. And I have the rest of the time you’re here to get you on for the rest of it.”

oofda. howdy friends, watcha thinking?

as always, share your thoughts w me via dropping an ask, commenting, reblogging what you like/dislike. you know the drill.

thanks for reading!

beau<3

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#y’all gotta read this #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader

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youaremyhome · 5 months

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“I could fix him” or I could NOT fix him and kiss him passionately on the mouth and let him be my mentally unstable bbg

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youaremyhome · 5 months

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So I’ve been toying around with ideas for pieces of the night because I didn’t have a solid plot to go off of when I first started writing it. Like I have scenes half written out for later in the story but I don’t know how to connect them all?

I thought making a poll would be good? Just to see what would be the better idea bc I’m stuck y’all!! and I need help!!

Please pick which plot you think would be more fitting/you like better for the story.

(All plots will still have juicy smut so don’t worry your pretty little heads)

Light: focuses more on the relationship of rafe x reader, little subplot maybe

Medium: more emotional, some sad parts, other characters taking more of a role in the story

Heavy: more action, other issues effecting story, not as emotional

Thank you for your vote, I love you! ❤️

#tumblr polls #poll #rafe cameron #pieces of the night #dark!rafe cameron #Rafe Cameron poll #please help #fic poll #rafe cameron x reader #obx poll #obx

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youaremyhome · 5 months

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There’s just something about a chase and a feral man that gets me every time and this one is just so GOOD.

And when he said “fight back” girl - 😳🥵

I just loved everything about this and love you too ❤️

INDEBTED

Summary: When your father's scandal threatens your family's legacy, Rafe makes you an offer you can't refuse.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x KookFem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Choking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Author's Note: 1000 followers! Wow, I never thought I'd reach 1000 followers. A part of me believes that half of these are bots, but regardless, to those who are real and have decided to join me in my little corner of the Tumblr woods, thank you. Your love and support, especially during these trying times, means a lot. I had this one shot sitting in my drafts for a while and thought I'd finish the damn thing and share it as a thank you. But heed those warnings : it's a dark one. Much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Embezzlement.

What a weird word.

It rolls off the tongue with an unfamiliar bitterness. It's the kind of term you'd see in a crossword puzzle, nestled between "clandestine" and "malevolent." You never imagined it would be splashed across news headlines with your family's name and the face of your father in the centre.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his cigarette before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his cigarette onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is far more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish," he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured his voice thick with predatory intent "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. I hadn't expected a text from you so soon," his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. Are you willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then ten."

You straightened, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our little arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two…” he shrugged nonchalantly “It might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“While I should be fucking insulted” he said dryly “I always glove up and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you suddenly against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw.”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms when having sex, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. "How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured. "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than just kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction.

“Ah ah” he chided. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Play. Nice.” he whispered, his voice considerably smug. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive. "You get a two-minute head start. After that, I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of paint and cedar filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There," he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting intensity. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, a primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" he sneered.

In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonized screams as your orgasm overtook you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashing over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing around his cock as you climaxed.

Rafe rode you with a feverish frenzy, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and labored, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

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Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

#y’all gotta read this #dark!rafe cameron

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