Gif By @ransomflanagan - Blog Posts

hiiii!! saw ur baker fic & loved it

was wondering if you could write teacher!fem!reader?

like she’s one of the teachers in Jackson and ofc ellie’s in her class and ellie LOVES HER talks about her nonstop and bothers joel

one day at pick up he finally sees her and he definitely understands what all the hype’s about now.

It can lead to smut or not whatever you want I love ur writing <333

a/n: hi, my anonie! i hope you enjoy it!!

posted here!

"well hello"

request: hiiii!! saw ur baker fic & loved it was wondering if you could write teacher!fem!reader? like she’s one of the teachers in Jackson and ofc ellie’s in her class and ellie LOVES HER talks about her nonstop and bothers joel. one day at pick up he finally sees her and he definitely understands what all the hype’s about now. It can lead to smut or not whatever you want I love ur writing <333 word count: 1,3k warnings: +18 minors dni, too lazy to write more but there's smut and language!

it’s just past three, and your classroom still smelled faintly of chalk dust and damp wood. ellie was long gone, already bolted with a bounce in her step and a grin that cracked sideways when you reminded her that her essay on pre-fall governance systems still needed citations. you really liked her. she was smart-mouthed, whip-quick, a little feral in that lovable way if there was one.

you were gathering up worksheets into one neat stack when there’s a knock—barely even that, more like a hesitant tap. you look up, and there he is.

joel miller.

you’ve heard of him in bits and pieces, mostly ellie’s flippant mentions. "my old man," she says, or "joel says if you give me homework on a friday he’ll riot." the usual teenager noise. but you’d pictured someone rough, maybe grizzled, but the real thing? no one warned you about those bedroom eyes.

he’s leaning halfway into your doorframe, one hand braced against it like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to come in. you couldn't help but take him in; worn flannel, heavy shoulders. his gaze cuts across the room until it lands on you, then lingers like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

“hey,” he says. voice like gravel, but still warm and apologetic. “uh..i’m here to pick up ellie.”

you blink, “oh, she left ten minutes ago. said she was heading home.”

joel blinks right back, slowly this time. you watch his mouth twitch, not quite a smile, more a grimace of regret. “of course she did.”

“she told me you’d come late,” you add, something about the way he stands there makes you want to offer him anything. a chair, coffee maybe.

he huffs out a breath, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, fingers catching in graying curls. “figures...guess she figured i’d just find my way here anyway.”

“and she was right,” you smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, tilting your head. “she’s clever like that.”

his eyes—brown, kind—settle on you again. longer this time. like maybe he’s taking his time to memorize you. your cardigan’s too big, sleeves pushed to your elbows and there’s a bit of pink and orange chalk on your fingers. he sees it all, catalogues it.

“you’re her teacher,” he says, not a question.

you nod, with a small smile. “mhm.. history.”

he nods too, but it’s faint, the air feels weirdly full all of a sudden. he shifts, and you catch the faint creak of leather from his belt. the man is solid. not just physically, though, lord, yeah, that too—but there’s something rooted in him.

“she talks about you,” he says, breaking the silence.“a lot.”

you swallow, “i hope it’s all good things.”

his mouth twitches again, and this time it’s definitely a smile, a crooked one but a smile nonetheless. “she says you’re smart. don’t take her shit. and that you swear sometimes when you’re grading papers.”

you laugh, nodding at the ellie's silliness. “that’s true.”

“she likes you.”

something about the way he says it makes your stomach do a little flip. the way his eyes don’t leave yours. how his voice drops on that last word—like he’s testing the water.

you could say something flirty here..something coy. but instead—

“do you want to get a drink sometime?” you blurt, then immediately feel heat crawl up your neck. “i mean, just, if you’re free..and want to.”

joel doesn’t blink, he just stares for a second at you; you could tell he was wondering if he heard you right.

