Dark Joel Miller X Reader - Blog Posts

        ꒰ 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒's works for 𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋'S CHARACTERS.    ꒰ main m. / characters list         ꒰ ꒱ PROMPTS ⒈ & ⒉ for requests /   ...   MY 'READERS' PALETTE   / ABOUT 𝐌𝐄  ... ꒱ "where art thou, why not uponeth me?..." | DARK CONTENT |

        ꒰ drabbles ꒱

₁ DO NOT BLAME THE WIND   ꒰ 𝓙 OEL 𝓜 ILLER -- ONESHOT ꒱

₂ CORIANDER UNDER THE FIG TREE   ꒰ 𝓜 ARCUS 𝓐 CACIUS ꒱

𝓓AVE 𝓨 ORK   ꒰ COMING SOON.... ꒱

𝓙AVIER 𝒫EÑA   ꒰ COMING SOON... ꒱

© THEHYDRAETHEREAL COPYRIGHTS. DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR REWRITE MY WORKS. INTERACT USING YOUR COMMON SENSE. THIS CONTENT IS TRIGGERING.

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒'𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 - ˏ͛⑅　 ‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⋆ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　 ✦ ⑅ˏ͛ -

espresso red wine ribbon bambi cal. bitch

๛ You are not here by accident. You like it when it hurts a little. Or a lot. Either way, come and revendicate your shade. How do you know which shade is yours? Well, below you wil find the types of readers I write for. And bleed for. Find out which one you are and let me know დ

๛ Remember: you are much beloved and cherished by me. ✦

๛ Find out more about your author (me) here.

ESPRESSO.ᐟreader

₁ Fast-scrolling, and emotionally masochistic ₂ Has trauma AND a superiority complex ₃ Obsessed with mind games ₄ Would genuinely punch the character back if she would get hit ₅ Sharp-tongued ₆ Gets off on power imbalance scenes and calls it “character development” ₇ Favorite color is black. Or rust. Nothing pastel. ₈ Rage buried under control ₉ Keeps her brightness on the lowest setting. Reads the worst parts twice. ₁₀ Guilt is a second skin for her. ₁₁ She’s been through shit she’ll never type out, but my fics? They speak in her language. ₁₂ Addicted to the ache. Can’t stop chasing the darker scenes ₁₃ Eyes that haven’t slept properly in weeks ₁₄ If she doesn’t feel something brutal, she doesn’t feel at all ₁₅ One hand gripping the laptop, the other ready to throw it

RED WINE.ᐟreader

₁ Elegant but unhinged ₂ Reads slowly and feels everything deeply—quotes passages religiously. ₃ Trauma romanticizer with a soft spot for broken men who lie well ₄ Loves candlelit danger, men with blood on their hands, and slow psychological decay ₅ She notices everything. ₆ Leaves long, emotional tags in reblogs ₇ Closet sadist. Emotional devastation is foreplay. ₈ Never acts while angry or sad, admirable strenght and great posture. ₉ Has old voicemails saved she’ll never play again. ₁₀ Reads in silence, like it’s a funeral. ₁₁ Violent scenes do not shock her. Gentle ones do. ₁₂ Knows how to make excuses for people who hurt her. ₁₃ A little bitter, a little romantic, a little exhausted ₁₄ Doesn’t cry often, but when she does it’s ugly and quiet and late ₁₅ Comes to dark fiction to find something she can’t say out loud: “It’s not okay, and I’m not over it.”

RIBBON.ᐟreader

Craves pretty words and brutal truths in the same breath Was told she was too emotional—so now she bleeds in private Her playlists sound like drowning in a flower field Stares at one sentence for ten minutes like it owes her something Sees love as a tragic myth but still hopes for it Too gentle for this world, too self-aware to leave it Romanticizes her pain because it’s the only way it makes sense Sews herself back together with lyrics, dialogue, and soft terror Doesn’t want to be rescued—just understood Finds beauty in characters falling apart gracefully She’s never yelled, but her silence is deafening She wants to be hurt gently. To be ruined with care. NO ONE would guess she reads fics this dark. Reads not to escape, but to understand the ache in her ribs.

