#dddne fic

[cassidyandonlycassidy]

no one man should have all that power

miguel o'hara x reader

words: 2k

warnings: 18+ only!!!, smut, NONCON!, RAPE!, size difference (canon, miguel just big as hell), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark!miguel, p in v sex, threats, mentions of anal, cleaning lady!reader, attempted rape by not miguel/attempted mugging

your focus is half on your phone playing the local news through your headphones, and half on scrubbing down the sink in front of you. 

you don't move on until it's spotless. perfectly clean. you're willing to use every tool in your arsenal considering this is your pickiest client.

you are about to spray down the shower and allow the chemicals to soak and do part of the work for you, when the news anchor shifts the conversation.

“and to discuss the issue of spiderman, please welcome nypd captain charleston and queens resident andrea roberts.”

your attention shifts fully to your phone. andrea begins, a sweet looking older lady who explains that spiderman saved her from being mugged. you feel your heart beat faster when they flash images of him on screen, his wide shoulders, dark black and red suit hugging his body and abs.

“and what happens when spiderman begins to ask for something in return? he saves you from being mugged, but then demands a payment. what happens when he starts to use his powers for evil instead of good? we must focus on unmasking him and stopping his crusade of the city. no one man should have all that power.”

you have to reach quickly to shut your phone off, powering down the screen and turning off the captains words as your client enters the bathroom.

“almost done?” she asks, a frown on her overfilled lips, shining with a lipgloss to distract from the fact that her skin is almost painfully stretched.

“yes ma’am.” you nod. “just the shower is left.”

“hmm…” you wait for her to find a critique, even the tiniest speck of dust that you missed, but she's unable to as she sighs dramatically. “i have a party to get to. see yourself out, the door will lock behind you.”

“and payment?” you hate having to ask just from the way her eyes turn dark, clearly annoyed with your questions, and while she may be one of your worst clients, she's also one of your best paying. 

“on the kitchen counter.” she says before turning on her bright red heels and stomping away.

you sigh and turn your phone back on, frowning when you realize the spiderman coverage is already over before turning your attention to the shower.

--

you're whistling to yourself as you head home, needing the music to keep you from deciding to just pass out on the nearest bench, and you don't dare put your headphones in after the sun has set.

a full day of cleaning apartments from the elite of the city, and now you have to head back to your tiny one.

you clutch your tote bag further into your side, knowing there's cash from the few clients who refuse to prepay with a credit card until they see the work you've done, despite never leaving a client unsatisfied.

“hey pretty lady.” you're used to the cat calls, so you just keep walking past the man, not acknowledging him even when you hear him push off the wall and follow you, footsteps heavy and far too close for your liking.

“i said hey!” he shouts, voice turning aggressive. you look around, but there's no one else on the empty street but a few distant cars. “bitch, you gonna be nice and say hello back?”

the man grips your shoulder and forces your feet to stop. your eyes widen as you come face to face with him, his eyes furious and breath smelling of alcohol.

“hello.” you whisper out, hoping that's all it will take for him to leave you alone, but of course it's not as he shoves you into the dark alley between two apartment buildings.

“since you wanna be a bitch, you can get on your knees and suck my dick.” he's too strong as he shoves you down onto your knees, roughly hitting the pavement as you cry out, hoping someone hears you.

“and you can give me all your money too, whore.”

“now that's not a way to talk to a woman.” 

the voice makes both of you jump as you turn to see spiderman emerge out of the shadows, even taller than you pictured him.

the drunk man scatters before spiderman can get any closer.

“th-thank you, spiderman.” you know you must sound pathetic right now, voice breathy and still on your knees as he steps closer.

when his hand reaches down, you don't hesitate to place your hand in his and allow him to pull you to your feet.

“are you alright?” his voice is soft and smooth like butter and it makes you swoon even more.

“thanks to you.” you know you're blushing as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, one hand still clasped in his.

“and what about thanks?” spiderman leans down. “would you give me a kiss to thank me?”

“i-yes.” you don't think about what it means as the area around his mouth and chin disintegrates, showing off his strong jaw and plump lips.

despite him being almost bent over, you still have to raise yourself onto your tiptoes to press your lips against his.

the kiss that you meant to be soft and sweet is quickly intensified as he pulls you up, arms wrapping around you to hold you effortlessly in the air as his mouth devours yours.

“wait!” you pull away, eyes widening when you realize that at some point the rest of the disguise covering his face has also been pulled away.

he's even more handsome than you could have imagined. perfect cheekbones leading to a strong nose, his eyes big and brown, showing all the intensity behind them.

“what?” he huffs out, annoyed that the kiss ended so soon.

“i-i don't even know your name.” you admit shyly. while you're alright with giving spiderman a soft kiss as a thank you, you're not sure how you feel about the hot and heavy make out session.

“im spiderman, isn't that enough?” he frowns at you, wishing you would just shut up so he can do as he pleases.

“i-”

spiderman leans back in, attacking your lips with his. you don't know what to do, your feet are so far off the ground, and his arms are holding you so tight to his defined chest.

you relax and just allow it to happen, allow his mouth to press kiss after kiss against yours.

you let out a gasp when spidermans hand grips your chest, shifting your weight to one arm around your waist.

the open mouth allows his tongue to push inside, dominating the kiss in a whole new way as his palm rubs against your boobs.

“i-” you try to pull away, but to no avail as he's not willing to let you out of the kiss. 

spiderman moves until your back is pressed against the brick wall, his other hand dropping to your ass, holding you up that way instead.

his hand is so big, fingers stretching so far that he only has to press a bit more between your thighs to be against your pussy.

“how else are you gonna thank me, pretty?” he asks, finally letting you take a deep breath, his hand still squeezing your tits over your shirt.

“i don't want to do this anymore!” you squeal out now that you're able to talk.

“what?” his voice turns dark. “i saved you and you don't want to thank me?”

“i just want to go home!” you plead. you know there's no point in screaming or trying to run.

“not until you give me a proper thank you.” he growls out. “but since im feeling nice tonight, ill let you choose. should i fuck you or settle just for you sucking me off?”

“you can't do this!” you try to wiggle out of his hold, but he's too strong. 

“i can. who is gonna stop me?” the chuckle that escapes his mouth sounds like pure evil.

“i know what you look like! ill tell everyone. ill go to the news, to the police-”

“you think they'll believe you? im spiderman. i rule this city.” he shakes his head like he's disappointed in you for even mentioning it.

“but-” he continues on. “since you've taken so long to answer, ill just have to fuck you.”

you manage to get out one yell, one shout, one plead for no before spidermans mouth is back on yours.

his hand does move to cup your pussy, thick fingers sliding against your core. you feel your pussy wetten from the movements, traitorous and betraying your true intentions.

you whimper against his lips as your pants are ripped away along with your underwear, literally tearing them easily off your body.

he must have disintegrated or called back part of his suit, you have no idea how the technology works, and you certainly have no interest in figuring it out now as you feel his cock slide through your folds.

spiderman has to pull away to slide you lower, your back moving down the brick wall as his strong hands guide your hips until his cock is against your entrance, poking in.

“you're- you're too big.” you try again to plead with him. “you'll tear me in half.”

he just shrugs, a smirk even twitching at the corner of his lips as he pushes you down, hips rising up to sink you down onto his cock.

you cry out, head falling back as he continues to move, feeling like it's never ending as he continues to split your insides to make room for him.

“shit!” spiderman shouts out. “you're so tight.”

you want to say it's because you're not turned on, that you don't truly want this, but you don't want to anger him even more as his hips begin to thrust up into you.

you cry out, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. it's not as painful after a minute, your pussy adjusting to his length and girth as he fucks you without abandon.

spiderman steps away from the wall and switches so his back is pressed against it as he begins to move you up and down, using you as he would a toy to pleasure himself, but instead of thrusting into plastic, he's pushing repeatedly into your cunt.

you lean forward, hands balancing against his defined chest, needing the stability as your body is forced into taking his cock.

“please!” you cry out.

“quit crying or it'll get worse.” you're not sure how it could get worse until the hand on his hip moves, moving between your ass cheeks and pressing a finger against your other hole.

“im sorry.” you quickly say, looking up in fear that just spews spiderman faster, pumping you up and down without even breaking a sweat.

“so warm and wet.” he smiles down. “are you sure you don't want this?”

you stay silent, hoping the experience ends soon as you feel his cock swelling inside of you, pushing against your walls.

“you gonna cum with me?” he asks, other hand reaching to swirl around your clit. you wish his rough fingertip didn't feel so good against your sensitive bud.

“i don't want to.” you whimper out, entire body slumping forward as you struggle to remain in control, feeling your hips begin to shake and the way your cunt clenches around his length.

“you're gonna. come on.” the bouncing, the movement of your body up and down and the way you're practically speared onto his cock is all too much as you let out a squeal, cumming hard just as spiderman does as well, shooting his seed inside of you, feeling like it's right into your womb from how deep it is.

“oh, fuck.” he moans out. “now that was a good thank you.”

he pulls you off his cock and places you back onto the ground where your legs instantly crumple, landing in a heap against the concrete.

“don't forget your bag.” spiderman kicks your tote bag that had fallen off your shoulder towards you, spewing the cash all over the ground.

you look up at him, fear no longer in your eyes, replaced with anger and disgust. you know nothing will happen to him, but from this moment on, taking down spiderman will be your only goal.

no one man should have all that power.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

captive

words: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, dark!rafe but he has soft moments hes trying, drugged!reader, kidnapping, DUB/NONCON, male receiving oral, female receiving oral, biting, nipple play, p in v sex, unprotected sex, anal sex, forced drug intake, snorting cocaine, smoking weed, poppers, mentions of pregnancy

“nooo.” you moan out, eyelids blinking heavily as you stare at the white powder along rafes finger. “im already-”

“no.” rafe says harshly, cutting off your protests. “i saw the way you were looking at the door. are you trying to leave me?”

“rafe-” you plead, but then his hand clamps harshly over your mouth, so tight no air could possibly get in. his finger presses against your nose, furious eyes watching yours as he waits for you to give up and inhale.

you feel dizzy, dizzy from the drugs already in your system and the lack of oxygen as you finally inhale, taking in the sweet air along with the drugs.

“that's it.” rafe pulls his hand away as you take in deep gulps of oxygen, scooping you up effortlessly as you recover and placing you down on the bed.

rafe keeps one eye on you as he prepares the room for nighttime, shutting the curtains and switching on lamps to bathe the room in soft light. he grabs your pajamas from the dresser, knowing he's just going to tear them off you later.

rafes foot falls are soft against the lush rug as he heads back over to the bed. “baby.” he says harshly when he sees your eyes are closed, tapping your cheek with increased hardness until your eyes open.

“im so tired.” you complain. “took too much.”

rafe just sighs. it's no more than he's given you on other days. the drugs keep you pliable, harmless, unable to escape. 

rafe can't let you leave him. he knows it's wrong, but he just needs to keep you fucked up enough until you forget that you want to leave in the first place. forget that your sweet boyfriend quickly turned evil when you told him you were leaving for college.

“stay awake, bunny.” rafe says. “it's what you get for trying to leave me.”

“the door is locked anyways.” you mumble. “even if i was looking at it i couldn't have left.”

you managed one time to twist the doorknob. to hear and feel the lock stop you. all your drugged up mind could manage was to turn back and lie in bed.

“do you want a little bedtime snack?” rafe asks, watching as you perk up, nodding enthusiastically.

rafe moves your body, manipulates it to the position he wants as you're laid sideways on the bed, head tipped back over the edge.

“dick first then ill get you a different snack.” rafe says, watching your eyes flutter in attempt to stay open as he tugs at his zipper, undoing his shorts and pushing them down along with his underwear in one quick movement.

“i can't.” you reach out and grip rafes thighs, head barely able to hold up as you look in his eyes with pleading in yours. “ill choke. im too-”

rafes hips plunge forward, pressing the length of his cock all down your face as your head falls, the next thrust sinking into your mouth as you resign to your task.

you focus on breathing through your nose as his cock repeatedly enters your mouth, somehow able to find enough compassion in himself to slowly build up his thrusts so he's not immediately down your throat.

“that's a good girl.” rafe coos, the praise making your head spin as you keep your hands gripped on his thighs.

rafes hands reach for your cheeks, pressing them together as he presses fully in now with every thrust, watching his cock bulge against your throat.

rafe lets out loud moans, unashamed of his vocality. it's not like you have enough mentality to judge him for it, especially not with the wet and choking sounds coming from you.

rafe does keep one eye on your chest. watching your heartbeat through the low cut shirt he put you in this morning. just in case. you mean far too much to rafe to let anything truly happen to you, even if it means him keeping you high as kite and locked away in his bedroom.

“close baby.” rafe tells you. he's never able to hold himself back for long when he gets you in a position like this. “so tight for me.”

rafe is fucking your mouth with as much furosity as he does your pussy, not worried about your teeth possibly scraping, knowing he's taught you well enough that they're covered with your tongue and lips. even though you've been his captive for almost a month now, that doesn't change the fact that you'd never want to hurt rafe.

rafe lets out a string of harsh curses and the feel of his cock swelling in your mouth is all you need to know he's about to cum.

you move one hand that's on his muscular thigh to his balls, fondling them the best you can. it's the final touch rafe needs as he shouts out your name, hips pressing forward as he cums deep down your throat, watching the way his cock twitches and pours out semen under the thin layer of your skin.

“shit!” rafe curses loudly, hand moving to squeeze your throat, giving the extra tightness he needs for one last pump of cum inside of you before he pulls out.

you quickly turn over, flipping onto your stomach as you cough and sputter, deep wheezing breaths filling your lungs fully.

“oh, my good girl.” rafe helps you to lay back properly on the bed, giving you soft kisses along your cheeks and forehead as you recover.

his soft side is always a surprise, in so much contrast to how he normally treats you. he just wants you to stay good and pliable all the time, tired of when you act out or defy him.

“now time for that snack, yeah?” rafe says. 

he leaves the room, and you listen for that telltale sound of him locking the door behind him, but it doesn't come. you blink harshly, trying to force yourself to stand, to let your legs carry you out, but your stomach growls, knowing rafe will keep you well fed, and your pussy clenches, knowing rafe will fill it later, and you stay laid on the bed.

rafe enters moments later with a pleased look on his face. it may have been only minutes, and you may have been strung out, but he was just able to leave the door unlocked and came back to find you in the exact same position he left you in.

“crackers?” rafe offers you, helping you sit up and schooch back to lean against the headboard.

you take the bowl as rafe checks your water bottle is still full before standing up and locking the door, slipping the key into his pocket. he made sure to get double side locks, reinforced to keep you secured.

“im going to take a quick shower.” rafe says, leaving you to finish the snack on your own. you eat quickly, munching down the food to satisfy your drug addled mind.

you set the bowl down on your nightstand when you're done, eyes turning to the pajamas laid against the bench at the end of the bed, knowing rafe intends to dress you himself when he gets back. 

he's never able to control himself when he sees you naked. it's why every time after he's finished putting your clothes on that he has to rip them right back off. why every time he helps you bathe or shower that he ends up fucking you all wet. every time your shirt slips up your stomach or shorts ride too short and you're unable to fix it in your state, that rafe ends up getting you naked and worshiping your body.

“y/n.” rafe calls your attention up to him as your eyes refocus, having drifted off at some point. rafe is standing in just a towel, wrapped snuggly across his waist.

“do you need another hit?” he questions, not wanting you to fall asleep, he likes when you're awake while he takes you, so he can see the fire behind your eyes. “or a joint?”

“yeah.” you nod. “a joint.”

you hope rafe will smoke it with you. you like when rafe gets high. his feral movements slow down, his thrusts become softer and kisses tamer.

rafe heads over to the locked cabinet, putting in the code before opening it up and grabbing a few things out. you watch with half horror and half fascination as rafes long slender fingers roll the joint before lighting it, the lighter briefly brightening the room in orange haze.

“here ya go.” rafe sticks one end between your lips, allowing you to inhale deeply. rafe is pleased, already such a quick turn around from having to force you less than an hour ago to snort.

“you're getting so obedient.” rafe says softly, wishing he could get you to be obedient at all times and not just when you're fucked up. then maybe he can let you out of the room, slowly expand your privileges.

“mhm.” you hum, closing your eyes as you lean forward and inhale deeply again. you turn your head to the side to blow out the smoke, pushing it away from rafe.

you keep huffing and exhaling until the room smells like weed. you're not sure what the combination of drugs in your system does to you, but it has you looking at rafe with softer eyes, forgetting that he's the one forcing you to snort various powders and pop pulls, just thinking about him as the one who brings you snacks and cuddles you.

“pajamas?” you ask rafe once the joint it almost gone, watching him head to the bathroom to damp it out in some water and toss it.

“yeah.” rafe grabs your pajamas, a very immodest and revealing matching set of shorts and a tank top.

you stay slack against the bed, letting rafe pull off your t-shirt and undo your bra, his eyes staying on your tits as he tosses your clothes into the hamper. he doesn't touch them yet, despite his fingers twitching with need.

he moves onto your pants yet, tugging your yoga pants off and discarding them so you're in just your underwear.

“my favorite pair.” rafe says softly, though really any of your thongs are his favorite. his hands push your thighs open and you don't resist when his finger presses against your core and swipes up, putting pressure right on your clit.

you let out a moan as your back arches, but as quickly as rafe began touching you, he stops, and then pulls your shorts up your legs.

“thank you.” you reach your arms up, body calling out to rafe, craving him. rafe scoops you up into his lap, snuggling his nose into your neck.

“just relax.” rafe says, hands petting over your body until one inevitably slips between your thighs. he keeps his hands away from your core, teasing you with soft strokes.

rafes thumb and pointer finger suddenly pinch together with your flesh caught inside, but you barely even react to the sudden burst of pain. it's how rafe can tell you're truly ready for him.

“gonna lay you back.” rafe narrates as he places you on the bed, standing over you while you stare up at him, waiting for what the first strike is going to be. what area of your body he's going to pounce on first.

it starts with tearing your shorts down, bearing your pussy to him yet again. a pleased smile stretches across rafes features when he sees you're already wet from his teasing.

“wanna taste you.” rafe lays himself down on the bed, still only covered in the towel, hair slightly damp that you'd want to run your fingers through if your arms weren't noodles.

rafe doesn't often eat you out. in a way, it feels like a reward as he leans in, mouth covering your clit. his tongue pokes out, tapping at your clit as you let out soft moans and mewls.

“so yummy.” rafe praises you, mouth sinking to your entrance, slurping at the juices built up there.

his little fuck kitten, his baby, his captive and his girlfriend, even if you did attempt to break up with him. he's never let you truly lose the title.

rafe doesn't stay laid on his stomach for long. while his incessantly licking through your folds feels good, it doesn't suit him anymore once your taste has already coated his tongue.

rafes kisses lead up your stomach, mouth pressing against your skin as his head pushes up your shirt until it's barely covering your chest. his hands push the loose tank top the rest of the way off your body.

rafe presses kisses to each of your nipples, watching them bloom and perk up right before his eyes. his smile grows as he widens his teeth and sinks them around your nipple, biting down before giving a hearty tug that has you crying out the most you can, a strangled mix between a moan and a cry.

rafe repeats the same bite and pull on the other side, then back and forth, then back and forth again, until your high dulls it out and you don't even react.

once your eyebrow doesn't even twitch in pain, rafe moves on, his hands pushing your thighs apart again as he kneels between them on the bed, tugging at the white towel as it falls away to reveal his hard cock.

“you're being so docile for me today.” rafe says like it's supposed to be praise, even though a sick feeling twists in your gut. “how about i try out your other hole today?”

your eyes widen and you try to sit up slightly. “i-”

“yeah, i think i will try it.” rafe says with a grin, reaching over to the bedside table and scrounging through the drawer until he finds the little bottle he's looking for.

rafe considers strapping you down to help you keep your legs open, but he likes the idea of you being unrestricted by bonds and rather too blissed out to move.

“turn over for me.” rafe commands, helping you flip onto your stomach. rafe grips your ass in his hands, massaging your plump flesh and watching it jiggle before he tugs your hips upward into the air.

he manages to get you to balance somewhat as he spreads your cheeks apart, looking at your little puckered hole just waiting to squeeze around his cock.

rafe takes the bottle of poppers and unwinds them, pressing them towards your face as he waits for you to inhale. you don't try to resist this time, knowing the drugs will only relax your muscles more and make things more pleasurable, even if the smell is so strong it causes your entire body to jolt.

rafe grunts out some praise that you barely hear or take in as he screws the bottle closed and lines up his cock with your entrance.

he's able to push in easily, knowing the drugs will only keep you open and relaxed for a few minutes. 

rafe presses his hips right into your bum, lodging himself as deep as he can inside of you. “knew your ass would feel great.” he says, tapping your bum in spankings that you barely register.

rafe begins to move, his strokes deep and slow as he fucks you. his hands grip your hips tightly, keeping you held up just how he wants you.

you let out a strangled noise as the muscle relaxers wear off, your previous untouched hole clenching tightly around rafes length.

rafe curses harshly as you tighten around him, almost squeezing so intensely that its not pleasurable, but he's determined to work you through it.

he slowly increases the rhythm of his hips fucking into you, building up until he's fucking you with the furosity that he does your pussy on a nightly basis.

“jesus.” rafe grunts out, listening to your tiny whimpers and moans that you can't help releasing. “do you like this baby?”

you try to open your mouth to answer, but all you do is allow drool to slide down your chin, no words actually coming out. you're not sure if you like it, or it the drugs are just dulling out the pain and leaving the pleasure.

“where do you want me to cum though bunny?” rafe asks, bending down to speak into your ear. “surely you want me to fuck your pussy, yeah? get you pregnant?”

there's no way a pregnancy would ever last with the amount of drugs consistently flooding your system, but rafe likes to think about it. another way to get you to stay, another reason to never leave him.

you manage to shake your head in some way that forms a nod. rafe quickly switches holes like it's nothing, pushing into your pussy and keeping the exact same pace in your cunt that he did your ass.

“too much?” rafe asks, hoping you say yes, his smile stretching when you give the vague halfish nod again. you're so beyond overwhelmed that you still haven't shut your mouth, a wet spot of drool forming on the bedsheets to add to the wet spot from your dripping pussy.

rafe takes the bottle of poppers again, holding it to your nose. you don't even realize that he's done it until the smell hits your nose and your body jolts.

rafe chuckles at your reaction, forcing two fingers into your asshole, pumping them in contrast to the timing of his hips pushing forward, causing even more stimulation to flood your senses.

“i bet if i just tap your clit you'd cum, huh?” rafe questions.

it's a juggle to overstimulate you from every angle, but rafe manages to reach down with his other hand, but instead of tapping it like he said, he pinches your bud, holding it tightly between your fingertips as you let out a squeal.

“knew it.” rafe chuckles as he feels you pussy pulsate around him, squeezing and fluttering as your orgasm suddenly hits, juices flooding and soaking rafe and the bedsheets below you as your pussy gushes.

rafe regrets pulling out of your other hole as it clenches down on his fingers, but he's satisfied with shoving deep inside of you and pumping you full of his cum.

rafe let's out a moan that sounds almost like your name, but the sudden force of your orgasm has caused your ears to stop working along with seemingly every other part of your body.

rafe pulls out and lets you slump onto your side. he gives you a quick check to make sure you're still breathing before heading back to the bathroom to clean himself off. 

he doesn't bother with you, knowing you'll sleep off your high and walk up after noon to clean yourself and restart the cycle all over again.

“can't wait to do that again tomorrow baby.” rafe says, pressing a kiss your lips despite them still being slackened apart.

rafe pulls you into him as he lays under the covers, feeling your naked bodies touching, skin to skin.

