The Last Of Us Fic - Tumblr Posts

joel miller | survive

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 4.7k

warnings: 18+! not for minors! please please please read the warnings and skip this one if you're uncomfortable with the subject matter.

episode eight reimagining with the same hard-hitting themes: blood, violence, cannibalism, sexual assault, killing, abduction, vomit. reader takes the place of ellie. angst. hurt/comfort. no happy ending as requested because i wasn't sure that could exist in these circumstances, but there is now a part two where joel takes care of reader and the fic ends on a lighter note.

prompt: Hi! Would love to request something for Joel Miller 🥰 Angst but with a happy ending, after seeing episode 8 I thought maybe reader is with Joel and Ellie, but this time Ellie stays back to keep an eye on Joel so reader gets kidnapped and is the one Joel basically comes back from the dead to save? hahshxdjfbf I just imagine them reuniting and UGH 🥹❤️ Feel free to ignore this if inspiration doesn’t strike!

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld

You’re terrified of losing Joel. So terrified that instead of watching him shiver and sweat on an old, bloodied mattress as his infection spreads, you opt to go out and hunt. It isn’t solely selfish. You need food, and Ellie needs to rest. At least this way you’re doing something productive rather than waiting for a miracle. 

Still, it’s difficult to concentrate on anything but the knot in your stomach, the one that keeps asking “what if?” What if Joel doesn’t make it? How will you survive past that grief for long enough to keep Ellie safe? How will you go back to Jackson and tell Tommy that his brother is gone?

You’re lost in those thoughts when you hear the crunching of snow, and you try to shake them away, readying Joel’s shotgun as you search for the source. 

A deer. It’s so beautiful that for a second, you forget that it’s supposed to be your next meal. You’d forgotten beauty still existed in a world so broken, forgotten that nature can still be kind. 

But humans can’t. Not if you want to survive; not if you want Joel to survive. 

You take a deep breath. Adjust your posture. Shoot. 

The bullet doesn’t hit where you want it to; where you know you should have been aiming if only you weren’t so distracted. The deer darts away. Whispering a curse, you follow the trail of blood —

And find more than you bargained for. Two men wait with the dying deer at their feet. They look… clean. Comfortable. Not people struggling to find food or clothing. You raise your gun again immediately, and theirs point back at you. 

“Put your guns down,” you order, trying to sound braver than you feel. You did alright before Joel came into your life, but it’s been a while since you’ve been alone and it’s hard to summon the strength that used to come so easy. 

“You first,” the darker-haired man says, narrowing his gaze. 

The fairer man glances warily before slowly lowering his. Good. At least one of them is smart. 

“Not going to happen. On the ground. Kick it away.” You shift on your feet, gripping your gun tightly and readying your finger on the trigger. You don’t enjoy killing people, but you will if you have to. If it means getting back to Joel and Ellie. 

“James,” the unarmed man says, calm authority firm in his voice. The one in charge, then. “Do as she says.” He holds up his hands in surrender as his friend, James, finally puts his gun away. “We mean no trouble. We’d just like to talk.”

“So talk,” you bite out, making no move to lower your own gun. 

“Alright.” His breath is visible in the cool air, nose pink and runny. “My name is David. This is James. We’re from a town just south of here.”

“Good for you. Maybe you should go back now.”

An amused smirk twitches at his mouth. “Thing is, we have a lot of mouths to feed down there, and this deer… it would keep us going for a week. Maybe two.”

“Shame it isn’t yours,” you say.

A short sigh escapes him. “Right. It is a shame. But if I could offer you warm shelter and good food, a welcoming community, why couldn’t we share?” 

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not interested in negotiating.”

“With all due respect, ma’am… as far as I can tell, you’re all alone in these woods. There’s no reason why you have to be.”

It’s clear the other man, James, isn’t in on David’s kind offer. His mouth is pursed in a thin line, jaw grinding as though he’s holding back from saying something. Welcoming community, my ass. 

Still, an idea strikes. You need something else more than you need the deer, and if this town has supplies… “You have medicine in this town of yours?”

David hesitates before dipping his head. “We do.”

“Antibiotics?”

“Yes…”

Hope swells in you for the first time since Joel was injured. 

“If you put the gun down, we’d be much more open to discussing what it is you need,” he continues. “Please?”

Gulping, you slowly lower your gun — but you keep it in your hand just in case, stomach still filled with unease. Not every settlement will be like Jackson, and there’s something… off about these two. 

“If you get me that medicine, you can have the deer.”

“We can do you one better. We have a nurse down in the village who can help you with your injury. If you just come with us…”

“No,” you say. “You’ll bring the medicine here, to me.”

Another strange smile. “You’ll be much more likely to survive the winter if you let us help you.”

Impatient, you raise your gun again. “Bring it or stop wasting my damn time.”

David lifts his hands again. “Okay. Alright. James, go and fetch what the lady needs.” 

“David—” James begins to protest, but is quickly cut off. 

“Go on now.” 

Reluctantly, he does, and then it’s just the two of you. 

“I know a place you can get warm,” he offers. “It’s just through the trees. An old greenhouse. No need to wait out here in the cold.”

It makes your gut twist, how he seems to be determined to get you moving, to take you out of these woods. And there’s a glint in his eye, something untrustworthy there — even his right-hand man seemed to see it. Nobody follows orders like that with pure reasons. He’s… scared, or at least threatened. 

“I’m fine just here.”

“Okay. What’s your name?”

“I’m the one holding a gun, which means I’ll be the one asking questions. How many people are there in this town of yours?”

“Forty. Like I said, there’s room for one more. Perhaps it was God’s will, us meeting today.”

Oh, good, you think. He’s a God botherer. You didn’t particularly subscribe to religion before the world turned to shit, and you sure as hell have better things to do than pray now. 

“Unless you’re not alone.” His voice seems to lower as though he knows something, and you stiffen instinctively. “Is the injury yours?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He no longer seems to be staring down the barrel of your gun, but right into you. “Because a few of our men had some trouble a few days ago. A man, a woman, and a young girl. Man was thought to be badly injured, you see. If he lived… well, I’d imagine that kinda wound would be susceptible to a nasty infection.”

He knows. He always knew. The raiders you crossed paths with, the ones who hurt Joel… 

You no longer feel like the one holding the gun. You feel like the deer bleeding on the snow between you. Prey. Still, you set your chin. “I don’t know what you mean. I travel alone.”

“See, I believe you, but the thing is… my friend, James… he’s not so certain. I’d imagine that once he comes back with that medicine, he’ll be rounding up a few men to go hunting for these people. If what you’re saying is true, I wouldn’t want you to be caught in the middle of that. That’s why it’s much safer you just come with me now, see?” 

Your upper lip curls into a warning snarl, finger twitching on the gun’s trigger. But if you kill him, you won’t get Joel’s medicine. You’ll lose him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” 

“Hmm.” He debates this. “There’s a third option.”

“Not interested.”

“I think you are,” he pushes. “I think you’re one of them, and I think you’re trying to help your man. Very noble, but strange. You don’t seem a good match. You’re so… young, so calm, and from what I hear, he’s dangerous. Ruthless, even. A cold-blooded killer. Maybe if you come into town with me now, we can arrange for that medicine to be delivered without my brigade charging in and doing some damage. There’s a place for you. Your daughter, too. You don’t need to be tied to him anymore.”

You want to scoff, or else laugh in his face. Does he believe you’re that simple, that stupid? Does he believe you’re a fucking damsel in need of saving?

Anger simmers in you at the thought. “I think it’s about time you shut up.” You point the barrel at his head now, right between his brows.

He doesn’t balk, doesn’t tremble, doesn’t so much as blink, and you’re beginning to understand. He’s the type of man who uses religion to veil whatever monster lies beneath. He isn’t some small-town do-gooder, though he might believe it. 

You dread to think what he might be capable of. 

“I think it’s about time you drop your weapon.” The voice doesn’t belong to David. It comes from behind along with the feeling of cold metal against the back of your skull. You risk a glance over your shoulder to see the man from before, James. You should have heard him creep up, should have seen, but you were so focused on the one in front of you.

Your heart thunders as you realise you might not get out of it this time. 

“We only want you to come with us,” David says, eyes round with feigned innocence. “That’s all. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“The gun to my head says otherwise. What would God say about this?” you retort, dripping venom because it’s all you have left. 

A strange sadness crosses David’s face. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

Before you can pull the trigger, something heavy slams into your skull, and then darkness swallows you whole. 

***

You wake in a cage, the taste of blood on your tongue and your wrists bound by rope. David is on the other side of the bars in what looks to be a kitchen, utensils hanging on the wall. Great butchers’ knives and cleavers wink at you in the watery daylight. You go cold with fear, crawling to the furthest corner of the cage. 

“Let me go,” you say. “Let me go!” 

“I’m sorry. It’s for your own good,” he says. “You were corrupted, but I can help you see the light again.”

“Why are you doing this?” You’re choking on a sob, thoughts of Joel and Ellie running through your mind. What if they found them? Joel is in and out of consciousness and Ellie can’t fight on her own. 

David curls his fingers around the bars. “It’s God’s will. I was meant to meet you today. This is where you’re supposed to be.”

“In a fucking cage?” you spit, voice echoing around the kitchen. You pull at the rope until your skin splits, crying out when you realise this is it. There’s no way out. You’re trapped, and you have no idea what this man truly wants with you. 

“This is merely a precaution,” he says. “I was wrong about you before. You are dangerous too. You have a dark heart, just like me. If you would just surrender, you could be part of this community.”

You squeeze your eyes closed, clamping down on a plea. You doubt it will do any good. Still, tears roll down your cheeks. “Fuck you,” you whisper. 

“You don’t understand yet. You will.” David takes a step back, and somehow the prospect of him leaving you here causes your stomach to turn to water. 

“Don’t do this,” you say. But he walks away with a glint in his eye that promises he will be back, and you’re left alone. 

Dizziness rattles through you as you pull yourself onto your feet, testing the sturdiness of the bars in hopes you’ll find a weak spot. But it’s padlocked closed and the screws are in tightly —

Something catches your eye, pale and fleshy on the kitchen tiles. 

An ear. 

In the kitchen. 

You vomit without warning as it all comes together. You wonder if the community even knows that their leader feeds them people. Wonder who was last in this cage and how long it took for them to become a meal. 

You scramble against the ropes again and pray — not to whatever fucked up God David worships, but someone — that you find a way out. 

***

“Joel!” Ellie shakes him frantically and finally he comes to. Sweat glistens on his forehead, his face drawn and pale, but he finally ate something earlier and she’s been keeping him hydrated as he drifts in and out of sleep.

Now, he frowns and hums in question.

“Y/N isn’t back. She didn’t come back, and now people are here.”

The sound of shuffling outside is only growing louder, and she keeps her voice to a whisper as fear grips her. It’s not like you to go more than two hours without checking in, even if you haven’t caught anything for dinner yet. That four hours have passed means something is wrong, and Ellie doesn’t know what to do, how to find you. She needs Joel. She needs you. 

“What?” Joel struggles to sit up, the mattress groaning under his weight as he clutches his injured stomach. But he’s alert, awake, and that’s better than he’s been in days. 

“She isn’t back,” Ellie says again, voice trembling now. “Someone’s here, Joel. They know about us.” 

Understanding clears through the fog in his eyes slowly, and he looks up as he hears the floorboards creak above. “Shit,” he curses, dragging himself slowly to his knees. Ellie watches, pulling out her own gun. “Hide somewhere. Let me deal with it.”

He’s in no fit state to deal with anything, but when Ellie protests, he shushes her and orders her to do as he says, so she does. And as he readies himself for a fight he can’t win, panic rushes through him. You’re not back. Somebody is here. 

He’s failed again, or at least is about to, and this time it’s you he’s afraid to lose. 

He summons that anger when the silhouette slowly stalks down the stairs. Summons it a lot more when he’s throwing an arm around the idiot’s neck to squeeze the life out of him. 

***

Joel has forgotten his injury. He’s forgotten anything but you; the thought of you alone, in danger, afraid. His fingers curl into fists at his side, and when the attacker finally rouses, he orders Ellie to leave the room. He doesn’t want her to see what comes next; who he becomes when he’s trying to protect the people he loves. 

Nausea twists through him, but it mingles with anticipation. Some sick excitement. He’s good at being violent. Better at being vengeful. 

“Where is she?” he asks, voice just steady enough to be assertive. 

The attacker mumbles something, and Joel’s patience quickly dwindles. 

“Who are you?” he asks, louder now. 

The attacker shakes his head. Doesn’t want to play. 

Joel brandishes his knife. 

The attacker’s eyes widen in fear as he presses the point into his finger, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach. “You want to do this the hard way?”

“I'm not telling you anything.”

Joel tilts his head and clenches his jaw. Then in one swift motion, he’s gripping the arms of the chair the attacker is tied to, quivering with anger as he towers over him. “Last chance.”

The attacker purses his lips, and Joel steps back, watching him sink in relief — relishing in that false sense of security. Then he throws the first punch, the impact of fist to jaw singing through his bones. He shakes out his hand, punches again. Blood splatters, but he goes again twice more just for good measure, growing weaker with every blow. He stops when he realises that, knowing he needs to conserve his energy to get to you. 

“Where the fuck is she?” he bellows.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” 

He plunges the knife into the attackers knee, the sound of bone crunching and flesh squelching as blood dribbles down his jeans and the attacker cries out. That’s when he begins to beg. That’s when Joel knows he’ll tell him anything. 

“Alright!” he’s whimpering. “Alright, please!” 

“Tell me where she is or I swear to god, I’ll pop you’re fucking kneecap off.” Joel drives the blade deeper, thirsty now. Desperate. He can’t do this without you. He needs you safe. If he finds out you’re hurt…

“With David!” he blubbers. “She’s with David in town!” 

“What tooooown?” (oh, you thought I wouldn’t?)

“Silver Lake!” 

“Who the fuck is David and what does he want with her?” 

“He…” the man chokes on his own sobs again, and Joel tugs on the knife, earning a piercing scream. “I don’t know what he wants, okay? He’s the leader! He… he took to her, I don’t know!” 

A chill crawls down Joel’s spine and his vision blurs as he pauses. His blood-drenched fingers tremble, and he doesn’t know how to make them stop. “What do you mean, he took to her?” 

