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virginreprise · 29 days

Text

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base.

Utter filth. And Joel knew it.

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball.

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?”

“Not really, Susan.”

Then Pete interjecting.

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure.

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open.

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.”

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots.

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place.

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut.

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips.

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance.

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways.

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again.

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert.

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat.

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat.

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer.

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain.

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you.

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things.

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving.

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.”

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly.

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection.

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day.

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.”

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes.

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime.

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.”

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you.

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you.

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain.

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat.

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime.

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen.

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills.

She’d left him with it and he would die with it.

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again.

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating.

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that.

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next?

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again.

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle.

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home.

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost.

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along.

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open.

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out.

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago.

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy.

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp.

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal?

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse.

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots.

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not.

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel.

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare.

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance.

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have.

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely.

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there.

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour.

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better.

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.”

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked.

“You sure?”

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours.

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls.

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth.

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers.

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you.

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.”

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted.

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did.

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand.

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.”

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else.

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage.

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest.

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure.

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then.

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment.

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call.

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.”

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones.

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer.

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.”

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find.

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever.

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.”

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth.

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction.

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words.

They stung. More than you cared to admit.

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have.

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on.

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out.

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.”

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions.

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.”

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.”

“You are crossing a line, little girl.”

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet.

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-”

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered.

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away.

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.”

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.”

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?”

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand.

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment.

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire.

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.”

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you.

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.”

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him.

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim.

“You understand me, little girl?”

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare.

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.”

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality.

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you.

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean.

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.”

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you.

You and Joel.

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer.

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation.

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull.

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.”

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.”

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer.

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair.

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep.

thanks for reading !

#virginreprise™#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #joel tlou #the last of us fanfiction

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misterparadigm · 11 months

Text

To round out our main cast of kids for the Mallory Bash pitch bible, we've got fan favorite, Ava Baker!

Ava started as a cartoonified doodle of someone I went to college with, who really did have this big, playful personality. It didn't take long before Ava was a fan favorite in the web comic, and so when I developed the Dreaming Tree story, I knew she was going to have to be a major part of it--that her mysterious appearances needed to pay off.

Ava is at the core of the story, being the knot at the center of the threads of both the past and present which Mallory is on a warpath to unravel. Ava knows a lot--just how much isn't clear, but she's the cryptic trickster Mal has to negotiate with in order to take each step forward.

I've redacted just a few bits to avoid public spoilers.

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klaus-littlestwolf · 11 months

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I can say for sure that we all loved the Catholic school smut and therefore it just made me a new dark desire so heree comes request with our favorite hybrid

Something horny and dark at the same time

(by the way I ALSO read and write to heal religious trauma 🙏🏻)

Reader is a werewolf raised by a very conservative family and there is a lot of abuse in it specially because they think she is demoniac (they aren't werewolves)

In his path to make hybrids klaus finds her and decides to take her, he saw the way she was tortured and remembered the way mikael used to beat him, so he kills her parents

He thinks she will be scared but she was relieved and didn't even blink or tried to help when they were being murdered

She was raised apart from the world so literally everything is new to her and klaus loves to show her all the beautiful things and teach her how to be a hybrid

Obviously she also doesn't know anything about sex (innocence kink maybe?) and eventually she and klaus starts to date but she has no idea of how a relationship should work and klaus makes a good time teaching her all about how to give and receive pleasure and ends with a really good smut like the last one you wrote

Love uuu

The way you said ‘horny and dark’ I assumed you wanted a Yandere Klaus so that’s what I did

Warning: Conservative views from parents, religious trauma and bashing, smut bordering on Dub-con with how naive she is, Don’t Like=Don’t Read

DD:DNE

If your parents had known you were a werewolf when they adopted you they would have given you back immediately. Sadly there’s no way to know that until you’re in an accident.

Your family was always abusive to you, from the moment you were given to them from the 100% definitely illegal agency (since a man with as many arrests as your ‘father’ can’t legally adopt a child). When you turned however, it became worse.

It was sad how it happened, you had saved your parents by grabbing and turning the steering wheel out of the way of an oncoming 18 wheeler, sadly as you did you ended up in the way of a man on a motorcycle who crashed into your car and fell down the side of the mountain you were driving up. The bike should have been driving slower, your father should have been paying attention, but of course only you suffer the consequences.

