Not so tough now, Darlin'?
Pairing: jackson!Joel x f!reader
Summary: You're pretty good at pissing off Joel Miller. He's very good at teaching you a lesson during a self-defense training session.
Warnings: +18, MDNI, dub-con, dark!Joel all the way, knife play, brat-tamer!Joel, bound wrists, Joel calls reader kiddo, darlin’, sweetheart, maybe baby girl once?, fingering, p in v (unprotected, sooo… don’t pls), no use of y/n, reader’s acting all tough but has little to no chance against our man, let me know if i forgot any…
A/N: this is the result of a trope survey I did, Joel Miller & enemies to lovers came in first (of course it did :D). If you are interested in the others just follow the link.
wc: 9.2k (Joel is a cruel motherfucker...)
My Pedro-Character-Masterlist
“You’re a spoiled brat. Somebody ought to teach you a lesson. Maybe then you’d start takin’ your damn part in patrol seriously instead of driftin’ along until the day they find you dead in a ditch somewhere.”
Those had been the words that started it.
A surprising amount of them, too, coming from a man who usually communicated in grunts and clipped little sentences. Around Jackson, most people were used to hearing two, maybe three words from Joel Miller at a time.
But that afternoon in the stables he had let loose like a storm breaking.
To be fair - if you forced yourself to be honest about it - you had pushed him there.
The last patrol together had been… relaxed. On your side, anyway. Maybe a little too relaxed. You had missed a couple signs you should have caught, let your attention drift more than once while walking the tree line. Nothing dangerous had happened, but Joel had noticed. Of course he had. The man noticed everything.
Still, the whole lecture had felt unfair.
When you rode patrol with Joel Miller, the man practically absorbed the entire job himself. He checked the tracks, listened to the wind, scanned every ridge like something deadly was about to crawl over it. Half the time he handled things before you even had a chance to step in.
Trying to assist often felt like showing up late to a fight he had already finished.
So yeah - maybe you had been less attentive than you should have been. But it wasn’t because you didn’t care.
It was because when Joel was beside you, the world felt… handled.
That realization had landed right as he was finishing his little speech.
And instead of apologizing like the sensible part of your brain suggested - maybe slipping out of the stables before things got worse - you had planted your boots firmly in the dirt.
“Who then?” you shot back, folding your arms as the words came out sharper than planned. “You're gonna be the one teaching me? I’d love to see you try, old man.”
The moment the words left your mouth, you knew the last part had been unnecessary.
Joel had a particular talent for getting under your skin, but calling him old man had been like flicking a match into dry grass.
The reaction was immediate.
He went still.
Then he released the horse’s reins without looking, letting them fall loosely over the post as he stepped out of the stall. Each step measured enough that your instincts kicked in before your pride could stop them. You weren’t even sure when your own boots shifted backward, but the space between you widened all the same.
Joel’s expression didn’t change much.
That was the unsettling part.
His eyes stayed locked on you, dark and assessing, like he was already calculating something.
“Well,” he drawled after a beat, voice calm in a way that felt more dangerous than the shouting had. “That’s not the worst idea you’ve had.” Another step closer. “Been hearin’ you skipped more’n a few of those self-defense drills lately.” His gaze dragged over you. “Let’s see how tough you act when someone actually puts you on your back.”
And that was how you ended up trudging through ankle-deep snow on what should have been a perfectly quiet afternoon off.
Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.
The wind dragged like cold fingers through the trees lining the path to the training barn, snow crunching under your boots with every step as you replayed the moment in the stables for the hundredth time. If you had just walked away - if you had swallowed your pride for once - you’d be somewhere warm right now.
Instead, you had challenged Joel Miller to prove you wrong.
And if you were being honest with yourself, the irritation between you two wasn’t exactly one-sided. Getting under Joel’s skin had become a strange sort of sport. The man had a way of grinding against your nerves until you snapped back without thinking.
Apparently the feeling went both ways.
Your breath curled in pale clouds as the barn came into view, the big wooden structure crouched quietly beneath a dusting of snow. No voices. No movement. Just the faint creak of wood shifting in the cold.
You reached it later than the time he had given you.
Technically by accident.
Mostly.
A small, petty part of you had slowed your pace on purpose. Let him stew a little. Pissed people made mistakes. And today you had every intention of knocking Joel Miller down a peg or two.
The barn door groaned softly when you pushed it open.
Inside, the air was colder than you expected, the structure barely insulated from the winter outside. Your boots echoed faintly against the packed floor as you stepped in, shrugging out of your thick coat and shaking snow from the sleeves.
“Joel?” you called, voice carrying through the wide space.
You draped the coat over a small wooden stool near the entrance. If this training session looked anything like the handful of drills you’d bothered attending before, you wouldn’t stay cold for long.
Movement would fix that.
The training area had been mostly cleared out. A broad patch of packed dirt and old mats where Jackson ran its combat practice. Last time you’d been here it had been crowded - laughter, teasing, half the patrol crew watching each other stumble through holds and throws.
Now the place felt different.
Quieter.
Dim light filtered through the high slats in the barn walls, dust and hay drifting lazily through the beams. A few old crates were stacked toward the back, casting long crooked shadows across the floor. Somewhere deeper inside, a loose board creaked softly with the wind.
But most notably - no Joel.
You suppressed the thought that Joel Miller was almost never late. If anything, he was the kind of man who showed up ten minutes early just to glare at everyone else.
Still.
If the universe decided to make an exception today, you weren’t about to complain.
“Joel?” you called again, already turning back toward the door as you reached for your coat. “If this is some kinda joke -”
A faint shuffle cut through the quiet behind you.
Subtle enough that it could have been anything. The wind blowing through a crack in the boards. A rat scurrying somewhere in the hay.
But your brain, helpful as ever, supplied a different thought.
What if something actually had happened?
Joel slipping on ice somewhere behind the barn. Old men did that, didn’t they?
