#raider!joel x reader

[dariaslookalike]

Needing Miller pt I

Summary: It's a shit hole of a world that you're living in, and it gets even shittier when you're ambushed in your sleep. It's a slippery slope that leads you from being tucked cozily in your sleeping bag to joining the raiding group lead by the most infuriating (and intimidating) man you've ever met. You need to survive, above all else- either in this group (without smacking its leader over the head), or in the world alone after somehow escaping. Easier said than done, when your mind loses all sense of focus, tactics and skills the second that Joel Miller rolls up his sleeves and shows his godforsaken forearms.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagnist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: I posted this on AO3 under the same username, feel free to give that a look. I'm excited to be posting this cause its been sitting in my drafts FOREVVEEERRR but i'm also not going to be updating it on a regular schedule- uni and life blah blah blah

Next Chapter: Pt 2

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You know something is wrong before you wake up.

There’s a shift in the air. A warm, humid breeze puffs against your cheek. You squeeze your eyes tight, trying to savour the little bit of rest you can find here. It was a miracle to find a mall like this; abandoned, free of infected, and a safe place to spend the night.

But your gut sinks and there’s a sudden sense of dread that settles on your shoulders now, even in your half-asleep state. You’re tucked into the corner of an abandoned clothing store. The racks were mostly picked clean, or otherwise moth-eaten, but you had found some coverage behind the counter. You had laid your sleeping bag down and could only imagine it before the outbreak; girls younger than you standing behind the register, tiredly scanning item after item as some middle-aged woman goes into a drabble about her day. But the corner was still quiet and safe; more than you had been awarded in your recent weeks.

So why was there a breeze?

Your hand inches down and grips at your knife, tucked into your jeans. It was uncomfortable and prodding to sleep with, but right now you were more than grateful you had kept it beside you.

You open your eyes and are met with a row of crooked, yellowed teeth and wide eyes. The man’s face is pressed up against the floor and he grins at you, his nostrils flaring when your eyes meet his. You can see every dirty pore of his face, every cold sore littered around his mouth.

You scramble back, trying to put some distance between the two of you so that you can rip your hand out of the sleeping bag and stab him through his grinning mouth. He laughs, and it sounds bubbly and excited. You glance around quickly and see another man, standing off to the side. Not as if he’s on the lookout, but as if he’s simply overseeing his friend; supervising his fun. His face is hollow as he looks at you. Uncaring. You feel nauseous.

The man is wiry and everything about him is thin. The angle of his shoulders, the concavity of his neck, the tight pull of skin around his face. He shifts himself into a squat, and his hands snake out, gripping you by the shoulders. He pulls you up, and his bony fingers dig painfully into your shoulders, his rotten mouth fanning across you.

His voice is croaky and uneven, but he leers closer to you. “I’m gonna have so much fun with ya. Love it when they get that scared look on their face.”

You blanch, and feel your breath get caught in your throat. But damned if you give into his weird, kinky reverse psychology. You struggle, kicking out to him, and it does little more than shuffle your sleeping bag further down. He chuckles at your feeble attempt but you don’t stop. His hands pin you to the wall, but you’re almost thankful for it- it lets the sleeping bag tug down unresisted while you remain upright. He just smiles and it makes his face crease in a way that reminds you of a worn, leathered shoe.

“Look atcha. Pretty face. Can’t wait to see what those pretty lips do.”

He squeezes against the clothed flesh of your breast. He groans, and pushes himself forward, rutting against your leg. His hand kneads against your breast harshly. Your arm is finally out enough that you can wrench it free of the sleeping bag material, and you manage to kick it completely to your feet. He doesn’t notice, instead entranced by his groping.

But he fucked up. Let your shoulder go to be a pervert. Stupid fucking raider.

And then your arm is raising and your fingers are clutching the knife so tightly and your arm is swinging down and your muscles tense with the amount of force and your hand angles the blade for his neck.

But his eyes dart over at the last second and he stops chuckling, instead swinging himself to the side. Your knife misses his neck, but you follow it through regardless, driving it home into his shoulder.

He cries out in a twisted combination of pain and fury, and his hand drops from your breast. You see his friend advance closer, hands reaching to his jeans, where a gun is shoved into the side. The man in front of you snarls, not even bothering to tell him to back off with words; but his friend gets the message, and drops his hand, stepping back. Deeming you not a threat.

You dig the hilt in deeper and kick out, boots connecting against his shin.

He whips back to you, and spittle flies out of his mouth as he huffs in pain. But his other hand still pins your shoulder, and in a second it readjusts to your throat, squeezing against the column of your neck. His eyes are somehow wider, and you can see the red veins surrounding them.

You’re forced to abandon the knife in his shoulder, and instead both your hands come up to claw at his hand. He laughs, and reaches up, twisting the knife out of his shoulder in a pained yell. You want to tell him he shouldn’t have done that. Stupid fucking raider. That he might bleed out now if you were lucky enough to nick an artery. But instead, you bare your teeth and your hands reach out, clawing at his eyes when it proves futile to attack his hand. His fingers squeeze tighter at your throat and you suck in your last breath.

He’s going to kill you, says a small voice in your head.

He angles his head back just far enough that your hands can’t dig into his flesh and the strain makes his neck look taut and ready to snap. You’re starting to get lightheaded. He laughs again, and you kick out; but this time it’s weak, frenzied and doesn’t land with the direction or force as before.

He’s going to kill you. Stupid fucking raider.

The bloodied knife is in his hand and he angles it up, digging the tip into the apple of your right cheek. The hand at your throat relaxes, and you realise it’s for the same reason his friend didn’t intervene. You weren’t a threat. You gulp down air and it brings back focus to you. You dig your fingernails into his forearm but he doesn’t even flinch as you draw blood, and gouge your nails in deeper. He just shows all his yellow, rotting teeth in a grin.

“Thought we could have some fun.” He moves his face closer, sneering. “But you’re a fucking bitch with this fucking knife.” He digs it in, and you feel blood dribble down your face. “Gonna make sure you’re just as fucking ugly outside as you are inside.”

He digs it in deeper but his eyes stay trained on you. You realise he’s waiting for you to start begging. To start pleading for yourself, for your skin, for your face. To convince him not to maul you and assault you and kill you.

You spit on him and it lands across his nose and cheeks. “Fuck you. I’ll still look better than you, you inbred piece of shit.”

He drags it down your face and you hate the satisfaction in his eyes when you cry out. You feel it slice through tissue and he drags it from your right cheekbone down the length of your face, and it’s such a searing, precise pain that throbs throughout your whole face; he could have been stabbing you in the eye at the same time, and you wouldn’t have been able to differentiate. You can feel the tip of the blade scrap against your teeth and gums and blood fills your mouth and your lips part, letting blood flow out instead of choking on it.

But then a shot rings out. And the hand at your throat falls and the knife is wrenched out of your face.

You can feel your own blood gushing down your cheek but there’s something warm and wet splashed across the entirety of your face. You crumple to the ground, and your hands press themselves against your cheek, trying to halt the bleeding. You can’t even think, don’t even know why you’re trying to stop the blood flow when there’s no way you’re making it out of here alive. He was going to have his way with you and he was going to kill you and his friend was going to-

Your eyes flick across the floor, and travel up his pair of jeans, to his bloodstained shirt, to his face that’s half missing. It’s a bullet hole in the same manner as an asteroid being played in a darts game. There is no precision or clear entry or minuscule crater. His face is torn apart in a mess of red and flesh and wet and his one eye stays on you, unseeing. Your spit is still flecked across his cheek.

You lean over and vomit, and it’s a horrible mixture of bile from your empty stomach and red from your cheek. It stings against your wound, an acidic pang.

Someone’s talking and you’re reminded of the man standing to the side. But it’s two voices. Your ears are buzzing.

“What did I fucking tell you about the girls? What the fuck did I say?” Commanding. Brutal.

“I-I’m sorry Joel.”

A thud. “I asked you a fucking question. What did I say?”

“T-to not touch 'em. To not think about it.”

“‘should blow your fucking head off. Look at your friend-” You can see in your peripheral that the man’s head is clenched in the newcomer's hand, and twisted in your direction. There’s enough force that he could have had his neck snapped, but he simply stumbles and looks over towards you.

“You think for a second of doing the same as him, and I’ll wrench your skull off with my bare hands. Now get the fuck out of here. Don’t come back.”

And then there’s silence.

The man still stares up at you. His head has become a puddle on the floor. He’s missing half of his face, and you think the other half is splattered on you.

You stare at him.

Can’t stop.

Stupid fucking raider.

He was going to kill you.

His chest doesn’t rise and fall. He’s not gasping for breath. Your cheek is a searing, blinding pain, and you wonder if he felt anything while it happened.

The red of his face drips onto the tiled floor. It spreads out, and soaks into the corner of your sleeping bag that’s crumpled to the floor. You can see his brain but you can’t rationalise it with the diagrams you had seen of a pink, fleshy oval. It’s red and dripping and chunks of it are hanging out and it looks more like a splattered, bruised tomato than some scientific drawing.

You should be standing up. Running. Sprinting until your legs give out. Wiping his blood off your face. Stopping your bleeding. That’s what the voice in your head tells you. You’re vaguely aware that the man- Joel, says the small voice, is still in the room with you. That he might be worse than the man now soaking into the floor.

But you stare at him. Can’t stop. He was going to kill you.

It’s like the world dulls when the other man crouches in front of you. Your ears don’t hear anything. Your eyes only see the red veins of the man in front of you, blooming out as he drains onto the ground. You feel lightheaded and the throb of your cheek and sting of your bruised neck fade into the background.

And then a hand touches your chin, which is wet with…you’re not sure. Your blood. His. Tears.

He- Joel, the voice in your head hisses- tilts your face to him and your eyes are wrenched away from the man on the floor, and instead, you meet brown ones. Crows feet creep out at the corners. There’s a notch in between his eyebrows as they furrow. His nose is strong and carved and his jaw is square. He says something and you don’t hear it, instead eyes dropping to the movement of his lips.

And then the world rushes back in.

Your ears are filled with the noise of your heavy, ragged breathing, you feel the bright, stinging pain in your face, and you can smell the iron spreading from you and on the floor. And you don’t know how but your knife is back in your hand. It’s still red. You don’t care. Instead, your pulse is thrumming in your neck and you feel it drip down your face. And your muscles are all screaming at you in support and that voice in your head is a rapid chant of yes yes yes yes. And there’s adrenaline filling your chest, and you growl, eyes twisting and you lash out like a rabid animal, your teeth gnashing and your knife swinging down in a high arc and this time you’ll make it count, you’ll make it land, you’ll fight and you’ll scream and you’ll kill and you’ll-

Your knife doesn’t even make it halfway through the air before a hand grabs your wrist, stopping all motion with that one action; like screeching a train to a halt.

You growl, and it comes out guttural in your heavy breath. You bare your teeth and taste your blood. You angle the knife down, tilting it so that the bloodied edge digs into the large hand grabbing your wrist. You see blood start to drip down his wrist and you force more pressure into the hilt of the knife. Slice it through tissue and tendon and bone. Create that searing, precise pain.

You carve a nice wound into the hand, but then with only a flex of tendons, Joel squeezes your wrist so tightly that your bones groan against each other. Your hand involuntarily flexes and the knife clatters to the ground beside you.

Your free hand snakes up, aiming to gouge out his eyes. He huffs, and again, easily grips your wrist in his hand.

You bite back your cry this time, and snarl. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

It comes out garbled, and blood drips from the inside and outside of your cheek, but he understands. He scoffs. It’s not perverted or desperate in the way the man’s was; it’s genuine disbelief. His voice rumbles out from him, deep and unyielding. “And how are you gonna do that?”

Stupid fucking raider.

You use his grip against him, his resistance to let go of your wrists. You force yourself forward, and his tight hold on you means that he falls back, and lands against his back with a dull oof. You raise your elbow as high as it can and slam it back down into his sternum. You slam your knee down, and it connects with his crotch; you hear him groan beneath you painfully. You go to kick out at him, knee him in the crotch again until his grandkids are screaming for you to stop, but his thighs cage you, and tighten around both your legs. You stretch your fingers out like claws and rack them down his neck, drawing lines that bloom in red. He adjusts his grip, and his hands easily envelop yours completely.

You stare down at him huffing, and struggle in his grip, like a mouse caught in a snake’s hold. You jab anything you can into him, your elbow back in further, your hip into his thigh. You land blow after blow and you’re sure they’ll bruise by the way he hisses and groans. But he’s stronger than you and his hold tightens around you, squeezing in until you can’t move at all, instead pinned against him. Now that he knows you’re resistant, he doesn’t let you move an inch.

His broad, thick legs squeeze against your own so that you’re lying atop him, while he holds your hands painfully between the two of you. His hand is pouring out blood from where your knife sliced, and it seeps over your hands, sticky and wet and reeking of iron.

Joel scoffs again, and you think it’s the most annoying sound you’ve ever heard.

“Real impressive- first time I’ve seen an elbow jab be used as a killing blow.”

His drawl is Southern; smooth and honeyed, which almost sweetens his mocking words. You’re going to tear his throat out with your teeth.

He looks up at you, and his eyes almost soften. But then his face morphs into something tense, something rigid and he shakes his head. “‘M not gonna kill ya. Or hurt ya.”

You laugh, and your hair falls with the movement, spilling to frame your face and hang over the man beneath you. Your blood drips from you onto his cheek. He doesn’t move to wipe it away.

“Exactly what your filthy fucking raider friend said. We’d have some ‘fun’.” You lean down, eyes wide, and you chuckle, trying to not let the pure fear seep through. His grip is so strong on your hands that you know he could splinter your bones right now if he wanted to; he stops you from leaning closer to his neck as you planned, and you gnash your teeth. “I’ll bite your fucking dick off if you put it near me.”

You expect him to scoff. Maybe slam you into the floor, push your face into the puddle of the last man who hurt you. Break your hands.

Instead, he lets go of you. Loosens his legs against yours.

You stare down at him for a moment, shocked. But then you scramble back, so quickly you almost slip, until your back is against the wall. You reach out, gripping the hilt of the knife you lost in the palm of your hand.

You sit back on your haunches and breathe heavily, eyes trained on the man in front of you. His eyes don’t leave yours but he sits up. Draws his legs in closer. Pushes to his feet, and crouches, mirroring you.

You both stare at each other, and you can feel his attention on the knife in your hands, the tension in your shoulders. You take in the reddish lines down his neck, scratched down the surface. Your blood on his cheek. His blood dripping off his fingers. You force yourself to swallow. You tried stabbing him once and he easily stopped you; it won’t take much now that he’s expecting it too. You force yourself to still your breathing. Force yourself to place the knife beside you, on the floor.

He nods at the action and raises his hands, palms facing towards you. An act of surrender too.

“‘M Joel.” He says, and it’s so simple that it leaves you blinking for a few seconds, waiting for him to continue. But you realise he’s waiting for you to introduce yourself, and you do so. He whispers your name under his breath, as if verbally committing it to memory.

“I meant it- ‘M not gonna hurt you.” He tilts his head and spits against the dead man on the floor. “That fucker’s always been a problem.”

A problem. His words from earlier rush in; reminding the other man that he had warned them about girls. You run your tongue along your teeth. It tastes coppery. “You’ll let me leave?”

He nods again, slowly, as if you were a cornered animal. You suppose you were. “‘f ya want.”

You nod slightly, and the movement makes you aware of the wet drip from your cheek, and the dried splatter across your face.

He sighs. You knew there was going to be a ‘but’. Stupid fucking raiders.

“You’re gonna run into bad things out here,” His tone is matter-of-fact. “Fuck knows where you’re going, but others won’t be as kind as I am.”

You gesture your head to the body between you two. “As kind as him?”

“Worse.”

“So what? You’re telling me to get off your turf, turn around and don’t look back?”

He shakes his head again and huffs out a breath as if all this talking is tiring him. “No. I’m telling you to join us.”

You blink. Your cheek still drips and the pain at your neck still stings. You scoff, and your hand itches for the knife at your side. “So I can be your group’s whore? I said I’d bite anything you put near me.”

“We don’t do that to women. Or girls.” His eyes dip down to you at that, taking you in, assessing you. You wondered if you looked like some dirty street urchin. “But I’m one man down, and you clearly have some fight in you.”

You clench your jaw, ignoring the sting of your cheek. “I don’t trust you.”

He stares at you and tilts his head to the man beside you, his tone sharp and biting. “You think he trusted me? ’M not going to be your fucking friend.”

He pushes to his feet so suddenly and quickly that you flinch back, hands gripping the hilt of the knife beside you instantly. His eyes track the movement, and his lips tug up the smallest amount as if you proved his point. That you would still fight.

He huffs and rolls his eyes as if it’s the most obvious choice in the world. “Leave. Stay. I don’t give a shit, but it’s going to be the best deal you get out here. ‘Specially before you bleed out.”

He points at his own face, mirroring the wound on your cheek. And then he turns and steps over the dead man, and walks away. You watch his form; the broad expanse of his back. The muscled tone of his thighs beneath his jeans. His full height now that he was standing.

You could run the other way. Forget about his warning and keep heading east, not that you had a place in mind. Maybe he was bluffing- maybe there was no one else here, and he was banking on you not questioning it…Except you had seen the evidence of raiders as you advanced here. You weren’t stupid enough to not recognise tracks kicked into the dirt, or the rubbish left behind or the corpses that weren’t decayed by years, but were newly rotting.

You could listen to him, and just turn around; pray you didn’t run into any groups you had somehow avoided and go back to fucking FEDRA and everything you tried to leave behind. Or…stay. Stay with the stupid fucking raiders who split your face open but have someone to look out for you; someone to take watch while you slept, instead of just crossing your fingers and hoping that would be enough- because it clearly wasn’t.

Fuck.

You curse yourself. Reach out, and wind up your bloodied sleeping bag as quickly as possible, shoving it into your bag. Sling your pack across your shoulder, and stand up. You shove your knife into your jeans.

You look down at the dead man. There is an unholy halo of blood, blooming around what’s left of his head, that edges onto the toe of your boot.

You walk past and kick him.

It’s not hard to find Joel. He’s leisurely walking down the hall outside; as if he knew you were going to chase after him. He doesn’t turn when you come up beside him, but he talks, his low voice grumbling out between the two of you.

“I’ll get someone to have a look at that. As…an apology for what happened back there.”

Your cheek thrums in pain, and you nod. Can’t exactly expect a bouquet of roses for nearly getting assaulted by one of his henchmen. Some good stitches and antiseptic would be the next best thing. You reach up, and press the cuff of your flannel into your cheek, reminded that you should be putting pressure on it. You try not to swallow the blood in your mouth too much. You wonder how bad it’ll scar.

“Thanks. I guess.”

He nods, and you walk like that through the mall for a bit. He’s leading you back to the entrance you realise, and you have to quicken your pace to keep up with his long strides. You look up at him. “So..are we going to talk about schematics?”

He glances down at you, eyebrow furrowed, and scowling. “You’re not getting a fucking badge for joining.”

“No.” You scoff. “I mean you said we had a deal. What are the strings attached?”

“Strings? This isn’t a business deal. You join. You do what I say. You’ll get fed, protected, the works.” His eyes are stony as he looks at you. Not glaring at you but glaring nonetheless. “Better than what FEDRA can fucking offer.”

There’s a beat between the two of you where he awaits an answer to a question he never asked. Finally, you nod.

“Okay.”

He nods and faces away from you again. Joel’s peace is short-lived when you tsk, speaking up once more.

“What about the rest of the group?”

Another unspoken question, but he reads it loud and clear in the tense of your shoulders, the blood still dripping down your face, the pain as you speak each word and try not to catch your ruined flesh in your teeth. Would you be safe? His Adam apple bobs and he slows, coming to a full stop. He faces you fully, and you clutch the strap of your bag, barely breathing. The glint of a gun is at his waist. You didn’t see it earlier in all the commotion, but now it draws your attention. The same gun that shot your attacker; his man.

You’re reminded that he could kill you easily now. Gun or not. He didn’t sound like he was exaggerating when he threatened to rip off that other man’s head.

“If I say no one’s touching you, no one’s fucking touching you. That’s it. Now shut up.”

He turns and walks more briskly now, and you have to actually jog a bit to catch up after standing there dumbfounded. Rude. Arrogant. But…he was going to keep you safe. Had shot someone- no, not someone, but shot one of his fellow raiders to keep you safe when you didn’t even know him.

He was the only thing standing between you and the rest of the people in his group; the only thing standing between you and the other raiders you had narrowly avoided, combing over the area; and more importantly, the only person standing between your gaping wound getting infected and septically killing you.

You were fucked.

You swallow and remain silent at his side, passing through half-empty shops to get to the mall’s entry. The hallway broadens up into a large foyer, where a water fountain sits, desolate. An abandoned food court surrounds it, tables and chairs cleared out to one side. There’s a group standing at the fountain and you falter. Maybe you should just leave. Run while you still can. Face what’s out there.

But Joel turns beside you and casts a knowing, disapproving look at you as if he could tell exactly what you were thinking. You clench your jaw, ignoring him, and continue forward.

The group talked excitedly, loudly, as if it didn’t matter who heard them. Some of them sit on the lip of the fountain while others stand and talk. The chatter dies down when Joel walks up, and all eyes turn to him.

But their attention is torn, and you feel eyes rake over you; taking in your ruined cheek that’s bleeding down your neck and onto your shirt. Your small statue. The rigid tense of your shoulders. The stained knife in your waistband.

Joel notices and rolls his shoulders, the same way a lion stretches its paws out; a show of power and restraint. “Terry’s gone.”

All the eyes drag back over to him, and you see a man in the back visibly pale. The same man from earlier. Standing guard. Your stomach curdles, and you inch closer to Joel, trying to hide slightly behind his broad form.

Joel tenses when he feels you brush against his arm but he's not obvious in reacting when he sees the same man. You think that, if you weren’t a centimetre from him, you wouldn’t see the rigid still of his shoulders or the flick of his gaze over the faces, that lands and stays on the man. You can hear his words and wonder if he’s rethinking them too. Don’t come back.

He tilts his head down to you and you hate the swivel of eyes, how everyone is now permitted to look at you. The man’s face at the back hardens.

You wonder if he’s staring at the splatter of his friend across your face. Or the ragged gouge in your cheek- he was now the only one here who had seen your face unmarred. You hate that thought.

“She’s with us now. Anyone thinks of following Terry’s footsteps-”

Joel’s hand moves so fast you don’t register it reaching down to his waistband and coming back up until his gun is firing again. The man at the back drops in a spray of red and you shudder out a breath, eyes wide. The noise leaves your ears in shock and everyone takes a step back, some swearing and other’s hands going over their heads.

“And you won’t live to regret it.”

You swallow, and your stomach folds in on itself. Jesus. And Joel said he was kind. What the fuck had you agreed to? Who had you agreed to?

The other men nod, and you realise it’s subordinate. A curt response to their boss. Joel. The leader of this group of raiders. Joel, who had just killed two of his men- one for hurting you, another for disobeying him. Some of their eyes flick back to the now-dead man, whose head is pooling out on the floor.

Joel scoffs. “Deal with that.”

He gestures at two of the men. They spring into action, not questioning him for a second. Joel turns his attention to another man, standing closer to both of you.

“Ryan. Patch her up.”

The man, Ryan, nods. Joel steps away from you, and you almost step with him, not wanting to be left here. But you still yourself. Force your legs to remain planted. Don’t let these strangers think that you need someone to protect you. He walks away, back into the mall as if he wasn’t finished with whatever had dragged him there in the first place.

Ryan walks closer to you. He’s wearing faded jeans and a military-style jacket; all pockets and thick material. He offers you a thin-lipped smile; an acknowledgement and nothing else. You don’t return it.

He gestures his head towards the fountain. “Sit. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

You give him a short, curt nod, but don’t turn your back to him or anyone. Everyone watches you warily. But when you sit, and Ryan shoots a look over his shoulder at them all, that has a flash of Joel’s authority, the conversation gradually returns.

It doesn’t even get interrupted when the body is dragged away. You don’t look. You brace yourself against the edge, hands gripping the tiles. You look up at the man in front of you.

“You ‘re a doctor?”

His lips tug, and he reaches over, grabbing a backpack set near the fountain. “Something like that,” he mutters, riffling through the bag. “I was before the outbreak. Haven’t been one for a long time.”

You nod. He looks to be in his thirties. He must have been just out of med school when the outbreak hit; fresh, probably still doe-eyed and hoping to make a difference in the world of patients.

“Doctor to raider. Crazy pipeline.”

He sighs and looks down at you. You see gauze and a sewing kit in his hand. “Yeah. Did Terry do this to you? Did he…do anything else I need to look at?”

You swallow. Shake your head. “No. Didn’t get that far before Joel found me. He just,” You tilt your neck to the side, exposing the now purple marks on your skin. You wonder how much blood is stained against them. “Choked me too.”

“Told him he was gonna find out if he fucked around.” Ryan huffs angrily, muttering to himself. “I can’t do much for your neck.”

He places his materials down and instead grabs a rag from within the bag. It looks clean enough, at least. He dampens it with his water bottle and then passes it over to you. You wipe it across one side of your face but don’t bother touching the still-flowing wound. You swipe it down your neck, and finally across your hands; you think most of it is your blood, dried against your skin, but your eye catches the toe of your boot. Where you had stepped in Terry, or what Joel left of him.

Ryan takes back the rag and draws his eyes back to yours. His hand reaches up, pressing against the skin of your neck. You flinch back before forcing yourself to relax; he was an examining doctor, not an opportunistic pervert. Hopefully.

“He didn’t do much damage here. It’ll feel worse but then the bruises will fade. As for your cheek…” He tilts his head and bends at the waist, inspecting the torn flesh better. “I’m gonna have to stitch you up. It’s starting to clot which is good but it’s straight through.”

“Yeah. I can taste it.”

Ryan’s lips don’t curl at your statement, instead, he nods in understanding. He rifles in the bag again and produces a large bottle. When he opens it, it smells like the tea tree oil that your mother used to keep in the bathroom cabinet.

“Nature’s antiseptic- it’ll work fantastic at cleaning and keeping out infection, but it’s going to hurt like a bitch and I don’t have anything to give you.”

Did you just look so pathetic and bruised up that he was taking pity on you?

“Can’t be worse than being stabbed in the face, right?”

He shrugs and it does nothing to fill you with confidence. He opens the bottle and pours out some onto his hands and the needle in his grip, sterilising them in a mock imitation of surgery conditions. You force yourself to turn from him, expose your wounded cheek to him.

You don’t know how you sit still. The first stitch is piercing and stinging and brings the throbbing attention back to your cheek. You can’t look at him, so you focus somewhere in front of you; count the cracks in the tiles and the amount of squares. By halfway, you’re not resisting the tears streaming down your face, or wiping the blood that’s dripping down to your chin again. You feel like you’re going to throw up again and acid rises at the back of your throat.

When he finally pulls back and cuts the thread, your hands are shaking. Then he slathers antiseptic across the stitches, taping gauze across them and you think you might pass out.

You must look like you’re about to because Ryan’s bloodied hands reach out to steady you. You blink, hazily and couldn’t smile at him now even if you wanted to.

“Thanks.” You say, but it’s muffled from how little you move your lips. Everything in your face is pulsating. He nods and gives you a worried look.

“You should lie down. You’re gonna be in a lot of pain, and if you can sleep through it, you should.”

You cast a glance around you. In the whole process, you hadn’t realised that the sun had settled and night had fallen in the skylights high above. You can count them now; there are five other men here, all ranging in age, some close to yours, and some older than Ryan. They’re split off in separate groups close to the fountain. Three of them sleep to one side, while the others sit around an open fire. It’s jarring, to see a bonfire in the centre of a shopping mall, even though the world has ended. But there’s no Joel.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just sit here.”

Ryan’s eyes crinkle as if he knows what you’re thinking. “I won’t let anyone get near you if that’s what you’re worried about. You can trust me to stitch up your face, you can trust me to do that, right?”

“Why?”

You bite your lip, eyebrows furrowed. You don’t bother asking much else. He knows what you’re asking. You’re a raider. I’m a girl you don’t know. Why are you being kind?

He nods, and his lips tug down. “I was a doctor. Swore to protect and to heal. And, I know Terry isn’t a good representation of it but… this is a good group.”

“Good?” You ask, cheek throbbing. “Does my face look good right now?”

Ugly. Inside. And Out. You shake away the words, and stare at Ryan’s face, ignoring the tears swelling in your eyes again. He chews his cheek and looks at you earnestly.

“Terry was bad. Everyone here,” He gestures with his hand towards the rest of the group. “Knows to not fuck around with Joel’s rules. He said not to go after girls. He said you’re with us. So I’ll watch over you, but you’re safe either way.”

You nod slightly, sighing. You glance back to Ryan, voice quiet. “Does he…do that a lot? Shoot people to prove a point?”

The man doesn’t flinch at your question and just shrugs. “He’s brutal. It’s what’s made us survive for this long. If he says something he means it; following through just shows everyone that he means business. Don’t get it in your head that just because he dealt with Terry, or brought you into the group, means that he’s kind, or that he cares about you. You’ll be doing your part, just like the rest of us. ”

You nod but still have to bite back the sting of his words. His eyes meet yours as if he was still examining you. Your part. What part did you have in a raiding group?

His expression softens.

“I’ll keep watch over you.”

He stitched up your face, so you feel inclined to believe he wouldn’t let his handiwork go to waste by letting you get shivved in your sleep. And you’re not going to sit around and wait for Joel, especially now that he wasn’t simply your gun-slinging saviour; he was the leader, the killer, the brutal man in charge. You wonder if you should regret joining him; regret the feeling of debt for his two dead men.

But you just nod and slide off the water fountain until you sit on the ground, where you can roll out your sleeping bag.

Ryan stays true to his word, and remains by the fountain as you slip into your sleeping bag, and turn on your side so that your bandaged cheek doesn’t touch the fabric. You try not to think about how Terry’s blood is dried on one corner. You settle with your back to the fountain, not wanting to expose yourself to the rest of the group just yet.

The pain is throbbing. Your wrists and hands and whole body hurt from when you grappled with Joel earlier. You feel exhausted from the rush of adrenaline, the loss of blood, the horrors of the day.

You slip into an uneasy, pained sleep.

[hauntedministry]

Little early morning imagine/drabble for you.

Pairings: soft!raider!Joel x f!reader

Imagine raider!Joel and his gang have come across your hideout after being separated from your group. Joel is the leader and sees you being dragged out of an abandoned house by one of his men.

Joel intervenes and takes you as his own ‘prize’. You both get back to the raiders base and he takes you to his private quarters. You’re obviously terrified but Joel only explains he won’t harm you nor will he let anyone get near you.

He’s had enough of living like this and wants out, and he wants to take you with him to get away from the horrors that the other men have planned. So he smuggles you away one night and you’re both headed towards the Boston QZ.