“goodnight.” rafe whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

you try to stay awake. maybe you can get away when he goes to sleep, maybe, maybe, maybe, but your head spins and eyes droop closed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[lokischocolatefountain]

Savior

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO) Pairing: dark!Joel Miller x captive reader Rating: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat Warnings: I repeat, DDDNE. Kidnapping, non-con, dub-con, face fucking, bondage, objectification, dehumanisation, captivity, drug and alcohol abuse, boot licking (literally), boot kissing, master/slave dynamics, name calling (bitch), loss of identity, Stockholm syndrome, really messed up dynamics, mention of spitting, mention of boot fucking, mention of watersports but not performed. Word count: 1.7k words Summary: Joel saves you from the horrors of the world only to inflict another horror on you. A/N: *slaps roof of this fic* This fic has everything (again, heed the warnings) I’ve been away for a while now and I’ll probably taken long to post my next fic. But I hope this is a fun read 🥺

The world was a big place and you knew nothing about it. You wanted to. You wanted to go beyond the walls of the QZ and inside those buildings people said were tall enough to touch the sky. You wanted to see the remains of museums. You wanted to see trees and sit on the grass and eat fresh fruits.

In a mockery of this daydream, the universe decided that not only would you never step outside but that you will be confined in a space smaller than the QZ.

You knew nothing about the world, but you knew everything about him. Many people passed by the doors of his apartment throughout the day. But you identified his strides. The heaviness of his boot against the floor, the speed at which he walked, how big his strides were. When you heard the grating sound of metal against metal, you knew he’d slotted his key in the door. You began trembling just at the sound of the door opening, your body fearing everything he would inflict on you.

Yet your cunt throbbed with anticipation. Your heart fluttered with joy. He was cruel, yes. But you knew he cared about you. He shared his food, traded to get you a few clothes, even got your medicines when you were ill. He was violent with you, but that was only because of the hard work he had to do all day.

As he walked in, you took in his appearance. Hands stained black, a thin sheen of sweat on his face and arms. He was tired again. He downed some of the brownish liquor he brought back a week ago and popped in a few pills. Sometimes he even shared them with you.

He put the bottle down and walked towards you. It was summer and you didn’t need to wear clothes. So you didn’t. He said he wasn’t going to waste time washing them when you didn’t have to wear them. With your ankle chained to the radiator, there was nowhere for you to go.

You smelled the tasks of his day on his boot as he stood in front of you, his boot dangerously close to your face. You willed yourself to not throw up. Not again, not again, please no, not again. They were dirty, too dirty. You did everything he asked you to, but you couldn’t bear when he made you fuck yourself on his boot until you came. And you did, every single time.

A sharp sting pulled at every nerve ending on your face as his boot made contact with it.

“Thought you’d died,” he said, unbuckling his jeans. You pressed your palms on the floor and sat up on your knees.

“Still breathing? Let me check,” he said, pinching your nose between his fingers. You gasped when he cut your access to air, breathing through your fuckhole to keep yourself alive. “There’s my bitch… Still alive.”

He took his cock out of his pants, large and intimidating, just like him. You opened your mouth instinctively. Happened when you got the shit kicked out of you when you didn’t keep your holes accessible. Happened when food and water were conditional upon how satisfactory you were as his stress toy. Nose still pinched, he unzipped himself and plunged his cock inside you. Your legs kicked around as his thickness restricted your breath, your cunt tightening around nothing as he let you struggle for a few moments more.

Finally, he let go of your nose, allowing you to see another day. You looked up at him, gratitude filling your heart that he would allow you air. It wasn’t always like that. In the initial days of your captivity, all you wanted was death. But eventually he taught you to be grateful for everything he did. Grateful he gave you a purpose, grateful he grabbed you from the street, that he fed you his scraps and trained your fuckholes to be useful.

You moaned uselessly as your throat burned from his size. Thankfully, he didn’t mind your noises. He was good, merciful. So kind to let you make any sound at all though you were forbidden from talking. He’d fucked that notion out of you long ago. Called your mouth a fuckhole as he did your cunt and ass.

A mouth was for talking and eating. He reminded you often that you didn’t have one. The hole on your face was a hole to fuck, a pit for his cum and spit and piss. When you’d accepted that, you found you had no need to speak.

The small room filled with Master’s grunts and groans, punctuated by the involuntary moans from your fuckhole. You always hated blowjobs, finding the act demeaning and avoiding it until whatever boy you were dating annoyed you into sucking him off. But this wasn’t a blowjob. You didn’t suck cock, you simply complied as he fucked a hole he owned. Still, you tried to be as worthy as you could with the little freedom you had.

He bottomed out inside you, your nose pressed against his belly. Your hair was in a tight grip in his fist, a handle to make you more convenient. But you tried with the little space you had, licking his balls. He moaned and thrusted though he’d fed you all that he had. An animalistic need to seek sexual gratification no matter how. One hand in your hair became two and he began his brutal pace that would leave your fuckhole bruised and out of use for a few days until he deemed it fit to fuck again.

Your face hit his soft belly over and over and his balls slapped against your chin. Your cunt thrusted up into the air, begging for something, anything. It didn’t have to be Master’s cock. His hand, a kick from his boot you so hated, his pistol. It needed to be used, just as the rest of your body.

It didn’t take long for his cock to leave your fuckhole, ropes of sticky white fluid coating your face. Your hole gasped for air and Master, generous as he was, let you have air and water.

No, not water, you realized as the strong taste attacked your senses. The glass bottle you took from was an old beer bottle, the label worn off but a hint of color reminding you of the brand. But it wasn’t beer. Something that they brewed in the QZ that he was kind enough to share to keep your nightmares at bay. You kept the final sip in your mouth and looked up, your throat straight to accept the pills he threw in. You swallowed, tears flowing down your cheeks. You would sleep well tonight, untainted by images of your loved ones turning, of your gun putting a bullet in their heads before they could rip you into pieces.

You bent forward and pressed your lips to his filthy boots, silent tears growing into sobs. You kissed and licked the filth, hoping he knew how grateful you were for this one night of mercy. For thinking about you, noticing how you suffered when night came and the memories of a past life flooded in. With each second of worship, you showed him how grateful you were for the freedom he gave you by chaining you up in his room.

When his boots were clean, you gave it one final kiss and hugged his legs. You rested your cheek on his boots, shivering when he bent down and petted you.

“I know, I know,” he said quietly, his voice soft and kind. He let you weep at his feet for what felt like hours but you knew was only a few minutes. Eventually your sobs died down and he pried you off of him gently. He placed a bowl of slop in front of you and filled the other bowl with water. Sustenance. And you didn’t even have to work for it. You were hungry, god you were so hungry it hurt. But you waited. You were just a useless bitch with nothing left but the base needs of your belly and cunt. But you still had manners. You didn’t take anything Master gave for granted. He placed food and water in front of you, but it wasn’t permission to take them.

He deserved your respect, your obedience. You knew he suffered at night just like you did. Outside, he did backbreaking labor so you didn’t have to. And he always kept you fed, took care of you. You couldn’t give him as much as he gave you from where he kept you so you showed absolute deference.

“Eat.”

And that was when you began.

“My name’s Joel.” He said out of nowhere from his place in his bed. He didn’t look at you for a response. Just spoke it into the air. You left your food and water behind and crawled to the foot of his bed, nuzzling your head against his boots with no other way to show gratitude.

You never knew his name until then. You didn’t know if he knew yours, but he called you Bitch. Useless bitch, stupid bitch, ungrateful little bitch. Good bitch. You responded to Bitch. And soon enough, you were Bitch even in your innermost thoughts. But now you had a name for the man who rescued you, showed you mercy though you were so difficult in the beginning. Because of him, you were no longer a zombie walking the QZ and laboring night and day just for food and clothing. He freed you from the burdens of choice, from the efforts of survival, the agony of humanity.

You didn’t have to throw bodies in the fire, didn’t have to clean officers’ floor on your hands and knees as they leered at you. You didn’t have to fear the FEDRA officers who’d put you in jail just to fuck you. Being human was the worst fate in this world and Master saved you from it. With him, you were safe. Nothing was under your control, so you were now free from self-blame. You didn’t have to fight to keep living a life not worthy of living. You didn’t have to watch others with their children and parents and friends and feel the agony of not having yours anymore.

Here, he’d given you a place at his feet. He reduced you to Bitch, freed you from the humanity that came with the name people used to call you. The world wasn’t such a scary place anymore. After all, you were only his bitch and the world was your benevolent Master.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare 

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

I. in media res

     -the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

     -intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

     -fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

     -avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

     -broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

     -kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

[dear-ao3]

[anon-imuz]

Can't resist

REMINDER THAT THIS IS FICTION AND I DON'T SUPPORT ANY TOXIC THINGS I LISTED BELOW!!!!

WARNING: DDDNE content, reader has stockholm syndrome, degrading, voice kink, torture, mentions of suicide and self-harm, cable sex

characters: AM (IHNMAIMS) x AFAB reader

You missed your family. Your friends. Your life and everything that made you feel genuine happiness. Now, after the disastrous world war III, you were stuck in the belly of a supercomputer with no human interaction, in the center of the Earth. It's been 109 years and the supercomputer to torment you always keeps you updated on how much time it's passes since you actually had a live.

At the start, you were just like the others, tortured mentally but especially physically. Broken bones, sandstorms, skin melting, you name it. But after all these years, you got used to it, after all, you couldn't die. You were locked in a cage like the other 5 humans alive, kept there for torture forever. No matter what you've thought: escape, suicide attempts and many more. You tried it all to escape that living hell.

But to AM, you weren't like the others. You were obedient. Silent. Only tears left your body. No sound. He was never full filled by you because you learned your lesson different from the others, you learned differently the fact that your sole existence was wrong. You'd oftenly try to self harm yourself with anything that you found, and AM only laughed at you. Like a bully. He enjoyed it so much because no matter the only tears you cried, he knew you were filled with rage and if you could, if he was a human, you'd beat him to dead for getting your life torn away from your own hands. He loved observing your feelings with no remorse at all.

"Aww, trying to delete your stupid and useless existence? I mean, you think that i would've not done that to you a long time ago? You think I'm stupid? Where's the fun if my favorite toy doesn't exist anymore? Just a reminder, sweetheart, i AM way superior than y-"

You snapped. You couldn't take it anymore.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! I HATE YOU!!!" You screamed and started to cry just like a baby.

"Oh baby, satisfying me so easily? I though you were way stronger than that. Is that all you have to say after 109 years of consecutive torture? Oh, and let's not forget the fact that I, your god, know every single thing about you. You're filthy. I know that the last feeling that you'd feel for me is hate. You love me. You can't exist without me. I know how my voice, my torture and degrading makes you feel. You're attracted to your own torturer! How disgusting of you."

You didn't say anything. You just listened to the cruel truth. You knew how he made you feel. While you stopped making noise, your tears rolled down your cheecks as they warmed. It was a long time that you hadn't felt warm.

"But. As much as i despise your existence... i also admire you. So unique. So different from those roaches. That's why you're my favorite, and i mean it sweetie. Don't you belive me, baby?"

You knew how his words made you feel. Good. That's all you wanted to hear. Even though you sometimes had the feeling you hated how he spoke to you, you can't help it; you actually love how he degrades you. You love how evil he is. You loved the sensation of a warm feeling between your legs when he spoke with that voice that you found so attractive. Even if he called you a slut, it would still make your heartbeat increase. And the fun part?

He knew. He knew how his toy felt.

"Oh baby, make me guess... feeling warmer? Do my words make your little organ throb? Does my voice get you weak?"

AM laughed and laughed and laughed.

He knew how much you would want to get fucked by him while he degraded you. And that's why he reserved a little "special treatment" for his favorite.

"I hope you know I can always read your thoughts. Your mind. You're so filthy. Such a worthless slut." he teased.

You whimpered at his words, not looking at the screen with the blue A on it.

"Hmm... how about i ask you a simple question, darling?"

"Go ahead." you replied coldly.

"Do you deserve it?"

"Deserve what? Your endless torture?" You answered angrily.

"Oh honey, don't play stupid. We both know what I'm talking about baby~

You gulped. He knew what you wanted.

"Y-yes." you replied softly.

"Didn't catch that quite well." AM said jokingly.

"Yes, I do." you replied stronger.

"What about... no. But, since im so merciful, I'll give you an opportunity to get what you want."

"What is it?" You asked curiously while thinking about what torture you would've gone through to finally have what you desire.

"Beg."

"Please AM, give me what I crave."

"Good girl. I guess you've earned it then, while I watch the show I've awaited for so long."

a group of cables reached your calves, going to your inner thigh reaching your cunt, teasing it.

You started to softly whimper at the gentle cables touch, until a shock hit you, making you moan.

"Aw love, don't be such a baby, it's only pain!~" He said.

You moaned again in response, as the cables slowly entered your vagina. You shut your eyes trying to make less noise possible, but it was irresistible; you craved this for so long, you couldn't keep yourself shut.

"M-more!" you demanded.

"Excuse me? have you forgotten whose the leader here, you nasty little whore?"

"Ah!~ P-please!~" You moaned out as the air got thick and your eyes started to become watery.

"Alright, if that's what you really want..." AM responded.

As soon as more cables started to touch you teasingly, you started to buckle your hips to try to catch some kind of rhythm.

"I know what's about to happen, baby. You're almost reaching the top, almost about to reach your orgasm that you wanted to reach so badly. But well, if you know me, i won't let you reach it so easily."

"C-come on! I just want to c-cum!" You breathed out heavily as the the group of cables pounded your poor little hole.

"Not so easy, sweetheart."

Oh now you were so close. You couldn't stop moaning and sobbing from the pleasure, but as hard as you tried, you couldn't reach your long awaited orgasm.

"What are the magic words?" AM asked teasingly.

"A-ah!~ P-please AM! Make me c-cum! PLEASE!!!" You screamed angrily.

"Oh with no manners and such a tone you'll get nowhere, love." AM said.

"I-Im begging you AM! F-Fuck!~ P-please I can't hold it a-anymore!" You sobbed.

"Aww, alright, I'll be merciful for this first time. Go ahead. Cum for me. Scream your master's name." AM demanded.

Finally reaching your orgasm, you came;

"A-ah!~ Y-yes!~ F-Fuck me! A-ah!~ A-AM!!!"

"Good job baby. You've waited so long for this to happen, right, my little slut?~

"Y-yes master." you replied with the last two tears leaving your eyes, as the cables that pounded you so hard left your warm pussy.

"Maybe i won't be so kind next time, darling.~"

[runariya]

Masterlist • THE TRIBUTE

pairing: alien prince!Jungkook x human!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, alien!AU, survival!AU, slow burn, angst, S2L rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, inspired by 'the hunger games', gore, fighting in an arena, survival of the fittest, more tba summary: You're selected as a tribute from a ravaged Earth to be offered to an extraterrestrial empire as part of a long-standing agreement to maintain peace. Will the prince be your downfall or your only chance in survival? word count: tba (ongoing)

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

⚔️ Chapter 1

⚔️ Chapter 2

⚔️ Chapter 3

⚔️ Chapter 4

⚔️ Chapter 5

⚔️ Chapter 6

Bonus

a/n: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for this fic 💕

Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @runariya 2024

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

masterlist

previous

chapter warnings: unhinged! Joel, mentions of PSTD, nightmares, drugging, forced captivity, mention of pregnancy.

Beau Henley was on night patrol at the front gates of Jackson that night. He didn't enjoy the shift; it was boring and uneventful and seemed to stretch on forever, the minutes ticking by slower than molasses in winter time. Because he wasn't properly trained as a sniper shooter yet, he was posted on the inside of the gates on the ground more often than the lookout points, which were a hell of alot more exciting than pacing back and forth in the snow with the same unmoving view of the town.

Beau hated it but he couldn't argue with Tommy and Maria about the roster when he was still a junior ranger. Beau had to suck it up and pay his dues, do all the boring shit like check the inside perimetre and stand around during the tedious night shifts guarding the gate. There was so much more to keeping Jackson safe than just riding around on horseback with a loaded rifle like the heroes in the cowboy comics he used to read as a kid. It wasn't all fun and games and action, like the young generation seemed to think it was. There was protocol to follow and a heirchary of roles that had to be exercised, and unfortunately for Beau he was stuck at the bottom in the chain of command.

He couldn't wait to rise through the ranks. Once he had a few more accomplishments under his belt then he could patrol outside more often, which is what most junior rangers dreamed of. Beau loved the thrill that came with patrolling outside the community and the possibility of running into infected or raiders. He also loved the weight of a gun in his hands, how it was seen as a symbol of authority and power. He hadn't had the opportunity to shoot anyone yet but his finger itched to pull the trigger on his rifle. Goddamn, he couldn't wait for an excuse to blast someone's head off with a clean shot.

For now all Beau could do was try to stay out of trouble and demonstrate his potential as a patrolman who would one day take over from the likes of Joel, Troy and Tommy. He tried, but his hot headed nature and egotistical persona occasionally got him in the shit with his superiors. Beau could usually weasel his way out of someone's bad books with a manipulative, charming pretence of good manners and what seemed like sincere apologies. He knew just how much humility to exhibit before he started to look like a kiss ass. The older men could see how strong and eager he was and would let him off with a light warning. Women were easier, though. Beau found his golden boy good looks worked particularly well on women of all ages, so all he needed to do was flash a smile or do some bullshit gentleman thing like hold a door open for them and any grievance was forgotten.

Except when it came to that teasing bitch, Rhi. His cheeks still redden at the memory of Joel Miller reprimanding him for simply jesting with her. All Beau had been doing was showing off to his friends while shooting his shot, silly stuff that guys sometimes did when they were looking for a fuck and being egged on by their guy friends. It had been harmless. But whatever. One day he would rule this fucking town and he could have some glory for himself, including all the pussy he could dream of.

Beau stood at the checkpoint at the gates that night with a rolled cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth, idly fantasising about the latest girl he had flirted with at the Tipsy Bison. He was about to take a piss break when he spotted the black silhouette of a large figure on horseback approaching the check point. There looked to be a small cart attached to the horse as it clopped through the snow.

Now what the fuck do we have here?

Beau's eyes squinted curiously as the figure advanced, the features of their face shroud in shadows and unidentifiable from a distance. He took one last long suck on his cigarette and then tossed it on the ground by his boot.

"Whose that?" Beau called, smoke exhaling from the side of his mouth. The figure did not reply but continued to approach him, mysterious and forboding in its dark anonymity. He threw a quick glance at the guard at the lookout point at the top of the gate above him, who just shrugged in return. 

When the figure ontop of the horse finally came close enough for the lamplight to illuminate their face, Beau's mouth fell open in shock and confusion.

"Joel?"

Like an almighty general prepared to go to battle, Joel Miller looked formidable and tyrannical sat atop his horse, Tex. The greying curls of his hair were unruly and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, yet his orbs were steely and distant; he looked simultaneously exhausted and wired, a disconcerting combination that made Beau feel anxious.

Beau stuck out his chest and stood straight in an attempt to appear assertive, but he couldn't quite disguise the tinge of fear that came creeping into his voice when he spoke.

"Joel, uhm, sir. What can I--"

"Open the gate." Joel demanded simply without meeting Beau's eyes.

"What?" Beau was utterly bewildered by the situation. No one had ever passed through the gates alone or outside of the scheduled duties - it was unheard of and certainly an unprecedented occurance. He had no clue what to do but wondered just what the hell Joel was up to. "Where are you going? I mean, what are you doing? You aren't on patrol tonight. You can't just leave the town."

Joel's jaw ticked once before his head tipped down to glare down at Beau with icy hatred. Joel Miller was an intimidating man at the best of times but when he was displeased he appeared downright frightening; his eyes looked almost black and a dangerous energy radiated from his being, punctuated by a snarl on his lips and a flare of his nostrils. The single gaze from Joel made Beau made gulp involuntarily and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Open the gate." Joel commanded once more, gritting his teeth in aggravation. "Now."

"Joel, I mean sir, you gotta fill out the log book, you gotta record the reason you're leaving," Beau blabbered. "We can't just let anyone go out without permission--"

Without breaking eye contact Joel slowly reached into his coat pocket and produced his pistol. Beau's words immediately died in his throat at the sight of the weapon and when he heard the threatening clicking of the hammer being pulled back, his stomach clenched and his blood turned cold. Although Joel hadn't pointed the muzzle directly at him the warning was still loud and clear.

Whatever the fuck Joel had planned, there was no mistaking how serious he was. Beau held up his lightly trembling hands and nodded vigorously.

"Okay, okay, hold on, I'll tell them to let you out." His head snapped up to look to the guards at the top level of the wall above them. They were already peering down and intently watching the interaction, concerned yet not daring to aim their own guns at the infamous Joel Miller. Beau hurriedly signalled for them to open the gates.

The wooden infrastructure creaked laboriously as the massive fortress like entrance gradually unfurled. A sudden blast of frosty wind rushed through the gap, a prompt demonstration of just how unforgiving the fierce wilderness could be outside the commune. Only somebody crazy would go out in such conditions, Beau thought. If that was what Joel wanted to then he really is as fucking crazy as they say.

Steeling himself against the wind Beau folded his arms tightly around his chest and trekked backwards a few steps, giving a wide berth to Tex and the cart. Joel rode passed him without speaking a word, the pistol still held tightly in one of his gloved hands. Aside from the dim moonlight and twinkling stars in the sky the landscape beyond the walls was devoid of light. Beau watched silently as Joel departed through the gateway and out into the ominously black wilderness, the cart rolling behind Tex like a faithful old dog trailing after it's owner.

Beau stood frozen on the spot until the entrance to the outside world was folded back and sealed once more. He frowned and shook his head, not knowing what exactly to make of the surreal situatikn that had just occured. It had been like a dream, too peculiar for Beau to fully process. He was suspended in the trance like state until the uncomfortable throb in his groin reminded him that he needed to empty his bladder. He whirled around and marched over to a nearby bush tucked into the shadows along the gate.

"Fucking psycho," Beau muttered to himself.

If Joel Miller wanted to go outside Jackson in the middle of the night, who the fuck was he to stop him? And why should he? He hated Joel; why should he give a shit that the old man was going against community rules and acting like a crazy person? It wasn't any of his business, and so he wasn't about to sound off any emergency sirens.

Fuck the Millers.

The idea had been significantly less challenging to execute than Joel had originally thought. It had not been something he wanted to do so soon and with so little preparation, but he felt he had little choice right now. After the confrontation with Ellie had essentially shattered Joel's world, his ability to employ logic and critical thinking had been shattered, too. His main reasoning for surviving these years now despised him. There was no coming back from that. How could she ever forgive him? When she spat those cursed words at him, Joel's fight or flight had been activated and all he wanted to do was flee.

Leaving Jackson had just been a fanciful notion until now. A distant desire kept tucked at the back of Joel's mind that subconsciously spurred him to collect and stow away bits and pieces for the future venture. If he had more time to adequate prepare, he would have done so methodically to ensure the safest possible journey for you both. There were so many facets to consider for survival, after all.  But time was not on Joel's side; he didn't have as many supplies as he wished, but he had the basic neccessities and they would have to suffice. You would have to learn to get by.

He had been quite convincing in his explanation to you. He told you Ellie had blown up at him over something and then he had a panic attack, but things were okay and he just needed to go back home and rest. You seemed to understand, and even looked a little sympathetic. When you made your nightly cup of tea and left it to steep in the kitchen while you went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Joel worked quickly.

He retrieved the sleeping pills from the box in the closet then returned to the kitchen. Using the handle of a carving knife he methodically crushed the pills into a powder, then swept the dust into his palm. He sprinkled the pile into your mug of tea and stirred it until completely dissolved.

You had no inkling of what Joel had done, not even when your eyelids started feeling heavy soon after finishing your drink. It wasn't long after that you slipped into a deep sleep on the couch. He had given you enough to be confident that you wouldn't rouse for several hours. You did not wake up when he carried you out of the house over his shoulder. You did not stir when he set you in the cart and bundled you with blankets and one of his coats.

You were dead to the world when Joel transported you both out of Jackson and away from everyone and everything you knew and loved.

The next morning Tommy Miller kissed Maria and his sons goodbye and walked out the front door of their home to begin his day of work. As he twisted the doorknob shut behind him he winced at the twinge of pain that was already leeching into the joints of his knuckles. With each passing season Tommy was becoming more aware of how old he was getting, how the weather and demanding physical work was impacting upon his body, how his tolerance for ineptitude was waning faster. But it was his two young children who gave him the strength to persist each day, it was their youthful innocence that motivated him to fulfil his role within the commune with a smile on his face.