BAMBI.ᐟreader

She tells people she’s okay. She even tells herself. But she seeks out fiction that makes her heart race for all the wrong reasons. She wants to be seen, but never found. She grew up too fast and too quietly. Sleeps with a light on, but only reads in the dark. Baby face, brutal tastes Soft voice, sensitive soul but dirty imagination Carries everyone else’s weight. Fiction is where she drops it. Trauma survivor in disguise. Nobody knows what she’s seen. Reads victim-coded fics because she just understands. Wants the monster to love her just a little. She thinks if she can handle it on screen, she can handle it in real life Afraid of him, but keeps reading Flinches when voices get too loud Sleeps with the door locked Kind because no one was to her Doesn't trust happy endings

CALIFORNIA BITCH.ᐟreader

Fucks instead of crying Doesn't read warnings. Loves lollipops. Will literally not be ashamed of what she wants and supports, in fact, she would scream them from a microphone and a stage Heart of the party Requests five fics, and constantly refreshes the page to see if they got posted Gets needy and wet by just imagining the character Built like a femme fatale Looks mean, but is actually sweet. Kind of a bimbo.

⁎✵࿔෴𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄

My name is 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒, I'm European and I am a young soul. This is what you have to know about me:

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑(𝐒): Burgundy, Maroon, Scarlett, Navy Blue, Forest Green, Baby Blue, Baby Pink.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊(𝐒): COFFEE. And Granita.

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄: Ribbons and bows. Biceps. Vogue routines filmed by celebrities. Hailey Bieber. Water. Older men. Cats. Leopards. Dark clouds and storms. Nighttime. Early mornings and crisp air. Pines. Perfume. Mascara. Spicy chicken burgers. Wired earphones. Purses. Short skirts. Large shirts. Sunglasses. The moon and stars. Lacy underwear. Showers. Curly hair. Pinterest. Messages and asks (on tumblr). Gum. Mangoes. Pop Music. Polaroids.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐒: Feminism, history, geography, philosophy, phsychology, literature, poetry, mathematics.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒: Chris Evans, Brad Pitt, Daniel Day-Lewis, Frank Grillo, Tom Hiddleston, Heath Ledger, Jodie Foster, Demi Moore, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Natalie Portman, Aaron Taylor Johnson, Henry Cavill, Tom Hardy, Colin Farrell, Sebastian Stan, Angelina Jolie.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Rafe Cameron, Steve Rogers, William Wallace, Achilles, Brock Rumlow, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, Sarah Cameron, Emperor Geta, Marcus Acacius, Andrew Barber, Ari Levinson, Curtis Everett, Nick Fowler, Lloyd Hansen, Steve Abnesti, August Walker, Walter Marshall, Cyrus Hanks, Benjamin Martin.

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒: 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗟, Outer Banks, Pedro Pascal, Chris Evans, Lana del Rey, Chris Hemsworth.

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ?: The darkened side of the human nature has always fascinated me, and I believe that by writing what I write, I will understand how it works even better so I decided to share with you what is blooming in my mind, to explore new points of view and to not just let my creativity die. Writing is also my coping mechanism.

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐌𝐘 (𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋) 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐒 ?: No, actually, not at all. It is a response to the trauma and issues I have, I do not find what my characters do attractive. It is only for creative and fictional purposes. DO YOUR RESEARCH about this topic, it is not my bussines to explain how dark writers and readers' minds work.

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ?: It depends. If I feel inspired by it, I will write it in one hour or one day. If the request doesn't really appeal to me, I will delay it and prioritize what inspires me. Some requests really inspire me, but I take more time with them, because I'm a perfectionist and I want them to turm out good.

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ?: If you are following me for a good amount of time now, you will know pretty well my love for @highonmarvel. I could write pharagraphs about her. Also, my Pedro side is dedicated to @pedrosyouknowwhat, her talent is brilliant. My mother, literally, is @rvfecamerons, she inspired me to write for Rafe. Her writing and talent is out-of-this-world.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 ?: OH, I LOVE asks. People really don't understand how important their support is, every single encouraging message or comment warm my heart and help me keep going.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈/𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐘 ?: You can ask me to talk about certain celebrities, about my fics, about a character, about life experiences, but I will definitely not reply to very intimate questions. Hate is also gross, just scroll and block me if you do not like what I say or write. Literally.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐔𝐌𝐒 ?: The Tortured Poets Department, Midnights, Born to Die, Lust for Life, Eternal Sunshine, Evermore, Folklore, Hit Me Hard and Soft.