Feel like this could be a cute lil mini series or a long ass series. Let me know what you think 🫶

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Rules

Summary: Joel wants you pregnant. And you want to have Joel's baby. And not even a big council meeting would stop the two of you from getting what you wanted.

Pairing: Raider!Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.9k

Rating: E

Warnings: Raider!Joel who has his own little community, smut (public sex, unprotected sex), massive breeding kink, dirty talk, established relationship (kind of), unspecified age gap (around 15 years prob), massive exhibition kink, someone dies because he looks at reader for too long, so guns and death, mentions of drugs, Joel picks reader up and carries her away but this is fiction so Joel has super powers to carry anyone he likes anywhere because I say so

A/N: three fics, four days. I am going to hibernate into my horny jail now. Boop!

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

It was getting dark and he still wasn’t back.

He told you he had the council meeting today, but you were running out of time. Every minute getting you farer away from the window you needed him to hopefully grant him his biggest wish. 

Making him a Dad. 

According to your calculations your fertile window for the month was closing and you needed him. 

Joel and you found each other almost a year after the outbreak. You, alone since you fled your college on outbreak day, stumbling towards the abandoned Ikea store in search of just something to drink or eat, Joel stepping in front of you before you could even reach the door, his hand wrapping around your neck, making you look at him as he questioned what you were doing. 

Even years later you felt like he was sent to you from a higher power to safe you. 

To feed you. 

To own you. 

To fuck you. 

You became his wife, not even a month after joining his little group, that now was bigger than ever before, people living in all the abandoned department stores around, living under his protection. 

You were his only wife, even though he allowed all his men to have as many wives as they pleased. 

He was pretty possessive about you, and you over him. Sure, you couldn’t actually do anything against him taking another wife if he wanted to, but he assured you from the beginning that he was a one wife kind of husband. 

And he demanded the same in return, not that you had a problem with that.

Joel was known to be a fair but ruthless leader. He had no time for bullshit and he didn’t give second chances. 

The power he wielded had become one of your biggest turn ons, fascinated how with a flick of his fingers, his men would dispose of every problem, every person he did not trust. 

There weren’t many rules around here. 

Listen to everything Joel says.

And don’t look at you the wrong way.

Something that you had to admit was hard when he was fucking you out in the open hallway. 

Most of his men knew not to look at you too long, no matter if it was in passing or when Joel was fucking you in front of them. 

You would look too, but you weren’t the one who would lose their cock or life for it. 

Glancing at the clock you knew your fertile window was closing. He had fucked you twice today already, but you didn’t want to waste more time. 

Standing up from the bed you took your clothes including your underwear off, grabbing a wrap dress he had found for you years before, wrapping it around your body. Pulling on some high heels he loved to see you in, looking at yourself in the mirror you gave yourself a small smirk, before you opened the door, waiting for your assigned guard of the day to step away from the door, before you started to walk towards where you knew Joel held his meetings. 

„This is becoming a real fucking problem. A problem I pay you for to get rid off. What the fuck is taking so long?“ Joel hissed, his jaw twitching as he sat at the edge of the table, legs wide spread, a glass of whiskey in his right hand. 

He had been stuck in this room with twenty of his men and nothing was going according to plan. 

It was moment like this he really missed Tess. She’d have this shit done weeks ago.

„More clickers than we planned for. We hope we’ll be done by the end of tomorrow,“ Sam, one of the men who had been with his group the longest assured, and Joel sipped on his drink. 

„I want the whole building cleared by the end of the week. Then I want you to extend the outer wall around it. We need more fucking space so we can extend the drug lab. Frank is expecting a new drop by the end of the month in exchange for more ammunition,“ he reminded them. 

„I’ll take care of it personally,“ Tommy said, who was sitting to his right, looking at him and Joel gave him a quick nod. 

„There are to many fucking assholes trying to get into this settlement. Too many to handle. Might be time to stop for a while,“ one of his other advisors spoke up but Joel wasn’t listening to anything after that, cause he heard the familiar clicking of your heels before the door opened and you walked in. 

A vision in purple silk, giving him a big smile as you walked into the room, the men around him staggering to their feet to show you their respect. 

„Please, don’t let me interrupt you. In fact, ignore my presence at all,“ you hummed, giving Tommy a quick peck to his cheek before you turned away from the table and straddled Joel’s lap, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. 

The conversation behind him opened up again, Tommy taking over while Joel stared at you. 

You made quick work of releasing the bow that held your dress together, letting the fabric part, his hungry eyes all over your naked body. One of his hands cupped one of your tits and you smiled at him. 

„Whatcha up to baby girl?“ He asked, already hardening in his pants. 

„Need you to cum in my wet little pussy again. Need you to fuck it deep inside of me so I can give you your baby,“ you leaned in, nibbling at his earlobe. He groaned as he tilted his head, his eyes closing for a moment as you kissed up his neck, his hands now both under your dress palming your ass roughly. 

When his eyes opened he found one of his newer men, Tom, looking at you, his eyes widening for a moment when he saw Joel had caught him, looking away quickly. 

„First strike,“ Joel’s voice boomed and you moaned before you kissed him, your hands in his hair, Joel’s eyes on Tom who had had the nerve to look at his wife. At you. 

Everyone knew the rules.

They look at you for too long, they die. He had lost a lot of men that way, but he didn’t fucking care. 

Your fingers were working on his zipper when the conversation in the room picked up again, one of the other men talking about the greenhouse and what shit they needed in the future. 

Boring. 

Joel grunted when your fingers wrapped around his cock, helping you pull his pants down a little so you could pull him out of his pants and he leaned down, sucking at you tits. 

„You gonna fight our kid for my milk huh,“ you teased and he bit into your nipple, making you moan. 

„Gotta get you pregnant first, baby girl,“ he sucked a bruised just above your right tit while you pumped his cock in your fist. 

„You gonna make me shoot all my men if you tease me like that one day,“ he grunted, bringing one hand between your legs, three fingers slipping inside of you with ease, a smirk coming to his lips. 

„My dirty little whore,“ he whispered against your ear and you gasped, your back arching against him, your dress falling down your shoulders, exposing your naked back to the room. 

Not that you cared. 

You loved when he fucked you in front of other people.

„Put your little pussy on this cock, baby girl,“ the fingers that had just been inside of you pushing into your mouth as you lifted your ass so you could line his cock up, sinking down on him slowly. 

„Fuck baby,“ you moaned and he leaned back in his seat, both of his hands now on your ass as he looked up at you. 

„Make yourself cum on this cock and I’ll fuck your ass later,“ he said and you whimpered as you began to ride him. Moving your hips on top of him, your hands on the armrests of his chair for leverage. He slapped your ass, hard, and you cried out. 

He watched you satisfied as you fucked yourself on his cock, before his eyes found someone behind you. 

„Don’t bother Elijah, his wife is super fucking pregnant. Find me tomorrow morning, and I’ll go,“ Joel said, still clearly listening to the conversation happening in front of him. You clenched around him and he looked at you again. 

„You get so fucking wet for me like this. Maybe I should always let you fuck me in my meetings. Would make them a whole of a lot more enjoyable,“ he hummed at you and you smiled. 

„You’d loose all your men within a week,“ you grinned, turning your head to look at Tommy. 

„Except Tommy,“ you hummed and the man looked at you, giving you a wink. 

„Tommy is family. He can look all he wants,“ Joel said and you winked back at Tommy before you focused back on Joel and began to bounce on top of him. The sound of skin slapping against skin and you moans filling the room. Joel played with your tits, pinching your nipple as you clenched around him. He pulled you against his chest, fucking up into you, his mouth against your ear. 

„Cum for me and I’ll fuck you on the table. And I’ll let everyone look when I put a fucking baby into your belly,“ he whispered and you moaned loudly as your orgasm washed over you, only realising that he had picked you up and sat you down on the table, when he had pushed your back down against the cold surface and began to drill his cock into you. 

„Watch how I fuck my slutty little wife full of my fucking cum,“ he grunted out with every thrust and you stretched your arms over your head, your tits moving with every hard thrust of Joel’s cock into you. 

„Joel,“ you moaned, crying out when he slapped your clit. 

„Gonna fuck you so full, you’ll be dripping all the way back to our rooms,“ he groaned, his eyes on you. 

„Shit baby,“ you whined and he groaned. 

„Watch,“ he grunted and you looked down, his cock pumping into you, your cum all over his cock, fucking you so hard the table was moving over the floor. 

„Shit,“ he moaned, his thrusts getting sloppier until he twitched and filled you with his cum, pumping it deeply into you. 

Still out of breath you gave him a dozy smile that he mirrored, before his eyes darkened, his gun in his hand the next moment, raising it up to shoot someone behind you. 

„Inform Tom’s family that he won’t be back,“ he said to no one in particular before he reached for you, helping you sit up. Apparently Tom had in fact not stopped looking at you before Joel gave his permission to look. 

He pulled the fabric of your dress back over your shoulders, his softening cock still inside of you, before he picked you up. 

„Meeting is dismissed,“ he called over his shoulder, before he carried you back towards your rooms. 

Where he fucked you once more to make sure it would finally take. 

[pedrospatch]

captive

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You find yourself missing your captor while he’s out on an early morning hunt with the rest of the group.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. IMPLIED PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, it’s implied her family members were also killed, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own, stockholm syndrome, reader deals with a lot of very distressing and conflicting feelings, Joel isn’t too creepy or extremely dark, but he is still not a good person, mentions of Tommy. VERY BRIEF SMUT in the form of cockwarming, daddy kink but i didn’t go overboard this time, pet names (honey, baby, babygirl, sweetheart) if i missed anything, you can POLITELY let me know because if i missed anything, it was purely accidental. minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i might actually throw up idk. i’ve had this itch to try dark joel and seeing as i have major writer’s block with all my other wips i decided to just scratch the itch. this is a little out of my comfort zone but i actually ended up feeling pleased with what i wrote. this is my personal take on dark/raider joel, i’m sure it is very out of character but it’s fanfiction so…yeah. here it is.

It’s the rain that rouses you from your sleep.

It beats down heavily on the remote cabin’s tin roof.

Loud. Much too loud.

You roll over, settling yourself on your side.

The mattress is old, worn, rotting beneath the sheets.

You can’t complain, though. At least you have a bed.

Everybody else is forced to sleep on the hard floor.

He always gets the room with the bed.

As his special girl, that means you always get the room with the bed too.

It’s not quite as flattering as one would believe.

He only ever wants the bedroom for one reason—to keep you behind a locked door so you can’t run.

You sigh softly and stare out the window. He’d secured that too, made certain that it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

Closing your eyes, you try and go back to sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come.

His absence is starting to bother you.

You’ve been with him for an entire season now.

You’re getting used to him.

The sound of his voice. 

The warmth of his body.

The taste of his lips.

You can’t even sleep without him next to you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, clutching the stale sheets, balling them in your fists out of frustration.

How was it possible? How could you be missing him?

He had taken everything from you.

Your family.

Your home. 

Your innocence.

He was holding you captive. He was a monster.

But a monster doesn’t keep you safe.

Doesn’t clothe you.

Doesn’t feed you.

Doesn’t protect you.

He did all of those things and more. 

Is that why you feel so empty without him beside you?

Is that why you’re no longer so certain you would run if you were given the chance to escape him?

You fucking hated him for what he’d done.

Yet here you are, aching for him to come back to you.

It’s another hour before you hear the lock clicking. 

Joel pushes through the door, quietly closing it behind him.

“Y’awake?” he asks, slipping his pack off his shoulders.

“Mhm,” you answer with your back to him. “I am.”

You hear the sound of his pack hitting the floor.

His worn leather boots being kicked off. 

His rifle being set down, propped against the wall.

“How was the hunt?”

You can feel him freeze as he’s taking off his jacket.

Getting you to willingly speak to him had always been a lot like pulling teeth. Difficult, almost impossible.

When he doesn’t respond, you roll over to face him.

There’s a swoop in your tummy.

Joel is drenched from head to toe. His blue denim shirt clings to his broad frame and his dark, graying curls are slicked back away from his face.

He’s got such a handsome face.

Monsters aren’t supposed to have handsome faces.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really askin’ me how the hunt went?” Suspicion laces his tone. “Why? Y’worried you won’t eat tonight?”

Of course you weren’t.

Joel Miller doesn’t let you go hungry.

When food is scarce, he makes sure you eat first. If he notices you rubbing your tummy because your portion wasn’t enough, he’ll give you his own portion.

He takes care of you.

“No.” You pause and sit up. The sheets you two share fall away from your body, leaving your soft, supple breasts on full display for him. “Just wanted to know how your morning went. That’s all.”

It’s not your tits that make his cock twitch against the zipper of his jeans—it’s the sincerity that flashes across your features, the sound of it in the tone of your voice.

You’re being sweet to him.

He clears his throat lightly.

“Went real good. Brought down a deer. Female, ‘bout a hundred pounds or so. Enough to keep all of us well fed for the next couple of weeks,” he says with a nod. “Was pissin’ rain the entire time but it was worth it. Tommy’s in the shed out back right now dressin’ it so we can get a stew started.” He pauses. “You’re gonna get a proper meal tonight, babygirl. Belly’s gonna be nice and full.”

He’s not just talking about food and you know it.

You make an effort to meet his gaze, but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do it, not when you remembered how he’d taken you away from your family—how he had carried you over his shoulder, kicking and screaming as his people raided your camp and slaughtered every last member of your group because that’s what Joel Miller had ordered them to do.

Looking him in the eye might be the one thing you will never, ever be able to do.

“It’s cold,” you murmur after a minute. “You should get out of those wet clothes before you get sick.”

With a subtle nod, Joel turns around and starts peeling off his clothes until he’s completely naked. He uses an old rag to dry himself off as best as he can, although it doesn’t do much for him.

You can’t help yourself and stare—your gaze drags over the strong muscles of his back and shoulders, how they flex and ripple beneath his skin with every single one of his movements. Arousal pools between your thighs and all you can do is fucking hate yourself for wanting it, for wanting him.

“S’pretty early still,” he states, his back still to you as he runs the rag through his hair. “Y’should try to get some more sleep.”

The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think about stopping it.

“I couldn’t sleep while you were gone.”

Surprised, he turns around.

Almost immediately, your eyes fall to his cock.

Even when he isn’t fully hard, he’s still so fucking big.

“Is that so?” Joel asks, sounding rather pleased. 

“Yes,” you say, softly. “I—I missed you.”

His lips turn upwards into a subtle, faint grin.

“Yeah?” he coos. “My sweet little girl missed me while I was gone? Hm?” Slowly, he approaches the bed. It dips slightly and the frame creaks as he plants a knee on the mattress and leans over towards you. Gently, Joel takes your chin between his index finger and thumb. “Y’need Daddy by your side so you can sleep, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whisper, warm tears glazing over your eyes.

It’s bad enough your body welcomed him so easily.

Now your heart was starting to do the same.

And then there was your mind.

What if that stopped fighting him too?

Part of you is afraid it already has.

Joel climbs into bed, joining you under the sheets.

“M’here, my pretty girl. C’mere, honey.” He coaxes you to lay on your side and pulls you back against his chest. His skin is still damp, frigid from having been out in the elements, but somehow he’s still warm. “That better?”

“Need you closer,” you mumble, wiggling against him.

Joel groans, his thick cock hard and throbbing against the small of your back. He nips at your bare shoulder as his hand drags down the length of your body and slips between your thighs. “Christ, babygirl. Pussy’s soakin’ wet for me. Looks like she missed me while I was gone too, didn’t she, sweetheart?”

He runs his finger along your slick, silky folds.

“Daddy,” you whimper, bucking into his hand.

“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy knows what you need.”

Joel pulls his hand from between your legs.

You almost cry—you’re so fucking desperate for him. 

And you shouldn’t be. 

He reaches in between your bodies, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Without warning, he slips it into your tight, aching cunt, sheathing himself in your warm, wet heat in one smooth stroke.

You choke out a sob.

It’s always overwhelming, that initial stretch.

That fullness, the feeling of him being in your belly.

“S’alright, sweetheart. S’alright. I know you can take it,” he soothes you. “You’re such a good girl for me. Always take my cock so fuckin’ well. So good for me, baby. You feel better now that Daddy’s cock is buried inside your pretty little pussy?”

He drapes an arm around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Yes,” you breathe, placing your hand on top of his.

Joel feathers a kiss onto your neck.

“Go to sleep, babygirl. M’here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he promises you.

That shouldn’t be a comfort to you. But it is.

You close your eyes, your fingers subconsciously lacing together with his as you start to drift.

Cunt full of his cock, you fall asleep in your captor’s arms.

divider credit to @saradika🤍

[toxicanonymity]

Bodies.

7.8k, raider!Joel x f!reader

reader has no physical description, pics are for mood

raider master | playlists: raider, sweet pea (smut) SUMMARY: Uninvited guests make a nice evening devolve into disaster, but when they're gone, Joel takes a big step 💋 A/N: follows Hunger. Ty to this ask about flirting; arm anon; @gracieispunk for the B/W pic; @xdaddysprincessxx, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, and others who've discussed his name, @javier-penas-wifexx420 for asks, @milla-frenchy for listening, everyone for your patience and support. @toxicfics for notifications, @toxicrecs for fic recs. WARNINGS: I8+ canon typical violence, tension, possessive/aggressive reader, angst, self-harm scare, references to skin carving scars, hurt/comfort, Joel is a little grumpy, exhibitionism, grinding, dacryphilia, leather choker, bj with ball sucking, unsafe P in V, creampie, obsessive unhealthy toxic dynamic, Joel can hold reader, reader can hang onto Joel.

Raider POV of smut.

The dog has stuck around for more than 24 hours now. He's a good dog. He’s working on a duck foot while you, Joel, and Carter eat by the fire. The evening air is cool but mild. The sky is clear. 

Joel and his men spent most of the day working on the van and looking for parts.  The dog sat with you while you read a book. You made a wildflower crown and put it around the dog’s neck. When one of the men walked in your direction on his way to the woods, the dog jumped in front of you and growled. Joel looked impressed. 

-

Now the fire is keeping you toasty as the sky fades from blue to black. 

“Tommy!” you call out to the dog to see if he reacts. 

Carter chokes on his food, but quickly recovers. His eyes are wide.

“What’d you say?” Joel asks, ominously quiet. When you don’t respond, he reaches over to gently turn your head toward him.  The look on his face makes your stomach turn. 

“I thought you’d like that one since it’s a type of gun,” you explain.

“No.” He shakes his head, “I don't like it.” He lets go of your face. “Namin’ the goddamn dog,” he grumbles under his breath. He puts down his plate and stands up.

You’re afraid to ask, but when Joel silently walks off toward the woods, you look at Carter. He asks, “He tell ya anything about his family? His brother?”

Your face is hot and your tummy feels dizzy. “He said he didn’t have any family.” 

Carter raises his eyebrows, then he's quiet for a moment and stares at the ground.  His face becomes studious. 

“What,” you ask. 

“Ain't my place,” Carter looks down apologetically.  

A few seconds later, watching your face, Carter adds the obvious: “I wouldn't go there.”

"Yeah," you whisper.  Anything about his family. The question weighs on you. You really don't know Joel, do you? 

Carter changes the subject. “He’ll come around on the dog.”

You perk up. “You think?” 

Carter nods, then adds, “Sorry ‘bout Daisy,” squinting solemnly. 

“Thanks,” you nod, then can’t resist asking, “Joel wasn’t. . .married, was he?”

Carter shakes his head and doesn’t elaborate. At least there’s that. But still. His family. 

You're unsettled, and you try to distract yourself with other dog names, mentally going through a list. Bullet. Clover. Duck. Joel doesn’t have to know he has a name. 

Apparently, Carter is thinking about the same thing. He tries to cheer you up. “Gun names, huh? Pistol, Rifle--”

“--Rifle??” You crack a smile. 

“Hey, there's no bad ideas,” Carter laughs, and you giggle. 

“What about Bullet–”

“--Shh,” Carter nods toward the tree line. Joel is on his way back. 

As you finish eating, Carter tries to make small talk with Joel to break the tension. Joel doesn't say much. You ask Carter how he makes his jerky, and he walks you through it. It doesn't sound hard. You could probably do it yourself. 

—--Carter—--

The three of you are sitting outside by the fire after dinner. You’re on Joel’s knee, and Joel slides his hand up your dress a little bit. Carter averts his eyes and watches the dog work on his duck foot, making happy little growls and wagging his tail. Hard to say whether you and Joel are about to go inside and fuck, or if Joel’s just copping a feel like he does twenty times a day. 

You have Joel wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. You wouldn’t know Joel’s never been like this before. You wouldn’t know Joel’s never made a girl his in the years Carter’s known him. Joel’s always been a man of focus. He’s always been a tough guy. He’s always had a temper, but at this point, he’d tear a man to shreds just for looking at you wrong. It’s scary, and it’s a lot of mess to clean up. Carter’s seen Joel do some crazy shit, but never as crazy as turning one of his own men into a scarecrow for an off-hand comment. Carter knows Joel better than anyone, and it’s clear to him that Joel is crazy about you.

The dog drops the duck foot, growls and barks, then takes off and runs toward the back of the trailer. You get off Joel’s knee to go after the dog, and Joel’s arm around your middle stops you. As Carter stands up and puts on his rifle, a high-pitched shriek comes from behind the trailer. Joel grabs his rifle off the log, and Carter says, “it’s cool,” holding his hand out. He won’t hesitate to yell if he needs Joel. “Go inside, sweet pea,” Joel tells you. You take your time going. 

Carter goes around the back of the trailer and trains his rifle on two figures cresting the hill. The dog has stopped short of them and is keeping his distance, but he’s still barking and looks ready to pounce, like he’s holding himself back. 

“DON’T MOVE,” Carter booms, then keeps his rifle fixed on the pair and slowly approaches them. When Carter reaches the dog, the dog’s barking fades into a low growl. 

They drop their backpacks and put their hands up. 

“What’re ya doin’ here?” Carter asks. 

The woman clears her throat and follows it with a demure smile.  “Went huntin’, came back ’n our house was taken.” 

Carter nods and looks back and forth between the two of them. They’re both decent looking. Some resemblance, maybe siblings. 

“What do y’all want,” Carter asks, then spits over his shoulder. 

“Nothin’,” the man claims. “Just cuttin’ through on our way to the road.” His eyes pan down Carter’s shoulders and arms. Carter squares his shoulders and adjusts his grip on the gun. 

Carter nods hesitantly. “Can ya hang tight for me? Don’t want ya walkin’ into gunfire.” 

They nod in agreement with a hint of fear. They shouldn’t be trouble. They aren’t carrying much. 

Carter walks backwards for a few slow steps, then nods and turns around toward the trailer. Carter sees you spying in the kitchen window and gives you a reassuring nod as he goes around the trailer to talk to Joel. 

-

"They're alright, I think," Carter tells Joel. 

"What do they want," Joel grumbles.

"Nothin'. . . Cuttin' through on their way to the road."

Joel nods. 

“Lost their house, didn’t say who took it.” 

Joel’s brow furrows and he nods. “Armed?” 

“Not heavily,” Carter answers. 

“Bring’em around. Let’s find out who took their house.”

“You got it,” Carter says. 

—---- 🌸you 🌸 —---

You move to the window facing the yard and the fire pit with logs around it. As they walk around the trailer, you overhear that they’ve been traveling most of the day.  When they stop by the fire, you wait a few minutes, thinking they’ll leave. Then they take a seat, and the woman sits on the log next to Joel’s, on the end of the log closest to him. Your chest tightens. When she smiles at him, you scoff out loud to yourself. You start to go out the front door, then stop and go to the bathroom. You look in the mirror and open the flannel. You run your finger over the faint, healed letters on your skin, and you leave your chest exposed. You adjust your thigh holster, then go outside. 

When the door opens, Carter looks over his shoulder and announces, “There she is.”

Joel introduces you. “This is, uh. . .” 

“Jill,” she pipes in. 

“Ron,” the man nods at you. 

A couple. They must be a couple. They look a little alike, but not enough to be siblings. Joel leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped, connecting with your eyes for a moment, sharing something near a smile before his eyes fade back to serious. 

Joel doesn’t make room for you in his lap, but he doesn’t tell you to go back inside either. He looks alert and on guard. There are four logs and five of you. You sit on Joel’s log and feel satisfied when he doesn’t scoot toward Jill to make more room. He doesn’t mind you being right up against him. Carter’s on the log to your left. Jill talks about their house and what was going on when they got back from their hunting trip. Ron is quieter. He glances at Carter a few times. Jill keeps looking at Joel. She talks too much.

Jill says they saw Infected behind the trailer park. Joel and Carter look at each other. Your stomach twists, but you study her face, and you don’t trust her. Attention. She wants attention. She wants Joel’s attention. Joel is better than Ron – bigger, stronger, better looking. There were no Infected. She’s making it up for attention. 

Everyone is quiet for what feels like a full minute. You look her dead in the eye and break the silence with a soft, matter-of-fact, “No you didn’t.”  Joel gives you a cautionary look, and you add, “We would’ve seen'em. We were there yesterday.” 

Jill raises her eyebrows, bemused.  “Just one,” she admits with a little smile. “My brother took care of it.” She nods to Ron, and the fact that they’re siblings makes you hate her.  

“Where,” Joel asks flatly. You wish he wouldn’t speak to her at all. 

“Woods behind the junkyard,” she answers. “Thought ya’d wanna know,” she shrugs. It’s quiet again. Nothing but the fire crackling and the dog growling happily. 

“Thanks,” Carter mumbles. 

Jill’s gaze lingers on Joel. She seems pleased with herself. Joel looks away, sits back, and crosses his arms. Now she’s checking out his arms as they bulge out with his hands under them. Your heart races. Anger simmers under your ribs. 

"Bet ya could handle anything that comes over that hill," she purrs at Joel. Your nostrils flare. Your eyes are glued to her. You don’t blink. She looks at Joel’s pants and wets her lips. Your heart skips a beat. It feels like a personal attack. You pop up from the log. 

Joel makes room in his lap and looks at you as he replies, "Carter here could handle'em, too,” with a nod to his left. 

Joel must have expected you to sit on his knee like you were before they showed up.  He clears his throat as it becomes clear you’re going to fully straddle him. His nose twitches and his eyes sparkle. He puts his arms around you loosely. His hands rest on your back to help you balance. You scoot closer and he helps you settle in so your crotch rests on his. Your head is in the crook of his neck, facing toward Jill to keep an eye on her. It doesn’t take long for a familiar bulge to twitch under you.  

Your arms are around Joel. Your hand runs over the handgun in the back of his pants, and he tenses. 

Jill has the nerve to speak again. “That can’t be comfortable,” she laughs.

“You can’t be serious,” you snap back. 

“Shhhh,” Joel whispers into your hair. “‘S’okay, baby.”  

“I’m comfortable,” you tell Joel.

“I know, sweet pea.” He nuzzles his nose at the top of your ear. “‘s’okay, baby,” he whispers. You rock your hips into him, feeling him grow harder. He pulls you tight, adjusting your weight. He moves one hand to your thigh. You grind yourself into him and he lets out a little “mm.” 

“Um, okay,” she mumbles in disgust. 

You snarl and turn your head away from her, back toward Joel. Then you turn your head toward Carter. Carter is absentmindedly examining the bite on his hand. Ron is spaced out, watching Carter’s face. Then, his eyes fall down to Carter’s lap. 

“You’re bit,” Jill announces. “Ron, he’s bit!” 

Ron snaps out of his daze, sits up self-consciously, and when his eyes fall on Carter’s hand, his face hardens.

Carter protests, “It’s not–” 

“--It was the dog,” your head snaps back toward Jill. “It doesn’t look anything like Infected.” She just wants attention. She wants drama. 

“It was the dog,” Joel repeats, unamused. It sounds like a warning. Joel’s hand on your thigh nudges the gun loose from your holster. Your hand wraps around the handle of the gun in the back of Joel’s pants. 

“Lemme see it,” Ron demands.  He stands up and points his gun at Carter.  He snarls with a look of disgust. His face has completely transformed since a moment ago.

“SIT DOWN,” Joel booms and grabs the gun out of your holster. 

Carter starts to offer, “I’ll show-”

“No ya won’t,” Joel snaps as he stands up with you still wrapped around him. Joel points the gun at Ron. “Come into my yard, orderin’ us around?” Joel’s deep voice vibrates in your ear, then he whispers, “Go inside,” as he tries to let you down. You take the gun out of the back of his pants. “Inside, now.” You put your feet on the ground. 

“Nobody owns this land,” Ron laughs. 

“C’mon, man, y’all know how it works,” Carter seems to try to de-escalate. “Show some respect.” 

You slowly, carefully recede into the shadows, but you don’t go inside.  

Jill points her gun at Carter and demands, “Show us.” With everyone else’s eyes fixed tensely on each other, you can approach her from behind, undetected.  Two guns are pointed at Carter and one at Ron. Carter reaches for his rifle, and Ron braces his own gun with both hands. Ron cocks the hammer, and you quietly approach Jill from behind. 

Ron adjusts his finger on the trigger, and Joel shoots him in the head.  Jill screams. 

It all happens in an instant: You lunge forward, tackling her to the ground, making her drop her gun.  You could shoot her in the head, but something makes you toss your gun aside. You can't stop yourself from putting your hands around her throat.  She claws at your chest and breasts. She slaps you, and it stings.  You elbow her in the face, keeping one hand on her neck. She keeps clawing at you. “Stupid whore,” she spits. 

“I'm only his,” you snap back. She laughs. “And he’s mine,” you pant and put your palm over her face, covering as much of it as you can, putting all your weight on her.  Before she can bite you, Joel’s massive hands are firm around your arms, pulling you off. You resist, and he wraps an arm around your middle. 

“‘S’okay,” he repeats as he pulls you off, and lifts you into standing.  “Go inside.”

You hesitate and he firmly adds, “Now. I'll handle this.” He gives you a look that says he means it.  Then he turns his attention to Jill.  She coughs as you walk away. She whimpers and plays up how injured she is. Pathetic. 

“Hey,” Joel’s voice softens for her.  “You’ll be alright,” he tells her. You glance back and he’s what? He’s straddling her. He has his hands on her face. Is he . . .stroking her hair? You can’t see well enough. Your chest burns, and you start to turn around completely, wanting to approach them.  

But Carter whispers, “C’mon, let’s go,” and gently takes your elbow. 

Maybe it’s for the best. You walk with Carter in a daze. Maybe you were seeing things. No, Joel is comforting her. Your Joel is straddling and comforting the woman who just slapped you and called you a whore. 

“It's okay,” Joel reassures Jill again, then you hear the loud crack of her neck snapping. 

You feel a lot of things. Joy, relief, guilt–not for being happy, but for doubting Joel. 

Carter opens the trailer door and you go inside. 