Your first shift was agonizing and your father, being the religious man that he was, knew you were a demon! A demon who changed on the full moon and every full moon he chained you up like a monster and left you in the woods outside to suffer. They prayed over you , sometimes spraying you with a hose or whipping you while promising God that your suffering was repentance or some shit like that. You decided a long time ago that if their God was this vengeful then you didn’t want anything to do with the “Heaven” they promised. Not that you knew anything different, the outside world had been cut off from you since you were given to them to live in the mountains like the religious zealots that your parents are. Your mother wasn’t nearly as abusive, she just spends her time praying over you for the safe return of your soul and ranting like your father about how the government is controlled by demon possessed people like you.

You never believed that anything could change, especially not because of Ray. Ray had found your house on a hike up the mountain and stumbled upon you chained up in the woods after a full moon. He tried to help you but your parents chased him off, your father shooting his shotgun at him and screaming about ‘demons sent to help fellow demons’ before he hosed you off and took you inside. You always spent the day after a change with your mother patching up your quickly healing wounds and reading from the Bible you had read 60,000 times in your life.

Ray came back to check on you every few weeks, he would bring you food to hide away and some books to read that weren’t the Bible. He told you that you were not a demon but we’re in fact a werewolf, a gene passed down from your real parents (probably a father) and though he tried to convince you to come with him, you knew your father would track you down and hurt him and his ‘pack’ as he called it.

Ray had left you last time with the promise of bringing you more food, it turns out he brought quite a bit more than that.

You heard his voice before you saw him, as well as another voice with him as they approached.

‘I told you I’ll do what you want but we get the kid first, that’s the deal if you want my pack.’ Ray snapped and a weird accented man responded.

‘I’m not taking care of a kid Ray, you didn’t say kid-‘

‘She ain’t a kid but she’s…you’ll see. Now shut up before her father hears us-‘

‘Everything can hear you stomping like that Ray.’ You stated, picking up the last few pieces of firewood you had chopped and putting them into the wheelbarrow.

‘Shit kid, I’m sorry…your face-‘

‘I know. I’m the one in pain, trust me, I know it’s there. He got my ribs real good this time too.’ You looked up to see Ray standing beside another 2 men, one had fluffy brown hair and looked like he didn’t give a shit about anything and the other was staring at you. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes, prettiest shade you’ve ever seen and he wasn’t shy about how he was looking you over.

‘Hurry up and grab your stuff kid, we’re busting you outta here.’ You rolled your eyes, lifting the wheelbarrow and walking it towards your house.

‘You’re delusional. My father will shoot you all and chain you up right beside me, next thing you know he’ll be beating the demons out of you too.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you, you’re a werewolf, not a demon-‘

‘Look, I believe you Ray…sorta, but he won’t. He will see that you’re like me and he’ll either kill you or hurt you. Take your friends and go before they get hurt too.’ You began piling the wood up on the back porch where it needed to go and Ray grabbed your shoulders, stopping you.

‘Please Y/n, please come with me? He’s going to kill you one of these days and I can’t stand to see that happen-‘

‘Then stop coming here Ray! You’re risking your life for a girl you don’t know who is never getting out of here! I don’t know anything besides this, I’m an idiot, I don’t even know how the light up box works!’ He tried hard to hide his smile at that, knowing what you meant.

‘Once again, it’s called a cellphone, and I will teach you-‘

‘You don’t know what a phone is? Seriously Klaus, this is a waste of our time.’ The brunette stated to his friend and you felt tears welling up in your eyes, knowing he’s right.

Klaus’ POV

‘Shut up Stefan, Ray is right.’

‘He is-‘

‘I am?’

‘Yes, he is. This girl needs our help, and after all, I am on the search for werewolves. It was Y/n, yes?’ The girl nodded, clearly wary of me and I couldn’t blame her. Living up here off the grid with nothing but your seemingly abusive adoptive parents must be a new form of torture and werewolf or not, I couldn’t let this beautiful girl continue to suffer…I also had some ideas about a few fun things I could teach her. ‘Okay Y/n, why don’t you get your things you want to keep and you can come with us? Don’t worry about your father, he won’t hurt you-‘

‘He’ll hurt you! Don’t you get it?! He will shoot you Klaus, why would you risk getting hurt for me?’ I stepped forward, tucking this girls long hair behind her ears and making her look at me.

‘Number one I can’t really die, and while I can get hurt it won’t last, number two, because I want to. You don’t deserve this kind of pain, I know what it’s like and you need my help so I’m going to help you.’ She stared at me momentarily as if I had put the stars in the sky before her eyes hardened again. ‘Come on, I’ll come with you.’ I took her arm in mine and walked up to the door beside her. ‘Invite me in gorgeous.’

