#sneaky!joel

Mister opens the front door of his home for you with his hand pressed gently into your lower back. The smell of him hits you, like you hit the ground after falling out of the rafters– how many days have even gone by since then?

That happened yesterday– earlier this morning, technically. 

That doesn’t even make sense and you refuse to process that information because it’s ridiculous. That all happened days ago, maybe even weeks ago. You are actively fighting the memory of being inside your favorite, most safe and special place less than twenty-four hours ago. 

Why did you ever stop fighting him?

He adds weight to his touch on your body, and carefully forces you inside. Your feet shuffle along the hardwood floor just inside the entryway, his warm hand guiding you. 

The door closing makes you shudder, and a cold sweat beads at the nape of your neck. His house looks like a normal house. It looks like a house you would have seen before the outbreak, before the loss of everyone you had ever known. Before the infected, the terrible living conditions in the quarantine zones–  before the real monsters emerged from the rubble of what was civilized once. 

Mister-man’s house looks… 

Safe. 

It does look safe. It looks warm, inviting, and familiar. It’s like you’ve been here before and know your way around even though you’ve never once stepped foot inside a house in almost 12 years. The closest you’ve gotten was a dry goods storage shed the raiders used to lock up shelf-stable food products. 

Look at you, been in two houses today and you’re perfectly fine. 

They’re all trickin’ you, and you’re fallin’ for it.  

There is a fireplace and it's already lit, keeping the house nice and warm. There are stairs that lead to a second floor, and you wonder what’s up there before your eyes wander into the kitchen area. 

Joel lets his hand fall from the small of your back. “Y’like it?” He shrugs the coat off his shoulders and hangs it up on a coat rack by the door.

You shrug your one working shoulder silently as he stands in front of you to unzip your jacket. Your eyes don’t meet his, they can’t right now because they’re too busy taking in everything else. 

Joel slips your coat off carefully and hangs it up beside his, “Go on and take a look around. Get familiar with it all,” he motions for you to keep walking, go further. 

Curious feet carry you deeper into his home to inspect what Mister-man has. “Where is Puddin’?” You still don’t look at him, you just keep wandering and taking in the sounds of the logs crackling in the fireplace and the texture against your fingertips as you brush them along the wallpaper. 

His kitchen is uncluttered and smells like it’s been cleaned recently.

Make a mess. Ruin his things. Burn it down. 

“Somewhere ‘round here. Hidin’ probably.” Joel explains from behind you. “Makin’ a mess, I’m sure.” 

Puddin’s probably gone. Ain’t ever gonna see him again.

“Where’re ya’ thinkin’ he might be?” Your blood pressure rises at the thought that you’ve been lied to, that Puddin’ isn’t here and was let go in the woods shortly after you left with Maria. 

Or worse. 

The dining room smells like him too, and you wonder if there is a part of the house that doesn’t. His table is big enough to seat four and all the chairs match. There is a china cabinet with nothing in it. A few decorative pictures and knick-knacks on the wall. 

It’s a normal house. The bad ones didn’t look like this, or Maria’s. 

Traps don’t always look like traps. Tricks don’t always feel like tricks. 

“I dunno. I ain’t really pay attention to where he ran off too when I let him off leash,” Joel sighs while he follows behind you only two or three paces. You can feel his eyes boring holes into the back of your head. 

You suck your teeth rapidly several times and then call out, “T’mere Puddie-boy. T’mon,” you call in a high-pitched voice. He doesn’t come running to you like he normally would, but he’s probably just as scared as you are in a house. Puddin’s never ever been inside one!! You try not to think about it– just hope that Puddin’ is hiding, and will come out soon. 

The kitchen opens up into his living room where the fireplace is. You can see the door that leads outside where you and Mister-J had just been standing just a moment ago. 

Run. 

The couch faces the fireplace, and there is a wooden rocking chair with an overstuffed cushion to sit on adjacent to it. 

A nice place for you and Joel to sit and talk. 

Which is exactly what you wanted in the first place. All you wanted was someone to talk with, not at, or to, but with. Someone who would show interest in the things you wanted to show them, and that was Mister-J. 

“Do you wanna see the bedroom?” He asks as the backs of his fingers ghost against the curve of your ass. “Finish what we started earlier,” he adds, an octave lower than just a moment ago.

You do want that. 

Mister and his incredible cock, his large, strong hands that grip you and pull and pinch your skin while he thrusts into you. His facial hair scratching at your inner thighs, warm and muscular biceps and forearms wrapped around your middle. 

You turn to face him, eyes finally darting up to meet his gaze. “Do I get to sleep there,” you pause, expecting him to start laughing at you for having such an absurd thought, but he doesn’t, he’s quiet and waits for you to keep talking. “...or do I have a different room– my own room?” 

Somehow, for whatever reason, you want both. You want to sleep with Mister and also, have your own room away from him to go to whenever you want. 

Just like at the mall. 

The idea that you could have both makes your heart skip a beat.

He’s not goin’ to give you shit. 

With the way he’s acting, you’re not so sure about that. 

He looks slightly amused, but not annoyed, and then he slips his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, using it to pull you closer into him. “You can sleep with me,” he leans in until his lips are almost pressed against yours. His and your breaths mingle momentarily before he says, “I could make up the other room for ya’,” he growls and kisses you quickly. “I’d rather ya’ sleep with me though,” he finishes with another kiss, but this one lingers a moment longer than the other, and there is force, and pressure that hadn’t been there with the first. 

