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darkuselesssomebody · 9 months ago

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𝕧𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕖'𝕤 - dark!raider!joel miller x reader

complete masterlist

words || 𝟛𝕜

summary || in which the reader wants a valentine's gift, but Joel's not exactly her boyfriend

a/n || i'm so shocked i haven't written dark!joel before?? i love him, your honor. also, for the raider!joel concept, though overall popular for fanfic, i was personally super inspired by @toxicanonymity and @romana-after-dark. they both have fantastic raider!joel content, please check them out!!

➵ warnings for specific content before the divider, please heed them, this may be triggering content!

➵ technically ooc to joel in the show, but his dark past is hinted at so yeah

➵ not proofread

➵ comment/message if you'd have a request

warnings || smut/dark (dddne)

➵ !! reader is held captive and is experiencing stockholm syndrome. other women to which the same this is occurring are mentioned !!

➵ dubcon sex

➵ unprotected sex

➵ manhandling

➵ controlling dynamics

➵ slight degradation

“you have to do something for her.”

joel wonders how, as his younger brother, tommy always seemed to be nagging him, instead of the other way around. his face pinches in a scowl.

"the fuck i look like? cupid?" he growls back at his brother, rifle sagging on one of his shoulders, forcing him to readjust. tommy rolls his eyes.

"ya even have john and michael doin' somethin' special for their girls." he reminds joel how the other men in the group, with their own souvenirs, at least showed their consideration of the humanity of these girls on valentine's.

"she probably don't even know." joel grumbles, and tommy snorts.

"oh, she knows what valentine's is. the other girls told her. said she'd have liked some clothes."

"the fuck she need clothes for, ya sayin' i can't dress my girl?" joel, ever defensive, hates being talked down to by his little brother.

he hates more the fact that she seems to tell tommy so much more about herself than she does joel.

"y'can dress her, joel." tommy sighs. "but it won't hurt if she wears somethin' other than yer crusty flannels once in a while."

joel rolls his eyes, but he, luckily, doesn't have to entertain the rest of the conversation. a deer rustles the branches of a tree in the distance. joel's a better shot than his brother, always has been. but he's also less agile. as he's about to shoot, his foot crunches on a stick.

the shot still hits the deer's back, but it's a far cry from the headshot he was aiming for. he swears under his breath, but him and tommy are both already stalking the wounded prey, the same glow of determination and predation in their eyes.

they were still family, after all.

she used to never be able to sit still. pre-apocalypse, that meant she was always either fiddling with something, reading a book, or talking but... in the past few years, it meant a lot more silent stimulation. it was okay, she got by counting petals of flowers to herself or tracing the veins of leaves with her fingers to keep her mind occupied.

but the one thing she'd never given up was company. she'd had family, or friends, in every walk of this horrible turn of events, until 6 months ago.

when she was snatched away from her cruel life by an even crueler man. stripping her of autonomy and privacy were mild in comparison to her loss of company. the only other people in the house leered or jeered in her presence.

she was usually locked away from them anyways. in a tall tower she couldn't even use her hair to escape from; kept captive for the satisfaction and pleasure of a bad, bad man.

that's what made her head spin, though. because he wasn't always. yes, he was always sullen, and scowling, rough around the edges and calloused in his touch. but he wasn't always bad.

he'd fixed the bathtub of the house they were squatting in so she could revel in warmth if he wasn't around.

he risked his life for a new pack of cards and even a few books so she could keep her occupied.

and he would sometimes press gentle kisses to her forehead when he slept beside her, unbeknownst to himself, and without realizing the effect he had on her.

when the other men had started getting antsy about her being the only girl around (with her obvious off-limits status), joel relented and let them bring back their own. it was to avoid mutiny and maintain control, sure, but... it gave her company, too. and that was important to her.

the women would confide in her. first, of their fears and then, of their growing affections for their own men. it made her happy, vindicated.

she wasn't alone in her stockholm syndrome.

she's looking at the flowers that michael got for jessica. it's almost comical, with that kinda man and their kinda relationship. but jess liked it - really liked it - and that's all that mattered. john had promised anna something too, which she was talking about as the front door opened.

a dead deer was carried in by the miller brothers, and then some of the other men helped bring it out back to the shed, where they'd scavenge enough to feed the group for the week. as she always does, she approaches and stands in front of joel, greeting him in a low voice. he regards her with a once over, nodding, before his head tilts incrementally up, signalling to his bedroom.

she nods shyly, retreating to the room on the upper floor as joel delegates some tasks, before coming up to join her. she's looking out the window - barred, 'for her protection'- and he finally speaks up.

"what did ya do?" he asks gruffly, referring to the events in his absence.

"played some cards." she smiles softly as she faces him, "talked to anna and jessica." that makes him grimace a little, and she's confused.