‘What…you can come in?’ She was clearly confused and it was actually kind of adorable as I walked into the house beside her and into her bedroom which was just off the back door. The amount of crosses that hung on the walls was dizzying, pictures of Bible scenes and Jesus on the walls…this girl is going to need some serious therapy. ‘What do I pack?’ I looked down to see her holding a backpack and sighing. She’s never gone anywhere in her life, of course she doesn’t know what to pack.

‘Here, I’ll put clothes in here. You grab anything else you want to keep.’ I shoved clothes into the bag and noted how desperately I needed to get her appropriate clothing and not ‘Jesus’ clothing. When I stood she put a few books into the bag and a picture of herself with a dog but nothing else.

Just as we were about to walk out we were cut off by a gunshot and I pulled her behind me as we ran outside, she gasped at seeing her father aiming a shotgun at Stefan and Ray. ‘Y/n! How dare you allow this thing into our home! You whore!’ My body tensed up as I felt her hands clutch into the back of my shirt. This girl was innocent and terrified much like I was, she has been kept from experiencing the world and knowing anything besides this Hell and I won’t allow it any longer. Besides, she will be a very fun person to have along the ride, I’ll have to teach her everything but on the plus side, I’ll get to teach her everything.

‘If you call her that again I’ll shove that gun down your throat.’ I growled and he turned his gun on me.

‘No! You could hurt Y/n-‘

‘Our whore of a daughter made her choice when she opened her legs for this demon! You’re like her, aren’t you? Cursed?!’

‘Not anymore. My curse was lifted, I’m just a werewolf now…well I’m also a vampire but that’s beside the point. You’ve crippled your child keeping her here like this, beat her, chained her and you don’t care one little bit, do you?’

‘That thing is not my daughter! It never was! It is a beast from the circles of Hell!’ I dropped her bag, taking a step forward when her hand grabbed my arm and stopped me from moving any further. I turned to look at her and held her face to make sure she paid attention to me.

‘It’s alright love, I promise. You will never be hurt again, you are mine now. Understand?’ She shook her head “no” and I should have known she wouldn’t get that. ‘I take care of you now, you stay with me. I’ll teach you everything and you won’t leave me, promise me.’ She looked shocked but nodded her head, smiling excitedly and hugging me tightly with her head resting on my chest. It was actually adorable how short she was…sexy as well.

She suddenly gasped in pain as she was yanked away from me, her ‘father’ clutching her wrist too tightly. ‘You will die today, demon! And then I will punish my demon child for whoring herself out to the Devil!’ As he raised the shotgun again I grabbed it, bending it in half and watching his eyes widen before pulling him to me by his collar.

‘Interesting choice of words. She hasn’t even begun to whore herself out for me, but you can be sure she will. I should thank you for that I think, she doesn’t know anything about the world and she will be quite easily moldable…I’m not going to thank you of course, you’re an insane child abuser but at least in your last moments you can know that she will be everything you didn’t want her to be. Interesting how things work out that way, isn’t it?’ He tried to fight to his credit but it was much to easy to pull his heart from his chest. I dropped his body to the ground and heard his wife screaming bloody murder but I tuned that out as I looked to Y/n who was staring at his body before looking up at me, excitement in her eyes which I loved instantly. I turned and snapped the women’s neck quickly, irritated with the screaming before turning back to Y/n who grabbed a rag that was on the porch and began cleaning the blood off of my hand like it was her job. ‘Thank you, Kitten, you’re just too sweet.’ I pulled her to my side and turned to walk back over to Stefan and Ray.

‘Why are we taking her? She’s just going to be a distra-‘ I reached out, grabbing ahold of Stefan’s throat before growling down at him.

‘You don’t need to worry about her again. Y/n is none of your concern Stefan. Shut it.’ He nodded and I released him before turning to Ray. ‘Now to you, where are the wolves?’ I asked him and he sighed, pulling out his map as I handed Stefan the duffel bag and turned to lift Y/n onto my back, not wanting her to have to hike up the mountain. As Ray showed us where we were and where the wolves were I could feel Y/n playing with my hair which made me smile.