The image made you snort a quiet laugh as you stepped deeper inside, heading toward the darker end of the building where the stacked crates sat like squat shadows.
“Joel?” you called again, tone lighter now.
No grumpy Texan clutching a broken hip greeted you. Just scattered hay, dirt, and the faint smell of old wood.
Then you noticed the tracks.
Boot prints pressed into the thin dust near the crates.
You barely had time to register them before something slammed into you from the side.
Hard.
The impact knocked the air clean out of your lungs as your body was driven backward into the stacked crates. Wood rattled violently behind you, the force of the hit folding you against it so abruptly that even the instinct to shout died in your throat.
All that escaped you was a strangled breath as the world lurched sideways and suddenly felt very, very close.
You only managed to catch yourself at the last second. Your boots slipped in the dust as the crates rattled behind you, but instinct kicked in before gravity could finish the job. One hand shot out, bracing against the wood long enough to steady yourself before you stumbled back into the more open space of the training floor.
And he followed.
“What the actual hell was that, Joel?!” you snapped, the words bursting out before your lungs had even properly recovered.
Joel Miller stepped out of the shadows like he had all the time in the world. The dim light spilling through the barn slats caught the edge of his shoulders, the familiar broad frame moving toward you with the same steady patience he carried everywhere.
He didn’t answer.
Just kept walking.
The deliberate silence set your nerves on edge faster than any insult could have.
Without thinking you took a step back - mirroring exactly what had happened in the stables earlier. Your heel scraped lightly over the packed dirt before you forced yourself to stop retreating. Straightened your back. Planted your feet.
You refused to give him the satisfaction twice.
“So…” You cleared your throat, hating the faint tremor that slipped into your voice anyway. “How are we doing this? Thought these things usually start with rules. You know. Demonstrations. Maybe someone showing the hold first before -”
A low chuckle slipped from him.
It carried about as much humor as a knife.
“You honestly think that’s what it looks like out there?” Joel muttered.
He rolled one shoulder as he moved, the motion stiff enough that you noticed it immediately. The impact must’ve hurt him too when he slammed into you. He masked it well, but the brief tightening of his jaw gave it away.
Still, the look he gave you afterward made it clear he didn’t care.
“Oh, darlin’,” he added quietly, voice dropping into that slow Texan drawl that usually meant trouble. “You’re in for a rude surprise.”
Two seconds.
That was about how long you had to swallow the sudden spike of unease rising in your chest.
Then the panic got burned away by something hotter.
The sheer audacity of this man.
You took two quick steps backward, widening the distance and shifting your weight the way you’d been taught during drills. Feet planted. Knees loose. Hands lifting instinctively toward your chest.
Fine.
If Joel wanted to play instructor like this, you’d show him you had actually listened during those classes.
Unfortunately, you were still underestimating just how serious he was about the lesson.
He moved before you could fully settle into your stance.
One moment he stood a few paces away.
The next he was on you.
Your hands shot up higher, ready to intercept a grab - because that was what the drills usually started with. Wrist control. Balance breaks.
Joel didn’t reach for your arms.
He swung.
An actual punch.
The movement came fast enough that your brain barely had time to process it. You ducked on instinct alone, dropping your shoulder just as his fist cut through the air where your head had been.
You avoided the worst of it.
But not all of it.
His knuckles clipped the side of your skull as they passed, the glancing contact sending a sharp buzz of pain through your temple that made your ears ring.
“Jesus, Joel!” you barked, staggering back a step as your hand flew to your cheek. “What the fuck -”
“Thought you might try talkin’ your way outta trouble too?” he grunted.
Another swing followed immediately.
You barely avoided that one too, stumbling sideways as the punch cut past your shoulder close enough to stir the air.
And that was when the realization finally clicked.
He wasn’t actually trying to hit you.
Not really.
If Joel had meant it - if he’d put his full weight behind those blows - you’d already be down. Nose broken. Lip split. Maybe worse.
This was controlled.
Terrifyingly precise.
“Of course not, you idiot,” you shot back, breath coming faster now as adrenaline started flooding your system. “I just -”
“You just what?” Joel cut in, circling closer. “Thought you could coast through patrols and let somebody else watch your back, kiddo?”
“I just thought -”
You never finished the sentence.
Because that was when he closed the distance completely.
One moment he was a step away.
The next his hands were on you.
His unyielding grip clamped onto your shoulders before you could react, momentum carrying straight through you as he hooked a foot behind your ankle and swept your legs out from under you in one brutal, practiced motion.
The world flipped.
Your back slammed into the old training mats hard enough to knock the air from your lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp. Dust puffed around you as your vision flashed white for a split second, stars scattering across the edges of your sight.
You barely had time to register what had happened.
Because Joel was already on top of you.
His weight settled in fast, knees pinning your legs to the ground before you could kick free. One hand locked around each of your upper arms, forcing them down against the mat with a strength that left very little room for argument.
You tried to twist.
Tried to buck him off.
It didn’t move him an inch.
Joel leaned slightly over you, breath still steady despite the scuffle, his shadow falling across your face in the dim barn light.
“Weren’t thinkin’,” he muttered, voice low and rough. His grip tightened just enough to make the point unmistakable. “That right there’s the problem, darlin’.”
“Okay, you know what -” The words came out between clenched teeth as you bucked against his hold again, muscles straining even though every logical part of your brain already knew it was pointless.
Joel barely shifted.
Still, the flash of defiance in your eyes caught his attention for half a second. His gaze dipped toward you and he made a low sound under his breath as he adjusted his weight to counter your movement.
It wasn’t much.
Just enough pressure in the right places to remind you he was still very much in control.
He waited.
Actually waited.
Like he expected some brilliant comeback to fall out of your mouth.
So you gave him one.
“Fuck you, Joel.”
The words snapped out sharp and immediate, and before he could respond you twisted your hips hard - throwing your weight the way you’d been shown once during a half-forgotten training drill.
The motion had a name. Something about breaking a mount by shifting the opponent’s balance.
