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toxicanonymity · 5 months

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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.

----

Raider POV: The Kiss

----

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.

Raider: @randomhoe @princessloveweird @mugshotqueen @anas-dreamer @eggnox @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @tulipsatmidnight @imaginary98 @neobanguniverse@quietlyignoringyou @gab-thelamb-onthemoon

: @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

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #dark!joel miller #raider!joel miller #raider!joel #raider joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#raider!joel ☠️#cw dubcon #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #dark fluff

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 27 days

Text

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.

#my fic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #raider!Joel Miller #tlou #tlou fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Text

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

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

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

With his 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

—

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ghostfanwriter · 11 months

Text

✨🔥 Safe 🔥✨

Part two

✨ Pairing: Raider!Joel Miller x afab! Non-Innocent reader

🔥 Synopsis: Your group gets surprised by Joel's, and when one of you refuses to give when what they want, Joel takes all of you back to his base, keeping you to play housewife in his house.

✨ Features: 🔞 Age gap (Joel in his early 50's, reader in her mid 20's), kidnapping, teasing, a bit of exhibitionism (just for him, though), oral sex (m receiving).

🔥 Word count: Over 3k.

✨ About this: This is the first half of a two part story. I wanted to explore Raider!Joel meeting a non innocent reader, because let's be honest here, we eat this shit up, so we wouldn't be exactly sad if that man did it to us.

🔥 Author's note: This one also took me forever to figure out. I wanted him to have a kinda toxic but soft vibe. Like, he's not forcing you, clearly, but he also touches and undresses you before you ever give him any clear sign you're okay with it. He's gross but in a delicious Joel Miller way.

Good reading ✨🔥

✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥

You know it's wrong to enjoy this, God wants to believe you know it. But you can't help yourself.

You and three others from your group were on a run for supplies when three cars full of men surprised you. They were armed and said you just had to give them all your supplies and no one would get hurt.

When one of the men with you didn't want to cooperate, things went south and the leader of the group got out of one of the cars. He shot a warning shot and yelled. All of his men went quiet and gave him space to talk to your people.

The second you saw the man you had to swallow back a moan.

His broad shoulders, huge hands — God if your fingers felt good, imagine those —, his God-like sculpted face and nose, his fluffy hair, his belly showing through his shirt.

Everything your eyes land on make you feel more dizzy.

Your thoughts must have been painted all over your face, because the second the man looked at you, he smirked.

You didn't look away, though.

You held his stare, smiling back, forgetting for a second the situation you were on. The fact that his men were looting your group. The fact that he was the type you usually shot right between the eyes without faltering.

You were more focused on him, on his face, his smile. His figure. How much the big men around him respected him.

Shooting his pretty face was the last thing on your mind.

He looked at all of you again, making himself loud and clear while sounding assertive and calm. His voice making you lightheaded.

"Now, we were going to take your stuff, maybe punch one or two of you on the face — not you though, sugar." He says, turning to point and smile at you. "And then leave and let you go." He says looking back at everyone.

"But when you point a gun at my men? That fucking destroys the deal, man!" He — sounding surprisingly calm — tells the man who denied to give his men your supplies.

"So here's the thing. We're gonna take you back to our place and we'll keep you there with us for a while. You'll work for us and then maybe, if I feel like you deserve it, I'll let you go." He looks at you again, analyzing you, up and down. Then stopping at your face. "I'm sure you'll all have great use for us." He says with a warm smile. Your eyes falter and your cheeks burn.

They blindfold you, so you don't see where their base is. And the big man is the one doing it to you. Your heart beating all over your body when you feel his warmth and his chest on your back.

He definitely did not need to be this close to you to do this.

"This is just a formality, alright, darling? Just to be sure." His hands are rough, but his touch is soft against your skin. He carefully wraps the fabric around your face, "Is it too tight?" he whispers low and breathy on your ears.

You hate it, but you let out a weak and pathetic moan, almost giving in and letting your body melt back against his chest. "Mmn. Huh hm. It's fine."

You can fucking feel his smirk on the back of your neck. "Good."

✨🔥✨.

On your ride to his base you feel his hand on your thigh, just to keep you steady, according to him, and you hear him humming some songs from time to time.

On the darkness of your blindfold, all you could see was him, his face, his hair, his broad chest and back. You were going over the whole situation again, paying attention to the image your brain painted of him, hoping he'd look just as good when you saw him again.

Hoping your brain didn't lie to you, and he was actually all that.

✨🔥✨.

You didn't see the way to their place, but honestly you also don't remember exactly how you ended up here, on this specific situation. Standing on the entrance of his bedroom, watching him put your backpack down near his bed.

All you know is that you're here. And your people are somewhere on this same place.

And you need to keep them safe.

But they're fast to flee your mind when the man starts walking towards you. His gaze dark but soft at the same time. He pulls you softly by the forearm and closes the door behind you, standing at arm reach.

You feel like your heart is making cartwheels all over your body.

"I meant what I said, sugar. You'll all have to work here before I can let you go." You nod, looking up at him and doing your best to not bite your lip. "Tell me, what do you think you can do to make yourself useful around here?"

Now that he's closer, his smell finds it's way back to your nose, and you're pulled out of your brain immediately.

He looks bigger now so close to you, and you can't help but think about how he would feel like on top of you. His weight and his warmth pushing you into the mattress and... he's squinting his eyes, as if trying to read your thoughts, that damn smile on his lips again.

"Anything." You manage to say when you snap back. You're holding his stare the whole time. Not to appear tough or anything, you're just trying to memorize his face.

For later at night, when you're not with him.

"Anything can be many things, sweet thing." His hand comes to your hair, pulling it back and away from your face. An unexpected tenderness to his touch, and you feel like you could just melt right into his hand.

"Anything you want me to do. Anything to be useful for you." His eyes get darker and falter at your words, and you smile softly at his reaction.

His hand comes to your jacket, pulling it over your shoulders and off you, and part of you wished he didn't stop at it.

"Alright. Why don't you start by getting yourself clean and comfortable, then? You've had a stressful day, I'm guessing. Do you have any clean clothes?" he asks. "Uhum", you nod, "On my backpack."

"Bring it over to me." You walk towards it and pick the backpack up, handing it to him. He points you to the bathroom. "You'll find a clean towel there, I'll sort your clothes for you."

✨🔥✨.

You find him sitting on the edge of his bed, by a small pile of clothes when you come out, wrapped in his towel. "You understand I just can't let you go after your people pointed a gun at my men, don't you baby?" His voice is lower and more breathy than before, and God... You could listen to it all day.

All night.

"I do. I would do the same if it were the opposite. We'll cooperate and no one will get hurt." You say, looking into his eyes, watching him get up and walk towards you.

He's not used to people sustaining his gaze. All the huge and muscular men surrounding him too afraid to do it, and none of the women he's found along the way would dare to try.

But not you.

You like his eyes, you like that he doesn't drop his gaze, he doesn't hide his thoughts, and he's liking the same about you.

"Smart girl." He says, pulling the towel and carefully removing it from you.

He takes a step back and throws the towel on the bed, his gaze locked on your body. Analyzing your skin, your curves, your scars and marks. You notice a growing volume on his pants, and when you look back at his eyes, you find them already on yours, a cocky and so goddamn beautiful smile on his lips.

You just can't physically not respond his fucking smile.

"How about you start by grabbing that towel for me, baby? Don't want to sleep on a wet bed." He says, mentioning his bed for you. When you walk past him, he turns, taking a good look at your back, and you make sure to softly sway your hips for him.

You notice the towel is on the other side of the bed, and, instead of walking to the other side to grab it, you look at him over your shoulder, finding him on a stiff posture, eyes fixated on you, his fists tight by his sides.

You turn back and kneel on his bed, his teeth pressing onto one another so hard they could break, and his gaze weakening for a beat. You get fully on all fours and reach for the towel, making sure to lift your ass. A soft and wet, barely audible sound escapes from your pussy when you bend over and your folds get parted.

He grunts and you look back over your shoulder again, smiling at him. "Got it!" you say cheerfully, lifting the towel over your head and coming back, getting off his bed.

You roll the towel around yourself and look at him. "I noticed you have a lot of dirty clothes on your bathroom. Also I don't believe you cook a lot? Maybe I could help you around your house, you know. Make myself useful for you", you offer.

If you really had to stay over and work, you wouldn't mind if you got to spend the whole day on his house.

With him.

✨🔥✨.

The next day you went all over his house, cleaning what was dirty and planning what you could cook for him. It wasn't so bad after all. You just weren't as close to him as you thought you'd be, since he's spent the whole day away, keeping a few of his men surrounding his house all day to watch you.

You were cooking dinner when he arrived home. "Did you have a nice day, baby?" He asked, getting behind you and smelling your neck. His beard scratching you and sending a shiver down your spine, going all the way until pooling on your pussy.

"Just felt a bit lonely, but it was alright." He hums, running his hands on your hips. "A pretty girl like you should never feel lonely." You're wearing a dress he got you this morning, and he can feel that you're not wearing anything under it, groaning and lightly squeezing your hips.

You told him he had time to take a shower before dinner and he went to his bathroom.

When he comes back down, you're by the table; a few pots, a bottle of some alcohol he had, one cup and one plate on top of it.

"Where's yours?" He asks. His hair is wet and combed back, he looks clean and pretty, and you felt like somehow you were already used to him, to his presence. You spent your whole day thinking about him, counting the seconds to see him again, to feel your belly get all happy to see him.