As soon as he gave up the location of the pack I snapped his neck, Stefan being left to carry his body up the mountain with us. It wasn’t a long hike from Y/n’s home and we got to the clearing in about half an hour, changing all of the wolves before sitting and waiting for them all to wake up which would take a bit of time, about an hour if Ray suddenly waking was any gauge of time. As he woke though his eyes began to bleed and he suddenly lunged forward at Y/n who screamed and clutched to me tightly. Stefan tried to grab him but only ended up with a werewolf bite on his arm before Ray was gone.

‘Well, you best go get him.’ I told him and he glared making Y/n whine.

‘Aren’t you gonna heal me?’ I shook my head.

‘Once you come back with Ray? Yes, and I would hurry. That looks bad.’ I stated before Stefan ran off after the hybrid, leaving Y/n and I alone.

‘I don’t like him.’ She spoke up and I snorted.

‘He doesn’t like you either so I would say you’re a good judge of character.’ I joked making her smile.

‘I like you though.’

‘Well, everyone is allowed one mistake.’ Her eyes widened and she shoved me playfully, leaning into my side. ‘It’s gonna be a while before they wake up, why don’t you come sit on my lap and snuggle with me?’ I proposed and she looked up at me, tilting her head.

‘What’s snuggle?’ My eyes widened before I sighed.

‘It means let me hold you. You’re mine now, I’m allowed to hold you all I want.’ Y/n nodded her head, clearly thinking as she moved to sit on my lap and lay her head into my neck.

‘What does being yours mean?’

‘Hmm, that’s a good question Kitten.’ She blushed a dark shade, clearly enjoying her nickname. ‘It means that only I can touch you, no other man should be too close or putting their hands on you. It means that it’s my job to take care of you and make you feel good in every way I can, to protect you and ensure you’re happy…does that make sense?’ I wondered, knowing those concepts should be things she understands at least and she nodded her head.

‘Are you mine?’ I took pause at that, considering that question. It’s been a long time since I’ve considered only having one women in my life, and I know if I say “yes” she’s not going to want me to be with any other women, she seems the jealous type which was actually a very cute thought. As I considered this I began to realize how attached to her I’ve become already and I suddenly knew I couldn’t let her go.

‘Yes I am, Kitten. I’m all yours, no one else’s. But that means that you can’t leave me, okay? We belong to each other, that means I take care of and protect you and you take care of me, in every way I need.’ She nodded her head, before looking nervous.

‘Can…can you tell me what I’m supposed to do?’ She asked nervously and she was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. Her innocence is precious and she makes it too easy to take advantage of it, but I actually find myself not wanting to hurt her, just have her be mine.

‘Oh Kitten, of course I can! I will always help you baby, do you want to start now?’ I offered and she nodded, excitedly with a smile on her face. ‘Okay, can you turn and straddle my lap for me?’ She turned herself and threw her leg over my lap, gasping as I pulled her close and pressed her cunt against my hard cock through our clothes. ‘Good girl. Now just relax, and let me play with you. Can you do that?’ She looked confused but nodded her head anyway. ‘That’s a good girl.’ I leaned back against the tree behind me and pulled her down to press our lips together gently, letting her get used to the feeling as I molded my lips to hers before pulling her back and reaching up, my thumb pulling her chin down to open her mouth before pressing inside, my thumb brushing up her tongue. She looked unsure but soon closed her lips around it, sucking on my thumb like a pacifier…a thought that hardened my cock even more to an almost painful extent. I rolled my hips up into hers and groaned, feeling the heat of her cunt through her pants and wanting to be buried inside of her so badly. I pulled my thumb back, opening her mouth again. ‘Stick your tongue out, Kitten.’ I demanded and she did as she was told instantly. ‘Such a good girl, I need this mouth on my cock baby, can you do that for me?’ She nodded quickly before pulling her tongue back into her mouth and speaking.

‘What’s a cock?’ My eyes widened in shock at just how ignorant she is, but of course she is.

‘Okay…you’re a girl and you have a pretty little pussy right here in your panties, right?’ I unbuttoned her jeans and cupped her pussy in my hand through her cotton panties and she gasped, the new feeling being overwhelming I’m sure. ‘Well I have a cock, and my cock wants more than anything to be buried inside your tight little pussy so that I can make you feel good, but I need you to help me first.’ I took hold of her thighs and lifted her, helping her to her knees right between my legs and she rested her head on my thigh, looking up at me with such an innocent look on her face that I almost felt guilty for corrupting her…almost. I unbuttoned my pants, pulling them and my boxer briefs down just enough that my cock escaped and slapped against my stomach. She stared at it in shock and curiosity, reaching her hand out and sliding her finger up my shaft which sent a chill up my spine. ‘Fuck! Okay Kitten, open those pretty lips for me and stick that tongue out-‘ I grabbed ahold of her jaw firmly and made sure she was looking up at me. ‘Absolutely no teeth, understand?’ She nodded and I leaned down, licking over her tongue and kissing her roughly. ‘God you’re so perfect, do you know that?’ She whined before leaning down and licking her tongue straight up my cock before suckling on the head, she was so good at it that in any other situation I would have been convinced she had been doing this for years. ‘My good girl, so fucking good!’ I pushed her head down slightly and she got the message, taking more of me into her mouth and bobbing her head up and down.

