Chapter Text
Humiliation came first.
Not fear - though fear followed close behind, sharp and breathless and clawing at the inside of your ribs - but humiliation. It flooded you in a hot, choking wave that burned worse than the scrape of gravel against your cheek or the damp cold seeping through your clothes.
Humiliation that you hadn’t been fast enough.
Humiliation that you’d believed, even for a second, that you could get away.
Humiliation that you were here now - face pressed into the muddy forest floor, lungs struggling for air, body pinned in place so completely it felt almost effortless on his part.
Because it was.
Joel Miller didn’t even sound winded.
His heavy boot was planted square between your shoulder blades, grinding you into the earth every time you tried to move. Hard enough to make it clear there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it.
You’d been so close.
That was the worst of it.
Days him and his raiders had kept you - God, maybe weeks - you’d lost count somewhere between exhaustion and routine - but through all of it, you’d held onto that thin, stubborn thread of defiance. Watching. Waiting. Learning their patterns. Learning him.
And tonight had felt right. Or at least right enough to give it a try before they could come to the conclusion that you are useful for more than just cooking and maintenance tasks.
You had used a moment of carelessness. A shift in guard. Darkness thick enough to swallow you whole if you just moved fast enough, quiet enough -
You had run.
And for a few seconds, you had believed that you could actually make it.
Then you heard him.
Not rushing. Not scrambling. Just boots hitting the ground behind you with steady, unhurried weight, like he had all the time in the world. Like this wasn’t a chase at all.
“Spare us the stress, darlin’.”
That booming voice of his had carried easily through the trees and edged with something that almost sounded like amusement.
“You and me both know how this ends.”
You’d pushed harder anyway.
It hadn’t mattered.
You hadn’t even seen him when he caught you - just the sudden sweep of your legs, the world tilting, your body hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath clean out of you. Dirt in your mouth, pain sparking across your ribs - and then him, already there, already in control - stepping onto you as if it was nothing.
Like you’d never had a chance.
“Please, Joel…”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, thin and breathless against the forest floor. You hated how they sounded. Hated it almost as much as the way your body betrayed you, straining uselessly beneath him.
A quiet chuckle rumbled above you.
“Please?” he echoed, like the word didn’t belong in your mouth. Like it was something small, something almost funny. “Bit late for that, isn’t it?”
The pressure of his boot shifted, pressed down a fraction harder, and the air left your lungs in a sharp, helpless sound.
“Had me runnin’ all through the damn woods,” he went on, tone easy, almost conversational. “And now you wanna beg?”
“I just -” You swallowed, dirt and panic and pride tangling in your throat. “Just let me go.”
The weight on your back didn’t move.
If anything, it settled.
“Got a better idea.”
You felt him crouch then - not because you saw it, but because the shape of him changed above you, the presence of him closer now, more defined. A shadow leaning in, a heat at your back that had nothing to do with comfort.
“Gonna pick you up,” he said, voice dropping lower, quieter, like it was meant just for you. “Make sure those little claws don’t reach me first.”
His hand closed around your wrist.
Before you could react, your other wrist was caught too, yanked back behind you in a grip that left no room for argument. You twisted, instinct kicking in, but it only earned you a sharper pull and a low, warning hum from him.
“Easy now.”
There was nothing easy about it.
“Joel, please -”
“- and then,” he continued over you, like you hadn’t spoken at all, like your voice was just another background noise he could ignore, “I’m gonna drag you all the way back.”
Something rough bit into your wrists - fabric, rope, you couldn’t tell - and your breath hitched as he secured it tight enough to hold, not enough to cut.
“And after that…” His fingers tapped lightly against your temple, almost thoughtful. “We’ll figure out a way to get that idea outta your head that you get a chance at runnin’ away.”
Your eyes widened.
He was right there when you turned your head - closer than you’d expected, closer than you wanted. No anger in his face. No strain. Just that same steady calm, lined with something darker underneath.
He brushed a smear of dirt from your cheek with his thumb.
Almost gentle.
The anger came back sharp enough to sting.
“Fuck you, Joel.”
A humorless breath of a laugh left him, low and unimpressed. His hand dropped, replaced by a brief, patronizing pat against your cheek.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”
He stood then, and the sudden absence of his weight on your back left your body aching, your muscles trembling with the effort of holding yourself up. For half a second - just a flicker - you thought maybe he’d shove you forward. Make you walk. Parade you back to camp like a warning, like a joke.
Instead, his grip on your bound wrists tightened.
Hard.
You barely had time to register it before he hauled you up with him, your balance failing immediately, legs unsteady beneath you.
And then -
The world tipped again.
A sharp inhale tore from your chest as he lifted you clean off the ground and slung you over his shoulder like it cost him nothing at all.
“Joel - no!”
The protest came out half-choked, half-panicked, your hands useless behind your back as you twisted against him. His shoulder dug into your stomach, knocking the air from you in uneven bursts while the blood rushed to your head.
One of his hands settled against the back of your thighs, holding you in place.
The other -
Higher.
Fingers pressing in on your butt, firm, possessive enough to make your breath hitch for entirely different reasons.
“No need for that,” he said, starting forward without a pause, his steps steady even with your weight thrown over him. “You chose this, remember?”
A sharp pat landed where his hand rested, not hard enough to hurt - but enough to send heat straight up your spine.
“You run,” he went on, voice carrying that same rough calm, “you make me chase you - this is how it ends.”
The forest shifted around you as he walked, the ground soft with moss, branches brushing against your dangling arms, the night swallowing every direction that wasn’t forward.
“You know,” he added after a moment, almost thoughtful, “I kept things real civil with you.”
You stilled slightly at that.
“Did your part. Helped out. Didn’t give me much trouble.” A quiet huff of something that might’ve been amusement. “Even when I could see plain as day how much you hated it.”
His grip tightened. He was right though. The days since his group of raiders had caught you, you had found your role in cooking, healing. As invisible as possible. Up until now.
“Think that time’s over.”
Cold slid in where your anger had been. Deep panic surging about the idea of being tossed to the raiders like a piece of meat.
“Joel - no, please - your men, they -”
“My men?” he cut in, and this time the laugh that followed was sharper. Drier. “Ain’t talkin’ ‘bout them, darlin’.”
The words settled heavy in your gut.
“They don’t touch you,” he continued, tone matter-of-fact. “Not unless I say so.”
A beat. As if he amused the thought of that for a secondbthen tossing it aside.
“Don’t figure they’ll get the chance.”
Your stomach turned.
“No,” he went on, quieter, almost like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “That ain’t the problem.”
His hand at your legs shifted, thumb dragging slow against your skin through the fabric of your clothes, absent and deliberate all at once.
“The problem is you forgot where you stand.”
Your throat tightened.
“You get comfortable,” he said, “start thinkin’ you got options.”
You tried to speak. Tried to fight it, to push back, to say anything that would put distance between you and the way his words curled low in your chest -
The soft click of his tongue stopped you cold.
“Now, now,” he murmured. “Save it.” His grip didn’t loosen. “Wanna see it in your eyes when reality sinks in.”
The trees began to thin ahead - faint shapes of camp just visible through the dark.
His voice dropped, quiet enough it barely carried past your own ears.
“When you finally understand,” he said, “that runnin’ ain’t ever gonna be an option for you.”
And the way he said it -
Steady. Certain. Like a promise.
Like a fact.
“And who knows, sweetheart? Maybe you don’t ever want to leave my side after I fucked some sense into you.”