It feels like there is something behind the kiss, but that doesn’t make sense. There isn’t a word you know to describe what it feels like because it’s foreign. It makes you shiver– the little hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up. 

It’s all a trick. Just wait ‘n see, stupid girl. 

You stare at him inquisitively during the entire interaction, “Whaddya doin’?” You tip your head to the side and wrinkle your nose, one eyebrow raised after a minute of trying to learn his unspoken, untranslatable language silently in your head. 

It feels foreign because it’s new, no one has cared about you in a long time. It doesn’t feel normal, but it’s okay.

Joel snorts, shakes his head once and then grabs your right hand, pulling you gently in the direction of the stairs. “Gonna show you the bedrooms,” he’s explaining as the two of you climb to the second floor. 

You ain’t ever leavin’ this house again. 

That sweet voice is laughing at you, almost cackling. It feels horrible to be laughed at, especially by the voices inside your head. The ones that got you into this mess in the fucking first place. Without that sweet and lighthearted voice, you might not have done the things you did out in the woods. That voice was your courage, your enabler, the one who told you that you could do anything. 

Thought you could, sug. Guess I was wrong... 

You’re only human, honey. 

The hallway upstairs is dark, and long and feels more ominous than you expected it to. Part of you is screaming to turn around and leave, the other part of you is morbidly curious about the outcome if you stay. So you freeze, yank your hand out of Joel’s and stay glued to the spot at the top of the stairs. 

Mister whips around, his stance looks like he half expected to take off running, knees slightly bent and arms twitching like he’s ready to grab you. But he relaxes when he sees you standing still, your one working arm wrapped around yourself. 

“Why’s it so dark?” You ask nervously, glancing around for the light switches on the wall but you see none. 

Mister glances up, and then points to the ceiling. 

Your eyes follow, and notice the broken light fixture above you. “Oh.” 

There isn’t a sense of urgency, which you’re surprised about. You expected him to rush you, to want to get you into a room as quickly as he could. Instead he moves slowly like the snails that lived on the banks of the river near the mall. 

“You scared of the dark or somethin’?” 

You can’t tell if he’s taunting, or playfully teasing, or being serious. Nothing really makes sense anymore– one side of you is pulling towards the stairs again, itching to get to the front door; not before lighting Mister-man’s house on fire. 

The other side of you, the side closest to Joel feels like it’s magnetized and he’s your polar opposite. It’s hard to escape the draw that is Mister-J and his half-smirks and deep voice, the way his arms feel wrapped around you. 

“I ain’t scared,” you lie sassily, the words stitched with apprehension. “Just can’t see where m’goin’.” You are frightened by what could be hiding behind these doors in the darkness.

Probably a lil prison just for you– ‘n Tommy helped him fix it all up for ya’. 

That is a possibility. This wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve been tricked by someone being kind to you. Mister-man and his nice tone, and his kisses. His sultry voice talking about fucking– he absolutely might be trying to trick you. 

You wait for some reassurance from the dark voice– but it doesn’t come. 

Stupid girl. Why did you ever stop fighting him?

Mister snaps his fingers in front of your face and it makes you flinch. 

Instinctively, your right hand swats his fist away but he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you close to him again. 

“Where were ya’ just now?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. His grip on your wrist tightens as you try to pull away. 

His question confuses you because you haven’t moved from this spot since you got to the second floor. Before you have more time to think about what he could mean, he adds on more words that continue to puzzle you.

“You do that a lot,” he adds as he begins to take steady but deliberate steps backwards, further into the darkness, closer to those mysterious doors. The void starts to envelope Mister, the shadows licking and dancing across his face as he pulls you further down the hallway. 

It’s ya’ last chance, Sug. 

It’s hard to breathe, and Mister-man is crowding your every sense. His once welcoming, comforting smell is now overwhelming and makes your mouth hot. Saliva pools under your tongue and you can’t remember how to swallow. 

Gotta make a run for it. 

Where is the dark voice!? You need it now more than ever to calm these nerves, to make this boulder in your stomach revert back to the pebble it was only moments ago. 

You just have to trust, honey. 

Can’t trust not one thing, not nobody. ‘Specially not a Mister-man. 

There are too many sounds inside your brain, and too many feelings happening in your chest. Your heart and lungs and everything else hidden behind ribs, tendons and flesh have been replaced with a hive of angry hornets. You’re buzzing, and in the worst way. 

“Hey,” Joel’s voice sounds like it’s so far away, like it could be coming from the atmosphere. 

The sound doesn’t grip you, or pull you back from floating away from him. The darkness is suffocating; too much and taking over. 

Joel watches you slip further and further away, his eyes adjusting to the dark quicker than yours. He’s more accepting of the things hiding in the dark than you must be. Joel isn’t afraid of the dark. He’s afraid of what he can see, once a brain processes something– it has to work hard to get it out– and some memories are etched so deeply that they never leave no matter how hard the brain works.

Some memories are never forgotten.