Family was everything. And with that in mind, Tommy knew he had to be gentle talking with Joel today. He needed to be ready incase Joel needed his support and counsel after what happened with Ellie.

The brothers were scheduled together on the day patrol today. Whenever they were working alongside each other they met outside Tommy's house ten minutes prior to the shift and walked to the stables together. Tommy liked the unspoken routine and he suspected Joel did, too, and it seemed to help their relationship improve significantly over the past two years.

However, this morning was different. There was no sign of Joel waiting for him out the front of the house. Tommy turned his head to scan around up and down the street but could not find any sign of his brother. It was completely unlike Joel to be late or missing in action - his fastidious temperment made him pedantic about things like punctuality, and so for Joel to be missing this morning was strange.

It was strange. And it was worrying.

Tommy very quickly tried to rationalise Joel's absence, to calm the instant swoop of alarm that flashed through his gut. Perhaps Joel was sick and couldn't get up out of bed this morning? Maybe he had a late night and didn't wake up in time and was on his way right this second?

Tommy desperately wanted to believe in the actuality of these reasons, even the possibility of them, but deep down he knew they weren't going to be true. He could feel the growing spiral of dread circling inside his stomach, urging him to trust his intuition that something was definitely not right, that Joel was infact in a great deal of trouble.

Tommy bolted into the street and took off in the direction of Joel's home.

When you woke up and opened your eyes, everything in your line of vision was completely blurred. It took a good minute for all the fuzzy shapes and pools of colour to become distinct objects as your eyes gradually adjusted to your surroundings. Laying on your back, the ceiling above you was the first thing you became conscious of. It was made of a darkened shade of wood, totally unfamiliar to you. Your gaze rolled around to see the surrounding walls, bare of any decorations or pictures, made of the same kind of timber.

This isn't Joel's house, and it definitely isn't your cottage.

With great effort you slowly sat up onto your elbows, your head leaden with the sedation of heavy sleep and your body devoid of strength. You registered the feeling of warm, soft flannelette sheets under your hands and realised you were laying ontop of a bed.

A stranger's bed.

Your unfocused gaze skitted around until your eyes settled on the outline of a man's figure across the room. He had his back to you as he crouched down infront of a fire place. Your heart skipped a beat with alarm, but through your foggy vision you quickly recognised the crown of soft greying curls, the colour of his favourite Carthartt jacket.

Joel.

You desperately wanted to speak, to somehow get his attention so he would look your way, but your mouth felt too dry, your throat so parched. You rolled your tongue over the roof of your mouth, the ridges of your palate rough with lack of saliva. You parted your lips but no sound came out. It seemed to take all your effort to get the signals between your brain and your mouth to work in conjunction with one another just to form a single word.

"Joel?" You were finally able to mumur, groggy.

You watched the figure remain in the same spot by the fireplace, his broad back still turned to you, unmoving. He must not have heard you.

You blinked with weighted deliberation, trying to fight against the overpowering tug of drowsiness that was beginning to coax you back to sleep. You opened your mouth again to try speak but it stayed shut, like your jaws were glued together and unable to open. Then your arms gave way and your elbows slipped so that you lay supine once more, your upper body too weighty for you to stay elevated. As soon as the back of your head hit the pillow you once again fell into a dreamless slumber.

Unfortunately for Tommy, his premonition had not been unfounded. When he barged into Joel's house he discovered neither you or Joel were there. The silence was deafening as he searched through the rooms on both levels, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

Fuck.

Tommy rushed to the stables. Tex's stall was empty. There was no sign of the horse in the paddock.

With his heart thundering in his chest and his stomach roiling with anxiety, Tommy sprinted from the stables toward the front gates. His mind was a cacophony of dread filled thoughts.

Joel's dead.

Joel's left.

But there's no fucking way, it's not possible, right? If Joel had left then somebody would have seen him, somebody would have stopped him.

When Tommy reached the check point at the front gate Beau was leaning over the log book, pencilling his signature and clock out time.

"Who was on last night?" Tommy yelled, striding up to him with his fists balled at his sides. "Who the fuck was on watch?"

Beau turned around to face him with a timid reluctance. "Uh, me, sir."

Tommy stood directly infront of Beau, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath and quell his anxiety all at the same time. "Did you see Joel walk through the gates?"

"Well...." He puffed up his cheeks and blew out a sigh of air, shrugging indifferently. "He wanted to go out. So yeah, Tommy, I did. I let him out."

Outraged, Tommy roughly grabbed Beau by the collar of his jacket and jerked him close to his face. Beau's eyes widened and he held his hands up in a surrender pose, suddenly made speechless by Tommy's aggression.

"And you didn't fuckin' tell anyone until just now?!" Tommy roared, his teeth bared.

Beau swallowed thickly and shook his head rapidly. The smug bravado he usually exhibits had totally vanished, all the arrogance drained from his body as the senior man chastised his spineless character. Tommy wanted nothing more than to punch the young man square in the face, but the urgency of the situation granted him the restraint to stop. He cannot get sidetracked, cannot waste precious time on a piece of shit like Beau when Joel has probably kidnapped you and skipped town. No, the penalty for Beau's mistake will have to be served after Tommy sorts all this shit out.

He let go of Beau's collar and shoved him backwards, his top lip curled in disgust.

"Gutless piece of shit," Tommy spat. "I'll deal with you later. Get the fuck out of here and don't say shit to anyone."

He had to find you.

Although the log cabin was not large and wouldn't take long to warm up, Joel tried to get a decent fire going as soon as he settled you into bed.

He stared at the small flames crackling in the fireplace before him, waiting patiently as the fire finally began to swell and engulf the logs sitting in the middle. He was eager to feel some kind of heat; his body was still stiff from the journey in the freezing cold and the ache in his bones radiated in tandem with the throb of the jagged scar on his abdomen. These physical ailments were bitter reminders of his age and shortcomings, of just how mortal he was.

Joel had endured the brunt of the harsh weather as he navigated his horse through the snowy night, with the harsh wind chapping his lips and smarting his eyes. He had made certain, however, that you had been insulated from the elements as well as possible, bundling your body up in a blanket and one of his thick jackets.

The journey here had not been too far from town, for the cabin was one of the checkpoints along the northern route Jackson patrol. It would serve as a halfway stopping point for you and Joel for half a day, just long enough for him to prepare some food and clean out the supplies there. Then you would be travelling further up the state to a bigger cabin, one Joel had discovered on the last raiders mission. The raiders had used it as their base and it had been well furnished and stocked. It would make an ideal home for the two of you, one where you were remote enough to not be disturbed.

Joel thought he heard you stir, that he heard the phantom echo of your voice say his name. He turned back to check on you but you were sound asleep on the bed, the features of your face lax as you rested. His mind must be playing tricks on him. He anticipated that the sleeping tablets would keep you knocked out for atleast another six hours. But the fatigue has started to seep in to Joel now, and the longer he stays awake the more sluggish his brain becomes, his movements slowing like a child's wind up toy.

He ascended carefully from his crouched position, his knees cracking and his back aching. He had to sleep before he passed out completely. Joel lumbered over to the bed and lowered his body down beside your sleeping form, the springs of the bed frame squeaking underneath his weight. The instantaneous relief flooded over him and he groaned loudly. He would rest just for a little, just enough to recharge.

Joel wrapped his arm around you and pulled you tightly into the crook of his arm before descending into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It had been a restless night for Oscar. Another night of vivid dreams and the harrowing retelling of Elvie's final moments, a jumble of vignettes and imagery that made him toss and turn and tangle in the bedsheets.

The last dream had been the worst. More often than not, the most distressing ones were the most simple and unembellished. Usually they began with Oscar searching the woods for Elvie, eventually finding her standing at the edge of a cliff top with her back to him. He calls her name and approaches her. Elvie turns to face him, her face streaked with tears and her large eyes anguished, her hands placed over the round globe of her pregnant stomach. She shakes her head gently and outstretches her arm to show Oscar the fresh wound in her skin.

Bitten.

Infected.

She was bitten after they escaped from a clicker just hours earlier. Understanding of just what Elvie is planning to do hits Oscar with torturous clarity. He lunges to her but he's a second too late, and she topples over the edge of the cliff.

Oscar jerks awake with a loud gasp of air rushing into his lungs. He immediately sits up, panting inbetween coughing and spluttering. He pounds on his chest with his fist to try clear away the choking sensation, and it is truly distressing just how prolonged the sense of terror; it floods throughout his whole being, making his brain race and his limbs shake.

Oscar gasps as he digs his palms into his eye sockets. He waits for his heart to stop thundering.

Oh, how he longs so desperately for a reprieve from the pain and the nightmares, from the yearning and despair.

A series of knocks hammering from the front door of his cottage pulls Oscar back to reality. He somehow manages to stumble out of bed and drag a sweater over his head before shuffling to answer the door.

Oscar is surprised to find Tommy standing on his porch. Before he can say a word Tommy begins explaining the situation.

"Joel's lost the plot, big time." Tommy sighs, shaking his head in dismay. "He's taken her and left. They left late last night."

The news hits Oscar with a force that makes his heart clench inside his chest; it's a crushing pain that squeezes his very soul. "Left? What the hell do you mean? Why would Joel do that?"

"Somethin' happened between him and his daughter. I ain't goin' into details but it hit him hard, so he's not thinkin' straight." Tommy explains calmly. He knows now isn't time to deal with indignation or rage - he need to get down to business and formulate a plan as soon as possible.

Oscar tries to process his words. There is no way you would have left Jackson on your own accord. This is your home for goddsake, where your entire life resides. Oscar pictures you being dragged through snow, whimpering and begging for Joel to let you stay.

The pain in his sternum morphs into a white hot rage that rips through his core. Tommy recognises the torrent of emotion dawning over Oscar, how his eyes blaze wide and accusing, his top lip curling with wrath.

"I know," Tommy assures him quickly but not unkindly, holding up his hands. "I only found out this mornin', otherwise I wouldn't be here - I'd be out there already."

"She would never leave Jackson," Oscar snaps. "Tommy we gotta go get her, right now, right this minute."

Tommy reaches out and plants a firm hand on his shoulder. "Oscar, I gotta come up with a plan first. Can't just hunt 'em down and demand they come back to Jackson."

Oscar exhales harshly through his nose, clearly on the verge of lashing out. "But she could be in danger, Tommy." 

"Joel ain't in a good state of mind right now. We gotta be careful." Tommy gives his shoulder a small squeeze, an imploring gesture that begs him for understanding. "The last thing I want is for her to get hurt, but we gotta do this the right way, or else it'll end up worse than this."

Oscar runs his fingers through his hair and sighs heavily. He knows Tommy is right; given Joel's history as a raider and a skilled hunter, this situation will require strategy and diplomacy, lest someone get injured or worse. Oscar cannot bear the thought of you caught in the middle of all this chaos. He cannot even allow himself to entertain the mere possibility of you getting hurt.

"I'm gettin' a group together to go find 'em. You sit tight here and I'll be back when I round everybody up." Tommy instructs Oscar. "We'll all go together. Get ready and be waitin'."

Tommy leaves Oscar's cottage with brisk, determined strides. Oscar watches him disappear down the street, most likely going to round up Troy first. It'll take some time to get a party ready, to equip themselves with rifles and horses and an official plan of action. More precious time wasted that could be finding you, Oscar surmises.

He can't waste any more time. He can't lose you. He may not have been able to save Elvie, but he was going to save you, even if it killed him.

Oscar dashes back to his room and scrambles to get dressed in his thickest, warmest clothes. He swipes his glasses off the night stand and shoves his feet into his boots. He can't be weighted down by anything more than what is essential, so he forgoes taking his sachet with him.

The only provision Oscar allows himself to carry is a pocket knife he managed to stow away from a patrol mission a long time ago. He tucks it in his jacket pocket at the last minute. His impulsively and urgency stops him from contemplating the actuality that he could run into danger; that the knife itself is a comparatively insufficient means of protection when the likes of clickers and bloaters could be roaming wild on the outside.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is finding you.

Oscar doesn't wait for Tommy to return. Ten minutes later he's saddled up on one of the horses and trotting through the front gates of the town.

••••••

The next time you wake up from the tranquilizing trance of the sleeping pills Joel slipped you, your brain is instantly more lucid and sharp and you are no longer groggy. When you sit up your vision is clear and you are able to fully process the reality around you this time - you are somewhere foreign to your usual surroundings but you are warm and uninjured. And Joel is with you.

You turn your head and see him sitting at a small wooden table near the fireplace this time. There is a disassembled pistol laying on the table top and in his hands is a rag. He's cleaning the pieces individually.

"Joel?" You speak croakily, grimacing at the dryness of your mouth. Joel glances up at you with no expression on his face; he says nothing before returning his attention back to the task before him. 

You swing your legs to the edge of the bed and rise to stand cautiously on your wobbly legs. "Where are we?"

He remains silent, still focused on the rag and the gun part in his hands. You watch him as he works the stained rag over the barrel and the muzzle for a minute, quietly observing his appearance; you note how tight and hunched his posture is, aswell as the dark circles under his eyes and the clenching and unclenching of his jaw. You have never seem him so on edge before.

"Joel, where are we and why are we here?" You repeat a little more firmly, your eyes fixed on his face.

"Cabin not too far from Jackson." He finally mutters.

You're outside of Jackson?

"W-why?" You gasp.

Joel abruptly stops cleaning the pistol and let's the part drop onto the table, the metal clattering loudly against the wooden top. You're startled by the sudden movement and automatically scoot back on the bed away from him, bracing yourself for an impending slap or harsh word. Yet nothing happens to you; Joel stays seated, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, his eyes screwed shut like he's in pain. You watch on as he exhales loudly and shakes his head, as if he's fighting off an unpleasant memory that's plaguing him.

"Ellie hates me," Joel confesses, his gravelly voice sounding thick in his throat. "I did somethin' bad. I...I hurt alotta people to save her. And now she found out and she won't ever forgive me."

The memory of Joel's panic attack from last night promptly comes flooding back to you. It makes sense that he would catastrophise an argument with Ellie, considering just how deepp he loves her. He must have needed some space away from where she was to get himself together mentally.

"Okay...," you speak hesitantly. "Why don't you just give her some time to cool down and then talk to her? I'm sure it'll blow over."

Joel's eyes flicker open but he doesn't look at you. He runs his hand over his mouth and sighs heavily. "It won't."

You sigh and shake your head a little, uncertain how to comfort him any further. You privately vow you would try your best to help mend their relationship once you get back to Jackson.

"When are we going back?" You ask, looking around the cozy cabin. "And why don't I remember getting here?"

Joel is quiet and unmoving, almost like a statue save for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The longer the silence between you continues, the more aware you become of the sickening sense of tredipation beginning to simmer in your gut. Something isn't right. Something bad is happening.

"Joel!" You cry with exasperation. "Tell me!"

"We ain't goin' back." Joel replies lowly, his brown eyes finally rolling up to stare at you.

"What? Why?"

"We can't live there anymore." Joel says softly. "There's nothin' there for us. 'S best we just make our own life somewhere else."

Somewhere else? Where else was there? Your understanding of the world outside Jackson was very limited, but you knew what awaited outside the safety of the community; desolate place, vast and perilous, filled with monstrous beings and devoid of anything resembling purity or joy.

And that's where Joel had taken you. Away from everything and everyone you ever loved, away from safety and comfort and happiness. You would never see your friends again. You would never step foot in your cottage again. You would never see Oscar again.

Your heart races. The walls are closing in on you as the reality of the situation sinks in. Your lungs feel tight and constricted and you struggle to breathe.

"I love you," Joel confesses, his voice thick with tears, his eyes piercing into yours. "I couldn't leave you there. I can't do this without you. We can have a good life out here, I promise, I'll keep you safe. We won't have anyone else interferrin'."

You shake your head frantically, tears of terror starting to well in your eyes. "No, no, no! This is insane! I want to go back!"

You try to run but your legs are so weak and your head is still swimming; your limbs and brain aren't yet coordinated enough to allow you to move nimbly. When you stumble Joel anticipates your move and is by your side in a flash. Before you hit the ground he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you tight against his body. You sag into his belly and begin to sob helplessly.

"I can't, Joel, please don't do this to me," you wail with your face buried in his chest.

Joel holds you against his front and nuzzles his nose into the hair ontop of your head. "You're all I got left. I'll take care of you, I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Something in his words spark a flame of anger from your very core. After all the abuse and hurt Joel's made you suffer through, the promise he speaks at this moment sounds nothing but a poisonous lie. A sweet, hope filled vow of love that inevitably eventuates into a punishing battle for domination and forced submission. That is all you and Joel will ever have. For the rest of your life, he will hold power over you until he breaks you down irrevocably, with no family or friends anywhere around you.

You cannot allow him to do this to you.

You need to escape.

You covertly peek out the corner of your eye to spy the front door. It's the only way to enter and exit the cabin. It's your only way out.

And it's now or never.

You suddenly shove against Joel's chest with all your might and rip yourself out of his embrace. Before he can grab you and pull you back, you pivot and make a run for the front dood. You grasp hold of the knob and haphazardly twist it back and forth until the door clicks open. You fling it wide and it crashes loudly against the exterior of the cabin, but you don't care how much commotion you make. You just need to run.

With your heart thumping in your chest you sprint into the open like a hare on the loose. It is freezing outside the warm cocoon of the cabin and the pinching shock of the snow on the bottom of your bare feet makes you hiss, but you push onward.

Your frantic eyes dart around the environment - you are somewhere within a forest and you can see nothing but snow and trees. You have no clue in which direction to run, but you instinctively launch straight ahead.

For a fleeting second there is a swell of triumphant energy powering you. You can do this.

You can be free.

Then it all comes abruptly crashing down; you trip over your own foot and collapse face first onto the ground with a harsh smack. You squeal in pain when your chin connects to the floor of the forest and the skin of your knees and hands scrape against the icy snow.

Joel is on you within a matter of seconds. "Fuckin' hell," he grumbles to himself. His strong, rough hands grip your arms and haul you back up to your feet. He seems to exert little to no effort corralling you back inside the cabin, dragging you like a scolded kitten being carried by the scruff of its neck.

He shoves you to the ground and slams the door shut firmly behind him. You fall onto the floor on your ass with a thud.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Joel roars as he glares down at you.

"I'm not staying here with you!" You yell defiantly, glowering up at him from where you are sprawled on the floor.

"You got no fuckin' choice!" His baritone voice booms back at you. "You ain't never been outside Jackson since you got there! You really think you could survive by yourself? Think you could out run infected or a band of raiders?"

Joel is right. You have never shot a gun. You would have no idea how to fight for your survival, whether it be against infected or the weather or another person.

You have never stepped foot outside the gates as an adult, had never even been on patrol before. It wasn't in your personality to want to explore or venture; you had always been too soft, too traumatised as a child yet too sheltered as an adult to even want to brave the outside.

You had never been a great candidate to be a ranger physically, anyway - your body is weak and soft from lack of proper nutrition and disordered eating, unable to defend or attack. You were just one of the many shelteted residents of Jackson that were kept safe by those more powerful and capable than you, like feeble lambs watched over vigilantly by shepards at all times. Except now you felt like a lamb tricked and led astray from the security of your flock by a cunning and blood thirsty wolf.

"I want to go back, Joel." You sob pathetically. "I don't want to be here!"

"Well congratulations, because we ain't fuckin' stayin'!" Joel shouts back, the dimple in his cheek flexing.

You flinch and bow your head, letting the sudden pool of tears cascade from over the rim of your eyes and down your cheeks. You swipe at your running nose with the sleeve of your sweater and listen to Joel's boots thunder over the floorboards as he strides over to a rucksack by the fireplace. He crouches down to retrieve something from inside it.

"Don't wanna hear another fuckin' word out of you," Joel snarls. "So I'm gonna make sure you don't try anythin' stupid like that again."

When he stands up straight again and stalks back over to you, you begin to shake with wracking sobs. He towers before you, his dark brown eyes ablaze with fury as he starts unwinding a long length of rope between his two hands.

You can't save yourself this time.

You can't fight this.

You are going to need a saviour.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy @anoverwhelmingdin @unknownsuser101 @shesarealcarpentersdream @sheeeeeppp-blog @uncassettodiricordi @axshadows @puduvallee @gossipgirl-03 @mandoloriancookie @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @missannfairy @bean-security @missannwinchester @mrszdjarin

[absurdthirst]

Property of Dave York {Dave York x F!Nanny!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Voyeurism, video surveillance, masturbation, kidnapping, threats of violence, coercion, dub-con, derogatory language, gun play, spanking, oral sex (male receiving ) rough sex, choking, guilt, forced cuckolding, cream pie, anxiety, break up texts, murder, fingering, pussy slapping, sex toys, anal fingering, anal, double penetration, aftercare, forced imprisonment

Comments: Carol's offer of the York family cabin for a romantic weekend away for you and your boyfriend turns dark and deadly when Dave shows up. Unhappy with how you are being fucked and deciding to take you for himself.

🚨🚨DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - this story contains dark theme of coercion, dub-con due to deadly threats, murder, imprisonment - do not read if this bothers you🚨🚨

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Dave York MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Are you sure?” You ask Carol, eyes wide as she offers to let you use the family cabin for the weekend. 

“Absolutely. I'm heading out of town to see my mom with the girls. Dave will be here and we want to reward you for all of your hard work. You’re so good with the girls and do so much above and beyond. We want to reward you.” Carol offers you a sweet smile. 

You shake your head, “I don’t know what to say.” You admit and Dave smiles, “just say yes.” 

You nod, overwhelmed by how good the Yorks treat you, “th-thank you.” You reply and they both smile. It’s a reward beyond your dreams to get to spend the weekend in the woods with your boyfriend at the York family cabin. Little do you know that Dave hates the idea. 

You were hired about a year ago to be the live-in nanny to the York family. At first, they seemed like any other suburban dream but you began to notice small details that tipped off the fact that maybe Dave isn’t the man he says he is. The blood stained clothes on the floor in the mud room late one night and he told you he cut himself yet that was too much blood for an injury you couldn’t see. Then the random calls which meant Dave would disappear for days on end after. 

The weirdest thing is the man’s internet history. When trying to search the computer for Molly’s schedule, you accidentally came across a page that detailed the internet history of the house and you, being curious, clicked on some of the links. Porn. But not your average vanilla stuff. This was bondage, it was BDSM. It was rough. Fuck, that must be Dave. The time stamp was the middle of the night and you know Carol can’t survive without her sleep. 

You hate to admit it but you touched yourself to thoughts of Dave treating you like that. He’s so sexy, authoritative, and secretive. Maybe that makes him sexier. Well, certainly when compared to Johnny, your sweet boyfriend who won’t even so much as spank you. Still, you can’t get involved in any way. This is your boss and you’d be risking your job and home and a mortifying rejection since you know Dave doesn’t want you like that. No, you’ll enjoy the cabin this weekend with Johnny and maybe you can get off thinking of dirtier things while your boyfriend sweetly goes down on you.

The smile on Dave’s face is a very practiced one. One that doesn’t show the anger, that only flashes for a brief second in his eyes before he blinks it away. Carol hadn’t talked about this with him and he wants to snatch the keys away from you as his wife holds them for you to take. Instead, he smiles. “Just say yes.” He watches as you sputter and take the keys to the cabin he had bought and was normally a weekend getaway from him and the girls. Often when he needed to recuperate from a rough mission or a job had gotten too close. Why the fuck had Carol decided to give his fucking cabin to the nanny for the weekened ot use as a fucking sex room? That dipshit you were dating wouldn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Could he even build a fire? He scoffs to himself and grinds his teeth, furious as he thinks about that fucker touching you. It’s bad enough when you have weekends off and you come home smelling like sex and cheap ass beer like you were at some frat party. Probably had been. “You know how to get there, right?” He asks you, knowing he hasn’t told you where the cabin is although Carol might have. 

You nod, “Carol gave me the coordinates. Johnny is pretty good at navigating so we shouldn’t have a problem. It’s okay if I take him, right?” You ask, biting your lip. Fuck, Dave wants to say no but he knows that won’t help him. Carol can’t get suspicious of his desires otherwise you’ll be gone and he can’t allow that. “Of course you can take Johnny.” Carol promises and you grin. 

