all alone
serial killer!joel miller x fem!reader
[18+] | wc: ~ 4k summary: You catch the attention of a serial killer. masterlist | AO3
warnings: dark!Joel, HBO Joel, TLOU AU, dubious consent (i'm so serious don't read if it makes you uncomfortable), some proofreading, no outbreak AU, 70's/80's AU (not really committed to a specific time but let's say before the 90's), murder/violence, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, slight degradation, outdoor sex, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie
a/n: hello y'all! sorry for being so MIA. it has been a rough 7 months. but I watched the pitt and now I have inspiration to start writing again (random, I know) 🤍 also this is only slightly proofread
Two days.
It took two full days for you to bury the body. Six feet, loads of soft dirt, and all his belongings.
You couldn’t exactly go into a store and buy a ladder or a shovel. So you improvised.
There were enough rural, abandoned farms in Texas that you could sneak onto the properties without being seen and take the things you needed. You have more than enough experience stealing, so you only had a mild worry about the gun-happy folk in this state.
You found a dirty blue tarp to wrap his body, and once the hole was deep enough, you rolled him right in. You dropped all his belongings in there, too. It probably would have been a better idea to scatter his things throughout your road trip, but you were just too damn tired to care.
You kept only a few things: his truck, his gun, and the money.
The money was all your plan. It was a simple heist that involved robbing a small bank, with Anthony as the gunman and you as the getaway driver. You had the floor plans you found using your intelligence and charm. Therefore, the only issues were the security guard and the 8-minute response time from the police.
Anthony and you were on the highway in 7 minutes.
But he became too greedy with the money. At first, you were okay with him spending a few at the casinos, but the drugs and strippers became an annoyance. When he walked back into your hotel room with the stench of vodka and perfume, the idea to kill him, to rid yourself of this parasite, had crossed your mind.
When he called you, drunk and delirious, to pick him up from the 7th strip club of the week, you listened. And when he told you to pull over on an empty road because he wanted to fuck, you grabbed your knife and stabbed it into his eye, straight into his head.
Blood splattered all over the inner cabin of his truck, and he flailed in pain until red dripped down his entire front.
It wasn’t a smart decision. You had to park the truck in the back of the hotel, away from the street lamps, while you walked discreetly back into your room to grab all of your belongings.
You managed to wipe away most of the blood once he was six feet underground, and you thanked your now-dead boyfriend for his decision to choose a truck with an all-black interior.
There were no tears or regret, only a sense of much-needed relief. He wasn’t necessary for your plans, just a pretty face to look at and a good shot. Until he began wasting your fucking money.
But luck has to run out at some point. 100 miles away from his grave.
The smoke billows out from underneath the hood of the truck. You’ve tried everything you can to get it to start, but the engine is completely fried.
“Ain’t nothing we can do,” the mechanic says, wiping away sweat droplets from his hairline, “gonna need a new engine for it to work.”
“Okay,” you say, “how long will it take to put in a new engine?”
He wipes his dirty hands on an even dirtier rag and reaches for a stack of papers.
“ ‘bout a week. Just need you to fill out this paperwork and we’ll get started on payment.”
Your heart drops. Fuck. A week is too long.
“Any chance you can find a new engine sooner? I’m somewhat in a rush, my sister is getting married in three days,” you lie easily. “No matter the cost.”
He shakes his head, giving you an apologetic smile. “Those engines gotta be special ordered. If you’re in a rush, I suggest takin’ a Greyhound or plane to wherever you’re goin’.”
Fuck, Anthony. He just needed a brand new truck with difficult-to-find parts.
“Whatever you do, don’t hitchhike,” he leans in, whispering, “too many people have gone missin’ on this side of Texas.”
One of the other mechanics calls his name and he walks away, putting up his finger to let you know he’ll be right back. You take the opportunity to slip out of the garage, leaving behind the truck. You don’t care what happens to it, it’s under one of Anthony’s aliases, and even if it was under his real name, they have no way of connecting him to you.