The man spits out blood. “He likes her. Wants her to join him. I don’t know, man. I don’t know. I told you everything.” 

Joel wants to tear him apart then and there, but he pulls out his map, yanking the knife from the man’s knee to put the hilt in his mouth. The attacker howls, tears streaking down his cheeks. Joel wants to tell him he’ll do a lot fucking worse if he finds you harmed. He wants to say a lot of things, but cotton fills his mouth and he needs to find you. He needs to stop wasting time. “Point it out to me.”

“It’s not a real town. It’s just a fucking community. I don’t know.”

Joel grips the man’s collar, and his voice falls deathly low. “Point it out to me or I’ll make sure your other knee matches.”

It’s enough motivation for the attacker to pinpoint a spot. His blood stains the map, highlighting a small valley between the forest and mountains. 

Joel puts the map in his back pocket and slits the man’s throat before he can beg for his life. He’s not feeling merciful today. 

***

David comes back for you an hour later. “Have you reconsidered?” 

You only glare at him, your wrists bloody and your eyes gritty from so many shed tears. To your surprise, he unlocks the cage. Despite your better instinct, you stay seated, stay calm. You won’t get out of this if you try to run now. He has the upper hand, and you’ll let him have it, hoping his arrogance, his underestimation of you, will be his downfall. 

“You must be hungry,” he says. “Come. Let me show you what I can offer.”

Shakily, you rise from the ground. “Will you at least untie me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He leads you out of your kitchen. When he’s not looking, you lean your back to the table and snatch an abandoned knife, slipping it up your sleeve. 

The front of the building is laid out like an old, cheap restaurant and bar, candles burning and booths lining the windows. 

“I’m glad you’ve calmed down,” he says. “Now we’ll get a chance to know each other properly.”

Slowly, you begin to saw at the rope with the knife as he leads you to a booth. Two plates are set at the table, a candle lit in the middle, and you think about the ear on the floor. Wonder if the meat in the stew is not animal, not your deer. You want to throw up again, but you swallow down the bile in favour of relief: the rope has snapped. You keep your hands behind your back as you shuffle in your seat, trying to avoid looking at the meal. The smell of it makes your stomach turn. 

“What do you want from me?” you ask finally. 

David places a napkin on his lap. “I’m showing you hospitality. Hospitality you haven’t earned, might I add. Where is your gratitude?”

“Where the fuck is my medicine?”

Without warning, he stands and slaps you, and you can’t control your anger as the sting prickles along your cheekbone. You throw your plate at him, the food splattering his face and staining his shirt, and then you run. 

A mistake. He hauls you back quickly, and the two of you topple to the floor as he slams your wrist down, forcing the knife away. He pins your hands and then straddles you, and you know what comes next. You know, and you shouldn’t, and this isn’t happening. 

“You need to be taught some manners,” he croons, taking your chin in his hands. “A girl like you… you need to learn how to submit. Especially when we’re married. But don’t worry.” He leans down as you squirm, whispering into your ear, “We have time for that.”

“No!” You shout, slapping him away and doing your best to wriggle away. But he’s heavy on top of you, and he’s reaching for his belt, and there’s no way out. No hope. Nothing. “Get the fuck off me, you sick bastard!” 

He slaps you again, lash twice as hard this time, and you taste blood. 

You refuse to let it end like this. You refuse to let him destroy you. You let your body go slack as he unbuckles his belt, reaching out a hand and scrambling for the knife again. It’s under a chair not far from you — you just have to wriggle a little further. 

“It’s sad that you can’t accept that this is how it’s supposed to be. This is God’s will. You and me… we’re the same, underneath. We have the same violent heart,” David is muttering, and there, your fingertips brush the hilt. Determination renewed, you extend yourself again and this time the knife falls into your hand. 

You don’t have time to think; he’s unbuttoning his jeans, and like hell are you going to spend another moment beneath him. You drive the knife straight into his neck, and his eyes bulge as he gurgles on his own blood. As he goes limp, you push him off you — and stab again, again, again, spitting every bit of revenge into your movements as his blood covers his skin and your clothes. 

“You twisted fucker!” you’re yelling, tears rolling down your face as the shock draws in, the disgust. He’d been so close to taking you. So close to making you a victim after so long spent fighting to be a survivor. “Go to fucking hell!” 

You only stop when the fear numbs and you realise he’s no longer moving. Blood soaks both his shirt and yours, and you push yourself off him. His dead, milky eyes stare at you. When you catch a candle guttering in your periphery, you grab it. Crouch with it in your hand. Light him on fire. The flames spread along his clothes, and that’s how you leave him. 

Ashes. Bloodied, dead ashes. 

***

Joel and Ellie have fought their way through a blizzard. He’s surprised he’s still upright, but he saw bodies hanging in the stable and he can’t collapse now. Not for Ellie, and not for you. This community is built on something worse than infected or fascism, and when he found your jacket, your backpack, in that same room as the corpses… 

He can’t see anything but red and white. 

Ellie stops behind him suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” He catches his breath, looking around. There’s a long building close by, but he hasn’t seen any movement yet. 

A scream rents through the air, and he knows it’s you. His heart picks up, stomach plummeting as he runs around to find the entrance. And there you are, collapsing out of the doorway. 

He says your name as he catches your wrist, and you instantly cower away, screaming. “Please, no! Please, don’t!” 

He’s never heard you beg for anything before, and his world tilts on its axis. What the fuck have they done to you?

“Baby, it’s me!” He draws you close, cupping your jaw with his palms. Your eyes are haunted, face pale, and there’s blood. So much blood. You’re still fighting him, pushing on his chest, and he stumbles back. “It’s me. Look at me. It’s me, darlin’. It’s Joel!”

Your breaths are ragged as realisation finally dawns across your features. “Joel,” you whisper. 

“It’s me,” he says again, eyes filling with tears.

Your gaze moves to Ellie, and only then do you crumple. He catches you just before you fall to your knees, straining against his injury. “Oh, baby. Oh, baby girl,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m here now. You’re okay.”

Sobs wrack through you and he wraps his arms around you, holding on so tight he worries he might hurt you. But you clutch his shoulders just as hard, fingernails digging through his coat. You shake beneath him, and his own tears drip onto his cheeks. He pulls away quickly to look you up and down. Blood streaks through your hair.

“Where are you hurt, baby? Tell me where it hurts.”

You shake your head. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know, Joel. I don’t…”

It’s like you’re not even here with him, and he wants to break. But he has to stay upright for you. He has to be strong for you. He shrugs his coat off quickly and puts it around you, catching sight of your reddened wrists as you adjust the collar. Those bastards tied you up. Hatred drowns him, and he looks at the building you emerged from only to find orange flames flickering in the window. It must have been you, he knows, and he can at least feel proud of you for that, but still, the thought of what they might have done...

“Alright. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He pulls you to his chest, offering his other hand out for Elllie. She takes it, looking shaky as she carries both her bag and yours. 

“They were… They were eating people, Joel,” you say, voice thick and unrecognisable. “I just wanted to get medicine, and they took me. They took me. They were eating people and he was going to… He wanted…” 

“I know,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “I know.”

You stop without warning. “They said they had medicine. You… We have to go back.”

“No, no, hey.” He laces his fingers through yours. “We ain’t going back there for anything.”

“The infection—” you protest.

“Look at me. I’m here. I’m okay. I just needed to rest is all. We don’t need any medicine now. We just need to get you somewhere safe.” His heart pangs. The fact you’ve been through hell and are still willing to go back to help him… sometimes he wishes you weren’t so damn selfless. He should have been the one protecting you today. It’s his fault you’re here. His fault you’re hurt. 

You scrape your hair back and then, looking at your shaky fingers, seem to finally see all the blood. “His blood is in my hair.”

He can at least be relieved it isn’t your own, but the look on your face… he’s never seen so many scars written in one expression. 

“I need to get it out. I need…”

“We’re gonna. We’re gonna help you clean up soon, okay?” He tucks your hair away, lost, because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Doesn’t know how to make it all go away. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His voice cracks.

Your chest heaves with a stifled sob as you rub your hands and look out towards the lake. “Oh, god.”

Joel closes his eyes, wrought with regret. At his side, Ellie turns her gaze to the floor. It’s his worst fear come true. The reason he’d tried to get Tommy on board with taking Ellie the rest of the way. 

He’d failed again. Was always failing. 

All he can do is hold you close as you fall apart.

return the favor {{masterlist}}

Fandom: The Last of Us (TLOU), will mostly follow the timeline and events of the HBO show, but will pull lore and tidbits from the games as well!

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader

Summary: With a past as rich as anyone in the times after the Outbreak, you find your medical and survival skills to be a valuable asset. You were dropping off some medical supplies that FEDRA was willing to pay big for when you got tangled up in a mission that involves a teenager with a mouth almost as smart as yours and gruff older man whose graying curls were his only redeeming quality. But the longer you traveled with them and the more that happened out in the open land of what once was, the more you find yourself connecting with them and wanting to protect them both at any cost.

Word Count: 131.5k - ongoing

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, canon typical gore, description of injuries, description of anxiety, symptoms of anxiety, tense situations, sexual content, sexual propositions, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v (pls don’t do this w/o previous communication w/ your partner), joel’s emotionally constipated 

Keep reading

weakness

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s place takes one hell of an unexpected turn for you and Joel when hidden feelings start coming to the surface.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA JOEL. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is in his early 50’s). mentions of reader having longer hair/her hair gets brushed, reader wears a dress, no specific mention of reader’s size, but there is a brief mention of the dress fitting loose on her, Frank is sweet and makes her feel pretty, Bill is a grump, Joel is kind of soft, hidden feelings. dashes of angst, fluff, and an abundance of Frank being an absolute angel.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY. NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 5.7k

“Can you stop fidgeting for just one second, please?” Frank scolds you lightly, bringing down the palm of his hand onto your shoulder in a small, quick slap in an attempt to get you to stop squirming. He then moves his hands back up to your hair, which is out of its usual braid and towel dried after a much, much needed wash. The sickeningly sweet scent of the floral shampoo you’d used in the shower earlier that afternoon lingers deliciously in the air around you, a refreshing and welcome change from what your hair normally smells like—grime and smoke from hours of work detail in the Boston QZ. After coming out all of the stubborn tangles that he can find, Frank then picks up a boar hairbrush and he carefully begins to run it through your locks. He starts from the roots of your hair and brings the natural bristles down, all the way through to your ends. He chuckles and says, “You know, I would be done a hell of a lot quicker if you would just sit still.”

You sigh softly, but impatiently, allowing yourself one final, uncomfortable little shuffle in the white wicker chair he has you perched on before finally giving into his request. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” you mumble You bring your knees up against your chest and exhale another small sigh. You can’t see his face, but you can picture the smug, satisfied smile on Franke’s face as he continues brushing your hair. “So, tell me again why we’re even doing this?” you question him just a minute later, as if he hasn’t already explained it to you about a hundred times—he wants to do something special for you. “It kind of seems like a complete waste of time, don’t you think so?”

“We’re doing this because you deserve to get dolled up for once in your adult life,” Frank states in a matter of fact tone. The world had ended when you’d been about seven years old, and he’d imagined that since then, you’d never done a single damn thing for your appearance—besides the occasional at home haircut you would give yourself every few months with an old pair of rusted shears. He’d have been absolutely right about that. “And besides, it’s something of a special occasion today,” he adds. “It’s the first day of spring. The weather outside is stunning, our flowers are finally in full bloom, and we have a nice outdoor lunch planned to celebrate the new season.”

You can’t help the way the corners of your mount turn upwards into a small smile. One might think it was all rather silly, given it was the end of the world and all, but you have to admit, you admire the way Frank manages to find genuine happiness and joy in the little things, like warm sunshine on the first day of spring. Or showing a friend what a proper hairbrush looks like. He has such a beautiful soul, something that very, very few people in this new world possess. 

“Your hair is so healthy,” Frank observes a few minutes later, setting the hairbrush aside. Taking two handfuls of your hair from the front, he twists them gently and brings them around to the back of your head. He then secures them with a clear, elastic band and runs his fingers through your soft locks, maneuvering your hair until it cascades perfectly around your shoulders. Frank walks around your chair to face you, fussing until he makes sure that every stand is neatly in place. He smiles. “You should wear your hair down more often, you know. It really suits you.”

“Long, loose hair and work detail are a recipe for disaster,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. “Most of the work sites in the zone require anyone who has longer hair to keep it tied back, anyway.” You push your legs out away from your chest and plant your feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, Frank. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do,” you swear. “It’s incredibly sweet, but there’s really no point. In just a few hours, Joel and I are going to have to head back into Boston where my hair goes back into its braid and I have to change back into my normal clothes.”

“Exactly. So how about you just zip it and enjoy this while it lasts?” he suggests with a tiny, cheeky grin.

“But Frank—”

“Honey, this is a fight you simply aren’t going to win, so hush. Now, come with me.” He takes your hand, pulling you out of the chair and up to your feet. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and with a reluctant sigh, you do as you’re told. Frank leads you over towards the full length mirror in the far corner of his and Bill’s bedroom. “Okay. One, two, three—open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open and your mouth parts slightly in surprise. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur underneath your breath, taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at you, she looks absolutely nothing like you. The hair, the hint of blush on your cheekbones—the color he’d found was one one that flatters the tone of your skin—and the thin coat of decades old mascara that he’d applied to your eyelashes; the tube had been bone fucking dry, but Frank used a few drops of water to bring it back to life, swearing up and down it was fine to put near your eyes. And then there was the dress, the goddamn dressed he’d force you into. His favorite part of the makeover and your least favorite. 

“Wait until you see what I found for you to wear,” he’d told you, giddy as if it were him who would be donning a new outfit. “You’re going to love it!”

Skeptical, you had asked, “Am I though?”

Frank had gone to the boutique and found you a dress to wear, and while it was just a tad loose on your frame, he insisted that it would look just fine on you with the help of a safety pin hidden at the back of it, pulling the fabric taut. It was simple enough, white with a subtle sweetheart neckline and thin straps that tied together at your shoulders. The delicate lace fell down in a flowing skirt to just a few inches above your knees and it itched like hell, especially at your sides. Wanting to add a finishing touch to the outfit, Frank had brought you a pair of brown, strappy sandals and he’d let you know that he had a couple of different color options for a cardigan in the event it became too chilly outside. 