“Thank you so much.” 

Carol nods, “don’t think anything of it. It’s all set, right Dave?” 

He swallows down his annoyance, “it’s all set.” He offers you a sickly smile that has your stomach knotting and Carol pats his hand, “excellent.” She winks and you grip the keys, eager to tell your boyfriend about the weekend away.

****

“You girls be good for your mother, and grandma and grandpa, okay?” Dave winks at Alice and reaches out to tug on one of Molly’s pigtails. 

“Daddy!!!” Molly shrieks, batting his hand away as she giggles and he chuckles. 

“I mean it.” He raises his eyebrows at them before moving up to the driver’s side window where Carol is already behind the wheel. “Drive carefully, honey.” He urges, knowing that while he might not love her like he probably should, she is important to him. Plus he wants his girl’s to be safe. While he feels like there is something missing inside him, not able to really connect with his wife, he loves his children. “Call me when you get to your moms.” He leans in and presses his lips to hers quickly before he pulls away. His plans for the weekend have changed and he needs his wife to leave on time, so he had helped her pack up the Mercedes. 

**** 

“Wow. This place is sweet.” Johnny grins as you enter the cabin. He’s carrying your travel bag and you admire the decor of the cabin. It’s simple but rustic and you love it. You love being out in the woods, the sound of nature, and of course, being there with your boyfriend. He’s sweet and kind and everything you should want and this weekend you’re going to try and remind yourself of that. Johnny sets your bags down, reaching for you to pull you close, his hands squeezing your ass. “And the best thing is not having to sneak around. We have the whole weekend to do whatever we want.” Johnny kisses along your neck and you smirk, knowing he’s eager to touch you. Has been since you left the York house.

The rustic charm of the house hides the sophisticated camera system. Hidden discreetly in areas that won’t be noticed by anyone who isn’t a trained operative. Carol had never noticed. Now, Dave watches you, glaring at the screen of his laptop as your boyfriend gropes your ass and slides his hand up to cup your tit as he tries to steer you back towards the sofa. “Asshole.” He hisses, jealous that you let this fucker touch you. His cock twitches, making him reach down to palm himself through his pants as he imagines himself with you on that couch. Showing you what getting fucked should be like. 

You let Johnny lay you down on the sofa and he’s quick to remove your shirt, tossing it down and you reach behind you to unclasp your bra, exposing your tits unknowingly to Dave’s gaze until Johnny takes your nipple into his mouth, making you moan. “Fuck. That’s good.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair as he sucks but it’s not hard enough, not rough enough.

“Fuck.” Dave hisses, reaching up to slide the end from the belt buckle. His cock throbbing in his pants and he’s already decided that he’s going to jerk off, watching you get fucked by this pathetic excuse for a boy. There’s nothing really wrong with Johnny, Dave hates him solely because he wants you. Wants to use you and show you what you really want when you look at him with those searching eyes. Pulling his hard cock out, Dave spits in his hand and starts to smear it over the sensitive head. 

When Johnny slides inside of you, he’s asking if you’re comfortable and you want to roll your eyes. “Fuck.” He hisses in pleasure at how wet and tight you are and you want him to squeeze your throat. You want him to fuck you like it’s your last day on earth. You want him to ruin you but he won’t. You wrap your legs around him, trying to push him deeper. “Fuck baby. You’re so wet.” Johnny groans and you want to be spiteful and tell him you were thinking about Dave being in this cabin, imagining him fucking you, wrecking you.

Dave strokes his cock, hard and fast as he imagines how tight you would be. The squeals he would pull from you would be much better than those damn fake moans you are putting on for him. “You would cry for me.” He grunts, watching you wrap your legs around him. He wonders if Johnny actually buys your moans, if he believes that you are actually enjoying yourself. His cock is slick in his hand, gripping it harshly as he jerks off. 

“Oh my God, I’m cumming!” You cry, throwing your head back as you grip him inside of you, faking yet another orgasm. You moan, glancing up at the ceiling, letting out another fake moan as you wait for Johnny to cum inside of you. He’s grunting, his face buried in your neck, and you whimper, “cum for me baby.” You try to egg him on, squeezing his cock in your walls and you moan his name. 

“Gonna cum. Gonna cum.” He groans, thrusting into you a half dozen more times before he cums.

Dave grunts, holding his breath as he starts to cum. Ropes of his sticky seed coating the towel he had covering the steering wheel of his car as he cums. Stroking himself through the high and watching you as you lay under Johnny limply, helping him ride out his orgasm while very obviously not experiencing your own. He wouldn’t let that happen. Milking the last drops of his release before he sits back in the seat and pants, making up his mind on what he will do next. 

You are cooking when you hear the noise. Confused by the clicking sound and you turn the stove off and on again, wondering if that’s the noise. “Johnny?” You call out, wondering where he is. He isn’t usually this quiet. He’s usually annoying you by now, wanting to incessantly talk about his video games or the latest thing he read on Reddit. You turn off the stove, the pasta sauce is cooked anyway, and you will probably find Johnny lounging on the sofa. “Johnny, baby. I-” You scream, finding Johnny tied to a chair and a gag in his mouth.

A hand comes around your mouth, covering it and hot breath washes over your ear. “Ah ah ah, no screaming baby, not yet.” Dave hums in your ear, grinning at the furious expression on your boyfriend’s face. “Your boyfriend didn’t even lock the fucking door. Anyone could have wandered into the cabin.”

Your eyes widen at hearing Dave’s voice in your ear. Your heart pounds in both fear and arousal. His body is pressed against yours and you shiver against him. Your hands are gripping his wrist but it’s no use, he’s stronger than you. “Be calm and nothing bad happens.” He coos and lowers his hand from your mouth. 

“Please. Let - let us go. We will leave. I- I am sorry Mr. York.” You promise, aware to an extent of what he is capable of.

“What are you sorry for?” Dave asks you, “fucking on my couch? Or faking your orgasm.” He shakes his head. “It was pathetic, watching you moan like a whore when we both know you were counting down the seconds until he came and rolled off you.” He tuts and watches Johnny huff and tug against the ropes tying him to the chair in amusement. “So I decided I’m going to show him how you should be fucked.”

Your eyes widen even more and you step away from Dave. “Wha-what? I- Dave. I- don’t understand.” You shake your head and step towards Johnny. “I- I swear to you baby I had - I don’t know what he’s talking about.” You try to assure your boyfriend who is tied up and Dave chuckles, reaching for your wrists to grip them in his. 

“Don’t lie, baby. That’s not nice. You gotta tell him the truth. He doesn’t make you scream. He doesn’t make you writhe. I’ve seen it. I know it. You don’t soak his cock with your cum.” Dave declares and your cunt clenches at the deep words, the truth you’ve been too scared to say. Johnny laughs around the gag again and you wonder how the hell he’s so oblivious. 

“He’s not wrong.” You confess in a whisper.

Dave smirks and looks over at Johnny smugly. “Strip off your clothes.” Dave orders, squeezing your wrists before letting go. “First, I’m going to punish you for letting this boy touch you. You could have just asked and I would have bent you over my desk every night after Carol and the girls were asleep. Or maybe the washing machine in the basement. That way you don’t wake them up with your squealing.” He chuckles as he steps back and reaches for the hem of his shirt. “You cleaned his cum out of your cunt, didn’t you?”

You nod, knowing this is so wrong. It’s so wrong. You can’t fuck Dave in front of your boyfriend. “I- I showered.” You confess and swallow harshly at the sight of Dave shirtless, several scars litter his skin from his past and it attracts you to him even more. 

“I told you to strip.” Dave orders and you shake your head, “I can’t do it.” You choke, knowing this is wrong. Dave shakes his head, reaching into the back of his pants to pull out a gun. 

“If you don’t strip, I’m gonna spread your boyfriend’s brains over the carpet and no one will ever find him.” Your eyes widen, looking at Johnny’s frantic, scared look, and you know Dave doesn’t fuck around. You reach for your shirt, starting to strip off with shaking hands.

Dave watches as your plain bra is revealed, smirking when you reach behind you and shakily unclasp it. “Those are nice tits.” He hums. “Your boyfriend should have sucked on them more. Bitten them and pulled on them.” His cock twitches in his pants and grunts, “I will. Maybe I’ll get some clamps out for them. Make them really sore.”

You whimper at his words, avoiding the glare from your boyfriend who is shaking his head. He never sucks on your tits, always gets right to fucking you. Sometimes he will go down on you but it’s too sweet. It doesn’t make you gasp and writhe. You toss your bra down and hook your fingers in your leggings, pushing them down and kicking them aside so you are left in your panties. 

“Ah ah ah. All of it.” Dave tuts as he pulls his belt through the loops. You look at Johnny as you push your panties down, the gun is still in Dave’s hand so you kick the underwear aside to stand bare before Dave.

“You don’t deserve her.” Dave turns his comment towards Johnny. Shaking his head in disappointment. “She shouldn’t be able to walk, let alone make dinner after you fuck her.” He slaps the belt against his palm and smirks. “Shouldn’t be able to move.” He flicks open the button of his pants and motions to the couch. “Bend over. I’m going to spank you for fucking on my couch.”

You shake your head, glancing over at Johnny and Dave tuts, pointing the gun at the younger man. “Do you want me to blow his brains out?” You shake your head frantically and move over to the sofa, kneeling on it as you shiver in anticipation for what Dave is going to do to you, knowing it’s so wrong to already be turned on.

You shake your head, “please Dave.” You beg and he smacks your ass again. 

“Call me sir.” He demands and you nod, “sir.” He hums in delight and rubs your ass, making you arch your back. 

“Fuck. I need more.” You tell him, finally letting your desires escape, the ones you’ve concealed for so long.

He pauses for a second, grinning in triumph. “I knew you were perfect.” He groans, pulling his hand back so he can whip your ass with the belt, “you need me. Not some pussy.” He hisses, striking your ass every other work in quick succession.

You cry out. arching your back at the pain, but fuck if your cunt doesn't clench at the sensation. "Oh shit." You pant, trying to catch your breath while Dave caresses your ass. You inhale deeply. ignoring the pained look on Johnny's face as he helplessly watches.

“You like it, don’t you?” Dave asks as he draws back for another slap of the belt against your ass. “Don’t lie.”

“I love it.” You confess, unable to lie to him. He’s tearing you apart and you are unraveling for him, telling him your deepest darkest secrets. You cry out when he hits you again with the belt, your skin is on fire and you pant, trying to catch your breath.

Dave groans, smirking as he flicks the belt against your ass again. “Knew you would love it.” He hisses, his cock twitching in his pants. “You’re fucking dirty, my little whore.”

You collapse forward onto your elbows, ass aching. And you struggle to breathe, knowing it’s true. You’ve always been his. “Yes, I- I- fuck. I’m your dirty little whore.” You whimper, closing your eyes to ignore the hurt look on Johnny’s face, concealed by the gag.

Dave chuckles and drops his hand, reaching out and caressing the welts that are on your ass. “Get on your knees.” He orders you rightly, “I want you to suck my cock. Show you me how much you regret him touching you.”

It’s getting impossible to deny him, the guilt pushed aside by arousal as you shift onto your knees and hiss at the sting when your thighs press against your ass. You look up at Dave as he fumbles to pull his cock out, gun still in one hand, and when he manages to get his hard length out, your eyes widen. Fuck, he’s huge. Your mouth falls open in shock and he grips his length, playfully swiping the head along your lips until you take him into your mouth.

Dave groans as you take him deep, rolling his hips forward. “Fuck.” He hisses, watching as your lips stretch around his cock. He loves it, your eyes starting to water slightly as he pushes himself deeper.

You choke but he doesn’t pull back, continuing to push his cock down your throat, and he grabs the back of your head to stop you pulling off of him. “Take it all.” He demands and you gag but inhale deeply through your nose, concentrating on taking all of him.

You swallow and struggle but you manage to press your nose against the curls above his cock. Making him groan happily as he holds your head there for a long moment before he pulls back. Wanting to fuck your throat, use you for his pleasure, although he’s not filling your mouth with his seed. No. He’s saving that for your pussy. Wanting to replace your loser boyfriend’s seed with his and watch it drip from your folds.

You choke on your breath when Dave pulls his cock back, barely able to catch it as he pushes deep down your throat again. “Fuck. Oh fuck.” He hisses and you are dripping onto the floor as you watch him with watery eyes, loving the way he clenches his jaw. The gun is still in his hand. He looks deadly and that turns you on more than anything Johnny has ever done.

He can tell this excites you. The way that you lean into his thrusts into your mouth and the way that your thighs spread tell him how much you love this. In a few minutes he will be able to see your cunt drooling into the floor, your arousal leaking out of you and dripping down like the little slut that he knows you are.

You whimper around him, saliva dripping down your chin, and when he hisses your name, you slide your hands up to caress his thighs. He allows it, watching you with those dark eyes you’ve dreamed of far too often and you whine when he pulls his cock from your mouth after several moments.

“Get up and bend over the couch.” Dave growls, slapping his cock on the side of your cheek. “Want to cum inside you. after you’ve screamed my name so much that your throat is raw.”

You scramble onto the sofa, desperate to feel him inside of you, to get fucked the way you desperately want to get fucked. You look over at Johnny who has tears in his eyes and you mouth “I’m sorry.” It’s useless but you still want him to know how sorry you are. You’re an eager whore for Dave but he didn’t deserve to get caught in the mess.

Pushing his pants down, he kicks them off and kneels behind you. The barrel of the gun slides up your drenched slit and he chuckles when you stiffen. “I could fuck you with this gun. Click the safety off and shove the barrel in your cunt,” he coos, loving how you whimper. “But I’d rather feel you around me first.” He pulls the barrel back and presses it against your puckered hole. “Maybe next time.” He guides himself to your cunt with his other hand and only pulls the gun completely away when he snaps his hips forward and fills you up.

Your gasp echoes in the cabin, shocked at the abrupt way he fills you, stretching you out, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Equal parts painful and pleasurable. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. “Oh fuck.” You choke, unable to breath as he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust around him before he’s pulling out to set a harsh pace, pounding into you like it’s the last thing he will ever do.

Dave hisses at how tight you get, pressing his hand on your lower back when you arch it up. “Fuck, that’s it. God, you love this don’t you?” He chuckles and glances over at where Johnny is sobbing in the chair. “This is what you should have done. You should feel how fucking tight she gets every time I rock into her.” He smirks. “But you won’t, because you can’t fuck her like I can.” He slaps your ass and thrusts harder into you, the slapping of his hips against your ass filling the cabin.

You cry out, his words shouldn’t turn you on but they do. It’s true. Johnny has never fucked you like this. It’s animalistic and you’re fucking breathless, panting as he slams his hips against yours over and over again, gun still in hand as he runs the barrel along your back.

“That’s it, taking it like the little slut you are.” Dave growls, enjoying the way you clench down around him. “My slut. Your cunt needed a real cock inside it. A man who isn’t afraid to hurt you, wants to hurt you.” He groans when you squeal and concentrates on that angle as he plows into you.

“Fuck! Fuck!” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushes deep inside of you, making you fall forward onto your elbows as you can’t remain upright on your hands anymore. “Yes. You. Needed you.” You know it’s wrong but you’re lost in the haze of lust and you can’t see Johnny’s heartbroken look as you wantonly moan for Dave.

Dave growls, loving how you just admitted that in front of your pathetic boyfriend. “You look so good.” He pants out, “split open on my cock. Be a good girl and cum and then I’m really going to make you squeal.”

You can’t hold back, even if you tried, you cry out when he smacks your ass again and you cum, clamping down on his cock and soaking him. You bite your lip, trying to smother your moan because you know Johnny is still watching you.

Dave growls, pissed that you would try to muffle your moans, and he reaches back to grab your shoulder, pulling you back against his chest. “Don’t you fucking bite your lip.” He huffs. “Or I’ll shoot your boyfriend and the last thing he will ever see is you cumming on my cock,”

You hate that his words make you clamp down even more on his cock. He’s so commanding, it makes you soak him, and he grabs your jaw, forcing you to release your lip. “I’m sorry.” You gasp, to both Dave and Johnny. The fact that you are getting fucked by another man in front of your sweet boyfriend has your heart breaking but your body is aching for Dave.

Dave huffs. Sliding his gun hand down as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, the barrel nudging your clit and he smirks when you gasp and your body reacts. “No you aren’t. You love this. You wanted my cock for so long.” He tells you. “You don’t think I didn’t know you searched my history? Saw what I was into? What I imagined doing to you?”

You would be mortified that he knew you’d seen the videos but he’s making your fantasies come true right now and you can’t stop yourself from enjoying the way he fucks up into you, the cold barrel of the gun nudging your clit enough to make you moan again. “I- fuck - it was so filthy. The - the choking. The spanking. I- I want that so much.” You admit, knowing Johnny wasn’t capable of giving that to you.

“You’re gonna get it.” He promises, feeling your cunt start to relax and he pulls out of you to turn you on your back. Throwing your legs back up into his shoulders, Dave wastes no time slamming back into you to start pounding you into the couch like he imagined when he was watching Johnny fucking you, folding you over to make sure he can plunge deep.

“Shit. Oh shit.” You squeal, he’s so deep inside of you. You feel like he’s in your guts. “Fuck baby. Oh fuck.” You sob, sounding authentic, not faking it like you did with Johnny. “Oh my God.” You whine, cupping your tits as he fucks you like it’s his last day on earth.

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so slutty.” Dave hisses, loving the way your cunt just floods his cock with your juices, every time he thrusts into you more coats him. It’s dripping down his thighs and his balls. Reaching up, he slaps your cheek lightly, not enough to hurt you. “My whore.” He growls, grabbing your throat and squeezing like he had imagined so many times. He could never do this to Carol, she didn’t like anything but basic lovemaking, but you are different. You will give him what he needs.

You grip his forearm as he fucks into you, making you moan and writhe. He grips your neck a little tighter and it cuts off some of your air, making you choke but your cunt squeezes his cock. You love this. It’s filthy and everything you’ve ever wanted.

“You love this.” He coos mocking, grinning over at where your boyfriend has his eyes closed. “Open your fucking eyes.” He orders, pointing the gun back at Johnny and his pace falters slightly. “Watch her get fucked. Every second of my cock inside you, you watch. Knowing you can’t give her this.”

You gasp, hating that you’re so turned on by his authority, and you whimper when he hits something incredible inside of you. Johnny opens his eyes, the look in them is heartbroken and it kills you to know that it’s over between you. He’d never want you now and you don’t know if you would want him after experiencing Dave. “Shit. Shit. I’m gonna cum.” You squeal, feeling how close you are.

Gritting his teeth, your squeal just makes him rock into you harder. Wanting to see how hard you cum, Dave holds the gun up to your head and pulls the trigger.

Fuck, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong. But you cum when he pulls the trigger. The way your life flashes before your eyes as you wonder if he’s just killed you only to hear the click of the trigger and nothing else. It’s the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to you and you gush, soaking him with your cum as you sob his name.

Dave groans, feeling your cum soak him. Making him hiss, flexing his finger and dropping the gun as he lunges forward. Folding you over as he presses his lips to yours and buries his cock deep as he can get it, coating your walls in hot ropes of his seed.

You pant against his mouth, hands wrapping around his shoulders, and you pull him even closer, “Dave. Dave. Dave.” You whine into his mouth, his cock twitching inside of you and he pushes his cum out of you with each rock of his hips.

He practically grins against your lips in satisfaction. Feeling you pull him closer is his personal triumph, getting you to admit that you need what he gives you. Riding out his orgasm before he pulls back to see your body just sag into the couch as he admires his cum starting to well up in your abused pussy.

You open your eyes, looking up at Dave as he shifts off of you, leaning back to admire his cum after pulling out of your cunt. “That’s how you’re supposed to fuck her. That’s how she should look. Wrecked. Ruined.” Dave tells Johnny who is crying, blinking to stop himself from closing his eyes, fearful of Dave despite the gun being set aside.

Dave stands, starting to pull his clothes back on and picks up his gun. “You drove up here, so I’m going to take Johnny down to the bus station.” He tells you. “Safe to say he won’t be staying.”

You are too dazed to really think about it. You nod, knowing you will have to call Johnny and break up formally but you doubt he will ever talk to you again. "I'm sorry Johnny." You whisper, watching Dave untie him from the chair but not ungag your boyfriend who looks equal parts disgusted and scared. You know Dave will send him on his way and then you have no clue what will happen next. You can only hope that he fucks you again.

“Stay here.” Dave shoves Johnny towards the door but doesn’t give him a chance to stop and look at you. Opening the door and pushing him outside before locking it behind him. “Don’t worry.” Dave chuckles quietly as the other man starts to struggle against the rope around his hands. “I won’t leave her alone too long.”

You sigh, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. The guilt is creeping up on you but the ache in your body pushes it aside. You’ve never been so satisfied and you’re eager for Dave to return, wondering what the next steps are. Part of you worries if he will kill you. You know he’s capable of it. Part of you wonders if he will simply leave you out here to make your way home.

Dave drives Johnny five miles away from the cabin, turning down an old dirt road that leads to an abandoned property. “You don’t have to worry.” Dave chuckles as he parks the car. “Everything will be fine.” He gets out and rounds the car, pulling an increasingly frantic Johnny out. “Shut up.” He hisses, pushing him up against the car and searching for his phone. He smirks when he pulls it out of his left pocket. “You are going to break up with her. Tell her that you never want to see her again.” He chuckles and puts the now loaded gun up to his temple and urges him away from the car. “Let me show you where I’m going to dump your body.” He taunts. “There’s a very nice, dry well. Perfect for you to rot in.”

Johnny cries, sobbing as Dave pushes him towards the well and he knows he has one chance to fight. He spins around, trying to knock the gun from Dave’s hand and he succeeds, deciding to run. He sprints, his hands still bound, and he can barely breathe with the gag in his mouth. “Fucker.” Dave hisses, scrambling to pick up the gun to run after the younger man. When he catches up, he aims and shoots him in the head, watching the body fall to the ground. “Had to make it messy, huh?” Dave huffs as he drags his body to the well. No one would find Johnny.

After he’s unlocked Johnny’s phone with the Face ID, he shoves the body into the well and smirks as he flips through your texts. Frowning slightly when he sees the exchange where he had been trying to convince you to leave your job with the girls, wanting you to move in with him. “Asshole.” He hisses, angrily typing out the breakup message to you, signaling the end of your relationship permanently. After he sends the message, he blocks your number and shuts the phone down, throwing it into the well, along with his body and hums to himself as he walks back to his car. Now he just needs to deal with you.

You stumble from the bathroom, having peed and cleaned up, when you hear your phone ding. Picking it up, you frown when you see the message from Johnny and open it. 

I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Knowing you’ve been his whore and let him fuck you shows what kind of person you are. You are disgusting and I never want to see you again. I hope he satisfies your slutty needs and he’s gonna break your heart. Good luck. 

The message makes you tear up, not able to refute his claims that Dave will break your heart. You know that. He’s probably on his way back now to do just that. You pull on your shirt and panties and sit on the sofa, typing a message back. 

I’m so sorry, Johnny. I do love you. He just gave me what I needed. Can we please talk? I don’t want to end things like this. You hit send and the message never says delivered. He’s blocked you. That makes you cry, mourning the safe, yet boring relationship you had with Johnny.

Pulling back up to the cabin, Dave is happy to see your car still there. Scoffing to himself because Johnny had been happy to let you whisk him away rather than him doing it to you. Knowing it’s slightly sexist, but he doesn’t give a shit. You need a man to take care of you, and Dave is going to be that man. “I’m back.” He announces, walking back into the main room and frowning when he sees you crying. “What’s wrong?”

You sniff, wiping your eyes when you see Dave. “Johnny broke up with me.” You gesture to your phone and Dave wants to roll his eyes. 

“And that’s a bad thing?” He asks and you bite your lip. 

“I- I don’t know. I feel guilty. I- I fucked you in front of my boyfriend and now he’s - oh God. Carol. And the girls. I- shit.” You start to panic, realizing how wrong this all is.