There’s a gas station just a block down the street, so you figure you can try your luck there for some directions to the nearest greyhound station. You drag the suitcase behind you, a firm grip on it as people pass by on the sidewalk or in cars on the street. Everyone seems friendly, most of them smile and say “good afternoon,” which has you feeling more at ease.
If you weren’t so hell bent on making it out west, you could imagine a life in this small town. There’s cute shops in the downtown area, trees lining the sidewalks, and parks with people enjoying their afternoon.
The cashier at the gas stations hands you a pamphlet with the bus information and two quarters to use the pay phone once you give her the same story. You thank her, but deny the change, once again surprised by the town’s kindness and make your way towards the pay phone.
The pay phone is right next to a board full of job posting, community event reminders, and… missing persons flyers. You open your wallet and take out change, sliding two quarters in the slot, and dial the phone number to the bus station.
As you listen to the hold music, you begin to read some of the flyers.
Jesse Smith. Male. 32. Last seen 01/08/70 on Tulson Road at 8:59 P.M. speaking to an unknown male in a dark colored pickup truck.
Sasha Conner. Female. 27. Last seen 03/15/71 on Lake Avenue at 2:46 A.M. speaking to an unknown male, tall with brown, wavy hair.
James Gonzalez. Male. 26. Last seen 05/22/72 on Wilson Street at 1:47 A.M. in an verbal altercation with an unknown male.
“Jesus,” you whisper in fear, “I wonder if it’s the same guy?”
The line cracks and you hear the voice of another person.
“Thank–for–57th station–how–help–”
“Hi, I’m sorry,” you say into the receiver, “the line is cutting–hello? Can you hear me?”
“Are–for–times–hello?”
You hear the voice for a few more moments over static before the line completely cuts out.
“Damnit,” you murmur.
Before you can slide another quarter into the slot, a deep voice startles you.
“These payphones don’t work, sweetheart.”
You spin around, coming face to face with a brown-haired man.
“Whoa,” he laughs, “didn’t mean to scare ‘ya.”
How did he sneak up behind me?
“No,” you say, “it’s fine. So the payphones don’t work?”
He shakes his head, strands of wavy hair brushing his forehead. He’s attractive in a rough sort of way, like a man who uses his body for manual labor everyday. He has a few scars on his arms and face with gray strands scattered throughout his hair.
“Ain’t worked for awhile,” he points to the entrance of the gas station, “that’s why they give out those quarters. Just being nice cuz the owner ain’t fixin’ it.”
You place the phone back on the stand with a resounding thunk and take a deep breath. You could try the diner across the street, maybe they have another payphone or a phone they could let you use.
You need to call the bus station first, find out which buses are heading as far west as possible, then a taxi company to get you there.
“Joel Miller,” he says, sticking his hand out for a handshake. “If it’s a ride you need to the Greyhound Station, I’d be happy to help.”
He motions behind him to a pickup truck. It’s shiny in the sunlight, and looks well taken care of. You accept his handshake and suppress the flutter in your lower belly from the strength in his hold.
“How did you know where I was calling–”
“I don’t like seeing young girls alone,” Joel interrupts, motioning towards the pamphlet in your hand, “it’ll be dark in a few hours and Lord knows it ain’t safe out here.” He points to the bulletin filled with the missing persons flyers. “The town is nice during the day, but at night…”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You can handle yourself on your own, it’s been that way since you were a teen. You’re quick on your feet and you know you’re way around a revolver or a pocket knife, but the thought of a serial killer on the loose while you have no way of leaving does frighten you.
But, you’re not naive. Most men don’t offer anything in this world without wanting something else in return. Especially handsome men like Joel.
“I can pay you–”
“No,” Joel interrupts again, “that ain’t necessary.”
So, he wants something else.
Joel picks up your suitcase and puts it in the backseat before he helps you into the passenger side. His car smells like leather, pine tree air freshener, and cigarettes.
It’s only a faint smell, and if the box of mostly full Marlboro reds in the cupholder says anything, he probably only smokes every once in a while. Joel hops into the driver’s side, flashing you a quick smile, and starts the engine. You pull out the map you carry in your purse and quickly find the city you're in.