“yes,” he says, so fast. “yes, i would love to.”

it was now saturday night at 7:00pm, and you were second-guessing all off it, thinking that you should've canceled.

you tell yourself it’s because of the cold—there’s a chill in the air but not threatening enough to cancel. it’s because you haven’t dated since coming to jackson.

but you show up to the bar anyway. it’s small, just off the main road. the smokey firewood smell clings to the ceiling beams, and old pre-fall songs hum low through restaurant speakers. joel was already there when you walked in, sitting at a corner table, hands curled around a glass of brown.

he stands when he sees you. such a gentleman.

“you came,” he says, and he looks so sincere about it your chest hurts.

“of course i did,” you say, sliding into the seat across from him.

he orders you a drink, and for the first few minutes it’s causal talk: ellie, school, the town, then it starts to slip into something else.

“you always this quiet?” you ask, teasing.

he raises a brow. “you always this bold?”

“bold? please...you should see me on parent-teacher night. i’m a badass.”

he chuckles and it’s soft and full of sweetness. it makes his whole face change. you sip your drink and watch the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“what about you?” you ask. “always this broody?”

joel leans back, one arm slung over the back of the booth. “only when i’m tryin’ to impress someone.”

“you think it's working?”

his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up.

“yeah,” he says. “think it is.”

later, when the drinks are gone and the once big fire is now burning low, he walks you home. the streets are too quiet while snow comes down in soft flakes. his hand brushes yours once. then again, finally on the third, you just take it.

your fingers tangle easily, like they’ve been doing it forever. at your door, there’s a pause. his breath plumes in the cold. his eyes search yours, asking without words.

you don’t make him ask.

“you want to come in?”

“yeah,” he says again, that same voice, full and sure. “i’d love to.”

the door closes behind him, and it’s like the air shifts with warmth.

neither of you says anything for a second. his eyes are still on you, dark and lustful. you can feel the beat of your heart, too loud in your chest. his fingers twitch like he wants to touch you, but he's too hesitant.

so you take his hand again, lead him inside, past the coat hooks, into the living room. you turn to face him, suddenly unsure. “joel, i—”

he cuts you off by kissing you deeply. you open your mouth under his, and the kiss deepens even more. one of his hands cradles your face, the other grips your waist. he pulls you in as you moan into his mouth.

he groans low. “fuck,” he mutters against your lips. “you feel good.”

you thread your hands into his salt and pepper hair, dragging his mouth back to yours. you break for some air and he chases your mouth, kisses down your jaw, and your throat. his beard scrapes against your skin, making you wetter than before.

“bedroom,” you say.

he lifts his head, eyes blown wide. “you sure?”

“yes,” you breathe. “joel, yes, please.”

you don’t remember the walk to the room. it’s a complete blur, hands under shirts, skin on skin, maybe a bit of grinding.

he undresses you slow, like he’s afraid to rush it. and when he’s finally bare before you—he’s so large, scarred, and beautiful—you pull him down onto the bed.

“look at me,” you say.

he does as he slides into you, slowly and unhurried, one hand pressed to your cheek. the rhythm starts off slow. his breath catching on every thrust as your nails claw at his back. he kisses you and talks you through it. over and over.

“been thinkin’ about you,” he says, voice ragged. “since the first moment..couldn’t stop.”

“me too,” you whisper. “joel—don’t stop..please don’t stop.”

he fucks you so well and lovingly. God, you can't remember the last time you felt so good. and when you both cum, shaking and holding on to each other. you think to yourself, maybe jackson was a good move.

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @lowrisemiller

So um WTH UR JOEL FIC WAS SO GOOD!! It was. A great mix of serious and smut oml- anyways I wanted to request for him again I see alot of Joel x baker reader ? Gathered this is when they’re in Jackson but you could spin it to where reader was a baker and they meet outside of Jackson etc IDK I just need another fic I beg ty ty

a/n: hi, my love! i hope you like it; i chose to do it when they are already dating in Jackson!

posted here!