“Hey,” Joel cups your face with one hand, your chin resting on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Your brow crinkles, but you don’t respond otherwise– you don’t see him and you’re not trying to. You’re disappearing back inside of yourself and it’s strange the way it happens so fast sometimes. “Hey!” He tries again. This time he lets your wrist go, and your arm falls limply to your side and dangles there. 

Joel snaps rapidly in your face. 

You flinch and retract from him, trying to free your face from his grip but he holds you tight enough to keep you from backing away. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t–” you’re mumbling, barely audible. “I can’t, I sh-should, I won’t, I want to. I c-can’t. I ca-can, can’t.” 

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” He wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you close to him. Two stumbled steps and you’re crashing into him; he has to hold you upright as your legs betray you like a newborn foal’s would. 

“Trust him. I can’t trust him-” You’re on the verge of tears. Your eyes are wet, red and distant; looking right at Joel, but not truly seeing him. 

He doesn’t know where you are inside your head, or what you’re putting yourself through, what you’re forcing yourself to relive. “Trust who, babydoll?” He knows. He knows before you tell him, he can feel it dripping out of your pores in the form of a cold sweat. He needs to hear you say it, though. He needs to hear your sweet, soft voice say it. 

“Ca-Can’t trust… anyone,” you snivel quietly. “‘Sp-specially not a– a M-Mister-man,” you’re hiccuping now, unable to catch your breath. 

Joel comes to a stop with his back against something solid, he keeps you held against him with the arm still around your waist, the other slips behind him and he searches blindly for the doorknob. “That ain’t true. You can trust Mister-man. He ain’t ever gonna hurt ya’.” 

The door opens, and light spills out into the dark hallway, illuminating your terrified face and bleary eyed stare. 

The light snaps you out of it, the light brings you back to him, but you stiffen and push your right hand against his chest, brows pulled together angrily. 

“Get off me! No, no, no, no, no!” Your once sadly sweet voice is now deep and angry, eyes once again, looking right at Joel but it’s like he’s not even there, looking at someone else possibly. “Get off’a me! Don’ fuckin’ touch me!” You shriek. 

Oh, someone is gonna be hearin’ all of that– wonder what they’ll be thinkin’...

His body reacts before he can think about what else to do, how else to calm you down. Joel spins you around in his arm and then slaps one hand over your mouth as you continue your loud protesting. 

Whatever was holding you together, snaps… and violently. Your arms punch and flail in every direction, legs kick and slam into his shins as he drags you further into his room. 

Joel is too old for this, too tired to be dealing with this shit. “Enough’a that,” he’s straining as he’s pulling you closer to the bed. “

From behind his palm your loud muffled objections are now only his to hear. 

You know what she needs. You know what’ll make her your pliant lil pup. 

The back of Joel’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he sinks down into it, bringing you with him. Joel presses the side of his mouth to your ear as he pushes himself further up the bed with his boot clad heels until his back touches the headboard. “Here we go,” he murmurs to you as he settles. His palm still rests over your mouth, his other wrapped around your waist.

You sob silently behind his hand, your fists are pathetically punching against his thighs and hips in protest, body slowly going limp in his grasp. 

Wonder when the last time she slept was…

He feels like that’s slightly condescending- you’re not a baby that needs a nap to stop being grumpy. He knows that you’ve been through things that have traumatized you, that have helped shape you into who you are today– good and bad. 

“Hey– ya’ sleepy? Need a good night’s sleep next to Mister?” He mumbles against the side of your face. 

It’s been something that’s been eating away at him for days. Since he broke the news to you about Harley Quinn and Joker, and how their love wasn’t what you thought it was– you had skipped out on him. 

For almost a week you had been gone, or hiding somewhere that Joel couldn’t find you. There had been nights in the mall that he had sworn he could feel you there with him, but you weren’t in the bed or even the mattress store at all. You were avoiding him, and that made him feel two things. 

Furious. So angry that he was sure the next time he saw you– he was going to kill you no matter if it took his life too. How could you just leave him with no weapons? No extra supplies, a fucking opossum to look after. Where the fuck did you run off to? 

He felt something else too, but he’s still not exactly sure what it was; he wasn’t just furious, something else was woven into the fibers of that anger, and he just couldn’t identify its origin- or reason. 

He kisses the top of your head as he adjusts the two of you to sit more comfortably, with you in his lap rather than just laying between his legs with your back pressed against his stomach. 

Now with your back against his chest, his legs pinning yours between together gently. “You gonna be a good girl for Mister? Remember where we’re at?” He rubs his hand across your stomach slowly, moving it up to tease the valley between your tits and then over your collarbone before repeating the motion back down your body. “Ain’t no one gonna hurt ya’, or get ya’-- not while I’m here, ok?” 

With scrabbling fingers starting to grip his jeans under your thighs, you nod your head slowly, and Joel removes his hand over your mouth. You don’t tell or scream, or start to fight him, but you don’t make any other sounds or move at all. 

Joel wasn’t sure what to do now– he honestly hadn’t really expected all this to happen. He had expected you to explode once you found out how many people were really in Jackson, he expected you to act crazy once the patrol people found the two of you. He had expected you to fight when Maria and Tommy wanted to split the two of you up. 

He thought once he got you inside, through the front door– he was in the clear. If you were going to fight him again– it should have been outside his house. 

Now he’s got you back, and he had planned to fuck you into this mattress, make you love him again and then, just keep you preoccupied enough until you forgot about the mall completely. 