At the time it had sounded like wishful thinking.
But somehow -
It worked.
Almost.
Joel’s grip slipped just enough that you managed to twist sideways beneath him. Your shoulder rolled, your body following the momentum until suddenly you were face-down instead of pinned flat.
You didn’t wait.
You scrambled forward on instinct, boots digging against the mat as your hands clawed for traction in the dust.
Behind you, Joel sucked in a sharp breath.
The knee you’d driven into his ribs during the maneuver had clearly landed better than you’d planned.
For one brief, glorious second you thought you might actually get away.
Then his hand closed around the back of your belt.
The jerk backward was violent enough that your progress stopped instantly, your body sliding helplessly over the dusty mat as the inches you’d gained disappeared in a heartbeat.
Your fingernails scraped uselessly against the ground.
“Damn it -!”
You barely got the protest out before Joel leaned forward again.
One hand seized both your wrists, yanking them behind your back in a single brutal motion. His grip tightened until your arms were forced together, the angle making it impossible to twist free.
A second later his knees settled heavily against the backs of your legs, pinning you in place while his weight pressed down just enough to make resistance feel laughable.
You opened your mouth to curse him out.
Then you felt it.
The rough scrape of something fibrous brushing your skin.
Rope.
Your stomach dropped.
“Okay - Joel, wait!” The words came faster now as the cord circled your wrists, tightening with practiced efficiency. “Hold on a second -” The rope cinched tighter. “I said wait!” The sharp edge of panic in your own voice caught you off guard.
Joel didn’t react.
“Give me one good reason,” he said simply.
“What reason do you -?” You twisted your head, trying to glare up at him over your shoulder. “This isn’t funny, Joel.”
“It ain’t supposed to be.”
You squirmed beneath him as he pulled the knot snug, the rope biting just enough to make the reality of it sink in. It was too tight for a mere training unit.
You weren’t slipping out of that anytime soon.
Your body shifted restlessly under his weight, trying again to find leverage that simply wasn’t there.
Okay.
New strategy.
“Alright,” you muttered quickly, forcing the words out before the tension crawling up your spine could take over completely. “I get it. Message received. I should’ve paid more attention on patrol. That one’s on me.” The rope tugged tighter. “This is still unfair,” you added stubbornly.
Joel’s knee slid upward slightly as he finished securing the knot, pressing into the small of your back with deliberate weight.
“Fair?” he repeated. His voice carried a faint edge of disbelief. “You think the folks waitin’ out there care about your sense of fairness?”
You turned your head against the mat, cheek scraping the rough surface as you tried to look back at him.
Joel didn’t appear the least bit rattled.
His brows were drawn together the way they always were, deep lines etched across his forehead. The familiar salt-and-pepper beard framed a mouth set in that same firm line you’d seen a hundred times before.
But there was no anger now.
No smirk either.
Just a calm, steady focus that somehow felt worse.
You weren’t sure what exactly he was determined to do, and something about that thought made your chest tighten.
“No, it’s just…” you started, words faltering as you tried to find something that didn’t sound like outright surrender. “I wasn’t expecting you to be such a -”
The sentence cut off when Joel suddenly shifted.
His weight lifted from your back without warning.
Relief barely had time to register before his hands caught your shoulder and hip, rolling you over in one smooth motion.
You landed flat on your back again.
Joel settled over you almost immediately, kneeling around your legs the way he had earlier - only now your wrists were secured behind you, leaving your arms completely useless.
The position pulled uncomfortably at your shoulders, the rope tightening each time you moved. But you decided very quickly not to complain about that. Comfort clearly wasn’t high on Joel’s list of priorities today.
“- such a committed trainer?” Joel finished dryly.
You glared up at him.
“Such an asshole,” you corrected.
Your body twisted again beneath him, instinctively trying to knock him off balance. Your hips jerked upward, attempting to disrupt his center of gravity.
Joel barely shifted. If anything his crotch pushed into your center just as much to secure you.
“Newsflash, darlin’,” he muttered. “World outside Jackson ain’t exactly known for patience.”
You huffed out a breath, rolling your eyes despite the position.
“Yeah, alright. Point taken.” You shifted your shoulders experimentally against the rope. “So untie me already. Pretty sure the lesson stuck.”
Joel didn’t move.
Didn’t even look like he was considering it.
Instead he adjusted his weight slightly, settling into the kneeling position like someone getting comfortable for a long conversation.
Your stomach sank.
“Doubt it,” he said. The words were calm. Almost casual. “Lesson ain’t even started yet.”
Something flickered in his hand then.
Metal catching the faint light filtering through the barn walls.
And when your eyes dropped to it, the breath caught hard in your throat.
Joel had a knife.
For a moment you just stared at it. Then - unexpectedly - even to yourself, a laugh slipped out. It started as a short breath and turned into something sharper, almost incredulous.
Because this was Joel.
Joel Miller might be a lot of things - grumpy, stubborn, occasionally insufferable - but he wasn’t some deranged lunatic who’d decided to start carving people up during a training session.
The man patched fences for neighbors after long patrols. Helped haul lumber for repairs even when he’d already pulled double shifts. Joel Miller carried himself like someone who’d seen too much of the world to waste energy pretending to be nice, but you had never once seen him be cruel.
Rough, yes.
Unfair? Never.
So this?
This had to be part of the scare tactic.
A prop.
A way to drive the lesson home.
And hell… it was working.
Your laugh lingered a little longer than necessary, the sound edged with nerves you hoped he wouldn’t notice. When something overwhelmed you, that was usually how you dealt with it.
“Alright, alright,” you muttered, rolling your eyes toward him. “You can cut the theatrics now. What exactly are you planning to do with that?” You tilted your head slightly, trying to keep the tone casual. “Pretty sure the council won’t be thrilled if I walk back into town with knife wounds from a training exercise.”