“You look perfect,” he gushes. “Like a daydream!”

You look different. But that isn’t what brought on the shock. More than anything, you’re completely taken aback by how fucking normal you look. 

Sure, coming over to Bill and Frank’s always gave you a temporary sense of normalcy. They always allowed you to take a hot shower, gave you the opportunity  to properly wash your hair and change out of your dirty shirt into a new clean one. They always provided you with a warm meal presented on porcelain dishware that wasn’t stained or chipped like the shit you had back home in your crumbling apartment in Boston. You’d had several tastes of normal thanks to those two, but this drastic change to your appearance was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

You’d never thought that you could look like this, not in this fucking lifetime. 

Frank immediately picks up on your emotions, senses how you’re feeling. Standing behind you, he places his two hands on your shoulders and leans his head forward, pressing his cheek against yours as his kind eyes meet your tearful gaze in the mirror. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I really hope you feel beautiful. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but if I can at least give you this much, then my mission is accomplished.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fall short. Afraid that you might burst into tears on the spot, you clamp your mouth shut and give him the tiniest little nod of your head accompanied by a quivering smile of gratitude. 

Frank smiles back. “Good. Now, come on, let’s go out front and have lunch.” His hands fall from your shoulders and he ushers you out into the hallway and towards the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he gives you a wink. “I’m really eager to see what your man thinks of your new look.”

“What?” you sputter, almost tripping over your own two feet. “Who—you mean, Joel?”

Shit. You’d almost forgotten about Joel.

What the hell is he going to say when he sees you like this?

What’s he going to think?

Probably that you look utterly fucking ridiculous, that’s what.

“Who else would I be talking about? Bill?” Frank snorts. “Yes, I’m talking about Joel.”

You glare at his back. This isn’t the first time Frank has teased you about Joel Miller, and despite the countless times you’ve sworn to him that there was nothing going on between the two of you, he insists on believing otherwise, adamant that there has to be something more there. “Don’t start with this shit again. He is not my man, and you damn well know that.”

“He might as well be,” Frank shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he leads you down the staircase.

“Frank, I’m being serious,” you say. Normally, weren’t so uptight about it all, but today, you’re not finding his antics amusing in the slightest, not while you’re wearing goop on your face and sporting a fucking dress. “I’ve told you a million times that there is nothing going on between me and Joel. He’s my partner.” You pause briefly, realizing how that must have sounded, and add in emphasis, “He’s my work partner. We work together, Frank. We smuggle shit together. That’s it.”

Frank stops at the bottom of the staircase and turns to you, letting out a curious hum. “Hmm. And if I remember correctly, you two also live together, you sleep in the same bed together, you spend every waking moment from sunrise to fucking sunset together—I have never heard of two work partners being that close, sweetheart.”

Stubborn, you shake your head. “He’s like fifty!”

“The world ended and that’s your concern? An age gap?” he questions. “Really?”

“Frank,” you plead his name, groaning. “I swear it. We’re nothing to each other. Joel is—well, he’s Joel. He’s not exactly the type of man who does that. You know, feelings and shit.”

He throws his head back slightly, letting out a loud laugh that echoes through the foyer of his home. “Oh, trust me. I know that much. Between you and me, I have to say that he reminds me a whole lot of Bill,” he muses. He notices the horrified expression that crosses your face and laughs again, holding up his hands in defense. “Wait a minute, just hear me out. They’re polar opposites in some ways, but in most ways, they’re almost the same fucking person. Joel is just like Bill. Cranky. Grumpy. He hates everyone and everything. Kind of man who’ll stab someone if they so much as look at him the wrong way. Would you say that’s pretty accurate?”

“Yeah, sounds like Joel Miller,” you have to admit. As much as you did not want to think of Joel being the same person as Bill, Frank had a pretty good point.

“But Joel also reminds me of Bill because he’s the kind of man who means well when it comes to the people that he cares about. The kind of man who will do whatever it takes to protect what is his,” he further explains. He pauses and then asks, “Let me ask you something. You trust him, right?”

You don’t even miss a beat, answering, “Of course. With my life.”

He ticks his  index finger at you. “Aha! Exactly!” he exclaims. “You know that Joel would never let anyone lay so much as a finger on you. He’d never let anything bad happen to you. And why is that?”

You stare at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. “Is this a trick question?”

Huffing, Frank rolls his eyes and lets out a disappointed sigh, as if you’d missed the obvious. “It’s because you mean something to him, sweetheart. Whether you choose to let yourself believe it or not, you mean something to Joel Miller.”

For a moment, it feels like all the wind’s been knocked out of you. 

Could Frank actually be right? 

Do you actually mean something to Joel?

No, that was impossible. Joel Miller doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything—all he cares about is surviving long enough to find Tommy again one day, and even then, he never speaks of his younger brother too kindly. He’s been hardened by this world, closed himself off, put up a barrier around himself that nothing can permeate. Not even you.

“Under that tough, rugged exterior, there’s a soft spot. It’s there, for you and only for you.” Frank’s eyes glimmer, speaking a truth he’s been wanting to tell you for the better part of the last several months. “You might need to do some digging to find it, but it’s there.”

“I just don’t understand why you would think that,” you confess, shaking your head. “Joel has never said anything to me to indicate that I mean something to him. More often than not, I find myself wondering if even considering us to be friends is too generous.” You cross your arms over your chest, growing uncomfortable under his knowing stare. “Yes, Joel looks out for me, but that’s only because we work together so well. I know my way around. He needs me, especially if he plans on getting to Tommy.”

Frank bites his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. “What? Realize what?”

“You are his weakness.”

He’d said it so simply, and yet there goes the rest of your air leaving your lungs, an invisible first driving itself right into your gut. 

“Of course Joel isn’t going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s afraid,” Frank remarks, sounding so sure as if he had been told that by Joel Miller himself.

“You’re wrong. Joel isn’t afraid of anything,” you counter in the steadiest voice you can muster. “You’re wrong, Frank.”

“He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.” Any trace of teasing or playfulness had disappeared from Frank’s expression. He speaks gently, but with purpose, with such seriousness that it makes your heart sink further and further down into the pits of your stomach.

When you speak again, your voice is strained, thick with emotions you’re trying so desperately to shove down. “Frank, you really need to put down the fucking romance novels.” Before he can say another word to you about it, you place a hand lightly on your stomach. “I’m really hungry. Can we go eat now? Please?”

Thankfully, he gets the hint to drop the subject.

“Of course. Come on” Frank takes your hand. He opens the front door and leads you outside and onto the freshly landscaped front lawn. He had been right, the flowers were in full bloom—the small, round table he’d set was positioned in a perfect spot so that no matter where anyone sat, they would have a view of the colorful roses and azaleas he and Bill had planted around the perimeter of the yard.

As soon as he sees you two approaching, Bill throws up his hands in a dramatic fashion. “It’s about goddamn time!” He grouches loudly. “Jesus Christ, Frank. I’m fucking starving!”

“Sorry, got caught up inside.” Frank tosses his partner a sweet smile as he releases your hand. “But look, I found myself something pretty!”

Heat floods your cheeks. You should have known better than to think he wasn’t going to make a fuss about your new appearance. “Frank, please. Don’t.”

“Oh come now, you know I have to show you off!”

Joel, whose back had been turned towards you, furrows his eyebrows and he glances over his shoulder, looking to see what Frank was referring to. His dark brown eyes widen just ever so slightly, the grip around his glass of red wine tightening in complete surprise at the sight of you. Frank had failed, quite miserably, to convince him to dress up for the occasion, but at the very least, he’d talked him into wearing one of the nicer shirts he'd found at the boutique, a neatly pressed, sage green button up with long sleeves that, much to Frank’s chagrin, Joel had rolled up to his elbows. His graying, dark brown curls  might have even had a comb run through them, but it;s  difficult to tell if the way his thick locks were effortlessly disheveled was natural or the result of his efforts to tame them.

“What do you think, Joel?” Frank beams proudly, as if presenting the man with one of his painted art pieces.

Joel doesn’t respond. His eyes remain glued on you, following as you walk around the table and take your usual place beside him.

“Way to put me on the spot, Frank,” you mutter, your face growing warmer and warmer with every second that ticks by. You silently urge yourself to get a grip as you reach for the crisp, white cloth napkin next to your plate and drape it over your lap. The smoked, wild rabbit Bill had cooked up for lunch  smells heavenly—Frank knows  it’s  your absolute favorite dish, and so he had made sure Bill put it on today’s menu, bless his heart. 

Joel still hasn’t uttered a single word. Part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

“Joel?” Frank prompts as he picks up his own cloth napkin. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

You glare daggers at him from across the table and hiss, “Frank!”

Finally, Joel sets down his glass of wine and turns slowly, angling his body towards yours. When he speaks, his voice is low, but clear as day as he looks at you, “Yeah. She looks very pretty.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, causing your heart to skip a beat inside of your chest and a strange warmth to bloom in your belly. 

Had he actually meant that?

“You look real nice,” he adds, giving you a subtle nod of his head. He lets his sights linger on you for another moment before tearing his gaze away. He then turns back to the table, picking up his glass of wine once again, chugging what’s left of it before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. 

Bill clears his throat roughly. “Well, if everyone’s done playing dress up, I’d really like to fucking eat now.”

Meals with Bill and Frank were always pleasant. 

Well, meals with Frank were always pleasant.

 Although Bill had gotten used to having you and Joel over as guests and didn’t see either of you as a threat anymore, he still preferred to keep you both at arm’s length, a choice you two respected. He hardly ever said much and often chose to let his partner do all the talking unless the conversation had anything to do with trading supplies. Only then would he step in. 

As you’d tucked into your meal of wild rabbit and garden vegetables, you could feel Joel throwing subtle glances your way every so often. It was half expected that he would, seeing as he’d never seen you like this before. He was so used to seeing you in tattered, dirty old clothes with dirt and grime caked onto your skin and in your hair. 

Surely, he must have felt like he was sitting next to a complete stranger, not his smuggling partner.

About an hour later, once everyone has finished eating, you offer to help Frank clear and clean up the table and wash the dishes. He settles for letting you help him bring everything inside, but shoos you away before you can even think about lifting another finger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he says, waving you away from the kitchen sink with his hands. “You and Joel are taking off in just a couple hours, so go on and get some rest,” he suggests. “Oh, by the way, we found some new books to add to the collection. Might find something you like. Go ahead and check them out.”

“But I forgot my library card at home,” you joke lamely, although it earns you a sincere laugh from your friend. You pad out of the kitchen and into the living room, straight over towards a grand oak bookshelf that is packed tightly to the brim with dozens and dozens of books of various genres. You hadn’t been all that much of a reader before, but thanks to Frank, who always sent you home with at least two or three works in your pack, reading had become one of your favorite hobbies over the last few months, a sweet little escape that took you out of your shoddy apartment in the zone and into another world. You start searching the titles for the new finds he’d mentioned. Spotting one of them, you pluck it from the shelf, a paperback titled, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Opening it up, you begin thumbing through the pages, quickly realizing that it’s play—you’ve never read a play before. Still not convinced if it’s one you would like to take home with you, you flip back to the first page and start reading with a curious little hum. 

You had been so preoccupied with it that you hadn’t noticed Joel standing behind you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest until he clears his throat, and asks, “Find somethin’ good?”

Startled, you whirl around, nearly dropping the book in your hands. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you breathe out, clutching it tightly against your chest as your heart rate slows. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Not my fuckin’ fault you were too busy with your nose buried in a book,” he states, trying his hardest to fight the small smirk threatening to cross his lips. He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself away from the doorframe.

A chuckle escapes you, almost nervously, as he slowly starts walking over towards you, his brown boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He takes the book from your hands, humming as he reads the cover. “Shakespeare, huh?”

“You know Shakespeare?” you toss him a teeny, lopsided smile as you tease, “He from your time?”

Joel lightly smacks your arm with the worn paperback. “Yeah, I know Shakespeare and he was about four hundred fuckin’ years before my time, thank you very much.” He flips it over, eyes skimming the text on the back. “Had the world not gone to shit, you would’ve grown up and spent your entire middle school career being forced by English teachers to read all his shit and write essays tryin’ to interpret it all.” He hands it back over to you. “Here.”

“Sounds like a real fucking dream,” you deadpan. You glance down, running your index finger down the spine of the book. You’re trying, almost painfully, to ignore how Joel’s eyes glaze over you from head to toe. 

“Y’know, it’s kinda nice,” he remarks quietly, breaking the brief moment of silence that had fallen over the two of you. “Seein’ you like this.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the book and scoff. “What? In a dress?”

“When we’re here, you let your guard down. Ain’t always lookin’ over your shoulder. You smile a hell of a lot more.” He pauses, then adds, “You look happy here. Sure, this dress looks nice on you. Your smile looks even fuckin’ better, though.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. More than his words, it’s the genuine tone in which he had said them—you’d never even realized Joel noticed things like that. Whether you were happy or not, how often you smiled. Or didn’t smile.

You force a small chuckle. “It’s the only sense of normalcy that we get. Of course I look happy when we’re here. Because I am happy when we’re here.” Still refusing to meet his gaze, you turn around and walk over to the couch towards your pack. Opening the top, you quickly shove the book inside. 

When you hear Joel’s footsteps coming up behind you, you stiffen slightly.

“Frank, he adores the hell outta you,” Joel says. He seems to hesitate, but then continues, “You ever think of askin’ him to stay here?”

“You kidding?” You snort in response. “Bill wouldn’t allow that. Never.”

Joel’s hands go to his hips, knowing you had a point. “But you know Frank can convince him of almost anythin’, don’t you? And besides, believe it or not, Bill actually likes you. He loves Frank more than anythin’ and you make Frank happy.”

You finally turn around to face and find yourself caught off guard by how close he’s standing to you. “Joel, what exactly are you getting at?” You raise an eyebrow before playfully asking, “Are you trying to get rid of me or something, Miller?”