"sweet treat"

request: so um WTH UR JOEL FIC WAS SO GOOD!! It was. A great mix of serious and smut oml- anyways I wanted to request for him again I see alot of Joel x baker reader ? Gathered this is when they’re in Jackson but you could spin it to where reader was a baker and they meet outside of Jackson etc IDK I just need another fic I beg ty ty word count: ? warnings: +18 minors dni, really sweet sex, joel being flirty and grumpy. please let me know if i have missed anything!

even after the many years you've spent here, jackson still smells like rain-soaked wood and smoke this time of year. you’d been pacing the bakery’s wide-plank floors for ten minutes now, tracing little loops in the flour dust, waiting for him. and he’s late, of course. because joel doesn’t rush for anybody, especially not for something as "unserious" as baking, as he likes to say.

you glance at the tray of eggs you cracked, the mountain of sugar, the softened butter, and the dog-eared recipe cards you scrounged from behind the counter. miss shelley, the older woman who usually runs the place, trusted you to lock up for the night. “just don’t burn the place down, sweetheart,” she said with a wink, and gave you a key.

you weren’t going to do it alone. not for the town’s spring celebration tomorrow. you’d begged him for this—him of all people—joel miller, resident brooder, secretly gifted with his hands in ways most people never got to see, but you had. *wink wink*

“there’s nothin’ complicated about cookies,” he’d grumbled that morning, folding his arms.

“i want them to taste like something, joel,” you’d insisted, poking a finger into his chest. “not like regret and disgust.”

he’d snorted, mouth twitching at the corners, and after a minute, like it physically hurt him, he agreed.

breaking you out of your thoughts, the door creaks open, and you don’t even have to turn. the sound of his boots on wood is enough to make your spine straighten, a ripple of awareness climbing up your back.

“you bakin’ or throwin’ a damn science fair?” he mutters, already peeling off his jacket. his eyes move over the counter, then to you. you pretend not to notice the way they stick to your legs, the hem of the dress barely grazing mid-thigh.

“just tryin’ to impress the town,” you say sweetly. “or you. which ever’s harder.”

his brow arches. “you ain’t got to dress like that to impress me.”

you flash him a fake innocent look. “like what?”

“like trouble,” he says, low, making you glance away with flustered cheeks.

he rolls his sleeves up, exposing those forearms that should to be illegal. thick-veined, tan, dusted with salt and pepper hair.

you hand him the bowl. “start creamin’ the butter and sugar. use the wooden spoon.”

“bossy tonight, huh?” he grumbles, but he does it.

you watch the muscles flex as he works, the way his wrist moves in slow circles.

“did you ever bake with sarah?” you ask, casually. you two have spoken briefly about his relationship with sarah. he was very hesitant to tell you how she died, but after a couple of beers, he poured his heart out.

his jaw tenses, but it’s a soft thing, not offense or sadness.

“yeah...when she was little. she’d make a fuckin’ mess of it, but.... thankfully made the place smell like cake for a week.”

you don’t answer, just let the silence sit between you. it was kinda nice working in silence with his comfortable presence.

he looks at you after a moment. “you know what you’re doin’?”

“not really, it's a new recipe,” you say cheerfully. “that’s why you’re here, to try it with me.”

“should’ve known this was a trap,” he mutters.

you laugh, and you’re leaning over to grab the flour, one foot off the ground, hips tilted just enough that the dress pulls up—and you feel a smack.

a puff of white explodes against your ass cheek. you yelp and whirl around. joel’s holding a fistful of flour, smug as sin.

“did you just—”

“you bent over like that in front of me, ‘course i did.” he shrugs, not even sorry.

you grab your own handful, lob it at his chest. “you’re such a child.”

he lunges, making you squeal and dart around the island, heaving a laugh that feels good echoing in the high ceiling of the bakery.