You aimed for cool and unbothered. Joel’s eyes flickered briefly over your face. The faint tremor in your voice hadn’t slipped past him.
“Knife ain’t just for stabbin’ people,” he said flatly. “Might need to sign you up for a weapons lesson too while we’re at it.”
Before you could respond, the blade moved.
Not the sharp edge but the flat, dull side. Cold metal brushed lightly across your cheek.
Your head turned instinctively, trying to avoid it, but Joel followed the motion easily - guiding the blade downward along the line of your jaw and throat.
A slow trail of chilled steel.
The tip continued lower, slipping toward the collar of your shirt.
You stilled despite yourself.
The point of the knife tapped lightly against the first button of your flannel, clicking softly against the plastic.
Then the next.
And the next.
Each small contact felt absurdly loud in the quiet barn.
“Don’t see you doin’ much fightin’ right now,” Joel observed calmly. His chin tipped forward slightly, gesturing vaguely toward the position you were stuck in beneath him. “Someone got you pinned like this out there… what exactly’s your plan?”
“I wouldn’t get caught,” you shot back automatically.
Joel’s mouth twitched.
“If an old man can do it half asleep…” he said dryly, tossing your earlier insult right back at you, “I ain’t too confident you’d fare better with a group of raiders.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“If it were raiders,” you countered quickly, “I’d already be exactly where you said I’d end up. Dead somewhere in a ditch.” Your gaze flicked pointedly to the knife. “They’d want my gear. My rations. My weapons. Not my patience.”
Joel’s grin tilted sideways.
Not amused.
Just… knowing.
“You sure about that?” he murmured.
Before you could respond, the tip of the knife slid neatly between one of the lower buttons and its thread.
Your brain barely had time to register what he was doing before he twisted his wrist slightly.
Pop.
The button snapped free.
It shot somewhere over your shoulder, landing out of sight behind you.
“What the - Joel!”
Your head jerked up instinctively, more offended by the destruction of a perfectly good shirt than anything else. Still, something deeper shifted under your ribs.
Because Joel was right. Being captured out there - especially as a woman - wouldn’t end quickly.
Wouldn’t end kindly.
The next button popped.
Adrenaline flooded your bloodstream in a sudden rush and your body bucked beneath him again, instinct overriding reason.
The blade slipped. Not deep. But the point grazed your skin just enough to leave a sharp sting across your stomach.
“Watch it, jerk!” you hissed.
Joel stopped. But not out of concern.
Out of calculation.
Slowly the knife lifted from your half-open shirt and returned upward, the flat of the blade resting once again against the side of your neck.
“If I was one of them,” Joel said quietly, leaning closer, “and I had you stuck like this beneath me…” His voice dropped lower. “Best start pickin’ your words real careful.”
He was close enough now that you could see every line in his face.
Close enough that he had to see the flicker of fear creeping into your eyes.
And he didn’t stop.
Didn’t pull back.
Didn’t soften the pressure of his weight holding you down.
For one alarming second a thought flickered through your head.
He wasn’t ignoring your fear.
He was letting you sit with it.
Maybe even -
Enjoying the effect.
Your breathing slowed. When you spoke again, your voice came out colder than before. Enough that it caught his attention immediately.
“Yeah?” you murmured. Joel leaned a fraction closer, watching you carefully. “Then listen real close, Joel.”
But instead of the clever insult he was clearly expecting…
You gathered saliva.
And spat.
Right into his face.
Joel jerked back just enough that the dull side of the knife scraped lightly along your skin. The movement was quick - reflex more than intent - and for a second his brows pulled together in something close to surprise.
Then he huffed.
And laughed.
Not the dry little breath of amusement people in Jackson sometimes coaxed out of him. Not the brief exhale that usually passed for humor from Joel Miller.
This was different.
The sound came as a real laugh that rolled out of his chest before he could seem to stop it. It carried something sharp in it too - something edged with challenge that made the skin on the back of your neck prickle.
You realized, distantly, that you could probably count the times you’d heard Joel Miller laugh on one hand.
This one felt… new.
“Alright,” he muttered, still chuckling as he dragged the sleeve of his jacket across his face, wiping away the spit without much ceremony. “Go ahead. Act like a brat.” His dark eyes dropped back to yours. “Let’s see how far that attitude carries you.”
The knife returned to your shirt.
Before you could react, three buttons popped in quick succession.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
The sounds echoed in the quiet barn like small gunshots, fabric pulling apart under the pressure of the blade. Within seconds only the top button still held, the flannel hanging open enough that the cold air slipped easily against your skin.
Joel rested the tip of the knife against that final button, his gaze settling back on you.
“Tell me somethin’, darlin’,” he said, voice quieter now. “When does all that stubbornness finally turn into beggin’?” His mouth twitched faintly. “Be real interestin’ to hear you whimper for once.”
The knife didn’t move.
It waited there, hovering against the thread.
“I’d rather you stab me,” you shot back immediately, forcing the words out before hesitation could betray you. “You’re not getting a single plea out of me.”
It was a lie.
You both knew it.
The tension in your chest was already tightening, nerves and adrenaline twisting together into something that made your breathing shallow.
And yet… something inside you refused to back down.
Part pride.
Part curiosity.
Because a small, reckless voice in the back of your mind wanted to know just how far Joel Miller would actually push this lesson.
Surely not that far. Right?
You gave yourself a second to remember exactly who was sitting on top of you.
Joel Miller.
The same man who had barely glanced at you that one patrol when you’d slipped in the brush and torn your shirt on a branch. The fabric had ripped at exactly the wrong place, leaving your cleavage embarrassingly obvious for the rest of the trek back to Jackson.
Joel had looked away almost immediately.
Barely a second.
Like it hadn’t even registered.
That Joel Miller wasn’t about to take things further just to prove a point.
…Right?
And if he did…
Your stomach tightened unexpectedly.
Would it actually be so terrible?
“We’ll see about that,” Joel muttered.
The knife twisted.
Pop.
The final button gave way.