Joel quickly shakes his head. “Of course not. All I’m sayin’ is that—” He stops and lowers his voice, just in case Bill or Frank happen to be wandering nearby. “I like seein’ this side of you. The happy side. The normal side.” He shrugs his shoulders, the lean muscles of his upper body flexing with the movement against the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Seein’ you all cleaned up, well fed and content—” He trails off once again. “Shouldn’t be a rare occurrence, y’know? You’d clearly be better off here with them and you know that with Frank’s help, we could probably talk Bill into letting you stay.”

The second you realize he’s being serious, your smile fades.

“What? But what about you?”

“Darlin’, Frank’s good, but he’s not a goddamn miracle worker. Even if he tried, that’s not somethin’ Bill would ever go for,” Joel admits, lifting a hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “And even if he did, we’d fuckin’ kill each other by the end of the first week.”

Bill and Joel being neighbors?

Talk about a different kind of apocalypse, you think to yourself.

“I know that much,” you reply with a tiny eye roll. “What I mean is, do you honestly think that I would leave my life in Boston?”

“That ain’t no fuckin’ life—”

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “I know it’s not. But it’s my life with you, Joel.”

The rough creases on his forehead suddenly soften. That was the first time you’d ever seen that happen.

The scowl on his face wasn’t permanent after all.

“Yes, this is nice. This patch of town, this house, the running water, the food, the clothes—this is a decent life. More than decent. In this world that we’re living in, this place is heaven. But without you, all of it would mean absolutely nothing to me. I wouldn’t be happy here, not without you.”

Joel tilts his head back, shaking it lightly. “Think about what you’re sayin’ here.”

“I know what I’m saying.” Before your brain and your body can even make the connection, you find yourself taking a step towards him, shrinking the gap between your bodies even further. You glance up at him, somehow finally finding the courage to have your eyes meet his. “I refuse to leave your side, Joel. That’s never going to happen. Not if I can fucking help it. Do you understand that?”

Joel exhales the breath he’d been holding, his warm breath tickling your face.

“I mean it, Joel. We’re in this shitty ass fucking world, together. No little slice of heaven could ever get me to leave you behind, no matter how good it is,” you declare, silently wondering to yourself where the hell you were even finding the balls to confess all of this to him. “Okay?”

“You’d be safer here than in the QZ, with all that shit’s that been goin’ down—”

“I’m the safest when I’m with you, Joel. I know I am.”

You lift your hand to his face. At first, there’s minor hesitation on your part, but you will yourself to place it on his cheek. Although your touch is gentle, Joel can’t help but wince. Not because he doesn’t want you to touch him, but because it had been so fucking  long since anyone had ever touched him like that. 

Since he’d let anyone touch him like that. 

He closes his eyes and after a second or two of resisting, he finally allows himself to relax his tense muscles and he sinks  into your touch.

Joel lets himself savor the feeling of your hand on his face. His bottom lip gives a subtle tremble when you softly start to graze your thumb down along his jawline. His beard, which you often playfully tease him about now that it’s beginning to gray just like his hair, feels rough and scratchy, and yet somehow still soft underneath your fingertips.

“Hey,” you murmur, and he forces his eyes to snap open. “We’re in this together. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it’s going to stay,” you assure him. “My place is with you, Joel.”

Joel manages to speak through tight lips, his voice strained. “You really fuckin’ gotta stop talkin’ to me like that, darlin’.”

You carefully move your hand away from his face, letting it drop back down to your side. “Why?”

“‘Cause. Shit like that is dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” you repeat, almost laughing. “Of all the things—”

Then, Frank’s words from earlier come to mind.

He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.

Joel’s dark eyes flicker to the strap of your dress, noticing it had started sliding off your shoulder. Before he can even think to stop himself, he reaches out and pulls it up back into place, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin. “You’re so soft,” he murmurs under his breath. All those fucking years of working with you, even sharing a bed together, and he had no idea of what it was like to touch you.

“Joel…” 

Your heart had all but climbed up into your throat.

“Everythin’ you just said a minute ago, ‘bout not wanting to stay here without me,” he starts to say, “I know that it’s fuckin’ selfish of me, but I’m real glad you said it. ‘Cause no way in hell do I want a life without you. I know it’s wrong but—”

Placing your hands delicately on his shoulders, you lift yourself up on your toes and cut him off mid-sentence by pressing your lips softly against his. The clean scent of the soap Frank had given him to shower with fills your senses and you yearn to have more of him, you nearly ache to get a real taste of him—but your courage only went so far. Thankfully, Joel knows to take over from here. One of his arms snakes  its way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest while the other reaches up, the warm palm of his hand pressing against your cheek. His tongue swipes lightly across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore your mouth just a little bit further.

You eagerly grant him access, half expecting his mouth to ravage yours.

Much to your surprise, Joel remains gentle.

The way that he kisses you, the way he holds your body against his, the way his large hand—the same hand that slits throats and breaks bones—delicately cradles the side of your face like you’re made of porcelain. 

“Joel,” you nearly whimper his name when he breaks away.

His face remains just inches from yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting to catch his breath. “We’ll need to get goin’ soon.”

“I know.” You nod, hoping you don’t sound as disappointed as you feel. You can sense that Joel, much like yourself, is  at war with himself over what had just happened. Not that either of you regretted it, at least you certainly don’t, but the realization that you two have just crossed a line you’ll never come back from was daunting.

Joel lifts his head, lightly pressing his lips against your forehead. He then forces himself to release you from his arms and steps back, dropping them back down at his sides. “I need to, uh, I need to go get some things from Bill. Y’know, get my pack ready before we take off.”

You nod again. “I’ll start changing and get another pack of supplies ready as well.” You pause, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Joel, about what just happened—”

He silently shakes his head before leaning down, capturing your mouth with his.

This kiss is short and quick, and when he pulls away, he says nothing. He turns on the heel of his boot and disappears, heading out to meet Bill in the garage. 

Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers lightly touching your lips.

“Well, well, well.”

Looking over your shoulder, your throat goes dry when you see Frank standing there, hands on his hips and a knowing, smug expression on his face. 

“How long have you been standing back there?”

“Long enough.” Even from a distance, you catch the amused twinkle in his eye. “What did I tell you?”

You turn away from him, biting your lower lip.

So maybe he’d been right after all.

Maybe you were Joel’s weakness. 

But he was yours too.

SO MUCH TO LOSE MASTERLIST - ONGOING

So Much to Lose - ONGOING

For readers 18+ only please!

summary:

Newly settled into Jackson city and forced to go on patrols with the miserable Joel Miller sets off a chain of events and encounters that have you questioning everything, including your own heart.note: Featuring Dark!Joel

story trailer

note: the gal in this is just a stand in, because the Reader is YOU in it.

Chapter 1 : Patrols

Chapter 2: The Doe

Chapter 3: You Make the Rules, Remember?

Chapter 4: Early Riser

Chapter 5: You still want this?

Chapter 6: Trapped Inside

Chapter 7: Spoiled

Chapter 8: Shoulder to Shoulder

Chapter 9: Repairs

Chapter 10: Rancher Street

Chapter 11: Snow

Chapter 12: Town Meeting

Chapter 13: Family Dinner

Chapter 14: Coffee Flavored Kisses

Chapter 15: Going Quiet

Chapter 16 : Will you tell me?

Chapter 17 : Pockets of Beauty - coming January 2025

Chapter 18: Useless

Chapter 19: Footprints in the snow

Chapter 20 - Looking Forward

Chapter 21 - Epilogue

EXTRAS

"Chapter 7 Joel" by @loveIvyxxx

Story MoodBoard by @angelbabysblog

Joel Miller Moodboard by @angelbabysblog

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So Much to Lose Chapter 18 PART 2

PLEASE READ: This is PART 2 of 2 for this chapter because apparently Tumblr wants to make my life a nightmare and won't let me post the whole thing in one. So please don't panic, PART ONE IS HERE.

Also important: TAGS AND WARNINGS FOR THE WHOLE CHAPTER ARE FOUND AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAPTER UNDER THE JOEL GIF. SCROLL THERE TO SEE ANY WARNINGS OR TAGS.

RATED 18+

And lastly... please review. This chapter is over 30K. It was re-written after laptopgate 2024. It is blood, sweat and tears. Please review, reblog, and COMMENT. Even if you're mad at me.

Chapter 18: Useless - Part 2

The day begins like any other.

You’re shivering with Charlotte slept against you, her tinier body snuggled as close to you as possible, her dirty hair pressed against your cheek. The two of you are chained to the large metal radiator in the corner. It clinks when you shift a bit. 

She's warm, which is a boon considering how cold it's been. You gaze down at her still slumbering face. You see the length of her lashes, the slack of her mouth. You notice the way her normally full cheeks have started to go hollow and the dark bruises under her eyes. You haven't seen your reflection in months but you can only assume you look similar. 

Muffled laughter begins behind the door and this startles her into waking. She yawns softly before raising her head. 

"S'early," she offers, seeing the sky outside the window is still dark. 

"Must be hunting today."  

The bedroom doors open and Red steps out, still talking to his wife Freckles. You never learned their names, never wanted to, but in your mind they're categorized by features. Beard and Ponytail arrive moments later, followed then by Smokey, the Raider who never stops smoking even when the air becomes acrid and you choke on it.

The entire group is suited up in their hunting gear, large guns strapped to their backs. Smokey goes to unlock the chains around both sets of wrists before tugging you both to a stand. You both learned early on that compliance was the only way to stay alive, although some days you don't know why you bother. 

Freckles helps you both into heavy jackets and your boots. You both stand, slightly wobbling.

"Toilet?"

You both nod. 

They aren't cruel to you in the traditional way. They take you to the bathroom. They give you water and feed you both an apple and slice of cheese while they drink their coffee and eat their toast and muffins. They let you sit in the chairs and sometimes if there are leftovers they shove their plates towards you. You always make sure Charlotte has first dibs. 

"Gonna be a long one today," Red, the de-facto leader tells the group, sucking at his back teeth. "Grant on the CB says there's a big house half a day by truck. He'll meet us at his place first."

"What's so great about it?" Ponytail is always challenging Red, glaring at him from behind her taped glasses. 

"Big place, nicer’n this. Old lady that's there is a hoarder. Never leaves unless it's to get medicine or food. She's got chickens out back too." 

Freckles whistles lowly in appreciation. Fresh eggs sound good. 

"Why doesn't Grant try on his own if he knows about it? S'just some old lady."

"Says too much noise coming from the house to be just one person," Red confirms. "Doesn't wanna go unarmed. Needs one of the Searchers."

"Which one?"

The Group slowly turns to scan between you and Charlotte huddled close together. You feel their greedy eyes bouncing between the two of you, trying to decide who is better for this mission. 

"Might as well bring 'em both, 'n Grant can choose."  

///

The ride is long and cold. You and Charlotte bump in the back of the truck, your bodies huddled together for warmth. Despite the heavy clothes and jackets you're both still freezing in the crisp air. 

Grant's compound is dirty with high chain link fencing; vicious looking dogs that pace back and forth as you arrive. They've been trained only to bark if infected come near, but they growl lowly when the Group and you and Charlotte approach. 

Grant pops his bearded head out from the shack he calls a home. Despite everything happening in the world he remains portly, well fed and ruddy-cheeked. 

"Up the road a ways," he tells Red before spitting a line of brown chewing tobacco into the dirt. “Place called Rock River. Used to belong to the real hoity toities before everything went down.”

He and Red chat a moment longer before Red motions your way. Grant scratches his ratty beard with a thoughtful look on his face before deciding. 

"We can bring 'em both. Place is big." 

"If there's nothin’ there you know it costs to use 'em," Red warns. "So you better come through."

"Don't you worry about that. Old lady's got lots of space in that big house. She'll have plenty worth trading for." 

The group chats amongst themselves quietly before Ponytail breaks from them, stalking over to you with a frown. 

"Here," she says handing you a large bowie knife from her belt. "You see anything you start stabbing and screaming."

If you were more naive you could think of this as a kindness. But you know better. This is a protection of assets, the privilege that comes with being a good and dependable pet. 

You turn the gleaming knife around in your palm, eyes tracing the serrated edge. The errant thought of jabbing it through her throat crosses your mind. But even if you stabbed one of them the others would gun you and your sister down within seconds.  

You grip the knife in your hand, motioning to Charlotte behind you. 

"What about my sister?"

Ponytail sneers. 

"Share."

She stalks off and you glare after her.

“Here," you tell her Charlotte after handing her the knife. "Make sure you have a strong grip on it."

"What about you?"

"Take care of yourself Charlie." 

///

Grant takes you and your sister in his truck, citing that the open back of a truck is no place for two ladies. Grant affords you more kindness than the others, but you know his intentions aren’t philanthropic. You’ve seen how he eyes your sister when the two of you are brought out to him.

“Got you two something.”

Grant’s meaty hand grabs something from the front of his rattling truck, handing it back to Charlotte. It’s a chocolate bar, old and white from age but she tears into it happily, breaking it in half. The two of you eat quickly, starving most if not all days.

“Thank you.”

Grant’s dog Lady, beside him in the cab of the truck, resting on the blanket afforded her regarding you both with an intense glare in the backseat. She’s an old dog, Grant’s most loyal companion and he brings her everywhere he goes. She’s too old to hunt, too old to do much of anything except shoot nasty looks at everyone.

“Here we are.”

Grant helps you both down from the truck, his hand lingering on Charlotte’s a little too long. You wince, grabbing her and tugging her out of his grip. The Group pulls up alongside Grant’s truck and all of you take a look at the large estate.  

The house is dilapidated, wood hammered over windows, the lawn yellowed and withered. If it weren’t for the faint clucking of the chickens in the backyard you would think it abandoned. A large tree sits in front of the house, a tire swing attached to it, an obscene mockery of old fashioned family life. 

Freckles passes you one of the flashlights and you take it.

“Alright you two,” Red says sucking his teeth. “Go on.”

You and Charlotte link hands, taking a deep breath and making your way towards the home. The rest of The Group hangs back inside the vehicles. If there’s a horde of infected they’ll get away easily.

This is the panic that always overtakes you at the start, the hurdle you have to overcome. The infected. You do it because if you don’t you’ll be killed. Your sister will be killed. And so you trudge with terrified steps up splintered wood steps, pushing the creaking door open.

You swallow thickly, listening for anything. Charlotte does the same, her head tilted to the side. When nothing but silence greets you the two of you exchange nods and step inside.