-

For a few minutes, you just sit at the table. Your relief at Jill’s demise quickly fades when you realize she died thinking Joel liked her. Joel acting sweet with her even for a few seconds was more than she deserved. 

Now you can't calm down. All your muscles are tense. You start to cry, then you go to get a glass of water. Your hand is shaking and you can hardly hold the glass. You want to throw it, but you put it down, still empty, on the counter. You take a deep breath, bury your mouth in your shoulder, then scream as loud as you can, until you're out of air and your throat is sore. You cough and spit over the sink, nauseous from the effort. Then you slump down onto the kitchen floor in tears. 

Almost as soon as you hit the floor, the front door opens. It's not Joel, it's Carter. 

“What happened?” Carter rushes over to you.

“Where's Joel?”

“Haulin’ a body.” 

“Which body? Don't let him touch her!”

He looks at you, stunned for a second, then says, “Not hers.” 

“You promise?” you try to choke back tears. 

“God damn, you're both losin’ it,” Carter mutters to himself. Then he hesitantly reaches for your shoulder. “Shhh, it's okay.” 

You lunge toward him on your knees and let yourself fall onto his chest.  He looks over his shoulder then hesitantly hugs you. “Okay,” he whispers with his hands very lightly touching your back but not resting their full weight. He gives you a moment, then clears his throat. “I've gotta. . . ” He lets go, stands up, and fills the glass of water.  “Here.” He puts it on the table, then comes back to you. 

“Been a long day, huh?” Carter asks. He squats down and takes your elbow in his hand. “C’mon.” You wipe your eyes on your flannel and stand up. He guides you to the table with his hand on your back and pulls out a chair for you. He leaves you at the table with your water. 

—--

You sit there for a minute, sipping your water. Then go to the bathroom to splash your face. You stop crying. You fix your hair. But your eyes are still misty.  You look at your chest in the mirror. She scratched you. You can see a couple of her scratch marks better than Joel’s name. Your chest heats up as you stare at it, and your heart beats faster. You take calming breaths. You want her to go away. You don’t want anyone on your skin but Joel. You dab your chest with a cold washcloth. The worst scratch is right over the ‘J’.  

You open the medicine cabinet, don’t find anything useful, and close it. You go to the kitchen and find a pocket knife in one of the drawers. You bring it back to the bathroom and open the sharpest blade. What if you just. . .if you make the ‘J’ a little better, maybe. It’s like she goes away.  How should you do it? You look down at yourself. You can’t really see. You look in the mirror and bring the knife to your chest. The hand-eye coordination is hard in the mirror.

You’re looking in the mirror, holding the pocket knife in your hand, when the front door opens and slams shut. Joel’s boots thud, then stop. He says your name.  “You okay?” 

You sniffle.  He approaches the bathroom door. It's not shut. You move toward the door to shut it, but you're too late. Joel stops it from closing. He's so much stronger than you, he pushes it open with ease, then his arms wrap you in a hug and the force of it walks you backward toward the sink. 

You still have the knife open in your hand. As his arms tighten, you whisper, “Careful,” and hold your hand away. 

He pulls away, looks you over, and looks at your hand. “Hell are ya doin’,” he mutters. 

You turn back toward the mirror and stroke the ‘J’. “Making it better?” 

“Makin’ it. .  .” 

Your eyes water again as you face the mirror fully. Joel turns toward the mirror, too, standing behind you. You run your fingers over your chest with one hand and hold the knife with the other. 

Joel's face changes when he realizes what you're doing. He grabs your wrist so hard you reflexively drop the knife and it clatters into the sink. “No.”

He picks it up, closes it, and puts it behind the faucet. He looks at your face in the mirror. “Can't let ya do that.” 

“You said people can’t see it.”

“Told ya we’d figure somethin’ else out.”

“Like what?” 

Joel runs his hand over your chest, and his thumb lingers on the scratch over the J. His nostrils flare, his head tilts down, and his eyes darken under his brow. “This from her?”

You nod.

Joel sighs and steps over to the bathtub. He starts a shower. He takes his shirt off over his back. You back away toward the door, and start to give him some space.

“Whoa, nuh-uh” Joel stops you. “Did I say leave?” 

“Sorry.”

“Take your clothes off.” He sits on the toilet to untie his boots, then slips out of them and takes off his socks. 

“Ya know, ya came out there. Got her all worked up,” he grumbles. What? That’s not fair.

“I just wanted you.”

“You were starin’ right at her, sweet pea.”

“I just wanted to be on you, wanted to touch you,” you insist. 

“She wanted her grubby hands on you.”

“You think that's what she wanted?”

“And she got it, didn't she?” Joel asks rhetorically, eyes fixed on your chest again. He clenches his jaw at the sight of her touch. He nods toward the shower. “That’s yours.”

“Can I have a bath?” You know it’s a long shot. He’s not in the mood to wait for water to boil. 

“Fire's out and we’re outta gas.  Gonna be cold either way.”  

You brace yourself for the water. Joel remains seated on the closed toilet and holds your hand to help you balance as you step into the tub. You're far enough back that the water only hits from your abdomen down. It's not quite as bad as you expect, but gives you a chill all over. He scans your body as it prickles in goosebumps and your nipples pebble. He reaches behind you for the soap, then lathers a washcloth. He starts with your chest. The scrape stings. 

“She wanted you, not me,” you mutter, wincing at the echo of your own words under the light beating of the water. Joel slows down and you continue, “She was looking at you, not me.” He stops the washcloth on your clavicle. Lather pours between your breasts and trickles down your sternum. 

Joel squints at you, looks from your mouth to your tits, swallows, and refocuses on the task, adjusting the washcloth in his hand. 

“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that, sweet pea,” he murmurs and begins to slide the cloth slowly across your skin. 

It’s nice to hear, but it’s not enough. Your eyes feel weak. “Well, I do worry about it,” you croak and feel the tears coming back. 

He adjusts himself, then sighs. “You always cry in the shower?” 

The coldness stings.

“Are you mad at me,” you ask shakily.

Joel curses himself under his breath. His brow furrows at your breasts and he braces his wet hand on his knee. “No, baby.” His eyes rise to meet yours, and he cups your cheek. “No. . .Just tired. . .” He searches your face. “Too many bodies in those woods. Gettin’ old.” You sniffle. You start mentally going through the bodies, and your head hurts at the thought. Joel says, “and ya can’t get in my shot like that, sweet pea.” You relax a little more. Your tears wane at the thought that he was already planning to kill her. 

Joel stands up, hands you the washcloth, and starts to undo his jeans. You watch his pants come down over his crotch, a sight that always makes your breath hitch. “Face the water,” he mumbles, and you obey, staying far enough back not to get your head wet. He braces his hand on the far wall of the shower and steps in, squeezing between you and the back of the tub. You inch forward to make room. His feet are spread around yours and his hands rest on your hips for a moment. He presses his lips into the crown of your head, then reaches around your front to take the washcloth from you. 

Joel presses himself up against your back, then continues to wash your chest. He soaps up your breasts again, then cradles one with his bare hand as he washes your trunk. You look down and watch the suds slide down your body. He washes your hips, your thighs. You’re grateful for the warmth of his groin against you. He turns you to the side and washes your sides, under your arms, your back, your ass, your legs. Then he tells you to rinse off while he washes himself. He steps all the way under the cold water without so much as flinching.  When he’s finished, he rinses off, turns off the water, and wraps you in a hug. The water rolls off your skin and the faucet drips as you stand there in his arms.

After a few minutes, Joel’s deep voice slices through the silence. “Carter's stayin’ tonight. Wait here.”  This unsettles you because you imagine Joel must be worried about something to have Carter stay. Did he believe her about the Infected?

Joel wraps a towel around himself and leaves you in the bathroom with your own towel.  You look in the mirror for a moment, then quickly avert your eyes from your reflection.  

Joel returns with clothes for you. He’s in plaid pj pants and a white t-shirt. Both are too small on him. His pockets are puckered.  You smile at the sliver of skin between his pants and shirt, and he asks, “What?” 

You shrug. “You’re wearing pjs.” 

“Yeah? Well I ain't wearin’em long,” he murmurs and you feel a twitch of need. “You're gonna finish what ya started out there.” He looks at you darkly. “Got it?”

You bite your lip and nod as desire throbs between your legs. 

“That means I ain't doin’ it, you are.” 

Your chest flutters with butterflies. 

He rests a flannel on his shoulder, while he holds up your nightie for you. You lift your arms and he puts it over your head.  He pulls it down and pats your butt. “Want it that bad. . .” He holds the flannel up for you and you stick your arms in. He brings his mouth to your ear. “Gonna show me how bad.” 

The front door opens and shuts. 

“All good?” Joel yells. 

“All good,” Carter answers, then exaggerates a loud yawn. 

“Blankets in the closet,” Joel yells. 

Joel brushes his teeth and leaves you to get ready for bed. 

-

Joel returns just as you're finishing up. He shoves his hand in the puckered pocket of the pj pants and pulls out something brown and strappy that looks small in his hands. It looks like a piece of your holster, but thinner, more delicate. His brow furrows at it and he swallows.  He sits on the closed toilet seat again. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“It's. . .” He looks at your chest. “C'mere.” You step forward. He holds the object against his thigh and with his other hand, he traces the letters on your chest. “It's better than tryin’ to . . .” he trails off. He looks at your face, then back to your chest and caresses it again. “Better than this.” Your heart swells. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t want you to hurt you. 

He looks at the object in his lap. 

“It's for me?”

He nods. He takes a deep breath and fiddles with the belt-like closure. “Can wear a sweater or whatever, and still. . .” 

“Lemme try it on.”

He searches your eyes. “Really want to?” 

You nod.

He stands up and guides you to the sink. He stands behind you as you both look in the mirror. He wraps it around your throat. Your breath hitches when you see his name in careful, bold lettering, clear but imperfect. It’s an odd sensation, having something around your neck, but the back of it is soft against your skin. It’s smoother and more delicate than the holster is on your thigh. 

“It's beautiful,” you tell him as he concentrates on putting it on you.  

He's gentle and careful. He fastens it with enough room to breathe and swallow. You look at it in the mirror, and the fact that he made it makes you emotional. “You made it,” you whisper.

He nods. “Don't gotta wear it all the time, but-”

“I love it.” 

“Yeah?” he turns you around with his hands on your hips, and his gaze devours your form from head to toe. “Well, God damn. . .Looks good on ya, too.” 

You wrap your arms around him and he hugs you close. He leans back to see you wearing the choker.  “Let's go to bed.”

—-—--

You take off the flannel and get in bed. You bury your head in your pillow. Joel wraps you in his legs and arms, muscles straining his pajamas as he holds you in the dim room. His big, warm hand strokes your back. His body is like a furnace. You take deep breaths. In his bed, in his arms, you finally feel like you can breathe. His arms feel like home in a way that nearly overwhelms you. These are the arms that took you. They hurt you and pushed you away. Would they still? These arms hold you and care for you. They comfort you and kill for you. You hope they never let go. 

It doesn't feel like you were ever really home before him, and it's impossible to imagine an after. There is no after. You're his. In the cruel, awful world, he carved out this space just for you. He kisses your forehead. You pinch your eyes shut and a tear runs down your cheek. It's a tear of relief. You press your cheek into his white t-shirt and his warm package twitches against you. He pushes his hips into you only slightly, and keeps holding you. You focus on his breathing and the beat of his heart. 

You wedge your hand between your bodies. Your knuckles slide down your abdomen, and your palm skims his tummy on its way to his pants. You cradle the warm bulge in his flannel. You press your palm into it and he grunts softly as he presses his hips forward. Then he wraps an arm over you.  He rolls onto his back, taking you with him. You're on top of him, and your heart flutters as his words from the bathroom echo. That means you’re doin' it. 

-

You come to your knees, and he watches you curiously as you straddle him. You lower yourself so your panties meet his flannel, and the warmth of his bulge sends a shock to your chest. You lightly grind against him and watch his chest rise and fall as his cock swells against your neediest place. His hips lift and his eyes gloss over as he watches you move on him. You must be a vision – swollen, misty eyes, scratched up chest – but the look on his face says you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

That means you're doin’ it.  

You scoot back so you’re straddling his thighs.  You bring your hand just above his waistband, and your thumb traces his happy trail up under his t-shirt to his belly button, bringing the shirt up with you. You use both hands to push it up and he asks, “Want this off?” 

“It's okay,” you shake your head. “Just like to see this. You slide your hand down his stomach, once again running your thumb through the hair leading to his groin. You run your hand slowly up and down it a few times and feel his muscles tense under the light padding of his tummy. The bulge in his pants becomes more of a tent. His tummy flexes as he rises up enough to take the shirt off anyway.

“What else ya like?” He asks. By now, he knows. Oh God, does he know.  But he must want to hear it. He must want to see it, feel it. He wets his bottom lip. You back up down his legs and take his flannel pants down. His cock bounces free, and for a moment, you dismount him entirely.  Once the pjs are down below his knees, he kicks them off the rest of the way as you take off your underwear. He sucks in air through his nose as he watches you. He's still, and he’s quiet, but the look on his face is more pain than patience. 

You straddle his legs, bend at the hips, and rest your elbows on either side of his hips. You take his cock in one hand, then bring your lips to the head. He's still not at full mast. Not for him. For another man, this might be as hard as it gets, but not Joel. You suck the tip into your mouth. A masochistic part of you imagines how many women might have sucked this cock. You have, too, of course. But you want to outdo them all. You suck as much of it into your mouth as you can, and he sucks in a shaky breath as you furrow your brows and close your eyes. You suck from the back of your mouth, and your throat gurgles obscenely as his tip nudges it, then you gag. His hand rests gently on the side of your head. “You’re okay.” 

You lock eyes with him as you slowly let his shaft out of your mouth. A string connects your lips to his tip until you wipe your mouth with the back of your wrist. You hold his shaft in a loose fist, thumbing his dorsal vein as you turn your attention to his balls. You cup his balls, then lick a stripe up the seam of his sack, and his hand grips the fitted sheet. When you look up at him, he releases the sheet. Your tongue circles his left nut and he closes his eyes. You have your free hand braced on his upper thigh, near where it meets his torso, and you can practically feel the blood rushing to his cock. His eyes meet yours again, and his brows are furrowed. 

“Can I have them in my mouth,” you ask and he nods encouragingly. 

You take one into your mouth and circle your tongue around it. You let it rest on your tongue then give it a gentle suck and he breathes, “oh God damn.” It’s fuzzy and soft and feels nice in your mouth.

You pinch your eyes shut and sigh, “Mm,” with your mouth full. You move to the other one, careful and gentle.  “Ohh,” he moans a little louder than you expect, and you pause. 

You look toward the bedroom door nervously, and take your mouth off. You’re about to remind him about Carter, but he cuts you off, “Shhh,” before you can. 

You lick all around his balls again, and his cock throbs angrily in your hand. You suck a ball into your mouth. You want both, but there’s no way you can do it without scraping him with your teeth, so you don’t. 

Instead, you return your lips to his tip and feel yourself throbbing as you suck his shaft into your mouth. When you look up, he’s shaking his head no.  

“This aint what ya wanted, baby.”

“Is it good?” you ask. 

“Yeah. It's good, sweet pea. . .The best.” His thumb brushes your temple. He moves his fingers to tilt your chin up to look at him.  “But this ain't what ya want *really* want.”

“Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah? You were bouncin’ on my cock out there, just to make me feel good?”

You twitch and swallow and your chest flutters with desire.  

“What’d I tell ya in the bathroom?”

“I'm gonna finish what I started”

“That’s right,” he nods. 

His cock is raging hard. You’re throbbing and gushing for it. You give the tip of it one last kiss, then get up on your knees and take your time positioning yourself over it. You press his tip against your most sensitive place for a moment and let out a whimper. The contact makes you ache for him. 

—

Joel cradles the backs of your thighs as you hold his cock. You look down as you move forward just a little more, then nestle his cockhead at your dripping hole, the very tip of it prodding just barely inside. You’re more than wet enough. You brace your hands on his tummy, near the bottom of his ribs.  Then, you begin to sink down with a whimper, letting his cock spread you open.  He growls, “God damn.”  You're biting your lip, with his big cock stretching you already. 

He nods, “go on, you can do it.” You lift yourself up and bend slightly forward, tilting your hips. He sucks in air through his teeth. He grabs your hips, and you groan as he pulls you down. “Fuck,” he breathes heavily. He loosens his hands on your hips, then moves them to your thighs. You sit still on his cock with your body angled slightly forward, your clit pressing into his pubic hair.  You savor the fullness and the way your body makes space for him. 

You brace your hands on his chest and begin to move yourself. “Good girl,” he whispers with a gentle thrust of his hips. You whimper as his length nudges deep inside, and his hips lift you. 

You lift your ass and let most of his length out, before swallowing it up again and moaning with the delicious stretch. You slowly move yourself, and when you whimper, you feel his nipples harden under your hands. You palm his pecs as you ride his cock.  His chest rises with deep breaths as you fuck him. His eyes keep drifting to his name wrapped around your neck.

You try to be quiet, biting your lip, but you still let out little moans, you can't help it.  So does he. “Ohhh, baby—ohh.” His sounds are desperate, from deep in his chest. 

“Ya do it good,” he whispers. He cradles your ass in his massive hands and begins to move you on him, a little faster than you were going. He watches your breasts move under your nightie.  He lifts up the hem of your nightie to watch your cunt swallow his length, and he groans softly. You pause and take it off, then start moving again. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, then his hands return to your ass, gently guiding your rhythm. He clenches his jaw, and you can tell he's trying not to take over entirely. 

“C’mere a minute,” he murmurs. 

His tummy pudges and wrinkles over his flexing abs, and his fingers dig into your ass cheeks as he sits up. He wraps his arms around you and turns to face the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off. “Hang on,” he murmurs. “Hang on, baby.” He holds your back with one arm, stands up slightly, and pulls at one of your thighs. You adjust your position so you’re seated instead of kneeling and your bent legs wrap loosely around him. Without the leverage of your knees on the bed, it’s up to him.

You have your arms around his neck and your face against his cheek. Your lips pull like a magnet to the skin just below the dark, curly hair on his head.  You plant a kiss on his neck and suck lightly. He exhales vocally. He hugs you into him and moves you up and down. He’s doing it all now. You both sigh and moan as his cock fills you up. 

Then, he loosens his arms and slides his hands to your shoulder blades. He hooks his thumbs under your arms and breathes, “Lemme see ya for a minute.” 

You hesitantly let him pull you away from his body, missing the heat of his chest against yours. 

“Ain't gonna drop ya, sweet pea.” 

You relax some of your weight into his hands, and he brings you all the way down so you're lying face up with your lower back on his lap. His hands under your arms hold you steady as he thrusts into you, like your body is a warm, wet sleeve for him. You let your head fall back in pleasure. He grunts as he moves you, and you look again to see him snarl. He looks down and watches his cock disappear again and again.

“God damn you feel good,” he whispers. His eyes roam from your eyes to your lips, to your choker, to your tits. He watches where your bodies are joined as he keeps thrusting into you, making you feel like no one ever has. Then his eyes drift up your body again. He slows down. His hands tighten, and he grunts as he brings your body upright again. Your breasts meet his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck again as he hugs you.  Your cheek rests against his jaw, and his scuff scratches you pleasantly. “Always so good,” he breathes, moving you on his cock. His breath is warm against your ear. “Ohh baby,“ he sighs. 

He tilts his chin to look up at the ceiling, and you latch onto his neck. He braces a hand on the bed and his hips lift under yours as you grind your body into his. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Oh, God, baby. You're–you’re so good for me,” he pants, barely above a whisper. “Ohhh–so good, sweet pea.” 

You release his neck with a whimper. He cradles your head with one hand, and his cheek returns to yours. 

As you ride him, his head slowly drifts back, so his breath is on your cheek instead of your ear. Your lips are dangerously close, and Joel doesn't pull away. Your mouths get closer while your bodies move as one. Soon, the corners of your lips are touching. You breathe and moan against each other's mouths. Your lips tingle at the closeness, and all you want is his mouth on yours. It feels so close. The sides of your mouths move against each other. It’s enough, just feeling his lips. You want more, but it’s enough, for now. He pulls his head back, and your heart barely has time to sink before he leans his forehead against yours and cradles the back of your head. Your mouths loosely connect, with his lower lip hitching on your upper lip every time you slide down his cock. You breathe each other’s breath. Your noses touch. His bottom lip tenses, and his mouth follows yours, not letting your lips slip away. You moan softly against his mouth, pinching your eyes shut, resisting the urge, resisting it.  

Then, Joel presses his open lips against yours. His lips drag lightly, clockwise, then they truly embrace you. As your mouths seal together, you half-moan, half-whine, “Mmm.” His lips are strong and desperate, pulling on yours like a hug. You can feel him taking your air and your spit. He sucks it right out of you, replacing it with an even more desperate need for him. You’re having him, you’re having all of him, but you can never have enough. Arousal floods your body. It gathers deep in your gut and bubbles up to your chest.  You take a deep breath through your nose as his tongue slowly thrusts into your mouth and finds yours. His cock is in your tight, wet cunt, and his tongue is in your soft little mouth. You throb and twitch on his cock, and you're nearly overcome. Your whole body simmers. He wraps his arm tighter around you, and your tits smush against him as he kisses you hungrily, and you kiss back.  It’s real, it’s really–it’s real. His hand slides down to grip the back of your neck as your mouths move together, drawing each other in, deeper and deeper, like you need it to live.  

“Mmmm,” you whine at your imminent peak. 

“Mm,” he grunts into your mouth as you twitch again on his cock.  His tongue slides against yours, and the tension boils over violently, erupting from your core out to every inch of your body. Your walls clench, and you don't want to let go of his mouth, but your body jerks. Your lips begin to break away with a moan as you spasm on his cock. He holds you there by your neck. Your mouths stay half connected, and you breathe and moan against each other. Time freezes and waves of pleasure ripple through your core. Then, Joel’s thick cock twitches in the embrace of your spasming cunt. “Ugghh,” grunts, then his lips take yours again. “Mmmm.” He erupts, and you're still not finished. He holds you still, holds you tight. His hips lift slowly into you as his cock pulses. Massive bursts of warmth flood your core, and he kisses you slowly but needily as he comes. The kiss becomes sloppy. You both breathe through your noses, but your mouths still disconnect for split seconds, breathing each other’s humid breath.

When Joel finishes emptying his load into you, he gently pulls his lips from yours to take a deeper breath. He leans back and collapses on the bed. You sit there on his cock, still twitching, and your hand drifts to your tingling lips. His hands rest on your thighs. You watch his chest expand with air, and you watch his face. He opens his eyes, then silently motions c’mere with both hands. You fold at your hips and hug him. As you settle in, he strokes the nape of your neck. His chest rises and falls under your cheek. He unfastens the leather choker for you. You were planning to sleep in it, but now that he’s kissed you–and it was more than that, it felt like more–you don't feel quite as desperate for the tangible reminder that he wants you. You have it. Your lips are buzzing. Your whole body is. You can feel it in your bones. 

-

After a few minutes of caressing you, Joel murmurs, “Let's get some sleep.” 

You both get under the covers. He lies on his back. You’ve never seen his face so peaceful. You rest your head and half your body on him. You rest your hand on his chest.  He strokes your back. Then, he lays his other hand on top of yours.  

Soon, you drift off to the sound of him lightly snoring. 

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Raider POV: The Kiss

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So, I was writing this one when I took the detour to let Carter jack off lmao: He's only human.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. I really appreciate your support and patience and love for these characters. Out of all my characters, it means so much to me when you engage with raider Joel because I pour a lot of myself into this one and have been writing it for >8 months.

Love you all so much! I can't respond to everything without spamming but I appreciate all of your commentary so much and often revisit it when I need inspo.

I hear you about notifs not working, i hear you about tags not working (i'm not getting a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.

: @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

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[propheticbride]

Abducted

𐙚 Living among Joel’s group isn't so bad, you were fed and taken care of. The only downside? You could never leave him.

𐙚 Raider!Joel x Reader (tw: kidnapping, dubcon, reader is technically a hostage, joel is a bad man!)

AN: Listen to this, for maximum effect <3 reader is early 20s and Joel is mid-50s :3

You really missed your father. You couldn't remember what he looked like, not truly. Could not make out his features precisely, the way his face curved. Your heart dropped at the realization. The very person who had raised you, almost your entire life was gone. Viciously beat to death by the man who quietly slept beside you, his back to you.

Joel was an awful man, wasn't he? You had heard stories of him, at least a year before he had gotten to you. Your cousin returned from patrol with news of him carving up men in camps, stealing everything and leaving nothing but a butchered mess in his wake.

And for a while you couldn't believe men like that really existed, men who would take advantage of the innocent of the world. As if there wasn't already enough of that in the form of a vicious infection.

When he came to your camp, it was dark. You hadn't heard the attack at first, but rustling of the bushes around your tent made you quickly sit up. After screams and sounds of wet filled the air, tears streamed your face as he stood in front of you. Blood caked his face, fresh and new. His clothes were old and worn in. He was a truly frightening image to take in and you prepared for what you knew would come, his knife in your neck.

But it never did. A woman had entered your tent behind him, 'She's pretty.’

‘We’re takin her with us.’ he had muttered to her, and quickly turned and left.

The breaking in part was brutal, more brutal than what the soldiers had to endure you were sure. He wouldn't touch you, not yet. He left you alone for hours on end in an empty barren room, with no clothes on and realistically nothing to piss in. Then we would return, bloody and bruised and care for you, tricking your mind into believing he was the best thing for you. But after much pampering, he'd leave you on your own again. Alone and abandoned.

He would do this for a solid two months, until your will and mind shattered.

The last time, the last you could remember of that room, you had begged him to take you with him. Grabbing at his pant leg and refusing to let go, please please please.

‘Please take me with you!’ you had screamed, voice hearse.

‘Why, why darlin, what's the matter?’ he had asked you with a smirk. Joel was enjoying you, begging like this.

After all, the man had been a father. He would never force himself on someone unwilling, so in his mind; he needed you willing.

‘I love you. Please take me with you please!’ you cried.

‘You what now?’ he cupped his ear, pretended he didn't quite hear you.

Hot tears streamed your face, it was an awful position to be in. You wanted clothes, you wanted to be held. You wanted love again. ‘I love you.’

And with that, Joel had scooped you up and carried you to his room, and that’s when the sex began. Almost every night, no matter how sore you were or was from the night before. Pleasing him was the only real job you had.

Now you sat up in bed, the covers covering your bruised legs, all left over from his iron grip on them. He was not a gentle lover, nor did he make an effort to become one for you. He'd come back from his raids and take you, it didn't matter if you were doing anything. Because your only real job was pleasing him.

Sometimes, you thought about the repercussions of stabbing his throat and running. But his entire group, who worshiped Joel, would sic you like a dog and you found it wasn't worth it. And other times, you really fucking loved him.

“Darlin?” his gruff voice fills the silent room.

You quickly turn to him, watching as he rubs his eyes.

“You awake? Itso’ late”

“I’m sorry.” you murmur.

“C’mere baby.” Joel leans against the headboard and holds his arms out.

You waste no time practically launching yourself into his arms, he had bathed recently and the smell of outdated old spice (and maybe some musky cologne he had taken off a dead man’s body) filled your nose. God you missed him. He had been gone, not raiding but patrolling with Tess.

“How's my girl?” he asks.

“I’m okay. I missed you. I hate…hate it when you go.” you say, leaning into his shoulder. “When you leave, and I…can't go with you. Something dies inside me.”

You can't see it, but Joel grins. A wide grin he hasn't smiled since he held Sarah.

“What dies darlin?” he begins rubbing your back. A tactic he used after abandoning you for days, when he sat you in the bath and promised he wouldn't do it again only to do it…again.

“I dunno. Something hurts, like in my stomach when you leave.” you pull away to look at him. Joel was pretty, too pretty for you to possibly deserve. And he thought you were pretty enough to take.

“I’m not really leavin you doll, not really. Jus’ gotta go protect our little family, you know that right?” he kisses your forehead.

“I know. You wouldn't leave me.” you tell yourself mostly.

“Now, I’m glad you’re awake.” he starts. “I had a dream darlin, a good one.” Joel reaches down to his pajama pants where a tent is forming. “Think my lil doll can help her daddy?”

You nod, nervous.

He pulls his pants down, along with his boxers. You take a deep breath and begin small kisses on his dick. He sucks in a breath and collects your hair in his hands.

You continue to kiss at his drooling shaft when he starts huffing, “Just suck it doll, don't need to be teasin’ me and shit.”

“Sorry daddy.” you murmur.

You take him all in your mouth, using your tongue to wet his dick more.

“Oh god damn, I knew you were the one… god, good girl.” he groans. It's filthy, in the gruffy voice he knew you loved. “I knew I was right to take you. Got a mouth like an angel.”

The comment made you dizzy. I was right to take you.

You continue to work him, until he pulls you off. A sign he's close.

“Come ride me darlin, let me feel that tight lil hole.” he grins at you.

You nod and allow him to undress your pajama shorts and panties off. He bunches the fabric up and brings them to his face, inhaling the scent you left behind.

Small things turned you on, you weren't sure why. Maybe proof he indeed was attracted to you and it was proof that you weren't just a toy he fucked.

Growing frustrated, Joel simply grabs you and places you on his dick with little to no effort. He's sheathed fully, he's completely inside of you. You whimper slightly.

“Now hush darlin, you’ve taken this cock about a dozen times now. Don't be so damn shy.” he tells you, shaking his head.

Joel begins pumping into you, while at the same time grabbing your hips and bouncing you on him. The movement was all too much, too dizzy. You try your best to keep up with him, but Joel is always an animal. Too insatiable to do really anything. So you do what you’ve learned to do best in these situations: you simply take it.

“Fuuuuck.” he moans. “God this never gets fuckin old. Your pussy is all mine, mine to have and mine to fuck. Got that?”

His stamina never amazed you, despite being almost over half his age he still fucked you like you’d imagine a young frat boy would. Only Joel was better. He knew what thrusts when and how to angle them to hit your little spot inside, knew how to send you seeing stars.

“You hear me?” Joel smacks you.

“Yes! I’m…I’m yours!” you agree and nod.

“Good.” he begins to pick up his thrusts. And you sat there, taking it like the good toy you have become for him. “Hate when I gotta repeat myself with you. You young people are so annoyin’, never fuckin listening.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Always are doll.” Joel kisses your forehead and his final thrusts get lazy, and he finishes inside you.

You both stay there for a little. Joel trying to catch his breath, his age truly showing. You cuddle into his chest, your head below his chin. In the beginning there were no small moments like this, only sex and he’d leave to shower or go back to Tommy.

But now, he likes to cuddle you and coddle you. Was the mean terrible raider that everyone feared…growing affection for you? No no. You couldn't delude yourself into thinking someone like him could love anyone, let alone someone he stole.