The front of your shirt fell open completely, the two sides sliding apart under the pressure of the blade as Joel used it to push the fabric aside. The cold metal drifted slowly down the center of your stomach, tracing a lazy line over your skin.
Your belly rose and fell beneath it, each breath a little quicker than the last.
“Not even gonna try bargainin’?” he asked, eyes lifting back to yours.
“What for?” you muttered, a little more breathless than you meant to sound. “Don’t exactly have anything worth trading.”
Joel’s grin tilted darker.
“Oh, I dunno,” he said quietly. “Seems like I’m gettin’ a pretty decent view already of what you gotta offer.”
Something in your stomach flipped unpleasantly - and not entirely with disgust.
“Try me, old man,” you shot back, the insult coming out sharper than intended. A thread of nervous energy slipped into the words despite your effort to sound confident. “Bet you wouldn’t even be able to.”
You held his gaze stubbornly, your own grin tight with defiance.
There was plenty of spite in it. Plenty of tension too. Because you still weren’t completely sure what Joel actually wanted here.
To scare you? Or rather something else entirely…
The jab made him chuckle again, deeper this time. His shoulders shifted slightly as the sound shook through him, his weight pressing more firmly against you for a second.
Then he leaned forward.
The knife disappeared between his teeth, clamped carefully by the handle so both hands were free.
Your stomach dipped as Joel’s fingers hooked into your belt.
Opening it took him almost no effort at all. He worked the buckle loose with the same calm efficiency he seemed to apply to everything, his other hand planted beside your head for balance. The knife still sat between his teeth, the metal glinting faintly when the dim barn light caught it. The grin around it was unmistakable - broad, wolfish, the kind that showed just enough teeth to make your stomach tighten.
Your breath hitched the moment his fingers found the button of your jeans.
That was when the realization finally settled in fully.
He wasn’t bluffing.
“Joel…” The word slipped out before you could stop it. It wasn’t exactly a plea - not yet - but it carried something close. A last attempt to catch his attention before the line you’d been dancing around disappeared completely. His head tilted slightly at the sound, like he was waiting for the rest. Waiting for the begging he had predicted earlier.
“You don’t have to,” you added, quieter now. “I get it.”
The sharp edge of your usual sarcasm had faded from your voice, replaced by something more honest - tension, a flicker of fear… and an uncomfortable thread of anticipation you didn’t quite know what to do with.
Joel’s mouth curved slowly at one corner.
The grin that followed wasn’t kind.
His fingers finished undoing the button, lingering a moment at the metal of the zipper without pulling it down. Instead, the back of his knuckles brushed lightly across your center through the layers of denim and cotton, the casual contact enough to make your body twitch in surprise.
Your hips jerked instinctively, trying to shift away from the touch even though the movement accomplished very little.
Joel adjusted his weight slightly, leaning back just enough to free the knife from his teeth. The blade slipped back into his hand, the flat side drifting lazily across your exposed stomach again.
“Bit late for that, ain’t it?” he muttered.
Before you could respond, he leaned forward again.
The knife drove suddenly downward, the blade burying itself in the mat right beside your head with a dull thunk that made you flinch hard enough for the ropes around your wrists to bite.
Joel’s chuckle rumbled low in response.
“Besides,” he added calmly, shifting his weight again, “I ain’t convinced you actually get it yet, kiddo.” His free hand returned to your jeans. “You’re still thinkin’ I’m gonna stop here. Scare you a little. Let you walk off and hope the lesson stuck.”
His thumb caught the zipper. Slowly he dragged it downward. The sound seemed absurdly loud in the quiet barn.
“All you’ve done so far,” Joel continued, voice steady, “is prove you only understand somethin’ once it’s right in front of you.” The zipper reached the bottom. He clicked his tongue softly. “And I ain’t exactly confronted you with much yet.”
“I - I’m gonna scratch your eyes out!” you snapped.
Joel’s brow lifted faintly.
“Be real curious to watch you try that with your hands tied behind your back,” he drawled. “Truth be told, you oughta be grateful you still got ’em.” His tone remained casual. “Seen what raiders do when they’re worried about people fightin’ back. Fingernails, teeth… anything sharp tends to disappear real quick.”
He paused just long enough to make the words settle. Then shrugged lightly.
“Think I can manage you just fine with your claws intact though.”
His hand slid forward again, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear where the open denim now left the fabric exposed.
Your body reacted before your brain caught up.
Your hips jerked upward, the motion automatic.
Joel noticed immediately.
“Now there’s a little fight,” he murmured, the darkness back in his voice. “Thought that tough brat already ran off and left me with somebody a lot more nervous.”
Instead of answering, you twisted harder beneath him.
Your knees drew upward slightly, boots scraping uselessly against the mat as you tried to shift your weight enough to disrupt his balance. It only gained you a fraction of an inch, but the effort felt necessary all the same.
Beside your face, the knife remained planted firmly in the mat.
A silent reminder.
Too close for comfort.
“When this is over,” you muttered through clenched teeth, “I’m gonna make you pay for it.”
Joel huffed softly at that. “When this is over,” he echoed, “you’d be dead in a ditch somewhere.” He tilted his head slightly, watching your expression. “That’s the theory, anyway.” His hand slipped forward again, the rough pads of his fingers brushing lightly against your hip as if testing the reaction.
“In practice?” he continued. His gaze flicked briefly down toward you, as his fingers slipped under the soft cotton of your panties, sliding slowly through your folds, way too wet already for the situation you were in. A slow grin followed.
“Seems like you’re not exactly hatin’ the lesson as much as you pretend.”
You tried to fight it.
Tried with everything you had left in you to keep the reaction from showing, to stop him from seeing what the smallest touch of his hand was doing. Pride alone demanded it. But when Joel’s fingers slid just a little deeper, gathering the slick wetness there before circling lazily over your clit, control slipped through your grasp all the same.
The sound that escaped you was small.
Barely more than a breath.