I don’t know if this is the best blowjob I’ve ever had or if the situation is just turning me on so much that it’s ethereal but it feels as if she is sucking my soul out through my cock. If this is how good she is for me in only a few hours, I can’t imagine what kind of whore I can turn this girl into if I just make her feel good and needed.

‘Fuck! Shit, I’m gonna cum…I’m gonna give you a tasty little treat, okay? Are you ready?’ I asked, grunting as I felt that perfect tongue push me over the edge and just as she whined an affirmation I held the back of her head and came hard, straight onto her tongue. I tossed my head back, feeling myself cum more than I ever had before and she swallowed before using her hand to catch what leaked out the corner of her mouth. I had yet to have sex since becoming a full hybrid…maybe the werewolf in me makes me cum more than before…the image of how full I could fill my Kittens cunt was the driving force of my cock hardening all over again so quickly.

‘I like it, tastes yummy.’ Y/n spoke, licking her hand clean and before I knew it I had moved, snatching her up into my arms and pinning her down to the ground underneath me. ‘Klaus?’

‘Daddy…call me Daddy. Can you do that for me, Kitten?’ She smiled up at me, nodding her head before wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me sweetly. I quickly reached down, pulling her jeans and panties off of her legs which caused her to whimper. ‘What’s wrong?’ She looked around quickly and I turned her eyes back to me. ‘It’s okay Kitten, talk to me.’

‘What if someone wakes up, or Stefan comes back?’ She worried and I just smiled.

‘Don’t worry Y/n, you’re Daddy’s now, and Daddy will never let anyone see your pretty little pussy but me, and if they do I’ll remove their eyes.’ I teased and she giggled as I nipped at her neck gently. Lifting her thighs up around my waist I groaned as my cock touched her pussy. ‘This is gonna be uncomfortable for a second, but I promise Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good that you’ll never want me to stop touching you.’

‘I trust you.’ She mumbled, nervous but allowing me to do as I wanted.

I considered that for a moment. If anyone else told me that they trust me I would call them crazy, it would be a horrible decision, but not her. I want her to trust me…in that moment I realized how much I needed her to love me. Y/n is mine now and there is nothing that will ever be permitted to take her away from me. ‘Good. Daddy will take care of you, just breathe until the discomfort is gone.’ I instructed and pushed my cock into her. She hissed as my eyes rolled back into my head, this girls pussy possibly being the tightest I’ve ever experienced if not just in hundreds of years considering it had been centuries since I had fucked a virgin, but virgin or not she is tight as fuck.

‘Daddy, Ow! Oh! It stings!’ I leaned down, pressing my lips to hers to distract her as I stayed still, allowing her to get used to the feeling before pulling back out. She squealed as I thrust back into her which I loved, setting a steady pace until her face relaxed and I could see that she was now truly enjoying herself. As she did I lifted her legs around my waist and fucked her tight little cunt the way I desperately needed to.

‘Such a good girl letting Daddy fuck you like this, so tight! Perfect little Kitten cunt!’ She whined as I spoke and I looked down to see her with watery eyes and her mouth hanging open.

‘Perfect, Daddy?’

‘Fucking Perfect!’ I confirmed, feeling her pussy squeeze me tighter. The need to be even deeper inside of her was overwhelming and I grabbed her waist, lifting her against my chest and pinning her to the tree beside us, now thrusting up into her even harder. She gasped, wincing and I could see she was in pain but she didn’t object, not once leaving me to ease up just a little bit before feeling my balls tighten and digging my face into her neck, biting into her throat as I came inside of her. Once again the amount of cum that I filled her with was fantastic and as her pussy squeezed down on me I knew that she was enjoying herself as well. ‘Do you like that Kitten? You love being full of me, don’t you?’ She nodded quickly, arms tight around my neck as she held on like she was afraid I would disappear. ‘Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna fill you with cum everyday from now on.’ I told her, licking over the bloody bite mark on her neck.