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

𝙎𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙧𝙢...

Read part 2 here - Soup...

*vision bored doesn't describe readers' looks it describes the vibes of the story*

screencaps: @din-jarring they are amazing, the best most amazing person. I definitely recommend you check them out 🫶🏻

Pairing: dark!Raider!Joel Miller x fem!virgin!reader

Summary: Seven years after the outbreak and with two days of starvation looming, desperation drives you to attempt stealing from your own assailant. But in this dire bid for survival, what unforeseen consequences await?

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, BLOOD, VIRGIN READER, breaking and entering, bondage (belt), groping, spit, fear, non/dub-con, guns, toxic people, degradation, praise, (maybe kind of), fingering kinda, biting, male moaning, breeding kink, kissing, kidnapping, mean joel, daze, kinda inexperienced reader, UNprotected sex wrap it before you tap it, kids. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

WC: 2.5K

Your pulse quickened as a looming silhouette tore through the door of your family's cabin, a formidable rifle in hand. The once serene sanctuary of your family retreat had morphed into something ominous during the seven years since the outbreak. Time had shrouded the cabin in secrecy, but now it felt like it held more secrets than safety. With no one around to offer aid and your provisions dwindling, a sense of foreboding gripped you. Who was this intruder, and what did they want?

Huddled behind the worn fabric of the couch, you trembled, trying to decipher the intruder's intentions. The eerie silence of the cabin was only broken by the sound of your racing heartbeat and the slam of the empty cupboards. The emptiness of the cupboards, devoid of sustenance for two long days, added to the dread coiling in your stomach.

Your father's departure had cast the first shadow of unease. Taking the only means of protection—a small pistol—he left behind a void filled with questions and fear. When days stretched into weeks without his return, your mother embarked on a desperate quest to find him, leaving you alone to wrestle with gnawing uncertainty.

Peering cautiously from your hiding place, you observed the intruder ransacking the kitchen. Panic surged as you spotted the cabin door ajar, a white van parked conspicuously outside. Desperation prompted a daring idea – if there was nothing left to steal, why not take whatever the intruder possessed? With knowledge of the terrain on your side, you calculated a plan to hide in the woods until the coast was clear.

You watched the intruder's every move, hoping for the perfect moment to act. When he cautiously ventured into the bathroom, likely searching for supplies you lacked, you seized the chance to make your move. With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you slipped out the door and tiptoed toward the van, determined to reclaim control of the situation.

Peering into the dim interior, you scanned for any signs of danger before cautiously stepping inside. The van's interior was a jumble of crates and boxes, their contents obscured by shadows. Time was of the essence, so you swiftly lifted the tarp covering the crates, revealing precious bottles of water. With careful precision, you gathered as many as you could carry, ensuring not to drop any or create any disturbance.

Exiting the van, you concealed the bottles in a nearby bush, intending to wait there until the intruder departed. Once the water was safely stashed, you returned to the van, continuing your search. As you reached for a few cans of canned food, you suddenly found yourself confronted by a terrifying sight: a tall, muscular man with a rifle pointed directly at your face.

The sound of the cans dropping from your hands seemed to fade away as you stood there frozen in fear, unable to move or even think. The man had a heavy, muscular build, with dark hair and an incoming beard that made him look even more menacing. It was clear that he had been watching you, and that he had no intention of letting you leave without a fight.

As you struggled to comprehend the situation unfolding before you, the man's voice shattered the eerie silence, causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Caught red-handed, are we? Thought you could just waltz in and help yourself to my supplies?" His words were like a cold slap in the face, jolting you into a state of panic.

Before you could utter a word in response, he roughly pushed you onto your back, the barrel of the gun pressing into your chest. Fear gripped you tightly as you found yourself unable to move, your mind racing with thoughts of imminent danger.

"Please, I didn't mean any harm. I'll put everything back, just please don't hurt me," you pleaded, your voice quivering with desperation. But your words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he grabbed your arm with force, pushing your chest against the center console. Your heart sank as the cold metal of the gun dug into your back, a sense of hopelessness washing over you.

In that moment of vulnerability, you couldn't help but curse yourself for choosing to wear a dress today. The fabric rode up your thighs, leaving you feeling exposed and defenseless. It served as a harsh reminder of how unready you were for the predicament unfolding before you. While you weren't naive, you'd had discussions before, even received "the talk" about the delicate subject of virginity. But contemplating the act itself was a realm you never envisioned venturing into, especially not now. The weight of such responsibilities loomed heavy on your mind, intertwining with the immediate danger at hand, creating a tangled web of fear and uncertainty.

He knelt behind you, his rough, calloused hand replacing the gun at your back. "You want to leave here in one piece? Then you better be prepared to compensate me for what you were trying to steal," he demanded, his grip firm as he lifted the hem of your dress.

As panic surged through you, you attempted to break free, but his hold only tightened. He swiftly changed tactics, his unfamiliar touch gripping your waist just above where your panties ended. With a rough tug, he pulled down your panties, his words and actions leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"Now that's a pretty lookin' pussy," he taunted, his fingers tracing over your folds. You squirmed uncomfortably under his touch, his chuckle sending shivers down your spine.

Feeling trapped and afraid, you remained frozen, unable to escape his looming presence.

He started to palm your bare clit, making sure to rub the wet spit onto your pussy. You were starting to become wet at his actions, he rubbed his middle finger around your damp pussy teasing you, making you squirm again. “I like it when you squirm. Makes things more interesting," he chuckled, his words sending a shiver down your spine. In a desperate attempt to escape his unsettling presence, you jolted forward, scrambling towards the front of the van, hoping to create some distance between yourself and the menacing figure behind you. He pulled you back and firmly grasped your shoulders, preventing you from escaping further. Then, he cupped your face with his hands, his touch possessive yet tender, his eyebrows lifting in a silent question as his husky voice filled the space between you.

"I'm never—" he began, his lips pressing against yours briefly before he lowered his voice, his gaze locking onto yours, "gonna let you go." His thumb traced gentle circles on your temple, a stark contrast to the intensity of his words.

But then his touch shifted, his lips leaving yours to trail along the curve of your neck and shoulders, igniting a tingling sensation that sent shivers down your spine. It was as if he was trying to seduce you, drawing you in with each caress.

Returning to your lips, he initiated another kiss, and you found yourself torn between conflicting emotions. Part of you felt trapped and scared, but another part couldn't deny the thrill coursing through you. As he deepened the kiss, you found yourself responding, losing yourself in the moment.

Finally pulling back, a small smile played on his lips as he shook his head in disbelief. His voice dropped to a whisper as he repeated his vow, "Never."

As one of his hands traveled down your stomach, a shiver ran down your spine, and he began planting kisses along your neck. For a moment, you closed your eyes, lost in the sensation, feeling a sense of serenity wash over you. But reality crashed back down as he suddenly shoved you forcefully onto the center console. Your head collided with something hard, causing a sharp pain to shoot through you, and blood began to gush from your nose.

Shocked and a little dizzy from the sudden impact, you struggled to gather your bearings, your head throbbing as blood continued to trickle from your nose. Blinking rapidly, you tried to focus, but the dizziness made it difficult to think clearly. Panic began to rise within you as you realized the severity of the situation, your heart pounding in your chest.

One of his hands held you down harshly against the console keeping you trapped once again sanity has left you, his other hand swiftly unbuckled his belt, the sounds of his movements echoing in the tense silence of the van you felt hopeless and dazed as you felt his dick rub against your pussy still wet from the desire of his kiss.

He leaned closer to you, his entire body weight pressing down on yours, his chest now firmly against your back as he roughly pushed his dick into you. he was big you let out a loud shriek as a burning sensation cascaded through your body, causing your eyes to squeeze shut in pain. Desperately, you reached for his thighs, trying to push him off you.

"Quiet." He groans as he pushes deeper into your cunt you felt his pubes brush against your clit, he was so big so overwhelming you could feel him in your stomach even as he was still. He gripped your hands and grabbed his belt from beside him before tying your hands together behind your back. you could feel every movement making you let out small sounds of discomfort as his dick rested inside of you.

"Suckin' me right in." He lifted your dress higher taking a moment to stand and bask in the view of his dick being swallowed by your pussy. he started groping your ass taking his time as he started he's penetrating your soul. he began to thrust setting a slow but harsh pace. "You're gonna be achin' for days.” you let out a few broken moans at his movements your daze and confusion were replaced with a sense of pleasure and warmth as he continued thrusting in and out of you.

He shifted his hands to grip the makeshift restraints around your wrists, then began pushing you towards him so that you met his thrusts. As the new sensation overwhelmed you, you started to squirm again, unable to contain the mix of pleasure and discomfort. "I said squirming makes it interesting, I didn't say be difficult," he murmured, his voice low and filled with amusement. With a swift movement, he hooked you up so you were pressed against him, your struggles futile against his strength. He noticed the blood from your nose and chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as you whimpered in fear.

He started to thrust up into you harder. more primal for his desire, he moved one of his hands to play with your breast. you let out a loud moan as one of his thrusts hit just where it was needed for his movements to feel like he was heaven. He pushed you back onto the console, this time skillfully avoiding the sharp object, sparing you from any further facial damage.

His weight presses you down onto your back again, forcing you to stay still as he pounds deep into you over and over again. His power and speed never slow down as he bites down hard on your shoulder to muffle his moans, he hits that sweet spot inside of you with every thrust making it impossible to hide your obvious pleasure from his actions making sure to move your hips back to meet him every time it makes you feel so dirty, "You tried to take from me, but now you're learning your place. Beneath me, where you belong, like a whore".He stopped biting your shoulder and whispered, letting out a soft moan

"Don't call me that," you manage to mumble, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance, though you still push back into him, your back arching involuntarily making you press into his chest. "I-I can call you whatever I want when... when..." Your words falter as you struggle to find your voice, the pleasure taking over you. As he continues to pound into you.

But he cuts you off sharply, he pinched your side hard, causing you to whimper in pain. "Shut the fuck up," he commands, his voice harsh and threatening. "I'm tired of your mouth. Keep it up, and I'll find another way to shut you up."

His thrusts grew more erratic, his grip tightening as he abandoned any pretense of restraint, his small moans and grunts escaping him freely. "Shit, I'm gonna need Viagra or something to keep up with this pussy," he muttered, his words punctuated by the force of his pistoning movements. "Gosh... feels like you're gonna swallow me whole."

Suddenly, he stopped hitting that spot that had pleased you, and a sense of disappointment washed over you. As his thrusts became sloppy, you ceased meeting him halfway, hoping he would find that sweet spot again. But he didn't.

With a final, desperate thrust, he let out a guttural groan, his body shuddering as he reached his climax. As he withdrew, leaving you feeling empty and unsatisfied, a wave of sadness and confusion washed over you.

Your walls were slick, not with your arousal, but with his, milky ropes of his release making an obscene set of sounds as he pulled out of you. Still restrained, you watched silently as he got dressed and exited the van, leaving you feeling abandoned and exposed.

Minutes passed, the silence heavy and suffocating, before he returned with a few papers and items you recognized from your cabin. "Hey, those are mine!" you protested, your voice tinged with a mix of anger and desperation.

He ignored your protest, tossing the items into a bag without a second glance. "They're mine now," he replied coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As he released you from your restraints, you felt a surge of defiance rising within you. "You can't just take everything!" you exclaimed, trying to assert some semblance of control over the situation.

But his gaze was icy as he looked at you, his expression unreadable. "Watch me," he muttered, before turning and striding away, leaving you feeling small and powerless once again.

"Get comfortable," he called over his shoulder as he headed towards the driver's seat, his voice devoid of any warmth or compassion.

You watched him go, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. As you sat alone in the van, surrounded by the remnants of your life that he had taken from you, the reality of your situation began to sink in.

He wasn't just taking your belongings. He was taking you.

With a heavy heart, you realized that you were now at his mercy, trapped in a situation you couldn't escape. And as he started the engine and pulled away from the cabin, leaving everything you knew behind, he turned to you with a chilling smile.

"You're mine now," he said quietly, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "And you're not going anywhere."

[toxicbrothel]

Bad Ideas

PAIRING: raider!Joel x f!reader x f!friend x Carter WORD COUNT: 2.5k  NOTE/SUMMARY: Joel is primary (you're sweet pea). Carter is an OC. Same non-canon raider AU as Girl Talk. (poll). Carter's girl is not described. They all sleep in the same bed. what could go wrong? WARNINGS: 🔞, mostly smut, MFFM kinda, choking, violence, hair pulling, biting, questionable orgasm timing, angst, dark sweet pea. read at your own discretion. 

—

The fire pops and crackles, filling the silence. It’s been a few minutes since either of the men said anything. All you hear is the fire and Joel’s breath, heavy with need. You’re stifling moans with your face in his neck while you straddle him. He’s got one hand on your ass and one on your back as he  grinds you on his hard bulge. His manhood throbs against you, nudging you in just the right spot. The whisky on his breath is stronger than usual. 

He lets out a soft grunt and pulls you harder against him. Closer, tighter so his clothed cock is aimed at your wet little hole instead. He’s going to make you desperate for it. With Joel nudging you like that with his hard-on, your wetness begins to seep into his denim. The need to be filled is overwhelming. Will he fuck you right here? He’s done it in front of plenty of people, but normally it’s just men. It turns you on a little more, thinking about doing it in front of her. A private show, just for them. 

~//ofc pov//~

Carter and his girl--your friend--are only about two meters away, and she’s seated on him in the same fashion. They couldn’t help themselves after a few minutes of trying not to watch you and Joel and hearing the noises you’re trying to stifle. She’s heard you moan before. They all have. She’s heard it with her head between your legs, with her fingers knuckles deep getting soaked by your sweet little cunt. When the boys got home from their last hunting trip, the two of you were on the sofa, with your legs stacked together while she expertly massaged your tit, thumbing your nipple into a peak while you grinded on her thigh between your legs. Now she’s grinding herself on Carter as they make out. 

She can’t really help herself. He’s a good kisser, and he’s rock hard. What she really wants is Carter inside her, but rocking against him, feeling the stiffness and girth of his perfect cock is the next best thing. She rolls her hips slowly.

His mouth breaks away from hers to mutter, “Fuck, sugar,” then a cautionary, “Hol’on.” His hands on her thighs hold her still for a moment. She giggles and they look at each other fondly for a moment. His eyes always sparkle when he’s with her, but now his face is wrecked with arousal.

Carter has so much restraint. Sometimes she wishes he was more like Joel, giving it to his girl any time, anywhere.

They start kissing again, softer, less sloppy. 

~//🌸🫛//~

Joel murmurs into your hair, “You gonna come for me?” 

Your response is interrupted by a loud clap of thunder. When you jump, Joel chuckles.

A fat raindrop lands on your head. 

Carter gives his girl a kiss on the forehead and nudges her off his lap. He subtly adjusts himself before standing up and going to grab the tarp by the side of the trailer. “Guess we should try to beat the rain,” he tells her as he covers the unused firewood. 

You glance at her and she gives you a disappointed look. 

You put your hands around the back of Joel's neck, gently resting your thumbs just in front of his earlobes. He raises an eyebrow like he knows you want something. 

You bite your lip and almost laugh. 

“I'm listening,” he teases.  

“Can they stay?” you ask. 

“Whatcha want’em to stay for?” 

Heat rises to your cheeks “I just like hanging out with her.” 

“Uh-huh,” he says with teasing skepticism.  “I know ya do,” he reminds you. 

Another clap of thunder and it begins to pour. 

Joel clears his throat and shouts, “Come on in, it's early. Storm’ll blow over. ”

–

You’re all wet by the time you get inside. The dog gets to come in too, but he has to stay in the bathroom. In the kitchen, the men have another drink. The storm is picking up outside. You sit on Joel’s lap, side-saddle. He’s so handsome in the lantern light. Carter’s girl sits in the chair next to him, and he holds her hand in her lap. She yawns into her shoulder. 

“pull-out’s in there if ya wanna call it a night,” Joel nods toward the living room. Then he murmurs across the top of your ear, “You tired?” 

You remind him, “the roof leaks in there.” 

“Shit, you’re right,” Joel replies. 

“Bed’s big enough,” you whisper, then put your hand on the lamp’s handle like you’re ready to bring it to the bedroom.

“Hear that, Carter?” Joel picks up his glass to down the rest of his whiskey. He swallows and puts it back down, with his voice a little lower. “Fine by me.” 

~//flashback//~

After catching you girls together that time, Joel and Carter had talked. You overheard some of it and were surprised to hear Carter was the hesitant one. Joel was always far more possessive (than anyone, ever), but that was partly why he made peace with it: If something happened to Joel, he would rather you have your friend than someone else. He knew you didn’t look at her the way you looked at him. He knew she was just for fun. The thought of another man swooping in made his blood boil, but he didn’t want you to be completely alone.

Carter, on the other hand, was concerned. He was worried about Joel getting jealous and getting rid of the girl. Taking a sexual interest in you wasn't good for anyone's lifespan.

“I don’t get jealous,” Joel claimed. “Just don’t like men disrespectin’ my girl.” 

“snapped a girl's neck for puttin’ hands on her,” Carter reminded him.

Joel scoffed. “Snapped her neck cause she damn near killed ya, brother.” 

Carter was moved. After a few moments of silence, he agreed. “If it’s too much, promise you’ll say somethin'. I don't wanna lose her, man.” 

Joel nodded, and that was that. 

~//~

Now Joel’s fucking you from behind in the spoon position, holding onto your hip. Your friend’s face is getting closer to yours with every thrust from Carter behind her. Carter is holding her breast.

As the gap gets smaller and smaller between you and her, your erect nipple brushes against something hard - Carter's knuckles. His hand quickly moves out of the way with a quiet curse into his girl’s hair. But the split-second contact has already sent a chill down your spine that makes you twitch on Joel's cock. The deep growl Joel lets out gives you butterflies. 

Your bodies drift even closer until your breasts are smashed against hers, and you’re sloppily kissing. You’re floating in a cozy world of pleasure with her mouth on yours, her tongue finding yours after sliding along your lower lip. Her tits feel so good against you, moving to the beat of Carter’s hips. The power of Joel’s rhythm grinds you against her. You almost lift your leg so your knee rests on her hip, but think better of it when you imagine Joel’s balls grazing her. Your lips stop moving as you close your eyes and focus on Joel. You and she breathe against each other’s mouths, letting out sounds of pleasure with your tits still touching. You squeeze her side, then slide your hand to her breast and her nipple gets harder with your touch. 

Joel grunts and pulls you back against him, and off of her. The move feels more primal than anything. He probably didn’t think about her at all. He doesn’t think when he’s ravaging you. He only takes what’s his and bends you to his will. It’s the way he can’t physically get enough. Can’t be deep enough inside. Can’t have enough of your body against his. Can’t hold you tight enough.  Always hungry for more. 

He gropes around the front of your chest as he pounds you, his wide palm smashing your breast. Joel’s thrusts are sharp and deep, and his breathing is more vocal with every stroke of his cock through your tight, soft walls. He must be getting close. He bottoms out for two seconds and you let out a whimper, pushing back on him.  “That’s my girl,” he growls as his hips begin to move, and the slow, thick drag of his cock makes you forget everything else. His arm tightens, and his breath is hot in your hair. Your skin is slippery against his. You’re a humid row of bodies, writhing and sliding against each other under a quiet medley of heavy breaths, grunts, and sighs. 

“That’s it, baby,” Carter says in a husky near-whisper. 

“Ohhh--good girl,” Joel pants, grinding deep inside you. You let out a moan, and it’s echoed by one from her. Your eyes flutter open. 

Carter has slowed down. He's fucking her deep and smooth with a hand on her hip. A flash of lightning illuminates the room. Carter is kissing her neck, making her whimper, and a glimpse of his tongue on her skin makes you twitch. Her mouth is open, and her brow furrows with pleasure. “You like that?” Carter mumbles into her neck at a low octave before tasting her skin again, then marking her with bruising suction, drawing another moan. He releases her neck with a smack. 

“Whose are ya,” Joel murmurs. Your pussy gives his dick a little squeeze.

“Yours,” you reply. “always.” 

“Good girl.”

His. Always his. As much as you enjoy her. You could never be anyone else’s. You wouldn’t dream of it.

She tries to grope your breast, but Joel's hand is there. She breathes out a laugh, and when her hand doesn't move right away, you notice–even through the haze of pleasure. You pull back, pressing your back harder into Joel’s chest. You take her hand off of Joel's, and brush your chest with her fingers so she can feel the letters of his name. You interlace your fingers with hers.

“feel so good, sugar” Carter pants behind her. 

Another flash of lightning, and you see she's looking over your head. Your heart races. She’s looking at Joel. There’s no way he’s looking back at her, you reassure yourself, but you keep an eye on her over the next few seconds. The sight isn't as jarring in the dimmer lamplight, but her chin stays lifted upward, and so do her eyes. After another thrust of Joel inside you, she’s still looking at him. Your face tenses and tingles. You find your upper body trying to wiggle out of Joel’s tight grip. You put a hand on the back of her neck and pull her toward you at the same time.

Her neck still glistens with Carter’s spit as your mouth is drawn to it like a magnet. 

“Mm,” she moans as you plant your lips and suck. You widen your jaw, and your mind goes someplace else. 

"fuck," Carter breathes, "you close?"

The next thing you know, she’s wailing, with your teeth digging unforgivingly into her skin, not budging, only trying to sink deeper.

Carter groans with his release.  

Joel keeps fucking you, too wrapped up in the edge of his orgasm to even correct the gap that’s grown between your hair and his face. 

“Carter,” she cries, then chokes, “Carter.” 

“Shit,” he slowly comes back to reality, realizing what's happening.

Carter reaches around the back of your head and grabs a fist of your hair, trying to pry you off, but it only feels good to you. “Do somethin’, Miller.” His plea shakes Joel out of the spell enough to take you back, or try. 

When you resist the pull of his arm, Joel’s hand wraps around your throat. “C’mere,” he growls with a deep thrust. You tense up, squeezing his cock tight. 

“God damn” he curses, using the pressure of his forearm between your breasts, trying to pry you off, but not being rough with you, yet. “C’mere, sweet pea.” His fingers add some pressure to your neck.

With your mouth still on her neck, a modest climax ripples through your core, squeezing him tighter. Youre too numb to fully experience it- even the orgasm’s not enough to make you let go.

Joel sternly says your name. He tightens his grip, and you finally release her neck from your mouth.

He loosens his hand and pulls you fully back into his embrace with a groan, bottoming out and erupting. The warmth of his spend spreads like a blanket, soothing you along with the pulsing of his cock. 

–

You catch your breath and a hint of copper on your tongue. 

She’s blubbering. Looking for attention, when she should be apologizing and leaving.

“What the fuck,” Carter mutters, then tries to soothe her.  “Shhhh. It's okay, you're good.” 

“Crazy bitch,” she mumbles. 

You tense and Joel holds you tighter. “Hey,” he murmurs into your hair. “You’re okay.”

Carter's disapproving face turns to concern as he studies your face. "you good, peanut?" He asks you between heaving breaths.

She quietly sobs in unintelligible protest, hand on her neck. 

“Lemme see,” Carter says and retrieves the lamp from the bedside. He brings the lamp closer to her neck and his face darkens from shock to horror when he sees the damage. “Jesus,” he whispers.

The rain is really coming down hard. Bullet is whimpering in the bathroom and clawing at the door.  

Joe’s arms loosen around you. “Hey,” you grumble in protest when his cock slides out of you. He props himself up to have a look. Then he’s quiet. He lifts his hand and holds it like he’s about to touch her neck while examining the wound. You sharply inhale and he stops short. 

“Get her outta here,” Joel mutters. “Give us a minute.” 

Carter replies, “Where'd that come from–” 

“I’ll handle it,” Joel cuts him off. "Get her outta here."

A clap of thunder.

“Did you cum,” you ask Carter with a blank face. He stares at you with his mouth slightly agape, and you could swear you see him blush.

Saving both of you from Joel's wrath, Carter pretends you were talking to his girl. "She woulda."

"well, she wasn't--" you think about telling Carter his girl wasn't thinking about him, but think better of it. You don't wanna hurt him. "Nevermind."

As he puts his boxers on, Carter boldly tells Joel, "this was always gonna be trouble." Bewildered, he looks back and forth between you and Joel behind you.

Then, Carter helps his girl off the bed. "Alright, come on, baby."

You don’t look directly at her. You’re spaced out.

"i know, baby," he cradles her head as she stands up. He ushers her to the kitchen to look at her neck. 

-

Joel gets up from the bed and pulls on his boxers. 

Bullet is going nuts in the bathroom.

“Do you think Bullet’s okay?” you ask, but Joel doesn't check on him or let him out. All he does is close the bedroom door. As he’s slowly making his way back to you, lightning flashes. 

Joel’s jaw flexes as he stares you down from the shadow of his brow, fingers twitching at his sides. 

He reaches the edge of the bed where you lie. He stands there, facing you.

“That was...bad,” he scolds calmly. Your heart sinks. You would rather him be mad than disappointed. If you deserve anything it's to get smacked around a bit, not this serious face from him.

You sit up, sit back on your knees, and try to hug him. Your eyes water, and your apology barely croaks out. "I'm sorry, you repeat." He feels even taller than usual from this angle. You lower your head, with your arms still loosely around him, nuzzling your hair against his tummy. 

He pulls away a bit and lifts your chin to look at him. Lightning flashes. 

He takes a firm hold of your jaw. “Biting. . .is not okay.” His jaw clenches, and he reads your eyes trying to see if you got it. “Ever,” he adds. The look on his face tells you not to argue.

“Yes sir,” you mumble. 

"You okay?" He asks.

"Okay," he nods to himself. His glistening chest heaves. His neck vein is bulging as he looks down at you. "God damn," he whispers to himself, sounding annoyed. He cracks his neck with no hands, trying to relax.

“You're trying not to hurt me,” you observe. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose and slowly nods as he exhales. “Cause I know how much ya like it.”

You rub your lips together and look down and away. He lays a gentle hand on your head.

When you look up to meet his eyes again, he’s trying to suppress a smile. 

---

----

-----

Ty for reading and compartmentalizing lol 🖤

[devilmademewriteit]

Ultraviolence

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: thank god—a handsome stranger saves you from the grips of a pack of cruel, cruel men. unfortunately, said stranger, joel miller, is cut from the exact same cloth as the rest of them.

warnings: oh. boy. rough sex/smut (fem penetration, fingering, cum play if you squint) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; raider!joel; canon typical violence; mentions of hair pulling/reader having long hair; light dacryphilia; age gap; pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, girl); slapping, spanking, choking; !!!NONCON!!! (sexual violence/assault, coercion, allusions to more sexual abuse—Dead Dove, Do Not Eat y’all, protect yourselves).

word count: 4k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all!!! here is the non-con raider!joel fic!! stay tuned for the version coming out soon wherein Joel actually rescues the reader LOL join the taglist to be notified when I post it!!! y’all’s requests will quite legit be the death of me BUT this was fun to write so im not mad. this version is just purely depraved & Joel ‘Big Dick’ Miller is a mean mean man. wrote it pretty fast too so b nice 2 me.

love u all, sorry for searing your eyeballs:)

-em<3

—

The stucco prickles and tears at the flushed skin of your cheek, a reminder that it’ll be winter soon. The birds are sure of it, and most of them managed to get away before the frost stood a chance of nipping them.

You didn’t.

After a few years of non-stop struggle, losing everything but your own life, you figured there were worse ways to go. At least you would be… well—you, in the end.

In whatever shape this man and his leering group of accomplices left you in.

“Against the wall,” and his voice had been the crack of a whip, snapping by your ear as electricity shot up and down your spine, as the tingling realization that the chase was over—the jig, up—settled into your bones. “Spread your fuckin’ legs.”

There were more hounds around… waiting.

Always waiting.

They’d already gotten to your old, tattered clothes. The brisk air bites at your exposed skin, but at least the cold would account for the violent shivers wracking your limbs. Even as the beast pins you to the side of the decrepit house, forces himself between your knees, your primary preoccupation is to stifle your fear.

They’d get everything else on display—but they would never get to see that.

When the screaming starts, those confused grunts, huffs, and squelches of a blade carving into flesh, you mostly commend your own imagination:

“I did it. I’m in my happy place. This will be quick, then.”

But then a rough, unfamiliar hand grabs hold of your naked waist, flipping you around, slamming your spine against the frosty stucco.

This is real.

And you bear witness to his carnage.

He painted the side of the house into a mosaic of inter-mingling blood, splattered like a Pollock against the grass, the wrinkled clothes and the rugged face of your salvation.

His eyes rake over your still-trembling body before he wrenches a red-coated knife—never breaking eye-contact—from the throat of the man you’d been at the mercy of just a few seconds ago.

Blood gushes up from the fatal wound, and you both watch the cruel scene, mesmerized. The attacker’s eyes dull, all evil dissipating from that once-ferocious gaze. The rescuer’s big, wide hands flip him over, stripping him of his stained beige jacket. Then, he carelessly kicks the lifeless form face-down onto the yellowing grass.

“Put it on.”

You uncross your arms, snatching the coat from the stranger’s extended hands. It doesn’t bother you, its belonging to him.

He’s dead; you get his coat.

A fair exchange.

He keeps an eye on you as he sorts through the pickings: a few strips of dried meat here, a loaded gun there (two bullets in the clip—you watch as he checks), and a few good blades, stashed inside pockets, bags, and down shirt-fronts.

The man straightens up.

Tall.

“Get in front of me,” his low baritone strikes you, causing your knees to concede to a slight wobble. “You run, you die. Got it?”

Texan.

Slowly, you nod, and a firm grip circles your wrist, tearing you from the wall.

“Walk.”

Your heart hammers—near deafening in your ears—as the stranger stalks behind you, directing your trembling movements with brusque, snapped commands.

Finally, the scattered orangey-red leaves begin to multiply, the domestic remnants of a past civilization thinning. The neighborhood opens into a field; large oaks and slouching willows shiver under the weak glare of the afternoon sun.

There’s a house up there. It seems to be in alright shape (some things are built tougher than others) and it’s certainly a step up from a few of the more… unsavory places the outbreak had led you to.

Nearing it, you take not of how much it resembles a barn-house. Red, pentagonal roof, and a big, wide, brown front door.

Gingerly stepping a foot on the cracked wood of the porch, you turn to face your rescuer, uncertainty tying slippery knots in your tummy.

Because there’s clamour coming from inside. There’s people in there.

The momentary hesitation allows you to get a good look at your rescuer: he’s greying and dark—mixed, likely, or just disposed to a stubborn tan—and probably in his mid forties. Probably handsome, too, if it weren’t for the resident cruel scowl deepening his apathetic expression, or the violence dancing in his eyes.

A raise of his eyebrows.

“I tell you to stop?” He nods towards the looming house. “Move.”