“Whaddya need from me?” He whispers, continuing his slow tracing movements across the front of your body, the tips of his fingers brushing along the waistband of your jeans mindlessly. He’d give you anything you asked for. 

There is only the sound of both of you trying to steady your breathing, trying to slow your hearts pounding. He can feel yours with his hand every time he moves it across your chest, and he knows you can feel his thudding against your back. 

“W-Wanna–” you hesitate, and you’re trembling against him now. 

Joel has to push the unprovoked rage down because you haven’t said you wanted to go back to the mall yet, but he knows you do. It’s all you said on the way here, and if you start asking again after the deal he made with you– he’s going to lose it. 

“What? Wanna what, babygirl?” His hand moves down one thigh and then back up, over your jeans covered mound, down the other thigh– an addition to the pattern he had been tracing before. 

The trembling turns into full on shaking, he half expects you to start crying again, but he brushes the backs of his fingers of his other hand across your cheek gently, and he tips your head to the side, and leans forward to look at you. 

“What’re you shakin’ for?” 

Your eyes meet his, watery and red still, chin trembling softly. “Wanna know you’re not mad at me,” you say it fast, high pitched and strained, face twisting as the tears fall. “That you’re not trickin’ me ‘n aren’t ever gon’ let me go outside again, ‘n keep me all chained up—” you choke back a sob as Joel wipes the tears off your face, not saying a thing. “Th-That you didn’t hu-hurt Puddin’ or let him go–” 

Joel interrupts you, “I wouldn’t ever hurt Puddin’,” he shakes his head and shifts forward an inch more when your sobbing takes over, the words no longer coming out. He wonders if you even heard what he said, or if you’re being sucked back into your own head again. “Puddin’ is here in the house somewhere. Probably in the basement– I’ll go look for ‘em if that’ll make ya’ feel better,” he offers. “Would seein’ him make you feel better,” he asks over your crying. 

You’re trying to reel it in, piece yourself back together. You nod, sniffling. Joel pinches your nose together gently, clears your nostrils and wipes his hands on the back of his shirt. Your eyes meet again, “Yeah, that would make me feel a lil better,” your voice wavers, still unsure of the situation around you. 

Joel hooks his index finger under your chin so you can’t look away, “I don’t wanna do any of that stuff to ya’,” he shakes his head from side to side. “Brought you back with me so ya’ could see what this place was like,” he rubs his thumb under your plump and worried bottom lip. “See that it ain’t like where you came from,” his eyes can’t help but flicker down to your pout before he’s back to looking into your eyes. 

“What if I don’t like it?” 

“I told ya’ what would happen if ya’ didn’t like it– but we haven’t even been here two hours,” Joel gives you a knowing look. 

Your body shrinks back into his and your bottom lip starts to tremble again. 

“You gotta give it a chance– a real one. Gotta try– ‘cause why?” He raises both eyebrows at you and waits. “What’re you gonna make a good effort for?

You blink once and then drone back to him, “‘Cause the only way Mister-man will love me is if I try.” 

The deal makes complete sense to you. There wasn’t a thing that didn’t make sense. You still feel wrong as you speak the works back to him monotonously. “‘Cause the only way Mister will love me is if I try.” 

‘Cause it ain’t ever gonna fuckin’ happen. He’s never gonna love you. 

He was never going to love you at the mall, he couldn’t love you there. 

Joel waits for more, waits for the rest as if you maybe had forgotten the most important part of the deal. 

“And if I really don’t like it…” you trail off and wait for him to produce a collar with a lock on it, and a chain that attaches because you’re not sure if he meant it. It felt too good to be true. “We can go back.” 

Joel looks proud, his eyes are crinkled at the corners, and he’s got his familiar half-smile that warms you from the inside, out. “Good girl,” he gives your chin a gentle pinch before he leans back against the headboard and pulls you into his chest again. “You wanna go look for Puddin’ with me?”

The idea of being in here alone, where he might lock the door on you once it’s shut– trapping you inside for however long he wants. 

This whole time you had been in this room, fighting to be free, accepting your horrendous fate– whatever it may be– being comforted by the man you had assumed to be your captor. 

He is your captor– are you fuckin’ thick?

His room looks normal and clean, it looks like something you’d see out of a catalog from the mall when you first got there. A nice comforter with corresponding pillowcases. Two bedside tables with matching lamps sitting on both. The walls were painted a familiar beige that made you feel small, and helpless for some reason. 

Mister slides his hands down the front of you, exploring you, feeling you. Everything about it makes your head spin. 

“We could go look for ‘em later,” he murmurs suggestively in your ear as he palms your tits over your shirt gently. “Never got my chance t’finish makin’ you feel good earlier.” Mister’s accent drawls on as he continues to grope and squeeze at your chest with insistent fingers. 

When you had been ambushed earlier by the group of patrolies, Joel had been trying so hard to calm you down in the only way he knew how– to make you feel good. 

All the emotions from the day- from possibly losing Mister-man, thinking you were going to die, then being dragged through the woods on a leash and being zapped to shit every time you tried to make a run for it, or fight him- boiled over right as the lights from the settlement or compound, or whatever it was fucking called, started to show in the distance. Then you fell apart. 

Joel was just trying to put you back together. 

Trying to trick you, play games with your head. 