"Oh, I, hum. I thought you'd like to eat alone." You say and he laughs, grabbing a plate and putting it across from his. "Been eating by myself for a while, angel. Want you to eat with me."

You sit down when he does and serve both of you, his eyes fixated on you while he pours both of you some of his drink. "Can I ask you something?" You ask when you start eating, and he responds without looking at you, only lifting his brows, as in 'go on'.

"Where is the rest of my people? What are they doing?" He doesn't get fazed by your question. "What are you doing here, peach?" He asks sipping on his drink.

You think for a beat. Was it a trick question?

"Honestly? Not sure. You said I'd help you, but I'm not sure with what." He looks at you. "Remember what you said? 'Anything'. Right?"

"Right. Anything. But I've only cleaned and cooked so far." He reads your face. His heavy eyes focused on yours.

"Is there anything else you wanna do, sugar?" He asks leaning back on his chair, chewing on his food. You foot looks for his legs, and he looks down when you touch his thigh.

"I thought you needed me for other things. Things more fun than what I did today." His breathing gets heavier, his brows lower and his voice somehow deeper.

"I can't, baby." Your own brows furrow.

"Why not?" You ask and he adjusts himself when your foot reach his crotch.

"I promised I'd let you go. If we do this, I won't ever wanna let you go. Then your people will come for my people, and I don't want to deal with that."

You sighed in an attempt to hold back a moan that still made its way out. You know it's wrong, God wants to believe you know it's wrong, but you can't help it.

You'd love to fucking see it. To see him fight over you, to see him do things for you. He must have done somethings before for his men to respect him so much, and you kinda hoped he'd do them because of you one day.

You press your foot on him.

"You don't think I'm worth it?" You tease, sweetening your voice and innocently looking at him, pouting your lips.

"That's exactly my problem, baby. I know you will be. That's why I can't." You almost feel bad for him, you can feel him hardening under your foot, but you can see he's doing his best not to give in.

"It's a paradox then. If I help you with it, you won't let me go. But if I don't help you, I'm not doing my job, so I can't leave either way. Guess we don't really have a choice here." His eyes find you again and he grins, grunting when you roll your foot over his cock.

He scratches the back of his head, removing your foot.

"Now, I don't want to force you to do anything, right, angel? That's not how I work around here." You nod, convincing him was easy enough.

"But you're gorgeous. And I haven't seen a pretty girl like you in ages, maybe never before. So if you really want to help, you can just be a good girl for me and let me look at you, alright?" He says, palming himself. "Anything to be useful." You repeat, and he smirks. "Alright. Just take your dress off and be pretty, huh? Shouldn't be hard for you."

You smile and get up. You see that he's stroking himself through his jeans and you bite your lower lip, unbuttoning your dress slowly, letting it fall down your shoulders before bending over to take if fully off.

His eyes are locked on your body and against all odds, you don't feel any shame.

Being on full display for him just makes you feral, like you could attack the poor man at any second.

He unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, setting his cock free and sighing at the feeling.You have to clench your jaw so it doesn't drop.

He's big.

Big, thick and he looks so fucking deliciously heavy. His tip is glistening and swollen, leaking with his precum. You lick your lips at the sight, moving your chair away from the table to give him a better view and sitting back down.

He watches you and laughs. "You know, most girls would be all scared and shy on your position." He starts stroking himself, slow and deep, rolling his palm around his tip and going back down. He grunts while doing it, looking at you.

You scoot forward and lift your legs, bringing your knees close to your chest and spreading yourself for him. "But not you, right, baby? You liked my attention this whole time" He says, a hint of almost pain in his voice.

"I like how you look at me." You say with a smile, his eyes roaming your whole body, stopping at your pussy, already wet and glistening. "Oh, I can tell from here how much you like it, pretty."

You're already naked, already fucking soaked, and already on this situation. The man is already giving you his undivided attention, his dick is out, and the tension between you two is making it hard for you to breath. So why not fucking float along with his tide and enjoy yourself?

You mention to get up, but he shoots you a look. "No. You stay right there. Just sit and be pretty, remember?" He says in a stern tone hasn't used with you yet.

You pout, but sit back down.

"Let me see her again, baby. So pretty all wet for me." You get up and move your chair closer to him, his eyes following you like a hawk.

You sit down and spread yourself, gathering a bit of your leaking arousal and spreading it over his tip, earning a hiss from him, your soft hand a stark contrast to his rough one, distracting him for a beat. He lets you stroke him for a second, thrusting his hips slowly into your hand before snapping back and removing your hand.

He keeps stroking himself, eyes locked on your pussy, faltering when you start touching yourself, running your fingers through your folds and circling your clit, moaning softly.

He pushes his chair back for his hand to move more freely, his eyes fixating on yours. He looks good, so fucking good it makes you want to stay with him. To make sure he's okay, well taken care of, well fed.

Well fucked.

He drops his head back and you know you won't have a better chance of touching him again.

You drop to your knees, licking your lips while taking a better look at his cock. But you probably stare for too long, because after a while he groans, making you look up, finding his eyes on you.

"You're so fucking bad, angel." He pants.

"Uh um, I'll show you how good I can be for you." You say looking him in the eyes, your low and aroused voice surprising your own ears. He smiles and keeps stroking himself.

You look into his eyes and he puts his dick closer to your mouth. You lick his tip, just the tip of your tongue, just the tip of his cock, light enough to just taste him. You whine when he pulls away, pouting and furrowing you brows.

"You're gonna take what I give, huh? Tongue out." He says, that fucking stern tone back, just a little sweeter this time.

You do what he says and he slaps his tip on your tongue a few times, a wet sound filling your ears as your tongue numbing with his weight hitting it.

It was like he wanted you to do it, but he was doing his best to not let you. Sometimes he'd touch your tongue for long enough for you to lick him, or roll your tongue on him, and he'd furrow his brows in response, pulling away.

He grabs another bite of his food and moans when you roll your tongue around his tip, running his fingers through your hair. He didn't pull away this time.

"Shit. A man could get used to this really fast, angel." You smile and he grunts when you swallow his tip. "Fuck, baby, there you go, so good." He lets go of himself and his dick stays there, fully up and hard, his tip inside your mouth, all of his length pulsing for you.

He distracts you again, but eventually you grab him and notice how heavy he is — just like you knew he'd be —, so heavy you moan when you hold him. He runs his fingers through your hair, pulling on it. "C'mon, baby. Treat it real nice."

"You know I will."

You lick his tip, once again rolling your tongue around it. Then you lick underneath his tip, trying to touch every little corner of him with your tongue. You lift his dick and lick it from the base up, wetting your tongue as you go, keeping it spread and watching him as his eyes close shut.

You suck his tip into your mouth, sucking on it for a bit, enjoying the soft and wet texture on your tongue, moaning and moving your hips, looking for something to relieve the burn you felt between your legs.

You take more of him in, drooling on his length, slowly swallowing him. You do it carefully, but passionately, sucking hard and squeezing what you couldn't yet fit in your mouth with your hand.

His grunts and moans serving as fuel to you as you took him all the way, opening your throat to accommodate him and swallowing around his length, his fingers tightening their firm grip on your hair.

"Fuck, right there, wanna — grunt — be right there for a bit." He holds you in place, and you do your best to hold your gags back, but some pass and he groans when your throat convulses around him.

"So good, baby. So pretty all full of me like this." He says, and you manage to look up, finding his eyes hooded and filled with lust.

You moan around him and he lets you go, pulling out all the way back to his tip, taking a second to breath while you suck around it again, hard while you stroke him, turning your wrist as you go up and down, moaning at how his skin moves under your hand, at how soft his skin is, and how hard he is.

After a while you go back, swallowing him all the way and coming all the way to his tip, rolling your tongue around it and earning a groan from him. He holds you by your hair, keeping your head high as he starts thrusting inside your mouth. Slow and careful at first, but hard and rough once he finds less resistance.

Your hands go to his stomach and chest, to help you support yourself. You run them over his belly, indulging in how big and strong he is, in how you can feel his muscles flex to fuck your mouth.

"You don't let anyone else do this to you, you hear me? This mouth is mine, only I can be inside it, only I can have fun with it."

You moan in agreement. You don't want anyone else, you don't think anyone else will even look appealing to you anymore. He's burned himself as your favorite even before he looked at you, as soon as he walked out of that car, as soon as you landed eyes on him.

"Don't let any boys do this to you after you leave, baby. Would hate to know you had someone do this to you besides me. Only I can fucking use your pretty face like this."

You moan again, felling your arousal leak from your pussy. He stops and you sit back on the floor, recovering your breath for a second. He leans forward, fixing your sweaty hair and kissing your forehead, stroking himself once again.

You open your legs, and he looks at it. "Fuck, so fucking wet, baby." He says, panting.

"All ready for you." You say, tangling your words with a moan.

"All fucking ready for me, bet you feel so good. Would squeeze me so fucking nice, baby, would get fucking lost inside you, wouldn't wanna leave anymore."

You giggle, "Would be so happy being all full with you all the time." He smirks.

"Get back here, baby, this mouth making me happy enough for now." You do so, getting up with your mouth already open and your tongue already out, like you're starving and he's the best looking meal you've ever seen. When you're at his reach his hand comes back to your hair, guiding you to his dick.

You take him all the way, deep, hard and fast, properly fucking him with your mouth. His grip on your hair both forces you down on him and helps you stay steady while you focused only on making him cum.

"You're just trying to help your people, huh?" he laughs when you pull away, catching your breath. "Anything for them, yeah. Only thing on my mind right now." you respond his laugh.