But… you don’t.

“Are you gonna kill me?” and you’re downright shocked by the strength—the resignation—of your tone, the way the question comes out so matter-of-fact.

That sparse mustache crinkles in the corners, teasing into something wicked. “You want me to?”

“No.”

“So get movin’, then.”

That left little room for debate.

So, you turn, fingers and knees shaking with anxious anticipation. He cuts in front of you at the last minute, shoving the front door open with his knife at his side—for you or for something else, you’re not entirely certain.

He pulls you into the foyer by your forearm; to your great dismay, you’re faced with an entire group of middle-aged men. Killers—for sure—leering at you with that same starved, animalistic look your rescuer had fixed you with.

Then, he tosses the bag on the floor.

“Found ‘em by the school. Decent haul.”

Their eyes tilt to your shuddering frame, dwarfed by the jacket weighing down your shoulders. One of them looks strangely familiar, proud features reminding you of something else you were afraid of. “No shit, huh,” he commends, “Nice work, Joel.”

Joel.

As the shaggy-haired man speaks, his voice strikes familial resemblance, and it dawns on you. Your rescuer’s brother, or at the very least a cousin.

And what he says is a clearly marked taunt. That much is clear. Uttered with the kind of cruel camaraderie which collected on the tongues of men who committed acts of violence together.

Who hunted together.

And it’s obvious you’re not being rescued. Just… reclaimed. Redistributed.

Fuck.

Another voice joins the mix. “How much you think y’could get for her?”

Joel’s profile turns, harsh, brutal lines forming as he assesses you. “Depends,” and then—ohmothermary—he smirks.

“Gonna have to test her out first.”

A few snickers.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

You’re trapped with nowhere to go, once again surrounded by a gaggle of soulless monsters. Fear grips you, but thankfully, it’s muted, now, having been mostly expended during the harrowing events of the morning.

Just an hour ago, pressed to the side of an abandoned house, you’d allowed yourself to give up.

So, it feels easy—natural—settling back into that rhythm.

To submit to your inevitable, violent fate.

Joel’s voice cuts through the clamour of your racing thoughts. “Upstairs, the room with the open door. Go.”

Eyes glued to the floor, you put one foot in front of the other, your insides twisting and turning inside your core. Fuck, you can feel the pairs of eyes following you with every step you take. The stairs creak as your weight presses into them, squealing like wounded prey.

“N’ take that fuckin’ jacket off,” Joel calls after you, the echoes of his booming voice and the group’s degrading laughter chasing you all the way up into the room—the one with the open door.

And it’s nice, surprisingly. Dusty, admittedly, and clearly having belonged to someone else—a long, long time ago—but the bed is made, the window lets the light in, and the walls remind you of cinnamon.

No, this wouldn’t be the worst prison. Or the worst place to die. It’s a sure-fire step up from the gutter between two dilapidated houses.

You keep the jacket on, shivering under its weight. Even as you hear footsteps climbing the stairs, even as the more rational, civilized side of your mind urges you to accede to your (non)rescuer’s every command.

The conversation downstairs dies off just as Joel rounds the corner, appearing in the doorway—a giant. Though your stomach lurches, and though your legs feel like putty, you hold your ground.

“I’ll fight, you know,” you hiss, watching him seal off the entrance to the room behind him. His flannel has droplets of blood on the collar—reminders of your previous captor—would your other attacker have been a better option? Who’d be more merciful to your quivering body?

You charge your voice with every last modicum of strength at your disposal. “I’ll fight.”

He turns, smirking softly at your clenched fists. “S’good, sweetheart. I like a little fight.” He stalks towards you, swiping his thumb along the plushness of his bottom lip, his intimidating presence forcing your back to meet the flat hardness of the wall behind you.

So much for fighting.

There’s nothing living in his eyes as he says it—nothing save the roiling flames of hunger: “You see those guys downstairs?”

You glare up at him, trying not to notice the alluring hook of his nose, or the way your body works against you, responding to the earthy smell of him.

Then, you nod, wordlessly.

“Did you count ‘em?” He splays a hand beside your head, using one hand to pry your arms uncrossed.

Again, you nod. “How many?” He asks, his voice deceptively soft.

“Five.” Breathless.

“S’right, sweetheart. Ever had your lil’ holes stuffed by five guys at once?”

A swallow, and your voice cracks when you’re finally able to put it to use. “No.”

He pries your elbows to your sides, pulling the beige fabric open, revealing the torn remains of your underwear.

It’s almost a croon, feigned concern underpinning his low tone. “You wanna see what it’s like?” He drinks in the sight of your bare chest, almost groaning at the sight of your naked front.

It’s not cold anymore; no, suddenly you’re very hot.

“No, please, no.”

He slips the coat off of your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap to the ground. He assesses you once more: studying every square inch of your skin under his shadowed eyes.

“M’only gonna say this once, sweetheart.” All that fake-gentleness fades from his tone, replaced by the sadistic, authoritative timbre he’d first greeted you with. “I need you to be very careful.”

You’re frozen—all that fight, it drains out of you, captivated by the raider’s looming form, his mesmerizing speech.

“You’re alone, yeah?” A nod, which he acknowledges, trailing a hand up the length of your waist. “S’what I thought. N’ the way I found you today? That’s a best-case-scenario for a girl like you, out here on your own.”

He drags a finger up the centre of your breast, skilled fingertips just barely brushing the peaked nipple. You lean into his touch—the near imperceptible arch of your back doesn’t go unnoticed, and you kick yourself internally as the corners of his lips twitch up.

Still, the raider ignores your trembling.

“You’re mine, now,” he continues, egged on by your involuntary movement. “Means you’re gonna be a good girl n’ do as I say, n’ I’ll make sure I’m the only man who touches you.” His big hand drops to his heavy silver buckle, and the clearly defined, bulging lines underneath it have your heart clawing out of your chest. Joel senses your fear—and it only makes him harder. “I don’t like sharin’ what’s mine, y’know? But you try anything—you step outta line—I’ll throw you to my guys downstairs.”

His hand finds your throat, hunger and warning beating to the same rhythm in his gaze. “I have no problem watching.” He gives your larynx a squeeze, multitasking as he pulls the strap of his belt through the worn loops of his denim. “Understood?”

You have no words left, shaking from head to toe as the reality of the situation finally settles in.

As he works the intimidating weight of his cock out of his jeans.

A huff. Joel flips you over, impatient, pressing your scraped up cheek to the cinnamon-brown of the wall.

Déjà vù.

Your knees are separated by his own, and his weight flattens you. He wastes no time: lining himself up, his tip separates your folds. Resistance is futile—with one hand, he holds your thighs open—even as they try to press themselves closed, even as you whimper at the rough, male knuckles pressed to bruise on the insides of your legs.

Leaving his mark.

It’s not an option to simply take it. Joel forces you to participate in the sinful act: “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” he growls, gripping your chin indelicately. “You understand me, girl?”

A swallow and a flinch as you feel the head of his cock poke at your entrance. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

“Yes, Joel,” he corrects. “Use my name. You’re mine now. Use my fuckin’ name.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes at the promised savagery in his tone. Holding back a sob, you respond: “Yes, Joel.”

You watch his hand, large and capable, splaying out a mere inch away from the tip of your nose. “Good,” he commends. “Z’are the only fuckin’ words you know, from now on.”

His free hand slaps against your hip, yanking you down onto his hard length. Your hips buck up against his abdomen, responding to the pull of his fingertips, even as you cry out at the sting, the stretch. The raider tries to force himself between your walls—muttering a grunted “shit”—and thrusting up against your ass.

But you’re too tight, too tense, and your stubborn body refuses to open up for him. Finally listening to you.

“Relax,” he orders, surprisingly softly. He moves his hand from your hip to the apex of your thighs, rubbing rough circles against your clit. Fuck, how’d he find it so fast? You gasp at the feel of his fingertips against your most sensitive, touch-starved spot, hating yourself for the way his pressure makes you feel.

Because…

Because—fuck.

It feels… good. The man knows exactly what he’s doing—methodical in his ministrations, prepping you only enough to ensure his own eventual pleasure. “S’too tight, baby,” he breathes against your neck, “Need to loosen up for me, yeah?”

He’s not gentle. No part of it is gentle. Nonetheless, pleasure ripples through your centre and down your thighs as he effectively turns you on.

“Thaaaaaa’s right,” and his voice is mocking and taunting and degrading as he drags his digits away, grabbing and pulling at your breasts, instead. Feeling the involuntary release of your cunt, Joel finally pushes himself in, sheathing the long, thick length of his cock inside you.

“Need to show this pussy what it’s fuckin’ made for.”

A current of pain flutters up your cunt just as he fills it up to the brim. You can’t help it—your stoicism crumbles to dust—and a soft, scared, pained whimper tumbles from your lips.

And he groans at it, thrusting roughly, over and over again. And again. “Hurts, does it?”

His breath is hot against your ear, and despite the fear, the ancient instincts gripping your bones, telling you to run, run, run, fight, fight, fight—it’s… enticing.

Hot.

“It hurts.”

He laughs, low and dark, bringing his hands to circle your hips, steadying you as you stumble on your tip-toes.

“Cry about it.”

And he keeps on going, tearing you open. The way his girth touches every starved part of your insides leaves you wanting, even despite the sting of his fingernails biting into your hips, the tears and cuts stinging at your opening.

You hate yourself for it.

But you clench around him, stifling a pathetic moan.

God, no—I am not enjoying this.

He breathes another laugh. “Feelin’ full, baby? Tell me how good it feels, c’mon,” and your inhalations come in heaves as he pounds into you, delivering a harsh slap to the side of your hip, hard enough for your skin to ripple from the contact. “Do as I say.”

When you refuse to sate him, swallowing all of your little noises, Joel grips your throat, bringing your head slamming against his shoulder. Your back arches into a perfect crescent, spine contorting at his will. A gasped cry fans out against his salt-and-pepper jaw.

A sob—of fear, of frustration, of reluctant pleasure. “You’re evil.”

The grip on your throat tightens, and he looses another laugh, squeezing your skin, muscles, and tendons oh-so-tight.

You’d be wrecked, bruised—branded—come sunrise.

“Yeah?” He groans, cock slamming up into your very guts.

“M-mhmm—” and the saltwater tears start pouring, trailing glistening slopes down your cheeks in long, long lines. Distantly, you hear his answer—“Yeah, well, you’re wet”—as those silver droplets keep on falling. Where they come from, you aren’t certain; of course, the terror, the physical torture, and the frustration at your entrapment contribute to the mess under your eyes.

But that warmth… the unbridled desire radiating between your thighs… that wasn’t helping, either.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, muttering another “S’it—s’right,” and releasing your throat to tilt your head up to face him. He drinks in his creation, the ruined sight of your tear-stricken face, and his cock swells between your beaten walls. “God, you look so fuckin’ pretty takin’ it from me—cryin’ like your lil’ pussy ain’t desperate for this.”

Joel smiles when you sob.

It goes on for a while. He doesn’t tire quickly, bringing you right up to the edge of reluctant ecstasy before you remind yourself of the hatred you owed the man fucking into you. You get used to the sound of his hips snapping against your skin, your cries mingling with his gravelly, low grunts. It’s a dirty, depraved symphony—orchestrated by the monster between your thighs.

You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips when he finally, finally brings his fingers back down between your legs. He grunts in approval, barely grazing the length of your folds, pressing his thumb into the delicate flesh of your thigh, instead. “Dirty lil’ girl—fuckin’ dyin’ to be an old man’s whore, z’that it?” and he doesn’t even touch you, focussed on his own pleasure, but the proximity alone is enough to have you wrecked.

And you just can’t help it: “J-joel—”

“Y’know,” he chuckles, slightly out of breath, slowing his strokes to address your wanton whine, “You’re gonna make such a good lil’ fuck-toy, baby, f’you keep makin’ those pretty lil’ noises for me.”

The reality of the situation comes barrelling down on you as he acknowledges—praises—your enjoyment of his torture.

This man… this man was cruel. He was hurting you, and enjoying it.

You struggle against him, a pathetic show of weakness. Joel holds you in place effortlessly, arching your back further, keeping your hips preened back to receive the harsh thrusts he delivers to your torn, ruined cunt. “Where you goin’?” He laughs at your pathetic attempt at resistance, grips tightening. “Thought we were havin’ fun, baby—don’t it feel good?”

And he quickens again, slamming into every needy spot inside you. His breaths grow shallow, as rough as his hands and the ferocity of this punishment.

“No,” you manage, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He tuts, the vocal click constricted with lust, and his hand travels the length of you, settling against that aching bud between your thighs. “Fuckin’ liar.”

He presses down, proving his point. Your entire body tenses as pleasure ripples through you—despite your best efforts, climax crests through your core, threatening to implode within you. Joel hums, smirking when he feels your legs parting even wider.

“S’mine now, alright? You’re mine now.” He crams every inch of his cock up inside you, pulling you flush against his chest. “S’okay to come for me—s’okay, baby, I want you to—s’fuckin’ right, let go for me, baby—” and his crooning takes you over the edge.

Christ, it feels so good.

You clench around him, high-pitched pleas and moans tumbling from your lips, his own pair dragging down the swoop of your ear. In that split second, Joel—the devil at your back—is your favourite thing in the world: your hero, your haven, your God. Fuck, you could just kiss him, marry him, fuck him over and over and over and over—

A hand clamps over your mouth during those brief, blissful moments; the man practically bounces you up and down the length of him, muffling the cries of pain and pleasure tearing from your sore throat against the rough skin of his palm. He groans inside your ear—a stammered, sinful “fuuuck”—and then he’s spilling his seed inside you, shoving it impossibly deep as those quick, harsh strokes stutter and slow.

You come to, waking up from your pleasure-drunk daze. Before you get the opportunity to wriggle away from him, the monster flips you over again, slamming your shoulders to the wall. With his forearm barring your chest, and despite your fear and ire—somehow, all you can think about is the fact that he’s not as out of breath as he really should be (given his age and, of course, what he’d just done to you).

Joel leaks out of you. His cum paints masterpieces down your legs.

He slides his free hand down the length of his cock, collecting the last bits of slick clinging to him and not dripping out of you. The intermingling juices are brought to the roundness of your breasts—the raider slathers your sore peaks with his own spend.

“Nobody’s gonna fuck with you—but that means you’re Joel’s girl. Hear me?” With your head bowed, you glare up at him through silver-lined spider lashes, shame beating at your cheeks. When you hum your acknowledging “uh-huh,” the stranger continues on, gripping your jaw to angle your gaze up: “Means you listen—you-you don’t fuckin’ try me—n’ you take everything I give you, every fuckin’ time. Understand?” He tucks his softening length back in his pants, dark eyes dancing with satisfaction as he leers at your destroyed form.

When you don’t respond, he brings the back of his punishing hand colliding with the side of your face.

Something between a squeal and a gasp tumbles from your lips; Joel catches it, placing the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down. Your cheek stings from his harsh slap, delivered on top of the scrapes and wounds a different cruel man had left upon your skin.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but I will f’I have to,” and he’s earnest, commanding and pleading at once. “You gotta answer me.”

Slowly, you croak out a timid, “Yes,” and an “I understand,” followed by a final “Joel.”

Nodding, he straightens, the violence in his gaze fading just minutely. When he lets go, you stagger—the raider senses the instability of your knees, reflexively snaking a steadying arm around your waist.

You’re not sure where the impulse comes from. Perhaps it’s exhaustion, the aftermath of your orgasm, or maybe it’s just a sick, twisted desire to sink into something beyond your body—either way, you respond to Joel’s support by throwing your arms around his neck.

And he responds by lifting you, walking you over to the bed, and tossing you down on the sheets. Awakening into reality, you scamper back, grabbing and yanking at the surrounding bedding in a desperate attempt to cover yourself.

But Joel pays you no mind.

Having had his way, he’s through with you—for now. Nonchalantly, apathetically, he runs a hand through his hair, tracing heavy steps towards the door.

“Lock the door when I leave,” he instructs, but his tone is soft… possessive and commanding, yes, but… caring. “Don’t open it for anyone but me.”

He waits for your show of understanding, your near imperceptible nod.

Then, he sighs, yanking on the handle and giving you his final address over a pair of creaky, squeaky, rusted hinges. “Try to sleep, sweetheart—got a long night ahead of you.” Chuckling to himself, he leaves the sanctuary of the room.

All you can hear as your body grows heavy and warm, travelling somewhere far, far beyond this violent world are the echoes of male laughter down the hall, and a familiar, satisfied, gravelly voice:

“Not worth much, now. Might just fuckin’ keep her.”

And you slip away, dreaming of belt buckles, blood-stained collars, and the lung-squeezing heat of the setting Texan sun.

—

He used to call me DN

That stood for deadly nightshade

'Cause I was filled with poison

But blessed with beauty and rage

Jim told me that

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

Jim brought me back

Reminding me of when we were kids

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

He used to call me poison

Like I was poison ivy

I could've died right then

'Cause he was right beside me

Jim raised me up

He hurt me but it felt like true love

Jim taught me that

Loving him was never enough

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

We can go back to New York

Loving you was really hard

We could go back to Woodstock

Where they don't know who we are

Heaven is on earth

I would do anything for you, babe

Blessed is this union

Crying tears of gold, like lemonade

I love you the first time

I love you the last time

Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines

'Cause I'm your jazz singer

And you're my cult leader

I love you forever

I love you forever

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo @dzaga890 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0

TAGS WILL CONTINUE IN A REBLOG (there are simply too many of you & I don’t want this post to crash <3)

[romana-after-dark]

Cry Harder

Dark!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Masterlist : Taglist (NEW TAG LIST)

A follow up to Keep Cry'n, but you don't need to read it to read this. But you do need to read the warnings lol.

For my event, Dead Dove December which is still open until January 1st, and there's no sign up! Plenty of time to join <3

Summery: While keeping you captive, Joel's sex drive is insatiable, and the sex seemed to be never ending. You tried to warm him you needed to use the bathroom... he didn't listen.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Non con. Piss kink. Dacryphilia. PIV sex, oral f!recieving. Smoothing via pillow. Threat of murder, threat of necrophilia (Joel's just trying to scare her.) little smacking. Degredation, daddy kink.

Immersabilty: Reader is fem.

1k works

A/N: I'M BACK!!! I'll chat a lil more in the notes at the bottom and be sure to read the housekeeping but thanks for sticking around <3

You don't have to like piss kink but don't make fun of me okay lol

Support writers! Reblog and comment

******************************

“That’s it baby, cry harder”

As if you had much of a choice. Joel had you here for 2 days by this point, and the man was fucking insatiable. He had explained to you, not that you asked, that he goes in and out of “shifts”, essentially. For a few weeks, he raids and stocks up on all he needs. Then, if he’s got somewhere decent to stay, he’ll take a pretty girl for a week or so and just go insane on sex, food, and any drugs or booze he could get. You were well fed at least, and sometimes Joel let you take a few hits of weed or sips of alcohol to numb you, but other than that he wasn’t giving many mercies.

It had been hours at this point, no refractory period except sometimes to go have a smoke, but 5 minutes later he came back hard and thrusting into your swollen lips.

You were exhausted, spread out naked on your back as Joel knelt before you, thrusting. You just wanted it to be over, sobbing into the pillow you pulled over your face.

“Awwww, little babies embarrassed? Wassamatter, little baby, don’t want me to hear you moaning again?” Joel taunted you with a laugh. He liked laughing at you. He did make you moan, that was the embarrassing part. Joel wasn’t necessarily trying to make you cum, but he did get giddy and gleeful when the stretch of his cock was enough to make you orgasm.

You weren’t entirely sure that’s what was happening right now, but something was off. “Joel…” You whine into your pillow. “My stomach hurts…”

“Why -thrust- the fuck -thrust- do I care?”

“It feels funny…” You hoped maybe he’d stop if you were sick. Not that he cared about your well being, but rather he wouldn’t want you getting sick all over him. Or maybe he was into that. 

“Just shut the fuck up and -mmmph- just fuck’n take it. Always fuck’n whining like you got a hard job.” Joel smacked a tit, making you whimper and clench down.

Then you realized what the feeling was. “Joel, I gotta- MPH!”

Joel shoved the pillow into your face. “Tired of your fucking voice. ‘Joel I need this, Joel I need that!’” He mocked you in a high pitched voice. “Just shut the fuck up before I smoother you and use your cold pussy instead. Bet the rigor would tight’n you up a bit.”

Fresh tears wet your pillow as you wriggle, trying to keep quiet. You needed to pee. Or maybe you were going to cum. Joel had gotten you pretty drunk this time and his dick jamming into your cervix made everything a little hazy, but you needed to pee, and you needed to pee BAD. Still, the struggle to breath was the first concern. It wasn't cutting off all your hair, but it was getting difficult.

You tried to warn him, but Joel simply kept the pillow over your mouth and he filled you up again and again, thick cock stretching you so far you weren’t sure how you were supposed to be any tighter, but men were never satisfied. The pressure continued to build and suddenly you were very confused; was this an orgasm, pee, or both?

Joel was growing erratic above you, and you wondered if he got off, if this would be it for today. You tried to hold it back, never wanting Joel to have the satisfaction, but the combination of the feeling and Joel in your stomach were too much. Unconsciously, you let go.

Joel stops, not pulling back enough to pull out but enough to see you and you release the warm liquid onto him as you cum. “Oh shit” He chuckles. “Did you squirt?” You remove the pillow the your face to catch him looking at your sore cunt as the liquid isn’t stopping and he realizes what was happening. “Ohhhh fuck!” He says gleefully, thrusting into you with renewed vigor.

“That’s it baby, piss on my cock, ooooooh yes, fuck yes, pee on daddy’s fuck’n cock, mmmmm god, gonna- fuuuuck, gonna cum, gonna cum in daddy’s little piss baby.”

You cover your face with your arms as you cry, sensitive as all hell from cumming hard as you relieve yourself, humiliated but knowing he’s close. Just gotta power through.

Huffing, Joel pressed his hand down on your lower stomach, pushing out more pee as you yelped.

“Goooood DAYUM!” Joel shouts loud in your ear as he cums inside you, filling your tired pussy with his cum.

Joel falls on top of you, laughing, his heavy weight nearly as suffocating as the pillow was. A light chuckle turned louder as he laughed harder and pulled away. As Joel pulled his cock out of your soaked folds, he was all but cackling, derangement in his eyes as he looked at the disaster that was the shitty bed you slept on.

“Such a messy girl…” He eyed your cunt, and you whimper. Joel didn’t go down on you. This was for him to get his dick wet, nothing else…

But soon, his mouth was between your legs, lapping at the mix of cum and piss and sweat between you two, his beard a rubbing irritant against your puffy skin. “Such a pathetic little girl” He muttered between breaths, rutting himself against the bed, and you knew he was hard again. “Fuck’n weird, can’t even keep from making a mess of yourself” He growls, licking you clean. “Fuck’n- ohmygod- fucking disgusting little piss Wh-who-oooooremmmm.” Joel came against the bed, just as you were about to come again, and pulled away.

You can’t help the way your body wriggles as the “Nooo” You whine, ever so quiet. You hated how much he made you want him sometimes. 

Joel giggles, awfully pleased with himself. “Nah, baby, I’m done with you for now. Maybe next time you’ll learn to appreciate when I give you this cock.” 

Butt naked, Joel exited the room, telling you to clean yourself up. “You smell.”

*************************

TW depression, skip to the bold for romana housekeeping

I havn't posted much outside an occasional Blessed Be the Fruit and if you follow my main, you kno why. This semester has been incredibly hard on me, a genuine deep depression i han't experienced in a long, long time. It was awful. I nearly hospitalized myself a few times and I should have but I am american and not insured. I was not safe, and was a danger to myself.

Yet, somehow, I managed to get my course work done and I finished the semmester on friday ;-; now i have 2 weeks approximately off from work which isnt ideal but hey, traveling and shit. Then for about a month I'll be working back at day care again before coming back for second semmester soooooo im hoping this free time will allow me to catch up on writing and reading

Housekeeping

As linked above, this is for my event dead dove December! It's for the Oscar Isaac/ Pedro Pascal fandom, and we got so many fun entries including lots of Joel, some triple frontier (santi AND frankie) William tell, and soon some Jack from mojave, rydall keener and more!! Would love for you to join me! if you dont wanna write but like dead dove, search #deaddovedecember2023 I didn't realize at the time there was a similar event for the bucky barnes fandom but they have the same hastag, so if you like bucky, check them out too!

Also, i'm gonna be working on a new series once Blessed be the Fruit and a few on my main end, a dark!triple frontier. Check out the coming soon info, and comment if you'd like a tag!

Be sure to join the new tag list, as i changed my tag options just a little!

@m0nster-fvcker @miraclesabound @fandxmslxt69

[justagalwhowrites]

I saw this video and I feel like something like this would be fun to read! I have to ask would you ever consider writing a kidnapper!Joel fic?

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8Dfp6Na/

Hi Bestie!

So.... Yes :)

Not quite the vibe of the linked video but I hope you enjoy it!

Run Rabbit: Part One

It was just over a year after the world ended that you were captured by Joel and Tommy Miller. They're harsh, they're cold and they're killers. But, as a nurse, you're a valuable person to have around and they're not the worst thing wandering the wasteland that was the United States. And there might be more to these men than meets the eye.

PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS. Written as part of the @romana-after-dark Dead Dove December event (but posted late because it's impossible for me to make a deadline at the moment apparently.) This will be in two parts.

Relationship: Joel Miller x Female Reader X Tommy Miller

Warnings WHOLE FIC: DUBCON (reader is a captive, participation might be enthusiastic but consent is dubious under the circumstances.) Raider!Joel; Raider!Tommy; Captive reader; Canon-typical violence; graphic depictions of violence; graphic depictions of injury; attempted SA (not by Joel or Tommy); Dom/Sub dynamic but not an established relationship; Dom-ish Joel; Brat tamer-ish Joel; Sub-ish reader; DDDNE; M/F/M threesome; unprotected P in V sex; Anal sex; Oral sex; No use of Y/N; Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 8k

PLEASE NOTE: part one does not get smutty ❤️

Part 2

November, 2004

“You can have whatever you want, please!” 

Your hand was clamped over your mouth as you tried to keep quiet from your place below the floorboards. Your boyfriend, Zach, had tucked you into the crawl space when he ran in from hunting with three men on his tail. 

“They don’t know about you,” he’d said, breathless. “Stay quiet, I’ll get us out of this.” 

But even a year into the apocalypse, Zach wasn’t a great shot. It wasn’t long before he was out matched and the men were breaking down the door to the cabin you’d been holed up in for a few days. 

“Seemed awful keen to protect whatever it is you got,” one of the men said. “How do we know you’re not gonna just come and try to take it back?” 

“Should just kill ‘em,” another man said. “Don’t gotta worry about it then.” 

“No, no, I swear I won’t,” Zach pleaded. 

“Prove it,” the final man spoke for the first time. “Got no reason to trust you now, why should we leave you alive?”

You kept your hands tight over your mouth, trying not to cry, trying to stay quiet, hoping they’d leave Zach alive. 

“Because I have something better than supplies!” He yelled it, his words flowing together as he stumbled over them. 

“Like?” The third man said. 

“My girlfriend,” Zach panted. Your breath caught. “She was a nurse before, in an ER, she can keep you alive, you can have her, please…” 

“And where is this girlfriend?” The first man said. “You seem awful alone here…” 

You hoped Zach was just buying time, that he wouldn’t actually tell these animals where you were. 

You were wrong. 

“In the closet,” he said. “There’s a crawl space there, I told her to hide there while I took care of things here. Please, she’s worth a lot, she’s good at patching you up, she’s real pretty, you can have her, you can have her…” 

The sound of his begging almost covered the thud of boots as you heard the closet door creak open and the floor over your head disappeared. 

“Well, would you look at that,” a large man with shaggy curls and a patchy beard - the first one who has spoken, you thought - smirked down at you. “He’s not full of shit.”

“No,” you shook your head, eyes wide. “No, please…” 

The man ignored you, grabbing a fistful of fabric at your chest and hefting you up from the crawl space with a grunt. He dropped you on the ground and you tried to scramble away only to have another man grab your shoulder and throw you down. You landed on your backside, a different tall, broad man with dark curls looming over you. 

“Where you think you’re running to, little rabbit?” He smirked, the second man who had spoken. You pulled yourself back from him, looking for a way out. The third man, blond and pale and the youngest of them, stood over Zach, a gun pointed at his head. He started humming Run, Rabbit, Run as he smiled at your boyfriend, glancing your way, prowling toward Zach. A predator enjoying his prey. 

“So,” the first man dropped your pack that had been in the crawl space next to you at your side with a thud, making you jump. “You really a nurse?” 

“She is,” Zach answered for you. “She is and you can have her, please…” 

“Zach!” Tears tightened your throat. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said, not looking at you. “I’m sorry, but I can’t…” 

The man who pulled you from the crawl space sighed, pulling a handgun from his side, going up behind Zach and pressing the barrel to his head before pulling the trigger. Your scream hung in the air longer than the crack of the gun, the salty, metallic taste of Zach’s blood on your tongue as his body slumped to the ground. 

“Hey,” the man who shot Zach dropped to one knee in front of you, grabbing your face roughly, gripping your cheeks in his large hand. There was blood on him, too. “You really think that piece of shit is worth screamin’ and cryin’ over? He was sellin’ you, girl, he ain’t worth any grief of yours.” 

He released you and looked over his shoulder to the other dark haired man. 

“Tommy, got something we can hold her with?” The other man - Tommy, apparently - started going through his bag. He looked toward the blond next. “Vince, gather what you can, we’re heading out in 10. Made a lot of noise here, don’t want to wait and find out what that attracts.” 

“Are you going to kill me too?” You asked quietly. 

The man who seemed to be in charge cocked his head at you. 

“Now why would we go and do a thing like that?” He asked. “Your boyfriend might have been scum but he was right, you’re valuable cargo. You’re gonna be a good girl for us, right?” 

You weren’t really sure what to say to that, your heart beating so hard and fast you were sure this man could see your pulse in your throat. 

“Don’t really matter either way, does it?” He said as Tommy handed him some rope. “You either cooperate or you’re more trouble than you’re worth and we just kill you. Don’t make much difference to us. Hands out, wrists together.” 

You just looked at him and he sighed, pulling his sidearm out again and putting it below your chin. The muzzle was warm and wet from where he’d just killed Zach and, for a moment, you thought you were going to vomit. 

“Didn’t I just say I’d kill you if you got to be more trouble than you’re worth?” He said. “You’re already a lot of trouble by bein’ and extra mouth to feed so I recommend cooperating before my temper runs out. So. Hands out, wrists together.” 

You obeyed and the man wrapped your wrists in rope tight enough that you had no hope of wriggling out but not so tight that it was painful, just uncomfortable. He wrapped his large hand around the cluster of rope between your wrists and yanked you to your feet. 