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒 ?: Lana del Rey, Taylor Swift, ABBA, Gracie Abrams, The Neighbourhood, Arctic Monkeys, Ariana Grande. THESE ARTISTS INSPIRE ME. IF YOU DO NOT HAVE RESECT FOR THEM, GO AHEAD AND BLOCK ME.

(𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓) 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒: The Albatross, I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can), The boy is mine, Video Games, Cherry, Forever Young.

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐎 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋 ?: No.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎/𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄: Visit the world. Become an influencer. Kiss someone. Interview a celebrity. Move out of my town. Get a therapist. Record a music video. See the Grand Canyon. Buy a polaroid camera. Be Tumblr famous. Finish all my requests and series. A speech in public. Punch a man in the face.

「 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐒 & 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ෴۵✵ 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 」

⁎༊෴ 「 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 」 : 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | MY OTHER 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 | 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

PLEASE SEND IN THE NUMBER OF THE PROMPT AND THE CHARACTER YOU WANT TO SEE WITH IT WHEN YOU REQUEST. REQUEST VIA MY 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗. SEND IN A SHORT PLOT WITH THE CHARACTER AND NUMBERS OF PROMPTS.

IF YOU WANT TO USE THESE IN YOUR WRITING, PLEASE TAG ME IN YOUR WORKS AND REBLOG THIS POST.

⒈ Wiping off droplets of your blood from the floor, knowing he hates the mess.

⒉ Not hitting you when you anger him, waiting until he calms down and you detense.

⒊ Saying you don't want it because you're tired, and he says you're easier to handle then.

⒋ You crying and him kissing you harder.

⒌ Him wiping your tears, saying that you need him.

⒍ Locking the door again after bringing you food.

⒎ Making you pick your own restraints.

⒏ You passing out, but he keeps going.

⒐ Saying you made him do this while cleaning your bruises.

⒑ Telling all your friends and family you are just too dramatic.

⒒ Choking you with the necklace he gifted you.

⒓ Feeding you from his plate while your legs are tied to the floor.

⒔ Making you confess to him while being naked.

⒕ Him slapping the "modern culture" out of your head.

⒖ Gifting you right after an argument, while you're shaking on the bed.

⒗ Making you delete and block all your contacts in front of him.

⒘ Handcuffing you to the bed, you knowing he has to leave for a few days.

⒙ Him finding your "escape" bag and burning it in front of you.

⒚ Beating up your friends for trying to "take you away" from him.

⒛ Him telling you your terrified face makes him hard.

still available! ♡♡

⋆⁎✽๛ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 --- for requests

෴ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: This content is dark and very triggering. Minors and easily triggered people, do not interact. Your mental health matters. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

෴ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: MY CONTENT IS DARK AND DARK ONLY. My requests are now OPENED. You can request as many fictions as you want, but you have to check out my CHARACTERS LIST and my WARNINGS first. IF YOU ARE ANON, USE AN EMOJI, SO WE CAN TALK MORE <3. Request via my INBOX. Please, also write a short summary of your ideas, do not just send in the number of the promp and the character. Thank you.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 I will use for these: Choking; chasing kink; Dacryphilia (tear kink); fear kink; dv + heavy violence; restraints; manhanding and others. Please choose a few in your request.

"You flinch like that again in public, and I’ll give you a real reason to." (1)

"I don’t remember asking what you wanted, sweetheart." (2)

"You can cry if you want. Won’t change a damn thing." (3)

"That’s the problem with you. You never fucking listen." (4)

"Go ahead. Tell me no again." (5)

"You move, and I promise it’ll be worse." (6)

"I told you to sit down. Don’t make me say it twice." (7)

"You think I give a fuck if you’re scared?" (8)

"I liked you better when you knew your place." (9)

"You’re only still breathing because I let you." (10)

"See how quiet you can be after I slap you around?" (11)

"You can beg if you want. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop." (12)

"Do I look like a man who’s gonna change his mind?" (13)

"At least make yourself useful, baby." (14)

"You act like I haven’t done this before." (15)