Mister presses his mouth against your neck, one of his massive hands sliding down your stomach and to the waistband of your jeans. “Just like makin’ you feel good,” he murmurs as his fingers slip between your skin and the fabric like he’s practiced this before. The pads of his ring and index finger trace the seam of your cunt slowly.

Your head lols back against his shoulder, legs instinctively falling apart as he dips those same two fingers into your entrance. “I know,” you’re whispering with a dry mouth, nodding in agreement. Your eyes flutter while he slides his thick digits into you slowly. 

The both of you groan in unison at the way your body molds around him as he pushes deeper, the “Might be the only thing I know how t’do right anymore,” he almost growls into your ear. His forearm grips you around your torso, his hand still cupping and pawing at one of your tits as he holds you close to him. 

You groan in displeasure as he withdraws from inside you, turning your head to look up at him with your brows pinched together. “What’re ya’--”

Mister’s lips crash against yours, and his mouth opens; his tongue licks at the inside of your cheeks the minute you part your lips like he’s late for an appointment. Then he’s moving between your legs, hovering over you, leaning you back gently against the pillows. He pulls away from the kiss and looks at you with dark, blown-out pupils that make his eyes appear almost completely black. His chest is heaving, and so is yours as you try to catch your breath, but he’s staring at you like he could tear you apart piece by piece. 

He’s going to. Sink his fangs into you and rip you open.

Silently, his deft fingers pop open the button on your jeans, and his calloused hands push them down your thighs, and then he pulls them off your body completely. Now you’re bare– exposed to him from the waist down. He still says nothing while he takes in the sight of you like this, his knuckles ghosting along the inside of your thigh as he trails it up towards your core.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he speaks quietly, almost so low you can barely hear him while he gazes down between your legs. “She’s mine,” his eyes flash up to yours as two fingers find their place buried inside you, his thumb rubbing lazy circles around your now throbbing clit.

You respond with a quiet moan, and a slack jaw as he curls his fingers up towards your stomach, against that perfect spot nestled inside of you that makes you warm everywhere. Everything is right and incredible, and there isn’t anything that could make this bad– not one single thing. 

That’s why he’s doin’ it– so you feel like this. Tryin’ to trick ya’, ‘n you’s fallin’ for it. He’s poison.

Mister thrusts impossibly deeper, jolting you, almost pushing you backwards with the force of it, demanding you to look at him, really see him while he pulls back and then thrusts forward again. “You heard me?” He questions as every muscle inside of you tries to keep him inside of you. 

“Wha–” 

He doesn’t let you finish. He pushes the heel of his hand against your clit while he curls his fingers rapidly inside of you, “I said,” he leans forward and braces one hand against the headboard just above your shoulder. “This pretty pussy is fuckin’ mine,” he growls and switches back to plunging his fingers into you again, as deep as he can. 

It’s so hard to keep your focus when he’s making you feel so fucking good, your eyes close as the pleasure closes in on you- but Mister lets out a loud, sharp whistle that makes them snap open. 

He’s shaking his head already, a mischievous smile on his face. “Nuh-uh. Y’know better– you look at me,” he pulls his fingers from inside you once again and sucks them into his mouth. 

“M’sorry,” you whine quietly, desperate for his touch, desperate for that release that you’ve been denied for so long. Mister chuckles as he laps and sucks at his digits, ravenous for your taste. “She’s yours– you’re right. She is.” You nod in agreement as you babble.

Mister releases his fingers with a loud, wet pop and then reaches for his waist. “Oh, I know she is,” his belt jingles as he gets it open and he pulls his zipper down. “Needed to make sure you know,” Mister pushes his jeans to mid-thigh, watching you watching him in amazement as he lets his hard, angry looking cock slap against his lower stomach. 

Your mouth starts to water at the sight of him, every vein is throbbing, and the dusky skin of his shaft now red and the tip of him is almost purple and drooling. 

All for you. He’s yours, too. 

“S’all for me?” The blood is pounding in your ears, and your eyes flash up to catch him nodding at you. 

One of his thick hands grasps the base of himself and squeezes tight. He settles on his knees, your legs draped over either of his thighs as he scoots himself closer to you. His voice rumbles in your ear as he slaps his shaft against your folds, and you feel how thick and heavy– how ready he is for you. 

What he says doesn’t register. How could it when you’re watching him drag is cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your slick. He rocks his hips back and forth, the friction on your clit is delicious and you arch your hips up to meet him. 

Joel uses his free hand to hold your hip, and he squeezes, digging his fingers into your skin. “Y’aint fuckin’ listenin’ to me,” he barks at you, halting his movements and pushing you back down into his bed. 

Your eyes meet him once again, and he’s unreadable- he’s not exactly the same man you met in the mall. There is something new, something unknown about him now. It’s like he’s taken a mask off and you recognize his voice and his touch but you don’t know him anymore. “Sorry–”

Mister stares at you while notching himself at your entrance. “No need t’be sorry,” he breathes out as your aching hole flutters around the tip. “Just listen to Mister,” he pushes in a fraction of an inch and you’re not sure if he’s teasing you, or trying to make it last longer. 

A sigh leaves you as the burn from the stretch settles inside you, the pain mixed with the pleasure. The pleasure mixed with every other emotion. All of it is so good. “M’listenin’ now,” you nod your head, fighting the urge to look down at where you’re joined. 