“you think you’re fast, huh?” he growls.

“i know i’m faster than you, old man.”

“fuckin’—”

he catches you by the waist, spins you, lifts you onto the counter. your thighs part around his hips automatically, your breath caught in your throat. his eyes burn into yours, all the humor gone.

“shouldn’t tease me like that, darlin’,” he says. his voice is grainy and mean.

you stare up at him, pupils blown wide. you whisper, “do something about it, then”

his lips crash into yours too quickly to even comprehend. the kiss was completely savage. no sweet build-up or gentle asking, his hand cups the back of your neck, fingers threaded through your hair, tugging until your mouth opens wider under his. his tongue licks into you like he’s starved for it, like the taste of you is the first thing he’s allowed himself to want in years.

your legs hook around his waist, heels digging into the meat of his ass. he grunts into your mouth, grinding forward, and you feel the thick, heavy line of him through his jeans.

“fuck,” he mutters against your lips, voice thick with gravel. “you planned this, didn’t you? struttin’ around in that little thing—bendin’ over like you wanted my goddamn hands all over you.”

you nod, panting, lips kiss-bitten and tingling.

“yeah?” he hisses, gripping your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the counter. “then you’re gettin’ what you asked for.”

his mouth dips to your neck, licking and biting. his salt and pepper beard scrapes the sensitive skin as he drags his lips lower, working open-mouthed kisses along your throat, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts.

“take it off,” he growls, tugging at the hem of your dress.

you lift your arms, and he peels it off slowly, but the second it’s over your head, his control breaks.

“jesus,” he mutters, staring at you in nothing but a lacy bra and matching panties, flour dusted across your hips. “fuckin’ look at you.”

he sinks to his knees.

that's a sight to see, joel miller on his knees.

your hands scramble for something to hold onto as he spreads your thighs, dragging you forward until your ass is barely balanced on the edge of the counter. he kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other.

“you know what’s the best part of bakin’?” he asks, voice dark and close.

you shake your head, too breathless to answer.

“gettin’ to taste what you made.”

his mouth presses against the damp cotton of your panties, tongue laving up the center, making your hips jerk.

“you..fuck—joel—”

he hums against you, fingers digging into your hips to hold you still. then he hooks a finger into the waistband and peels your panties down, dragging them over your knees, off your ankles.

he looks up at you from between your legs, eyes firey, lips already wet with you.

“keep your fuckin’ eyes on me.” his tongue slides between your folds, slow at first, savoring you; he licks broad and flat, then teasing, flicking over your clit just to hear you whimper.

your thighs begin to shake.

“more,” you beg, voice breaking.

he gives it to you. sucks your clit into his mouth, rolls his tongue around it like he’s drawing circles on your spine. his fingers join the party—one thick finger sliding into you, crooking just right, then a second stretching you open.

his beard is slick with your arousal. he groans like he needs the taste, like your pussy is the only thing that’s ever mattered.

you claw at his hair, hips bucking wildly against his mouth.

“you gonna cum for me, baby?” he asks, tongue fucking back in before you can answer.

you cum with a choked cry, thighs clamped around his head, heels drumming against his back.

he doesn’t stop. just continues to lick you through it, makes you ride it out until you’re twitching and whimpering his name like a chant.

he finally stands, face soaked and shining with you. he drags the back of his hand across his mouth, but doesn’t wipe all of it away.

“never tasted anything sweeter,” he mutters.

then his hands are on his belt. the worn leather creaks, and the somewhat rusted zipper hisses. he pulls his cock free and it’s thick, long and heavy with a flushed red tip.

“joel—”

he shoves your knees up, crowding in between them, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock.

“look at this mess,” he growls, dragging the head through your folds. “so fuckin’ wet for me. you wanted it, now take it.”

he pushes in, instantly. his cock splits you slow, and wide continuing to drag along walls already swollen from his mouth.

you grip his shoulders hard, fingertips digging into muscle. he’s not even all the way in and your pussy’s already fluttering, already trying to squeeze around him like it’s too much—like he built it for you and you’re still not ready.