"If you were strong enough to stop me, angel, you would have by now." (16)

"C'mon, baby, don't cry...we haven't even started." (17)

"I'll destroy your pretty face of yours if you do that again." (18)

"Come here. Now." (19)

"I'd suggest you returned because if I catch you...you won't like what I'll do to you." (20)

DO NOT BLAME THE WIND

࿐ 𝒲arnings: MY CONTENT IS DARK AND MY WARNINGS ARE NOT EXHAUSTIVE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. MY WORK CONTAINS TRIGGERING ELEMENTS SUCH AS MENTIONS OF RAPE; RESTRAINS; AGE GAP; CAPTIVITY; STOCKHOLM SYNDROME; MENTIONS OF BLOOD; FEAR; TORTURE THEMES AND POSSIBLY OTHERS. MDNI, 18+.

࿐ CATEGORY: JOEL MILLER ONE-SHOT

࿐ PAIRINGS: dark!captor!joel miller x reader

࿐ MY NOTES: finallyyy managed to write some pedro pascal. Exam sessions are over for now, so I'll be yours, my babies. Enjoy reading my shit. REBLOGS, ASKS, LIKES AND COMMENTS ARE MUCH LOVED AND DESIRED. REQUESTS ARE OPENED FOR MORE DARK FIC IDEAS.

࿐ TAGS: @pedrosyouknowwhat enjoy, my beloved. @highonmarvel my sister and soulmate xxx @katwriteshardy JUST IN CASE U WANNA READ THIS TOO

The weathered bark of the pine was splinting the flesh of your back and the cold was leaving sharp bites up your arms. The wind was unforgivingly harsh, and it whipped at your face, making more tears run down your numb cheeks. The rope was secured tightly and you felt like an animal, tied and bound to take your punishment. Your throat felt hoarse from all the weeping and pleading after him. But, apparently, when Joel Miller wanted to teach someone something, there was no opposition or protests — all you could do was watch his broad figure ride towards the woods, while you were left prey to the storm outside. 

Your wrists were all bloodied, the result of your struggle. The dizziness and agony made your retina blur, disorting everything in your sight. You only prayed that Joel would come get you and you promised yourself you will never spit at his face ever again, no matter how hard he backhanded you or thrusted in your core. 

As if your prayers were finally heard, a rugged movement beside you made your body instinctively flinch. “J-Joel?”, you asked, heavy eyes looking up at the older man. His jaw was clenched as his gloved hand came up and rested itself on your jaw. “I’m so s-sorry—”, you choked out, hot tears now cascading freely. Your whole body was shaking from the pain of standing with your back glued to the tree, restrained, all in the iciness of the howling tempests. 

“You’re shivering…”, he growled, as if your plea fell on deaf ears. You nodded and looked up at him through your wet lashes. “I’m s-so cold…”, you whimpered, melting into the hardness of his body. 

His calloused hand came to your back, where your wrists were secured, and ran his fingertips over the dried blood. You yelped. “I want to know—”, he started, and your heart jumped. You were ready to say anything just so he would take you back inside. “—if you know why you’re in this position…”

You looked into the darkness of his orbs and swallowed, looking for permission to speak. You absolutely did not want him to believe you were talking back, even though he asked you something. 

The click of his tongue in the inside of his cheek was showing off that he was expecting your answer. 

“J-just as you s-say…Do not blame the wind for destroyal if you were the one that o-opened the window.”, you whispered, eyes falling to the frozen mud around your feet. “I-I was di-disrespectful and it w-was right of you to p-punish me.”

Joel smirked, pleased with your answer. “There’s my good girl…”, he praised, cutting off the rope. You wrapped your weakened arms around his neck…You were clinging for dear life at the man that made you suffer the most. How ironic. 

“Let’s get you back home, where you’ll show me if you’re actually sorry or not.”, he finished as your eyes darted to the pylon of your torture, wrapped in fog, and the crimson-stained rope lying forgotten in the dirt. Your face buried itself into his neck, and his warmth gave you an odd comfort.

 Terror does funny things to mankind. 

nah, I'm a little too obsessed with this. Read the other part too, but this one was purely delicious! Oh, the talent is killing me softly, really --

Clean

Summary: They are everywhere, at all times.