"Oh, I know of better things for you to keep in your mind, pretty." he says in a sigh when you roll your tongue around his tip again.

You keep going, hard and deep, and soon enough — too soon, almost. You could keep going all day long — you feel him start to twitch inside your mouth, his chest losing its rhythm and his grunts getting louder.

You wrap your lips around his tip and suck him nice and hard, pumping him deep and fast with both your hands, twisting your wrists to increase the friction for him and looking into his eyes.

"Fuck — shit. Gonna, fucking — grunts —cum, baby. You're gonna take it for me? Huh?" He asks, and you smile, nodding and furrowing your brows when you taste him flooding your mouth. His hand pulling on your hair as he grunts and groans loudly, his hips instinctively thrusting into your mouth.

You keep sucking him for a while, your mouth full of his spend when he pulls your hair. "That's it, baby, thank you. Too fucking good for me." He says and you pull away, swallowing his cum and sitting back to breath a little. His hand once again comes to your hair and pushes it back, away from your sweaty forehead.

You get up and grab your plate, putting it on the fridge. "You're not gonna finish your food, baby?" He asks, finishing his pants, watching you pick up your dress.

"Already full, thank you." You say as you go upstairs, naked, making sure to sway your hips for him.

Now this should be more fun than just playing housewife.

✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥

✨🔥 Coming up: You understand why his people respect fear him so much, but it's a good thing if it's used to protect you. Right?

✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥✨🔥

Hope you liked it, stay tuned for the next part 💝

Part two

#joel miller x reader #smut #fanfic #ghostfanwriter #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal's characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #raider!joel miller #dark!joel

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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

Text

all I did was what I had to - part one

all I did was what I had to miniseries

part one: all I did was what I had to

series masterlist | part one | part two | part three

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: A newcomer to Joel's group of raiders makes a pass at you. Joel reinforces his dominance.

Warnings: DARK. dead dove do not eat. raider!Joel is not a good man, dark!Joel Miller, mention of past assault (not by Joel), dub-con due to power imbalance and implied captivity, reader can have a little stockholm syndrome as a treat. watersports, piss drinking, canon-typical violence, gore, piv intercourse, unsafe sex, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), bit of both game and show joel, sorta d/s dynamics I guess, not RACK compliant

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 4 - Overstimulation / Human Urinal, inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst and this gifset from @a7estrellas. I did not come up with raider/hunter!Joel or dark!Joel and many great writers have built in this sandbox before me.

also on ao3

You’d like to say that six months ago, when the group of raiders “took you in,” you would have fought tooth and nail to avoid this situation. You wished you could say you ever really fought back at all.

But after Joel Miller had found you in a supply room during a raid, sobbing and struggling under a FEDRA officer, you had never even so much as told him no. Not after he pulled the man—your husband, who had been starving and abusing you since your wedding night three weeks ago—off your aching body and pummeled his face into the ground. When all that was left was pulp, he had helped you to your feet with bloodied hands.

“You okay?” he said. His furrowed brow and cold eyes told you he was dangerous more than the corpse on the ground, as his concern was for you alone, entirely barren of remorse or disgust.

You nodded, but the tremor of your hands betrayed you. He shucked off his jacket and helped you into it, numb as you were, and zipped it up. It was long enough to give you the illusion of modesty since your clothes were nowhere to be found.

He had led you down the stairs and outside, crowding you into the passenger seat of a dented, rusty pickup.

“Wait here,” he said, shutting the door.

And you had.

Now, you were knelt between Joel’s heavy boots in the living room of the main safe house. He was sprawled on the main sofa, beer in one hand and the other on the back of your head. The others were milling about, drinking shitty moonshine, and enjoying the spoils of today’s raid.

You had an old, soft flannel on and Joel’s thick cock in your throat. He was holding you there, motionless, while your eyes stung and watered. Every so often, he’d guide you to bob up and down or shove your face down to lick his balls. He was dragging it out, savoring it in a rare display of luxury.

Their haul today meant easy living for a couple months after striking an unfortunate band of Fireflies. After the slaughter, they had returned with crates and cases of supplies. You, however, had spent the last two days locked in your room upstairs.

The upper floor of the house was Joel’s. The door at the foot of the stairs locked from both directions, the sole key to which never left the chain around his neck. Your little room had a mattress and a door to a Jack and Jill bathroom. Joel’s room, where you actually spent most of your time, was on the other side. But it had been locked, and you had been left with plenty of food and water but absolutely nothing to do.

So when Joel came home in a better mood than you’d ever seen him, you jumped at the opportunity to go downstairs. He didn’t like you down there most of the time, didn’t like anyone seeing you but him, unless he was putting on a show of dominance.

Like now. Your quiet obedience on full display, a reminder that even in a time of prosperity, Joel Miller was still the king.

He took the last swig of his beer and handled the bottle off to a lackey (you didn't see them enough to tell them apart, or care enough to learn their names). He let go of your hair and gave your cheek two sharp pats, smirking when you scrambled to please him. Your hands had been clasped behind your back where they belonged, but he was ready to cum, so you wrapped one around the base of his cock and massaged his balls with the other, using your throat as roughly as he would.

This was second nature, now. The only days you went without his cock in your mouth were the days he was away on raids. When you had woken that morning without the ache in your jaw and throat, you had been sad. (Whatever that said about your life now wasn’t something you wanted to think about too hard.)

Saliva coated your fingers where they grasped the very root of him, smearing on your face as you buried him as deep within you as possible. Tears scorched your cheeks as you gagged and struggled to remember to breathe through your nose.

He snapped his fingers in your face, drawing not just your eyes to his but capturing the attention of everyone else in the room. He held your gaze and your head in place as hot ropes of cum shot down your throat.

Drained, he let you up, a lazy grin spreading as you coughed and sobbed for a moment.

“Shit,” said one of the newer recruits, too young and stupid to survive for long. “I call next.”

The tension in the room was immediate. One of Joel’s smarter lackeys stepped away from the splatter zone. He was, after all, sporting a new denim jacket from the haul.

Joel held your eyes for a moment before slowly looking up at the offender. He rose, forcing you to scramble back a few inches to make room. His flaccid cock was eye level with you now, but you didn’t dare look away from his face. The satisfied grin had sharpened, his dark eyes clear and dangerous.

“Yeah? You want her to suck you off?” Joel drawled.

How this man had lived to his mid-twenties astounded you. He was making eye contact with a predator with apparently zero awareness of the danger.

“Fuck yeah, man,” said the future corpse.

Joel dragged his eyes back down to you. “Open up, sweetheart.”

The other man made to move toward you, but Joel raised one finger and waited while you opened your mouth, tongue out. Your heart was racing. You didn’t believe he would actually let someone else touch you, but there was still a sharp jolt of fear.

Joel took himself in hand, lifting your chin up with the other. He cocked an eyebrow at you—not seeking permission, but granting a warning. You realized what he was about to do right before it happened, tensing every muscle to fight the instinct to snap your mouth shut.

It wasn’t the first time Joel had pissed in your mouth, but that didn’t make the acrid stream any more pleasant. It burned your raw throat on the way down. He didn’t look away from you, thumb stroking your jaw gently. When he finished, he held his cock out for you to lick the tip clean. You pressed a soft kiss, offering forgiveness he didn’t require, and sat back on your heels.

He looked up at the other man, waving a loose arm in your direction. “Ya still want her?”

“You’re fucked up,” the newcomer said, shaking his head. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

Joel laughed and pulled your head to his thigh, one ear pressed against it and his large palm over the other. You squeezed your eyes shut just in time as he drew his pistol and shot the man in the crotch in one fluid moment. The bang still jolted you, and you pressed your face harder into Joel’s rough jeans.

He took his hand off your ear to stroke your cheek. “Get him out of here,” he barked at one of the others, who immediately dragged the screaming, writhing man out of the house.

Joel squatted down, hands on your shoulders. “You okay?” He inspected you, brushing his hands over “your” shirt to make sure none of the viscera had reached you.

You nodded, though you were shaking a little and forcing slow, wavering breaths in and out.

“That’s my girl,” he said, brushing a thumb over your swollen lips. He stood up and helped you up, leading you upstairs without another glance at his men.

Your hand grasped tight in his rough, calloused palm, and he led you to his room, where you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast.

He toed off his boots and slid his belt out of the loops of his jeans. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll wash the taste outta your mouth.”

You looked up to watch him shuck off his gray t-shirt, captivated by the way it peeled off his biceps and fluttered to the floor. It was followed quickly by his jeans and boxers. His cock sprung free, hard again already after the thrilling turn of events.

You made to slide to your knees, but he clicked his tongue at you. “C’mon, I ain’t that mean. Lay back, sweetheart. You did so good out there for me.”

You obeyed, ass perched on the edge, knees bent and legs spread wide, braced against the footboard. He stepped between your legs, running a hand over your stomach.

“Look at you, princess, you’re soaked.” The crooked smirk returned as he lightly dragged a finger through your wet folds. “You liked that?”

A wretched flush overtook you from your face to your chest, ears burning. You looked away, but the sharp tsk brought your eyes back to him.

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice pitched low and dark, the drawl always thicker when he was stalking prey. “It’s a good thing, baby. Tell me why you’re dripping.”

“Felt safe,” you murmured, blushing harder. “I like bein’ yours.”

He grinned and pushed his thumb down on your clit, watching as you gasped and jerked.

“Good girl,” he said and sank to his knees.

He chuckled, watching your eyes grow wide. He didn’t want to spoil you, so this was a rare treat. He spread you with two fingers, licking a wide stripe from your cunt to your clit. Your hips jerked, and he lay an arm over them, pinning you down as you sobbed a long moan.