“joel,” you gasp, voice strangled, “fuck—fuck me—”

he stills, deep enough that your breath catches in your throat.

“you feel that?” he growls, hand cupping your jaw, angling your face up so you have to look him in the eye. “how tight you are around me? like you’re tryin’ to keep me in.”

you whimper as his cock pulses inside you.

“this what you wanted, sugar?” he grits through his teeth. “havin’ me take you right here? bent over flour and cookie dough?”

“yes,” you whine. “wanted it all day, wanted you—”

he starts to move. slow grind, hips rolling, his cock dragging against every single hypersensitive nerve like he’s trying to reprogram your body from the inside out.

“say it again.”

“wanted you,” you cry, fingers fisting in his shirt. “wanted your hands, your mouth—your cock, joel—”

he groans and slams into you, the counter creaking, your breath punched from your lungs.

“that’s it,” he growls, picking up the pace, fucking you deeper now, hard and mean and perfect. “you know how long i been thinkin’ about this? thinkin’ about takin’ this sweet little body—watchin’ that mouth beg me for more while you come all over my fuckin’ face?”

you can’t even answer him. you’re a complete mess, legs trembling, mouth open, just a mess.

he leans down, forehead to yours, panting against your lips.

“you don’t even know, do you?” he says. “how fuckin’ crazy you make me. God, the way you look at me, the way you talk—all that smartass mouth—and i been wantin’ to shut it with my dick since the day you showed up.”

“then do it,” you whimper, dazed and desperate. “joel, please—please—”

he pulls out and grabs your throat. not choking you—just slightly guiding. his cock taps your lips, stil wet with your arousal.

“open up.”

you moan around him as soon as he pushes in, filling your mouth.

“gotdamn,” he groans, head tipped back. “that’s it, baby...suck it like you mean it.”

you swirl your tongue around the tip, lips stretched wide. your hands grip his thighs, your throat working as he fucks your mouth slow.

“look so fuckin’ good like this,” he mutters. “slobberin’ all over me.”

you pull off with a wet pop. “want you back inside me,” you whisper, spit and precome slick on your chin. “please—want you to ruin me, joel.”

his hands are on you in a second—turning you, bending you over the counter, yanking your ass up. he slaps it once, the crack loud in the quiet bakery.

“ask me nice.”

“joel, please—fuck me. hard.... don’t stop till i’m cryin’.”

he drives into you in one savage thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

“you asked for it,” he growls, and starts pounding into you, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise you. the counter shakes beneath you. something falls off the shelf, shatters on the floor. yet neither of you care.

his balls slap your clit on every thrust, your juices loud and wet and obscene.

“you hear that?” he snarls. “that’s how wet you are for me. so desperate, so fuckin’ needy.” you can't help crying at the immense pleasure—tears dripping off your chin, mouth open on a moan that never ends.

“you gonna come for me again?”

“yes, yes—joel, i’m—fuck—i’m gonna—”

he reaches around, finds your clit, rubs it in tight messy circles. “then do it....cum pretty,”

your whole body spasms, toes curling, back arching, choking on a scream as your pussy clenches tight around him, milking his cock.

joel snarls, fingers digging deeper, hips jerking once, twice—then he comes. spilling inside you with a guttural moan.

you feel the heat of it, dripping out as he keeps fucking into you slow, like he doesn’t want to stop.

you both sag over the counter, chests heaving.

“...still think bakin’s for suckers?” you rasp, voice shot.

he huffs a laugh against your shoulder.

“depends what i’m bakin’ in.”