“Got anything on you I should be worried about?” He asked. “Be a lot easier on you if you tell me now than later.” 

“Knife,” you said, voice shaky. “Right pocket.” 

“Good girl.” 

He reached into your pocket and pulled the weapon free, opening and examining the blade. 

“Know how to use this?” He asked, brows raised. 

“I’ve used it,” you replied. He nodded and closed it, putting it in his pocket. 

“Be a good enough girl for a long enough time and maybe you can get it back,” he said before turning to Tommy. “I’m gettin’ a head start with this one, heading north west, back to site. You know the way.” 

“I know it,” he said. “We’ll clear out quick, catch up soon.” 

The man who had you grabbed your pack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder before bringing his rifle around to his front, nudging you forward with the muzzle. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “Try and take off and I’ll shoot ya. And I don’t miss.” 

The man kept close to you, nudging you along in front of him and you tried not to trip on roots and overgrown brush but you’d only been walking about 20 minutes when you failed, falling with a pained grunt. The man sighed and grabbed you by the collar, pulling you to your feet. 

“You OK?” He asked, gun pointed at the ground and not at you. 

“Yes,” you said, even though your hands were scraped up and your knees hurt and you had your boyfriend’s blood on your skin and your throat hurt from screaming.

“Keep movin’,” he ordered. 

You kept looking back over your shoulder at him. He reminded you of a guy you dated once who was in the army. He never looked in one place too long, head constantly turning, looking, searching. There were threats, he knew that. He also knew how to see them coming. The gun was tilted toward the ground but close and ready. You were waiting for him to change his mind about you, to shoot you, too. Part of you wondered if this was part of a game for him, if he was going to walk with you just long enough to lull you into a false sense of security before shooting you. Maybe he liked the fear, the surprise. Maybe he’d given too much away by killing Zach and now he couldn’t get what he wanted from you. 

Maybe that was better than the alternative.

You were only walking about an hour when the other men, Tommy and Vince, caught up to you. The man you were with turned and pointed the gun, noticing their approach before you did. You froze, only realizing that it was probably a good time to run now that his attention was elsewhere once it was too late. 

“Just us, Joel,” Tommy called as they climbed up the hill you’d just made it up yourselves. “No trouble behind us.” 

The man - Joel, apparently - lowered the rifle and the men joined you. They had four packs between the two of them, two you didn’t recognize and two backpacking bags that you recognized as yours and Zach’s. Your stomach turned. 

“Not a terrible haul,” Tommy said. “These two had decent gear and must have just taken somethin’ good. A lot of jerky, good stock of ammo, some medical shit.” 

Joel looked down at you, his eyebrows raised. 

“You know how to use the shit in those bags?” He asked. You just looked back at him. He sighed and grabbed a fist full of your hair, jerking you close to him, making you squeak in shock. “Don’t play dumb, girl, you know how to use that shit?” 

“No,” you said sarcastically, not sure where the guts for that came from. “I enjoy hauling around shit I can’t do anything with.” 

Joel’s jaw tensed and you weren’t sure if he was about to yell or laugh. 

“Not gonna get far with an attitude like that, little rabbit,” Tommy said, but he was smirking a little. “Lot better for you if you just answer the questions when we ask ‘em.” 

You looked between the two men closest to you for a moment. You wondered if they were related. Their eyes were the same, same hair, too. They would have been handsome in another context, one where you weren’t afraid they were about to kill you. 

“It’s mine,” you said after a moment. “We were backpacking when the outbreak happened, we didn’t even know for a day or two, we were in the middle of the mountains and there weren’t other people around. I know how to use it all.” 

Joel released you. 

“Good to know you ain’t completely useless,” he said. 

“You mean outside the fact that I can save your life?” You bit out. Again, you weren’t sure why. 

He snorted. 

“Outside of that. Keep movin’.” 

With the other men there, Tommy took the lead and you followed, Vince and Joel behind you. You could feel Vince’s eyes on you, the cold, lecherous feeling of his gaze making your stomach churn. 

Night was starting to fall by the time you reached a cabin that showed greater signs of people than you’d seen in what felt like forever. There was a stack of wood on the front porch, a line between the house and a tree that looked like it was meant for drying clothes, barrels placed to gather rain water. You stopped, staring at the small structure. 

“Inside,” Joel said after a moment. 

“I have to pee.” 

He sighed. 

“Vince,” he said. “Take her to piss. Don’t fuckin’ touch her unless she tries to run, got it?” 

Vince groaned but nudged you off to the side of the house with the muzzle of his gun. You looked around, trying to get a lay of the land, see what a good route out might be. There was a small path that looked like it would take you deeper into the woods, eventually up into the Smokies. That was fine. If you could get your pack, you could survive out there for at least a week or two on your own, maybe find a settlement or something. You’d never had to survive on your own, you’d never hunted or shot a human being. Zach had handled that. You weren’t sure how long you could really make it on your own but you’d rather give that a shot than leave yourself to whatever these men had in store for you. 

“Here’s good,” Vince said after two minutes of walking. You held out your wrists and he raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m a fucking idiot?” 

“I can’t really pull my pants down like this,” you said. “I’m not a man, I can’t just whip my dick out…” 

He stomped over to you and unbutton and unzipped your jeans before yanking them down to your knees, ignoring your surprised sound before going back to your hips. His fingers trailed over your skin, sinking into the meat of your ass and making your stomach churn, before he pulled your panties down, too. You could feel his eyes on you, lingering on you, before he stood up. 

“There,” he said. “Happy?” 

He walked a few steps away and turned back to look at you. 

“I can’t go with you watching.” 

He shrugged. 

“Not my problem. You have to go bad enough, you’ll go.” 

You glared at him and held his gaze before squatting and peeing, missing toilet paper and privacy more than you had since the damn outbreak started. You straightened up when you were done and stood there, still looking at him. 

“Afraid you’ll have to come pull up my pants, too,” you said. “Since your boss apparently wants you to wait on me hand and foot.” 

A muscle in the man’s neck twitched but he stalked over and yanked your clothes back up, harshly buttoning and zipping your jeans before shoving you back toward the cabin hard enough that you stumbled. 

Inside, Joel and Tommy were sitting at a rustic table, a fire going in the nearby fireplace. There were two Nalgene bottles of water on the table and a bag of jerky between them. The jerky you recognized. You and Zach had made it just a few days earlier. 

You tried not to think about it. 

“He behave himself?” Joel asked, stretched out with his legs far in front of him. 

“You’re really gonna take this little cunt’s word over mine?” Vince asked. 

Joel just kept looking at you, ignoring him entirely. 

“Asked you a question girl,” he said. “He keep his hands to himself?” 

You glanced at Vince who was staring down Joel, his blue eyes hot and angry. You looked back to Joel. 

“He was fine,” you said. 

“Good,” Joel said, getting up, grabbing a bottle of water and going over to you. He put one of his huge hands on your shoulder, guiding you to the nearby couch and nudging you down onto it. 

You obeyed his unspoken command, lowering yourself slowly down but not relaxing into the cushion, staying on the edge of it. 

“Open,” he ordered. 

Your eyes narrowed. He glared back. 

“Open your mouth,” he said when you didn’t obey. 

“You put your dick in my mouth I’ll bite it clean off.”

Joel squared his jaw and held up the bottle of water. 

“Don’t got a smaller bottle right now and you can’t hold this with your hands tied. Don’t want you droppin’ dead from dehydration after we went through all the trouble to get you here so open your goddamn mouth.” 

You ground your teeth for a moment before you obeyed. He unscrewed the top and poured the water on your tongue, crisp and cool and making you aware of just how thirsty you’d become in the few hours you’d been with him. 

“Good girl,” he said. “Was that so hard?” 

Eventually, he stopped and you closed your mouth, wiping your lips on the back of your tied hands as he closed the bottle. 

“Don’t gotta worry about that shit from us,” he said. “Prefer when a woman begs for it, not about to take it from one who ain’t.” 

“Because I can trust what a group of murderers says,” you snapped. 

“Murderers,” Joel shrugged. “Not rapists. Hungry?” 

“Why?” You asked, tongue still sharp. “Going to be kind enough to give me scraps of the food you stole from me?” 

“Something like that,” Joel said. “If you’re gonna try to starve yourself to death, just let me know. Save you the trouble and put you down quick instead.” 

You watched him for a moment. For some reason, you trusted what he was saying to you. That he wasn’t going to hurt you - at least, not like that. That he was intending to keep you alive. 

“Not hungry,” you said eventually. 

Joel shrugged. 

“If you change your mind.” 

You sat on the edge of the couch cushion as the men took inventory of what they stole from you, what they killed Zach to take. You tried not to cry. 

It’s not like you’d been especially close to Zach when the outbreak happened. You hadn’t said “I love you” yet, you’d been dating for a month and a half and fucking for just a few weeks of that. 

The backpacking trip had been a spur of the moment thing for both of you. You had some vacation time to burn before the end of the quarter, his job was flexible and you’d bonded over a shared love of the outdoors. You’d ignored the words of caution from your girlfriends when he wanted to take you hiking for a second date, the two of you ending up exhausted but proud as you came to the end of the seven mile trail he’d selected. He kissed you there for the first time, his lips salty with trail mix and sweat and a view of a valley swelling with shades of green spread out below you. 

You were somewhere in the mountains when the world collapsed. You didn’t even know it had happened until you returned to where you’d parked your car to find the windows smashed and the inside looted, a body missing a chunk of its skull not far away. You’d ran to it on instinct, dropping to your knees beside them to check their pulse even though it was clear that there was no way they would be alive. Their skin was cold and there were fibrous, vine-like tendrils swarming in their brain. 

It had been you and Zach from there. He was more of a survivalist than you. He knew how to hunt and trap, taught you how to skin a rabbit and process a deer. You weren’t sure if you’d truly come to love him or not, if the feeling you had for him was just what happened when you went about surviving the end of the world with another person and became dependent on them for your very life. 

But you were certain that he hadn’t loved you. Not really. If he had, he never would have given you over to these men. 

You’d never have done that to him.

Maybe you did love him. You weren’t sure you’d ever know. 

“Sleep here,” Joel ordered as the day fully shifted to night and Tommy and Vince started readying for bed. “I’m keepin’ watch for now. We were gone long enough, some dumbasses might think they can move in. Don’t try anything.” 

He went onto the porch and you stretched out on the couch, the other men going into what you expected were bedrooms at the back of the cabin. Your hands were still bound. You stared at the dying embers of the fire, the orange glow, and cried. 

***

Joel needed Vince to stop acting like a shit head. 

The man didn’t seem to understand the position he was in. He was the least valuable person here. He was young, he was dumb and he was disposable. 

He just didn’t seem to realize it. If he kept looking at you like you were something he could take, he’d find out just how disposable he was.

Joel came in from his watch about 5 a.m. to find you whimpering quietly on the couch. He sighed. 

“You really still crying over that jackass you were with?” He asked as you sniffled quietly. 

“Shut up,” your voice was thick and wet. 

“He ain’t worth it,” he said gently, sitting in the armchair that was near where your head was. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering. But then, he’d never really taken a captive before. He usually just killed people or turned them loose. You were valuable enough to keep and sending you out into the wilderness alone seemed crueler than holding onto you. He just had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do with you now. “He didn’t know who the fuck we were or what the fuck we’d do with you - lot worse out there than us, little girl - and he handed you over on a silver fuckin’ platter. More than happy to trade your pain for his sorry life.” 

“He’s the only person left that I knew,” you said softly. It was the first truly genuine thing Joel had heard you say. Except, maybe, when you asked if he was going to kill you. “I’m alone now.” 

“Not alone, little girl,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he was reassuring you. He shouldn’t care. “You’re better off.” 

“Why do you call me that?” You asked, lifting your head ever so slightly from the arm of the couch to look at him. “I’m not a little girl…” 

“Little compared to me,” he said. 

You scoffed and sniffed at the same time. 

“You’re a giant,” you said. “Everyone is little compared to you. Don’t see you calling Vinny there little boy…” 

Joel laughed a bit. 

“Maybe I should. And you’re a girl.” 

“I’m a woman,” you said, a spark of defiance in your tone. “I don’t think I’m much younger than you, if I am at all.” 

Joel frowned a bit at that. 

“How old are you?” He asked after a moment. 

You thought for a second, like you were doing the math. Which was fair. It’s not like he’d celebrated his last birthday, either, his stomach twisting at the thought. He had to think about it, too. 

“I’m 33,” you said. “How old are you?” 

He was surprised. Not that you looked terribly young, now that he thought about it. More that human faces lacked much definition to him anymore. Anyone older than a teenager looked about the same until they started going gray. You just seemed younger. 

“I’m 37,” he said. 

“Yeah, I’m not a girl,” you said, putting your head back down. 

“You could tell me your name,” he said. 

You scoffed. 

“Then I’m not sure what I’m supposed to call you, little girl,” he said. He could feel you glare at him. 

“I had a whole life before,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to Joel. “I had a house and a job and friends and I used to go to dinner and to concerts and buy the people I loved presents. I had a life before.” 

He realized then why he’d thought you were younger. You were, possibly, the most human person he’d come across in a year. Some small spark of divine mortality - the juxtaposition of life and a kind of death that was still possible - there in your eyes that didn’t exist in others. It seemed naive, in a way. Made you seem younger than you were. But he wasn’t sure that was it. Maybe you weren’t naive. Maybe part of you was just clinging to your humanity harder than anyone else left. 

“We all did,” he said, voice harsher than he’d really meant it to be. There was part of him that wanted to snap that tie in you. It was unfair that you got to keep it when he didn’t. But it was a kindness, too. You’d survive better without it. “You move on. Go to sleep.” 

He went to the room he shared with Tommy who was unconscious, sprawled out on the bed and snoring. Joel took the sleeping bag on the floor and stared at the ceiling, trying to make himself not listen for the sound of you crying in the next room. 

Things were surprisingly smooth with you for the next two days. Vince was a fucking idiot and got a nasty cut on his arm that you tended to, giving him stitches while he leered at you and Joel ground his teeth. 

He felt better with you tied. Your wrists, at the very least, but during the day when the men were coming and going, Joel bound you to a chair at the table. 

“Comfortable?” He asked the first time he did it. 

“No,” you spat, face scrunched in anger that was so fierce it was almost cute. If Joel even found things cute anymore. “I’m not.” 

“You gonna lose a hand from me cuttin’ off your circulation?” He asked instead. You just glared at him. “Good. Stay put, like a good girl.” 

“I hate you,” you seethed at him. 

Joel shrugged. 

“That’s fine,” he said. “Don’t gotta like me to keep me alive, do ya?” 

He went outside to gather wood. 

By the third night, you were yawning and looked barely conscious before the sun had even set. Joel frowned. 

“I keep telling you to sleep,” he said. “You ignoring me for fun or you think exhausting yourself is good for your health?” 

“I’d love to sleep,” you snapped. “But something about having my wrists bound keeps me up at night. Maybe it’s the discomfort, maybe it’s the looming threat of death, who can say?” 

Joel pulled Tommy and Vince aside after dinner, the men standing in the dirt outside the cabin, snow starting to drift down. 

“She hasn’t tried to hurt anyone yet,” Tommy shrugged. “Don’t think she’s gonna go far if she gets away and doesn’t seem like the kind to kill us in our sleep.” 

“Don’t like it,” Vince said, glaring at the cabin for a moment before looking back at Joel. “Can’t trust her as far as we can throw her…” 

“No one said shit about trust,” Joel cut him off. “But we can’t keep ‘er tied up forever.” 

“Fine,” Vince shrugged. “We can put her to use then kill her. Won’t need to tie her up then.” 

Joel could hear the blood in his ears. 

“Suggest that one more time, little boy, and see how long you last,” he straightened up as he said it, the full six inches he had on the younger man all the more apparent then. “You want to do that kind of shit, find someone else to run with.” 

“Fuck, sorry,” he raised his arms in a moment of surrender before crossing them again. “Just don’t come crying to me when she slits your fucking throat.” 

“Can’t cry if she kills me, can I?” Joel said, stomping back toward the house, pushing past Vince on the way. 

You were still bound to the chair. He wordlessly unwound the rope and you relaxed your elbows, stretching your arms as best you could with your wrists still tied. 

“Hands up,” he said. You frowned, just looking at him. “You heard me, you want me to untie you or not? Hands up.” 

You practically flung your wrists at him and he tried not to laugh at you as he loosened the knot and pulled the rope from your wrists. 

The second you were free, you rolled your shoulders and closed your eyes, groaning at the feeling of it. 

“God that’s good,” you moaned before you started flexing your fingers and rotating your wrists before you glared up at him again. “What? You try being tied up for days, see how you deal with it.” 

“Rather not,” Joel said, winding up the rope. “Better be a good girl, don’t try anything stupid.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said as you spread your arms wide and sighed. Joel found himself smiling a little for the first time in he didn’t know how long. He stopped himself. 

“Actually get some sleep,” he said, voice gruff. “No good to us exhausted.” 

He left you alone, taking the bed in he and Tommy’s room that night and Tommy taking the floor. It took effort to not listen for you moving in the front room as he drifted off. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep when Tommy shook him awake. 

“Joel,” he said urgently. “She’s gone.” 

***

Absolutely none of this was ideal. 

You were exhausted, the only thing keeping you upright the adrenaline that ran through your whole body. You didn’t have supplies, your pack and all its valuable contents in the bedrooms of the men. You were stuck running through snow, leaving a clear path to follow until the woods got dense enough that the snow hadn’t piled up much. 

But you had to go, you had to go now, now, now, right now. You couldn’t spend another night there like that, not when you had the option to get away, not when you had the use of your arms back. 

Your body wouldn’t let you sleep, even for an hour or two, even just for a night to try to make a break for it tomorrow. The second Joel had freed your hands it was like you could feel every part of your body in sharp, acute detail. Every frayed nerve, every thrumming vein, every peaked hair was stark and clear. You couldn’t relax enough to sleep. You had an opening, a chance. You had to take it, you had to. 

You didn’t even have your knife. 

But you had your body and you knew how to push yourself over long distances in the mountains. You’d been good at it before, too. You’d hiked most of your life, knowing how to get yourself to make it to the top of the next ridge even when your calves were burning and your lungs felt on the verge of collapse you knew you could make it. 

All you had to do was do that now, through all the exhaustion and all the panic, and put as much distance between yourself and those men as possible. 

You’d find some way to keep yourself alive eventually. There’d be supplies or a settlement. Something. You were sure of that. 

Mostly. 

Your breath rose in a cloud in front of you and you broke away from the trail into the brush of the woods, thankful that the moon was bright enough that you could have some sense of where you were going. 

You were just starting to relax a little when you heard it behind you. A sharp, shrill whistle. You froze. 

“Come on out, little rabbit,” Tommy called. “Not gonna hurt you…” 

“Shit,” you whispered as you panted for breath. They sounded pretty far away but they’d catch up eventually. 

You scrambled through the forest until you reached a cluster of ferns that was thick and full and you ducked into it. If you stayed quiet and still, they’d walk right past you. You could stay put for a while and then find your way from there. Simple. 

You tried to not shake from cold and fear as you heard the signs of the men getting close. There was the crunch of sticks, the rustle of leaves and the eerie sound of Vince humming Run, Rabbit, Run. The glare of a flashlight trickled between the ferns and you held your breath, the humming getting louder. 

For a second, a glorious second, you thought you were in the clear. Vince had passed your hiding spot, poking through the brush closest to the trail with his rifle but you were just far enough off the trail that he missed you, and you relaxed. 

Then you heard the snap of a twig. 

“Found you.” 

You spun, Vince turning the flashlight on and shining it in your face, all but blinding you. You threw up a hand instinctively to protect your eyes and he grabbed your wrist, yanking you out of your hiding spot and almost pulling your arm out of its socket in the process. 

You yelped in pain, you couldn’t help it, and he all but threw you onto the trail. Your eyes were still adjusting to the light but it took you a moment to realize that he had his gun trained on you. 

“Knew you’d take off on us,” he said, panting a little. You put your hands up and looked for a way out. “Knew you’d be more trouble than you’re worth…” 

You backed away from him, more on instinct than anything else, not able to watch where you were going and you shrieked as you tripped and fell back, landing hard and barely catching yourself before your head smacked into the rock of the path. You rose up on your hands quickly, scrambling back from him as best you could but he was standing, could see where he was going. You didn’t have a hope. 

“Please,” you whispered. “Please just… just let me go, you already have my supplies and…” 

“Can’t let you go with you knowing where we are,” he replied. “And you were already more trouble than you’re worth in my opinion…” 

“I stitched up your arm,” you said, tears stinging at your eyes. “I helped you…” 

“And those two idiots won’t even let me fuck you,” he cut you off. “What good is pussy you can’t fuck, hm?” 

“Please,” you said again. 

“That’s not an answer,” he prowled closer, the muzzle of his rifle so close you could almost touch it. Your heart was in your throat. “Think I’ll just kill you, bet that pretty head of yours would make all kinds of nice colors when I blow it off…” 

“Hey!” Tommy snapped, his gun up and pointed at Vince. “Know you’re not threatenin’ to kill her, not when we all agreed to keep her alive.” 

“You agreed,” Vince snapped. “You and your asshole brother, not me.” 

“That asshole has been keepin’ your sorry ass alive,” Joel growled from behind you. Your head whipped around to see him there, looming large over you. His gun was up, too, pointed at Vince. “You need us a whole hell of a lot more than we need you. You can do what I fuckin’ say or you can move on. But you keep pointing that gun at her and you ain’t gonna have much to move on with.” 

The three of them stood there for a moment, Vince aiming at you, Joel and Tommy aiming at him. Your heart felt like it was going to break your ribs it was beating so hard. 

Vince lowered his gun. Tommy did the same but Joel left his up. 

“Joel,” Vince said but Joel cut him off. 

“Don’t like men who don’t listen,” he said. “Not worth shit to me if you can’t take orders. Said you could join me and my brother if you did what you were told.” 

“I told you she’d run!” Vince snapped. 

“Don’t give a shit,” Joel said. “You think nurses pop up every five fuckin’ feet? She’s valuable. To us and to people we come across. Worth a little trouble. Worth a whole hell of a lot more trouble than you. Know your goddamn place.” 

He lowered his gun and looked down to you. 

“You alright, little girl?” 

You were too shaken to fight the nickname. Instead, you just nodded. 

“Good.” 

He slung his rifle on his back and reached down, yanking you sharply to your feet, the movement so rough it shocked you. Once you were on your feet, he grabbed you by your chin, his callused fingers harsh on your cheeks, and pulled your face close, so close that you’d expect him to kiss you if he were your lover. 

But he wasn’t that. He was your captor. 

“Thought I told you not to try anything stupid,” he asked, his face almost eerily calm but his tone on the edge of anger. “You seem smart enough to know better, give you an inch and you decide to take a mile. Several, in fact. Maybe Vince is right, maybe we should kill you…” 

“Joel,” Tommy said cautiously but Joel threw him a glare and he quieted. 

“You really think you can do better than us out there? Hm?” He demanded. “You think you can survive all on your lonesome?” 

“No,” you said, fighting to not cry. You hated that you reacted this way, that when you were scared or mad your first instinct was to cry. “But I could find…” 

“Find what?” He cut you off. “Find someone else who’s willin’ to stick their necks out for you? Willing to feed you, shelter you without takin’ more from you?” 

He released your chin and you slumped back from him, massaging your face and working your jaw, trying to right it. 

“You’re damn lucky to be with us, little girl,” he snapped. “Real damn lucky. Better start actin’ like it instead of running off like some scared little rabbit. Hands out.” 

“But…” 

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “You lost the privilege of using your fuckin’ hands without my permission. Hands. Out.” 

You obeyed, arms trembling, and he bound your wrists together, the ropes finding the same indentations they’d made on your skin before. He dropped your wrists once they were bound and you looked at him as you still fought to not cry. His eyes met yours, sharp and cold. 

“You’re mine now,” he said harshly. “Sooner you figure that out, the easier this gets for you. Move.” 

The walk back to the cabin felt long and, when you got there, you went to lay on the couch but Joel stopped you. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, shrugging out of his coat. 

You frowned. 

“Going to sleep…”

“Not there you’re not,” he said. “You’re sleepin’ with me, you don’t get to be unsupervised anymore.” 

Your eyes went wide and you shook your head. 

“No, no, please, you said you weren’t…” 

“Wasn’t offerin’ to fuck you, girl,” he cut you off. “You’re sleeping where I can fucking see you so get in my bed.” 

Your whole body shook as he nudged you to one of the back rooms. You hadn’t been in one of these before. You had no idea how to try to escape if you needed to. It was stupid of you, you realized now, to trust Joel when he said they might be murderers but they weren’t rapists. Just because they hadn’t forced themselves on you yet didn’t mean they wouldn’t now. 

The room wasn’t huge, a queen sized bed in the middle and a sleeping bag on the floor. There was a door - to a closet, you assumed - and a dresser with some picture frames on top. 

“Shoes off,” Joel said. 

“Please,” you said softly. “Please don’t do this, I…” 

“Didn’t I say I wasn’t offering to fuck you?” He asked, sounding exasperated. “I don’t want you tracking dirt into the goddamn bed. Shoes off, get in on that side, one by the dresser. I’ll keep my hands to myself if you will.”

You obeyed and curled as tightly in on yourself as you could, facing away from him. You felt the bed dip as he climbed in, the heat of his body close to yours. But he didn’t touch you. 

“Actually sleep,” Joel muttered after a moment. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him. He was flat on his back, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest. The opposite of someone who looked like they were about to grope you the second you passed out. 

Still, you rolled to face him, curled tightly on yourself, and watched him until his body loosened and his breaths evened. Tommy snored lightly from the sleeping bag on the floor. You weren’t sure if their unconscious state made it feel safe enough to rest or your body gave out from exhaustion but, the next thing you knew, it was morning and you were alone. 

You sat up slowly, hands still bound, an unfamiliar blanket draped over you that hadn’t been the night before. 

You made your way slowly, cautiously, to the main part of the small house. The men were talking in low voices around the kitchen table and you hovered for a moment, not sure if you wanted them to notice you or not. 

But Tommy was the first to see you there, a slow smile spreading over his face. 

“Well hey there little rabbit,” he took a sip from a mug. “You look rested.” 

“Probably wore herself out taking off,” Vince muttered. 

“Gonna be just you and me today,” Tommy said, ignoring Vince’s comments. “Those two are headin’ out to do some business.” 

“Business?” You asked, brows raised. “Is that code for murder?” 

“Our business is none of yours, little girl,” Joel said, drinking from a mug of his own. “You stay here, behave yourself, and maybe we’ll bring you something back.” 

“Rather not get anything that comes from killing,” you said. “Thanks though.” 

Joel just rolled his eyes and shoved back from the table. 

“You’ll take what I give you and you’ll like it,” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He put two fingers below your chin and tilted it, forcing you too look him in the eye. “Gonna take off on me again? Or do I need to tie your legs up, too?” 

You gritted your teeth. 

“No.”

“Good girl.” 

Tommy helped you use the bathroom and you sat on the couch with jerky and sore wrists and resentment as you watched Joel and Vince get ready to head out to do… whatever it was they were about to go and do. 

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do to pass the time. You’d had some books in your bags but you weren’t about to risk pissing off the men for a little entertainment. 

But Tommy didn’t let you sit in silence for too long, flopping down next to you on the couch as you tried to find patterns in the peeling paint of he wall. You looked at him, cagey. He smiled. 

“You’re cute when you sleep.” 

You frowned. 

“What?” 

“You’re cute when you sleep,” he said again. “All curled up and shit, just like a little rabbit.” 

You shrank back from him and he put his hands up. 

“Not gonna touch you,” he said. “Unless you wanted me to.” 

“Well… I don’t.”

He shrugged. 

“Didn’t expect you would,” he said. 

He was quiet again for a few minutes before he spoke again, a gleam in his eye when he did. 

“Wouldn’t happen to play poker, would you?”

You didn’t but he seemed happy enough to teach you. But you couldn’t hold the cards well with your wrists bound and, after a few minutes of struggling, Tommy glanced toward the door like he was half expecting Joel to walk through it. 

“Gimme those,” he said, holding his hands out. You thrust your wrists at him faster than you were proud of and he laughed a little, taking hold of you gently. He paused before starting at the rope. “You’re not gonna take off on me, right, little rabbit?” 

“Not at the moment,” you said. 

“Good,” he replied, untying you. “Not a fan of keepin’ you all tied up anyway…” 

You turned your wrists, the bones popping as you luxuriated in the movement. 

“Thank you,” you said, massaging one wrist and then the other. 

He shrugged. 

“The game is Texas Hold ‘Em,” he said, dealing. “We’ll play a few hands open and then see how you do…” 

It was oddly easy to forget that you were being held captive when playing cards with Tommy. He was lighter than the other men, more like people you remembered from before, making easy going conversation about things that hadn’t mattered in more than a year. 

“I’m still mad that I didn’t get to see the second Matrix,” you said, watching as Tommy put the flop on the table. 

“That, darlin’, was a blessing,” he replied. “Wasn’t nearly as good as the first.” 

“I heard that, but still,” you said, looking at the seven of clubs, three of hearts and king of clubs on the table and trying not to smile at the seven of spades and king of hearts in your hand. “I think it might have been better than I heard. And maybe it would have made more sense when the third one came out…” 

“Maybe,” Tommy said, putting the turn on the table. Ace of diamonds, no good for you. “But I dunno, you seem too smart to like something that shitty.” 

“Bold assumption,” you smiled a little and he smiled back. 

“Before I put the river card out,” he said. “How about we make this interesting?” 

“Interesting,” you frowned. “Interesting how?” 

“I win, you tell me something about yourself,” he said. “You win, I’ll give you something you want. Can’t be a weapon but something else.” 

You looked at him, brows raised. 

“C’mon, little rabbit,” he gave you a cocky smirk. “Let’s have some fun.” 

You looked at your hand again. 

“Alright,” you smiled a little. “Let’s do it.” 

The river was the king of spades and you tried not to smile too wide. 

“Alright,” he said, looking like he was holding back a grin himself. “I’ll show you mine then you show me yours.” 

You shrugged and he smiled as he put the king of diamonds and the three of spades on the table. 

“Full house,” he said. “Kings over threes.” 

“Damn,” you sighed. “I just have the kings…” you lowered the card, looking disappointed and enjoyed Tommy’s excited expression for half a second before you put the second card on the table. “Oh, and the sevens. Sevens are higher than threes, right? I mean, I only went to nursing school, I can’t be sure…” 

“You little shit,” Tommy laughed. “You’ve got a damn fine poker face on you! Alright, what is it you want?” 

“My books,” you said immediately. “I had two, I think, in my pack. I’d like them. Please.” 

“I can get you the books,” he smiled. “You sit tight.” 