A rare treat, but a divine one. He ate you out like you were the first oasis in the desert. Licking and sucking, plunging three fingers deep into your pussy until you fell apart on his tongue. And he didn’t stop, teeth nipping at your clit until the aftershocks of your orgasm crested smoothly into another. And another. You were sobbing full out, thrashing to pull away from the suffocating pain and pleasure, but he held you in place until the sixth orgasm left you sprawled, loose-limbed, eyes dazed.

“That’s it, baby,” he crooned, standing up and raising your knees to your chest. You hadn’t the strength to move where he wanted, but he was more than happy to manhandle your pliant, soft body.

Your eyes fluttered open when he notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance, only to roll back and shut again when he pushed into the hilt in one smooth stroke. You were slick, and he had stretched you with his fingers (another luxury you weren’t always awarded), but the sheer size of him never failed to take your breath away.

There was no slow, gentle sex with Joel. Only the rough, demanding pace he set immediately, hands bruising your already mottled hips. It didn’t take long, him having already spent once that day and your body in no condition to handle a long session. When he began to flood your cunt with his warmth, he reached down and pinched your clit, twisting cruelly. Your scream was loud but broken, rough with overuse, as he ripped another orgasm from you.

He slipped out and crawled onto the mattress, gently moving you up to rest against the pillows with him. “Open,” he said, tapping at your jaw.

You let your mouth fall open, not a spare thought in your brain, as he made good on the promise to wash the taste of his piss out. Reaching between your legs, he scooped up a glob of your mixed juices, bringing them to your tongue. You automatically closed your lips around him, sucking and licking. He repeated the motion twice more until he was satisfied, then pulled you in for a deep kiss, chasing the taste of both your pleasures.

It wasn’t until after he lulled you to sleep, brushing the sweat from your brow, that he pulled his clothes back on and crept out of the room.

Outside, his men had tied the injured sonofabitch around the wrists and slung the rope over a solid branch, his feet just barely dragging on the mud below.

He jolted alert as Joel approached and began sobbing in fear. Joel spit at his feet.

“Shame you didn’t bleed out already,” Joel said, drawing his finger along the blade of his favorite knife. The blood pooled on Joel’s fingertip, dripping down to his wrist.

The other man watched, eyes wide with terror, and began screaming around the rag in his mouth.

“I mean, a shame for you,” Joel said, with a shrug and a quirk of his lips. “I’m gonna have a real good time, though.”

*title from "There's No 'I' in Team" by Taking Back Sunday.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #the last of us fic #raider!joel #dark!joel miller #dead dove do not eat #kinktober 2023 #raider!joel miller #dark joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #corazondebeskar-reads and writes

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ozarkthedog · 4 months

Note

Hope you feel better soon! 💌 I keep thinking of trying and failing not to get on Raider!Joel’s nerves but you just keep pissing him off and watching the look in his eyes get a little darker and less held back by the second like my god do I want him to tell me off 🥵 and I mean…the punishment fuck would be god tier!

my goodness, yes! the punishment would be severe once he hit his limit. i'm working on adding this bit to a fic atm but i'll give you a sneak peak!

18+ mdni - dark! - raider!joel

He'd wrestle you to the floor and tie your hands in a messy knot in front of your chest. Watch you struggle for a bit before yanking your leggings and underwear off and circling rough rope around each of your ankles.

His boots scuff the wood floor as he grabs one length of rope and walks with it, stretching your leg to the side before tying a knot to a link bolted into the floor.

"You brought this on yourself. Just remember that." he states as you stare up at him with watery eyes.

He yanks the other rope and walks a few feet to another link, pulling the tendons in your hips and thighs until your limbs are spread eagle, and seals your fate by knotting the rope to the floor.

“This’ll help stick in that dumb head of yours not to test me again.”

You've never felt more exposed as he stands over you. He leers down at your cunt, making you feel the smallest you've ever felt since he took you. A wad of spit lands squarely on your bush, making you jolt and tug against your binds.

"Squirm all you want," he says, crouching down and rubbing his spit into your skin. He lands a brutal smack to your uncovered thigh. You shriek and wiggle despite the binds keeping you locked in place. "I’d be careful of splinters. They'll tear you right up."

He roughly tugs the hairs covering your mound. “Look at me.” He snarls, words dripping with hatred. You narrowly hold his freezing stare. “This cunt is mine. Say it.”

“This cunt is yours.” you croak, hands shaking against your chest.

“S’right,” he says before slapping a harsh hand against your folds. Your legs instinctively move too close, but the rope keeps them splayed for his assault. “And what I say goes.” He bellows over your anguished cries as he lands five severe swats to your core.

👀👀👀 who wants to ride shotgun with me to hell?

#raider!joel miller #dark!joel miller #joel miller #ozzie responds #asks are always open #pedro pascal

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toxicrecs · 1 month

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raiders: my historical fic recs, compiled

Here are some raider fics I've publicly reblogged or recommended over the past 11 months or so. All of these writers are lovely and have more works you should check out. I also have several raider fics of my own on @toxicanonymity. BLOG FAQ

Smack my Bitch Up by @milla-frenchy

Beastly by @ezrasversion

Stranger than a Stranger by @proxima-writes

Run Rabbit by @justagalwhowrites

The Wrong Way by @romana-after-dark

Guard Dog by @romana-after-dark

Bullet for You, Darlin' by @kewwrites

The World is Not Made for You by @corazondebeskar-reads

A Kindness you can't afford by @joelscruff

Valentine's day by @darkuselesssomebody

Devotion by @noxturnalpascal (main quality is cult leader)

You have been warned by @bonezone44

I've previously shared another rec list by @dins-riduur-anthe too. It does not have all of these or all of mine but is broader to include other dark characters.

These are my personal recs, not a comprehensive list of all raider AUs.

NOTES: I don't expect this to grow significantly. I don't read all dark fics, and my pedro reading in general has been declining. Linking to your own reblogs is best practice in case the original gets deleted. Please click through to the original posts for masterlists, which may have been updated. Some of these I've shared multiple times but have a poor tagging history.

#fic rec list #raiders #i've always supported other writers big and small #in writing raider AUs #dark!joel miller #raider!joel miller #📢

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divinehedons · 10 months

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in darkness and in secrecy

pairing: raider!joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~2.1k

summary: following your escape from the corrupt system of the qz, you run into the worst person possible in the guise of a lone raider.

warnings: this is a dark fic, minors DO NOT interact! non-consensual oral (f receiving) and vaginal fingering, knife play, bondage, reader gets a little cut up from the knife.

note: thank you for 300! please let me know what you think, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

“Good, you’re awake.” It’s the voice you hear when you feel yourself emerge from the murky depths of sweet, silent sleep. Just then, you knew that your sought-after escape was over, and you were back in the terrifying consciousness of your post-apocalyptic reality. You blink once, twice, attempt to stretch your arms, only to be stopped mid-air by the bindings wrapped around your torso, your arms, tethering you to the chair as you gasp.

You remember the late evening, panicking as you ran through the context of your pack before you slipped out of the QZ. Water, dried fruit, sleeping bag, flashlights, batteries. You look over your tiny room once more, examining for anything that would betray your escape when, inevitably, someone comes looking.

Everything was too chaotic, too dangerous. Even the people that were meant to maintain some sense of order made you more terrified than those who creep along the Earth, the lovechild of life and death producing an unspeakable hell. So you ran, creeping along sewers and diving out of sight at the first sign of trouble. Dawn finds you among decimated cities, feeling the wind pass through for the first time in years. In this silence, you could almost imagine the bustle of pre-apocalyptic life, so unaware, so annoying, and now in nothingness, so treasured.

You remember, too, the sound of the same voice that woke you now. “Well, well, well… who do we have here?”

You tried to run. Truly, you did. If you were meeting your maker now, you’d have the gall to say you fought to the very bitter end. Whatever bitter end was waiting for you. You repeat the same sentiment when your vision clears and you’re finally met with the bearded face of the smirking man holding your head up by the hair. He visibly smirks at the glint of fear in your eyes.

“I don’t know anything, sir, I just want to get away-”

“Sir? You’re just a sweet, well-mannered little thing, aren’t ya, doll?” He leans closer, and you feel him inhale your scent from the very crook of your neck, leaving you frozen and limp in his hold.

–

Normalcy now seemed such a strange word to Joel. Days of waking up to the noise of his fan on hot Texan days, Sarah and her shenanigans, laughter, so much laughter that made his jaw hurt. Those were the days of walking memory, ghosts shaken from the grave. Perhaps that was why he was so taken by you when he saw you that morning. You looked… lived in, domestic. At least, as domestic as was possible in your new modern age.

Funny, he thinks, they used to talk of the future with the hope of flying cars, time travel, endless space– and here you both were, survivors of an apocalyptic event where survival may as well mean a death sentence. Funny, too, that he takes one look at you and he's immediately reminded of those distant drunken nights with the alluring warmth of someone, nights with legs over his shoulders, squeals in his ear.

He initially thought it was the determination in your bones. It is only when he looks at you again now, in the low light of their rendezvous point with your arms bound and your lip trembling, that he realizes just what it was about you. It was your eyes. Superficially meek with the spark of danger beneath the layers. Angelic fuck eyes that would lure God to the very gates of damnation. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe the sight of a woman after so much depravity was enough of a threshold.

Why should one deny the sins of the flesh at the end of the world?