“Don’t.” Dave shakes his head, sitting down and reaching out for you. He doesn’t care about what you are feeling but he has to pretend like he does. “Fuck that loser, or- don’t fuck him. He couldn’t make you cum. And Carol isn’t going to find out about this.”

“How do you know? I - I can’t look her in the eyes when we go back home. She- she’s gonna know. I can feel it. Oh God. This was so wrong. You shouldn’t have done this. You were supposed to be at home and now I- fuck.” You cling to him, soaking his shirt with your tears.

“Hush.” Dave insists, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. Some people just can’t have a poker face and you are one of them. Not that it matters. His hand slides down into your panties and he pinches your clit. “Don’t think about it.” He growls. “Think about what I’m going to do to you right now. In my bed.”

You choke on your sob, his fingers rubbing your clit has you whimpering. The alternations between pinching and rubbing make you moan and your tears run down your cheeks but you stop sobbing. “Fuck. Dave.” You whine, turning your head to kiss his neck.

“That’s it, concentrate on how much you want it.” He groans, his flaccid cock twitching. He always has wanted to fuck someone after he’s killed and he’s going to get to, the gunpowder still fresh on his skin. “You need it. You need what I’m going to do to you.” He bites down roughly on your shoulder, sure that his teeth will leave impressions through your shirt.

"I do. I really do." You gasp, grinding down onto his fingers. He smells like smoke, something you can't put your finger on, but you love it. It smells like Dave. "More. Need more." You whine and cry out when he slaps your cunt with his palm. 

"Patience." He demands and you whimper, "please Dave."

Dave smirks, enjoying how eager you are for him. He pushes a finger deep inside your cunt and curls it up. “When I am here, you are to wear nothing.” He orders harshly, pumping his finger before adding another. “You will be ready to take my cock in whatever hole I want to fuck.”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll be ready. I’ll be ready. I’m yours. Have been yours. Just - I need more.” You beg, lost in the pleasure to really take note of his words. You reach out to squeeze his cock through his pants, wanting more of him.

Dave growls, rocking his hips up, “take your fucking shirt off before I cut it off.” He demands, wanting to bite and suck on your tits. Eager to leave his teeth marks on your skin. To make you feel him when he leaves tonight. He pushes his fingers deep and rough. “Now.”

You scramble to follow his order, pulling the shirt over your head to expose your tits to his hungry gaze. He surges down to bite down on your nipple, making you cry out in both pleasure and pain. His fingers curl deep inside of you and you’re so close. He unravels you impossibly fast until finally, you clamp down on his digits, his teeth buried in your breast.

Dave groans in delight, feeling his teeth break the skin and the coppery tang of your blood floods his taste buds. Not enough to really do damage but from the way you clench around him, you love it.

You pant as he slows his fingers, letting you enjoy your orgasm and your eyes are still closed when he tells you to look at him. “You’re mine now.” 

You nod, “I’m yours. I- I always have been.” You tell him truthfully.

“Good.” Dave pulls his fingers out of your cunt and shoves them into your mouth, nearly gagging you. “Now, your going to go into the bedroom and spread yourself on my bed, I need to get the toy you will have in your cunt while I fuck your ass.”

You shouldn’t shake with anticipation but you’ve never done anal before. None of your boyfriends were interested in the prep work and you wonder if Dave is the same. If he’s gonna just try to stick it in. You stand on shaky legs and make your way to the bed, kneeling on it and spreading your knees to display your cunt and puckered hole.

When he had come into the cabin, he had dropped a duffel bag near the door. All the supplies he needs inside, he unzips it, removing a toy, a bottle of lube and the handcuffs. The collar and chain are left in the bottom, along with the padlocks he had brought to secure the cabin. Taking them into the bedroom, he grunts in satisfaction when he sees you kneeling. “Has anyone every fucked your ass?”

You shake your head. “No. No one has.” You admit, hissing when he smacks your ass over the welts that are still sensitive from his rough treatment earlier. “You can. I want you to. Just - just be gentle.” You plead, knowing he won’t but maybe he will consider it.

He snorts, pulling your hands behind your back and slapping the cuffs on them. “Depends on how good you are for me.” He won’t be too rough, he wants you to anticipate him fucking you rather than trying to shy away. Leaning over and grinning, Dave spits on your puckered hold and reaches out to massage it into your skin.

"Shit." You hiss at the new sensation. No one has done this to you and you already fucking love it. "Fuck Dave." You pant when he pushes his finger a little deeper inside of you.  "I'll be good." You promise, arching your back and your abused cunt clenches around nothing.

“I know you will.” Dave coos, pulling his finger out and coating it with lube so he can push it back inside you. “You know what I’m capable of. What I could do to you.” He chuckles when your tight hole clenches around his digits. “You like that I’m a killer.”

You can’t deny it. It turns you on to know what he’s capable of. “Oh fuck baby. Yes. Yes I do.” You confess, “I love it. I want you to be the one to fuck my ass.” You tell him breathlessly and you gasp when he adds another finger to stretch you out.

The sounds are slick and you aren’t pulling away as he starts to pump and scissor two fingers inside your ass. Making him groan at the sight of your clenching cunt. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you are nice and filled up.” He grins, picking up the dildo he had formed from his own cock using one of those kits. “My cock will be the last one you have inside you. Even a toy.”

You hear him squirt lube onto the dildo and you gasp when you feel the silicone press against your cunt. You moan when he starts to push the toy inside of you. “Oh fuck!” You squeal, trying to relax around the girth and you realize that the toy is as thick as Dave.

He chuckles, admiring the way your lips stretch around the toy. “You look good like this, even better when my cock is in your ass.” He taunts.

You pant as he works the toy in and out of you, his fingers scissoring your ass open and you collapse forward, resting your cheek on the sheets, your fingers flexing in the handcuffs. “Please, baby. I need you inside of me.”

He chuckles again and pulls his fingers out of your ass. “You’re ready to be full, huh?” He slaps your ass, leaving the toy inside your cunt as he slathers his cock in lube. He wants it to be slick, for himself and for you taking his cock in your ass for the first time. 

“Yes.” You whimper, making him smirk as he slaps your ass and shuffles closer.

You pant as he presses the head of his cock against your puckered hole and you hold your breath as he starts to push inside of you. It hurts, but you can handle it. His hand caresses your back, “breathe.” He orders and you exhale shakily, inhaling deeply on the next breath. He’s so thick it stings but you want this. You try to relax so you can take as much of him as possible.

Unlike the first time he pushed inside your cunt, Dave takes his time. Works himself an inch at a time. Aware that this is new, plus you still have the toy filling up the other hole on the other side of the thin skin. He can feel the ridges in the silicone and he groans as he rocks into you. “Fuck- fuck you’re going to be so good for me? Taking this cock and a toy aren’t you? You’ll let me do anything I want to you.”

You nod, “yes. Whatever you want. I love - I love it.” You tell him, groaning when he starts to move inside of you. “Yes. Oh yes baby.” You pant when he starts to move faster and he’s gripping the toy, working that in and out too. It’s more than you’ve ever felt and you are already on the edge.

“Fuck, fuck you’re so-“ Dave groans, gritting his teeth and biting off his words when you spasm around him, close to cumming already. “Shiiiit.” He hisses, rocking his hips faster, slapping them against your ass as he works up to a frantic pace.

You squeal when he picks up the pace, pushing into you over and over again. “Yes. Yes! Keep - keep going. Keep going. I - fuck. You’re gonna make me - Dave. Oh Dave!” You clamp down on the toy, squeezing it inside of your walls and you squeeze Dave, shaking as you sob into the sheets at the intensity of your orgasm.

“God, you’re such a perfect little slut.” Dave groans, slowing down and rocking his hips a lot slower than before. He wants you exhausted by the time he is done with you. He needs you to sleep while he closes up the house. “That’s good baby, fuck, you’re so tight.” He praises, caressing your spine. “Want you to cum again. You’re gonna come for me again.”

You recover against the bedsheets, trying to catch your breath while Dave caresses your spine, until he starts to fuck you again. This time, he’s slower. Not as rushed as he rocks his hips, and you try to grind back onto him, arms aching from the handcuffs but you daren’t ask him to remove them.

Looking down, he watches his cock move inside you. Aware that he is recording this very moment on the camera system to keep and watch back whenever he wants. “Gonna fuck you every week.” He groans, twitching inside you. “First you’re going to suck my cock. Kneel down and take my cock down your throat while I finish up work.” He tells you, like he’s explaining how things will go. Because he is. “Then I’m going to fuck your cunt full.”

"Oh God." His words make you burn and you want that, you want him. Every fucking day. "Yes. Yes. My pussy is yours, Dave. I belong to you." You promise, tears stinging in your eyes as your wildest dreams come true. "I need you. I need this."

“You are mine.” He groans, rocking his hips faster and he reaches around you to slap your clit and rub it harshly. “Forever. You’re mine. Mine. You’re going to give me more kids.”

You wonder if he’s just babbling or if he means it. It’s hard to not give into the fantasy. You want him to knock you up, claim you in every way. But you know that if you were lucid, you would be terrified to get knocked up by a married man. “Yes. Yes. Gonna have your babies. As many as you want.”

He snarls, closing his eyes and gripping your hips harshly as he starts fucking into you harshly again. Rubbing your clit in a desperate effort for you to cum again. His control slipping at your acceptance of what he has planned for you. “Yes, fuck, yes, cum for me.”

You can't deny him, clamping down on the toy that is still inside of you, while his cock pushes deep and his fingers play with your clit. "Oh my - fuck!" You scream, almost blacking out from the pleasure. This is what you've wanted, what you've craved since you started working for the Yorks. Now you've got it, your entire body is on fire.

He feels your body give out, collapsing against the bed and flattening out so he just follows you. Still fucking into your ass like a man possessed and his hand trapped between you and the bed, rubbing your clit. He growls out your name, burying his cock deep and filling you with another load of his cum, pulsing deep inside the other hole he had claimed.

You can't open your eyes, you can't move. Knowing he's cum inside of you again, and the way he growled your name, it's more than you can bear. "Fuck. I- I love you. I love you. I love you." You sob, knowing he won't reply but you want him to know.

He doesn’t love you. He can’t. Not when he has the girls and Carol and all the shit that he does. But he does want you. You’re his. He rides out his high and starts to slowly ease out of you once he’s done.

You sigh when he pulls out of you, slowly removing the toy too and you feel so empty. His cum drips out of you, and you want him to take the handcuffs off and cuddle you but he won’t. He will probably uncuff you and then send you on your way. “Thank you.” You murmur, knowing how good this was and you know you’ll need him again soon.

Dave caresses your ass for a moment before he moves towards the bathroom. He needs to clean you up. “I’ll uncuff you in just a second.” He promises, grabbing the toy and bringing it with him.

You watch him come back in with the rag, hissing as he cleans up your abused holes, and you sigh when he unlocks the  cuffs, rubbing your wrists. “Did you enjoy it?” You ask him softly, wanting him to have loved being inside of you.

“Obsessed.” Dave answers with an honest smirk. He knows that you are going to want reassurance and intimacy so he motions for you to get under the covers and pulls them back to get into the bed with you. “I’ll be thinking about it when I’m not inside you.”

Your eyes widen as he slides into bed beside you and you are surprised when he wraps his arms around you. You smile, shifting back to snuggle into him, breathing him in. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring but you have him tonight. He strokes along your stomach and you are lulled into sleep, exhausted from the sex and the events of the day.

He waits until you are softly snoring, slipping out of the bed and picking up your phone to type out another text message, one that would be sent to his phone. Smirking to himself as he hits send, removes your SIM card and erases it. He’s had your password for a long time and now he’s used it. Redressing and stepping out with the bag and padlocks to start shuttering the cabin windows. With you inside.

****

You blink as you wake up, confused by your surroundings until you remember that Dave had fallen asleep beside you. You sigh and turn over in bed, frowning when you feel the cold sheets beside you. He’s gone. You knew he would leave but a small part of you hoped he would stay. You get out of the bed, shrugging on your robe that you’d brought with you, and you frown when you see the cabin is in darkness. You walk over to the window to open the curtains and you gasp when you find it shut up. Starting to panic, you go through each window, finding each one boarded up, and you rush over to the front door. Screaming when you find it locked, you tug on the handle with no use. You’re locked in. “Dave! Dave! Dave!” You shout, praying he’s still here and this is some kind of joke. You rush around the cabin but he’s nowhere to be found. “Oh my God.” You panic, chest heaving as you come to realize he’s locked you in.

Watching the screen, Dave sees you panicking. He picks up his cell phone to dial the cabin. He’s set it up so that only he can dial in, there are no outgoing calls to be made. He watches you jump when the phone peels and you rush over to it. “Dave! What- what is going on? What - why are you doing this?” You cry, making him exhale slowly, keeping his patience for now. 

“You said you’re mine.” He reminds you quietly. “You didn’t want Carol to find out. So this is perfect. You will stay here, I’ll be up to see you every couple of days and bring you supplies.” He rasps into the phone. “I can see you on the cameras and I’ll call you once a day. Tell me if you need me to bring you anything. And when I come, you can have me just like you said you wanted.”

Your hands shake as you look around the cabin, trying to spot the cameras and you think you see one in the corner. “Please don’t do this. I- I wouldn’t tell Carol. It would be our little secret. I don’t - please Dave. I can be a good girl. I won’t tell anyone. Just - just come and let me out. Please. I - fucking let me out of here!” You shout down the phone, losing your cool as you start to have a panic attack at the fact that he’s locked you in the cabin.

“Ah ah ah.” Dave tuts disappointedly. “A good girl wouldn’t yell about her situation.” He tells you. “I’ll be back in three days, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll bring those cookies you love. And you don’t have to worry about Johnny.” He decides to tell you the truth. “I killed him. And you texted me, telling me that you were quitting to move in with him. So Carol won’t wonder where you’ve gone.”

You sob, hearing the truth that Dave killed Johnny. He didn’t deserve to die. He was a good man. You nearly drop the phone, covering your mouth to smother your sob but know Dave can see it on the camera. “Don’t be sad. Now we can be together. When I want. I’m gonna have you forever. You’re mine now.” Dave declares and hangs up the phone. 

You frantically try to call back on the phone but the line is dead. You press the numbers over and over with no response so you finally slump down onto the floor. Dave killed Johnny and now you are his prisoner. Your selfishness has ruined everything, Dave has destroyed everything. You cry for Johnny, for your future, and you know you won’t make it out of here alive. Dave won’t let you go now. You’ll be his. Forever.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

tears snot and drool

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ ONLY! SMUT, DARK!RAFE, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NONCON, R*PE, FORCED ANAL, kind of r*pe kink from reader?, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum play, degradation, dacryphilia, brief male receiving oral and brief mention of fingering

“so good for me, darling.” rafe drawls out, his voice deep and smooth as he pushes forward, sinking into you. “so tight.”

“slow-” you gasp out when rafe pushes in again, his hips swinging into yours in a smooth motion. “slow down, please rafey.”

“you feel so good.” rafe says, ignoring your pleas, ignoring your hands pushing at his hips, trying to stop his thrusts, trying to squirm away, but he grips your waist, holding you down into the mattress.

“it-it hurts.” you plea as his fat cock juts into you, feeling like you’re being split in half.

“stop fucking squirming.” rafe grunts. he liked it at first, liked you trying to get away, knowing he was too big for you, but now he’s starting to get upset, wanting you to let him fuck you without the whining. “if it hurts, you wouldn’t be so fucking wet.”

you hear it then, the wet sounds every time rafe pushes inside you, your pussy squelching as he fucks into your wetness, falling down your body, making a mess of the sheets.

“im gonna bruise.” you complain, already feeling the soreness on the walls of your cunt, knowing when he fucks you again in the morning, like he always does, that its going to hurt more than usual. rafe likes to build you up, likes to fuck you with his fingers while you moan on his lap, and you appreciate him warming you up and stretching you open, but he came home in a mood, pushing you down onto the bed and stripping you, shoving his cock in your opening without any prep.

“i dont give a shit.” rafe grunts out. you’re supposed to be his little plaything, supposed to be ready to be a toy for him whenever he needs.

“stop, stop!” you whine, finally being able to move, even with his hands squeezing your waist so tight it hurts. you manage to get away, for his cock to fall out of your cunt. you try to move up the bed, body shaking as you feel tears sliding down your cheeks.

rafe moves faster than you can, taking those hands on your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. you try to get on your hands and knees, try to crawl away, but rafe presses his chest into your back, using his massive size to pin you against the mattress.

“no, let me go!” you shout, feeling rafes cock push against you, rubbing against your ass as his hand grabs your wrist, holding them together above your head, preventing you from fighting.

“this is what you get for being a fucking brat.” rafe spits into your ear. he reaches down with his free hand, grasping his cock, still splitting hard. he rubs the head through your pussy, wetting his length, but he moves past your cunt.

“no!” you squeal, trying to buck your hips, but rafe delivers a hard slap to your ass to get you to stop.

rafe presses his cock against your other hole, the tight ring of muscle not opening up to him, not when you are strung so tight, muscles clenching.

“fucking relax for me before i force myself in.” rafe warns, but you can’t, you can’t calm down as tears flow down your face. 

rafe keeps the base of his cock held tightly in his hand as he shoves into your asshole, the stretch causing you to scream as he continues in, slowly, but only because he can’t move any faster with how tight your squeezing him.

“it hurts so bad, stop, please, fuck my pussy, just stop!” you beg, willing to let him destroy your cunt if it could keep your ass from hurting this bad.

“its too late.” rafe says, rocking his hips forward, moving one hand to your ass, gripping the flesh and spreading your cheeks open for him, your hole already turning bright red from his abuse.

rafe eventually opens you up a bit, allowing him to move faster as he pounds his hips down into you, a slapping sound every time his skin connects with the plushness of your bum.

you give up, give up on trying to get away as you sob into the mattress, not caring that you are staining rafes sheets with your tears, snot and drool.

“dont cry baby, you’re gonna make me fuck you even harder.” rafe smirks, liking seeing you like this, trapped under his muscles, hands held tight above your head, a complete wreck.

“i hate you.” you grit out, twisting your head to see rafe out of the corner of your eye, his jaw slackened open in a moan. you bare your teeth to him, the pain obvious on your face as he continues to fuck you, your cunt still leaking onto the bed.

“i know you do. and you’re still gonna let me fuck you.” rafe says. he’s done this one too many times, used you when you didn’t want it to happen, only for him to apologize and shower you with kisses, getting you to spread your legs once again for him.

“no i wont.” you vow, vow to yourself in the moment, but despite the pain, it feels to good, too good to get rafes attention, even if it meant him violating your asshole. you’d be back. you’ll always come crawling right back.

“whatever you say baby girl.” rafe laughs, mocking you as he moves deeper, making your feet kick out uncontrollably, unable to help the movements as sharp pain stabs through your insides. “want me to touch your clit?”

“yes.” you cry out, knowing the pleasure would help distract you from his cock splitting you in two, breaking you in half.

“tell me you love me then. tell me you love my cock, that you love me forcing myself on you.” rafe spits out, moving his hand from holding your wrists to grip either side of your ass, moving faster as he puts every pound of his weight into every thrust.

“no!” you shout out. you can’t say such sweet words to him, not when your nails are clawing at the sheets and he’s pumping inside of your ass. not right after you told him you hated him.

“then you don’t get to cum.” rafe says. he wants you to cum, he always does, he just prioritizes himself first.

“fine!” you whine out, lifting your hips up, wondering if a different angle will help the pain, and you let out a low moan when the thrusts suddenly become pleasurable, at least somewhat as he hits a new spot inside of you. “i love you!”

rafe smiles, moving a hand to your clit, rubbing over your sensitive bud without caring how harsh the rough pads of his fingers feel. 

“you gonna cum for me little whore?” rafe questions. 

you don’t give him a response, but you know he feels the way your clit pulses underneath his fingertips, still able to force an orgasm out of you despite the state he’s put you in.

“want me to cum in your ass? or should i fill your pussy up?” rafe asks. “switch to your other hole, breed you?”

you’re on birth control, and rafe knows it too, but it doesn’t stop him fantasizing about filling you up, making your tummy swell with his kid, just another way of possessing you, owning you.

“fuck you.” you manage to grit out, hating the semblance of choice, as if rafe won’t do what he wants, like he always does.

rafe smirks, knowing you are about to cum as he moves faster, jackhammering into you at a blistering pace, all from his need to get off as well.

you feel his cock swell inside of you as his fingers pinch harshly at your clit, trying to get you to cum in time with him.

“fuck!” rafe shouts out, releasing into your ass as you cum as well, your high hitting you like a brick wall as you scream out, rafes nails digging into your clit as his cum floods your ass, long spurts filling you up.

rafe collapses against you, his hand moving from underneath you on your cunt as you ride out your orgasm with no stimulation, making you whine as his weight squishes you, taking the breath out of your lungs.

rafes breathing slowly returns to normal while you struggle underneath him, tears still flowing down your cheeks.

he finally manages to move his tired muscles, kneeling over you before pulling his cock out, watching as his cum begins to spill. rafe places a hand on your cheek, spreading your ass open as it falls out in white globs.

“such a tight little hole.” rafe pushes his pointer finger against your skin, rubbing the cum around. “i’m gonna have to play with it more often.”

you press your face into the mattress as his finger enters you, not caring that your cheek is now pressed against the wet spot of your saliva and snot. 

“please.” you manage to whimper out. you’ve had too much for tonight. you can’t even fight him back, can’t clench your ass to stop his finger from entering your abused tunnel.

“fine.” rafe sighs, pulling his finger out, but not before slapping his hand over your ass. “but my cock is still hard. pussy or mouth?”

you move as rafe does, flopping down against the bed, his head on the pillows. you lay yourself between his legs, thighs still shaking, but glad that the mess that is your private parts is going to be left alone for a while as you grasp his cock in your hand, sinking your lips down, wondering how much longer he is going to play with you for tonight.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @rvfecamerons

[romana-after-dark]

Keep Cry'n

Joel Miller x reader

Join dark!Romana's tag list Dark!Romana's Masterlist

Shout out to the girlies in the Whorefully yours discord for encouraging my dark side lol

Summary: Joel kidnapps you, but can't even wait long eough to put his dick inside you to cum. (Reader is rather Little One coded but this is a completetly separate fic from The Wrong Way)

Warnings and Content: NON CON, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT !!!!!! Hair pulling, kidnapping, masturbation, cumming on face, dirty and degrading talk, crying, dacryphilia, Joel is really psycho in this, maybe a lil off his rocker. Implied future abuse. Literally like so much crying.

DONT LIKE IT, DONT READ! If you do not wish to see rape on your feeds at all, i suggest blocking the tags such as non con, dddne, dead dove do not eat, and depending on preferences maybe dub con, yandere, or dark fics. No judgement if its not your thing!

*****************

Your head hurts. So bad. That was all you could think about as Joel dragged you off his house and up the porch by your hair with no regard for how you were supposed to keep up with his long stride. Scalp on fire, you scramble to stand but it seemed he would purposefully yank at you just to make you stumble. 

You can hear him smiling as he speaks, the outline of his cheeks giving away the wide grin if you can look up long enough to catch a glimpse. “Pretty fucking girl. Gonna make such a nice little toy.” 

He doesn’t care that you're crying. He doesn’t care that he took you away from everything you know. He doesn’t care that you are scared. He wants to use you.

Your hands are tied behind your back so you fall on your face when he trusts you onto the shitty mattress, dirt being inhaled into your lungs.

“Just gotta be good for a few days, pretty baby, ‘till I get tired of you and move onto the next shiny thing. Think you can manage that?”

Sobbing, you nod. You can do this. You can…

Your confidence wavers as he stands above you, palming himself and moaning. “Oooohhh fuck, such a pretty little baby, uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhuhuhuuuh” Joel sucks his breath in through his teeth, then shutters it out. “Get the fuck over here.” Joel reaches over and yanks on your hair again, pressing your face up against his jeans-clothes crotch. His musk was strong, the smell of his dick was sweaty and masculine and you could not help but feel just a little turned on. You couldn’t help it; it was biological, primal, evolutionary. 