But it was there.
A whimper.
Joel froze instantly.
Not pulling away - just stilling, the pressure of his hand remaining exactly where it was. Then he leaned forward, lowering his head until his ear hovered close to your lips.
“What was that?” he murmured.
You clenched your jaw. “What, old man?” you muttered back through your teeth, trying to sound unimpressed even as the tension curled tighter in your stomach. “Can’t hear… anyth -”
Your voice faltered.
Because his fingers started moving again.
Slow circles, each motion stealing another piece of your composure until the bite in your words began dissolving into something softer, something harder to contain.
“…fuck,” you breathed, the sound slipping out before you could swallow it back. Another whimper followed, one you tried to stifle by turning your head sharply aside and pressing your lips together.
Joel huffed quietly. “Oh, I can hear those moans just fine,” he said, voice low and amused.
His fingers shifted again, sliding deeper before nudging forward to your entrance with a careful pressure that made your back tense against the mat.
“Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
Your hands flexed uselessly behind you, fingernails scraping against the mat as your body reacted without asking permission.
“Didn’t realize you were this desperate for it,” he went on calmly. “Could’ve saved myself the whole training lecture if you’d just said so.”
“Don’t - get too excited,” you forced out. Your face remained locked in a scowl, brows drawn tight with irritation, but every small twitch of Joel’s hand kept betraying you anyway. Joel’s mouth curved faintly.
“Funny,” he muttered. “You look like the one getting excited here.”
Before you could snap back, he pressed two fingers into you, stretching you unexpectedly.
The sound that tore from you echoed far louder than you would’ve liked in the quiet barn, bouncing faintly off the wooden beams overhead. Heat rushed through your skin despite the winter air creeping through the walls, your breath coming quicker as your body arched against the pressure.
Joel let out a low hum.
“Well now,” he murmured. “That’s a helpful reaction. Good girl making it easy for me.”
The words good girl slipped from him almost lazily, like he wasn’t even thinking about them.
But they landed.
Harder than anything else he had said.
Being called a brat had been annoying. Something to push back against.
That?
That slid straight under your skin.
Joel shifted slightly above you, his hips grinding forward just enough that you could feel the effect of the situation for yourself. His hard cock clearly visible - and noticeable - through the denim fabric.
“Gotta admit though,” he added under his breath, “didn’t figure you’d let me get this far.”
Your chest rose and fell unevenly.
“Didn’t exactly have much of a choice,” you shot back.
Joel snorted quietly.
“Would’ve stopped the second I saw real fear in your eyes,” he said, almost casually. “That much I promise.”
His fingers moved again, angling just right, the motion pulling another involuntary arch from your back.
“Didn’t expect quite this much anticipation, though.”
Then he withdrew.
Just like that.
The sudden emptiness left you staring up at the rafters for a moment, trying very hard not to look as disappointed as you suddenly felt.
“Anticipating the moment I get to wipe that smug grin off your face,” you muttered.
“Sure,” Joel said mildly. “All talk so far.”
He shifted his weight again, giving your hips just enough room to move - but not enough to actually escape. Before you could twist away, his hand caught your arm, gripping firmly as he rolled you over once more.
The cold mat pressed against the bare skin of your stomach as you landed face-down again, the rough surface biting lightly against your skin.
“Haven’t seen much proof otherwise,” Joel continued. “Well… close to none…”
You could feel the weight of his gaze moving over you as you squirmed beneath him, ineffective against both his strength and the rope holding your wrists.
Then his hands returned to your jeans.
Before you could brace yourself, he dragged the fabric downward in one swift motion, shoving the denim down to your knees and leaving your legs tangled while your butt was suddenly exposed to the chill air of the barn.
“Look at you…” The words slipped out of Joel almost under his breath, less a taunt and more an observation that had surprised even him. His palm drifted across your exposed backside, the touch unexpectedly light at first - almost thoughtful. The calluses of his hand dragged slowly over your skin, tracing the curve there.
Then his fingers tightened without warning.
They dug sharply into the soft flesh, and the sudden sting ripped a startled cry from your throat before you could stop it.
Joel exhaled a low, amused breath.
“Easy now, darlin’,” he murmured. “You tryin’ to let the whole town know how hard you’re fightin’ back?”
The old barn swallowed his voice and threw it back in faint echoes. Winter air leaked through warped wooden boards, brushing cold against the parts of your skin left bare.
His other hand tugged at the hem of your flannel, pushing the fabric upward just enough to expose the line of your back. His fingers wandered there, following the ridge of your spine like a path. They traveled upward, past the tension between your shoulder blades.
From there, they slid higher still. His hand buried itself in your hair and Joel closed his fist.
Your head jerked back as he pulled, forcing your spine into a sharp arch. The position twisted your face just enough that he could see part of it - your clenched jaw, the stubborn crease between your brows.
“Should’ve gagged you,” he muttered, studying the way your expression flickered between anger and something far less controlled. “That’s what a raider would’ve done. Wouldn’t want you hollerin’ for help.” His grip in your hair tightened slightly as he tilted your head further. “You want that?” he asked, voice dropping lower. “Full experience?”
His knee planted firmly beside your hip, grounding your movements. The other nudged your legs apart a little more, creating space as his free hand drifted back down between your legs.
The moment his touch returned to your wet center, the sound that escaped you was impossible to disguise.
He huffed out a quiet laugh against your ear.
“Well… that settles that.”
His fingers resumed their slow movements, and your body reacted before your pride could catch up. Your words tangled in your throat as sensation swallowed them whole.
Joel felt it instantly as you clenched around his digits.
“Can’t lie,” he said after a moment, voice thick with amusement. “Kinda like hearin’ you make those sounds.”
You tried to respond immediately, some sharp retort ready on instinct - but the rhythm of his hand stole the thought clean out of your head.
It took effort to gather enough focus to speak.