He tries not to repeat that sentiment as he moves closer to you, letting his tongue traverse your neck, your jaw, the back of your ear. He breathes you in again and he recognizes the soft, familiar scent of femininity that emanates from your very skin. He tries to chase it, almost taste it, chuckling as you tense beneath his hold.

There is the scent of milk– like baby’s skin, rare and treasured. It speaks of warmth, of your body being alive and struggling to live.

To survive, no matter how many skies have fallen.

He grasps for a pretense, a reason, something to assure himself that he was doing this for something— some benefit that was beyond his own. It comes to him when he remembers the ration cards tucked in your backpack.

"You're from one of those Quarantine Zones, weren't ya?"

—

"Come on, little birdie, tell me your secrets…"

He peers over you like a predator toying with his prey. You feel your knees quake as you struggle against your bindings. You shake your head profusely, begging for him to see reason, for his humanity to prevail. But when you look, you know no answer will satisfy him.

"No? Not even to tell me where they keep the goods?" You yelp, biting your lip gently. "Or… at least tell me how you escaped?" His hands grapple with the nearest blade, levelling it to your eyesight to show it to you; sharp and stained with someone else’s blood. It was a blade that has already claimed one life; streaked in dried rivulets, metallic smell unmistakeable.

The words escape you before you can stop it. Despite all things, despite the lies you have told yourself, despite the resolutions of blowing your brains out when morning comes. Even despite all that, something inside you still begs to stay alive.

“Are you going to kill me too?”

He laughs again, tilting his head to the side as he regards you in sweet, sweet silence. Like he enjoys the trepidation and sharp fear in your voice. “I was thinking about it, but now you’re making me think about somethin’ else, doll.” He lowers the blade, so carefully against your trembling skin. Slowly, he traces the razor sharp blade against your clavicle, your heart jumping into your throat as you tried to hold your breath. He drifts it slower, making you shiver, making you quake. “Pretty, pretty girl… you’re makin’ this so hard on yourself.” He slips his blade under the front of your jeans, shearing your pants wide open as you squeal from the burning sensation nicking your lower stomach. “That hurt, huh? Let me make it better, sugar…”

He tears your shorn pants off of your legs, taking more rope to tie each leg to the legs of the chairs. He kneels before you, prone like pagan worshippers in the face of their deity. He moves closer, and you clench your entire body with a shaky breath. Then he opens his mouth, tongue tracing along the cut and cleaning the bleed until all that is left is the stark red line of where he touched you. “Naughty, naughty girl…” He sinks lower keen eyes peering between your legs, his breath confirming your worst fear.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Perhaps it was the expectation of the violence rearing its monstrous head in our direction. Whatever it was… you have somehow gotten wet.

“Well, well, well… now you really can’t lie to me, sugar.”

For a moment, a brief, rare moment, silence falls throughout your body. It is solitude, it is rare. You wonder if it is acceptance. Your cries, even if your mouth uttered them, were sounds you could not hear. The older man’s chuckling and needling finally fade away, even for just a moment. You take a deep breath. You shut your eyes in an effort to forget those predatory eyes and beastly smirk. They say it goes quiet in the eye of the hurricane. You sometimes wonder if this was it– the moment of no return, where you, and just you, stood at the threshold of something you dared not to comprehend. Just then, the moment was over.

You are taken back to your wild cries, your begging, asking him to stop as his warm tongue traces the slit of your cunt through the worn-out cotton panties you had slipped on the night before. It is wet, sticky, naughty in nature. He devours your cunt through the cloth with a knowing chuckle when you oscillate between wanting to move away and seeking pleasure you never had a chance to understand.

“What is it, peach? Has no one ever tasted you like this?” He hums, moans obscenely, leaning up just enough to tear down your panties with a chuckle at the terror on your face. You shake your head, only to scream as he fucks his dry fingers directly into your unprepared cunt, coating himself in your fluids before taking you by your chin, making you suck your very own fluids while he laughs. “See? Look how much you’re soaking, absolutely creamin’ f’me.”

Did you really want this? Did you really ask for this?

“Good fuckin’ girl, didn’t even dare bite my fingers.” He pulls his hands away, drifting them down to your chest to grope you, one hand pinching and pulling until you screamed. “You ready to talk for me, princess?”

Little birdie starts singing.

"Someone cut through the fence before— I'm not the first one to leave!" You try and say more, only to cry out when those same rough fingers fucked up into your aching cunt. Despite your cries, all you can hear is the rolling of his tongue over his laughter, his face coming so close that his tongue was close enough to lick your cheek. “Please, I gave you everything you asked for!”

You feel him pause against your cheek, looking at you with a small smirk.

“Oh no. Not everything, sweet girl. I still want to see you cum.”

It’s funny how you spent so much time wondering when was the point of no return. You always thought you had a hand in deciding. Of course you were wrong. Perhaps the point of no return is called as such because you became mere purveyor, mere observer to what happens to your own body. Depersonalization made sense when you watch the older man lean down, tearing off what was left of your underwear, revelling in the distant sounds of your sobbing and begging, falling to his own knees to devour you so completely, so desperately that it brings you right back, dragging you to the forefront of your very own consciousness without the option to fade away and disappear. He takes, and he takes you with him in the sudden gush of pleasure from his lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers fucking your walls wide open without waiting for you to adjust to him.

It happens too fast. He fucks you and still he remains insatiable. He cares not if his beard hurts you. Cares not if you scream and cry for every infected to hear around. He damns himself, his own life, his own safety, just to taste the orgasm of a woman, whether she wanted it or not. He literally sucks your pleasure from you, letting you bleed ichor as you moan and cry and scream and beg, taken through waves upon waves of unbelievable, incomprehensible pleasure. You swore your vision turned to white right then and there, battered and broken upon your skin as you whine.

You felt almost guilty, rejecting such pleasure as if it was so readily available for the rest of the world. As if everyone felt such pleasure so easily. As if there was little to no suffering in the world.

He watches you orgasm, struggling against your bindings, falling limp against the chair as he grins up at you, beard soaked and cheeks red from how breathless he had gotten. You try not to look at him as your eyes well with tears of shame. “Should just keep you here, doll. You enjoyed that too much, no?” You try to disagree, squirming as he pulls you by your hair and presses your mouth over his clothed hardness, a stark reminder that he wasn’t at all finished with you.

Strange, you think, that when you think of when everything changed, you would always think of this. Just this. In darkness and in secrecy, Joel returns to you from the strange workings he does.

Strange, you think. Because you left one prison just to be taken right into another.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #raider!joel smut

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

Note

Pre-tlou Joel being part of a raiding group, coming across reader, and Joel claiming her for himself. Possessive non con 🥵

Raider (Original)

800 words, dark!Joel Miller x f!Reader

RAIDER MASTER LIST | joel master

WARNINGS - NSFW I8+ Noncon (via implicit threat) unsafe PIV, pet names and praise, oral m, dark, posessive. Joel can pick reader up. Obviously do not condone these things irl.

"Drop her," he booms at the men who are dragging you kicking and screaming as they bicker about who goes first. "Now."

"Relax Miller, there's plenty to go around," one of the guys says and beckons him to join. "Ain't that right, sweetie?" The man adds, lifting your chin with the butt of his rifle.

Miller raises his gun. "I said drop her." They don't. Miller fires a warning shot and they finally do. "Tired of you rookies," Miller says. "Show some respect."

"Yes sir." The men compose themselves and disperse.

Relief washes over you. He's saving you. You're going to get out of this unscathed. You stand up and begin to hobble away, sore from being smacked around.

Miller trains his gun on you. "Don't you fuckin' dare."

You raise your hands in surrender.

"Good girl, now c'mere."

You hesitantly approach him and he throws you over his shoulder. He carries you back inside, into a bedroom, and throws you down on an old mattress. Another man approaches and stands in the doorway. He tells Miller "Oooh, nice find." The man starts unbuckling his own belt.

"Did I say I was sharin'? Go do your goddamn job." He aims his gun at the man. The man gulps, buckles his belt, and scurries away. Joel closes the door behind him and locks it.

"Alright now, sweet pea." Miller unbuckles his belt. The blood drains from your face.

"Be a good girl and this'll be over quick, okay?"

You nod. At least there's only one of him.

He palms himself over his tactical pants then takes out his raging erection. It's imposing. You're afraid.

His boots thud as he approaches the mattress. He looms over you. "Now, you're gonna suck this cock and you're gonna like it, understand?" He strokes himself and his brow furrows as he looks at you.

You nod.

"Cause you don't want me passin' you to those guys, trust me."

You nod as tears prickle your eyes. You get up on your knees and take him into your mouth - not all of him, it's impossible, but you try. He puts his hands on the back of your head and fucks your face.

This can’t be over soon enough, but you also can’t deny a feeling growing between your legs. Having his cock in your mouth makes you tingle. It’s so hard, and his precum tastes nice and salty.

“Look at me,” he demands. You don’t want to look him in the eye, so you focus on his messy brown hair. It’s nice.

“Doin' great, sweet pea. Now do me a favor and pull down your pants.”

You take him out of your mouth and wipe the slobber off your lips. He half-smiles with a twinkle in his eye and strokes himself as you pull down your pants.

“Where do you want it, sweet pea?” He squats down and fingers you. Your cheeks burn when he smiles at your wetness. “This one?” he asks and enters you with two fingers.

You nod. It’s preferable to the alternative.

“Alright, you want it like this or you wanna turn around?”

You still don’t want to look him in the eye, so you turn around on all fours. He yanks your pants off to make room for himself between your legs.