"what about?" she shrugs.

"stuff. john and michael are gettin' them things, i guess?" she says it unsurely, "they say it's for 'valentines'?" she says the word curiously, as if wondering if it was something the 4 had made up, or if it was a real celebration. his grimace worsens: he hates when tommy's right. feigning innocence, he continues,

"what's that, then?" she looks at the floor shyly.

"like... a celebration? of... relationships, partners, that sorta thing." it's vague, but it's all she knows.

"huh." joel doesn't continue it further, and he goes silent, as he looks around the room to change out of his dirty clothes.

she sits on the bed, watching him move around, and with every passing moment of silence, her worry grows. did she say something wrong? was he mad? what happened?

when he finally goes to join her, he manhandles her to face away from him. that only makes her more upset, and she feels the prickle of tears in her eyes, as she lays down, and he joins her a moment later.

laying behind her as she feels a tear roll down her cheek, he doesn't realize how upset he's made her: he'd only asked her to turn around so he could fall asleep with the scent of her hair.

she wakes up after he's already left.

she sighs, rubbing her eyes, that always ended up a little inflamed after she cried. there's a little wetness on her pillow, and she flips it so joel doesn't see.

tommy's downstairs, having saved a fruit for her breakfast. she takes it gratefully, cutting it up and fiddling with the bite-sized pieces.

there's something on her mind - tommy, he notices these things. he wished his brother would, too.

"he's getting supplies." he assures her, knowing what was agitating her. she snaps out of it.

"hmm?" she pops a piece in her mouth, sweetness exploding on her tastebuds as she bites into it, "oh. right, yeah." she realizes what he's saying, "didn't he just get some?" tommy shrugs.

"he likes to go out to the abandoned mall - it clears his head." that makes her squirm.

"is he mad?" she mumbles, and tommy pats her shoulder.

"at you? never."

it wasn't exactly true, she thought. he's gotten mad before: if she talks too much to the others, when she doesn't listen to him, or when she finds herself in danger.

tommy knows joel's not mad in those moments. he's just terrified of what could possibly happen to his girl.

after finishing her fruit, she curls up under the blanket upstairs, wanting some time to herself. humming a melody - she thinks it's one that the guys will sing in an off-key fashion when they get particularly drunk - she tries to occupy herself by counting each of the little plaster bumps in the ceiling, and then all the small flowers on the dingy wallpaper of the room.

she gets to 78 when the door swings open. jolting awake, she makes eye contact with joel, who's looking down at her form under the covers.

"somethin' happen?" his voice is less gruff than usual, and she shakes her head.

"nope. just waiting." she gives him a weak, shaky smile. he doesn't return, but he doesn't click his tongue in annoyance, either. it's a win in her books.

he's got a backpack, and it looks pretty full. she wants to ask what's inside, but she knows he'll tell her if he wants to. he sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed. she scoots over so he has space.

"let me see you." he instructs, and she sits up, crawling out of the covers. sure enough, she's wearing one of his flannels for warmth, and had slipped into a pair of his boxers instead of her otherwise nonexistent pajama shorts. he's silent for a long moment, before he brings his fingers to examine the material. goddamn, was it old, frayed almost everywhere, and the chest pocket had a hole. he sighs, finally speaking, "comfy?"

she blinks, confused, "huh?"

"'re ya comf'rtable?" he repeats, voice gruffer. she lets out a nervous exhale. was it a trick?

"ye-yes. yeah, i'm comfy." she assure, and he hums.

"heard ya want somethin' new." he finally looks her in the eyes, something he doesn't do all that often. she shuts her eyes, cheeks heating in embarrassment and worry. dammit, tommy, she thinks, knowing the younger man had told joel about her offhand comment on clothes.

"it's fine, i'm happy with this." she splutters out quickly, hoping she won't upset him. he sees right though it though.

"yeah, yeah." he scoffs, waving a dismissive hand, as he gets up. her heart clenches, wondering if he was really angry, when he reaches for the backpack, throwing it at her.

it's not an aggressive throw, and lands on the mattress beside her.

"open it." he instructs, and she swallows thickly, unsure what to expect. the zipper is a little worn, but she eases it open... only to find not only clean but colorful clothes inside. she looks up at him in confusion.

"what...?" and for the first time in a while, there's just a hint of a smirk curling at his lips.

"go try 'em on." he encourages. giddily, she beams as she gets up, taking the bag of clothes into the cropped bedroom. he slumps back on the bed, trying to will away his fatigue. it'd been a hassle to collect all the clothes - more so, to find clean one he thought she'd like - so he leans back, waiting for her to return.

she lays out the clothes on the cramped sink counter space, starting with a simple pair of slightly flared jeans, pairing it with a light blue cropped cardigan. she goes out to show him, an obvious pep in her step.

he looks up as she enters, eyes trailing up and down her body, including the way the outfit fits her curves, and the slight glimpse of midriff.

