Impractical Jokers: [Joker]xReader Collection

Stalker!Joe x Reader - You're All There Is

[SMUT WARNING! TOXIC RELATIONSHIP: STALKER/VICTIM]

       You're powerless to stop him as he pins you to the couch and kisses you hard. Arms lock around his neck, pull him in closer and you both know in that instant how far this is going to go. The man's a lunatic, damn near insane, but he loves you so good that you almost forgive him. After months of being cooped up in his house, sex is about the furthest you can get away from it, the irony being that he is the person you want it least with.

However, the awareness that this is merely due to circumstance and not due to the fact that you're not attracted to him is begrudgingly lodged into your head as you spare a glance at him as he lunges at your neck and attacks it with kisses and nips that have your head spinning. Damn it... why does he have to be so fucking attractive?

"You have no idea how good you taste," Joe murmurs hotly against the sweet spot below your ear as his hands begin to wrestle with your shirt and bra, tugging them off of you one by one despite being enraptured by the skin of your jaw. Tongue runs along fine bone before he shifts upwards and catches your eye just before he kisses you; it has him pausing, as if looking at you for the first time. "You're so fuckin' beautiful... I'm so glad you're mine..."

His words of adoration have you frustrated at best for what the hell does he know about love? He'd forced you here against your will, cut everybody else out of your life– he's all you've got if you want to have a steady sex life. Arms lock around his neck and your lips meet his messily. With a bold arch upwards, you press your breasts against his chest and put on your best whine.

"Talk's cheap if you won't love me, Joey. Touch me."

And who is he to not oblige? With his tongue sliding down your neck, running the valley between your breasts, Gatto attaches his lips to a nipple and begins to suck hard. As much as you hate him for what he's denied you of, you have to love him in this moment for what he's granting you, a hand running through his spiked hair (more tousled than usual due to previous kissing sessions) to the other nipple, a hand coming to squeeze your other breast generously.

"Mmm!" you exclaim, steeling yourself as you arch your body upwards and lock legs around his waist. When you feel the sizeable bulge with your own intimacy, you moan a sultry moan and stroke his back. You don't care if he doesn't take his clothes off, you don't care if he doesn't strip for you– you just want him inside of you, to fuck the sense out of you so that you don't recall how much of a fucking nutjob he is while he does it. "I want you inside me, Joey. I want your hard cock inside me..."

"Patience, baby," the man hums, lips curling into a pleased smirk against your stomach as he trails kisses downwards, stopping at the waistband of your pants, unbuttoning them and sliding them down your legs. You're powerless to stop yourself from moaning overtly as he nudges his nose along the dampness that lines the centre of your panties. God, you need relief from the dull ache that throbs inside of you; it has you weak in the knees and you're not even standing, ankles locking around his broad back as you will him to oblige.

"I can't wait, Joe– you drive me crazy..." And it's not all a lie, for you often think about your bizzare 'relationship' with him. One moment you'll be screaming in his face about how you despise him for what he's taken away from you, the life he'd denied you, and then the next you're kissing heatedly and you're on the couch and your clothes are gone and–"Mmm, yeah, that's good..."

For when his fingers slide panties aside and feel at your entrance, how can you deny the heat that floods your belly and has wetness slicking your inner thighs with preparatory damp? The man picks his head up, ocean eyes meeting yours in a flurry of heat, waters bubbling beneath the surface as he slowly slides two digits inside you and watches any resistance that had been previously embedded into your veins melt into nothing. You always look amazing when he's fucking you, mainly because he can forget how much you're willing to chastise him for taking your life away. You still don't understand that he'd stolen you away for your own good, was keeping you from everybody and everything else because they didn't deserve you. They weren't interested in your perfection, only what they could gain from it– he wanted you to be preserved, wasn't prepared to let somebody he cared so deeply for to be tainted by the cruel hand of society. Nobody could ever understand how amazing you were. Are. It's all the same to him.