“Funny,” you managed eventually, breath uneven but grin stubbornly tugging at your lips despite the pull in your hair. “You’ve said more in the last five minutes than in all our patrols put together.”
Joel clicked his tongue.
“That’s ’cause you never had anything worth talkin’ about, sweetheart.”
His hand slipped away from you abruptly.
The sudden absence again left a hollow ache you refused to acknowledge.
A moment later, the quiet clink of metal broke the air as his hand moved to his belt.
“That is,” he continued casually, working the buckle loose, “until now.”
You couldn’t see him.
That was the worst part.
The outline you’d caught earlier through the denim of his jeans had been enough to plant the thought firmly in your mind - but without seeing it now, you had no real sense of what waited behind you.
And it was coming.
That much had become unavoidable.
Joel Miller was going to fuck you.
Before closing the distance, Joel leaned forward again. His grip in your hair loosened just enough to guide your head slightly to the side.
His lips brushed near your ear.
The scrape of his beard against your skin sent a small shiver down your spine.
“Wouldn’t mind refreshin’ these lessons now and then,” he murmured. “What d’you think?”
His hips rolled forward slightly against your backside as he spoke and you could feel his rock-hard cock against your skin. The pressure alone made it very clear that whatever came next would be anything but gentle. Or small.
Your reaction betrayed you instantly.
Despite every ounce of pride screaming otherwise, your legs shifted apart a little farther - limited only by the jeans and underwear bunched around your knees. Your hips lifted instinctively, pressing back toward him.
Joel felt it.
The chuckle that rumbled out of him vibrated straight through your body.
“That ain’t an answer, darlin’.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
Your lips stayed sealed for a few stubborn seconds longer.
Then the words forced their way out anyway, your head giving a tight nod against his grip.
“Y-yes… Joel.” The admission came out strained, breath catching halfway through. “I… wouldn’t mind that.”
“Mind what now, darlin’?”
You swallowed the last ounce of pride left in your body. “Wouldn’t mind you fucking me.”
You barely had time to register the shift behind you.
One moment there was the pressure of his cock lining up at your entrance, the heat of his body crowding yours, the grip on your wrists keeping you arched and exposed.
The next -
The breath punched straight out of your lungs.
Joel moved in one hard thrust, leaving no room for hesitation, no careful pause to let you adjust around his girth. This wasn’t patient. This wasn’t gentle.
It was rough, immediate, and entirely on his terms.
The sound that tore from you never had a chance to fully escape. His hand left your hair in the same instant and clamped firmly over your mouth, muffling the cry against his rough palm.
Joel groaned low behind you, the sound thick with the shock of it.
Your breath came hot and frantic through your nose against his skin as you struggled to drag air back into your lungs. That first impact had stolen every bit of oxygen from you.
“Fuck, darlin’…” Joel sounded strained as he leaned forward, pressing himself closer along your back. For a moment his forehead rested against the back of your head while he steadied his breathing and settled into the rhythm he wanted.
Despite the brutal beginning, he slowed.
Not enough to make things easy on you - far from it - but enough that the movements stopped feeling like a single overwhelming blow. There was a rough kind of control in it now, a measured pace that gave your body just enough time to keep up.
You mumbled something against the hand covering your mouth, the words lost in a garbled sound. The strain had tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
Joel huffed softly.
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for such a good girl,” he muttered near your ear, the words carrying that familiar teasing edge. “All ready for me like this.”
The praise sounded almost mocking paired with the relentless rhythm he kept.
Then, unexpectedly, his lips brushed briefly against the side of your neck - a fleeting kiss that contrasted sharply with the roughness everywhere else.
Before you could process it, he shifted again.
His hand slid away from your mouth, leaving your lips parted as you pulled in a shaky breath. Instead, he grabbed hold of your bound wrists, using them like a handle to pull you upward into a deeper arch. The position tightened everything, forcing your back to curve as his other hand dug firmly into the side of your hip to steady you.
“Let's see how good you take me like this.” You could hear the grin in his voice.
“Will you ever shut the fuck up,” you snarled breathlessly, your voice rough from the air you’d been fighting to catch.
Joel laughed behind you - gravelly and clearly entertained.
“Actin’ tough ain’t gonna do you much good right now,” he replied.
Another sharp thrust stole the rest of your retort, a broken sound slipping from your throat before you could stop it.
“In the end,” he continued casually, “you’re gonna be the one babblin’ nonsense… ’cause the only thing left in that head of yours’ll be me fucking you senseless.”
The blunt boldness of his words hit harder than it should have.
Joel had always been many things - stubborn, gruff, irritatingly calm - but this kind of filthy confidence? That had never once crossed your radar.
And damn it, it worked.
Heat built relentlessly in your core, faster than you wanted to admit. Embarrassingly fast.
Joel noticed once more.
“Look at you,” he muttered, almost amused. “Already cockdrunk.” His tongue clicked softly. “Wouldn’t be much of a lesson if you were enjoyin’ yourself too much, now would it?”
The words sent a spike of panic through you.
You twisted your head, trying to catch sight of his face over your shoulder.
Surely he wasn’t serious.
Joel paused just long enough to lean down near your ear again.
“That is…” he added thoughtfully, “…unless you ask real nice.”
The cruelty in it was obvious.
He wanted it. The attitude stripped away, the stubbornness broken down until you were the one begging for more.
And the worst part?
You weren’t nearly as far from it as you wished.
“Joel…” you swallowed hard, your voice suddenly tight. “Please.” The word slipped out before your pride could catch it.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice softening just a fraction. “I got you, baby girl.”
Another deep slam made your whole body shudder involuntarily as he bottomed out once more.
“Gonna take real good care of you,” he continued, almost conversationally. “Might turn out you’re useful after all.” There was a faint hint of that raider roleplay creeping back into his tone, the mock threat hanging between the words. “Keepin’ you around’s startin’ to sound better than ditchin’ you out there.”
You let it slide. At that point, resisting the game would have taken more focus than you had left.
The tension building inside you climbed higher, tighter.