“So according to the Greyhound pamphlet,” you say, showing Joel the pamphlet the cashier gave you, “it’s on Thompson Street and 20 minutes away–”
“Yeah, yeah, sweetheart,” he interrupts, waving his hand, “I know a shortcut. We’ll cut that 40 minute drive down to 30.”
“It says on the pamphlet that it’s 20 minutes from any part of town—”
“There’s some construction goin’ on. The drive around town is a lot longer. Don’t worry, about it.”
Joel rolls down the windows of the truck and switches on the radio to a country station. You don’t miss the glances to your exposed thighs, even if he tries to be subtle about it. You don’t mind. You like the way he looks at you, and most importantly, you like how he looks.
There’s always a seed of doubt present in your mind when you meet new people. It’s difficult to trust others when you’ve been wronged so many times, even recently with Anthony. Joel is a large man, broad and tall, with enough muscle in his arms that he swung your suitcase into the backseat so easily despite it being heavy.
If he wanted to, he could grab and toss you around with minimal effort. And as you watch him sit in the driver’s seat, thighs spread wide, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the back of your seat, you suddenly crave violence.
You squeeze your thighs together at the thought of him gripping you tight while he fucks you hard on the hood of hid truck. You feel the heat of his hand, resting behind you on the leather, not quite touching you but close enough for you to know it’s there.
“Thanks again, Joel. You saved me from having to find another phone. Or wait for a taxi.”
He turns to look at you again, giving you another smile, the wrinkles around his eyes more prominent when he does. His eyes do a quick once over, but you still manage to notice how they linger. The sundress you wear has ridden up even more now that you’re sitting down.
“No worries,” he says, “gotta make sure you get to your sister’s wedding, right?”
You look at him in surprise.
“I overheard your conversation with the attendant,” Joel says, answering your question before you can ask it, “I wasn’t followin’ you outside but I just needed to know you’d be okay.”
You turn to look out the car windows, noticing that he’s driven out of the town and into the countryside.
“Oh,” you say, feeling relief. “So are you a local?”
“Something like that–woah, I think I turned myself around. Would you mind takin’ out your map? The construction that’s going on has me all turned around,” Joel laughs.
He grabs the map from your hand, touching his fingers to yours. Your breath catches in your throat at the warmth radiating from him.
“Think we’re on Road 51,” he says, pointing to a spot on the map. “We’ll need to drive straight for a bit until we get to Daley Avenue and make a left.”
You lean over to take a look at what he’s pointing at, but he folds it up and hands it back to you. “How’s a pretty thing like you end up out here?” Joel asks.
“Hitched a ride to this town,” you say, already having an answer prepared.
Joel looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “And where were you before?”
“Living with my boyfriend–well, ex-boyfriend, a few towns over.”
Joel shakes his head. “Ex-boyfriend? Can’t imagine any man letting go of a woman like you.”
If only you knew, you think to yourself.
“Sorry,” Joel says quickly, “ain’t tryna make you uncomfortable. But you oughta know how pretty you are.”
There’s a warm glow in your lower belly. You can smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the saltiness of his sweat. It’s been a while since you were fucked, properly fucked. Not the quick, boring moments with Anthony that made you more annoyed than relaxed.
“No, it’s okay. I enjoy the compliments,” you say, giving him a smile. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
Joel laughs loudly, shaking his head. “Haven’t heard that in a while.”
“There’s no one calling you handsome at home?” you ask, running a finger through his thick hair.
It’s a bold move, one that under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t do. But the sun is setting, the breeze coming in from outside the truck is fresh, and the sound of his voice is clouding your senses.
Joel makes a left turn onto a road you don’t catch the name of. There’s more trees and an endless road ahead.
“Can’t say there is,” he murmurs, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Now I suggest staying put in your seat, honey. Don’t play with this old man’s feelings.”
“Should I play with something else, then?”
Your hand reaches down to his jeans to palm his bulge. He groans, quickly veering right and straight into the patch of trees. You yelp in surprise, bouncing in your seat, but he parks the truck and drags you to his lap.
You hear the thunk of your purse hit the truck floor and slide underneath the seat. The thoughts you had earlier, of Joel being dangerous, still linger in your mind. He's quick, strong enough to pull you into his lap and hold you tight against the bulge in his jeans.