Warnings: Dead dove do not eat, noncon, kidnapping, fingering, manhandling.

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader

Series Masterlist

You hadn't recollected yourself when Joel spoke once again, Texan drawl lighter after the relief he had taken on your body. Your shivering hands attempted to paw at scraps of your clothes, using your previously discarded jean jacket to cover your naked form.

"Might as well bathe her if she's sleeping in my bed," He asserted casually, looking down at your disheveled state. "had a long day, didn't you, puppy?"

You stared at him wide eyed, not knowing what to possibly say. The nickname rolled out of his tongue with satisfaction, towering over your kneeling form, as if you actually were a dog. His shoulder flexed under his worn navy sweater, and he shifted to the rest of the men, tucking their still-hard erections away. You sensed the power Joel held over them, taming their savage desire with a simple command.

"Call dibs on that." Dieter proclaimed, a chuckle and a growl mixing in his tone as the rest cackled slightly. Joel tutted, cutting through the sounds charismatic-ally.

"Want her squeaky clean, Catfish it's on you."

Your Savior slammed the toy helicopter on the kitchen table, standing up with a torn, dutiful look on his face. The rest begun rumbling, and Joel simply looked up at them through his eyebrows, silencing them.

Catfish's dark and dirty boots stumped on the floorboards, short lived protests in their wake. His eyes glared at Joel from beneath the visor of his cap, hands twitching at his sides, but softened when he came down to his knees before you.

His hands reached for the over sized jean jacket that you had a white-knuckled grip on, and he gave it a wavering tug. Your eyes pleaded at him, and he nodded, still reaching for the jacket; his eyes reassured you, but you had seen the bulge protruding at his zipper, he was no better than the rest of them.

Burning holes into your head was Joel's stare, so you let go. It surprised you as Catfish straightened up the piece and showed you the arm hole. Slowly, you extended your limb and climbed into the jacket.

"Can you walk?" He whispered, and you tensed your muscles, skimming the possible pain. Your core felt like fire, but your legs felt enough as you pushed yourself onto the soles of your feet. You breathed out, eyes on him as he lifted you around your waist, hands warm through the denim.

As you came onto your feet, you realized the other men had possibly lost interest, fidgeting around with random objects you couldn't place through blurry eyes. Some sat down on the tattered couch, other's perched upon the counter.

A reassuring step after the other, with Catfish's arm supporting your back and waist, palm not fully pressing against you, you walked past the fireplace, and the couch and almost reached the hallway before your muscles turned taut, stretching and pulling at the fiber of your flesh. His careful grip wasn't enough to hold you as your knees slammed against the floor, crevices and lines sinking into your flesh and eliciting a sharp hiss.

"Need help?" One of them asked, and you hand shot to pull the only item of clothing down your bare ass. Preserving some dignity.

His hands were more stubborn, pulling you hastily from the floor to your feet and into the shadowy hallway. You felt cold marble digging against your back as he propped you against the bathroom counter, turning on the yellowed light.

The bathroom was well kept, but it didn't compare in the slightest to your back at home. You scanned for similarities, washbowl, mirror, toilet and tub. Although the porcelain looked stained, and the mirror was barely enough to see you face and some of your neck, it was spacey enough for the two of you to stand with some distance.

He crouched by your legs, hands reaching into the cabinets before pulling out some essentials; soap, a towel and bottle of shampoo which's label had rubbed off. After placing them on the counter, he silently kneeled over the bath tub, turning the rusty faucet on.

You peeked at him through wild strands of hair, debating onto what to do next. Your whole body was ravaged in shock, and you barely processed the situation. The men were speaking on the other room, you heard it as low whispers, along with the water splashed onto the porcelain, intercepted by Catfish's thick fingers.

His dark brown t-shirt expanded over his large back, material so thin you could trace the outline of each bulging muscle; as he leaned over the edge of the filling tub, a peak of flesh showed from the space between the shirt and his worn out boxers. He smelled musky, hidden under a layer of what you could tell was cheaper version of your father's perfume.

The sole idea brought tears into your eyes, stinging their way down your cheeks as you sniffled lightly. He pushed his shoulders back, tensing at the sound, but didn't say anything.