You’ve developed a silent shorthand for when you’re together, a way of communicating with barely imperceptible movements. Wide eyes: I hear something. Squinting eyes: Careful. Nods: Safe. There are dozens more, but those three are the most commonly used.

You stand back to back, arm linked as you move through the first room. Creaking floorboards and old furniture rest inside. There is no dust, no debris. This house is lived in. That means there’s a chance there’s someone here. But they’re a human someone.

You move through the bowels of the house, flashlight raised in front of you. Charlotte is silent, her eyes scanning the space around you both. You move through the hallway, flashlight scanning the empty bathroom.

You move to the kitchen, eyes on the muffins that sit on the table. Your mouth waters and you look at your sister. She’s seen the same thing. Without words the two of you scramble over to the table, gripping the muffins and hungrily shoving them into your mouths. The sugar makes your jaw ache, the taste of it so sweet on your tongue. Charlotte has her eyes closed, chewing quickly, savoring it all.

You wonder if the place has anything to drink. What if she has milk? You haven’t had milk in years. The thought makes the food thicken in your mouth. You swallow before turning, preparing to see what’s inside the fridge.

A flash of movement starts in front of you and a blinding flash of pain rips into your abdomen that drops you to your knees. The flashlight goes rolling under the cupboards and you grip your stomach, knelt over.

Charlotte hears your groan of surprised pain, whipping around to see an old woman with a shaky hand holding a bloodied knife.  The woman looks terrified, her frizzled hair in a loose bun and her hands gnarled. She looks at you in horror at what she’s done.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps.

She doesn’t finish. You watch as you baby sister takes the knife and slices it brutally across the woman’s neck. Red spurts like rubies along the edge, flying over the floor.

“Charlie, no!”

The woman drops to the floor beside you, her hand around her throat as she tries to staunch the blood flow. You look to see she’s fallen on her knife, the handle digging into her spine. Your breathing is labored as you try to assess the situation. You fall back on your training.

“Is there anyone else in the house?”

She shakes as the blood pours from her, the sticky warmth spreading. She stares up at you with saddled brows, regret apparent on her face. Charlotte is sniffling; rubbing at her eyes as the knife she was holding clatters to the ground. She’s never killed anyone before, not anyone human.

"Only m-my grandson," the old woman whispers, her gnarled hand coming to grip your jacket. "Please.... P-l-lease take care of him. He's -"

You watch as the light fades from her eyes and she slumps back. Her fingers fall limply from your jacket to land on her abdomen. You glance up to see Charlotte’s eyes spilling tears, her face paling and her entire body shaking. She’s going into shock.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“You did what you had to do,” you tell her honestly, your voice dead as you hold her, warming her up by rubbing her arms. “And now we have to scan the house. We have to do our job. C'mon." 

It takes a few moments of this before the life comes back to her eyes.

“Your stomach.”

“Its fine,” you insist, groaning as you stand. “It hurts but she didn’t get me too bad.”

You’re lying of course. The pain is there, but adrenaline is overtaking you for the time being. You take a nearby tea towel and press it to your stomach to stop the blood flow. You dig around in the kitchen drawers, frustrated before moving to the bathroom. You pull out the drawers in there, thankful to find several packed bandages.

With Charlotte’s help she winds it around your abdomen several times, keeping the tea towel snug to your body, securing it around your ribs.

“Great, thanks,” you insist with a wheeze. “Let’s go.”

You go back to the kitchen, both sets of your sneakers and the bottom of your jeans drenched in her blood. You can’t find the flashlight and none of the lights seem to be working. The boarded up windows make the place dark and murky.

“Grab your knife,” you instruct Charlotte. She does so, attempting to dislodge the one under the woman but giving up when it won’t budge.

You glance around the kitchen, disappointed to see nothing that will help aside from a butter knife. She must store her weaponry elsewhere. That will be something to report back to Red; that will earn you both extra rations tonight.

You take Charlotte’s hand in yours, guiding her through the rooms a bit more at ease knowing that there’s only one other person in the house. You make your way up the stairs, marveling at how well-maintained the home is.

The first room holds a bed with plush looking sheets. You have the strangest urge to touch them, but you don’t. You know The Group will take them for themselves, you best not get attached. Maybe you could talk them into giving you one of the pillows to share though.

Next you come upon an office, your eyes scanning the various books held on sagging shelves. The Grey’s Anatomy textbook propped up on the large desk. Yellowed pages full of script and drawings catch your eyes and you step into the room.

One is of a human brain, different labels on each section. You were never good at biology, but you can see that she was working on something to do with brain and serums. You take a look at the journal with hastily written in script. It dates back four months.

Charlotte takes a look around the room, pocketing a small pencil as you read. 

You however are coming to realize something as you look at the beakers and different plants and herbs before thumbing through more of the entries. She’s written it there in plain English, and you feel your stomach tighten at the realization.

"She was trying to make a cure," you murmur to yourself, looking at the sheets of paper and notes.

Charlotte draws over, her eyes wide as she scans the pages, her hands trembling in ancitipation.

“Did she? Did it work?”

You look at the book half opened in your grip, flipping to the latest entry. A single sentence stares back at you, ugly and short.

“Subject remains infected.”

Disappointment floods the both of you, shoulders sagging. There is nothing quite like the pain of lost hope. 

“I don’t know why I thought for one second it was possible,” Charlotte scoffs angrily.

You start when she rips the journal from your hand and flings it against the wall. You can see the furious tears in her eyes, the curve of her mouth as she pushes more of the papers off the desk.

“I don’t know why we even bother! We’re never escaping this fucking nightmare!”

Glass beakers go crashing to the floor as she kicks over the desk and you grip her around the elbows, tightening so that you’re bear-hugging her. It sends a searing pain through your abdomen, fresh blood starting to seep through the bandage.

“I’m going to get us out of this,” you promise her, your forehead against her spine. “I promise.”

It’s a hollow oath and you both know it. It’s been years of this and you’re no closer to saving her, no closer to escaping. She just goes limp in your arms, silently sobbing. You let your sister cry, her sobs wrung from her tiny body. And then you release her, gripping her face in yours.

“Trust me Charlie. I’m going to protect you.”

She opens her mouth to say something when a thump sounds out from down the hall.

The two of you start, Charlotte gripping the knife from her jean pocket. She raises it, eyes going to you and narrowing. You nod, the two of you slowly making your way down towards the hallway.

Thump…thump…

You stand outside a door at the end of the corridor, your eyes going to the pale blue sign on the door. It’s got whimsical cartoon dinosaurs all over it, hand painted.

Ryan’s Room. No girls allowed.

"Her grandson," Charlotte says with sad eyes, her voice a whisper. "He’s just a kid."

Your stomach sinks as you realize the same thing. Charlotte lowers the knife to her side, looking at you with an imploring gaze. The thumping has ceased.

"We could take care of him," Charlotte reasons. "He could be like our little brother. We could tell them that he'll be a searcher like us." 

You shake your head, frustrated. The Group would never go for it, not another mouth to feed. And not a young child. They would see no use in it. And you don’t need another person to look out for.

"Charlotte we have to do our job. We scan the house and report back. It's not up to us to rescue anyone."

“After what I did to his grandma,” she says with a trembling lower lip, “I can’t leave him here. I just can’t.”

You see the toll that today has taken on your sister. Her first kill of an innocent, the guilt of that and leaving a child behind would break her further. You can’t have that happen. With a frustrated exhale you grip her shoulder.

"We can help him escape the house but that's it, Charlotte," you tell her in a whisper. "Give him time to pack a bag and run to the nearest QZ. Tell him how to avoid Raiders, but that's it. He cannot come with us." 

Charlotte nods and you hate to disappoint her. What if this kid is really young? Can you really turn your back on a frightened toddler in peril? You can only pray Ryan is old enough to get to a QZ on his own.

Charlotte breaks into a relieved smile, giving you a tight hug. The door is creaked open and you wait at the doorframe. You don’t want to scare the kid. He likely heard the noise from the office, likely taught to hide if he hears something.

“Hi Ryan,” Charlotte coos into the darkness. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

She steps into the room, fumbling for the light switch. But something feels off, something that makes you grab her shoulder and tug her towards you out of the room. You both stumble back further, horrified when a snarling sound emits from the dark room.

"Oh fuck!"

Your sister whimpers as the rotting corpse of a young boy leaps towards you both at the door, gnarled fingers outstretched. Half his face is covered in the fungus, his teeth ground down to points.

You both fall back onto the rotting wood in shock. In terror Charlotte loses her grip and the knife clatters to the floor. You stare at the boy, seeing the thick rope tied around his waist and secured to the heavy bed. He can go no further than the door. Despite this he swipes at your both fruitlessly. 

You begin to grope around on the floor for the fallen knife, your eyes wide with fearful adrenaline. The boy makes a chilling clicking noise and you hear the groaning of wood. 

Your fingers finally grip the knife and your sister shrieks again as you scrabble to a stand, pulling her back by the shoulder. The boy is halfway out the door, dragging the bed behind him. You hear the wood splintering 

"HELP!"

You hold your knife in front of you as you drag Charlotte backwards to the stairs. You hear the sound of the Group coming up the stairs with Grant leading them. They have their weapons raised, and Red barks at you from the bottom step. 

"How many?"

"O-one infected up here," you shout at him. "One dead woman in the kitchen." 

Red sprints up past the rest of the group and takes the knife from you. His glare is narrowed on the boy stuck by the width of the bed and the doorframe. He snarls at the Group, swinging his arms wildly. 

You pull your sister along with you as you hear the wet sound of a knife being thrust into flesh. Red has often remarked that he doesn't like to waste bullets when a knife will do just fine. There's a wet thunk and then finally a silence. Charlotte has tears streaming down her face and you go to wipe them.

"It's okay," you tell her, wrapping her in your arms. "You're safe. I've got you."

“Fucker took my knife,” Red snarls as he stalks back. “Can’t get it out of his fuckin’ skull.”

You and Charlotte make your way out of the house, followed by Grant.

“You stay here,” he instructs. “We’re gonna load up.”

The two of you sit in the back of the truck, Charlotte shivering as you attempt to comfort her. She doesn’t speak, just keeps whimpering and whining. The Group goes through the house, pilfering useful items, weapons and foodstuff before loading them into the vehicles. They all make jokes and smile as they tally up their goods.

“You both did good,” Grant says with a smile as he finishes up. His round face is sweaty from excursion. “Let’s head back. Hop up front.”

You nod, crawling eagerly from the back of the truck bed. You wait for your sister to join you, confused when she stays there, holding onto one of the mattresses that Grant took from the house. 

“I’ll stay here,” she mutters.

“Charlotte, its freezing,” you say, urging her to stand by grabbing her by the shoulder of her jacket. “C’mon.”

“Alright,” Red calls from his truck on the other side of you. “Let’s head back.”

“Charlotte, c’mon.”

Charlotte remains crouched, shaking her head as Grant comes alongside you. 

“I’ll hold the furniture,” she insists. “Make sure it doesn’t fall out.”

“Nah, don’t need that,” Grant insists. He’s big and strong and before she can deny him he’s holding her under the armpits and lifting her unwilling form out of the back of the truck bed. He settles her down on the ground, smiling at her patiently. “Besides, I don’t get your company often. I wanna take advantage.”

Charlotte doesn’t smile back; she just stands there until you take her hand, cajoling her into joining you. You open the door, urging her in before you. You see the blood around her sneakers and the bottom of her jeans. It matches yours, left from the old woman in the kitchen. You wince.

Charlotte is withdrawn as Grant brings the truck to life. The previously sleeping Lady awakens at the sound, giving a little sniff as she licks Grant’s face. He smiles lovingly at her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Lady sniffs the air again, her bleary eyes scanning the truck bed. She fixes her gaze on Charlotte, who stares back balefully. You both start when Lady begins to growl and then bark.

“Hey now,” Grant soothes, patting her belly. “Enough ‘a that, Lady.”

But Lady isn’t stopping. The old bitch is up on all fours, trying to leap into the back seat. Her eyes are fixed on Charlotte and you can see how the blood has drained from your sister’s face. Grant’s bemusement suddenly shifts and his eyes go to the rearview mirror, his eyes lingering on Charlotte before going back to the snarling Lady and then back to Charlotte.

Grant stares at her for a long moment before sighing. You watch his pudgy fingers go to the ignition, slowly turning the key to stop the truck from running. You stare at him, confused when he opens the door of the cab with another sigh, grabbing Lady by the collar and dragging her out of the cab. He closes the door, leaving your sister and you sitting in anxious silence.

You reach over and grab her hand, tightening yours around it. She gives you a watery smile.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You turn to watch Grant out the window talking to Red in the truck. They look serious. Red keeps shaking his head and throwing up his hands before he and Ponytail shove open the doors and follow Grant back to the truck.

You’re startled when the door is yanked open and Red grabs Charlotte by the back of the neck, dragging her out of the truck. She shrieks and you clamor down, held back by Freckles as you attempt to intervene.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Red holds Charlotte by the upper arm in front of him, nodding at Grant. Grant, looking devastated grips Lady by the collar, guiding her slowly towards Charlotte. Lady immediately goes crazy, barking madly and almost foaming at the mouth as she nears your sisters ankle. Charlotte whimpers, looking at you fearfully. 

“Leg,” Ponytail says pointing at Charlotte’s blood-smeared jeans and sneakers. Freckles holds tight to you as you try to wrench out of her grip, shaking your head. They think she’s infected? Are they stupid?

“It’s not her blood! It’s from the woman we killed in the kitchen!”

Grant guides Lady backwards, watching as Smokey comes over, yanking up Charlotte’s jeans to show everyone a faint bite mark above her ankle. Everyone circling around lets out a groan of disappointment. Your stomach drops and then your world collapses on top of you. You fall to the ground onto your knees, unable to comprehend what you’re seeing.

“Musta’ got snagged by the kid upstairs before we got there,” Red remarks. “Fuck.”

He shakes his head as if he’s more irritated than anything. He looks your way, anger in his eyes.

“And you?”

You don’t answer him, you can barely hear anything. Everything is muted, like you’re under water. This can’t be happening. You just stare at her as Lady is brought over to you by a wet-eyed Grant. You don’t even acknowledge the dog sniffing at you; you just shake your head with wet eyes as you gaze at your sister.