Joel nods his head in approval, and rubs circles on your hip with his thumb. “You’re mine,” he rasps out as he pushes forward again. “All of ya’.” He lets go of the base of his shaft and uses that hand to hold your other hip. He pulls you against him while thrusting into you, and bottoms out. 

You let out a loud, filthy groan as the tip of him kisses your cervix immediately. Your right hand reaches for him, wrapping around his wrist as he keeps his grip on your waist. “Oh f–fuck.”

He is perfect. 

“All mine,” he grunts and holds himself inside of you, allowing you to adjust to his size, to mold to him like you always do. “Ya’ hear me that time or do–” he cuts himself off with a low groan as he pulls back an inch and then pulls you back down onto his shaft. 

“H–heard ya’,” you moan, nodding back at him in additional confirmation. “I’m yours.” Your walls clench around him, body reacting to the idea of being his. A new, wet wave of arousal coats his cock while he’s still inside of you. 

Joel snickers, feeling your immediate ratification leaking around him. “Oh ya’ like that, babydoll? Like bein’ mine?” He growls pridefully, his hips picking up speed. 

You barely recognize that you’re a real person when he’s inside of you, when he’s close to you like this. Everything makes sense while also meaning nothing at all. As long as Mister is here, as long as he wants so badly it feels like he needs you. “Uh-huh,” you babble, eyes finally closing and resting back against the pillows. “L-Love it.”

Joel leans over you, bracing himself on one forearm, “Yeah… I know,” his other hand keeps its grip on your hip as he continues his crescendoing pace, fucking you open for him and dragging the defined ridge of his cock against that spot– that place only he knows how to reach and touch over and over again. That place that makes you breathless and leaves you sometimes sobbing underneath him.

Tonight you’re moaning loudly, on the verge of potentially being too loud– but no more tears, no more fear inside of you. It’s just Mister making you feel like you’re weightless: he is the source of all your pleasure and you’ll never find a feeling like this again without him. 

Joel presses his temple against yours and you feel him; slick with sweat and warm like the day you met at the tail end of the summer last year. “Feel so fuckin’ good,” he half whispers, half grunts into your ear.

The room’s filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing and skin slapping against skin. There is something primal about the way he’s touching you tonight. His teeth graze the skin of your cheek, and then he nips at you, pinching the skin hard enough to make you whimper.

His hips never falter, sawing back and forth, cock slamming into you like this is a punishment, like he’s angry with you, like he hates you– “S’my turn,” he murmurs with his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Take care of ya’,” he grunts as his hips snap into yours, punching the air right out of you. “Keep you safe now.”

His words resonate with you, almost doing more for the intense coiling in your belly than the feeling of him inside you. “P-Please don’t stop,” His sentiments do more than the way he hitches your leg up on his shoulder and suddenly reaches parts of you that feel devastating in the most incredible and blissful way possible.

“S’my good girl,” he pants into your ear at your pliability. His deep voice praising you has your walls clenching around him. “Fuck,” he groans breathily, feeling you flutter around him. 

His hand leaves your hip and slides it between your bodies to rub circles around your clit again, slow but deliberate, meaningful and precise movements that have your back arching off the bed. Ministrations he’s learned that you like– and remembered them so he can make you feel this way over and over again. That tight, hot ball of goodness is growing in your lower stomach, and it’s tearing desperate, ragged noises out of you that you didn’t even know you could make.

“Don’t stop– Don’t stop,” your right hand slides up the curve of his shoulder and behind his neck before your fingers card through the thick mess of gray and brown curls. His voice is going to push you off the precipice. 

Mister incredibly increases his speed and you worry for a moment that you’re going to be fucked up the headboard behind you until you feel his hand on the top of your skull, sliding down to cup your head close to him. 

“Talk– please t-talk,” you plead airily against his neck. “Don’t stop talkin’.” 

Joel presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, his hips hammering into you still. You can feel him grinning against your skin for a moment before he pulls his chest away from yours. He holds your leg against his torso. He suddenly looks like he’s in pain, but the grimace disappears from his face just as quickly as it had shown up. 

“You–” You’re about to ask if he’s alright, if he wants to switch positions but he Mister cuts you off. 

“Shut up–” He rasps, hand exploring your thigh and shin, lips pressing into your ankle. It’s a familiar picture. He kisses you there whenever he fucks you like this. 

At the mall sometimes he would bite you there, nipping at the bone, and then the sensitive skin on the top of your foot before he pulled out to finish on your belly.

Tonight it’s different. Everything in the room feels charged– ready to zap you dead if you touched anything but Mister. He’s grounding you, keeping you safe right now. 

“Lil pup needs me, huh?” He sounds like he’s teasing you, but the words go right to your core and you clench around him again, tighter and more rapidly your walls flitter and constrict. 

You let out a pathetic whine because yes, you do need him. That scares you and makes your cunt throb at the same time. 

“Say it,” Mister continues his touch on your sensitive clit, rubbing in faster, sloppier circles. It doesn’t matter how precise his touch is anymore because you’re so close. 

Everything inside of you is taught and ready to explode. “Y-Yeah,” you pant nod your head rapidly.