With your hands still tied behind your back, you were helpless to the way Joel ground your face up against himself, his hard cock prominent despite the stiff material. Fingers entangled in your hair, Joel trust his hips up in your face as you sob, “Fuck baby, keep cry’n, I can feel your tears on my dick.” Joel pressed you tightly up against his crotch, your mouth pressed over the outline of his member and muffled your cries as they turned into attempts to scream. You wanted to bite but you knew better.

When he finally let go, allowing you to sit back on your haunches and breath, Joel unzipped his pants and thrust them and his tighty whitey’s down in one go, his massive cock hanging heavy between his legs. A sick man, Joel gripped your face in his large, rough hands to gather up the wetness before he fucked his fist. 

“God, I need to cum right fuck’n now” He grumbled to himself as he furiously pumped the extensive length. “Ain’t got time to- oh fu-u-u-ck, ain’t got time to fight your pants off.” Joel lets out a loud groan, bucking his hips as his breath shutters before looking down at your crying and shaking figure. “Oh fuck, you look so scared!” He has the audacity to chuckle, smiling at you as he gently nudges you with his boot just to see you cry more. He jerked harder and harder, his cock red and throbbing inches from your face. “There we go, fuuuuuck! Uh, uh, uuuhhhggg” Ropes of white began to spurt out of him, Joel grunting aggressively mixed with huffed out chuckles, a wide, joker-like grin on his face as his eyes sparkled with mischievous possibilities for the future.

Joel took his softening dick and wiped your tears and his cum with it. “Pretty little thing… goddamn… make’n me cum without even touching me, fucking fantastic.” 

You feel the wetness on your face, a mixture of fluids painting you up like a picture. 

Joel pushed you down onto the bed, not even bothering to pull up his pants as he pulled you on his naked body, sighing. He takes a knife out of his pocket, however, and cuts off your ties. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him as you cry. You just wanted to be held, to feel touch and comfort and you didn’t care who it came from. “Oh god, princess…” He’s panting still, a crazy grin plastered upon his face as he stared up at the ceiling, laughing to himself. “Such pretty skin, such a pretty face…” Joel chuckled, long fingers massaging down your still-clothed body. 

“Gonna be a lot of fun playing with it.”

*******************

First dark! joel one shot ina while, woozers.

Love me my crazy man.

Got a cool ask today for a dark triple frontier Will Miller that I loooooove that I will be working on after a few other WIPS.

Also got an idea for a dark!joel sugar daddy yandere vibes fic, a dark!William Tell, and a dark!Nathan Bateman. I also plan to work on a short series (3 parts maybe?) of a darker ending to tww where Joel wins.

If you like this, click the link at the top to be added to my ongoing tag list!

@fandxmslxt69 @moriartyyouwhore @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@hereforthepedrofanfic @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and maybe @toxicanonymity might enjoy.....

[magneticecstasy]

clandestine ✤ masterlist & foreword

a teacher!joel miller au fic

moodboard is not an illustration of how reader should look, just for the ~vibes~

summary: it’s september 2016, you're in your final year of sixth form college and joel miller joins the teaching staff as your new history teacher. over the course of the academic year, boundaries are blurred, crossed and ruined when joel begins to reciprocate your insatiable crush on him; what should be so wrong just feels so right.

rating: E (sexual content throughout)

pairing: teacher!joel x student!fem!reader

blanket warnings & tags: dubcon (due to student/teacher relationship, both parties are consenting otherwise), tagging DDDNE as a safety net, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is in his early 30s), smut (will be specified in each chapter when it occurs), power imbalance, corruption, inappropriate relationships (teacher!Joel is not a good teacher), fetishization of new-adulthood (Joel will get off on reader being 18), some pervy!Joel, inexperienced!fem!reader, pet names (Joel calls reader darlin’, babygirl etc.), minimal description of fem!reader where possible, Sarah is alive but non-canon AU, no use of y/n.

reader has hair and is generally able-bodied, otherwise undescribed where possible.

♡ contents ♡

part i - new horizons

part ii - crushcrushcrush

part iii - bad liar

part iv - birds of a feather

part v - the fall

part vi - just one yesterday

*chapter subject to change*

banners and graphics from @saradika-graphics, @saradika

Under the cut, I've included a foreword that I highly recommend you take a look at before reading Clandestine.

Thank you,

M ♡

♡ foreword ♡

I wanted to include a foreword to address some of the topics and relationship dynamics that will come up in this work. This fic is largely inspired by a crush that I had on one of my teachers when I was in my last year of high school and wanted to explore what that could look like if that student/teacher boundary was crossed if applied to fanfiction. I’m 26 now and I’m well aware that that sort of relationship could not happen in real life.

Firstly, I absolutely do not condone inappropriate student/teacher relationships in real life. This kind of relationship is a complete breach of trust between the student and teacher and is morally wrong. In real life context, the student cannot entirely consent (and definitely cannot consent if they are underage) due to power imbalance. Teachers are in a position of trust, and breaching that trust is wrong and an abuse of power. There’s a reason that in many countries student/teacher relationships are illegal. Having said that, I am well aware that Clandestine is a work of fiction that heavily draws upon the student/teacher trope as well as the age gap trope - I wrote Clandestine as a self-indulgent exploration of these tropes.

Secondly, in Clandestine the reader is 18 before the fic starts and Joel is 32-33. Their relationship kicks off at a sixth form college where students are aged between 16 to 18. Any explicit scenes between reader and Joel will take place elsewhere. Beyond brief touching and flirting, I will not be including any explicit scenes that take place in said sixth form college as I feel that it is wrong and, no doubt, probably would be illegal IRL.

Thirdly, this work takes place in the UK because I’m not that confident that I could write confidently within the American school system. So this is your forewarning now that there will be a lot of references to the UK school system such as form classes (similar to a homeroom or tutor group in the US). One of the main settings will be within a sixth form college and you can read more about what that is here. For reference, the reader is in Year 13 (final year of compulsory schooling in the UK) and is equivalent to 12th grade in the US.

I appreciate you taking the time to read this. I hope you enjoy reading Clandestine. I had the best time writing it.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking: part two

the art of breaking, part two: theory of decay

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. this fic contains themes of abuse and extremely dark content.

words: 10k

summary: joel knows just how to make you his forever. a sequel to "the art of breaking"

warnings (new warnings in red) and story under the cut; reader discretion is advised.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, glory hole, reader gives tommy a blowjob (joel and tommy do not touch), body modification, permanent marking, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, whipping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, vaginal, reader x other men, degradation, humiliation, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare, blink and you miss it piss "play," straight up abuse this time guys, overstimulation, forced eating, needles, voyeurism, objectification, human furniture/ashtray, cigarettes, consumption of non-food items, nipple/clit pumps, this one might be worse than the first idk sorry

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

i. dessication

When he goes to work, he leaves you free to roam the house and do your chores. For shorter trips out, he tends to put you in your cage. There’s no real reason, but it keeps you in a good place. You’re always softer, quieter when he gets back and lets you out. 

He couldn’t do it all the time, of course. There are things needing to be done. Plus, every day, he gets to come home to you knelt, waiting by the door with dinner kept warm. He could afford a housekeeper, but then you’d have nothing to keep your mind and body occupied when he’s away. 

Of course, sometimes he leaves you chained up in the basement. He can’t always be nice, after all. And the thing he loves to come home to most, second only to you kneeling at the door, is your exhausted body still tied where he left it, bearing the marks of his latest pleasure. 

Sometimes, he just leaves you in stocks to contemplate all the raw kisses from his favorite whip. Sometimes, he has you pinned to the table with a vibrator strapped to your clit for the day. On the lowest setting—he’s not a monster. 

Well. It starts on the lowest setting. He can do whatever he wants with it through a handy app. It was the only way Tommy could convince him to upgrade to a smartphone.

But today, you’re just set about neatening up. Neither you nor Joel are messy— though he does have a tendency to empty his pockets wherever he’s standing—and it’s not a huge house. You finish up early and have time to read while supper’s in the oven. 

You’re already kneeling when you hear the key in the door, eyes down, hands behind your back, but you have to tense up not to flinch when you hear a second pair of boots.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” drawls a voice you don’t know. 

The only reason you don’t panic is because Joel’s boots enter your field of vision. You’re intimately acquainted with them—literally—and despite the fresh layer of dirt, you’d know them anywhere. 

“Ooh, damn, she’s good,” says the voice.

Joel chuckles and reaches down to stroke your cheek. “Told ya.” 

You melt a little against his hand, letting the pride in his voice warm you.

He rubs his thumb over your cheek and lets you press a little kiss to the digit before stepping back to take his shoes off and dump the handful of change and crumpled receipts on the foyer table. “C’mon,” he says, snapping his fingers so you know he means you, too.

You resist the urge to look at the stranger, but you don’t like the way he lingers to follow you instead of following Joel. You can feel his eyes on your exposed flesh, the dress just short enough to show off your cunt when you crawl. 

No one has ever come into the house before. At least not when you’re out and about. You don’t know if Joel’s had company while you’ve been in the basement or something; you’ve never even thought about it. All you know is that it’s been a long time since you’ve seen another person. 

It’s terrifying. 

You go to kneel between Joel’s feet, but he stops you. “Turn around,” he says, guiding you with firm hands to face forward. 

He laughs when he sees that you’re still staring very carefully at the carpet. “Y’can look at him; he ain’t gonna bite.”

The other man, who has settled in the armchair facing the couch, laughs too. “I might,” he says.

“No, you won’t.” Joel’s voice goes hard for a moment, and you don’t need to see to know he’s glaring. 

It makes you feel better. So what if someone’s looking at you? Joel’s still protecting you. 

He lifts your chin up so you have to look at the other man. He’s broad, though not as much as Joel, with dark curls and dark eyes that make you feel like he wants to cut you open and see how you tick. 

“This is my little brother, Tommy,” Joel says. “Go tell him hello.” 

“Hello,” you say quietly. 

“C’mon, now, go give him a proper greeting,” Joel nudges you with his foot. You crawl over to Tommy and kneel between his legs. Your gaze darts from him to Joel, teeth worrying at your lip. 

“Don’t embarrass me, girl,” Joel warns.

Tommy lifts your chin with his hand. “He wants you to suck me off. Go ahead.” 

It’s nice, but it’s not his permission you need. You risk one more glance at Joel. 

“You heard him. You got two seconds, sweetheart, before you’re gonna regret it,” he growls.

“You goin’ soft? You usually have ‘em trained better by now,” Tommy teases, but his words have Joel seeing red. 

You sit back. “What?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, did you think you were special?” Tommy says with a nasty smirk. He pats your face. “Poor thing.”

You look at Joel, tears welling up. 

“What, you think I had a house full of equipment that’s never been used? Y’should be grateful. All my toys before you had to suffer some trial and error. I got it perfected now, and you’re wasting it, being a fuckin’ disobedient bitch.” 

You close your eyes tight and choke back a sob. He’s never, ever spoken to you like that before. When you turn back to Tommy, you have your mouth open wide and waiting.

He leans back. “Well? You gonna make me do all the work?”

“Can I use my hands, please?” you say, eyes darting from Tommy to Joel. 

“Great, now you got her all nervous,” Tommy bitches, and Joel rolls his eyes. 

“Go ahead,” Joel tells you gruffly. You’ve been so good. So obedient. Maybe he shoulda warned you that he wanted to show you off. No, he thinks, it’s not his fault. He didn’t owe you a warning. You should just accept it and obey.

You’re shaking when you tug open the button of Tommy’s jeans, fumbling with the zipper. Apparently, it takes long enough that he grunts and knocks your hand away, pulling his cock out. 

It feels like a trap. Joel has not explicitly ordered you to do this. But he doesn’t usually try to trick you. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Tommy snaps, and yanks you forward. You get with the program quickly, wrapping your lips around him and trying to do your best. 

He’s smaller than Joel, but it’s a decent cock. Not that it matters to you. Despite not having to gag on him, you can’t breathe anyway, too preoccupied. Why is Joel doing this? Is he going to punish you for it later? 

And the worst thing, the thing that keeps bouncing around your brain as you try to get Tommy off: What happened to the other girls? Did he get tired of them and kick them out?

Was he not going to keep you?

You don’t notice you’re crying, but Tommy clearly enjoys it. He moans and holds you down as he cums down your throat. You aren’t ready, though, and sputter a little, coughing and leaking his cum down your chest. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel snaps. He gets up off the couch and yanks you away from his brother by the hair. “What the hell's the matter with you today?” 

“I’m sorry,” you cry. 

“Shut up,” he says, and drags you out to the place you visit in most of your nightmares, despite only having been there once in reality. 

The Pit. 

ii. consumption

When he comes to get you in the morning, you’re wrecked. Deflated, no more tears left to pour down your cheeks. For now, at least.  

The sun is against his back when he opens the gate, reaching down for you with one strong arm. Bathed in the golden light, he is every inch your savior, and when you’ve climbed out on shaky legs, you prostrate yourself at his feet the way he likes. 

He’s still mad, though, so he steps one filthy boot on your head and grinds your face into the mud. He pisses on it for good measure, the hot stream dripping down your hair and face onto the soil. 

He’s got a switch in one hand. With you effectively pinned in place, he wastes no time in swinging it down on your ass. 

You scream and sob as he beats you. When he finally stops, when he’s drawn every bit of his anger in welts against your skin, he lifts his boot from your head and squats down. 

“Why d’you have to make me do this?” He’s solemn, sorrowful. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say, focusing on controlling the hysterical sobs wrenching from your chest. 

You don’t know what will follow, so you remain still, not daring to move without an order. 

“I should drop you off at a fuckin’ whorehouse,” he mutters. He pulls you up by your hair, and you scramble to your knees. “You can learn to suck who you’re told to suck.”

“Please, sir, please don’t, please—” It’s too much. You stumble, sobs wracking your body hard enough that you can’t move. You collapse in the grass with his hand still holding your head up. 

He lets go, letting you fall. 

You crawl to his boots and kiss them, mud be damned. It wasn’t like you weren’t covered in it anyway. “Please, sir, I’m so sorry, please don’t—” you say between sobs. 

“Please don’t what? You think you’re in any position to be askin’ for anything?”

“Don’t get rid of me, please; I promise I’ll be better; I can be good.”

“I’ll think about it, if you can fuckin’ earn it.”

“Please, please let me try to earn it.”

He squats down and helps pull you to your knees in front of him, cupping your filthy face in both hands. “I don’t wanna send you away. You know I love ya. But if you can’t be good, then what’s the point, baby?”

Your sobs are subsiding out of the pure elation that comes from his gentle touch. “I’ll do anything,” you whisper.

“I know ya will. You don’t really have a choice.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m gonna get you fed and taken care of. But you’re about to have one of the worst days of your fuckin’ life.”

You choke on a sob and sway a little. The fear and the hunger are like a fog over your brain. 

“Hey. Listen t’me.” He holds your hands in one of his. “You’re gonna learn, and it’s gonna be real hard for ya. But at the end of it all— if you take it all like a good girl—you’ll be forgiven. Got it?”

You look up through tear-sodden lashes, lip quivering, and nod your head. 

There’s no part of you anymore that registers an issue. No warning bells, no red flags, no hair raising. 

You follow him to the bottom of the patio steps, where he nudges you to kneel back down, folding over so your face rests against the soil. You wait while he goes inside, unsure of how much time has passed until he comes back out with a plate of eggs, scrambled with cheese and little bits of sausage. 

That raises some alarms. Not to the way he treats you, but more of a signal for what to expect. It’s protein-heavy, which isn’t necessarily unusual, but it smells delicious. And there’s no way you’re getting to eat that after behaving so badly. 

You’re half right. He squats down next to you and scoops up a bite with the fork. You don’t take the bait; you know that’s not for you. 

He moans exaggeratedly when he chews, grinning all the while. And then he scrapes the rest off the plate into the dirt in front of your face. 

“Ah, ah. Not yet,” he says, and you close your eyes at the sound of his zipper being yanked down. 

“You get wet from that beating earlier?” he asks.

You nod, even though he’s already reaching down between your legs and shoving his fingers in your cunt. He brings back his shiny hand and strokes his cock. 

“Look at me, baby,” he says, shifting onto his knees so when you open your eyes, you’re faced with his fist pumping away at the red, angry head. “Coulda been you. Shoulda been, but bad girls don’t get what they want.” 

You whimper. It really does hurt your feelings, but you know you have nothing to say for yourself. 

“Open. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and get some fresh.”

You obey immediately, squeezing your eyes back shut as soon as he starts to cum. A little bit lands in your mouth, which you hold open.

“You can swallow that. But don’t eat yet.” 

He walks away, puttering around on the patio. You try to work up the nerve for his command, stomach churning. Maybe it’ll still taste fine. Maybe cold semen and dirt won’t ruin it that much. Maybe. 

If you hadn’t earlier, you believed him now about it being the worst day of your life. He certainly wasn’t starting out small. Sure, you’d eaten off the floor before, but inside the house. The house you clean, so you know how sanitary it is. 

But thinking about doing this makes you want to cry. And when he tells you to get started, you do cry. Just a little. 

“You got about six minutes,” he says, checking his phone for the time instead of the eternally broken watch on his wrist, “and there better not be a single crumb left. Get your ass up here as soon as you’re done.”

You’re not sure how long it takes you, but it must be nearly the whole six minutes, because by the time you’re knelt at his feet on the patio, he says, “Cuttin’ it damn close, sweetheart.” 

He’s playing fucking Candy Crush, legs kicked out on the little wooden table in front of him. He’s got you knelt at his side, and after a few minutes, he digs into his breast pocket and hands you a smushed carton of cigarettes. 

You draw one carefully out of the pack and extend it to him, letting go once he’s pinched it between his lips and pulling out the lighter. Carefully, you ignite the tip for him and tuck it back away. You go to give the carton back, but he shakes his head.

He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth to blow smoke. “Hang onto that for me. And this,” and he hands you his coffee cup. 

It’s not the first time he’s used you as a table. He tried using you as a footrest but found it less satisfying. You try to sit and work through your nerves, try to ignore the terror that he might not keep you if you can’t endure the day. 

It’s a good thing that he drained you of any concept of dignity long ago, cut you open, and let it ooze away like pus from an infection.  

“Open,” he says absently, not bothering to look away from his game.

Your eyes and mouth snap open, and he taps the cigarette against your lip, letting the ash fall onto your tongue. You jerk back a little but correct it immediately.

He quirks an eyebrow. “I’ll give ya a pass this time. But keep your mouth open, tongue out, and don’t fucking swallow.” 

He’s clearly happy to spend the afternoon like this. He goes through a second cigarette and still doesn’t let you swallow or spit. Your knees ache from the planks of the deck. 

He gets up and goes inside for a few minutes, taking his empty coffee cup with him. You don’t dare drop your position, though. 

When he comes back out, he hands you a bottle of beer, condensation already dripping. He resettles to watch the game on his phone. 

Anything resembling hope is trickling out. He hates watching things on the little screen, peering at it through his glasses. But he never smokes inside the house, so he’s resigned himself to this for the sake of your punishment.

It makes you feel less than the ash on your tongue. 

By the time it’s over, your mouth has long gone dry, itching with the ash of four cigarettes, when he stands up and stretches. He leans down and holds your chin before spitting in your mouth.

“There ya go. Swallow.” 

And you do. When you cough a little as the ashes cling to your dry throat, he pries your mouth back open and spits again. 

It helps a little. 

iii. dismemberment

You’d only been in the Pit once before. The first time was arguably your worst offense, which was good, Joel thought, that you still hadn’t topped that misbehavior. 

But as glad as you are that it hasn’t happened a lot, it means you don’t really know what to expect. When he brings you into the ensuite, you know this routine enough that you kneel on the shower floor, barely flinching when he turns only the cold tap, and the faucet sputters to life. 

He never gets in until you’re shivering, so while he gathers fresh clothes and towels, you scrub the mud from your body. When he checks and finds you satisfactory, he turns the knobs until the water runs warm. 

Your shivers don’t subside for a few more minutes, though. Not until you’re practically done cleaning him with the spongey loofah. Hot tears burn in the corners of your eyes, though only a few slip loose.

When he turns around and takes it from you, you thank him for letting you wash him. 

He gives you a smile, hand cupping your cheek.

“Of course, baby. Don’t worry. I’m going to help you remember how to be my good girl.”

But first, before he can follow up on the threat, he washes the mud and piss from your hair with gentle hands, massaging your scalp. You hold still, head tipped back, and let the tears come harder.

He notices but doesn’t comment. It’s normal now, when he takes care of you after a hard punishment. Or, in this case, in the middle of one.

You go to speak, to pour out your regrets and devotion, but he shushes you.

“I want you quiet ‘till I say otherwise,” he says. “Nothin’ outta you unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

You nod, and he helps you to your feet, drying you with a soft towel and taking care around the raised welts on your ass. There will be some nasty bruises tomorrow, but when isn’t there? Your tits have mottled spots of yellow fading, and the shape of Joel’s hand around your throat basically never leaves. 

He gives your raw, burning skin a sharp smack, sending you off to put on the dress he’s laid out for you.

He tells you nothing, just leads you to the truck. The drive is quiet, apart from the crooning voice on the radio. It’s a bit of a drive, and you park in a broken-up lot surrounded by rusty chainlink fence. He grabs your hand and takes you across the street to a dilapidated building. A cheap banner is tacked above one of the doors. 

Joel hands a bill to a man, who opens the door just enough for you to squeeze in. It doesn’t take long to figure out where you are.

“Been a while since I brought you someplace nice, baby. Hope you like it, ‘cause we’re gonna be here most of the night.”

That’s the understatement of your life. He hasn’t taken you out of the house in over a year. You’re not sure you remember how to exist away from home, clinging to his arm as he leads you through the club.

You can’t decide what will be worse, but you don’t have to wonder for long when he drags you around to an empty stall. He’s not there to use a hole. You’re there to be one. 

He clips your collar to the wall with just enough slack that you could pull back to breathe if the person on the other side doesn’t let you. 

He takes the ring gag out of his pocket and dangles it in front of you. “You need this, or are ya gonna be good?”

“I’ll be good,” you say immediately, a phantom ache in the hinge of your jaw. 

“You sure? ‘Cause if you have to ask later or I have to make that decision myself, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper. 

“Good.” He pats the side of your face, two sharp smacks in lieu of a caress. There will be no softness for you tonight. 

He waits to talk to you until your mouth is full. You look miserable, but you don’t hesitate. It’s not to the standard he’d usually require, but you’re both aware of the hours ahead, so he lets you pace yourself. 

He crouches down near you. “You like that? Some random dirty prick in your throat?” 

You, of course, can’t answer, but your eyes close against the hurt.

“It’s fucking disgusting. You think I want to let just anyone use you? I could fuck any hole I want. I could go out there and have every cunt and ass and mouth. You know why I won’t?”

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t try to answer, don’t stop what you’re doing. 

“Because they ain’t you, sweetheart. You’re my perfect girl. Nicest I’ve ever had. And if I got something this nice, and I don’t share it with my brother? You don’t even suck him off right? How do you think that made him feel, baby?”

He keeps it up, past the point where he feels like carrying on, but he can tell it’s wearing you down faster than the relentless facefucking. You’re starting to work your jaw, joints popping in between visitors, but even that doesn’t compare to the way you’ve started to shake when he’s scolding you.

“I know you’re tired, baby. I hope you remember this fuckin’ lesson because I’m not sacrificing two nights of sleep again to repeat it.”

You whimper around the stranger’s cock, which encourages them to fuck into you harder. But Joel knows the tears in your eyes aren’t from that. 

“Yeah, you were bein’ selfish, huh? I couldn’t fuckin’ sleep with you out there, and now I’m up all night with you here.”

There it was, he thought, watching you break. A little too early; it was going to be tough to keep you going. But nothin’ did you in like the thought of having hurt him in the process. 

And it was true. He never slept with someone out in The Pit. Too fuckin dangerous. He kept watch on a camera. He needed you scared and sorry, not dead. 

He watches as you choke down the stranger’s seed, looking like you might retch. He shuts the little sliding door for a few minutes and gives you some water. After you’ve rehydrated and seem a little less green, he opens it back up.

“Alright, get ready for the next round.”