“Charlie it’s not from the kid, right?” you ask with a trembling voice. “It’s a mistake, right?”

Charlotte doesn’t answer you.

She just looks at you with heartbreak in her eyes before she’s thrown to the ground by Red. She cries out as the cold ground bites into her hands and knees. A scream sounds out from you, ripped from your lungs at the sight of your sister in pain. Red looks at the rest of The Group before nodding at you with his head.

“Load her in the back.”

You’re halfway to your sister, jogging with your outstretched fingers almost touching hers when you feel arms around your middle, tugging you back brutally.

“No!” you shout as they begin to drag you over to the truck. “You can’t do this! CHARLOTTE!”

Smokey and Ponytail grab Charlotte by the wrists, tugging her screaming body back to the large  tree outside the front of the house. You watch in despair as they begin to wind rope around her body, tying her to the tree. She screams your name, her face crumpled in terror.

“Just one moment,” you beg as they hold you, “I just want to say goodbye.”

“Too dangerous,” Red announces. “Only got one ‘a you left now. Can’t take any chances.”

You scream and struggle and when you won’t stop Freckles decks you across the face. Blood goes spurting from your split lip and you immediately silence. Terror is there in you, knowledge that if you make more screaming noises you’ll be hurt further.

You’re thrown into the back of Red’s truck, just as you were that morning when it was you and Charlotte huddled together. Your ankles are tied together, attached to one of the heavy dressers brought from the home.  You lean over, your frantic eyes able to make out your sister’s trembling frame and Smokey and Ponytail headed back towards you.

Charlotte continues to scream your name, shouting for you. You can’t understand why they’re leaving her tied up like that. You look over when Red is about to get into the driver’s seat, your heart in your throat.

“You can’t leave her out here,” you beg him, tears falling down your cheeks. “Please. You can’t.”

Red takes a look at Charlotte tied to the tree, shrugging at you before clamoring into the front seat.

“She’s as good as dead. And I ain’t in the business of wastin’ bullets.”

///

Joel is holding you, as he has been the entire time you’ve been speaking. You know he’s looking at you in the dark, seeing the tears that stream down your cheeks as you cling to him. But your eyes are a blur of tears and blue-black night.

“I never understood if they did it to punish me or if they really just didn’t want to waste bullets,” you say in a voice so detached it doesn’t actually sound like you.

 “The last thing I remember is she was screaming for me. And all I could do was sit there, holding my hand out, useless, crying and watching her get smaller and smaller…”

Joel shifts to a seated position, you half in his lap, his fingers trailing soothingly up and down your spine once more.

 “I left my sister out there to turn by herself because I was too weak to fight back,” you say through clenched teeth. “I should have forced them to take me to her. I should have grabbed Red’s gun. I should have done something, but I was so scared.”

“You woulda been killed.”

“And my sister wouldn’t have had to die alone,” you whisper, tears slipping onto the pillow under your head. “I was her big sister. Her hero.”

Joel must sense that there’s no use trying to rationalize how you feel. It’s no different than how his emotions get the better of him when he talks about the night Sarah died. Sometimes in grief there is no logic, only pain.

“And I was never able to go back,” you tell him, swallowing. “Chiyo and I were so far from it by the time we started for Jackson City. We didn’t have enough to get us back to Rock River. So I don’t know if she’s still out there, wandering around, trapped in an infected body. I don’t know if she was killed. I’ll never know.”

Joel clings to you, holding you tighter than he ever has as your face moves to his shoulder and the sobs begin anew.  He seems to know that nothing he says will help in this moment, nothing he tells you will change the past. Instead he holds you in both and spirit, the compassion flooding from him into you as he rocks you in his arms. There are tears on your temple but not from you.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a thick voice. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for.

///

Joel holds you until you fall back asleep and he’s there when you wake up, fingers trailing over your cheek. You lick your dry lips, eyes crusty from sleep as you peer up at him in the early morning light.

"Did you watch me sleep all night?"

His lower lip sticks out slightly, a shoulder brought to his ear in a noncommittal shrug. 

"Wasn't really that tired."

You see the way he sleepily squints down at you, watching as he poorly swallows a yawn. You could ask him why he did it but you know why. 

"Liar."

Joel chuckles rich and soft before kissing your cheek. With a pout you let him extricate himself from your limbs. You yawn, listening to him using the shower before exiting dressed a few minutes later, damp hair curling at the ends. 

He crouches down beside your bed, his broad hand coming to push back the hair from your forehead. He kisses your face over and over, soft, feather-light kisses, warm from his plush lips and you melt into them.

"I got a lot to do today. Helping Tommy with building some shit, meeting with Hank about the fencing and then guitar with Ellie."

You're disappointed of course, but there's not a part of you that's resentful. You had an entire night with him; he has a life outside you and you him. Your hand goes to loosely wrap around the wrist of the hand he has against your forehead, ready to tell him as such.

"But I can cancel the stuff with Tommy and Hank if you need me to," he murmurs, mouth against your forehead. "Just say the word. I could even reschedule with Ellie, she’d understand." 

You gaze at him from your pillow, taking time to memorize the wrinkles around his eyes, the plush of his lower lip, the gray creeping into his beard and hair. You are in awe of the way his dark eyes seem so soulful, so open as he looks to you like you bring out the sun.

You lift your head just to kiss him gently, citing that it’s fine, that you actually need some time to yourself, that you’ll see him tomorrow for patrols and eventually after many kisses and ‘you sure?s’ he leaves you, looking concerned until you throw a pillow at him and tell him to get lost.

Left alone in the quiet of your home, in the bed still warmed from Joel’s body, you stare up at the ceiling. Contrary to what you expected there is a lightness about today, of sharing everything with another person. There is freedom in telling Joel everything, even the parts you kept from Chiyo. It makes you feel strangely reborn in a way.  

You’d expected darkness and depression, but instead you’re met with a strange sense of calm. You know however that the ugly thoughts may resurface, muddling your thoughts. On days when your brain feels crowded it helps to go for a walk, to clear your head and make sense of the world. So you pull on your boots and you make your way to the old farmhouse.  

Buckley is there at the end of the street wagging his tail merrily as you give a scratch behind his ear. You pass him and begin to wander down the quiet path leading to the farmhouse. As you do your mind is cluttered with emotion and feelings you have to sift through. 

You still can't believe you shared all of that about Charlotte with Joel. Further yet to can't believe he didn't try to give advice or press you for more details. He just held you, shed a tear and watched over you until you woke the next morning. 

Your heart feels achy but in the best way. Like there's so much love inside your meagre body can't contain it all. 

You enter into the old farmhouse but take your time, scanning the space through fresh eyes as you recall Joel's assessment of the place the last time you were both here. 

Place has good bones.

It's the kind of thing someone says when they want to buy a place, isn't it? When they envision starting a life with someone else and-

Stop it. 

You walk up the stairs, making sure to note every scuff mark, every chipped baseboard, every threadbare carpet in the bedrooms. You wonder about the family here before. No knickknacks were left behind, no personal effects. 

It's a blank slate in some ways, the walls even more bare than yours at home. But the small bits of furniture that remain speak to a family. 

You pause, glancing into the first bedroom. The narrow bed, the faded pink stars of the wallpaper. You can imagine that a young girl one resided in this room, she did her homework under the window, read books in a chair by the corner.

You move to the bigger room with no bed, but one rickety end table. The walls are a faded taupe color, attached to a large bathroom with a rusty toilet and a shower with a missing door and broken shower tiles. 

But the longer you stare, the more this visage fades from view and morphs into something out of a dream. You can imagine everything repaired, the windows washed and casting warm light in every room. 

You can envision a working claw foot tub and Joel's handyman skills working at refinishing the broken tiles, making a mosaic in colors of your choosing. 

You imagine nights walking wrapped in a towel, slick and warm from the tub into Joel's waiting arms. Of nights taking turns bringing each other to toe-curling orgasms as you cling to the sleigh bed from his bedroom back on Rancher Street. You're not shocked when you feel your cunt throb in your jeans. 

You go to the next bedroom, looking at the large boarded up window and thinking it would be perfect as an art room for Ellie once it was spruced up. You could even do some crafts in here when you felt like it. 

The next room is at the far end of the hall. It's got it's own private bathroom, a large bedroom. It's not as independent as Ellie having her own space in the garage, but maybe she'd like it anyway. 

You can almost hear her girlish laughter as you sit on her bed and brush her hair, whispering about Dina and first kisses. In that same fantasy you can imagine Joel poking his head around the frame and saying something about interrupting girls day. 

You can easily envision mornings laughing over coffee with Joel in the kitchen, of Ellie rolling her eyes but unable to keep the grin from her face as you and Joel press your lips together gently. 

A family. 

Nothing like the one you envisioned as a young girl, but perfect to you in this world.

You catch your reflection in the busted mirror above the sink. You're beaming, actually fucking beaming at this imagined scenario. At the sight of it you flush, eyes averted to the ground. 

"Stop it," you murmur to yourself out loud, frowning. "You fucking loser."

It's too early to be thinking like this, to have such domestic fantasies of moving in together and becoming some little family. You're being silly, delusional. 

You had such little romantic experience before outbreak day and then after that you felt stunted. Dating in the QZ wasn't the same, romance was odd and rushed. Even without a wider context of relationships you know that you're thinking too far ahead, wanting to move too fast. 

But one thing is clear as you walk along the uneven wood towards the front door, you are thinking of a future with Joel Miller. 

///

Patrols arrive the next morning and as you get dressed that morning you're strangely giddy. You pull on your socks smiling. You hold back the urge to skip into town, swallowing the excitement of seeing him.

You want to talk with him about Ellie and Jennifer and see what he thinks. He asked you to the dance, obviously he knows what that means. But maybe he doesn't want anyone knowing until then. But you need to tell him Jennifer needs to know now, the minute you get back from patrols. 

Joel isn't there yet and Hank tells you that you're early, smiling when you hand him the bag of apple tarts. 

"What're these for?"

"Practice," you smile, taking some of the peels from a separate bag and bringing them over to Chestnut. 

"Hello beautiful boy," you say, pressing a soft kiss to Chestnuts soft nose. "Did you miss me?"

You hold out some of the apple peelings, grinning when he huffs his warm breath along your palm before indulging. Midnight stands nearby, the two of them secured to the fence in anticipation of patrols. 

"Here you go," you offer almost shyly, your palm flat and your eyes on the ground. There's a shuffling and then you feel his warm breath on your palm. Your eyes peek up to see Midnight surveying you warily even as he munches on the snack. 

You're gradually aware of a warmth behind you. You glance over your shoulder to see Joel standing there. He's smiling subtly, his voice dropped for only your ears. 

"Told ya you'd win him over."

That same warm arousal builds in your lower belly as you tell yourself to look away from him, knowing that the longer you stare the harder it is not to kiss him. His eyes flick to yours, the pull clearly strong in him as well. 

"There you are Joel," Hank says cheerfully coming up behind him. "The horses are all ready for ya both." 

Joel's expression immediately drops and he turns to face Hank, wearing his customary scowl. 

"Good." He glances down at the bag in Hanks hand curiously. "S'that?"

"I'd offer you one of these tarts but your partner there only made enough for me."

He shoots you a playful wink as you giggle. The look Joel shoots Hank could wither fruit on the vine. He looks over at you. 

"Are you ready to go or not?" 

There's something about Joel pretending to be stern in front of everyone that amuses you, and if you're honest, turns you on a tiny bit. You muse that it rests in the knowledge that Joel is so sweet and soft but only with you, away from the prying eyes of Jackson City inhabitants.  

It makes you try very hard to swallow a giggle when he looks at you dismissively before throwing his leg up over the saddle. You and Chesnut follow him out, the gates closing behind you.

"I liked your apple tarts, you know." 

Joel is watching you out of the corner of his eyes. You glance over, seeing his face looking solemn. 

"Huh?"

"Those ones you gave Hank. I liked ‘em."

"Oh good."

You ride beside him, lost in thought. Why is he bringing up your baking? Was he hungry? Joel is never hungry on patrols like he's trained his body to only feel hunger during the lunch break. Realization slowly dawns on you. 

"Joel are you upset I didn't bring you baking?" 

"No," Joel says quickly, frowning at the empty space in front of him. "Just that if you're goin' around givin’ out baking I wouldn't mind some." 

He looks over sharply when you start laughing to yourself, your cheeks sore by the time you're done. 

"Joel, I just figured you'd have some when you came over next."

You don’t miss the pink at his cheeks as he nods almost shyly.

“Okay. Good.”

You and Joel are quiet the next little bit, knowing that silence is paramount on patrols. It doesn't stop you from watching him out the corner of your eye. Doesn't still your heartbeat when he randomly glances over at you and smiles. 

You give Chestnut a gentle pat behind the ears, looking down at your beloved horse with affection. He moves at a steady clip, his movements smooth and focused. 

"Hey."

Joel's whisper draws your attention to see he's looking at you not with warmth but instead heavy concern. 

"It’s our turn to check the traps," Joel offers with a gentle tone. "You okay with that?" 

What a difference Joel's kindness makes. When he asks you to do this instead of commanding it. You nod, following him dutifully atop Chestnut. 

"We'll be fast," he tells you as the two of you jump off and tie up your horses on the outskirts of the forest. The same one you ventured into before. Both horses huff at each other, their breath caught by the chilled air and frozen. 

You fumble with Chestnuts reign, distracted by the way Joel's arms bulge in his jacket. Filthy images of him in bed are invading your mind as you half-heartedly tie Chestnut to the nearby tree by Midnight. 

You feel your heart pound delightedly when Joel catches your gaze and gives you a smirk and a wink. 

"Let's go."

He reaches a hand towards you and you take it with a grin up at him. This all feels so natural, so easy. He seems so comfortable walking with you through the snow, a faint look of contentment on his features.

You make your way through the forest quietly. Got the first time since you took his hand you feel anxious, despite having him at your side, gun always ready. You still hate the forest, still haven't gotten used to the thin fingers if branches that strain forwards you.  

Joel must notices this because he gently urges you into one arm, dropping your have so that he can band an arm around your shoulders, holding you. You both survey the traps quietly, seeing nothing of note. 

"Jennifer is making me a dress for the dance," you say out of nowhere as you circle them twice, just to make conversation. "It's blue." 