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @555aturn

“bad girls get punished”

synopsis: you tried to escape the camp, but joel decided that you needed a punishment, a very explicit lesson. word count: 2,3k warnings: +18 minors dni, mean!joel, dubcon, smut (explicit), joel slaps reader, violence, blood, forceful!joel, reader doesn't listen and it makes joel mad, detailed violent clicker scene, sex on the ground, joel continues to call reader 'mine.' please let me know if i have missed anything!

you hear a bone snap before you see anything. a sick, wet crunch from somewhere deep in the trees like someone twisted a chicken wing the wrong way, meat tearing off the bone. you freeze halfway through your step, boot caught in a knot of roots, your breath catching behind your teeth.

joel’s hand is already clamped tight over your mouth before you can scream. he shoves you down into the dirt, pinning your back with his forearm, hard enough to make your lungs stutter. “don’t make a fuckin’ sound,” he hisses low into your ear, voice like sandpaper, eyes fixed ahead. you nod or atleast try to. his fingers are calloused, digging into your cheek like he could silence your heartbeat too if he wanted.

through the gaps in the bushes, you see her. she’s young, maybe your age. younger, even. someone who thought she could sneak out, just like you did. she was barefoot, bleeding, limping—looks like she tried to run. the clicker moves slower than you thought they would. deliberate and grossly confident, its fungus-masked face jerks toward the sound of her sobbing, its legs twitching, head cocked.

you should look away. but you couldn’t because joel won’t let you. his other hand moves from your ribs to your jaw and grips it tight. keeping your face turned and your eyes on the scene unraveling just beyond the trees. 

“watch,” he says, just above a growl. “you wanna sneak outta camp? you wanna act grown?” you try to close your eyes. he presses harder, his fingers bruising. “no…keep ‘em open.”

you see the girl trip, blood gushing from her calf where something tore. you see her try to crawl. you see the clicker leap; it lands on her back, she’s screams outloud before it cuts out. her body jerks. she kicks once, then again, then nothing.

the clicker’s face buries into her neck, and the sound is worse than anything you’ve heard since the outbreak. it’s wet, sucking noises, like it’s chewing through a tendon, like it’s drinking her.

you feel your stomach heave, bile burning your throat. you cry out into joel’s palm, and he shushes you like he’s soothing you. “you need to see this,” he says, voice hoarse. “you need to fuckin’ learn.”

you’re shaking, not because of the cold or the horror only feet away. but because his breath is hot against your ear, and his body is pressed very tight against yours; which is making your cunt is wet. you’re disgusted with yourself, but he feels it. his thigh is slotted between yours. his hips are pressing down just enough while your clit is pulsing against the denim of his jeans, cruel friction. he doesn’t pull away or shift position.

you try to twist out from under him. trying to scream, or beg, or run. but his hand stays clamped around your mouth, and you go nowhere.

“she thought she knew better, too,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and guilt. “probably thought no one would notice if she slipped past the patrol.” the clicker’s still chewing. joel leans down closer, his nose brushing your temple. “they fuck ‘em, sometimes,” he whispers. “when there’s still enough brain left.”

you sob at that, your whole body trembling in his arms like a leaf underfoot. “you wanna see what that looks like? you wanna be next?” you shake your head violently, tears soaking into his palm.

he finally lets go of your mouth. his hand slides down to your throat, thumb resting over your pulse. “you scared?” he asks.

you nod making him hum low and satisfied. you hear the clicker lumbering off, dragging what’s left of her. you’re still under him, still trapped in the dirt, pants soaked through—cold, sweat, or arousal, you can’t tell anymore.

joel finally shifts his weight. his hand doesn’t move. “good,” he says. “then you’re finally fuckin’ listening?” you don’t answer. so he slaps you; a clean, backhand across your cheek that leaves your ears ringing and your teeth aching. not hard enough to knock you out—but hard enough to stun you. 

“answer me when i speak to you.” “yes” you choke out. your voice is cracked raw. “yes, joel.” 

he growls then grabs your chin and forces your eyes on his again. his pupils are blown wide. his brow is knitted with rage. lips curled, and his jaw clenched so tight you hear it pop.