And it scares you.
But in a fucked up way, it also excites you. His hand slides to the back of your neck and he brings your head down, connecting his lips to yours. Your dress has ridden up, exposing the pink cotton of your panties. You grind down on the rough material of his jeans, shivering in his hold as the goosebumps rise on your skin.
He kisses with an intensity you’ve never felt before, but one that you’ve craved while you're alone in bed, dreaming of a blurry silhouette who can make you breathless. Joel tugs at straps of your dress, pulling them down and exposing your bare breasts to the warm air.
You test his strength, wriggling in his lap and pushing gently against his chest, but he immediately grips your hands and brings them behind your back, thrusting his hips into the softness between your legs.
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, honey,” Joel growls.
He attacks your neck, dragging sharp teeth over sensitive skin and down your chest, finally reaching the peak of your breast with his tongue. You grind down on his lap, gliding your hands through his thick hair to bring his head closer to your tits.
Joel groans against you, the sound vibrating on your skin while he laps at your nipples. Your legs have turned to jelly at this point, and you’re positive you’ve made a mess on his jeans from the wetness seeping through your panties.
There is a swirl of heat in your lower belly, the tightening of your inner thighs, and the slow trickle of exhilaration that courses through your veins. You’re close, your orgasm teetering on the edge as you bounce and rub your clit in his lap.
“Sweet little thing,” Joel murmurs, dragging his lips over your chin, “so sensitive.”
His hands roam from your tits down to your thighs and ass, where he grips hard, keeping your hips flush with his.
“Anthony ain’t ever make you feel this good?”
For a second, you think you imagined it, that you’re conjuring up words that weren’t even spoken. But it only takes another second for you to realize what he said. Your body freezes in fear, blood turning ice cold in your veins, as your mind rushes to understand why Joel would say Anthony’s name.
“Nothin’ to say?” Joel whispers, “or maybe you just kill ‘em when you get bored?”
“Fuck you.”
With those words, you manage to punch him in the throat, catching him completely off guard. You slide off his lap and fall to the truck floor on weak knees, blindly looking for your purse that slid underneath the seat. Joel tries to grab you by the hair just as you open the passenger door. By the grace of God, your hand connects with metal, your pocket knife, and you climb out of the truck.
You don’t have time to waste, so you make no intention of taking your luggage or trying to find your purse. Joel is already climbing out after you, screaming your name into the darkness as you run into the trees.
“Don’t run,” Joel yells, “we were just gettin’ to know each other.”
“Fuck off, creep!”
You zig zag through the trees, stumbling through the branches and moss. The sun has gone down completely, so you have nothing but silver streaks of moonlight to illuminate your path. Despite his age, he runs fast behind you, thundering steps that echo all around you. You don’t dare turn around and see how close he is for fear of tripping or losing speed.
There’s a break in the trees, a patch of grass and in the distance, a wire fence. If you can get through that clearing and climb over that fence, maybe, maybe, you can find a house with people that can help you.
But luck has to run out at some point.
You trip, in some stupid, twisted fate, right as you make it out of the trees. You land face first into the soft grass with a loud oomph, momentarily stunning you. You try to regain your senses, managing to get up on your knees, but a large body immediately falls on top of you.
Joel pushes you back down, easily dodging the swipe of your knife. He brings both of your hands behind your back and takes your pocket knife, throwing it far away.
“Get off of me, asshole!”
He laughs at that, undeterred while he flips up the back of your sundress and lands a sharp slap to your left cheek. Embarrassingly, you whimper. There’s so much adrenaline running through your body, fear melting into heat through your veins, that you become aware of every single touch on your skin.
The night air, the soft grass pressing on your knees and face, the feel of his rough jeans on the back of your thighs, Joel’s hand holding your wrists together, his erection that presses against the wet cotton of your panties–it’s all too much. You’ve never felt this sensitive or vulnerable before.
“I know it was you, the person who killed all those people,” you spit out, “all those descriptions match you, Joel.”