"Yeah?" Joel's eyes flick down your body, likely imagining it. "I'm gonna enjoy seein' you in that."

"Why do I feel like you'll enjoy taking it off me more?"

Joel bursts into a laugh before he catches himself, remembering you both have to be quiet out here. 

"Damn, I remember when you were a shy thing offerin' me cookies. Now look at you, getting’ me hard in the middle of patrols."

Oh.

Your face feels warm and you have to look away from him, suddenly shy. That familiar thrum begins between your legs and you try to change the subject. 

“I’ve been practicing my shooting,” you offer with a creak in your throat. “You might be surprised at how good I’ve gotten. I hit four cans at practice the other day."

You walk behind him with your shoulder’s back, feeling cocky.

"Four cans huh?" Joel says lightly. You glance over to see him suppressing a wry grin. 

"Oh shut the fuck up," you say with a laugh and playful shove at his shoulder. "I'm so sorry I didn't grow up in Texas with a shotgun next to my pacifier."

Joel chuckles loudly at this, the rich sound bouncing off the trees. You grin at the sound, your heart thumping delightedly. Again he remembers himself, smirking at the ground and shaking his head in amusement.

He seems to think of something before reaching into his pocket. He produces one of his knives, a thin thing he barely ever takes out. He places it in the center of your palm, urging your fingers to wrap around the handle.

"Let’s see how good you are at aimin’," Joel says with a crooked grin. "Stay here." 

He walks over to one of the fallen trees, placing his flask atop it. Much like when you and Luke and Jenny practice shooting the tin cans. His boots crunch over the snow as he comes to stand in front of you once more, his face coming into view as you gaze up.

His dark eyes are like liquid heat, bright and hypnotizing. It makes you feel like you're in the calm before the storm. He eyes you slowly, gaze drifting over every inch of you, his hand coming to readjust himself in his jeans. 

"You look good like that," he muses, his voice low and rumbling. He takes a step forward, disbelief and lust making his speech sound slurred. "Holdin’ my knife.”

You roll your eyes, secretly pleased.  

“I haven’t practiced throwing knives, Joel.”

“Then this is your first lesson,” he offers cheekily. "Hit the flask."

"I'll wreck it."

"I barely use it," Joel reasons before his mouth hitches on one side as he looks meaningfully at you. "Plus I don't think I have much to be worried about."

“Hey!”

"Prove me wrong, darlin'," Joel says, coming to stand behind you. 

Darlin'. It sounds so good coming from him in that low, husky twang. You wonder if he said it on purpose to throw you off. 

"I'll even give you a pointer to start you off," he continues. "Step one is actually raising your arm up."

"Okay, get outta here," you grumble, trying not to smile as you shake off his hand on your shoulder.  A knife can’t be that hard to throw.

You breathe slowly, your chest rising, holding. You remember what Jennifer said about thinking of something safe. Your something safe is standing behind you. 

"That’s my girl," Joel murmurs behind you, breaking your concentration just as you throw. Not shockingly the knife goes wide, sinking into the snow. 

"Just jitters," you tell him as he goes to retrieve it. "I'll get the next one." 

"Mhm."

You take the cool blade into your hand once more, feeling him standing there behind you. You tell yourself to ignore him and that this is the shot you’ll make. You balance the knife in your fingers, trying to find the best spot to grip it.

"Are you aimin'?" Joel croons in your ear as his hands start to slide up under your jacket. Cold air hits your skin, causing goosbumps to rise. You twist your head to look at him, seeing the merriment that dances in his eyes.

"What're you-"

Your breathing hitches when his large palms slide up under your sweater and then under the band of your bra until your breasts rest heavy in his eager hands. 

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck as his thumbs trace your nipple. 

His voice is low, seductive and it drips between your legs like warm honey. His large hands begin to knead your breasts, his greedy fingers locating your nipples with ease. They immediately pucker under his touch, mercifully warm from being in his gloves. He tugs at them, making you moan, knife wavering.

"C'mon, baby," Joel murmurs with a grin, his hands sliding down your skin, coming to slide down the front of your jeans, rubbing your swollen clit through the denim. "Concentrate." 

Baby. He's definitely doing this to fuck with you. Your ass rolls against his front, not immune to the erection pressing into your lower back.

"Hit it and I'll fuck you," Joel promises his breath hot against your cold cheek. "Right against that tree there." 

You follow his finger pointing at the large trunk a few feet away. You're swaying in his arms, unable to concentrate but you raise the knife anyway. It's held tightly in your grip, but Joel isn't stopping the fingers that rub between your legs, making you arch. 

"You're so fuckin' soft," Joel rumbles against your hair. "But I know just where you're the softest."

You gasp when you feel him unclasp the button of your jeans. Your body breaks into goose bumps as his greedy fingers find their way underneath the waist of your panties. 

"C'mon and aim," he urges you in a rough whisper, the tone teasing. "Show me how good you are."  

"I can't," you mutter, already giving over to the sensation, your hips rolling as his fingers slide between your slick folds. His thumb circles your clit and you cry out, nerve endings already strained.  

"You were just braggin'," Joel reminds you. "Four cans was it?" 

"Only the one time," you tell him breathlessly, ass rolling against his hardened front, feeling his long fingers starting to thrust up into your velvet clutch. "Just once. And that was with a gun." 

Joel's wet mouth is sponging along your neck as your eyes shut, your back leaning against his front. He's holding you upright, your legs turned to jelly as his thumb comes to tap and circle your clit, his second and third finger curling within you.   

"I wanna watch how good you are with a knife," he says softly, moving the hair sticking to your heated cheek and kissing there. 

You look over your shoulder at him, your free hand gripping him by the back of his neck as you feel his fingers thrusting deep. 

"Joel, please."

Joel gives you a quick peck and now he removes his fingers from your panties. You feel his hands going on either side of your hips, positioning you. 

"C'mon sharpshooter," he teases. "Let's see." 

You raise the knife shakily, swallowing. 

Focus. 

You want to impress him. You want to show him that you're better than he thinks. But his hands are still at your hips, holding. You inhale slowly, forcing all other thoughts to leave you. You raise your gun, looking through the scope.

The flask. The tiny silver square that glints at you in the sunlight, teasing you. It becomes the only thing you can see, the rest of the world going fuzzy and quiet. Throw it on the exhale.

You throw it. 

You see the flask wobble as the blade whizzes by, the rush of air upsetting it slightly but it remains standing. Your shoulders sag in disappointment.  Joel grabs you, gently spinning you around to face him. You're surprised to see he's grinning as he hoists you into his arms with a grunt. 

"Close enough."

You laugh at that, holding onto him like a horny koala, your legs wrapping around his waist. You kiss his neck, desperate to feel him as he carries you to the tree. He pins you against it, his mouth and hands hungry for you.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, groaning lowly as your thighs squeeze around his waist. Your hips begin to jerk, chasing the friction that builds between you and its only seconds before your jeans are shucked down and your panties are pulled to the side before he’s plunging into you, a condom over his cock.

He pushes your sweater up and tugs your bra down, exposing your breasts to him in the chilled air. You keen as his mouth sucks at your nipples, tongue flicking as you arch. His mouth kisses your collar, tasting you everywhere with your back biting into the bark of the tree. He raises his head back up, eyes on your face.

There's something about Joel's warm body and the frigid air that makes you feel so awake. The dueling sensations make everything feel more acute, sharper. The bristles of his facial hair rough on your neck as he kisses you there, the softness of his thick curls in between your fingers. He sinks deeper into you, his soft groans muffled against your neck. 

You feel safe with him, you feel alive for the first time in years. You urge him deeper; as if by doing that he can physically feel the adoration you carry for him. 

He moves you both in rhythmic undulations against the tree, hurried in desire but gentle in execution. He wants you to feel good and you want the same for him. You grip your arms around his neck, murmuring softly between kisses about how good he makes you feel.

"Anyone else make you feel this good?"

"No," you gasp, hips rutting against his. Your hand is on the back of his neck, your face inches from him as you bounce against him, thighs spread wide to accommodate him, the rasp of the bark against your tailbone. 

"Only need my cock," Joel grunts, thrusting himself to the hilt with a rumbling groan.   "Only need me."

You stay gripping his neck, eyes on him as he buries himself in you over and over, grinding his hips to yours, his mouth chasing yours as welcome him deeper. You rise and fall like the waves of an ocean, bodies in a dance as old as time, in a rhythm as ancient as time itself.

"Not just because of that," you whisper, your body still moving in time with his. You're gaze is still stuck on him, soft. 

"No?"

Joel's cheeks are red circles, his body increasing in tempo as he pins you against the tree. You can see the question in his dark eyes, the almost hopeful expression. 

"You make everything good."

It comes out in a whimpered rush. It escapes you so quick you don't even have time to think about it because you're cresting, falling over the edge into bliss as Joel continues to fuck you through it against the tree. 

He kisses you, urging your thighs to part further. He pivots his hips, circling them and your eyes begin rolling back at the sensation. Your fingers grip him by the shoulders, bouncing against him, your back rasping against the bark of the tree at your back. 

"Joel I don't wanna stop," 

"We ain't gonna." 

"I d-don't just mean now," you groan as he starts to withdraw and thrust into you with relish. "I-I mean-n-n..."

You can't say anymore, your words are gone, lost in the trees that shake with the approaching wind.

"I know what you meant, baby," Joel says as his mouth covers yours again. "I know." 

A thrill goes through you at his words and you kiss him back ardently, neck tilting back when he hits the perfect spot deep within you. Your spine lengthens as you arch violently. 

"Fuck! Right there!"

His forehead presses to yours, his eyes inches from your own. He's staring at you, unblinking as his hips continue to rhythmically jerk. 

"Come for me," he rasps, eyes not blinking. "Come on my cock right now. Gimme what’s mine." 

Joel moves his face to your shoulder, his growls feral and loud against your jaw. It's the kind of noise that makes you keen and come harshly on his still pistoning cock, coating him. 

"That's it," he praises as his hips start an even faster rhythm, making every part of you bounce for him. And then your entire body shudders as you come for him, offering desperate little whines as he continues to pound into you.

“Fuck, I can feel you flutterin’.”

He releases with a growl at your neck, making you moan as you continue to come down from your high. His hands come to your face, the end of his sharp nose grazing yours. He’s panting, his face flushed and his stare intense.

 "I wanna give you everythin'."

You grin, feeling completely wrung out. You kiss him softly, everything inside you blooming. Then your head is against his chest, hearing the staccato of his heartbeat as you catch your breath. 

I love you, Joel. 

The words rest behind your teeth, gnashed down by nerves. You can't say them out loud. Not yet. But they exist and in your mind you can scream them over and over. 

You drag his mouth to yours, sighing when he shows no hesitation. He's never said it, but you can feel it on his side. The warmth he casts over you with his smile, his words. A Joel you found by digging in his shadow.  

He moves you both in rhythmic waves against the tree, hurried in desire but gentle in execution. He wants you to feel good and you want the same for him. You grip your arms around his neck, murmuring softly between kisses about how good he makes you feel. 

You love him. 

In this moment with him, in so many moments the words bubble up inside you. Like a still corked bottle of champagne, waiting to be popped. The words rest behind your teeth, gnashed down by nerves. You can't say the words out loud. Not yet. But they exist. In your mind you can scream them over and over. 

"Well ain't this cute."

Your blood runs immediately cold as your eyes blow open. Joel's motions immediately stop, his grip on you tightening. He's facing you against the tree so you can see the moment his eyes widen in horror. 

"Caught myself two little lovebirds.”

The voice is a low growl from behind Joel. You lift your head up to see a man with oily hair standing, watching you both. He wears a thick jacket, gloves with holes and his face is drawn thin and malnourished. 

A raider. 

Your blood runs cold, that familiar fear cloying in your throat. 

"Might wanna get dressed," the man says amused. 

Joel's eyes meet yours briefly as he tucks himself away and you pull up your jeans, both buttoning in a hurry. He's trying to gauge your reaction. Your eyes are blown wide in terror and Joel murmurs something that sounds like stay behind me, but the blood is roaring in your ears. 

The raider holds a gun in his right hand and a smile stretches over his thin lips. He cocks it when Joel reaches for his shotgun resting against the base of the tree. 

"Ah ah, I don't think so, friend." 

Joel grits his teeth and continues to stand in front of you, shielding you from the man. You tremble behind him. 

"Sorry to interrupt love birds. But I think you might have something of mine." The man eyes you both. "A shipment of medicine? I was delayed a bit and rumor is you folks helped yourselves." 

"We don't have it," Joel tells the man flatly. "We just came to check the traps."

"C'mon now," the man laughs, the gun still aimed at you both. "You think I don't know a liar when I see one?"

 He comes closer; his eyes glancing over at you huddled behind Joel. 

"I told you we don't fucking have it," Joel repeats. 

The humor flees from the older man's face. 

"Now I've been polite but you're really starting to piss me off. I know you have my shit and I want it back." The man sniffs angrily. "We heard about a guy fittin' your description. Came by with a few others last week."

"We did come looking for it last week but we didn't find anything," Joel relents. 

"Now why would you go and do that?" The man asks as if he's actually offended. "Stealin' another man's property?"

"Didn't know it was yours."

"Well it sure as shit wasn't yours, now was it?"

Joel says nothing, but you feel his breathing hitch. His broad shoulders that you stand behind seem to slump. You don't have any way out of this.

You peek your head out the side of Joel, eyes fixed on the grungy raider glaring at Joel. You want to help in some way. 

"P-please," you whisper in a stammer. "We don't have your things. I swear." 

The man's eyes slide over to you, his face a sneer. 

"Like I'm gonna believe the words of a whore," the man spits out with a cruel smile. 

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," You hear Joel growl. His hands are balled fists at his sides. 

"You wanna try that again?" The man asks, pressing the gun to Joel's forehead. You feel your body shaking when you feel Joel's body tighten up. His back is to you but there's no mistaking the way he holds himself terrified. 

"The others will come lookin’ for us," Joel warns the man. "Leave us be and we'll pretend this never happened."

“Ain't no one gonna find you out here."

"You wanna bet?" 

The man's eyes narrow.  "Even if they go come lookin' after ya I'll be long gone."