“Need what?” Mister purrs deeply, seemingly already satisfied by the fucked-out look on your face, or the actual, desperate need behind your eyes that has been building for him and him alone. His thumb rubs furiously around your nub, his leaking tip pushes so deeply inside of you that you swear you can feel it in your stomach. 

Your mouth hangs open silently as your impending orgasm shoots sparks from your lower belly to the rest of your body. 

Joel’s palm connects with the side of your thigh hard enough to hear the smack echo off the walls of his room. The sting settles into your flesh, and you bite your bottom lip to suppress a whimper. 

“C’mon– lemme hear your pretty voice say it” Mister’s voice is low and demanding– just what you needed to tip you over the edge. 

Your chest heaves, and you sob loudly, “Need you, need you, need you!” Everything is hot, and good- your legs twitch as the waves of pleasure crash over you again and again. The stress and the worry that had been building up a hard shell around you being eroded away with each broken moan that leaves your raw and tender throat. 

Mister-man doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop his brutal pace he set. He instead begins to rub your clit rapidly with four stiff fingers. “Atta girl” he growls into the side of your calf. Then he sinks his teeth into you. 

“Oh fuck–” you groan, letting your head fall back against the pillows again as the bliss courses through all the nerves and veins you have. “Oh my god,” you keen loudly, back bowing off the bed dramatically. 

Mister sucks on the spot where he just indented marks of his teeth into your skin. His tongue laves at the sore, tender skin like he’s hungry for your taste. “S’right– so fuckin’ pretty when you come on my cock,” he’s grunting, fingers working feverishly over your clit to bring you there.

Your shoulder hurts as your arm moves so you can try and sit up on your elbows to watch him, but you don’t care– it’s not nearly as bad as missing out on the view of him splitting you in half, watching the way you obscenely stretch open for him. You whimper at the sight.

Mister’s forehead is damp and his hair clings to it, the column of his throat is red and also stippled with beads of sweat that drip down behind the fabric of his flannel shirt. His forearm holds your leg close to his chest as he rests his head against the side of your foot, gazing down at you. 

He’s handsome and loves to make you feel good. 

It’s all a trick. 

It doesn’t matter right now if it’s a trick, or if he’s genuine with why he’s doing what he’s doing- it feels so good– teetering on the edge of being too good. Too much. All at once it hits you like a tsunami. 

“Ok, ok, ok, ok!” You’re squealing and half trying to crawl away from him, but he holds you tight by the thigh and keeps up the speed of his fingers on your clit, his thrusts pummeling you into near blurry vision. 

He doesn’t care, he loves this, loves to see you like this. He whispered it to you once late at night in the darkness of the mattress store after he made you feel good over and over, again and again. Mister just chuckles at your useless, and half-hearted begging and his thrusts slow, but each one is deep and touches the furthest parts inside of you. 

It’s going to happen– your legs are shaking and your fingers dig into the sheets below you to hold on to something because it feels like you’re about to float away and explode all over again in such a different way. 

Joel grunts again, his thrusts becoming more erratic and clumsy, his fingers dip into the flesh of your upper thigh and you watch his knuckles go white. “C’mon– know ya’ got one more in there for me.” His voice is strained and you can tell he’s close too. 

And of course you have another one for him, you always do and he knows it. He knows how to draw it out of you and make you gush. 

The only sound you can make is a strained whimper as you come again, this time all over his lower stomach and pelvis. Joel groans loudly, and keeps his fingers strumming your clit rapidly while he knocks your leg off his shoulder and pulls out. 

He strokes himself with his free hand a couple of times, chasing his own release now that he’s given you more than you could ask for. He drags the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, looking down at you with hooded eyes. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he groans again, his fingers finally give you some much needed relief as they leave your clit. The pad of his thumb presses into the top of your slit and he pushes up– pulling you taught as he rubs the tip of his cock against your red, puffy and swollen lips. He moans loudly, hips bucking forward, fucking his fist as he splashes his cum against your cunt. 

You watch in fascination and adoration as he rubs the head up and down as he throbs with each release. He milks himself, and coats the outside of your pussy in his spend before he gives the side of your thigh another slap, gentler and more appreciative this time. 

“You stay there,” he pants softly, and begins to crawl off the bed. 

All the good feelings leave you immediately and fear rips through you again, “Where ya’ goin’?” You ask, scrambling after him, hissing loudly when your shoulder screams in protest. 

Joel turns around, already stuffing himself back into his Jeans with his finger pointed at you sternly. “I said stay there,” he’s firm when he says it, and gives you a look to match. 

You stifle the whine that builds in your throat as he stares you down– unblinking as he waits for you to lay back down. “You comin’ right back?” You ask, settling yourself back into the soft pillows behind your back. 

Joel nods silently, and heads into the bathroom attached to his bedroom and disappears. 

Then you are all alone in his room.

You hear the water turn on, and then off and he’s back in the doorway, his shirt partially unbuttoned with one hand still working on it and then a wet washcloth in the other. 

“Open’em,” he orders gently, much more gentle than he had been only a moment ago. His tone is inviting, and calming– caring. 

You let your legs fall apart, and Joel looks up at you, catching your eye as he rubs you clean, not too rough and careful of your oversensitive parts. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, blinking slowly in admiration of his handsomeness, even with his messy hair and scratched face and black eye. That you gave him. “Sorry for hurtin’ ya’,” you add just as quietly even though you mean it. 