“you wanna be safe?” he asks. you nod. he leans in, nose to nose now, the stench of sweat and old whiskey coming off his skin. “then you fuckin’ listen to me.”

his hand slides down. over your throat, down your chest, between your breasts. he doesn’t ask permission. you were so wet that he probably felt the heat before he touched you. his fingers glide over your belly, then down—pressing between your thighs.

he swear. “gotdamn.” your face burns with shame and need. he grips your hair and yanks your head back. “you get wet watchin’ that?” he hisses.

“no,” you whisper, but it’s a lie, and you both know it. he slaps you again. this time you moan. his mouth drops open just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that.

his fingers slip under the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches. he finds your pussy wet and puffy. “this what you want?” he sneers. “you wanna see blood, girl? you wanna feel the difference between them and me?” you whimper. “answer.” 

“i want you,” you say, barely audible. his hand stills, then, not even a second passes before he rips your pants down in one sharp pull, cloth tearing and buttons snapping. your thighs squeezing together instinctively. “too late for modesty now,” he mutters, and forces them apart.

he doesn’t undress or ask, he just unbuckles his belt with one hand, the other still shoved between your legs, two fingers pumping into you now.

he kneels over you, thick cock already hard and angry, precum at the tip. it was large, veiny, and curved with an angry tip. bigger than anything you’ve had before. you try to speak, but all that comes out is a ragged moan.

he grabs your jaw again and turns your face to the side. pointing at the result of the clicker scene. “look over there,” he growls. “look at what they did.” you see the blood trail. a smear through the dirt. you start to cry again.

joel lines himself up, presses the head of his cock against your cunt and watches your expression twist. he doesn’t push in yet. just he holds it there. “you think this is cruelty?” he asks, tone gone strangely quiet. “you think i’m the monster?”

you don’t answer, forcing him to he slap your cunt. you jolt, crying out. it hurts, but it feels good. he pushes in, the stretch is delicious. but, your pussy wasn’t ready—your body wasn’t ready for that thick cock. you scream into your arm, biting down to muffle it.

he bottoms out anyway while your world goes white. joel leans down, lips at your ear again. “this,” he growls, “is what real protection looks like.”

he doesn't move for a second. just stays buried inside you, deep, like your cunt belongs to him now. his hand spreads wide across your belly, thumb brushing the curve where his cock is pushing you out from the inside. you wonder if he wants to feel how deep he is.

your legs twitch under him, trying to close, to pull away, but he pins them open with his knees. “no, no,” he murmurs, almost soft and sweet. “lesson ain’t done yet.”

he starts to move. pulling halfway out just to fuck back in deeper.

“feel that?” he says, breathless. “feel how deep?”  he’s all the way in, balls flush against your ass, cock splitting you open with every thrust. your slick is everywhere now—slick and dirt, mixing into something that shouldn't feel good but does. shame coils up your spine like smoke, like barbed wire.

he fucks you harder. you choke out a pleasure-filled sob. “hush now,” he grunts, teeth bared. “you wanna cry, you cry for her.” his hand moves back to your jaw, forcing your head to the side again. 

“you remember her face,” joel snarls. “you remember what happens when you think you can survive without me.” his cock slams into you as you gasp, tears leaking down your cheeks and into the dirt.

he doesn't stop. “they’ll take you like a piece of meat,” he growls, each word punctuated with a thrust. “they’ll rip you open and fuck the holes that ain’t even there yet.”

your pussy tightens at the thought. joel feels it, hears the slick slap of skin against skin grow louder. he laughs. low and mean. “you like that, baby?” he breathes. “dirty little thing, scared and wet.”