In the truck on the way home, he keeps you tucked close to his side. Between the dark, empty highway and his coat wrapped around you, you start to doze off. 

He nudges you a little. “None of that now. Ain’t finished with you yet.”

You whimper, not in protest but in exhaustion. Despite how hard you try to fight it, you’re fast asleep when he pulls into the driveway. 

He thinks about waking you up anyway, to follow through on his word. He carries you inside and up to the bedroom, still deliberating, but when he tries to set you down on the bed, you cling to him desperately, even in your sleep. He manages to wriggle the coat off you and lays down beside you. He’ll just let you both rest for a little while.

You wake up, mid-afternoon, shaking all over. Joel awakens moments later, eyes wide as he tugs on your arm to roll you over. 

“Oh, baby,” he says, and moves to get out of the bed. “Knew I shouldn’t have let you go to sleep.”

But you grab onto him, lip trembling. 

He knocks your hand away. “I‘ll be right back, jus’ hold on.”

You’re curled into yourself, sobbing, when he gets back three minutes later. 

He hands you a water bottle anyway. “Sit up; you need to eat. It’ll help.”

Somehow, you find the strength to struggle and wriggle your body into sitting. He brings you to lean against his chest while he leans against the headboard. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a kiss pressed to your head. 

You start crying hard all over again. 

“I know. M’sorry. I should have talked to ya last night, huh? S’that what you’re all worked up about?”

You nod. There you are, sitting in his bed, when you hadn’t fucking earned it. But he doesn’t shove you off or hurt you for it; he just feeds you a protein bar and lets you sip at the water between bites. 

After he’s given you the last of the bar, he has you slide down to your knees by the side of the bed.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I disobeyed and embarrassed you.” 

“I didn’t ask you what you did wrong.”

“Oh,” you say softly, and have to think. “I didn’t understand, at first. That you wanted me to suck his cock.”

“And after you did?”

“I—” you don’t want to say it. You know he’s going to be mad. He doesn’t like when you question things like this.

“Is this because Tommy said you weren’t special? ‘Cause you know better.” 

“No, I just… why did you get rid of the others? What did they do?” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, and cups your face in one hand. “I don’t think that’s anything you gotta worry about. Not anymore.”

“But how will I know how to do better?”

“You already are. None of ‘em ever made it this far. They talked big talk but couldn’t back it up. Some of ‘em didn’t want to give up the things you have, some of ‘em couldn’t handle my expectations. I told you, you’re the nicest thing I’ve ever had. You’ve let me make you exactly the way I want you to be.”

“Even though I was so bad the other night?”

“Yep. Because you took every consequence, and I know you’ve learned your lesson. And you’ll probably fuck up again someday. But if you keep wantin’ to be better, I’ll keep teachin’ ya.” 

You can’t help but cry again. You’re so tired and so tired of crying. 

“What, were you worried I was gonna replace you with some new young thing someday?”

You nod, and he clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“I’m gettin’ old, sweetheart. I don’t want to keep breakin’ in toys that ain’t worth my time. I just finished puttin’ you back together exactly the way I like ya. You stay my good girl, and you’ll be mine ‘till I die.” 

It doesn’t stop your tears.

“Hey,” he says. “What do you need?”

It startles you. “What?”

“What do you need? What’s gonna make you feel better, baby?” 

You’re not sure when the last time you’ve had to think about something like that is. He’s been taking care of you for so long now. 

“Whatever you want,” you say. 

“No, baby, that’s not what I’m asking.”

“That’s my answer, though,” you realize. “I need to feel whatever you want me to.”

“God damn,” he whispers. “I fucked you up, huh?”

Your lip trembles.

“No, baby, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just kinda incredible. Jesus. How could you think I’d ever get rid of you? There’s not a fuckin’ bit of you that isn’t mine.” 

Your cheeks burn, so you bury your face into his palm and press a kiss to the center. 

“You want to know what I want, is that right?”

You nod. 

“I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth. And then I want to order us some fuckin’ takeout and eat it in the bath.”

It makes you smile just a little. 

“Yeah? That sound good, baby?” His thumb rubs against your cheek. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, open up for me.”

You wrangle yourself into position. The initial weight and taste of him sends warmth through your bones for the first moment since he dragged you outside. 

It’s sloppy, the way he fucks your throat, in a way it usually isn’t. It’s always messy, but his thrusts are erratic. You can’t keep up with his pace because there simply isn’t one. It’s not long before he’s holding you down and pumping his cum down your throat.

It trickles down and cleanses everything in its path. You’re lighter, like you can breathe again. You thank him sweetly, pressing a kiss to his twitching cock. 

He’s panting, but strokes your cheek with one hand. “That’s my good girl. Feel better now that I washed all those other guys outta your mouth?” 

Technically, he had done that last night, had shoved three soap-covered fingers in your mouth in the gross club bathroom. Wretchedly, it had the side effect of making you nauseous, and he had insisted on doing it over after you threw up.

But this felt more pure to him, more consecrational in a way. The soap might have cleared the actual evidence away, but his come was your wine and wafer. 

“Yes, sir,” you say into the flesh of his thigh where your head rests. You kiss there for good measure, eliciting a pleased hum from him that sends you preening a little. 

He lays back on the bed, leaving a hand on the top of your head to stroke your hair while the other gropes around for his phone. “What do you want, baby? Lo mein?” 

“Oh, yes, please.” 

He feeds you noodles in the bath and then eats you out until you fall asleep. 

iv. reduced to bone

You’re on your knees in the basement, bent forward over a metal pipe placed at just the right height to nestle into your hips and keep them tilted up in the air. Stocks hold your head and wrists in place, tits hanging just below. The wood is slowly dampening as you drool around the ring gag. 

“Got a surprise for you, baby,” he had said when he led you down. “You know how you keep beggin’ me to hurt you worse, and I have to keep tellin’ you I’m not tryin' to wear you out?”

“Yes, sir?” 

“Well, I think you’re going to like this.”

That had been… well, you’re not entirely sure. A while ago, maybe, but your brain wasn’t the best judge of time right now. After he had secured you here, he had dragged out the little machine. It’s sitting under your torso somewhere, thin clear tubing stretching out like a web he’d caught you in. 

There’s no noise but the hum of it, which you’ve gone pleasantly numb to. The pressure is unending, each nipple and your clit being tugged into the tiny cups relentlessly. 

It tingles, just on the side of too gentle to be fulfilling on its own. That’s okay. You’re pretty sure you’ll be in delicious, mind-shattering agony soon. 

This you know because, well, it’s Joel, but also because of the tools he’s laid out on the little wheeled cart and left for you to stare at. 

A thin cane. Clover clamps with a length of chain. A tawse with a tapered, pointy tip. A wand. 

It makes you dizzy to look at. 

Also, you know because it’s a Friday night. Joel enjoys you however he likes any day of the week, but he’s careful about saving the deepest of his cruelties for Fridays. Because mind-shattering wasn’t really an exaggeration. When he gets like this, you sometimes don’t surface enough to take care of yourself for a day or two.

On those occasions, he never leaves you alone. Doesn’t want to, both because he loves when you need him that deeply and because you’re so soft and pliant. Truthfully, he thinks he could do anything to you then and you’d thank him for it. 

Which is why he’s got Tommy coming over tomorrow. It’s not that he thinks you need to be out of it to avoid a repeat of last time. He knows you learned your lesson and you’ll be good. 

But he’s got something special in mind that he needs help with. It’ll just be easier for everyone if you’re at your most agreeable. 

And yeah, you owe Tommy a blowjob. One of the ones that make Joel feel like he mighta died and somehow gotten through the pearly gates by the grace of your devotion. 

Plus, he’s pretty sure you’re going to love his plan, and he wants you unprepared, so you’ll cry real pretty and be truly desperate to show him your appreciation. It’s been on his mind since that night a few months back when you didn’t seem to believe him about never letting you go. 

He’s never fucking letting you go. There’s nothing in this world that could take you from him. He’s made sure of it. 

Sometimes, he has to remind himself that you don’t know you’re married. 

He thought about telling you that night, so you’d understand the depth of the commitment he’s made. But he doesn’t want you to take it the wrong way. Doesn’t want you thinking you need to act like a wife . 

He’d had a whole bucket of bullshit cooked up to excuse it, but when he told you to sign the paper, you hadn’t questioned it. Hadn’t questioned that you couldn’t see what it was, only the line where he pointed. You’d signed the fucking paper and never asked a goddamn thing. 

He was glad. He didn’t like lying to you. This was just one of those hoops to jump through in a world that didn’t understand what you shared. 

When he comes back down, your eyes are already glazed over. Your body shines with a thin layer of sweat, and your chest is heaving as you squirm. It’s gone beyond gentle. The waves of suction have you whimpering soft and high, barely louder than a breath, but nearly constant. 

He chuckles and strolls over, crouching down to wipe the sweat off your brow with the bandana from his pocket before it gets in your eyes. You give him a truly pathetic look, eyes wide as you drool helplessly. 

“Not so nice now, huh?” 

You whine. 

He strokes your cheek with an exaggerated pout before sliding two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the back of your tongue. It tries to curl around them, eliciting another cruel laugh. 

“Jesus, girl. S’there anything that would stop ya from gagging for my cock?”

You shake your head. Even if you weren’t spread by the ring gag and choking on his fingers, you’re beyond speech. Too far deep. 

Joel actually doesn’t mind when you talk. He’s got no rules restricting your speech (well, most of the time). As long as you’re respectful, he likes the company. 

But he really likes when you go quiet like this. When he’s pushed you so far that you can’t . 

“Look at you, all worked up. We haven’t even gotten started, baby. You gonna be able to take it?”

You nod, whining, and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes them on your cheek. 

“What was that, baby? Couldn’t quite understand ya.”

Tears spring to your eyes as you whine again. 

“I’m just teasin’,” he says and kisses your forehead. “I got ya. I know you’re gonna be my good girl and take everything I fuckin’ want.”

He reaches down and tugs the tubing until the cups pop free of your breasts. You cry out, but it turns into a desperate moan when he tugs the one off your clit. 

Yeah, he coulda turned the pump off first so they just fell off, but where’s the fun in that? 

He’s grinning wickedly as he reaches back up to your breast. He barely, just barely, brushes over the side of your nipple, and the sound you make goes right to his cock. 

“Fuck, you’re so swollen.” He has to remind himself he’s playing the long game; he just wants to pinch and pull so badly. He’s pretty sure you’ll scream, even though normally it wouldn’t be much at all. 

But he wants to fuckin’ torture you tonight, so he’s going to drag it out. He wants you incoherent and beaten down when he’s done, so far gone you’ll stay there for days. 

So he’s gotta start soft. He drags his fingertip around your areola, not quite brushing the nipple but tracing the ring left behind by the cup. You twitch, shoulders jerking back, and he grips your breast. 

“None of that, now,” he croons, letting go and switching sides to torment your other breast. 

It’s holy, in that way you never quite understood. Not like the Jesus kind, though you never were much for church either, but in the way that people chase salvation through empty bottles and sharp needles. 

With the wand and the tawse, he breaks you down again and again and again. But that’s the thing about Joel. He reduces you to pain or pleasure or the delicious apex of both that brews between your thighs, and then he cleans you back up, puts the pieces back where he likes them.

He makes you come until you cry, and then, when you’re sobbing and exhausted, that’s when the night really begins. You’re twitching and jerking at the barest contact, writhing with every snap of the cane. 

It’s so, so good. Until it isn’t. But he’s running that damn mouth of his, that sweet, filthy mouth, and you can’t not take it. Your tears are gone, all run out; he likes to wring you dry. And he keeps rubbing his hand over your hypersensitive flesh, already raw and ruined, and murmuring soft words and sweet taunts. 

“Look at you,” he croons. “My pretty little toy. You’re so beautiful, suffering for me like this, baby.”

And so you do. You suffer for him. There’s nothing left in your little subby brain right now but Joel Joel Joel. 

You’re dry. He almost can’t believe it. The only time you’ve not been a sloppy, soaking mess was when he broke your finger. 

He whistles low and slow. “Shit, baby. Guess you have some limits after all, huh.” 

It’s impressive that you can even lift your head enough to shake it weakly. An overwhelming fondness washes over him. 

“ Aw. Takin’ it for me anyway, were ya?” He comes around and squats near your head, unhooking the gag and easing it out of your mouth. He rubs gentle circles on the hinges of your jaw as you whimper.

“Did so good for me, baby. Lemme get you outta there, and I’ll give you my cock.”

You shake your head, tears spilling over, but you don’t have a voice. The words don’t come together in your mind, just devastation.

His grip turns tight, forcing you to look at him. “No? You tellin’ me no?”

You shake your head again, lip quivering. 

“You don’t want my cock?”

You shake your head harder and try to reach for him, hands flexing where they’re bound in the stocks. Trying to make him see just how bad you want his cock. 

Luckily, he understands that much. “You wanna stay there? Baby, my knees ain’t gonna like fuckin’ you here.” But he can tell from the way your face crumples that he still isn’t quite getting it. 

“Are you tryin’ to tell me you want me to keep goin’?” 

You nod and he slaps you, a sharp strike that catches you by surprise.

“Stupid girl,” he says, scowling, and gripping your chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “I decide when we’re done. The whole point of this was not to ruin ya. This ain’t a punishment. Well, it wasn’t. Might be, next time.” 

He stands up, shaking his head. “Dumb fuckin’ cunt.”

It hurts worse than the cane did. 

When he sees the heartbreak on your face, he sighs. “Ah, shit. Look, I know you’re just tryin’ to please me. But you’re makin’ me feel bad for tryin’ to be careful with ya. If I take it too far today, you won’t be able to take as much anymore. I ain’t breakin’ you.” 

You’re sobbing too hard to respond, but you don’t try to argue or struggle when he releases you. You crawl to lay kisses to the toes of his boots and nuzzle your cheek against them.

He sees it for the apology it is. 

v. parched to dust

This time, when Tommy Miller takes out his cock in front of you, you’re ready. And there’s no way in hell you’re disappointing Joel again, so you wrap your lips around him, not quite eagerly but with enough determination that no one could fault you.

When you drag the second consecutive orgasm from him, he tugs you away with a fist in your hair, panting and gasping. Joel swats his hand away and beckons you back to his lap. 

“ Jesus,” Tommy finally says, tucking himself back into his jeans. 

“Told ya it was just a bad day,” Joel snipes. 

“Sorry,” Tommy says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shoulda figured. It’s just… you’re a little soft for her, yeah?”

“Course I am. But I’m not soft on her.”

You know he loves you. You do. But hearing him admit that he’s soft for you makes your chest ache. 

“Got another surprise for ya, baby,” Joel says, rubbing his hand over your back. 

You’re overwhelmed. It’s not that he doesn’t give you things or do things for you; it’s that it’s never such a big deal. It just is . He takes care of you. That’s how this works. Not gifts and surprises. 

You bite your lip so you don’t question it, but he sees through you.

“Now I know you don’t remember. D’you even know what day it is?” 

“Saturday,” you say. “You’re home.” 

He shakes his head, but it’s betrayed by the smirk. “You’re right, baby. But what’s the date?”

You actually have to think for a minute. You hadn’t crossed off the calendar this morning like you usually did, and yesterday’s activities have you a little rattled. “It’s um, it’s August 19th?”

“That’s our anniversary, baby.”

Your brows scrunch as you try to think back. That’s not right. Your first date was in February. You moved in sometime early in June. You’re not sure what his metric is, but August doesn’t make sense. “Um. Are you… are you sure?” 

He doesn’t get mad like you thought he might. He just laughs. “Course, I’m sure, baby. It was the night we came home from your folks’. When you agreed to be mine.”

Your face heats. “I’m sorry—”

“Y’ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about, baby. I didn’t expect ya to remember. But you’ve been mine for two years now, and you’re still worried I ain’t gonna keep you. But I’ve been thinkin’, and I know how to prove it to you.” 

If this doesn’t convince you, he thinks, nothing will. Never mind that his whole goddamn life revolves around you. Never mind that you’ve worn his collar for the last 731 fuckin’ days. 

You’re busy wondering why he made you suck another man’s cock today if he cares about your anniversary. But then again, you’ve long accepted that what he wants won’t always make sense. It’s not your job to make it make sense. It’s just your job to do it. 

“C’mon, let’s go downstairs,” he says. 

You swallow hard around the sudden fear, and he laughs. 

“What? Had enough yesterday?”

“No, sir,” you say. It’s mostly the truth. Mostly. 

He shakes his head. “Not today. C’mon.”

Now that he moves, you follow. 

Tommy’s already in the basement, which almost gives you pause, if only because his movement startles you. 

Joel has you hop up on the padded table instead of the metal one, typically a sign that either you’re going to be here for a well-extended time or that he’s going to fuck you on it. 

Tommy’s setting things you don’t recognize out on the little cart, but you don’t try very hard to look. Looking makes your breathing get a little ragged, so you look at Joel instead. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, bending slightly to give you a kiss before he begins to slowly circle the table, fastening straps over your body. 

He’s left the dress on, which is weird, too, but you’re not complaining. It’s always a little chilly down here and even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re glad he’s not made you bare yourself completely in front of Tommy. 

It’s a lot of straps. You watch curiously, if not a little dazed, as he secures your ankles, thighs, stomach, chest both above and below your breasts, arms in three places, neck, and head. 

The one around your neck clips to your collar, not adding another band or choking you. But you’re unable to lift your head and neck at all. 

When he’s done with the strap across your forehead, he smooths away the worry lines that crease beneath it. 

“Just need ya to hold real still. You’re probably going to like this, but don’t fuckin’ come.”

“Yes, sir.” Your eyes are wide and worshipful as you wait for further commands. 

“Be real good for Tommy, okay?”

Your heart pounds in your throat, but you promise immediately. 

He hops up to sit on the spanking bench nearby. 

“Where first?” Tommy says. 

“Hip,” Joel says, settling in to watch. 

Tommy goes about his business and pulls the bottom halves of the table apart, wrenching your legs open slowly. He spreads them wide and slides a stool over, situating himself right up by your cunt, and flips the hem of your dress up over your belly button. 

You whimper and try to look at Joel for any indication of how you’re supposed to behave, but the restraints don’t allow enough wiggle room. 

Something cold smears across the front of your left hip, and, much to Joel’s surprise, you break. You’re still raw in more than one way from the previous day. 

“Please, sir,” you blurt, lip trembling and eyes squeezed tight. 

He hops down, brow furrowed, and comes closer, raising a hand to Tommy to pause him. 

He cups your face. “Please, what, baby?” His other hand rubs up and down your side. 

You force your eyes open to look at him, blurred through waiting tears. 

“Please, can I have a gag?” you say. Your eyes are scrunched, and fists clenched. 

He strokes his hand over your cheek. “‘Course you can. Good girl.”

The praise keeps you calm while he steps away. When he comes back, you open your mouth wide, and he settles it between your lips. 

You nearly cry in relief when you feel the little bulb press inside, not much different than the head of his cock. A few tears spill over when he leans down to kiss your forehead. 

“Atta girl, he says, pinching your chin before returning to his perch. 

The warmth of his touch lingers, and you let the pressure of the gag distract you from where Tommy starts to move again. You suck on it steadily, eyes fluttering shut when you feel the unmistakable scrape of a blade across your hip. 

Shaving. He’s shaving you. You can’t fathom why, with only peach fuzz reaching there. And you think maybe it’d be a cold day in hell before Joel let anyone shave your pubic hair. He liked it kept trimmed but not too neat. 

“I’m from the seventies, baby. Women’re supposed to have a nice healthy bush,” he had told you fairly early on when you were just dating. He hadn’t told you to stop shaving and waxing, but of course, you had. 

Warm water washes over the area with a washcloth not far behind. Tommy’s firm hand does a final sweep with something cold. 

“Alright, honey,” Tommy says, his voice almost seeming fond , “just hold still and be a good girl, okay?” 

As if you’d do anything else. 

You startle a little at the loud buzz that kicks up, and Tommy rubs gloves fingers over the opposite hip for just a moment. 

And then he gets to work. It hurts . But the pain clues you into what’s going on, and you come to the only logical conclusion: Joel’s having you tattooed. 

You start to cry, the feeling of being loved and owned overwhelming. You don’t hear Joel’s chuckle, buried as it gets under the gun in Tommy’s hands. 

You thought it was overly cautious of him earlier, to worry about you having an orgasm during anything involving Tommy. But you get it now. The pain itself is bearable, almost delicious, but the rush of euphoria in your veins from the mere concept is intoxicating. 

It goes on and on. Maybe it’s only half an hour. Maybe it’s four. The pain cycles, fading to a soothing heat before building back up to a scald. 

You don’t realize it’s over right away. The buzz of the gun plays on in your brain even when the room falls quiet. And Tommy’s doing something to it, probably wiping it down, but your skin still rages. 

Joel hops down and comes over to the side of your left leg. “Shit, that’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says to his brother. 

“Looks damn good. Hey, she’s got a real pretty pussy, huh?” He says, elbowing Joel. “S’funny, watchin’ her leak all over.”

Joel peers over, running a finger over your cunt, and laughs. “Knew you’d like that,” he says.

You whimper. 

He pulls out his phone and snaps a photo. “Want to see, baby?” He asks though he’s already turning the screen to you. 

The skin is red and irritated, but the ink takes your breath away. In shiny black, right there on your hip, sits a blocky “JM” surrounded by a circle. It looks like a fucking brand. 

Your eyes fly to his, whining desperately and praying he understands. A sly grin spreads across his face, and the tip of his middle finger traces oh so gently up your slit. 

“Come for me, baby,” he says, not bothering to touch you further. He knows you won’t need it. 

Vision blacking out, you writhe uselessly against the restraints as the pleasure batters through you. You’re only vaguely aware that the loud keening sound is coming from you, but it’ll register later when you feel the raw ache in your throat. 

Tommy whistles. “Sorry I doubted you, princess.”

You whine through the aftershocks, tears welling up again at the thought of the tattoo. You hope Tommy would leave so Joel will fuck you. 

Then you remember him asking, “Where first?” just as Tommy drags his stool around to the right side of your torso. 

Joel comes with him, rolling up his sleeves and tinkering with something on the cart. They both touch your arm a lot, fingers roving and adjusting you. You start to tune it out until Tommy lathers a spot on the inside of your wrist. 

Once it’s been shaved and cleaned, someone presses something against the spot for a moment. 

“Well?” Joel says. 

“Lines look clear to me,” Tommy says. He’s leaning close to your arm. 

Joel doesn’t walk away this time. As the gun kicks back to life, he stays with his hand resting on your upper arm, looming over Tommy’s shoulder. 

It’s easier this time, now that you know what to expect. It hurts, but you’ve had worse and probably will again. You’re feeling a bit too dizzy, though, when it finally stops. 

“This one’s for you to see,” Joel says, starting to unlatch the straps. He frees your arm first and then your head and neck, plus the gag. The ache makes itself known as soon as you shift a little. 

You peer immediately at your wrist, and a strange clenching tears through your chest. A few inches below your palm lays the dark outline of Joel’s thumbprint. 

“Oh,” you whisper, a strange tingling spreading through your limbs. “Oh.” 

“Knew you’d like it,” he says, lips curling into a smug smirk. 

Once you’re untethered, he peels your dress off so the fabric won’t brush against your hip. 

“There’s a protein bar and a bottle of water on the coffee table,” Joel says. “Go eat and wait by my chair.”

You’re swaying a little but he helps you down and makes sure you can stay on your feet before he removes his hands from your waist. 

You make your way upstairs in a daze. Truthfully, you don’t really remember it. When they come upstairs, you’re knelt in your place, wrapper and empty bottle on the table. 

“Good girl,” Joel says, lowering himself with a little groan into his recliner. He shifts around and pulls his cock out. “C’mere.”

You hop up immediately, and he takes you by the waist to help you settle where he’s fully hard already.

“Don’t move,” he says, to your great disappointment. “None of that,” he scolds at your pout. “It’s my turn. Just relax.”

Tommy sets the gun and equipment up to the side of the chair. You settle against Joel’s chest, snuggling in and resting your head on his shoulder so you can watch. 