‘Really? We can do this again?’

‘Are you kidding? You’re mine now Kitten, remember? Daddy is gonna fuck you everyday, multiple times a day, every which way you can imagine.’ I explained, pulling my cock out of her and looking around briefly before setting her down on a sleeping bag, using tissues to clean us both up.

‘How many ways are there?’ She questioned, excitedly before it was followed by a yawn making me smile.

‘Daddy’s gonna fuck you everywhere we go. In the hotel, in the car while Stefan drives, against every surface I can find!’ I watched as my cum dripped out of her hole, loving the sight of her being so full of me before cleaning her off and pulling her panties and pants back up her legs. ‘You’re a flexible little baby too, aren’t you Kitten?’ I teased, latching her bra before kissing her head, enjoying the topless sight in front of me. ‘That means I can bend you any way I want to stick my cock in you, Daddy’s never gonna stop fucking you, in every hole I can.’ I wrapped my arms around her from behind as she looked for her shirt, kissing behind her ear and hearing her gasp. ‘Do you want to make Daddy feel extra good and let me put my cock in your little asshole?’ I was teasing her, expecting her to be unsure and nervous about my playing with her ass, however she shocked me completely as she turned and pressed her lips to mine hard.

‘Yes Daddy!’ -Kiss- ‘Want your cock!’ -Kiss- ‘All the time Daddy! Anywhere you want, wanna make you happy!’ My eyes widened and I looked down at her in shock.

‘You want to let Daddy stick his cock up your ass?’

‘Will that make you feel good, Daddy?’ She asked as if it was the most important thing in the world to her and I suddenly realized how much of a complete fucking cum slut I’m going to turn my girl into.

‘Yes Kitten, and Daddy will make you feel good too, Daddy wants you full of my cum all day every day forever, I want my cum leaking out of both holes every time we go out, there won’t be a single chance people don’t know that you’re mine.’

‘Okay Daddy.’ I turned her around, pressing my lips to hers and lifting her up against my chest.

‘I think you’re gonna be the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time Kitten.’ As soon as this pack is turned I’m turning her as well and ensuring that I can keep my little mate around for eternity, she’s too delicious not to. I’m going to teach her whatever I want and have the sluttiest girl on earth for the rest of my endless existence.

‘Daddy?!’ Y/n pulled back quickly and I could see the terror in her eyes, shocking me at how quickly she turned.

‘What is it Kitten? Did I scare you? You don’t have to-‘

‘Daddy! Are They Supposed To Look Like That?!’ I turned around and just barely moved before one of the wolves bit into my Kittens shoulder. His eyes were bleeding black blood and he looked like some kind of zombie.

‘No…stay right here, Don’t Move! Do you hear me?!’

‘Yes!’ She responded as I set her on the fallen tree and turned to the 2 Hybrids that were now awake, examining them carefully before one tried to sink his teeth into me and I quickly ripped his heart out. I was trying to figure out what happened when 2 more were suddenly up and pissed off, leading to me tearing their hearts out as well, moving on as the rest of them quickly began jumping up and screeching or growling and trying to bite at me. I had just killed the last one when I suddenly heard Y/n scream and I spun around to see her backing away from a girl who lunged at her. She turned to the trees and I grabbed the women, ripping her heart out before moving to grab Y/n and holding her arm. ‘No! Daddy-Help!’

‘It’s me! It’s okay baby, you’re okay.’ She gasped, breathing a sigh of relief and hugging me tightly, crying into my chest. ‘Daddy will keep you safe, I promise. You’re okay.’

‘Are you?’ I hesitated as she asked and realized I wasn’t. ‘Daddy? Are you okay?’ I nodded before she pulled away and turned to the campsite to see the 15 dead wolves.

‘After all of this, I finally break the curse and I still can’t make more hybrids…FUCK!’ I screamed, knowing my hybrid visage was on display as my anger was running way too high.

‘It’s gonna be okay, we can find out what went wrong and fix it, right?’ Y/n held onto my arm, unafraid of me like everyone else would have been and it was a bit shocking. ‘You waited this long, you’ll make it work! I know it, and I’ll help you!’ I sat down against the tree and sighed heavily, knowing in that moment that as long as Y/n is here, I won’t be alone again…I just need to figure out how to turn her before she’s gone too.

‘Thank you Kitten, you’re Daddy’s good girl.’

Just as I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to figure out what went wrong, Y/n kneeled on the ground in front of me and leaned against me, kissing my jaw. ‘Can I make Daddy feel good again? Maybe it’ll help?’