"don't you look pretty?" he drawls, and, though it almost sounds sarcastic with his hard features, a light smile plays on her lips. she tries on 4 other outfits she could make out of the 10 articles of clothing he got her, and he seems to like each one even better. sure, he'd taken the initiative to ensure all of them were a little revealing - he deserved an eyeful for his hard work, after all - but she seemed genuinely happy, and the bright smile on her face almost rivals the cleavage that she shows off in some of the outfits.

when she shows him the final outfit, he pats the space on the bed next to him, and she obliges, sitting beside him.

"happy?" he finally murmurs, pulling her closer by the hem of her pants, and she nods excitedly.

"very." she assures, softening, "thank you." she doesn't need to clarify her sincerity, as it pours out in her tone. he caresses her cheek with his calloused thumb.

"good girl. you make sure to tell the girls." she almost laughs, knowing she'd show off the gift in the same way jess and anna have been with theirs. he wanted it to be known that fucking michael and john couldn't treat a better than he could, "got one more thing f'r you." he pulls her so she's standing, procuring two more pieces of small fabric from his pockets.

she inspects them, eyes widening a little when she realizes it's lingerie. he glances back at him, and he has a brazen and unashamed glint in his eyes. she's about to make a joke that this one seems more a gift for him than for her, but refrains, obliging with a small nod of her head, and taking it to the bathroom.

she strips out of her clothes, pulling up the lace fabric. the panties are practically a thong, shaping her ass nicely, while the bra enhances and perfects the curve of her tits, a small, red bow in between the cups, matching the bow on the hem of her panties.

she looks hot, and damn, is his taste good.

going back outside, a noise escapes his throat - like a guttural growl. he signals her to turn, and she does, giving her an ample view of her ass. he grabs her by the hips as she does, and she squeaks, as he pushes her down on the bed.

"oh!" she gasps, trying to sit up, but he's on top of her in a moment, mouthing at her neck roguishly, a sloppy trail left in his wake.

her skin erupts in goosebumps, but she knows better than to touch him when he gets like this - his need for dominance forbidding it. her hands grip the covers to ground herself, as his lips trail downwards, cheekily biting the bow of her bra, and taking a nip of her skin along with it. she moans, jolting, and he slaps her thigh - but gently. he's not meaning to hurt her - and trust her, she can tell when he is.

"stay still." he hisses, finally parting from her torso to marvel at her, "good lord, gonna fuck you in all this, sweetheart." he mumbles, more to himself than anything else, as his hands cup her breasts framed in the bra, squeezing softly so as to not damage the material.

usually, he'd revel in pushing her down to choke on his cock, and, when he was feeling more generous, he'd go down on her like a ravenous man.

but he was a simple man, who had been generous enough tonight. and he wasn't putting her in a position where he can't see her in the whole get-up, so the blowjob was out too.

fuck it, he thinks, reaching for the belt of his pants, i need her.

she gets up to help him undo his pants, but he forces her back into laying down, "wanna see you." he grumbles, finally undoing his pants. already hard, he palms his cock, eyes rolling back, "fuck."

he lowers again to shift the slit of the panties to the side, exposing her arousal, swiping his fingers through her mess, making her bite her lip. he wipes it gently on her cheek - a wholesome act, with a backdrop of degradation and depravity. he presses a soft hiss to the bow on her panties, making her shiver, before rising to his full length.

"you want it?" he grunts, as he strokes his cock, adjusting so it's lined up. she whimpers, as he's prolonging both of their suffering just to highlight her need for him. pathetically, she nods, and he laughs - barking and cold. "i can't hear you."

"yes!" she gasps out, unable to hold back anymore. he smirks in satisfaction, shifting his hips forward to bottom out in one stroke.

she cries out, eyes rolling back and head lolling onto the mattress, trying desperately to adjust to the stretch. he doesn't have that same decency, animalistically beginning to move his hips.

a squeal gets caught in her throat, and she cave to her instincts, gripping the wrist of the hand he's holding her waist with, squeezing as an indication of not her pain, but her pleasure.

thankfully, the adjustment was quick, and her surprised squeaks morph into pleasured moans, as he grunts on top of her, eyes raking the way that her tits try to bounce in the confinement of the bra. unusually, he's not annoyed by her touch, and it only makes him move more aggressively, as he can tell what makes her pleasure increase - as she'll squeeze his wrist harder.

"who's making ya feel this good?" he growls, "who takes care f'ya, sweetheart?" she chokes, garbled, broken moans escaping her.