“Good girl,” he says. He kneels behind you, then you feel the smooth head of his cock at your entrance. He plunges into you about half way with a grunt, pulls back a little, then plunges forward again, bottoming out with a throaty sigh. Your eyes well up in tears, but your body welcomes the intrusion.

“Damn, you’re tight,” he says as he fucks you, hands on your hips, pulling you back with each thrust. “Good thing I kept ya all for myself. They would’ve ruined this pretty little hole.” The tip of his cock pushes a special button inside you with each thrust, and you begin to unravel.

He’s quiet for a minute, save for his grunts. His grunts turn into moans, then you feel him twitch inside you.

He pulses violently, his large hands jerking you back into him as he pumps you full of hot cum. His pulsations send you and you groan as your own climax is pulled from your depths, contracting on his cock.

“Well damn,” he says when you’re both finished. “It’s a good day for both of us.”

He pulls out and you collapse onto the mattress. He comes around and looks you in the face and you look up at him with watery eyes. He cups your cheek affectionately and reassures you he’ll guard the room for you until everyone’s loading up to leave.

6 month note: Thank you so much for reading! I know this is old by now, but I still really appreciate your reblogs and comments. 🥹🖤 when I start to recognize raider superfans I try to follow.

You can follow @toxicfics and subscribe to notifications.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #dark!joel #dark!joel miller #possessive!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#pedro pascal fic #creepy!joel #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #OG!raider☠️#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tw noncon #raider joel #raider joel miller

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Text

finished the drafts for both versions of the raider!Joel fics today woot woot!!

love how I was like ‘should I do a noncon fic or a rescue fic’ but then ppl wanted both and I said fuck it ur getting both. b/c one thing about me is that i love making ppl smile and also i couldn’t decide either so LOL

I’ll prolly post the noncon one first so stay tuned for that, it’ll be sometime this week or next (& if ur not into that—which is 100% okay and awesome and I totally totally get it—READ THE WARNINGS and skip the noncon version & let me know so I can tag you in the rescue-me-daddy version lmao)

also, both start off the same since they came from the same fic idea, but only the first like… 400 words.

anyhowm goodnight I love u all so much<3 so so so much<<<<333 thx to the 300 ppl who voted in my poll you guys FLOOR me.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #raider!joel miller #the last of us #tlou

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nehi-soda · 3 months

Text

Mean- Part 1 Teaser

Here's a snippet of something I've been working on and obsessing over. The main story is a dark!joel x f!reader, post-apocalypse au, dead dove fic, so I understand if it's not for everyone. Coming soon!

You were still in a daze as you clung to his jacket sleeves, the fabric rough against your trembling fingers. Deep and soothing, his voice resonated through the haze of confusion, a lifeline in the darkness that threatened to engulf you. He was so warm and strong you wanted to bury your face into his chest. “Th-thank you.” You managed to draw some sort of noise out of your vocal cords. “You were in a spot of trouble there, huh?” He spoke, a smile ghosting his full lips. "Uh… yeah," you replied, a meek smile tugging at the corners of your own. “You could say that.” You weren't really sure why you were smiling at all. Joel's hand moved to the side pocket of his worn jacket, retrieving a small metal flask. With practised ease, he unscrewed the cap. "Here, take some water," he said, his voice a gentle murmur. Grateful for the gesture, you accepted the flask, the cool metal chilling your fingertips as you brought it to your lips. The water was crisp and refreshing, quenching the thirst that parched your throat after your ordeal. But as the liquid trickled down your throat, a strange sensation began to take hold—a heaviness that settled deep within your bones, dragging you down into the depths of oblivion. Your eyes fluttered shut, and the last thing you felt were strong arms scooping you up.

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joelsgreys · 3 months

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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🤍

#tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #tw noncon #raider joel #raider! joel #dark!fic #dark! joel miller #dark joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #tw daddy kink #dark!joel x reader #fic: captive

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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

Text

the devil you don't know (or however it goes)

hunter/raider!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: When Joel's men bring back the (adult) daughter of a rival group of hunters, he sees an opportunity.

Warnings: DARK, dub-con, Joel Miller is not a nice man, suspension bondage, abduction, captivity, themes of torture, mentions of past sexual abuse (not Joel), starvation, dehydration, a smidge of knifeplay, a pinch of bloodplay, seriously dead dove do not eat, ambiguous ending, reader has suicidal ideations because of anxiety and threat of imminent death, I mean it guys, this is somehow less depraved than the last raider!Joel but way darker, author makes up stuff about how garage doors work because google failed her but she's probably on a watchlist now so, canon-typical violence, gags, overnight bondage in an unsafe environment, reader's age isn't specified but she was an adult when the outbreak started

Prompts from this list by @absurdthirst.

also on ao3.

Back in the before, in all the movies and books, when the damsel in distress or dashing hero was captured, they woke up clueless. Thinking they were home before it all settled in. They’d write off the pain as a hangover or a friend’s shitty couch.

That’s not how it happened for you.

When your consciousness first blinked back into the world, you were already having a panic attack. Your brain had registered the clues long before you were involved in the process.

Your cheeks are already streaked with tears before you can open your eyes. Your throat is dry and aching, and you can’t breathe.

Of course, you don’t realize it’s a panic attack at first. You just assume you’re dying. Here in this damp, cold… garage?

Recognition snaps you out of it. You’re still gasping, ragged, like you’re full of broken glass, but you’re alert enough to look around.

You’re alone. Small mercies. Or maybe not, given the way you’re tied up. Coarse rope forces your arms behind your back, wrapped from wrist to elbow. Your shoulders ache from being yanked backward, but the length has some slack, at least, between you and the bracket on the thick steel wall.

No. Not a wall. A door. You’re tethered to a huge door, inflexible accordion-style metal punctuated with heavy-duty brackets. No windows, no rotting wood. Impenetrable.

The door isn’t closed all the way, but it’s locked into place. Even if you got your hands free, it would take time and strength to remove the locks and open it enough to slip out.

The air coming through the bottom is chilly but fresh.

It helps. Focusing on the cold shushes the other alarms in your body. Enough to realize it's not just your arms that are tied.

There are loops of rope around your thighs, tethered to the same point as your hands, and loops around your ankles, which are attached to the side walls nearby. Both grant you enough slack to move a little but hold your legs wide enough to prevent standing.

Not that it matters, you think, as a door on the other side of the room swings open.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” croons a man as he steps through the frame, the soft twang plucking at your heartstrings.

No. No. “Miller.”

“I was surprised to see you, too. M’boys said they found one of your daddy’s people in our territory. Imagine my face when they dragged you in.”

“So let me go. You know he’ll come looking.”

“Will he? Lotta blood out there.”

“Not mine.”

“Oh, I know. I saw the way you carved up one of my guys. You got him good.” He almost sounds pleased. “But daddy doesn’t know that, does he?”

“He’ll still look for me.”

“You think he’s going to break our pact for you? He’s gonna risk facing me over a runaway?” He pauses. “Were you runnin’ to me?”

“No,” you snarl.

“But you are runnin', ain’tcha?”

“No,” you lie. “I just got lost. He’s waiting for me for dinner.” Part of that, at least, is true. You would have never intentionally crossed into Joel Miller’s land.

“Alright, I get it. Better the devil ya know, right?” he grins.

You glared over his shoulder, refusing to look at his stupid, smug face. That was why you had stayed these last few years. When supplies ran lower and lower and your father found other ways to keep his men loyal.

At the end of the day, you had food, water, and shelter.

As you look anywhere but Joel, you see what fills the industrial metal shelving along the walls. There are stacks of boxes of bullets. Pallets worth of bottled water and canned goods. Cases of dried pasta. A couple dirty mattresses are leaning against the back wall. Your stomach sinks.

He sees you taking in the stock. “Sorry, would have kept ya in the other one, where we usually have our… guests, but see, it’s a little messy right now.” He pulls a Dasani out of a case and brings it over, pressing it to your lips after pocketing the lid.

You rear your head back.

“What, you think it’s drugged or somethin’?” Joel takes a big swig out of the bottle, a drop rolling down his chin. He swipes it away with the folded cuff of his denim button-up. “Why would we waste any of the good stuff on you?”

He offers it back up to you, and you let him pour it in your mouth. When he takes it away, you spit it at him.

He sighs. “Wish you hadn’t done that,” he says and tips the bottle over your head. “But if that’s the way you’re gonna be, I’ll go.”

But he doesn’t leave. Not yet. First, he presses and holds the button on the wall and watches as the pulley cranks to life.

The machinery grates, gears crying for oil, and you flinch from the noise. You don’t realize what’s about to happen until it does. The ropes holding you aren’t that long, and as the garage door slides up, it lifts you with it.

You scream. “Stop, please, put me down.”

Joel shakes his head, disappointment exaggerated in his scowl. “Shoulda been good. Now ya know.”

He releases the button when the door is open. You’re hanging, now, with your arms pulled to their limit behind you. Your shoulders already burn. The loops around your thighs and ankles keep you balanced at the expense of spreading you wide. You jerk, trying to… what? Trying to get out? You know that wasn’t happening, not like this. All you were going to do was dislocate your shoulders.

The late summer breeze blows in, and you shiver. Your hair and shirt are soaked.

“Don’t worry,” Joel jerks his head to the dark house across the street. “Ain’t got neighbors.”

He goes to leave, and you can’t help it. “Don’t, please!”

He stops and turns around, head to the side like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out. “You gonna shut up, or do I gotta take care of that?”

Blood drains from your face.