They were dead, that you were almost sure about, bodies were scattered everywhere and guns were going off madly as you ran away. You didn't even get to say goodbye, slipping out of your comfy bed that very own morning to go get coffee down the street before the alarms went off. You ran, because you knew the alarm meant you had to.

The bathtub creaked as Catfish used it to leverage himself up. He dried himself on the itchy hand towel, and turned to face you, but his eyes didn't meet yours.

"Water's cold, sorry for that." He muttered, sincerely. He stepped aside, showing you the half filled bathtub. Your thighs pressed together, sticky mess pooling and drying flaky upon your damp skin; your hands clutched onto the jean jacket as you pressed it as closed as possibly.

Catfish scanned the room, as if checking everything was in place before he moved to the door. "Gonna see if I can give you something to change onto."

Not because of finding something, but if he was allowed to. That went unsaid, and you kept silent as the door creaked shut. For some seconds, you froze, testing the strength of your strained legs or expecting something else to happen. But the more you looked at the tub, you knew you had to get this done with.

What could happen if you took too much time?

You slipped your jacket off, biding goodbye to the last trace of your scent as the cold autumn air bit at your exposed skin. The soap felt greasy and thick against your hand, and your mind dumbly wondered if it could cause any bad reaction against your skin, but the idea of being dirty disgusted you more.

You bit a hiss as you stepped onto the cold water, sinking in quickly to avoid further discomfort. The icy water aching at any pain in your body, but it took away any dirt and sweat as you lathered the soap against your body. You didn't dare to look between your thighs as you rubbed at them underneath the water.

And then you dropped the soap, letting it sink to the bottom as your fingers ghosted over your core. You still felt him, deep inside you, and you hesitated to rub there, to try and clean any trace.

Your mind clawed towards the inevitable future as your shoulders slumped against the cool porcelain, as you scratched the shampoo into the knotted hair, careful on the spots that had been tugged. Some stray hairs tied around your fingers as you attempted to comb it. Once you believed you had finished, you let your eyes closed.

Would they be mad if you stayed here?

For a brief second you allowed yourself to relax, finding comfort in momentary stillness. The door creaked open, making you jump and slosh the water around. It had turned grayish, and you felt your hands shot to cover your bare chest.

Big, puppy dog eyes peeked through the door. He had taken of his cap, and his dark brown hair curled almost in shape. He held a dark bunch of fabric in his hand, and he stretched his upper body to settle it in the toilet lid.

"I'll be waiting outside, no hurry." He mumbled, softly, eyes reassuring and voice barely above a whisper. "Joel's already in bed, told me to bring you once you are done."

You nodded. You heard more talking outside the door, but his words had assured you at least some brief respite of the situation. It had brought everything crashing back, your vulnerability, and you took a deep breathe as you begun emptying the tub.

As the water swirled, you realized you didn't felt clean enough. With shaking fingers you popped the stopper back in and turned the faucet back on.

It pooled around your feet, cold no longer bothering you as you pulled your knees onto your chest, pressing your under eyes against the scratched skin.

Some seconds more, some more seconds of ignoring what was happening to you, you wondered if this was going to become an usual occurrence before the door hinges cried in protest.

You sighed, knowing you had possibly exceded your time in peace as you begun to rise.

"F-fuck you!" Was bellowed, and your head snapped to the door.

A sharp cackle followed that, and the scene unfolded.

Catfish's face was red as it bulged beneath Marcus' imposing bicep, knees folding under the pressure. Whiskey limited your view, body connected the door frame and the knob as he stepped in, too busy laughing at his fellow Raider to look at you. Beside him, Javier leaned against said frame, Cheshire cat grin pulling under his mustache as his eyes narrowed at you.

He pushed the laughing Whiskey into the bathroom, not before shooting Marcus' a smile over his shoulder as Catfish struggled against his confines. A hand was clamped over his mouth, keeping his gaze forcefully fixed upon you.

They neared the tub, eyeing the streaming faucet with intrigue. As you stared at them, slotting your body as far as possible into the tub, you realized they had changed into night clothes.

It gave you a small reminder of your guy friends back into the community, pijama pants and old t-shirts, though their eyes told a different story. Dark and blown out.