“Joel… I’m gonna -”
“There you go, darlin’,” he muttered, his own voice rougher now, the control slipping slightly. “That’s it. Show me how you can come on my cock.”
And when it finally hit, it tore through you hard enough to make the world blur at the edges. For a few seconds you forgot everything - where you were, what you’d been arguing about, even your own name.
Joel’s hand returned to your mouth just in time to muffle the loudest part of it, the sound trapped against his palm.
“Beautiful,” he breathed close to your ear as the aftershocks rippled through you. His grip on your wrists tightened briefly. “Wouldn’t mind seein’ that again.” He shifted slightly behind you. “But this barn ain’t empty forever,” he added, voice still low. “And you already got me so close.”
Before you could even process the implication, wondering if he would really fill you up, he pulled out, leaving you abruptly empty. A moment later hot ropes of his climax landed across your back, your bound hands, and the wrinkled fabric of the flannel pushed up around your waist.
Joel’s grunt came staggered, the sound dragged straight out of his chest as he worked through the last of it. One hand was clearly still wrapped around his length, last droplets dripping down and slow strokes guiding the final waves of his release while the warmth of it still marked your back and hands.
Beneath him, your own body hadn’t quite caught up yet.
The remnants of your orgasm still pulsed through you in fading ripples, muscles clenching instinctively around emptiness now that he’d pulled away. Each aftershock made your breath hitch, your nerves still firing long after the moment itself had passed.
The strength drained out of you all at once.
You sank fully down against the mat beneath you, cheek turned to the side as the cold surface pressed against overheated skin.
“Fuck…” It came out hoarse, barely more than a breath.
Behind you, Joel shifted. You could hear the rustle of denim, the quiet sounds of him putting himself back together, but you didn’t have the energy to turn your head and confirm it. Just lifting your arms felt like more work than you were ready for.
“Yeah,” he muttered after a moment, voice still thick. “That about sums it up.” There was a faint grunt as he adjusted his belt. “Could get used to training sessions like that.”
The comment hit your ears just as your mind began catching up with the rest of you.
Your wit returned the moment he was no longer slamming into you.
“Wouldn’t do your back any favors, old man,” you shot back from where you lay.
The sarcasm came automatically.
There was movement beside you that finally made you crack your eyes open.
You caught it just in time.
Joel leaned forward toward the floor, reaching for the knife still embedded upright in the mat where it had been planted earlier. His fingers closed around the handle and he yanked it free in one smooth, forceful pull.
The metal flashed briefly in the dim barn light.
“Careful there, kiddo,” he said, voice lowering again as the knife traced lightly along the line of your spine.
The cool steel sent a sharp shiver through you.
“Taught you a pretty solid lesson the first time about runnin’ that bratty mouth, didn’t I?”
The blade slid down between your bound wrists.
With a quick, practiced slice, the rope gave way.
The tension disappeared instantly as the fibers snapped apart.
“Don’t mind turnin’ up the heat next time,” Joel continued, cutting the last strands free. “If I get the impression you’re still too stubborn to learn.”
The moment the rope loosened, you moved.
Your arms came forward instinctively, and you twisted beneath him to roll onto your side and then upright, pushing yourself into a seated position, pulling up your jeans cumbersomely while he shifted just enough to allow it. Joel settled back on his heels in front of you, watching as you immediately began rubbing at your wrists. The skin there was red, angry where the rope had bitten in. You circled them slowly, working the stiffness out.
“Maybe,” you said after a moment, lips curling slightly, “you’re just a shitty teacher.”
The smirk that followed was impossible to hide.
Joel’s answering grin was just as quick.
“Sounds like I wasn’t clear enough then,” he replied. His voice carried a tired edge now, the exertion finally settling in, but it did little to hide the faint spark of satisfaction underneath.
For a moment, he simply looked at you.
His gaze drifted over you again, slow and assessing.
Then he pushed himself upright and, almost casually, extended a hand toward you.
You ignored it.
Instead you scrambled to your feet on your own, tugging at your clothing in a half-hearted attempt to put yourself back together. The flannel hung crooked, your jeans still unbuttoned and loose around your waist, and you weren’t entirely sure what you were supposed to do next.
Joel solved that uncertainty by stepping closer. He closed the small distance easily, his broad frame towering over you.
Before you could react, the cold tip of the knife lifted beneath your chin. It nudged your face upward just enough that you had to meet his eyes.
“Better head home now, darlin’,” he said quietly. “And maybe pray I don’t catch up to you to drill the next lesson into that pretty head of yours.”
Your throat tightened.
You actually gulped.
One hand clutched the ruined flannel closed over your chest while you held his gaze just long enough to let him see that stubborn spark still burning there.
“Yes, sir,” you murmured.
Then you took a step back.
Joel didn’t move.
He simply stood there watching as you pulled your coat on and made your way toward the barn door.
You didn’t run.
Not even walked nearly as fast as you could have.
My Masterlist if you crave more...
Taglist:
@armandispunk @beardropascal @daddyimfilthy @daniel-bruhhl @dinonuggiesgogrrrr @dotyoureyez @drunkennunicornn @fig-frog @flawssy-227 @glaszdoll @getitoutofmymindwrites @harriedandharassed @he-is-the-destined @honestlywork @inept-the-magnificent @joelmillerspnk @johnssherlock221 @kakiki3 @keylimebeag @lokigonnakmsforbucky @maryfanson @missadangel @missladym1981 @palelense @pedrofan @perpetualharpyresonance @pleurspetal @rhapsodicaesthete @rosebuds-and-moonlight @samdrakeshappytrail @simpingforjoel @soydelaluna @speaktothehandpeasants @suzysface @tateypots @tomtohee @umadirectioner @untamedheart81 @vickie5446 @zoobabystation
@flatlyworthyeclipse @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @canonisoptional @twilightblogss
Christ this was so hot 🥵 I’ve missed reading dark-mean joel