"y-you!" she manages to gasp out, "o-only you, no one else, you - you take care of - of - oh, fuck!" she squeaks, feeling the pressure of her orgasm, "gonna - can i please - please-?!" she begs nonsensically, but he understands her - of course he does. she's his girl, after all.

"cum, sweetheart." he assures through gritted teeth, "who's making you cum?"

"y-you-" she cuts herself off with a cry as she cums, body stilling and legs trembling, as he continues to thrust and she rides out the orgasm.

he follows right after her, the squeeze of her cunt around sending his body into overdrive. collapsing on the bed beside her, the two remain silent for a minute to catch their breath.

finally, he clears his throat, getting up, and pulling her up, too. "go, clean up." he instructs, voice less gruff and softer, asking her to do something for her own good as opposed to his, "then change. don't think i can do another round right now." he knows that if he sees her in the outfit for longer, he'd get hard again.

with a woozy head, she does as he says. when she changes, though, she decides against the clothes that he bought her. she loves them, of course, but their either too coarse or flashy for night-time wear.

besides, they don't provide the precise comfort of stability that the flannel and boxers she puts on again does. though she tells herself she's not sure why joel's clothes seem more comforting than the new clothes, she's lying.

she feels more comfy in them because they smell and feel like him.

he's already knocked out when she exits, sleeping on his side, having evidently left the perfect amount of space for her to curl into his side, pulling his arm over to cradle her.

she knew he would always take care of her.

#joel miller #joel miller oneshot #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #valentines 2024

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quipxotic · 7 years ago

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There’s a lot in “World Enough and Time” that angers, frustrates, and annoys me, but I want to focus on one moment that I keep thinking about. Spoilers for the episode below.

So here’s the scene: the Twelfth Doctor is telling Bill about who the Master is and what he/she/they have meant to him. It would be a touching scene if it didn’t come after he’s tried to browbeat she and Nardole into going on a mission with Missy (which they are both very much against) to “see how she does” with the whole “not being evil” thing. Oh and because the discussion is a flashback, it comes after Bill ends up with a hole in her chest from being shot on that mission that she’s finally agrees to do for him, but before she confesses to the Doctor that Missy frightens her.

But moving on...

So here’s the line: “She’s the only person I’ve ever met who’s even remotely like me.”

Really? REALLY?

What about Susan?

What about River?

What about Romana-IWillOutThinkYourAssAndBeSarcasticWhileDoingIt-dvoratrelundar?

What about the TARDIS?

What about Patience?

Those are just the names that instantly come to mind and I’m not even an expert on all of Doctor Who. So, first of all, it’s a bullshit answer that ignores decades of media.

Second, what does it mean when your “best friend” (who has tried to kill you and your other friends multiple times)...what does it mean when their life is more important to you than everyone else’s?

Is the Master/Missy’s life and proving their “goodness” more important than Bill and Nardole? Than Nyssa’s father, step-mother, and entire world (not to mention a significant portion of the universe, which the Master destroyed)? Are they more important than Tegan’s aunt? Than Osgood or Danny Pink? Than Martha and her family? Are they more important than the countless people who the Master has manipulated, mind-controlled, tissue compressed, or otherwise killed?

I mean, how can the answer to that be yes and the Doctor still be the Doctor? The same person who once said, “I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before...”? And yet, that seems to be what happens in this episode (and a few others in NuWho). What does that say about the Doctor? Personally, I don’t think it says anything good.

Now from a writing perspective, I get it. The Master is a fantastic villain - lots of people want to write about, read about, hear about the Master. But then you run into the Moriarty problem: if the villain is really so brilliant and villainous, surely your super-smart hero will do all in their power to defeat them once and for all. But if the hero defeats them once and for all, then you can’t write any more stories featuring the villain, which leads writers (and show runners) to invent ever more elaborate ways to explain away the villain’s escape or survival. Or they just hand-wave it away, like Moriarty being killed a variety of ways in Sherlock Holmes movies only to appear alive and unscathed in the next one.

If you don’t come up with an explanation, you make your hero look incompetent or complicit with the villain, or you never allow the characters to develop and grow, which gets boring, etc. etc.

So I have sympathy for the dilemma, but I resent the choices made (in this instance in particular) to resolve it. “The Master is the most important person to the Doctor and therefore any risks (even really stupid ones) are worthwhile in the (unlikely) chance that they can be redeemed” is such an OOC idea, which is fine in fanfiction where people are exploring all the options but sucks in actual approved Doctor Who media.

It sucks, first and foremost, because it devalues all the companions we’ve loved throughout Doctor Who’s run. Do you really think the Second Doctor would choose to save the Master over Jamie? Would Nine choose them over Rose? You can run through almost all of the Doctors and ask a similar question and I think the answer would be no...with the exception of the Tenth and Twelfth Doctors, evidently.

#quipxotic stuff #long ranty posts about things probably no one but me cares about

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