You felt Whiskey's breath against your back, making you jolt forward, coming face to face with Javier. Your hands came to grasp at the sides of the tub, knuckles turning white.

"Easy there," Javier commanded, voice stern. His hand dipped into the puddle forming by hour feet, fingers swirling on the water. "It's cold baby, want me to warm it up for you?"

Your head shook on itself, rapidly, frantically. He shifted, jaw ticking to Whiskey behind you. His arms slithered slowly around your collarbones, pulling your crouched back straight against the flannel of his pijama shirt. Your arms stuck to your sides at the armpits, incapacitating you as the heel of your feet kicked splashed water around.

"Can't fuck you without Joel's approval," Javier grunted, wet fingers tracing up your naked thigh as his eyes ransacked your form. Whiskey's grip pulled taught at your breasts, nipples erect and pruned from the freezing water, and you couldn't close your legs without slipping further into the bath and straining your neck. "Should have done it when I found you, you were already in all fours, recall?"

You slammed your head back in panic, Whiskey barely dodging it as he nosed along your neck; he growled at you. You clenched your thighs as best as you could, but Javier was stronger. Elbow pressed against one knee and his hand splayed against the other, forcing you an arm width open for him.

His other hand, the one that was previously tracing up your thigh, lowered dangerously, tracing two fingers through the seam of your sex.

You whined, Whiskey’s breathe fanning over your cheek as a single tear slid through it. It all felt tense, their hands on you, the faint noises of rustling behind you as Catfish attempted to escape Marcus’ grip, and their hot gazes upon you.

Two fingers pulled your lips apart, exposing you if possibly further to the cold air of the bathroom. Javier bit his lower lip, sighing as warmth spread up his neck.

Not even then, as you bathed yourself, you had peace.

His digits prodded at your hole, swollen and pink from Joel’s cock, yet they slipped in with some protest. A louder yelp escaped your lips, Javier giving Whiskey a warning through his knitted eyebrows. The man pressed a big, calloused hand to your lips, and you understood their boss possibly hadn’t given them permission for this.

Experimentally, Javier pushed his fingers to the last knuckle, pads pushing against your walls as they felt around. Searching, they were, along his eyes; searching for something in your expression.

“How is she?” Whiskey whispered, voice laced with amusement.

“Still fucking tight.” Javier growled ferociously, retrieving his fingers and working them back in slowly at first.

A small, hidden moan bounced against Whiskey’s palm, and your eyelids shut close. There was something about the way he was curling his fingers, against something just below your mound, that sent your legs shivering. Tears slipped into his hand, shame, breathing hard by his powerful grip upon your chest.

They shared a mischievous smile, almost juvenile in a way.

“Don’t cry, puppy.” He cooed, but the mockery made you cry harder. “Just gonna make this pussy cum.”

He leaned forward and spat, straining his shoulders from the position. His thumb scooped up the spit and pressed at the apex of your core, beginning to rub careful circles as his hand begun thrusting harder into you, curling quicker.

You felt the knot tighten at your stomach, toes curling and you tried, one last time, to get away. Useless.

“Make it quick.” Marcus hissed, a thin layer of sweat shining over his forehead. Catfish hadn’t stop struggling, vein popping at his forehead.

He didn’t answer, but his ministrations became more forceful, sending your eyes rolling back as you felt wetness spread, coat his fingers.

A sloppy kiss on your collarbone sent you spiraling, biting painfully on your lip as you exposed more of your neck to the man behind you. The knot snapped, walls clenching around Javier’s fingers as they fucked you through your high. Pride resounded in his chest.

The arm that was spreading you dislocated from your knees, curling around your quavering thigh as you squirmed away, ministrations becoming too much.

It hurt, though pleasure laced on the action you felt raw, vulnerable, small. You felt your breathe heaving, growing agitated with the passing seconds. Fear clouded your features, mind chanting please make it stop over and over.

As if hearing your thoughts, Javier slowly pulled out his fingers, cleaning them in the sloshing water and then his pijama pants. He relished in the way your eyes clouded with tears and how helpless you looked, the grin on his face told you so.

You felt the arms around you loosen, and sobs wrecked through your body as the hand came off. From the corner of your eyes, Marcus let Catfish go, but the man just ticked his jaw at him, unable to say more.