“Oh yeah? Guess we got one thing in common,” he says, pulling down the zipper of his jeans, “we like to hunt.”
“No,” you scream, feeling the rip of your panties and the push of his tip to your entrance, “I’m not–I’m not like you–fuck!”
You’ve always been proud of how wet you become. How easy it is for you to become aroused and slide your fingers, or toys, or whoever you wanted, right between your tight walls. But in this instance, it almost feels like a curse. Joel slides in, punching his hips in one fluid motion, stopping only halfway as you tighten around his length.
You figured he was big, everything about this man is big. However, this is new. The sensation of being stretched to your limit or ripped open, you're not even sure. Another thrust of his hips and loud groan from him and he’s fully in, his hands, gripping your hips while he takes a break.
You don’t even try to fight, don’t try to use your now free hands to push away or fight. You can only breathe in short exhales, too tired from the running and too full of his cock to bring oxygen into your brain. Joel, on the other hand, is breathing heavily above you. He curves himself into your back, pressing hot kisses on your shoulder.
“I knew you’d be fuckin’ sweet,” Joel groans.
“Stop,” you whimper, fully aware of your leaking pussy and the tight grip you have on him, “let me go.”
You don’t even believe the words coming out of your mouth.
“You were in my backyard, honey,” he says through gritted teeth, “shit, you almost found the bodies.”
“What the hell–oh, God–”
Joel slowly pulls out, his thick length dragging along your walls, leaving just the wide head of his tip inside of you. His hand slips between your thighs to rub tiny circles over your pulsing clit. He plunges in again, this time harder, pushing right against your cervix.
“Oh, that’s fuckin’ perfect,” Joel murmurs.
“Joel–”
“Saw you drag the body into the hole,” he says, “too bad you dropped his ID.”
Your body shakes and jolts forward with each of his thrusts. It doesn’t quite matter how you ended up here, your body has betrayed you. Your pussy clamps down on his cock, covering his length and jeans in sticky juices.
“You–you followed me,” you stammer, “fuck, Joel! You fuck–fucking followed–oh shit–me.”
He spanks you in three harsh slaps, each followed by the slam of his hips. “Course. I. Did.”
You wish you had the mental capacity to ask more questions, to try and understand how he found you and what he wants from you. But, he keeps splitting you in half, rubbing his cock through your folds and back into your pussy.
His lips find your neck and he licks a path from your shoulder to your spine. Joel bites, sucks at your skin, leaving indents of his teeth on your back. His fingers speed up on your clit, bringing you right to that peak.
“Just like that, sweetheart,” Joel groans, “take that cock.”
Your fingers rip at the grass as you thrust back onto his cock, squeezing your walls, doing your best to keep him locked inside of you.
“Little slut’s gonna cum, ain’t she? Killed her boyfriend,” he groans, frantically thrusting into you, “only four days ago and–and already comin’ on my cock.”
“No I’m not,” you lie, “I’m not–”
You push back, breathless and vision blurring, as the force of your orgasm sweeps through your body. A scream erupts from your throat, echoing through the empty field, while Joel pistons his hips, never stopping his movements.
“Cum f’m, honey. Show me what this pretty pussy can do,” Joel groans.
He lets your upper half fall forward completely into the grass, and then you feel it. The pulse of his cock inside of you and the flood of warmth. He groans your name repeatedly followed by his crude pet name for you, little fuckin’ slut, draining my cock, aren’t ya’, slut?
Joel's cum fills you, drips out of you from how fat his cock is in your tiny pussy. With another, final harsh thrust, he drops on top of you. You don’t know how long time passes with the both of you lying on the ground.
His nose is pressed into your neck and you hear his rough breathing. Your thighs begin to ache and you feel warmth from where he spanked you. You wiggle beneath him with barely any energy, but he’s quick to wrap a hand around your throat.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?”
“You had your fun, Joel,” you whisper, “let me go.”
Joel squeezes your neck gently and rolls off of you. You’re surprised, wondering if that actually worked. Before you can hoist yourself up on weak legs, he grabs you and spins you around, throwing you over his shoulder.
“Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart.”
You don’t have the energy to fight him.