He comes over to you and pulls a filthy bandana from his pocket. He rolls it up and ducks behind you. You try to lock your jaw, but he digs his fingers into the hinges until you open a little. He presses the bandana into your mouth, yanking back on it, and tying it tight behind your head.

“Night,” he tips his head, flourishing a hand like a fucking cowboy in a Stetson, and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You don’t sleep, waiting for hungry dogs or Joel’s men to find you trussed up.

When he comes back in the morning, you’re a wreck. You survived the fucking apocalypse, but none of it could have prepared you for this. You’re blinking in and out of consciousness.

There’s nothing but the pain. You’re sure you would have cried or thrown up, but you’re so dehydrated now that you can’t even spare a tear. It’s not lost on you that you got into this situation by wasting water.

“Chilly in here,” he says by way of greeting, tugging the bandana off you.

You keep your eyes closed. Imagining his smug smirk is bad enough, you don’t need to see him see you like this.

“You shoulda worn a jacket, sweetheart.”

“Did,” you croak, and wish you hadn’t fallen for his bait.

“Ah, someone took it from ya? Must have been a nice one.”

It was. It was patched up and ugly, but so was everything in this world. And it was warm. Heavy denim with quilted down lining. The last thing you’d ever take from your father, you thought.

He walks around you. You’d stiffen if you could, but you’ve long been stuck, muscles given out.

“Alright, let’s get ya down.”

At least the dehydration saves you from the whimper you almost let out. But it’s silent, and if Joel notices anything, he doesn’t react.

He walks back over to the door and presses the button. “S’gonna hurt like a bitch,” he warns before the door jerks backward, click click clicking as it lowers. It’s slow, but when your legs touch the ground, you may as well have plummeted.

You scream, wrenching it from your haggard throat, hands balled into fists behind your back. When you’re fully on the ground, you collapse against the door, only sparing a wince when your head bounces against the jutting metal seam between panels.

“Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.” He crouches down in front of you, same ratty denim shirt and jeans, same scuffed up boots. “You ready to behave?”

You nod, barely moving, but he gets the message.

“Y’look thirsty.”

You crack your eyes open to peek at him but can’t. They roll back into your head, lids fluttering.

You’re vaguely aware that he leaves and comes back but have no idea how much time passes. He crouches back down in front of you, and you hear the crinkle of a decade-old plastic bottle.

“If I give you this, are you going to spit it at me again?”

“No,” you whisper.

“You gonna ask nicely?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, but your brain is mostly static, so you give up without much of a fuss. “Please.”

He hums his approval and brings the bottle to your lips. He only lets you take tiny sips, infinitesimal in the arid expanse of your mouth. He pulls it away far too soon, and a soft sob leaks from you in its absence.

“You can have more later. Don’t need you gettin’ sick all over my garage.”

He leaves.

When he comes back late into the evening, you’re asleep, but you startle awake when he turns the light on.

Your wide eyes follow him as he moves about the garage. When he finally approaches you, it’s to offer more water. You accept it immediately, opening your mouth for the bottle before it even reaches you.

“Learned your lesson, huh? Good girl.”

It’s accompanied by a sneer, but that doesn’t stop the way your pussy clenches for a minute. Given that you’re still fully clothed, he remains blessedly unaware.

“Can you just, like, shoot me now or whatever,” you mumble. You know you’re not leaving that garage. You’ve seen where he keeps the top supplies. You know which house this is—or at least, the numbers on the house across the street.

“Nah,” Joel says as if you’re discussing what to eat for dinner. He sits down in front of you, knees bent up, leaning on them with the arm holding the water bottle. “You’re gonna help me first.”

“Why would I help you if you’re going to kill me?”

“Because I’ll make it quick for ya.”

You think you might throw up the water.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he gestures at you with his loose hand, now grasping a closed switchblade. “You know how this goes. Seen your pops do it plenty, right?”

You nod.

“I don’t think you’re gonna make me, though,” Joel muses, and scratches his chin with the outside of the blade.

“I was running,” you blurt. “If I tell you everything, I swear, he’ll never know, I just want to—”

“‘Fraid not,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothin’ personal, sweetheart, just can’t trust ya.”

The way you’re staring at him with your pretty eyes, glistening with fear, makes him scowl harder. He flicks the blade open and watches as a tear escapes before you close your eyes.

“Promise?” you whisper.

“Promise what?”

“Promise you’ll make it quick, if I tell you everything.” You’re shaking, and realize you’re probably about to have another panic attack as your breathing grows shallow.

“Yeah, I promise,” he says. He stands up and watches you, the way you’re clenching your hands into fists and trying to breathe out of your mouth.

“Jesus. It’s not gonna happen right now, calm down.”

Before he leaves, he gives you more water.

You’re awake when he comes back the next morning. He sits in front of you, legs crossed, and sets a cloth full of dried meat between you, and another bottle of water.

He picks up a thick strip. It doesn’t look like the shit they used to sell at grocery stores. It looks like they’ve salted and dried their own fucking jerky.

You stare as he rips off a piece and eats it.

“What? Y’ain’t got pigs?”

You shake your head.

“Jesus,” he sighs. “Is there even anything to take, or am I wasting my fucking time?”

“Lots of guns,” you shrug. “Some food. Not like you’ve got.”

Guns were more than enough of a reason, and you both knew it. He ripped another piece off and held it to your lips.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” he says while you chew. “I’m going to ask you a question. If I believe your answer, you can have somethin' to eat or drink. If I don’t believe you, that’s when things get tricky.” He opens the switchblade and sets it next to the water.

It takes hours, but true to your word, you tell him everything. The layout of the old campground your father took command over. Patrol schedules. Planned raids. Locations of guns, food, medicine, everything.

By the end of it, you’d had two sticks of the jerky and the whole bottle of water. You look more alive than you have in days, given that you’d been thoroughly lost for two before stumbling across his men on patrol.

“Why’d you feed me?” you ask when he stands to leave. “Aren’t you about to kill me?”

“No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Gotta see if your information is good. Probably won’t even make a move for a week or so.”

You tense. “You promised. You promised you’d make it quick.”

“I promised I’d make it quick when I kill ya. If you told me everything. Can’t prove you did until it’s done.”

He doesn’t know what he expected you to do, but screaming was not it. It’s a wounded, rageful thing. He hates it. He stomps back over and covers your mouth, blade in hand. It presses against your cheek, and you hiss.

He pulls his hand away and watches the blood drip down your cheek. You don’t scream again, but there’s something in your eyes when you stare him down.

“Coward,” you whisper.

His hand wraps around your throat, pushing you against the garage door. He doesn’t remember kneeling down close to you, but that’s where he finds himself as he squeezes, bringing the knife up above his hand.

You aren’t struggling, yet, His grip isn’t that tight. Some air still leaks, and you laugh. “C’mon,” you taunt.

He lets go. You slump down a little, chest heaving. There’s blood dripping down from the small nick in your neck to your cleavage.

You watch him watch it. “Can you at least clean that up if you’re going to leave me here?”

He doesn’t know what possesses him. It has to be the unhinged look in your eyes, spreading to him like poison. He grabs your jaw in the hand with the blade and pushes your head to the side so he can lean down and lick the blood off your breast. You moan.

He spits it to the side, and turns your head back to look at him. Your lips are parted, pupils blown. “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls, leaning back, putting distance between him and your tits.

“C’mon,” you repeat, but this time, it’s heady.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” But he doesn’t wait for you to answer. He grabs your jaw again and kisses you. It’s not kind or soft. It’s all teeth and snarls and the knife against your cheek. But you kiss him back, because it pleases the ravaging wildfire of rage that lives in your chest. Fuels it.

He pulls back. “Shit," he mutters.

“You gonna fuck me or what?”

He lets go. Stands up. You think maybe he’s going to get his cock out, but he stalks over to the door. “Or what.”

He slams the door so he doesn’t have to hear you howl in fury after him, spitting insults.

He doesn’t come back the next day.

By the second morning, you’re starting to panic. You’re so thirsty. The last bottle had a few dregs in it, just a sip, but it's just out of reach. The only light you have is when it creeps in from the little gap between the garage door and the uneven concrete.

When he comes that evening, he’s ditched the denim. He’s got tight dark pants and a gray t-shirt on. You don’t look at him directly as he gives you water and more of the salty jerky.

He crouches down in front of you again. You’re getting tired of it. Of his stupid pretty face and this stupid garage. Your arms are numb, and the pounding in your head hasn’t gone away since the first day. You don’t even know how long you’ve been here anymore.

“Why’d you ask me to fuck you?" It’s less of a question than a statement, but you know he expects an answer.

“Dunno. Thought maybe you would.”

“I’m going to kill you. Your pussy ain’t going to change that.”

“Didn’t expect it to.”

“What, you a virgin or something? You trying to get fucked before you die?”

“Or something, yeah,” you mutter.

“Shit.” He can’t believe he’s considering this. It feels like crossing one of the few lines he hasn’t crossed.

It’s not lost on you. “Are you having a fuckin' moral dilemma about this? You’re gonna gut me, and you’re trying to figure out if it’d be fucked up to have sex with me?”

“Not gonna gut ya,” he says. “Said I’d make it quick, didn’t I?”

“Oh my god. That was so not the point.”

“Shut up. Look at me.”

You do. He’s holding the blade again. “I verified your information yesterday. We’re going to make our move tomorrow. I’ll be back by sundown. You still want this?”

It feels like he dumped the water on you again. You shiver. So that’s it. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be gone.

“Yes.”

“Fine. But we’re doin’ this my way.” He walks away, and you think he’s going back inside until he stops and presses the button.