Joel shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head softly. “Know you didn’t mean it.” 

You nod your head, “Was just a lot goin’ on, ‘n I got all confused–”

“S’like you didn’t even see me,” he starts, finishing undoing the buttons on his shirt. “-but you were lookin’ right at me.” He’s done cleaning between your legs and tosses the washcloth into his hamper. 

You feel the embarrassment crawling up your chest and neck– growing behind your cheeks. There isn’t anywhere to run to, or to hide. There isn’t a distance far enough away that Mister can’t reach you now, and that’s terrifying. 

“Almost like you went somewhere else entirely,” he keeps talking as he pulls his flannel off, leaving him in a white t-shirt. “Did it earlier out in the hall.” He gives you a look, like he knows but he doesn’t really understand. “Where do you go?”

If only he knew.

Try and explain it to him. 

He’ll think you’re crazy. Crazier than he already thinks you are. 

You avoid his eyes, and look for something to cover your lower half with instead. Joel notices and goes to his drawer and tosses you a pair of his boxers. 

“I had pants from–”

“We are very grateful for Maria and her charity but you don’t need it– don’t need her clothes, or her help. I’ll getchya everything you need, don’t worry ‘bout that.” He shakes his head as he watches you struggle to put the boxers on with one hand, and laying down. 

“She was just bein’ nice–”

Joel cuts you off again, “She was very nice to let you shower ‘n borrow some clothes, yes.” He agrees with you, but you can tell there is more to come. And you’re right. “I’m fully capable of gettin’ you everything you could need, and so we don’t have to take nothin’ from Maria and her donation box–” he pauses for a moment and sighs. “--when it could go to someone who really needs it. Ya’ don’t really need it.” 

That sounds very nice of Joel, very kind and protective– but there doesn’t feel like there is any truth to his words. It’s confusing. 

Something in your brain is itching to ask why Maria doesn’t like Mister and why Mister doesn’t seem to care for Maria. But you don’t. You keep quiet and just nod your head. 

“Do you wanna come with me ‘n look for Pud?” Joel asks, pushing his hair back away from his face with one hand. He looks tired, and you feel badly for him– feel badly for how you had treated him the last week before the raiders came. 

“We can wait ‘till the mornin’ if you wanna go to sleep,” you offer softly, scooching over to one side of the bed to give him room. 

Joel’s eyes flick between you and the space next to you and he sighs softly. “I know seein’ him would make you feel better- probably sleep a lil’ better too,” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes drifting back to you after a second. “He’s here. I promise I didn’t leave him– or hurt him…” Joel shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that to you or Pud.” 

Those words sound genuine. He means it, and you know he’s telling you the truth and that warms something inside of you, eases some of the ache and tension. 

“‘Kay. Can ya’ help me–” You don’t even have to finish before Joel is reaching over and helping you unclasp the sling your left arm is still in. He helps side your arm out, and then he unbuttons the shirt you have on. 

“Got a shirt you can wear t’bed,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against the curve of your tits as he slides the flannel off of you. 

He tosses the shirt you were wearing down to the floor with the jeans and heads back to his dresser. He comes back with a plain black tee and helps you slide it on as painlessly as possible. 

“Ready?” He asks, crawling into bed beside you– sleeping on the wet spot you made like it’s his preferred sleeping method. 

You nod at him, and push the comforter down with your feet and let him cover the both of you back up. He turns the light off on his bedside table, and reaches over doing the same to yours. 

When you sleep with Mister, you normally curl up into his side and he wraps an arm around you– but tonight that hurts and you opt to lay on your back. 

He’s next to you, throwing an arm over your waist and draping his leg over one of yours, pulling you close to him gently. “This good?” He asks softly in the dark. 

It’s more than good– but you still feel dread buried deep within you and it’s clawing its way through the fleshy parts inside. “Yeah,” you turn your head and press a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“If you try ‘n run away– I’ll come lookin' for ya’,” he whispers, kissing at your jaw as you turn your head to look at the ceiling. 

“I know,” you’re quiet like he is, running your fingers along his forearm. 

“And you won’t like what happens when I find ya’.” 

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“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t–” you’re mumbling, barely audible. “I can’t, I sh-should, I won’t, I want to. I c-can’t. I ca-can, can’t.”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” He wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you close to him. Two stumbled steps and you’re crashing into him; he has to hold you upright as your legs betray you like a newborn foal’s would.

“Trust him. I can’t trust him-” You’re on the verge of tears. Your eyes are wet, red and distant; looking right at Joel, but not truly seeing him.

He doesn’t know where you are inside your head, or what you’re putting yourself through, what you’re forcing yourself to relive. “Trust who, babydoll?” He knows. He knows before you tell him, he can feel it dripping out of your pores in the form of a cold sweat. He needs to hear you say it, though. He needs to hear your sweet, soft voice say it.

“Ca-Can’t trust… anyone,” you snivel quietly. “‘Sp-specially not a– a M-Mister-man,” you’re hiccuping now, unable to catch your breath.

Joel comes to a stop with his back against something solid, he keeps you held against him with the arm still around your waist, the other slips behind him and he searches blindly for the doorknob. “That ain’t true. You can trust Mister-man. He ain’t ever gonna hurt ya’.”