He brought you the books and you played another hand with the same stakes. And another. And another. And more after that.

You got some hair ties and clean socks out of the deal. Tommy got to know your favorite food and what you liked to watch on TV back when there was TV. 

After a while, he looked at the books that you’d set aside on the table. He picked up the top one, Slaughterhouse Five. 

“Think this was on my reading list in high school,” he said, looking over the back of it. “Never actually read it though.” 

“It’s good,” you said. “You missed out.” 

“Read it to me,” he said, holding it out to you. 

“Read it to you?” You asked, brows raised. “What are you, five?” 

“Never much enjoyed reading,” he shrugged, still holding the book out. “But I like listening. Like listening to you well enough. C’mon, little rabbit. Tell me a story.” 

You considered him for a moment. You felt oddly safe with Tommy. You weren’t sure if it was because he was showing you kindness and one of the only three people left in the world you knew now or if he was actually safe. You weren’t sure you could trust anything you were thinking and feeling. 

But reading to him didn’t sound bad. 

“Can we move to the couch?” You asked. 

He laughed. 

“Think we can manage it.” 

You settled on the couch, you folded into a corner and Tommy stretched out. He watched you closely as you opened the book. 

“All this happened, more or less…” 

You fell asleep on the couch before Joel and Vince made it back but you woke up in he bed, Tommy snoring next to you. 

Part 2

A/N: Hey yeah so... this was supposed to be a one shot but it got away from me. So now it's two parts. Part two up sometime within the next week or so ❤️

[dariaslookalike]

Needing Miller pt 2.

Summary: It's a shit hole of a world that you're living in, and it gets even shittier when you're ambushed in your sleep. It's a slippery slope that leads you from being tucked cozily in your sleeping bag to joining the raiding group lead by the most infuriating (and intimidating) man you've ever met. You need to survive, above all else- either in this group (without smacking its leader over the head), or in the world alone after somehow escaping. Easier said than done, when your mind loses all sense of focus, tactics and skills the second that Joel Miller rolls up his sleeves and shows his godforsaken forearms.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: thought i should note while this is joel as a raider it is *not* dark joel- he is not going to be anything dubious to our protagonist- at the end of the day that is my sweet husband joel miller, not someone who is going to swing on a woman in the name of romance.

also more often than not i'll be updating this first on AO3 because i am like bugging out about tumblr formatting [desperately trying to make a masterlist]

Next Chapter: Pt 3

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You don’t sleep for long. It’s hard to. The pain that’s shooting from your cheek and the tension held in your body means that after a few pitiful hours, you jolt awake. The only thing you can be thankful for is that you’re so exhausted, no dreams visit you.

Night has completely fallen onto the mall now, and everything is cast in harsh shadows from the fire still burning off to the side. Soft hues of orange and yellow light up the pale floor, and the shadows are darker, deeper, than if they were made just by the moonlight above.

You force your breathing to still even as the memories of the day flood back in. Where you were. What happened to you.

You twist in your sleeping bag, and Ryan glances down at you, still sitting on the edge of the fountain. You stare at him for a second before you clear your throat. You sit up, the material around you swishing.

“Thanks for staying. And stitching me up.”

“It’s fine.” Ryan nods. “Only a few hours- I can stay longer if you want to go back to sleep.”

“No. I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

His eyes flick to yours, but he doesn’t question you. He just nods again, and pushes to his feet, and begins walking over to sit by the fire.

You nod to yourself. He was good at stitching you up. To stay true to his word and watch over you. But the both of you clearly aren’t interested in being friends. He knows you’re only here because Joel let you be here. You know he was only tending to you because Joel made him. An odd, forced arrangement that you weren’t going to push any further. Right now you wanted to focus on staying alive in this group, not making friendship bracelets.

You settle against the fountain, still sitting in your sleeping bag. You can see everyone from here. While it’s later than before, only one person remains sleeping, and the rest circle around the fire. A nocturnal bunch. It makes sense. Sure, the light of day gives you the benefit of sight, but now, when the moon’s high up and everything is washed in darkness, it gives them coverage, security.

Your hand reaches up, and edges across the thick gauze pad taped to your face. It’s wet on the outside, and you know you’ll have to change the dressing soon if you’re able to. Your cheek is blooming with heat. You remembered it when you grazed your knee as a kid. Warm throbbing pain that was your body’s way of trying to kill any infection. Right now it feels like your body is trying to melt away your face. The skin beneath feels sharply prodded and stretched by the stitches, but you tell yourself that’s good. Better to feel that pain and hurt and heat than be the one with their head blown off.

Your hand drops from your face.

Terry. That was his name. Carving your own knife into your face. His head splattered across the floor. Your shoe crunching into his ribs with a kick.

You don’t know his dead friend's name and you won’t ask for it either. But in your mind, you still see the drop of his body to the floor, the slow, self-assured lowering of Joel’s gun as he tucks it back into his waistband. Two bullets. Two men. You’re only making up for one of them, and you wonder if he thinks you’re even more indebted to him now.

You clench your jaw. No. Joel was going to let you go- your hand wasn’t forced in joining this raiding group. You weren’t repaying a debt. You were trying to save your hide from raiders who wouldn’t just cut you, but carve you up and play with the pieces.

But Joel did you a favour. Spilled the blood of two of his men as a result of you. Took you in when he could have shot you for your limited supplies or left you to become septic.

And…you didn’t have any place better to be. You had run from the QZ; from the loss. The despair. The control. Everything that had happened, you had to get away from it. Head East. That was all you were doing.

It was a crack pipe dream thinking that you’d just keep heading East. Reach the coast. Swim abroad against the current and the tides and the waves and find a place on a continent you had never visited.

But something in your gut knew you were never going to make it to the coast; knew you weren’t truly following that day dream. Knew that you were going to get bit. Or caught. Or hell, step wrong, twist your ankle, and starve to death because you couldn’t walk the rest of the way.

You could make this work. Like Joel said, you’d do what he tells you to and you’d live. That was all you needed to do right now. Live.

You nod to yourself and get acutely aware that you aren’t alone anymore; that you couldn’t mutter to yourself without someone hearing now or hum under your breath if you got bored. You focus, and let your eyes trail to the campside. There’s two more people in the group than you counted before.

You focus on their forms. You see Ryan; the dirty blonde of his hair, your blood on the cuff of his jacket. He bumps his shoulder into the man sitting beside him, and they laugh about something you don’t hear. You don’t know the name of anyone else but spend time taking in their faces; rooting it to memory. All men. You’re not sure what that means for the group. Did they think they had no use for women outside of abuse and simply discarded them before you had shown up? Or were they just close knit, unwilling to let anyone into their protective circle? Neither option filled you with confidence.

Your gaze catches on Joel. He’s here now; you wonder where he walked off to, though you know you’re not entitled to ask. He’s facing the fire, and you’re able to take in his side profile. The sharp slope of his nose. The intense heaviness of his brow. The tightness to his lips, his jaw, his temple; as if even here, sitting at a fire with the group he commanded around him, he wasn’t at ease.

Your eyes sweep up and down him. He’s got a heavy, tanned jacket on, even that close to the flames. A pair of dirtied jeans. They hug his legs, and you think about him, wrapping himself around you just to stop your rabid attack. The thought swirls in your stomach, and becomes a flurry when you take in the slouch of his shoulders, the firelight catching on his hands that are clutched together in front of him.

He was handsome, and you feel nausea rise at the thought. When was anyone ever handsome to you? He was older than you, more brutal than you, more experienced than you. He should revolt and disgust you. Your logical reasoning does absolutely nothing to convince the pounding in your bloodstream to calm. You swallow. You have to forcibly drag your gaze away from him, force yourself to settle onto the new figure beside him.

But the man beside him is grinning, and already staring at you. You flush, realising you’ve been caught looking at Joel for what felt like hours. The man ducks his head closer to Joel, chuckling and saying something too quiet for you to hear. Joel doesn’t laugh, and instead his head spins, and he looks directly at you.

You sink further into your sleeping bag, and instantly look away, training your eyes onto the entrance of the mall, the slope of the walls, anything but him.

You flick your eyes back momentarily, wanting confirmation that you weren’t still being eyed. Instead, you catch the man beside Joel patting his shoulder and pushing himself to his feet. You stare at him, and shake your head slightly; praying to yourself that this wasn’t happening.

The man smiles, and he leaves the fireside, walking over to you. Joel’s staring at him, that notch in his brow again, before he scoffs and faces the fire again. You force yourself to look at this man, take him in; don’t cower or slink back; face him head on.

He’s got dark, black hair that’s curling below his ears, and the same carved nose of Joel. He’s wearing some kind of flannel and jeans, and he brushes his hands off on them as he comes closer, and sits down beside you.

You back yourself up, sliding against the fountain edge to put some distance between you but you still keep your eyes trained on him. Distance, not retreat. The man notices, but he simply smiles and sticks out his hand. You don’t shake it, and he laughs, withdrawing.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

You nod, and whisper your name back to him. His lips curl into a smirk. He’s got the same confidence as Joel. But Joel was domineering, commanding, authoritative. Tommy just came across as cocky. He taps his own cheek, eyebrows raised. You’re reminded of how Joel did the same thing, warning you that you’d bleed out if you left.

“What happened there?”

“Take a guess.” You bite.

He shrugs, unfazed by the harsh tone of your voice and huffs out a breath. “I was the one who cleaned out Terry.”

You feel anger burn white hot in your chest at the thought of him. His entitlement to you, his assault to your face. You swallow the anger down, aware that you were still being watched. You think of the body dragged out only metres away from you. You weren’t aware that Joel had directed the same to be done with Terry. It makes sense. You don’t want to attract rats, or other raiders who got it in their mind that the nearby group was smaller, weaker. Or something more vile than a rat, sniffing out after the death and decay in hopes to spread it’s virus.

Tommy’s gaze finds yours, and he studies you, as if trying to take you apart and sort through what the pieces meant.

“I know his ugly face was ‘cause of Joel- no one else that headstrong to put a bullet between his eyes. But he had a nasty shoulder. Skin clawed off his wrist.”

“What, were you friends with him?”

You resisted the urge to pick under your nails, to clean out anything left of Terry. There’s a beat of silence, and then Tommy’s lips spread out in a wolfish grin.

“No. Was gonna put a bullet in ‘im myself if Joel didn’t. Just wanted to say that I’m glad he suffered before. Especially if he cut up your pretty face.”

You nod, and turn your head away; half to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks and half to hide Terry’s assault. Tommy tilts his head to follow you, maintaining your gaze.

He smiles, eyes scanning over you. “Don’t worry- I dig chicks with scars.”

You laugh and it’s so unexpected that even you blink in surprise. You compose yourself, but Tommy’s smile is just wider, accomplished.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what my life goal is, for raiders to think I’m hot.”

Tommy’s jaw twinges at the word ‘raiders’, but he just shrugs. “Well, congrats then- mission accomplished.”

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head. You flick your eyes back to him and allow yourself to examine him closer. His hair is combed back, and he’s has a slight stubble to him. As if he was a man who preferred to be clean shaven, but had been without a razor for a bit too long; a contrast to his brother. Smooth skin, cheekbones that drag your eyes down to his lips. He’s older than you but you struggle to pinpoint by how much.

He smiles as if it’s the easiest thing in the world; as if you were both just at some bar, chatting with each other, and the world hadn’t ended; as if you hadn’t done things you weren’t proud of and he hadn’t probably done worse.

“Seems ya to like to stare at Miller men.” He says, teasing.

He has the same Southern drawl, but his voice is higher, not as weighted. You blush and turn away but he waves his hands in defense.

“‘It’s not embarrassin’. I get it- I’d stare at him too to take in my handiwork.” He waggles his thick eyebrows. “Or were you starin’ at him for some other reason?”

You scoff, and turn back to him; glaring as the anger in your chest rears its head back up. “Handiwork?”

He smirks, nodding. “Yeah. Saw the scratches on Joel’s neck.”

He reaches up, gesturing his hands clawing down his neck. “Just a shame you didn’t give him a black eye too- would’ve paid money to see it.”

You should feel embarrassed, or wary to be discussing your earlier grapple with Joel’s brother. But instead your lips tug up. You look at Tommy from the corner of your eye.

“I kicked him in the balls. If that’s worth anything.”

His eyes blow wide and his mouth drops open a bit until he laughs, tipping his head back. “God. No wonder he was so moody when he came and got me.”

He chuckles to himself before he looks back at you. “That’s good. If you can kick him in the nuts and get away with it, you’ll make it here. No doubts.”

You nod, not sure how to respond. Did you want to make it here, wherever here was?

The conversation flows on. Tommy gives you the names of everyone, pointing them out around the fire. You’re able to laugh with him, and offer a little bit to the conversation.

You’re not sure where you stand with this man. How truly trustworthy he is beneath his charming facade. But Ryan’s antiseptic and skills were something you’d need to keep close by before you were fully healed up. Until the wound on your face became a scar, you couldn’t leave.

So, when he asks about where you came from, what you’re doing all the way out here, you feed him little pieces of information- not enough for him to gather the full story, but enough that he leans in closer; as if deciding to trust, or at least entertain, you too.

You don’t register that Joel’s walked over to you until Tommy’s gaze flicks upwards, and you follow.

Joel’s glaring down at his brother, and Tommy’s easy smile slips off his face; replaced with a hard carve of his lips and tense hunch of his brow. The charming man fades away, and in his place is a hardened, now seemingly older man. A raider- not a man you met at a bar that didn’t exist anymore.

There seems to be unspoken words between the two, communicated in the flare of Joel’s nostrils, the square of his shoulders, the clench of his fists. You simply watch the exchange, enraptured and feeling like you’re intruding. Finally, Tommy sighs, and his gaze slides to you, a bashful smile put back in place.

“Nice meeting ya, Dollface.”

You laugh, and when he offers you his hand again, you reach out, shaking it. He lingers, holding onto you, and you’re stuck staring into the dark of his eyes; you can see the firelight flickering in them.

Joel clears his throat, and Tommy rolls his eyes, shooting you a smirk as if to say Can you believe this guy? But he pulls back, pushing himself to his feet. He raises to his full height, and stares at Joel- more unspoken conversation, and now it’s Tommy talking in the set of his jaw, the tilt of his head, the twinge in his temple. The tension snaps and dissipates when he simply shakes his head, brushing past Joel and returning to sit by the fire.

Joel scoffs at him, and shakes his head. He doesn’t look at you as he sits down, taking Tommy’s seat beside you.

“What was that?”

His jaw clenches, and he keeps looking across to the fire. “Nothin’.”

“Yeah, sure seemed like nothing.”

Joel’s tongue darts out to lick across his lip and he shakes his head slightly. “None of your business.”

You force yourself to exhale through your nose, to not slap him across the face. “Sure- but I was having a nice conversation with him. Doesn’t seem like there’s a lot of that to go around here amidst all the shooting.”

He scoffs, and finally turns to you fully. His face is half cast in light from the fire, and the thought catches in your throat that Tommy was only sitting here a minute ago and didn’t look half as handsome as the man in front of you.

Joel glares at you, the notch in his brow deeper. “Those two needed to go- not gonna have some fuckin’ punks walking around like they make the rules.”

His eye dips down to the bandage on your cheek and you wonder if he sees the knife stabbed into it as much as you still feel it. He drags his gaze back to yours, hissing. “And Tommy only wants to get in your pants. Nothin’ nice about the conversation.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff, words slipping out before you can stop them. “Bite me.”

He scowls, lip tugging down. “Real creative.”

“What?” You demand, leaning forward, fire licking up inside you. “Am I supposed to sit here and think of a fucking essay when you tell me all your brother wants to do is fuck me?”

Joel’s brow furrows, and he clicks his teeth. “Watch it.”

You huff but you’re left with a moment of tension, and it leaves you with flashes of images- Terry’s head splattered across the floor. Your wrist nearly broken by Joel’s hand. His gun glinting at his waist.

But you also see the obedient turn of heads. Tommy’s annoyance yet subordination.

You’re angry. Angry that you were so exhausted you had to sleep. Angry that you weren’t prepared more in that fucking shop. Angry that you got caught. Angry that you got stabbed. Angry that you’re stuck with this group when you were doing just fine on your own before you met them. Angry that the man beside you is talking to you like you’re a child. You yield to the fire inside you and scoff.

“Fuck off Joel.”

His eyes widen and it’s the same minuscule, near-unnoticeable change that reveals his shock. But he just clenches his jaw, showing more restraint than you had. “Sure got some gall.”

You run your tongue along your teeth, and his eyes track the movement. “I ‘had some fight’, right? Thought that’s why I’m here.”

His eyes stay trained on you, and his gaze is heavy, stern. “Just ‘cause you can run your mouth doesn’t mean jack.”

Your eyes dip to his neck, and you see what Tommy was talking about. Where you had scratched him earlier, there is jagged lines down the smooth column of his neck, some speckled with blood. Your eyes flick back to his.

“Yeah?”

His nostrils flare and it’s the only indication that he knows exactly what you were looking at. He snarls, and leans even closer.

“Tomorrow we’re on the move. You slip up, you fuck up, you don’t have any of that ‘fight’ in ya, and you’re done for.”

You clench your jaw but you don’t flinch back, instead holding his gaze. “Sir, yes, sir.”

He scoffs and is the first to lean back, shaking his head. “You’re gonna learn some respect.” He pins you with a glare. “Don’t ever mouth off like that in front of anyone- or you’re gonna wish I left you for dead with that knife in your face.”

You swallow, and your cheek burns in pain and shame. You clench your hand.. Force yourself to feel the strain of your bones where he had nearly crushed them and the nails digging into your palm instead of reaching across and slapping him as hard as you could.

You could see the imaginary line you had to toe. Not subordinate enough for him to step on you and treat you like shit. Not insubordinate enough for him to put a bullet between your eyes. Tell him to fuck off when you needed to. Bow your head when he told you to.

So you just nod, and turn from him, leaning back against the fountain. You had clearly pushed enough of his buttons tonight, and you weren’t ready to push anymore. Yet.

He huffs beside you, and turns away, facing back to the group.

Finally, after what feels like tortuous hours of uncomfortable silence, he clears his throat. “You ever used a gun?”

You look at him from the corner of your eye but don’t turn to him. “What?”

He scoffs beside you, as if repeating himself is his own personal hell. “Have you ever used a gun?”

You swallow, and your hand slides in your sleeping bag, thumbing over the hilt of your knife. “Yeah. Got taught in FEDRA’s school.”

He turns his head at that, maybe just realising that you didn’t simply spawn into existence in this mall. That you had a life. A school. Maybe friends. A family. That you had gotten out, gotten this far by yourself.

He tuts. “‘T’s not gonna do you shit then. I’ll teach you tomorrow as we go.”

You swallow, tilting your head slightly to look at him. “Tommy can do that. Or Ryan.”

“Already sick of me, Newbie?”

You don’t say anything, and he leans in closer, eyes narrowing.

“I brought you in. ‘M responsible for you.”

You turn back to him fully, eyebrows raised. “You said I was free to go. I joined. I’m not some sick puppy you dragged in to fix up.”

His tongue runs along his teeth beneath his lips. “Whether you like it or not, it’s cause of me that you’re here and not bleeding out in some fuckin’ shop.”

You resist the urge to bite your ruined cheek. He’s right. You know it. You can feel the debt you owe to him thrumming between the two of you.

“So, what? You teach, and then I can stay out of your way?”

“Sure,” He snaps, eyes dark. “You learn to shoot a gun properly, and I won’t have to talk to you again.”

You clench your jaw. “Great.”

“What’s wrong, Dollface?” He hisses the name. “You should be jumping for joy.”

“What’s your issue?” You snap, reeling on him. “You take me in, get my face fixed up and now you’re pushing me for a fucking fight. What is it? Seeing how long it takes for me to snap, how long until you can put a bullet between my eyes too?”

He huffs, and shakes his head, fury evident in the clench of his jaw. “‘M not testing you.”

“So what is it?” You push, glowering. “Can’t stand the thought of your brother getting some ‘cause I told you I’d bite your dick off?”

His eyes flick towards you, and he scoffs. “No. Just don’t get why you’re buddying up to him. You’ve gotta learn something.” He hisses. “Anyone who’s made it this far, who’s survived, didn’t do so cause they were fuckin’ nice.”

You glare at him. “You don’t think I learned my lesson from Terry? From your crew?”

You jut out your chin, and his eyes snag on the bandage across your face. You know what he’s thinking- that you’re never going to be able to forget that lesson. Something like pity flashes through his eyes for a second before you see him chew his cheek for a second, as if physically biting back his response. He takes a deep breath, and then another, before he looks back at you.

“Don’t get it twisted,” He says, eyes dark and foreboding. “Terry wasn’t good. But a Miller,” He huffs, "is a different kind of bad. Stay away from Tommy.”

You swallow, and almost want to laugh at the dramatism; but something in his words is ragged, raw. True.

You clench your jaw, levelling your gaze with him. “And what about you? You said you’re responsible for me now. Miller.”

His lips tilt down but he shrugs, nonchalantly. You scoff.

“So what? Tommy’s some big bad wolf I should steer clear from, but you’re my guardian angel?”

He mirrors you, scoffing and crossing his hands across his chest. You hate the stupid flex of his forearms and the way your eye catches on the shadow. “Nowhere near that. But I’m not gonna let you jeopardise my crew until you can prove you can handle your own.”

“You brought me in.” You hiss, throwing his own words in his face.

“Exactly,” He snarls, lip curling. “I brought you in and if you fuck up, it’s on me.”

Your pulse is thrumming in your ears. “So you teach me to not fuck up- And then you won’t have to talk to me again. That’s our deal right? I do as I’m told and I get to stay. Nothing more, nothing less.” You say, repeating his words from earlier again.

His jaw flexes, but he nods.

“Can’t wait.” You hiss, turning away from him

He doesn’t leave. You can feel him practically thrumming with annoyance and anger at how petty and childish you were- but he doesn’t leave.

You’re his responsibility now, hisses the small voice in your head. You want to tell it to shut up. To understand that you could have left, still could if you wanted to; but you chose to be here, because otherwise you would have died two streets away with a raider robbing your boots off your cold feet. Hell, you might have made it a week before the dirt and rubble and spores sunk into your wound and you died a feverish death.

But you don’t. Because you know that you owe Joel- owe him for the bullet in Terry, the bullet in his other insubordinate, the stitches in your face; the protection and food and shelter you’d get now in this desolate waste land of a city. That was the deal. He provides you with the mockery of a good life in this wasteland, and you do as you’re told.

And you know that Joel is responsible for you. Killing two of his own men, even if it was for disobeying his rules, because of you was a threat to his domineering authority. You, your actions, your slip ups, your fuck ups, would all be a reflection on him.

He was responsible for you and you owed him. Two truths that coexisted in this twisted partnership you had found yourself in.

So you don’t tell him to fuck off again and to go back to the fire. Instead, you lay on your side, back still against the fountain, and tug up your sleeping bag to your chin. Your head is closest to Joel; enough that if you tilted your eyes up, you’d be able to see the underside of his jaw, his cheekbones, the messy top of hair. Right now your gaze could only find the solidness of his thighs.

You think of the quick draw of his gun, his unflinching gaze as he blew someone’s head off for the second time that day. You wonder if he meant it- if he was a different, but wholly worse evil than Terry.

You don’t think you want to find out.

He can watch your back tonight, teach you about guns tomorrow, and the day after, you would make sure you keep as much distance between the two of you as possible.

The pain is still throbbing, but it’s becoming an accepted, familiar sensation in your body. It dulls in the background of sleep.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Exceptions

Summary: You’re finally pregnant and Joel can’t keep his hands off of you. With another raider group getting too close to Joel’s community he has no choice but to leave you behind in the very capable hands of his brother.

Pairing: Raider! Joel x fem. reader / Raider!Tommy x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.7k

Rating: E

Warnings: Raider!Joel, Raider!Tommy, smut (unprotected sex, oral sex), jerking off, slapping, dirty talk, established relationship, unspecified age gap (around 15 years prob), lactation kink, cucking (kinda), pregnancy, kinda pregnancy kink?, derogatory language, infidelity kink ?, Joel and Tommy do not touch or really interact with each other but are in the same bed, but if that's not your thing kindly move on, thanks!

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Part of Desire

Joel got even more protective of you once you found out you were indeed finally pregnant. 

Only a very trusted circle of people were now allowed near you and you could count the days he had chose to leave you to take care of something up on one hand. 

That was until a rather disgusting raider group had gotten a little too close for comfort to the place Joel had marked as his territory. 

He had told you that he had to leave for a couple of days to take care of this himself, his cock steadily drilling into you from behind while his hands both were playing with your tits. They had grown quite a lot and now in your sixth month of the pregnancy he was waiting impatiently for your milk to come through. 

He had put all kinds of pictures and thoughts into your head about how he would milk you dry the moment he had his first taste. 

He would be so mad it finally happened once he had been gone for almost a week.

You woke up wet. 

Which was not uncommon. You had been even more horny since you found out you were pregnant, but this morning you woke up with your shirt wet. 

„Fuck,“ you sighed, your fingers ribbing over the wet spots over your tits. 

„Watsgoingon?“ A tired voice behind you mumbled, an arm sneaking around your waist, a warm palm cradling your belly. 

„Joel is gonna be so upset,“ you pouted as you cuddled against Tommy’s chest, feeling his chin rest against your shoulder. 

Since Joel had to leave, he left the only person he trusted to look after you behind and in charge of the compound. 

His brother. 

And Tommy has been instructed to do everything to keep you happy. 

And boy did he.

With his mouth. His fingers. His cock. 

There was just something about Tommy Miller calling you a cheating cock dumb whore that did it for you. 

Not that you were cheating. No, this arrangement between the three of you had been going on for years. Though you and Joel were strictly faithful and only fucking each other, his brother was something like a treat Joel granted you for being a very good girl. 

And you always were a very good girl for Joel. 

Joel liked to watch when you and Tommy got together. His presence in the room making it somehow even more filthy. 

You just had to stop fucking Tommy once Joel had decided that he wanted to be the one who got you pregnant. The first time.

But playing with the scenario of being caught cheating did something for you that drove you over the edge every single time. 

Tommy had a lot of sex. With both men and woman. 

He had two wives who currently were pregnant themselves. 

You did not like both of them though. 

But it was you who he always came back to. 

He began to kiss up your neck, his hands rubbing over your belly, his cock poking against you from behind. 

„Think my milk finally came in,“ you mumbled and he stopped, taking a deep breath before he carefully turned you so you were laying on your back. His dark eyes were on you as he reached over to the side to turn on the lights and you both looked down to your chest where the fabric of one of Joel’s shirt you had put on to sleep were drenched. 

„Fuck,“ he cursed lowly before he came to kneel between your legs. 

„Joel’s gonna be so pissed he wasn’t here for that,“ he said with a shake of his head, before his fingers traced over the cold damp fabric of the shirt, your nipples hard and you shivered. 

He helped you out of the shirt, throwing it behind him and he just looked at your tits with pure hunger. 

You knew he wanted a taste. 

But Joel was clear. 

No one but him was allowed to taste you. Not even his brother. And he shared almost everything with his brother.

You saw him close his eyes as he took a deep breath before he lowered himself between your legs and began to eat you out, most likely as a distraction for himself, not that you were complaining. 

Your hands ran down your body, your fingers brushing through his hair, before you gathered the long strings of his hair into your hand in a makeshift ponytail, keeping his hair out of his face as he looked up at you with hungry eyes, his tongue slipping though your folds. 

Tommy’s hand gripped your thighs, pulling them further apart as he feasted on you, his tongue playing with your clit, teasing you. 

„Tommy please,“ you let your head fall back, your arms spread out on the mattress beside you. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth while one of his hands came up to touch your left tit and you shattered, coming with a cry of his name, your whole body shaking. 

You had been overly sensitive for a couple of days now, the lightest touch leaving you shaking and hungry for more. 

He cleaned you up, slurping obscenely and you sighed, before he came up, smirking up at you before he kissed your belly. 

„Wanna sit on your cock,“ you hummed. 

„Oh yeah?“ He asked, kissing up your body. 

You nodded. 

„Just gimme a minute. Can’t feel my legs yet,“ you joked and he hummed self satisfied before he laid down next to you. He wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly jerked himself off. 

Sucking your bottom lip in you looked at how his hand moved over his length, your pussy clenching in anticipation at having his cock inside of you. 

„See something you like, doll?“ He teased and you nodded before you rolled to your side to get onto your knees. You crawled over to him and he grinned up at you. 

You were about to straddle him, when he shook his head. 

„Turn around. Wanna see that ass bounce on me,“ he said and you obeyed, turning around. You sat down on his legs, feelings his hands pull you back, your pussy rubbing over his cock. Grabbing his cock you lined yourself up before you slowly sank down on him with a long moan. 

„Fuck yes,“ Tommy groaned before he slapped your ass. Hard. 

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth you slowly began to move, rolling your hips on top of him. Your hands came up to cup your tits before you began to ride him, bouncing on his cock, while Tommy continued to slap your ass. 

Closing your eyes you only focused on the way he was filling you when you heard the door open. 

Opening your eyes you smiled widely when Joel walked in. 

„Hey baby,“ you hummed, crying out when Tommy chose this moment to thrust up into you. Joel crossed his arms as he leaned against the door, his dark gaze focused on you as you rode his brothers cock, your belly swollen with his child. 

„Having fun?“ He asked and you nodded.

„Missed you,“ you whimpered and he smiled before he walked over. He bend down to kiss you, his hand on your throat possessively, and you moaned against his lips as Tommy continued to thrust up into you. 

„Yeah?“ He asked and you nodded, looking up at him. You gasped when Tommy slapped your ass again. Joel chuckled as he sat down on the bed. 

You moaned when you felt Tommy pull you against his chest and carefully turn the both of you so you were lying on your side with him behind you, his cock still inside of you. His hands were on your hips as he continued to fuck you, now a little harder, his cock twitching. 

He was close and so were you. 

„Guess what?“ You asked, biting your lip and Joel raised his eyebrow. 

„Wanna taste my milk?“ You grinned and Joel’s eyes widened before they darkened. He laid down in front of you, kissing your lips first, his big hands both palming your tits before he slipped down the bed, his lips closing around one of your nipples. 

Tommy groaned behind you, his fingers now between your legs playing with your clit, bringing you to the edge.

And then Joel sucked.

And you? 

You came with a loud cry of Joel’s name, your hands flying into his hair to keep him against your tit. 

Your eyes rolled back, the sensation of Joel sucking on your nipples and Tommy cumming inside of you so overwhelming you almost passed out. 

„Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,“ you heard behind you, Tommy fucking his cum into you. 

„Oh my god,“ you moaned, still riding out your orgasm. Out of breath you whimpered once Tommy pulled out. He kissed your shoulder as he rolled out of bed and you felt Joel pull you against him.

Within seconds Joel had you in his lap.