You’re shocked enough that all you do is gasp when the door lifts, pulling you into the air. He stalks back over to you and holds the blade up. “Hold still.”

You’re hanging in the fucking air. What does he think you’re going to do? Fly away? But you hold your breath anyway while he slides the knife between your skin and clothes. When you’re bare to him, he drops the knife and grabs your waist.

“You done anything? Anyone ever make you cum?”

You shake your head and murmur, “No, no one.”

When you look up at him, you’re surprised to see something almost soft behind his eyes. You glare. “What, is it going to make you feel less guilty if I have an orgasm?”

“What do I got to feel guilty for? You fuckin’ begged for it.”

“Then fuckin’ fuck me already,” you snap. Your arms hurt again. You want to fuck him, you want to land your fists against his stupid face, you want to not fucking die tomorrow.

But you can only have one of those things, so. “Please,” you say, and sigh.

He cups your breasts, stroking thumbs over your nipples. He leans over and licks, and you moan again, soft this time.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t gotta do that. Just fuck me.”

“Ain’t doin’ it for you,” he lies.

You don’t protest again, not after he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks. He brings a hand to your cunt and thumbs your clit, sliding two fingers down to start working you open for him. He eases the first one in through your slick, and you whine.

“I’m not gonna be nice,” he says, panting a little. “It’s going to hurt.”

“Yeah,” you agree, watching as he stretches you open. Your legs are held so wide they ache, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from rolling back when he picks up speed.

He holds you tight when you cum so your arms don’t jerk too hard. It’d be a shitty end to a shitty life, you think, to wait all day with dislocated shoulders for him to come home and slit your throat.

Finally, he pulls his cock out. A man of his word, he doesn’t go nice or slow. It does hurt. His cock is thick and long, and he makes it fit even as your body tries to reject him. He hooks his hands under your thighs, forcing you to put some of your body weight on him as he fucks up into you.

It takes the pressure off your arms, and you suspect maybe he's strong enough to fuck like this without the help from the ropes.

The burn is exactly what you wanted. It stings, and you cry, silent but for a few whimpers. He pulls another orgasm out of you with his clever fingers on your clit.

When he comes, he pulls you to him and sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. You wail, but you also cum again as he fills you.

You expect him to leave you there, dangling and dripping his spend. But when he lets go, it’s just to lower you back to the ground.

He tucks his soft cock away and zips up, staring down at you. You lay against the door, trying to catch your breath.

“What’d you mean by ‘or something’?” he says, surprising himself.

“S’nothin,” you sigh.

He sits down, offers you water. You drink and watch him, tense and untrusting.

“Was that the first time you’ve been fucked?”

“First time I ever wanted it,” you say.

His jaw ticks. “Answer one more question for me, ‘bout your father’s camp.” He waits until you meet his eyes. “If you’re strugglin’ for food, how’s he keeping all them happy?”

You flinch and look away.

He doesn’t need another answer.

You don’t expect to see him in the morning, so you’re startled when the door opens. He throws something on the floor, but you don’t have time to look before he’s crouched over you, knife in hand.

You had promised yourself you’d be brave and quiet when he came for you. But you thought you’d have time to prepare yourself, so when he brings it toward you, you flinch back and cry out. “Hold still,” he snaps. He doesn’t have time to wait for you to cooperate, so he holds your shoulder with one hand and slices through the rope with the other.

When he’s done, he jabs the knife in the direction of the pile of fabric by your foot. “Get up. Get dressed.”

You can’t stand. He huffs and pockets the knife, pulling you up. Your limbs barely move from the way they’ve been stuck, splotchy and limp from poor circulation. He helps you tug the flannel on and step into what must be a pair of his boxers.

He looks you over. “S’all I got.”

“Okay,” you say. You’re so confused. Between the pain, the hunger, the dehydration, and the fear, it’s a wonder you can string together a single thought.

“Let’s go,” he snaps as he heads for the door, like you were supposed to know already. When you get into the house, he grabs one arm and pushes you ahead of him, through a kitchen and living room and out another door.

Most of his men are in two vans, but Joel shoves you into a pickup truck. He buckles you in and waves a finger in your face. “You try anything, and it’ll take you days to bleed out.”

You just nod. You’re thinking now that he probably doesn’t want to kill you in his house. Blood all over the stockroom would be a pain in the ass.

At least you got to see sunshine again.

It’s not a long drive, but you keep your eyes closed. The autumn sun is weak, but you think you might cry as it brushes your skin.

Joel doesn’t say a word.

You don’t open your eyes until he parks. He hops out and comes to pull you out the other side, but when you see where you are, you panic and try to push him away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps. “Get out of the fucking truck.”

God. Everything you’d heard about him is true. Was he really this cruel? Monstrous enough to drag you back, to die here when you’d finally escaped?

Or—has he struck a deal? Is he going to give you back to your father?

You can’t breathe.

Joel crowds you against the truck, hands on your shoulders, and shakes you a little. “Snap out of it, I ain’t got time for this. Stick with me and keep your mouth shut.”

For a moment, neither of you move. You get control of your breathing and realize he hasn’t restrained you. He didn’t give you shoes, but you still know this land far better than he does. You told him all your father’s secrets, but not yours.

“Don’t,” he says. It’s the softest he’s spoken to you yet.

And, god help you, you nod.

Two of Joel’s men are struggling to hold your father when Joel drags you into the living room of the main cabin. He’s holding your wrists behind your back, his gun pressed into your side.

“Oh, thank god, honey, you’re okay,” your father says, but his face falls when he sees the gun. “C’mon, Miller, let her go. She’s not a part of this.”

“She is now,” Joel says. “Found her on my land. Ain’t that right?”

You want to close your eyes, want to ignore your part in this, want him to just fucking shoot already, but you can’t look away from your father’s face.

“I swear to god, Miller, if you laid a hand on her—”

“Like your men did?” He waits and doesn’t receive a response. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You know how it is,” your father says. He can’t read Joel, never could. “Everyone’s gotta contribute somehow. Keep morale up,” he plows forward, oblivious to the dangerous way Joel’s eyes have darkened. “Look, I can look past it. Whatever you did, she probably had it coming, for trespassing. We can call it even.”

Joel’s slow smirk is feral. He nods. For a moment, your father breathes with relief. But Joel isn’t looking at him.

His men move quick, and your father is on his knees in just seconds. They struggle to hold him down with hands on his shoulders, but he stops fighting when Joel lifts the gun away from you.

He doesn’t aim it at your father, who has to watch as Joel flips the gun in his hand and offers you the grip. He didn’t even notice that Joel had let you go.

You don’t say anything. You look at Joel for a moment, and your father watches you slowly move to take the handgun. He has the nerve to look relieved again, until you stop, holding it in both hands in front of you, looking at it.

“What are you doing? Shoot him!” your father says.

You look up at your father, grimacing against the bile rising in your throat.

You look at Joel again, gun heavy. You wonder what would happen if you let it drag down, out of your fingers, to the knotty pine panels that cover every surface. You wonder what would happen if you clasped your fingers around the weight of it and raised your arm to the left.

Joel’s men watch him, unsure. He holds up a hand and waits, watching the glow from the hearth dance across your face.

“Shoot them, you stupid girl, and get me out of here.”

Joel steps closer, puts his hands on your waist, and leans in. “Up to you, darlin’,” his hot breath against your ear.

You pull the trigger.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dark!joel miller #raider!joel miller #hunter!joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #dead dove do not eat #kinktober 2023

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ozarkthedog · 4 months

Note

i need to know more about raider and tess and tommy 👀 also get well soon!! 🖤

thank you for sending this babe! it's kind of on the lighter side because of tess. my mind can't make her as rabid as the men. 😅

18+ mdni

They’d work in synchrony. All with eyes, hands, and head nods, especially Joel and Tommy. Those two can work out an entire plan to take down unsuspecting prey with a matter of hand signals.

Tess would more often be the bait. No one suspects a lone woman to cause trouble.

Joel and Tommy wait on the wings, carrying various sorts of weaponry: guns, knives, baseball bats. They’d rarely leave anyone alive— no sense in worrying about someone else marking their territory or seeking vengeance.

But if a woman stumbled into their web, they’d enjoy taking her apart, claiming her for however long suited them.

Tess helps you acclimate to your new situation. Ensures that no harm will come if you abide by their rules. “We’ll keep you safe and fed,” Tess smiles warmly, wiping the tears that trail down your cheeks. “But you have to earn your keep. You’re part of this group now.”

Tommy instantly attaches himself to you like a moth to a flame. His smile helps ease your discomfort whenever Joel sends you a glare. When they return from salvaging, the younger Miller brings you books for you to read, and he slips you extra food portions.

Despite the savagery you’ve seen him display, he's the softest of the three. Tess is a close second, with Joel coming in dead last. He always puts you on edge but touches your body with a tenderness you didn’t expect.

More often than not, they use your body one at a time. They share fair, allowing you to earn your keep and let everyone have their taste of you.

On good days, they'd tear you apart together when they brought home a bountiful salvage or were feral from bringing down a group of opposing raiders or cordyceps.

Tess whispers softness in your ear as she anchors you to her chest. Loving arms drape around your belly and help keep your legs spread while Joel burrows his face in your heat. Tommy curls a hand around your neck, bringing your mouth to his weeping length while you writhe beneath Tess’ wandering hands.

#raider!joel miller #raider!tommy miller #raider!tess servopoulos #ozzie responds #asks are always open #pedro pascal #gabriel luna #anna torv

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 15 days

Text

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."

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