This girl may just be the death of me. ‘Yes Little Wolf, I think that will help very much…’

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

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usa2024election · 3 months

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You want to send a message with your vote? Send it to the fascists. To the corrupt Supreme Court. To the Republicans who cheered as they did evil. Repealed Roe. Raised our taxes to pay for give aways to the rich. Send a message to extremists and white supremacists and neo Nazis. To the extreme evangelical right trying to bash all our heads in with their precious Bible and force everyone to live by their insane bigotry and extreme views.

You want to send a message? Vote Biden and every other Democrat you can.

#2024 elections #us elections #usa election #please vote #vote biden #vote blue #election #elections #fuck trump #voting

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thebestofoneshots · 5 months

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Hi love just wondering when the priest Remus fic will be out? I LOVE LOVE your writing and I am so excited for this one

I truly hope It's this Friday! Especially with the GC chapter we're going to have, I feel like you guys deserve a little compensation. If I can't manage though, it will surely be next week.

Now, and to build more excitement, a little teaser:

NO SWEETER INNOCENCE THAN OUR GENTLE SIN | TEASER

Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader Prompt: You did not want to go to church that day, but your spirits are uplifted when you meet Father Remus, and your mind starts creating a mischievous scheme, to both retaliate over those years of being forced to go and take something from them. Alternatively, R is really mad at the church and decides to steal one of their priests for it (but also kind of falls for him). Warnings: The complete story will contain smut. Innocence! Kink, allusion to fingering and self-pleasure. Reader is seducing a catholic priest and has a bit of a corruption!kink. Smut under the cut.

After the mass was over, you waited a few minutes before leaving the church “accidentally” bumping into him again. “Remus,” you said with a smile. “We seem to continue bumping into each other,” you added as you leaned closer to him and pressed your cheek to his, making a low smacking sound, and then repeating on the other side. He looked bewildered at the contact. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable? I got this habit while I was in France and I still haven’t shaken it off completely.”

“Oh… No, no,” hesitant, bashful, you loved every bit of it. “Not at all, it’s fine. You can greet me however you like.”

“Is that privilege reserved to me, or does every other parishioner have it?” He seemed taken aback by your words. “I’m joking, Remus,” you added and placed your hand on his arm, before pulling it back tentatively. “Your mass was wonderful.”

“Thank you, I’m lucky to work at Saint Gryffin.”

“The way I see it, Saint Griffin is lucky to have you. I mean lots of women come here to see beautiful priest Remus.”

“You think?” he asked. Remus didn’t exactly consider himself handsome, he thought his scars would scare people away rather than attract them. But he sometimes failed to see past them and didn’t pay attention to his beautiful eyes, to his charming smile, to his long lashes, or to his well-toned frame. It was as if he had been craved by Michael Angelo himself, from your perspective.

“For sure,” you replied. “Take a closer look at the way they look at you on Sunday and you’ll see.” He blushed, a deeper shade of red than your Nan had pulled out of him, you resisted the urge to bite your lip and smiled instead. “Today was lovely, I’ll see you around,” you said before waving goodbye and leaving exiting the church.

You went again a week later, Remus would sometimes lose his focus on the bible and look at you instead. That day you had chosen a skirt. Nothing too short or indecent, but certainly short enough to allow your legs to be seen and admired. An older man hadn’t stopped staring at you throughout the mass, and you would have perhaps told him off if it hadn’t been for the fact that Remus had been in a similar position.

Remus’ distraction, his hesitance and his constant turning to you were enough to drive your attention away from the man and onto him. You would smile, and you would nod, and you would pretend to be a supportive little lamb. Innocent, and meek and kind. Just what he expected from you. And it was that Wednesday, the third time that you’d met him, that you realised you had him right where you wanted him to be.

He for sure had a thing for you, be it curiosity, admiration, or a small crush. You had gotten his atention, and you had gotten into his mind. Now all you needed was to have him.

(...)

The next Wednesday you had been late, you had allowed your hair to be slightly dishevelled and your cheeks were warm, despite the autumn getting colder. You had bitten your lips and you looked like you had just gotten away from a dire situation. You’d done it on purpose. When his gaze fell on you he almost stopped talking completely. He staggered to complete his words and you nodded for him to go on. When he was done, he rushed out, and you stayed in your seat. Eyes closed and hands clasping each other, pretending to pray.

That’s when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, he whispered your name. “Are you okay, Little Lamb?”