A grip on your chin stopped you from casting your eyes downwards, and Javier studied how red your lips looked, puffy from crying.

“Give me a kiss.” He ordered, though his voice was sultry. You swallowed hard, shame tinting your cheeks as you blinked at him.

Cocking his head, he grinned even wider. “Have you never…?”

The threat lingered in the air, Whiskey’s stubble rubbing against your neck.

The hand on your chin rose to cup your cheek, keeping you still as he rolled on the balls of his feet, mouth parted before smashing his lips onto yours.

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth, taking a claim. Teeth clashing against teeth, Javier coating your mouth with his own saliva, and how the bathtub dug into your back as you tried to escape away, just falling deeper into Whiskey’s spread arms.

He pulled away, leaving a string attached as he revisited for a quick peck, enamored with the taste of your lips. His hand smoothed over your cheek, wiping tears carelessly.

He stood up, and Whiskey followed him, knees cracking. You balled up, face hidden in your knees as muscles tensed and ached.

You heard their chuckles as they left, only one pair of eyes on you now. Catfish groaned into his hand, fist slamming against the counter, sending you flinching.

He softened as he turned on his heel, spreading the towel for you. He could tell you were scared, your eyes looking up at him through your wet lashes, but he just turned his head to the side.

You stood up, droplets cascading from your body as he draped the thick, coarse material over your form. You stepped out of the tub, breathe hitching as you waited for his next move.

He shook the hairbrush in your face for you to take it, and rested the t-shirt and a new toothbrush on the counter as he turned around, head planted to the door.

You stole glances of his broad form as you brushed your hair as best you could, and as you slipped into the y-shirt; it was old and stretched out, yet smelled good. You could tell it was Catfish’s, by the perfume.

You spat out the remaining toothpaste and propped the toothbrush on the empty holder, hand daring to tap at his back.

He gave an off the shoulder glance before fully turning around, quickly scanning your form. How silent you were irked him.

“Gonna take you to Joel’s room.” He grunted, jaw tensing. Though his eyes told a different story; sad and puppy like, warm brown.

You nodded, in defeat. He stopped in his tracks, hand resting at the door knob.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

You felt it slip out of your tongue almost uncharacteristically, just your first name. What good could your surname do at this point?

“Pretty.”

He opened the door, hand once again finding your hip. The lights outside the corridor were off, and the house was silent.

You passed through doors and doors, realizing the state of the house as you stepped in front of the last one. It wasn't like your house, but it was big, not dirty but time had taken its toll. You wondered if they had found it like this, dilapidated wall paper and humidity splattered on the ceilings, or if they had been there for long enough.

Catching you gawking, Catfish murmured over his shoulder. "If you are looking for a way out, I'll tell ya now, they won't allow it."

You swallowed, the idea hadn't even crossed your mind. In all honesty, most of the thoughts you were having were blank.

Catfish knocked on the door, and you heard a faint “come in” grunted.

Inside the room, Joel lay in a king size bed, silk navy sheets carefully done beneath him. You recognized them from the shop back in your community. His thighs were strapped in flannel, and his muscles bulged through a thin tank top. The dim light of a bedside light illuminated his marred skin, shining lightly. At the other end of the room was a door and a window. Through the curtains you saw the deep, treacherous forest, a pool of black and green.

He looked up from the book he had dwarfed in his hands, and his brows furrowed.

“Didn’t tell you to dress her.” He commented, voice sharp.

Catfish sighed. “It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel let the book on his nightstand, arms crossing as he glared at the defiance. “You can take it, she won’t be needing it.”

Your adverted gaze rose to look at Catfish, but his fingers still wrapped around the hem of the shirt. He peeled it off, gently, before looking once more at Joel.

“That’s it, thank you, Frankie.”

Your mind buzzed, lips parting as Catfish turned on his heel and closed the door behind him.

“Come here.” You heard, forcing you to face once more the man in the bed.

Your legs wouldn’t budge. His eyebrow shifted, threateningly. You felt your lower lip jut out, swallowing a sob.

His muscles tensed, and you forced yourself to take a step closer in fear he was going to stand up. Another, and another, your naked knees grazed the bed.

He nudged to the space of the bed beside him.

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