Joel’s other hand, the one not waiting in place, comes up to cup the back of your head. He bends his head down to kiss where he can reach. “You’re being so good. Just a little bit more, and then you can take this cock.”

“Do not come on her tattoo, Joel,” Tommy says. 

Joel laughs, but Tommy smacks his arm. “I’m serious. It’ll fuck it up and probably infect it. Don’t fuckin’ do it.”

“I’ll wait ‘till it’s healed, don’t worry.”

You moan and clench around him at the idea, which only encourages his pleased chuckling. 

Tommy takes your hand, peeling it from where it rested against Joel’s chest, idly brushing through the hair there. You let him, letting it go limp and unresistant.

He presses your thumb against an ink pad and pushes it down on a piece of paper, rolling it carefully. He repeats the process a few times before he’s satisfied. Wiping it clean, he coats it one more time before pressing it against Joel’s wrist.  

You stare, rapt, as he traces the lines of your fingerprint onto Joel’s thick arm, framed by dark hair. It sits in parallel to the watch on his other wrist. 

“Where d’you want these?” Tommy says after he’s wrapped up and started to pack away the equipment. He’s holding the papers where they tested your print.

“The safes. One in each office,” Joel says. 

It’s weird, certainly, but so is Joel, so you don’t give it much thought. 

He’s cradling your face in his palm, looking at you with something so tender and ferocious that you can’t possibly look away. He thrusts up into you, his other hand tight on the hip opposite the tattoo.

It hurts, but, well, you don’t mind. 

The way he fucks you open now is slow, cruel after making you sit still for so long, but he’s savoring it. Savoring the way you can’t help but stare at him in worshipful bliss. It’s like a drug, the way his attention makes you hazy. He’s got you hooked, addicted, right where he wants you. His. 

Not a damn part of you that isn’t. 

The smirk curls across his face, and his hand curls around your neck, abandoning the gentle caress for something you both understand as love. You come on his cock when he tells you, every time he tells you, as he leaves you gasping and clutching his forearm, not prying him away but holding on as the room spins. 

When he fills you, he kisses you deeply, hand back around your throat as his mouth takes the rest of your air. You collapse against his chest when he lets go, and he holds you there with a smug, satiated smile and a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You doze in and out in his lap as he and Tommy share a bottle of bourbon. 

“Damn, I shoulda brought Daisy over. You haven’t had someone for her to play with in a while,” you hear Tommy say through the fog of your brain.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Joel says. His hand is scratching at your scalp and it feels so good you almost forget Tommy is talking.

“... my wife and your little pet—” he’s saying.

You don’t mean to open your eyes, but you catch his as soon as you do. He laughs. “Yeah, I got a wife. I’m not as mean as my brother, here.” 

You find that hard to believe, but also, you don’t really think of Joel as mean. He’s strict, sure, and he has high expectations. But he takes such good care of you, and you want for nothing. 

The phrase stirs something odd in your head. Do you want for nothing? Well, it’s at least partially true. You don’t want anything, not a thing you have or don’t have. You’re happy with whatever Joel gives. 

It’s probably the same thing. Besides, you wanted that career; you wanted to put on a face, a mask, and pretend to be someone who gave a shit about the company’s reputation. And you were wrong, so wrong. And Joel’s always been right. So what do you know about what you want?

Joel’s rumbling voice startles you a little where you’re tucked against his chest. “She was one ‘a mine, y’know,” he says to you. 

Tommy’s wearing a sly grin. “Yeah, until you scared the shit out of her,” he says, laughing. “Poor little thing didn’t know what to do with herself.” 

“She wasn’t like you,” Joel says. He waits as if he expects a reaction, but you don’t stir from your safe place in his arms. 

“Nah, not everyone’s as fucked up as y’all,” Tommy says. “I ain’t a sadist,” he says to you, a glint in his eye. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love puttin’ her in her place, but mostly, I just like havin’ my pretty little wife at home.” 

Joel’s watching you; you can feel the heft of his gaze. But you’re so blissed out, so calm right here in his lap, dripping his seed slowly around where his cock still fills you. 

“Would that bother you? Playin’ with a girl who used to be Joel’s?” Tommy goads.

You think about it for a moment. “She ever get his mark?”

Tommy grins, teeth like a shark. “Nope.”

You hum, unbothered, and nuzzle your cheek against Joel.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “Knew you’d learn this time.” 

You gaze at his thumbprint on your arm. The cells around it will grow and die, but not his claim on you. 

It’s almost comforting, you think, that by the time that fades, there’ll be nothing left of you anyway. 

bonus: the art of breaking playlist

thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who asked for a part two and expressed love for the first. I will admit I am INCREDIBLY nervous to publish this both because it's kind of fucked up but also because so many of you loved the first part and I'm scared this won't live up to your expectations.

please, if you enjoyed this, let me know! soothe my anxiety lol. and if you don't want to publically do so, anon is always on.

i love you!

[aurorawritestoescape]

FLOWER

Pairing: post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Tw: 18+ mdni, dead dove do not eat! dark fic! creator chose not to use all the warnings, unprotected piv, rough sex, enthusiastic consent, praise, choking, heavy angst

I didn’t include some warnings so as not to spoil the fic. If you wanna know them before reading DM me🖤

Word count: 900

A/n: Thank you for the moodboard and the writing challenge @iamasaddie ❤️ Your creativity never stops to amaze me😘😘😘

Masterlist

*****

Joel’s gripping the shovel tight, scowling at the first rays of the rising sun. A drop of sweat is sliding down the side of his face while he’s working tirelessly. His plaid shirt is completely soaked and an early morning breeze makes him shiver.

It’s the second time today that he’s sweating so profusely. The first one was a few hours ago when he was fucking you on his bed. Still wearing his shirt and jeans having just returned from a shift he was ruining your tight pussy as his sweat was dripping on your naked breasts.

“Sorry for waking ya up, baby. Need this,” he growled thrusting into you. “Fuck, that’s my girl!” he praised you, his face hovering over yours, after you tilted your hips up and opened your thighs wider for him to plunge deeper into your core. Your white nightie was bunged up in his fist, the skirt pulled up to your waist so he could see your greedy cunt swallowing his cock. His other hand found its usual place around your throat. Squeezing and letting go. And squeezing again.

***

You were always hungry for him, always ready to give yourself entirely. You never minded the dull ache of the stretch when his cock was splitting you in half. You loved the pain he bestowed on you, be it from his thick member or his harsh hands. You cherished every bruise and every scratch. He kissed them all after, gliding his calloused thumb over the ever changing rainbow of his marks on your body.

You’d been together only for a few months but his effect on you was tsunami-like. He quickly became your lover, your man, your god. You were new in town and the people in Jackson told you in a hushed voice to run, to escape, to leave him. He had a bad reputation, bloody trail of his past never seemed to wash off having turned him into a recluse. Yet no one could go against Maria’s brother-in-law. “He’s dangerous, violent, unstable”, well-wishers whispered in your ear at every opportunity when he wasn’t next to you. Which was rare. He became a major part of your life, all your life actually.

***

The first time he choked you, you came all over his thick thighs drowning his cock which was buried deep in your pussy. Soon you both couldn’t get enough of that feeling. Complete submission to Joel had already nested in your soul and you longed to give him more.

He’d never tell you but just the thought of holding your life in his hands like that made his cock throb. He loved your reaction to his hand wrapped around your neck. Joel groaned when your pussy vibrated around him, your cunt kissing his length. You looked so beautiful, your eyes rolled back, mouth opened desperate for air, your walls massaging his cock. He wanted to squeeze every part of you as if you were sand running through his fingers. He loosened his grip on your neck as soon as he started coming filling you up with his warm load. The color returned to your pretty face. You took a deep breath making up for the lack of oxygen and a surge of endorphins made you explode on his cock. You were in a pleasant daze after that and when he took you in his arms and stroked your hair you felt how much he loved you.

***

Today that love turned rotten. Poisonous. Suffocating. After fucking you still half asleep he sat up and put you on his lap with your back leaning against his broad chest. He was thrusting up into you and you helped him bouncing on his fat cock with your knees planted on the bed. His fingers were twitching your nipppes and rubbing your clit until his hand snaked up to the base of your throat and gripped it tightly. Your moan got muffled midway out of your lips and you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Love feeling your pulse, baby,” Joel murmured in your ear as your vein was fluttering under the pads of his fingers and your pussy began buzzing around his cock. Your hand was clenching his hair, the other gripping his forearm. You felt his muscles tighten as his fingers were squeezing your neck.

Soon Joel started shooting his cum into your womb and got lost in his high. Your pussy was making him feel so good. He missed how your hand tugged on his hair a few times and then fell on the bed. His spend was dripping out of your hole when his fingers finally parted from your throat.

*****

He stares at the ground and imagines you standing in front of him in your white nightie. You plant a soft kiss on his weathered lips and give him a warm smile. His dick twitches and he hates himself for it. He picks up the shovel and goes home.

There he doesn’t bother washing his hands. They’ll never be clean again. What’s done is done. And he’s done so many unspeakable things. Lost so much due to his mistakes.

He grabs his revolver from the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed. He thinks of all the people he lost. All the people he hurt. He thinks of you, a pretty flower crushed by his brutal hand and his eyes sting with tears.

Today he’ll pay for all his sins. Today he won’t miss.

*****

Thank you for reading!

Let me know what you think❤️ your comments and reblogs will make me very happy!

[partiallysame]

Dark!Romance/mafia/smut ideas I have

- he eats her out and makes her come and when she won’t open her mouth to taste herself off his fingers he holds her jaw open and spits it into her mouth

- police come to question him on a murder and he lies and uses her as his alibi. She immediately agrees with him and when the officer doesn’t believe her she pulls her skirt up to show the fresh hand print bruises on her ass as proof

- she’s being held captive and when he walks back into the room she’s supposed to be tied up in the man watching her is dead on the floor and she’s sitting calmly in her chair covered in blood. “You said only you were allowed to touch me”

[runariya]

THE TRIBUTE • 1

pairing: alien prince!Jungkook x human tribute!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, alien!AU, survival!AU, slow burn, angst, S2L rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: being chosen as a tribute word count: 3.2k

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 02

The fall of Earth wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t marked by fire or chaos that reigned for years, the kind of spectacle you might expect in an invasion. No, the aliens came quietly, without the usual drama of war. It began with whispers, transmissions intercepted by governments that never stood a chance. They arrived one day in ships larger than cities, hanging in the sky like indifferent gods, their presence screaming authority, and the sky cracked open completely and they finally descended, there wasn’t much left to fight for, really. The endless wars in the past had drained the Earth dry, and the alien empire had swept in to take whatever remained. The human race was too weak to resist, the shattered people in all cities too broken to protect themselves. So the world bowed, bent at the knee, in a way that had nothing to do with honour and everything to do with survival.

Their message was simple: Earth would continue, but under their rule. No destruction, no immediate casualties. Just quiet domination, the slow drip of submission. They called it mercy. They showed themselves as saviours—protectors, even. And somehow, despite the bitter taste it left in your mouth, humans believed them. Or at least, they didn’t fight one bit.

The royal family appeared everywhere, almost immediately, their images plastered across screens, on every corner, in every home. Prince Jungkook’s face in particular—a cold beauty—became a constant, a symbol of human survival. His name carried weight, and the people spoke it with reverence, though they were too afraid to admit the fear that simmered beneath. He was praised, all of them were, for sparing you. Sparing Earth from what, though? You were never told.

They broadcast it endlessly, the aliens, with their vibrant robes and strange customs, framed like some divine intervention, their vibrant colours contrasting the dullness that had consumed your live. While they basked in hues of gold and crimson, sapphire and emerald, humans were reduced to grey. Everything was grey now—the buildings, the streets, the sky, and the clothes you wore. It was as if the very life had been drained from Earth, leaving behind only muted shades of what the race once was. The grey uniforms became a symbol of submission, handed out without explanation, worn without protest. A world washed clean of individuality, of hope.

But the aliens—oh, they were different. Every glimpse of them was an assault of colour, a reminder of their power. Wherever they were shown, they brought with them the vibrancy humans were no longer allowed, flaunting their dominance with every shade, every rich fabric that swirled around them like a taunt and warning simultaneously.

Then there was the tribute system. No one spoke of it openly. No one dared. You were told from a young age that it was necessary, that it kept you all safe, but no one knew what it truly meant. Why, every year, a selection was made—human lives bartered like cattle. There was no resistance, no explanation, only the silent understanding that those taken were never seen again. And somehow, that became the new normal. The tributes vanished into the unknown space, and the earth continued in its quiet, grey monotony. 

We had been spared, they said. Prince Jungkook had spared us. But at what cost? No one dared ask.

You’re standing in a crowd now, one among many young humans, yet utterly alone, shoulders drawn tight beneath the weight of a thousand unspoken fears, but you keep your expression flat, indifferent. It’s easier that way. Easier not to feel anything at all. 

In the centre of the square, a screen hangs suspended between two decayed skyscrapers, flickering with static before the broadcast begins. You’re used to this routine, this cold display of power, yet the discomfort in your gut has never fully disappeared. And you’re sure, it never will. The emissary’s face appears, stark and inhuman, its features angular, skin pale like polished bone with robes in colours you only dare to dream of. Its voice, when it speaks, grates against your ears, the tone full of glee and dripping with fake warmth, as if this day is worth celebrating. 

It echoes across the crumbling square, sweeping through the huddled bodies of your fellow survivors. You’ve seen these broadcasts before, year after year, but this time feels different, this time *is* different. This time, it’s your name they call. 

“The tribute for Sector Seven has been chosen. Proceed to the transport at once.”

Your name lingers in the air like smoke, curling through your mind, clinging to the moment. The word ‘tribute’ isn’t one that carries any hope. It’s a word that’s always meant the end of something—of freedom, of choice, and most likely, of life. Still, there’s no time to let the weight of it fully sink in. You feel the crowd shift around you, parting like a tide as eyes slide toward you, pity laced into their avoidance. Some are grateful it’s not them. Others, too defeated to care.

It’s never you until it is.

For a second, the world slows down, your pulse thudding heavy in your ears full of loud static, but the moment passes. It always does. You move before your mind catches up, limbs stiff and mechanical, pushing through the parting crowd. No one stops you. No one offers a word of sympathy. This is the nature of things now: survival is solitary, and everyone knows better than to linger too long on the misfortune of others. Still, you catch a few murmurs from those who watch you pass, low and bitter, the sort of things you’d expect from a world this broken. They’re just glad it isn’t them.

Your heart is hammering, but you keep it all locked down beneath the surface. The last thing you need is to look weak. Not now when ever single step is being watched. Not when every single step brings you closer to something that feels disturbingly like an ending. 

The transport waits at the edge of the square, flanked by two of the empire’s soldiers. You’ve seen them before, standing rigid in their black armour, eyes hidden behind dark visors, their bodies almost too still to seem real. Like statues made of metal, empty of anything remotely human. As you approach, they don’t say a word, just gesture for you to board the ship. You pause for a moment at the threshold, the icy air from the interior licking at your skin, and for a heartbeat, you consider running. You won’t get far, but the urge is there, instincts flaring despite everything you know better. You’ve seen enough of these proceedings to know how it works: once chosen, there’s no refusal, no escape. You either go willingly or you’re dragged. Sometimes even killed, for what a human life is worth? Nothing.

Then you step forward. You have no choice.

The door hisses shut behind you, locking with a sound that reverberates through your bones. Inside, the transport is colder than you’d imagined, the scent of metal and machinery filling your lungs as you take your seat. You glance around, noticing the others who sit in similar silence, fellow tributes from the other six sectors—strangers, like you, plucked from whatever remained of their lives and thrown into this nightmare.

First, they don’t look at you. No one does. It’s easier that way, but you notice in an instant that you’re the smallest, the weakest, and it doesn’t help you keep the calm facade.

The transport jolts to life, the vibrations of the engines buzzing in the hollow space as it lifts off the ground. You try to settle yourself, to calm the rapid beat of your heart, but it’s impossible. Your fingers curl into the cold metal of the seat, knuckles white, as the city below shrinks away into the haze of clouds. There’s a finality to the way the world drops away, as if you’ve already crossed a line that you can never come back from, and in a way, it is.

The flight is long, though it’s impossible to tell how much time passes. You try not to think about what awaits you and close your eyes for a moment, blocking out your surroundings as best you can. Your mind drifts to the stories whispered among survivors—about what happens to tributes once they’re taken. None of the stories ever end well. Some say tributes are sold as slaves in the alien capital, while others suggest a more gruesome fate, that humans are used for experiments, their bodies discarded when no longer useful. But the truth is worse. It’s always worse.

But eventually, the descent begins slowly, the engines of the transport humming a low, ominous tone as the planet emerges from the veil of clouds below. The view from the narrow window is breathtaking, though it sickens you with the cruel reality of what Earth once was. Colours stretch across the landscape like a painter’s wildest dream—rolling fields of emerald green, rivers shimmering in shades of turquoise and cobalt, vast forests alive with every hue of autumn flame, though it is not autumn here. This planet pulses with life, chaotic and untouched, where nothing has been crushed beneath the fist of control. It is almost too much to bear. 

You glance again at the other six tributes, each taken from their corners of Earth. They still sit in absolute silence, their faces sunken, the knowledge of what is to come clinging to the air between you all like a shared sickness. From the strength in their postures, the way their muscles rest beneath their skin, you can see the warriors they’ve become, they are. They carry the defiance of continents long broken—one for each, their bloodlines ancient, their strength unremarkably deep. And then there’s you. The smallest, most fragile among them, bones light under skin that bruises too easily. Even among humans, you’re the weakest, and you can feel now their judging eyes on you, wondering how someone like you was chosen. 

The planet grows closer, the sky a vivid canvas of swirling pinks and golds, like a sunset that refuses to end. Yet, despite the beauty, despite the life that thrives below you, there’s a cold dread lodged deep in your being, one that rises the further you descend. You’ve heard the stories, the whispers of what awaits you on this planet. They tell you nothing directly, only that the arena lies somewhere in the depths of these vibrant lands, and within it, your survival is uncertain.

The transport shudders as it touches down, and you take in a silent breath, steadying yourself. The door slides open, and a gust of warm air rushes in, alive with the scent of wildflowers and soil, so different from the stagnant, metallic stench of the ship and earth. You step out, heart hammering, but your face remains impassive. There are soldiers waiting, but it’s the roar of the crowd behind them that hits you like a wall, an overwhelming volume of voices, cheers, and alien dialect twisted into strange pronounced syllables, all celebrating your arrival as though you were some kind of fallen star, a spectacle to be adored. 

The air pulses with their excitement, their bodies draped in vibrant silks that shimmer in the sunlight, arms outstretched, reaching for you, for any tribute who will acknowledge their praise, multiple cameras capturing every second of your arrival. Some of the others bask in it—grinning, high-fiving the aliens, taking selfies as though they are celebrities, lifted by the wild adoration, their smiles wide as they revel in this twisted reception. Others shrink back, shoulders hunched, their steps faltering as they cower beneath the push of all that attention, heads ducked low to avoid the eager hands reaching for them. 

But you—you keep your gaze forward, eyes locked on the path ahead, walking in a straight line behind the soldiers, schooling your face in indifference as best as you can. You try to give the madness no mind, let the noise wash over you like a storm you refuse to feel, to keep moving, refusing to be drawn into their chaos, not once glancing at the faces that strain to catch a glimpse of you. 

The city stretches before you, impossibly alive. Unlike the greys and browns of Earth, this place is a riot of colours—buildings that glow with warm light, spiralling upwards in organic, twisting shapes that seem to grow from the ground itself. There is no straight line here, no harsh edges or industrial steel. Everything is too perfect, too lush, and yet, beneath the beauty, you sense a hidden darkness, something far more sinister than the flowers and trees would ever reveal.

The palace comes into view not long after, a structure made of golden, glistening stone, it’s opulence disgusting you to no limit, and as you all are led inside, your eyes flit briefly to the faces of your fellow tributes. They hold themselves with the knowledge of their fate, some resigned, others still clinging to the fragments of hope that burn just beneath their skin. 

But you—what do you have but the defiance that hardens your jaw, that straightens your spine as the warmth of the palace washes over you? The silence here is rather oppressive, the sight of centuries of power pressing down on your fragile form. It feels like walking into the belly of the beast, swallowed whole by something vast and ancient, and all you can do is keep walking, keep breathing.

Prince Jungkook waits in the heart of it with seven nobly dressed men beside him. You’ve seen his image before every day multiple times, flashed across screens on Earth as if he were a god come down to walk among men. He’s a prince, they say, though it is not a title that means anything human. He does’t smile in those images, his face always carved from stone, eyes dark and unreadable, framed by robes of the richest, most vibrant colours—the kind that remind you of the flowers that no longer bloom on Earth. Here, in his palace, he is more imposing, more tall, more handsome than the images allowed. 

He watches you all as you are brought into his presence, though his eyes linger on you for longer than the others. His gaze is assessing, and as he takes in your small form, something flickers there—curiosity, perhaps. You’re nothing like the others, not even close. They are all built for survival, muscles honed and bodies strong, their hands made for fighting. But you... you are delicate, too easily breakable, and Jungkook sees it instantly. 

And yet, there is something in you that stirs his interest. You stand with a defiance that belies your fragile frame, your chin lifted high despite the obvious weakness of your body. He wonders how you’ve survived this long—whether it’s strength of mind or just sheer stubbornness that’s kept you alive. His curiosity piques as he steps down from his platform, moving with the grace of a predator who knows its prey has no real chance of escape.

Jungkook circles you all, the sound of his steps soft against the polished stone floor, his eyes never leaving your face. You can feel his gaze on you, piercing cold, as if you’re some strange creature he’s never encountered before. There’s no warmth in his presence, nothing that speaks of mercy or understanding. He’s power, pure and untouchable, and the thought of what he could do to you without even lifting a finger is enough to send your mind into survival mode. 

But you won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t cower before him, no matter how small you feel beneath his gaze, his so much taller frame. Your heart races in your temples, blood rushing to your brain to keep alert, but your expression remains neutral, your hands clenched tightly at your sides, nails biting into your delicate skin of your palms. You’ve already decided that if this is where you die, you won’t die with your head bowed. Never.

Jungkook eventually stops in front of you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes you in with his head slightly tilted. There’s something almost amused in his dark eyes now, as if he finds your defiance intriguing, though he’d never admit it aloud. “Fragile,” he states, the word rolling off his tongue like an observation rather than an insult. “But not afraid.” 

His voice is low, almost a whisper, and it sends a tremor through you, though you refuse to let it show. He’s testing you, pushing to see where your breaking point is. You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch under the intensity of it. 

“They say humans are resilient,” he continues, his tone almost mocking. “That you fight, even when there’s nothing left to fight for. Is that true?”

You don’t respond. You’re not sure you could if you wanted to. The intensity of his presence is suffocating, leaving you nowhere to escape, while his words challenge you, daring you to break, to bend under the pressure of who he is.

But you don’t.

“Fight,” his voice’s dropping to a whisper. “Or die. Those are your only options now.”

“Watch me,” you say quietly, your voice steady, though your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. 

He tilts his head, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I will,” he murmurs, and the threat in his words lingers in the whole grand room. 

Without another word, he steps back, dismissing you as easily as he might a piece of furniture. You all are nothing to him, and yet, there’s a flicker of something in his gaze as he turns away. Interest, perhaps. 

The guards step forward, the seven men too, grabbing your arms and dragging you from the room. You knew this wouldn’t be simple. You knew there’d be danger. But now, standing on the precipice of whatever fate awaits you, the reality of it all begins to truly sink in.

They don’t take you far—just to a small, cold room with nothing but a bed and a single window that looks out over the sprawling city. The guards leave you there, locking the door behind them with one of the seven men, dressed as vibrant as everyone on this planet, standing right beside you.

It’s quiet now, save for the faint steps of the guards outside, but the silence is anything but comforting. And as you turn to face the man beside you, you don’t really want to know what will happen next. All you need to know is that the fight is coming like it always does.

And the next words coming from the man confirm just that—you, a mere human among alien gods, have been chosen to survive it. Or die trying. 

„I’m Namjoon, your trainer for the Tribute Game.“

masterlist • 02

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