It took a real effort not to laugh at his nickname. Not because you thought it was stupid, but because you were so far from a lamb that you might as well have been the wolf that ate it. You turned to him, fake distress clouding your features, “I’ve done something terrible, Remus.”

He was kind, almost impossibly so, it almost made you want to stop your plan and leave him the pure man he was.

almost.

“I’m sure there’s nothing you could do, that was as bad as you’ve described.”

“I’d like to confess,” you said. “Would you take my confession?”

Remus seemed hesitant, biting his lip. He knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t hear your confession, not when he wanted to maintain a personal relationship with you, not when he’d develop a crush. But it was in your preoccupied gaze, in the small frown that etched your features, in the way your lips curved down and in the bobbing of your throat as you swallowed. How ever could he deny you?

Oh, those thoughts would be the ones that would drag him into sin, nay, not drag, but rather, waft him into it. If Remus hadn’t been so enamoured by you, perhaps it would have proved a harder task to accomplish for you.

“Okay,” he said simply. And helped you stand. Guiding you towards the empty confessionary and sitting in his spot as you opened the door to the other one. It was a narrow place, enough for you to sit. There was a screen dividing the two of you, you couldn’t see him, but you suspected he could see you. And there was a small, square hole in between, enough to fit perhaps a hand. You assumed it was there in case you’d like to give something to the priest, as a thank you.

Remus cleared his throat, and in the most professional way he could muster he said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. My child, what brings you to the sacrament of confession today?”

His voice had been different, stronger as if he was trying not to be himself. You loved it. “Father, I come seeking forgiveness for my sins. I have strayed from the path of righteousness and I seek reconciliation,” you let your voice bend and crack near the end.

“I am here to listen, my child. Let us begin with a moment of reflection. Take a moment to examine your conscience and bring to mind the sins you wish to confess.”

You held back the smirk that threatened to appear when he said that, just in case he was actually able to see you. “I have fallen in love with a man I cannot have.”

“Oh, darling,” he said, that was Remus, not Father Remus. You had cracked through his façade and you hadn’t even started. “That is not a sin. It’s happened to the best of us.”

“But it is a sin the way I think of him, Father,” you responded. You heard a sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t speak further. “I have dreamt of him, of his lips, of his eyes with long lashes, the way his hair frames his face, of his beautiful and strong hands–“ Remus tried not to be jealous of the man you described, but everything about him seemed perfect, and unlike himself, he probably could have you. Your beautiful lips, and eyes, focused solely on him. He hated the guy already. “–sliding between my legs, and touching me.”

“Do not speak further,” there was an edge of alarm in his voice. A bit of a broken end to it.

“Oh but Father I must,” you said. “If I don’t I’m afraid I’ll act upon my feelings in the same way I did today while thinking of him.”

“You…” he hesitated. “You touched yourself… Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes,” you replied with a frown, almost a wince, all of it an act, of course.

“Pray Our Father 10 times and–“

“No! Allow me to relate my story, Father,” he tried to stop you. “I must, I must, or then I might go to him and offer myself in a terrible, ungodly manner and then I won’t ever be deserving of the church ever again.”

Frankly, you didn’t even know how you’d gotten so inspired, but Remus relented, nodding and when he realised you hadn’t heard, he bit his cheek and said. “Go on then.”

You sighed, that was a real sigh, you weren’t sure you’d get this far. “I had a dream of him father. He was handsome as ever, and he looked at me, with such kind eyes, with such loving eyes, that when he leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t stop him.”

Remus was already praying for himself. He did not want to imagine you in your bed, your hair sprawled over the pillow and your mind away in a dream, kissing another man.

(…)

Remus’ boner was straining against his pants in a way that was almost painful. He wanted to let go, he wanted to set him free and chase his own pleasure at your words. At how he pictured you in your bed, sweaty and sighing as you touched yourself. You were so beautiful, he found innocence even in the way you sinned.

“And then there was bliss, I thought I was dead and had gone to heaven, but I came back, vision cloudy and disoriented. My bedsheets were sticky with my juices and I had to change them. I’ve been in a permanent state of shame ever since then.”

“Let us pray for your forgiveness,” Remus said. And my own, he thought. Now not only your sheets had been stained, but so had his pants, just from hearing you. You would have relished on the knowledge if you’d had it.

“Thank you, Father,” you said as you stood.

“Pray tell me child, whoever is this man that has you in such an altered state of mind?”

Got him! you thought as you turned your gaze to the confessionary. And almost in a whisper, you murmured. “Well, it’s you, Remus.”