You were still asking yourself when he had taken his clothes off when he impaled you on his cock, groaning at the feeling. 

He moved you on top of him, his eyes fixed on your tits before he leaned in again, sucking on your other nipple and you shivered. He hummed as he sucked on your tit, your milk filling his mouth, the sensation so foreign, yet so fucking good. 

There was a knock on the door and he released your nipple with a plop, his cock thrusting up into you.

„Whatever it is, ask Tommy. I’m busy,“ he yelled, slapping your ass and you moaned loudly. 

„You been a good slut for Tommy?“ He asked you and you nodded. 

„He taste you?“ He asked and you shook your head. 

„Good,“ he hummed, his face leaning back down against your tits again. 

„Cause this is mine,“ he grunted before he pulled one of your nipples into his mouth again. 

„Yours,“ you gasped with a smile. 

[pedrospatch]

conflicted

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Your captor gives you a bath. You have some conflicting feelings when he touches you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. also tagging elements of NONCON just to be on the safe side. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, Joel killed her father, mention of blood, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own. pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, pretty girl, little girl), daddy kink, very minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: <1k

a/n: this is a bit less than a blurb. a blurb of a blurb. a blurbette, if you will. i shelled it out in like less than an hour. to me it is part of the captive universe, but can be read as a standalone! please be advised that this is not fleshed out at all, i just felt like writing something that didn’t require too much brain power.

He pours one last pail of hot water into the tub.

“How’s the water?” he asks you.

His voice is so deep. Rich, like molasses. 

It’s also laced with a southern accent, you’d noticed.

Aware he’s still waiting for an answer, you shrug.

He tries again. “S’not too hot, is it?”

He had ordered one of the women in the group to start a fire and boil water collected from the stream they had stumbled upon just a mile south of the small cottage.

“Seriously, Joel?” Angela had glared at him. “I am not a fucking maid.” Hands planted on her hips, she foolishly added, “If I’m gonna haul and boil water for a bath, it’s gonna be for me, alright? Not for that little fucking brat of yours.”

His switchblade had gone straight to her throat.

“Fuckin’ say that again,” Joel hissed, the sharp edge of the blade lightly slicing into her flesh. “Call her that one more time and see what fuckin’ happens.”

She apologized and then got to work, completing the task within a couple of hours.

Finally, you answer his question.

“Water’s fine,” you mumble. It’s hot, but not scalding.

“Good.”

Joel kneels beside the tub.

Flinching, you hunch over and pull your legs up against your chest.

It doesn’t matter. He’s already seen you naked.

He’s the one who had undressed you, after all.

Dipping a washcloth into the water, Joel instructs, “Sit up straight, honey.”

Honey.

The pet name makes you feel sick to your stomach.

You’re not his honey. You’re his prisoner.

He frowns, the creases between his brows deepening.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, pretty girl.”

Obediently, you nod and the water sloshes around you as do what he says.

You saw what he was capable of. You’re terrified of him.

With a satisfied hum, he begins washing you.

It had been three days since the massacre. Joel gently scrubs away the crimson caked onto your skin and the color of the water turns to rust. You don’t know whose blood you’ve been wearing—could it be your father’s?

He had been standing in front of you when his life was taken by the very same man that knelt beside you. Had his blood splattered on you? Was it being cleaned off by the same man who had so violently spilled it?

Your stomach lurches at the thought.

He had been trying to protect you during the ambush.

Your father had been trying to fucking protect you.

And Joel Miller had killed him.

He had killed him just to get to you.

Joel runs the washcloth down your arm, his dark gaze dragging over every inch of your body. “Such a pretty, pretty little girl,” he murmurs. Dropping the washcloth into the water, he gently cups one of your breasts in his large hand. He sweeps his thumb over your nipple and lightly teases the pebbled flesh, his digit circling it until it becomes a stiff peak.

Your eyes flutter closed and you inhale sharply.

There’s a strange feeling in your lower belly.

Strange because it’s not entirely unpleasant.

He trails his hand lower, raking over your tummy.

Lower.

Lower.

Lower.

He rests his palm over the mound of your pussy.

Gasping, your thighs clench together.

You’d like to think it’s to keep him out, to keep him from violating you further, but the burning pressure building in between your hips seems to be saying otherwise.

Horrified, you squeeze your thighs even tighter.

No. Don’t let him in.

But what if your resistance led him to force his way in?

You shudder, unable to decide which would be worse.

Joel leans forward over the bathtub, pressing his lips to your temple. “Don’t fight it, honey. S’okay that it feels good,” he mumbles against your skin. “It’s s’pposed to feel good when I touch you, baby.”

No, it’s fucking not!

Bowing your head, quietly begin to sob.

He wraps his arms around you. “Don’t cry, babygirl,” he soothes. “Don’t cry. Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you. I promise I’ll always take good care of you.”

His vow makes you cry even harder.

divider credit @saradika 🤍

[toxicanonymity]

raider masterlist

dark!Joel x f!reader | updated: August 29, 2024: calling him daddy

moodboard by @milla-frenchy 🖤 a rb will not stay up-to-date.

SUMMARY: He's a bad guy, and you're his good girl. Joel saves you from bad men, but claims you for himself. His persona starts to crack, but he gets even more possessive. You're his world, and he'll do anything to keep you. Emotional slow burn but smut the whole time. WARNINGS: 18+ canon-typical violence, noncon via implicit threat, evolving to enthusiastic dubious consent (stockholm syndrome), depraved use of praise and pet names (sweet pea, baby), unsafe P in V, exhibitionism, extreme possessiveness, dark fluff (🖤), angst, and more. NO USE of Y/N, No physical description of reader.

Spotify: raider, sweet pea (smut) Optional reference: trailer floor plan

Carter masterlist

main story

Note, non-bold links in this section were written out of order and may contain spoilers or references to future events. their placement in this list is based on timeline.

Raider: (Mar 24, 2023) - He "saves" you, then has his way with you but is kinda sweet about it. Joel POV (Oct 3, 1k)

Failed Rescue (Apr 8 - 1.9k) Your bf tries to save you. Joel makes him watch then keeps you.

Stash House (Apr 11 - 850)- Joel takes you to the stash house and shows everyone you're his. Wash Bin 🖤 (Aug 27, 1k) Shooting Practice Drabble(Jul 28, 1.6k)

Failed Escape (Apr 23, 4k)- Joel saves you from FEDRA, bathes you, amd edges you.

J. Miller (May 19, 2k) - Joel labels you with his switchblade and claims all your holes. dark. Can be skipped.

Home (May 29, 1.3k) - Joel makes dinner at home, cleans your chest, and tucks you in. 🖤

Company (Jun 9, 2.2k) - Joel brings home a girl to distract his men. dark. Extra Scene - angst.

Close (Jul 3, 2.7k) - close call with other raiders. You-almost-died sex, and later, tender sex 🖤

Gun Hug (Jul 31, 3.7k) - Joel traps 2 bad guys with some help and kills them while you. . .🖤 If you want him (1.5k) - he holds out to see🖤

Night Air (Aug 30, 3.5k) - Joel is brutal with a bad guy and his POV reveals some feelings. 🖤 Bonus blurb, wakeup pwp drabble

Hunger (Sep 29, 7k) - Joel takes you on a trek, comforts you, kills a guy, and gives you head. 🖤 He's only human (1.1k) - 👱‍♂️Carter POV, overlaps w/ hunger.

Bodies (Dec 3, 7.8k) - Strangers show up and cause a shitstorm, but Joel takes a big step. 🖤 Raider POV

No cliffhangers. Bulletin from Tox

more (drabbles, etc)

🔥 smut

Trying to use him (800) (riding) 🔥

House meeting drabble 🖤

You get sick at night drabble 🖤

He goes down on you (oral f) 🔥

If you touched his scar

if men had hurt you in the past

if you got your period 🖤

magazine and makeup 🖤

yoga pwp drabble piv 1k 🔥

boots drabble (oral f receiving) 🔥

graveyard blurb (spice)

if you bit his arm drabble (p in v) 🔥

If you snapped (emotional spice) 🖤

face sitting on sofa 🔥

being bad, looking good (2.8k, smut) 🔥

Van ride drabble (800) 🖤

sleeping beast (<1k), PWP 🔥

If Joel was sick 🖤

If you were annoying

cutting his hair 🖤

waking up on top 🔥

tired 🖤

waking up on top again 🔥

Sweet pea overhears Joel 🔥

Choking on his dick (600) 🔥

his birthday 🥺

if she called him daddy 🔥

Note: not all content is linked. Asks can lead to lore, snippets, and previews or hints of future plot points, etc. which are not added here.

Headcanons (not written like fic)

If another man has his way (Q&A)

dacryphilia - evolved update (Q&A)

if you had scars or tattoos (Q&A)

👱‍♂️raider carter Qs, face claim (Q&A)

sweet pea by herself

If you sketched Joel and Jack

Apple picking 🖤

Responding to a Nightmare

accidentally hurting her

Analysis (#raider!analysis)

why does he keep her

why did he snap (in Company extra scene)

his eye contact

his affection / feelings, trajectory 🖤

falling for sweet pea

his self hate and her feelings

the dog and joel's concern for you

awareness of growth / why keep her

Raider Tommy

Birds of prey (2.6k)

Art, etc.

Mattress by esquire magazine

Stitches by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

collage by @milla-frenchy

lose control edit by @survivingandenduring

🌸 sweet pea mood boards by various

6 month collage by milla-frenchy

6 month cake by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

🌸 sweet pea cosplay from night air

👱‍♂️carter mood board by @romana-after-dark

pts. 1-3 rb mood boards by @iamasaddie

night air gif by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

raider/sweet pea collage by milla

sweet pea's pup by @dark-scape

want it that bad gif by @dark-scape

Bodies gif by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

👱‍♂️carter mood board by milla-frenchy

Then and now drawing by @romana-after-dark

Raider/sweet pea drawings by @lumoverheaven

our stars moodboard by milla

raiding edits by gasolinerainbowpuddles

under the anger by iamasaddie

🎥 Trailer (video) by @carminepoison

birthday sketch by @lumoverheaven

In love w raider by @milla-frenchy

✨ checks that you're ok 🐺 by milla

If I've left yours off please lmk I prob tagged improperly

Back to Joel Masterlist

Fic recs: other raiders

🖤 If mine or another writer's work has inspired yours, it's always better late than never to share / shout-out 🖤

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

𝙎𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙧𝙢 | sᴏᴜᴘ

Read part one here - Squirm...

screencaps and gifs : @din-jarring they are amazing, literally brainwashes me every single time she posts, love you pook 🫶🏻

Pairing: dark!Raider!Joel Miller x dark!Raider!Tommy Miller x dark!Raider!Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, BLOOD, UNprotected sex wrap it before you tap it kids,food, hunger, kidnapping, degradation, praise, mean!Joel, toxic!Joel, mean people, toxic people, fear, waterboarding (with soup), choking, gagging, talks of sex, talks of anal sex, voyeurism, being held down, ripping off clothes, groping, kissing, spanking, crying, begging, masturbation M and F, Death threats, Guns, Gun insertion (mouth and vaginal), stripping, cum, cum description, hand jobs, blowjobs, orgasm,cum play kinda, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Summary: Caught and brought to a new place you meet new faces and feelings.

WC: 4.2K

A/n : Sorry, I was a little late to post pt 2, but enjoy 🫶🏻

He had brought you to a house that barely felt like a home, its cold and unwelcoming atmosphere, a stark contrast to any sense of familiarity. The faces inside offered no solace, just a chilling reminder of your isolation from the man who had violated you. You pushed away thoughts of the horrifying event, trying to focus instead on the bowl of soup before you. Hunger gnawed at your insides, but the thought of not nourishing yourself felt like a silent protest against your dire circumstances.

Seated beside you was the man who had taken you, his presence a constant source of discomfort and fear. It struck you suddenly that you didn't even know his name, adding to the weight of your unease. To your left sat a woman with long brown hair, older than you and marked by scars. You stole glances around the table, avoiding prolonged eye contact with anyone. In the midst of the bustling room, a man's striking resemblance to your captor left you feeling unnerved. You resisted the urge to dwell on the chilling familiarity, instead turning your attention elsewhere.

As you sat there, wrestling with your own inner turmoil, your captor's impatience grew palpable. "What's the matter with you? Why aren't you eating?" he demanded, his voice sharp with irritation.

You flinched at his tone, feeling his eyes bore into you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "I-I'm not hungry," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not hungry?" he repeated, his voice rising with anger. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back roughly.

Pain shot through you, and you couldn't suppress a gasp of pain as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "Joel, calm down," the woman beside you interjected, her voice firm but gentle. "You don't want to scare the girl too badly."

Joel's grip on your hair loosened slightly, but his anger still simmered beneath the surface. "Fine," he growled, releasing you with a shove that sent you reeling. "But don't think you can defy me and get away with it."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your trembling hands as you reached for the spoon, your appetite vanishing in the face of Joel's wrath. It was just another reminder of the power he held over you, a reminder that escape seemed increasingly impossible.

Joel's anger seemed to intensify with each passing moment, his frustration boiling over as he glared at you. "Eat!" he barked, his voice echoing through the room.

Trembling, you forced yourself to take a spoonful of the bitter soup, struggling to swallow it down past the lump in your throat. The taste was nauseating, but you dared not refuse, knowing the consequences would be dire.

As the man who resembled your captor, Joel, leaned in closer, a chill ran down your spine. His eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that made your blood run cold. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice sharp and demanding.

Panic surged within you as you struggled to find the right words. You glanced around the table, seeking a lifeline, but found only unfamiliar faces staring back at you. Joel's twin sat across from you, watching the tense exchange with keen interest.

He noticed your fear. "I'm Tommy. What's your name?"

Feeling the weight of Joel's wrath bearing down on you, you stammered out a response, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-I'm..." After Joel yelled at you, you gave him your name, hoping to appease him in some way.

Joel's eyes narrowed as he watched you, a dangerous glint in his gaze. "It's not hard to behave, is it?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Now eat your soup and stay quiet."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you obediently brought the spoon to your lips, forcing yourself to swallow another mouthful of the bitter concoction. Each swallow felt like a battle against the rising tide of fear and revulsion.

As you struggled to maintain your composure under Tommy's scrutiny, a sudden text message from the woman beside you caught you off guard. "What's your plan for her?" it read, and before you could react, Joel shot you a smirk.

"Well, Tess..." he drawled, leaning back in his chair. "I fucked her in the van, and the damn thing bled so much she was probably a virgin. But you see, she's real tight in the pussy. I wonder how tight she is in the ass.”

The crude words sent a wave of horror coursing through you, and you felt your heart pound in your chest. The laughter that erupted from the rest of the table only added to your sense of dread.

"NO!" you cried out, unable to contain your fear and revulsion any longer.

Ignoring your protest, Joel turned to his men with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Leave. All of you, except Tommy and Tess," he commanded, his voice cold and commanding.

The men exchanged glances before filing out of the room, leaving you alone with Joel, Tommy, and Tess. The tension in the air was palpable, and you had a nagging feeling that something bad was about to happen.

With a cruel grin, Joel grabbed your arm roughly, his grip like a vise as he forced the bowl of soup to your lips. "Drink it," he growled, his breath hot against your face.

You recoiled, the bitter taste of the soup making you gag, but Joel's grip only tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh painfully. "I said drink!" he hissed, his voice dripping with malice.

Tears welled in your eyes as you choked down the revolting liquid, each swallow feeling like a betrayal of your own dignity. Joel's laughter echoed in your ears, mocking your suffering.

He didn't stop, continuously pouring the soup into your mouth, the liquid spilling down your chin and soaking your clothes. You coughed and sputtered, struggling to breathe as he relentlessly forced you to consume it.

When the bowl was finally empty, Joel shoved you roughly onto the table, your ass in the air, the dried remnants of his cum and your blood staining your dress and leg from the van. You struggled against him, but his strength was overpowering, pinning you down with ease.

"Look at her," he sneered, his hand gripping your hair as he forced your head up. "A pathetic little whore, just begging for it."

You whimpered, the humiliation and shame crushing down on you like a weight, suffocating you. You felt dirty, violated, and utterly helpless in the face of Joel's cruelty. All you could do was pray for it to be over soon, to escape this nightmare and find some semblance of peace.

"Tommy, Tess," Joel's voice sliced through the air, authoritative and unyielding. "Hold her down."

Tommy hesitated, his expression conflicted as he glanced between you and Joel. "Joel, come on, man. This ain't right," he protested, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Tess scoffed at his hesitation. "Oh, please, Tommy. It didn't work on the last girl Joel brought home. What makes you think it'll work on this one?" she interjected, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Tommy's jaw tensed at Tess's words, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "Yeah, well, no shit it won't work now," he muttered under his breath, his bitterness palpable.

With a resigned sigh, he reluctantly reached out to hold your arms down, his touch firm and unyielding. Despite his initial resistance, there was a chilling resolve in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the brutality of their actions.

You instinctively tried to wriggle free from their tight grip, but their hold was unyielding, suffocating in its grasp. Joel's hand trailed between your thighs, his touch invasive and mocking. "Did I forget to rip these?" he jeered, his words dripping with contempt. "Or did you put them back on so you could save all my cum that was dripping out of your pretty pussy?" With a swift tug, he tore at your panties, the fabric ripping with a sound that echoed through the room.

Your breath caught in your throat as Joel's lips trailed from your calf to your lower back, his touch igniting a firestorm of revulsion and fear within you. His hand slid up your dress, each movement leaving a trail of dread in its wake.

Before you could protest, his palm connected with your exposed flesh, the sharp sting of his slap reverberating through your body. "You need to learn, sweetheart," he growled, his voice dripping with malice. "What I say goes."

As the sting of his slap lingered on your skin, Joel's grip tightened, his dominance palpable in the air. "Count them," he commanded, his voice cold and commanding. "For every spank, I'll give you a rule to remember."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in as fear coursed through your veins.

"One," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper, as the second spank landed with brutal force.

"Rule number one," Joel's voice cut through the air like a knife, his tone chillingly calm. "You belong to me now. Your body, your mind, everything. Remember, sweet pea, I control whether you live or die."

"Two," you whimpered, each strike sending waves of pain through your trembling body. Fear gripped you tightly, knowing that Joel held the power to end your life in an instant. But in that moment of terror, a glimmer of relief washed over you as you realized he spared your life.

"Rule number two," Joel's voice was a sinister whisper, his breath hot against your ear. "You speak when spoken to. Your voice is mine to command."

The relentless rhythm of his slaps echoed in the room, each strike sending shockwaves of agony through your body.

"Three," you gasped, tears stinging your eyes as the onslaught continued.

"Rule number three," Joel's words were a cruel taunt, his laughter mingling with your cries. "Your desires mean nothing. Your only purpose is to obey."

The sound of his hand meeting your skin became a symphony of pain, drowning out any semblance of resistance.

"Four," you choked out, your voice trembling with each syllable.

"Rule number four," Joel's voice dripped with malice, his grip tightening as he relished in your suffering. "You forget who you were. There is only me, and there is only now."

The world around you seemed to blur as his assault persisted, each strike eroding away at your sense of self.

"Five," you managed to gasp out, the agony threatening to consume you entirely.

"Rule number five," Joel's words were a final decree, his dominance unyielding. "You will learn to love the pain. It's the only thing you'll ever know."

The onslaught of blows came faster now, each strike landing with brutal precision, leaving your flesh ablaze with searing agony. You squirmed helplessly against the iron grip of Tommy and Tess, your cries stifled by the relentless assault.

Joel's laughter cut through the air like a knife, mocking your pain as tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the sweat and blood that trickled down your back.

"There's a good girl," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "Let it out. Let me hear you scream."

With each strike, your resolve crumbled, your spirit shattered by the merciless brutality of his punishment. You cried out in anguish, the pain consuming you whole as Joel's cruel laughter echoed in your ears, a haunting reminder of your helplessness in the face of his relentless dominance.

As the onslaught of blows began to slow, Joel's strikes became more calculated, each one landing with precision on your already battered flesh. The pain was excruciating, every impact sending waves of agony coursing through your body.

"Enough," Joel commanded, his voice cold and commanding. "Let her go."

Tommy and Tess released their grip on you, allowing you to slump forward, your body trembling with pain and exhaustion. Joel pulled you into his lap, his jeans rubbing against your raw, beaten skin, sending fresh waves of discomfort radiating through you.

"Good girl," he murmured, his tone disturbingly gentle compared to moments before. "You're learning. Remember, what I say goes. Always."

Joel's gaze shifted to Tommy as you squirmed uncomfortably in his lap, desperately seeking a spot that wasn't ablaze with pain. "Tommy, fetch my pistol," he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative.

Tess and Tommy exchanged shocked glances. "Joel? Before we've even gotten a turn?" Tess protested, her voice tinged with apprehension. Fear clenched at your heart at the mention of the pistol. You didn't want to die.

"I didn't say to shoot her, goddamn it, y'all are sensitive," Joel snapped, his frustration evident in his tone. He sighed heavily before continuing, "Just get comfortable, and you," he grabbed your face roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze, "it's not supposed to be comfortable. Now stay still."

Tommy hurried off to retrieve the pistol, while Tess positioned themselves in front of Joel's chair, obediently following his orders to watch. You sat still, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to escape as you braced yourself for whatever came next. As Tommy handed the pistol off to Joel and positioned himself next to Tess.

Joel's laughter filled the room as he accepted the pistol from Tommy, his eyes dancing with sadistic amusement. With a menacing smirk, he pressed the cold metal barrel against the neckline of your dress, causing your breath to hitch in terror. The fabric stretched under the pressure before snapping back into place, sending a shiver of fear coursing through you.

Glancing between Tommy and Tess, Joel's expression dared them to act. After a tense moment, Tess stepped forward, her hands confident as she reached for the hem of your dress. With a swift motion, she began to peel the fabric away, revealing the vulnerable skin beneath.

Meanwhile, Joel moved behind you, his fingers deftly unhooking your bra with practiced ease. As the garment fell away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, Joel's gaze hardened. "No touching," he commanded, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "She hasn't had my dick in her ass yet, so there's no point in sharing yet. Just watch."

Turning his attention back to you, Joel's eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your blood run cold. "Give them a show," he ordered, his tone dripping with malice. With a cruel grin, he began to trace the path of the gun along your skin, sending shivers of fear down your spine.

With every inch of exposed skin, Joel's sadistic grin widened. He traced the contours of your body with the cold metal of the pistol, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "Such a pretty little thing," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "All naked and vulnerable."

As he continued to torment you with the gun, his words grew more depraved. "Bet you're wondering what I'm gonna do with this," he mused, his tone filled with sickening excitement. "Maybe I'll use it to fuck you in the ass."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you braced yourself for whatever twisted game Joel had in store. The weight of the pistol against your skin felt like a ticking time bomb, each moment dragging out the agony of anticipation.

"Maybe I'll use it here," Joel's voice dripped with malice as he suddenly pressed the cold, hard barrel of the gun into your mouth. The metallic taste was overwhelming as you complied with his command, the weight of the weapon heavy on your tongue. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and a rush of adrenaline flooded your veins.

Glancing over at Tess and Tommy, Joel's eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure at their reactions. Tommy's hands were shamelessly buried in his pants, indulging in his own depravity, while Tess, stripped down to her bra, caressed her breasts with a sickeningly soft touch.

Returning his gaze to you, Joel's grip on your neck tightened, forcing you to look upwards. Your throat constricted around the gun barrel as he pushed it deeper, eliciting a gag reflex. His laughter echoed through the room, a chilling soundtrack to your degradation. "Come on, take it. Come on," he taunted, his voice laced with perverse excitement.

With a cruel twist, Joel abruptly removed the gun from your mouth, leaving you gasping and coughing for air. The taste of metal lingered on your tongue as you struggled to regain your composure, tears stinging your eyes from the violent intrusion.

Ignoring your distress, Joel's eyes glittered with amusement as he admired the effect of his torment. "Pathetic," he spat, his tone dripping with disdain. "You can't even handle a little gun in your mouth."

Joel roughly turned your head to face Tess and Tommy, positioning you back-to-back with him, creating an unsettling image of depravity. Tess had her hands buried in her pants, mirroring Tommy's lewd actions. Meanwhile, Joel's touch grew more invasive as he groped your body with the cold metal of the gun, each touch sending a shiver of revulsion down your spine.

"You like that, huh?" Joel taunted, his voice dripping with contempt as he pressed the gun teasingly close to your trembling body. "Bet you've never had anything like this before."

You squirmed uncomfortably under his touch, feeling exposed and vulnerable as he continued to taunt and degrade you in front of Tess and Tommy. The weight of their lecherous gazes only added to your sense of shame and helplessness.

Joel's grip tightened around the gun as he abruptly thrust the cold metal barrel into your pussy without warning, causing you to gasp in shock and pain. The sensation was overwhelming—a mix of burning agony and icy coldness that made your entire body tense with discomfort.

Despite the searing pain that coursed through your body, there was a perverse and unsettling sensation that accompanied Joel's crude violation. It was as though amidst the agony, there lingered a twisted form of pleasure—a dark and forbidden allure that sent conflicting waves of desire and revulsion washing over you.

As the cold metal of the gun's barrel plunged into you with each merciless thrust, there was an undeniable arousal that stirred within you, mingling with the anguish and fear that consumed your senses. It was a sickening realization, one that filled you with shame and self-loathing even as your body betrayed you with its traitorous response.

Each jagged edge of the gun's barrel seemed to ignite a primal fire within you, awakening sensations that you had never dared to acknowledge before. Despite the brutality of Joel's actions, there was a part of you that craved the twisted pleasure that he elicited—a part of you that hungered for the forbidden ecstasy that danced on the edge of pain.

Amidst the torment, your body pulsed with unfamiliar sensations, a tumultuous symphony of pleasure and agony that left you trembling on the edge of surrender. Every gasp and moan that escaped your lips was a testament to your body's betrayal, succumbing to Joel's relentless domination.

As the gun's barrel thrust into you, each movement ignited a storm of conflicting emotions within you. Pleasure and pain intertwined, blurring the lines between ecstasy and despair. It was a descent into madness, a journey into the depths of your darkest desires, where every sensation threatened to consume you whole.

As the pressure of Joel's grip on your face intensified, his fingers digging into your cheeks, you felt a surge of panic rising within you. You desperately tried to look away, to escape the lewd scene unfolding before your eyes, but Joel's iron grip held you in place.

Tommy and Tess, lost in their own world of ecstasy, moved with a frenzied urgency, their bodies writhing in pleasure. Their hands roamed feverishly over their skin, eliciting moans of delight that filled the room. The air crackled with anticipation, heavy with the heady scent of arousal.

Meanwhile, Joel's touch on your clit sent bolts of electricity coursing through your body, each stroke igniting a firestorm of sensation. You gasped for air, your body trembling with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You enjoying this, huh?" Joel's voice dripped with sadistic amusement, his words laced with cruelty. "Such a filthy little slut, aren't you?"

Your heart raced as Joel's fingers continued their relentless assault, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he thrusts the cold metal barrel of the gun into you with a force that stole your breath away.

"Please...stop," you gasped, your voice strained with desperation. "I feel...I'm gonna pee."

The sensation was overpowering, a torrent of pleasure flooding your senses, leaving you gasping for air. You cried out, a primal sound of ecstasy mingling with the moans of Tommy and Tess, who watched on as if entranced.

Joel chuckled darkly, his eyes alight with sadistic glee. "You're not gonna pee, sweetheart," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "You're gonna cum."

Tommy leaned in closer, his eyes glazed with lust as he watched your writhing form. "Damn, she's really getting into it," he remarked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tess nodded in agreement, her fingers tracing lazy circles over her own body as she watched the spectacle unfold. "She's a natural," she murmured, her voice tinged with envy.

Meanwhile, Joel's grip tightened on your body, his touch both rough and possessive as he continued to manipulate your pleasure. "That's it," he coaxed, his tone sickeningly sweet. "Give in to it. Let it consume you."

As the waves of ecstasy crashed over you, you felt a sense of shame wash over you. But amidst the shame, there was also a strange sense of liberation, a feeling of being utterly and completely consumed by the moment.

The room fell silent, save for the soft, rhythmic grunts of pleasure emanating from Tommy's direction. In the shelter of Joel's arms, you watched as Tommy's release painted his shirt, his outstretched hand halted by Joel's stern intervention. With a deft motion, Joel retrieved the pistol from its slick haven within your body, aiming it unwaveringly at Tommy's head.

"I said no touching," Joel's voice was a low growl, his eyes flashing with dangerous intent. Tess's moans were abruptly cut short as she, too, succumbed to her climax. Joel rolled his eyes in exasperation, his patience wearing thin. "Both of you...leave. NOW!"

As Tommy and Tess hurriedly obeyed, Joel's demeanor shifted, his hand gentle as it patted your head. It was a startling contrast to the violence moments ago. "You see, if you follow my rules, I protect you," he explained, his tone almost soothing. But as he gestured with the gun beneath your chin, the underlying threat was impossible to ignore, casting a stark shadow over his words.

"Now, it's time for you to show your gratitude," Joel's voice was cold, his eyes boring into yours with a predatory gleam. "You owe me, and you're going to thank me properly."

His demand hung in the air, heavy with implication. You felt a chill run down your spine as you realized the extent of his control over you. With trembling hands, you struggled to find the words to comply with his twisted request, knowing that defiance would only invite further punishment.

He guided you to the table, settling you onto the worn wood surface. The ache from the red marks on your ass made you flinch, but Joel silenced you with a gesture. "Shh..." His finger pressed gently against your lips. "I'm going to show you how to please me. Watch closely and learn.”

Joel unfastened his belt and let his pants drop to the floor, revealing his nakedness. He then took your hand and spat into it. "Make sure there's some wetness. If it's dry, it won't feel good," he instructed, his voice low and commanding. Guiding your hand with his, he began to stroke up and down his impressive length. His cock was large, the weight of it filling your hand as you struggled to wrap your fingers around it. "See, it's so simple," he grunted softly as he moved your hand along his shaft.

As you followed Joel's lead, your hand moved rhythmically along his length, slick with saliva and your own nervous sweat. His breath hitched with each stroke, his eyes darkening with lust as he watched your tentative movements. You focused intently on his reactions, trying to gauge what pleased him, all the while feeling a mix of revulsion and fear churn in the pit of your stomach.

Despite the discomfort and fear that pulsed through you, there was a strange sense of power in the act, a twisted form of control that you wielded over him. You couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline that surged through you as you brought him closer and closer to the edge, each stroke of your hand pushing him towards release.

And then, with a guttural groan, Joel's body tensed, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he reached the peak of his pleasure. Hot streams of cum erupted from him, coating your hand and spilling onto the floor below. As he finally released, you felt a sickening mixture of relief and disgust wash over you, knowing that you had played a part in satisfying his twisted desires once again.