“you run off again, baby,” he says, soft like a promise, “and next time i let ‘em have you. i sit back and watch while they tear you up.” you whimper. “but not before i get mine first.”

you moan, choked and hoarse as his pace speeds up. the thrusts get faster, his balls slap against your ass, his cock driving so deep you can’t breathe.

your pussy makes that filthy sound now, every thrust louder than the last. he kisses your cheek and licks the tear off your face and growls, “that’s it…take it.”

his hand snakes under you, between your thighs again, finds your clit. you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted. “please—” you gasp as he rubs harder. two fingers circling, pressing, working your clit in tight circles while his cock fucks you raw. “please joel, let me cum.”

“you come on my cock, baby, right now.” he snarls. your body goes tight, clenching around him, your cunt squeezing like a vice.

joel groans and grabs your throat. you cum so hard your vision whites out. your hips jerk and your pussy pulses so hard around him it drags a filthy curse from his lips.

“so—fuckin’, you’re tight—” he slams in one last time, then holds. his cock twitches, and you feel his warmth. his cum spilling inside you; he was leaking out already as his hips rock slow, pushing it back in. “that’s it,” he breathes, panting. “mine now.”

he stays inside you, breathing hard, holding your neck. licking sweat off your skin; your whole body’s gone numb except for the ache between your legs and the thick stretch still buried in your pussy. joel finally pulls out and you feel your hole gape open, dripping cum.

he crouches next to you. grabs your chin again. turns your face to his. “you learn your lesson?” he asks, quiet but firm. you nod. he taps your face this time less harsh, more like a reminder. “say it.” 

“yes, joel,” you whisper. “i learned.” he grins. 

he stands, buckles his belt, eyes still on your used body. “good,” he says. “get up.” you try to move, but your legs won’t cooperate. he sighs and kneels, scoops you up like you weigh nothing. you cling to his chest. he walks past the blood trail and doesn’t even glance at it. “next time,” he says, voice low, lips against your hair, “you wander off again, the next lesson will be worse.” your cunt clenches.

he carries you like you're precious, even though you feel filthy. your pants torn halfway down your thighs, cunt leaking a mixture of his cum and your own shame onto his arm. he doesn’t flinch. his grip is so sure and possessive, one arm tucked under your knees, the other pressed firm against the sweat line of your back. your body curls into his chest without thinking. 

he doesn’t speak the whole walk back. you feel the pulse of him, steady and slow under his shirt, every step vibrating up your spine. your thighs stillache. your pussy’s still twitching, open, sensitive to the wind. every step jars you, jostles your used hole, and his cum dribbles out, warm down your ass, coating your thighs. you can feel the smear of it every time your legs shift in his arms.

and still—your body doesn’t want to leave him. that part’s worse than the rest. the part where your cunt is already sore and fucked full and yet you want more—more of him. the weight of him on top of you again, the sound of his belt hitting the dirt, the press of his hand on your throat when he growls mine through clenched teeth.

he doesn’t put you down when he reaches the edge of camp. he walks straight into his shack, boots heavy against the floorboards, one after the other, until the door creaks closed behind you. only then does he let you down. he places you on the clean mattress—draped in a wool blanket. it smells just like him. your thighs stick to the fabric when he lets go, and you wince when your pussy brushes against it.

you lie still, blinking up at the ceiling. joel stands at the foot of the bed, watching you with careful eyes. he shrugs off his jacket, then pulls his shirt over his head. you’ve never seen him bare like this before—not fully. you saw pieces of him in glimpses, in flashes between thrusts—his stomach flexing, his chest damp with sweat—but now there’s no distraction. just raw, lined muscle and thick, grizzled skin.

he leans on you and sinks onto his elbows some what like a plank. his nose brushes your cheek. his voice is soft now, terrifyingly tender. “you think i wanted to scare you?” you blink up at him. vision blurry.

he kisses your eyelid. “i wanted to teach you. i wanted you alive.” you breathe, chest heaving under him. “you’re mine now, kid.” you nod. he kisses you, not rough or harshly, and that’s the worst part because you kiss him back.