"Your tracks won't be." Joel motions to the man's heavy boots. "We got bloodhounds that'll sniff you out in under an hour."

Joel is still stiff but his voice is cold and menacing. You see the man in front of him falter slightly before his yellowed eyes flick your way. They rove your body hungrily, sucking at his back teeth before he speaks. 

"In that case I better get my kicks in while I can." He gives a gap toothed grin your way. "Girlie it's been a while, so be polite for me. Get on your knees and show me why your friend here keeps you around." 

When you don't move he reaches around to aim his gun at your head. Your stare at the barrel pressed between your eyes.

This is how you die. 

You whimper, eyes wet with terror. You finally found something to live for outside of your own survival and this is how it ends? Dead in the snow at the hands of some stranger? Before anything more can happen Joel pushes in front of you, the barrel now aimed at his chest. 

"Get the fuck away from h-"

Joel doesn't finish the sentence before the man hits him harshly with the butt of his gun. Joel hisses and he folds at the waist, his face cracking to the side. You shriek, your voice carrying through the forest.

“Joel!”

"I don't wanna repeat myself, girlie." 

The injustice of all of this makes furious tears roll down your cheeks. This bastard is going to take everything from you after all you've been through. Images of Charlotte flood your mind, the sound of her screams, the sight of Maria covered in her own blood, the way Penny held you as you sobbed for your dead family. All of this pain, this horror, its never-ending.

A scream comes from you, an unholy terrified thing from the bottom of your toes as you glare at the raider, your eyes wild. The man looks momentarily taken aback at the sight and sound of it, gun faltering. 

And then it all happens so fast.   

A loud whinny echoes through the trees shocking all of you. You turn to see Chestnut comes hurtling towards the group of you through the trees. His gallops are slick in the icy snow, his breath coming out in white clouds as he streaks towards you. 

"The fuck?"

The man is confused. He might be wondering if there are more of you about to surround him. 

Joel whirls around to face you, half his face covered in sticky blood. He bear hugs you to him, tackling you to the ground. He cushions your fall but you let out a grunt as your spine hits the snow. The air is punched out of your lungs. 

Instinctively the man raises his weapon, his gun aimed and with a terrifying finality he pulls the trigger. It’s like slow motion, watching as Chestnut’s eyes widen so much you see the whites. Red blooms at the side of his head and you scream.

"No!"

Chestnut goes stumbling and then crashing to the ground, a strangled whinny of pain going through the forest before a hideous silence settles. 

It's a split second but it's enough, Joel's hand is already on the butt of the shotgun. It's in his grip within seconds and before the raider can do anything Joel's aiming it at the man and pulling the trigger. 

A spray of red shoots from the man's shoulder, dotting the snow and causing his gun to drop, but not before shooting widely. He turns on Joel with a snarl. 

"Fucker!"

You can't see Joel's face from where lay in the snow but he moves as if he's on autopilot. A force to be reckoned with. His shoulders are tight and he raises the gun to his eyes. 

Joel blasts the raider again and you watch the spray of red that explodes from his head. This one sends the man crumpling onto the ground, blood pouring from the half of his face that's now missing. He lands forward in the snow, the red of his blood seeping into the white earth like ink on paper. 

There's a throbbing in your leg that you're noticing as Joel is urges you to stand, pulling you onto his arm, his face a contortion of anxiety and frustration.

"C'mon, get up. We gotta go."

He hauls you towards the entrance of the trees without thought, one arm around your waist, the other hand aiming his gun at anyone who you may meet along the way. 

Your eyes however land on the frozen body of Chestnut. You sweet, darling savior. A creature that heard your scream and came running. His ribs don't expand and he lies with eyes wide open, unblinking. He's not moving.

You go to step towards him but Joel continues hauling you away, his eyes fixed in front of him. 

"We have to go."

Your hand reaches fruitlessly for Chestnut as Joel drags you from the clearing. Tears slide down your cheeks and your voice is cracked. 

"We can't leave him out here, Joel. We have to bury him or something."

Joel's face betrays a shadow of regret. 

"We don't know if this guy had friends who just heard a bunch of gunshots. We gotta go." 

His breathing is rapid, but his focus is clear. He knows what to do in this situation whereas you’re blind with panic and regret. 

"I didn't tie him properly," you sob, your cries cracked in the cold air. Each inward breath feels like a stabbing behind your ribs.

"You did," Joel insists distractedly, guiding you both through the trees. 

"No, I was just so excited to touch you," you spill out, not caring that it's embarrassing to admit this. Your heart aches too painfully to care. "I was distracted and ... He's dead because of me."

Your feet fumble, tripping up as you hold onto him as you beg him to do something with Chestnut. He grunts, righting you and urging you to keep going. 

"I know you're scared and sad and I can't take that away, but we gotta go," Joel says pulling you more aggressively. 

You choke down another sob, finding your footing and running back alongside Joel until you make it out of the clearing and back to an anxious looking Midnight, still tied to the tree. The horse watches warily as the two of you approach. 

You're trying to muffle your sobs as Joel kneels, motioning for you to stand on his thigh to climb onto Midnight's back. You're halfway onto the horse when his dark eyes widen and you stop climbing confused at his expression. 

"You're shot."

You look down at your leg to see a bloom of red starting under the denim. 

"It's not mine," you insist, swiping at the denim. You hiss when you realize in fact you did get hit. The stray bullet must have grazed you. You were so focused on that was happening around you that you didn't even notice. 

You raise your eyes to his terrified face. "I don't feel anything."

"It's shock." 

You should be crying. You should be feeling something, but nothing is happening. You just feel cold all over. 

Joel looks like he's going to be sick. 

"I'm fine," you insist with a tremor in your voice. 

You're shaking, body going cold. Joel is pushing you onto the horse, urging you to wrap your arms around his waist when he climbs in front of you. 

"Hold tight."

He takes off like a bat out of hell, the trees whipping by you all as Midnight gallops back to Jackson City. 

You fade in and out of awareness. The pain in your calf keeps you awake, but what just happened has you feeling absolutely drained. You could cry when the familiar sight of Jackson's walls come into view. Midnight huffs exhausted, clopping quickly to the entrance. Joel’s spine straightens, his voice a gruff boom.

"Open up!"

You see Hank climbing down from the watchtower, calling for Fred and others. Joel throws himself off the horse.  

"She's hurt!" Joel shouts, his voice cracked. "Bullet to the calf."

The doors remain closed. Your body tightens, anxiety holding you. You hear Hank's voice through the heavy wood. 

"Grab the dog."

"No time for the dog!" Joel roars. He bashes his gloved fist against the closed door until Hank opens it a crack, his face just visible through the thin slit.  

"Joel you know the rules," Hank says quietly eyeing you both. "Someone comes back injured from patrols, we gotta test 'em."

"S' fucking ridiculous,” Joel pants, motioning to you. “She's bleedin' out."

"We've already sent for the doctor. Just sit tight." 

You're whimpering from the pain as Joel paces back and forth in front of you, looking increasingly agitated with every moment that passes by. Finally Melody from the dog kennels jogs over with a bloodhound, followed by the town medic, Lily. 

Melody raises her hand in front of the dog that eyes you. Joel helps you down from the horse, murmuring something to you that you can’t hear.

"Boba...check."

Melody gives a snap and the dog takes off trotting towards you. Boba sniffs you as you try to remain standing. After a moment the dog rubs his face against your kneecap, accepting the scratch behind his ears. 

Boba moves to Joel, sniffing at his boots before he moves back to Melody, unimpressed at having found nothing of note. 

"All clear."

You see Hank visibly relax. Lily, the medic on shift for the evening urges you both inside the gates. Lily is a ruddy faced woman of about fifty. Her strawberry blonde hair is cut just at her jaw.

She always has a sense of no-nonsense, a professionalism that makes you feel safe. She was a nurse back before the world went to shit. She doesn't ask you much outside of what occurred out there.

"You're both gonna come to the infirmary," Lily informs you after a quick rundown of what happened. Joel says nothing, but he urges you onto his shoulder, helping you limp after the woman to the nearby hospital bay. 

She puts you in the first room, usually saved for things like surgery. Lily’s eyes flick between the two of you briefly as Joel helps walk you to the bed, his face grave.

"You stay out there," Lily instructs Joel when she enters with her medical bag. He looks about to contest this but the door is closed in his face and you’re too tired to fight for him to remain. 

She helps you slip off your jeans. You wince as the denim peels away from the dried blood of your wound and Joel peers from over her shoulder. 

"Just a graze," she says sounding relieved. 

She helps you into the bed, tugging off your jacket before you lay down. Sweat is drenching your hairline, you're body sweaty but cold. Lily keeps insisting you drink water even after you've swallowed the pain pills. 

She patches you up slowly, cleaning the wound on your calf carefully to avoid infection. You lay tensed up; eyes scrunched shut as she works on you. It hurts, despite the painkillers she gave you. 

"Joel, I can't work if you're breathing down my neck. And I thought I told you to wait outside."

Your eyes crack open and you shakily raise your head to see Joel in the room beside the bed, gazing down at your leg with what looks like anguish. You follow his eyes and glance down to see the puckered flesh of your calf being sewn together. 

A wave of nausea goes through you and you lay your head back down on the pillow. 

"I'm okay," you tell him quietly, as if Lily isn't in the room with you. He drags his eyes from your leg to your face. 

"This never shoulda happened." 

He looks angry, but not at you. His eyes have that haunted, distant look to them. A look you've grown to fear when you see it in the eyes of people you care about. Without thinking you reach for him, but he stays standing with his arms hung at his sides. It's like he's a million miles away even as he stares at you. 

You stretch your arm further, fingers aching to come into contact with any part of him. In your desperation you begin shifting in the bed. 

Lily sighs, irritated at your movement as she attempts to work on your injury. 

"Joel, go wait in the other room. I'll be there in a sec to get you stitched up." 

Your hand lowers to the bed despondent when Joel says nothing. He takes one lingering last look at you and then he's stalking away from the bed, slamming the door behind him. 

///

Lily doesn't let you leave the infirmary until late the next afternoon with a bandaged leg and a few pain pills in a bag. She gives you crutches to use, citing you probably won't need them long. 

She sends you home with specific care instructions that include finding her the second the site begins to swell. 

You attempt to use the crutches but find them more cumbersome than helpful. You make your way home stiffly, trying to focus on not slipping with your psyched leg, ignoring the looks that the others give you on your journey. 

You settle in on the couch, napping and taking pain pills when necessary. The sky darkens and your mind goes to Joel. You hope he got patched up okay. You don't remember hearing him after Lily left your room. 

You're a little surprised he hasn't been by to check on you today. A part of you thought that he'd want to be after everything that happened. You know you wish you were in his strong arms right now, feeling protected. 

I wanna give you everythin'.

There was something about the emotion in how he said that, his large hands holding your cheeks. Something that makes you think that perhaps he was thinking the same as you were. 

That you love him. It snuck up on you or maybe it just feels like that. One second he was an asshole you couldn't stand and now he's the one person you want to see more than anything. 

There's a knock on your door just as you think about putting yourself to bed. Relief spreads over your features as you glance at the locked door.

Joel is finally here. 

Delight floods through you, combating the sting that goes along with standing and hobbling over to the door. You tug it open, surprised to see that it's Tommy on your porch. 

"I come bearing food," he says, raising a crochet bag to eye level. Whatever's inside smells amazing and your stomach rumbles. You give him an appreciative grin, pushing the door open. 

"Come in." 

Tommy enters the home, closing the door behind him. He places the bag on the coffee table where you have your leg propped up. He looks at the injury, his lips thinning before he forces a weak smile.  

"So how's the patient?"

"The patient is doing okay," you shrug, yawning from both fatigue and the pills. "What's in the bag?"

"Stew and Maria sent over cookies," he tells you pointing at the bag. "She says there nowhere as good as yours but that she hopes you like ‘em anyway." 

You give a soft chuckle at that while Tommy looks around your home, observing the small pieces of yourself that you've started decorating with. The framed photo of your parents on the mantle of the fireplace, the paper flowers on your dining table. The space is far from homey, but it's getting there. 

"You need anything ‘side from food?"

"Nah."

You shake your head. Tommy exhales slowly, coming to sit on the coffee table, facing you with his hands folded between his legs. He looks serious. 

"Joel told me what happened to y'all out there." 

You wince, not wanting to think about what occurred. Tommy seems to understand this and so he speaks softer, more gently. 

"I know it's askin' a lot, but you got enough energy to answer a few questions about it?"

You swallow. "Sure." 

"Joel tells me the fella was older, early sixties."

"Yeah."

"He look well fed?" 

"No, pretty thin from what I remember." 

"Any distinguishing features?"

"Not really. Just old." 

Tommy swipes a hand down his face in thought. "Did he say if there were more of ‘em?"

You take a moment to think about what happened. 

"I can't remember," you answer honestly after a beat. "I don't think so."

"S'what Joel said," Tommy sighs, looking grim. "Was hoping you mighta heard somethin' more."

"Honestly I don't remember much. I was hiding behind Joel for most of it."

There's a shame that comes with that admittance, embarrassed that while Joel stood between you and a loaded gun all you did was cower pathetically behind him. 

Everything is so tinted with panic and fear that it's hard to hold onto any details outside your own terror.  You attempt to hide a yawn but Tommy sees it, giving you a smile that doesn't touch his eyes. 

"I should let you rest. I'll stop by tomorrow to see if you need anything else."

He stands, heading towards the door. 

"I'll be fine, Tommy you don't have to do that."

"Maria'll kill me if I don't," Tommy grins and this one seems sincere. You grin back, brows raised when he stops mid-step. 

"If you have the energy tomorrow night we're playin' a movie in town," Tommy suggests brightly. "Curtis and Viper. Thomas found it on the last patrol."

"That sounds fun," you acknowledge, pressing your thumb into your forefinger, distractedly. 

Despite everything, this visit has warmed you, touched by your friend's care for you. When his hand is on the doorknob you add:

"Tell Maria thanks for the cookies."

Tommy grins, giving you a little mock salute before closing the door behind him. 

"Will do." 

///

The medicine does its job and you fall into a fairly dreamless sleep. You wake bleary-eyed with cotton mouth to see it's after eleven. And like most mornings as of late, your thoughts turn to Joel; the tingles that go through you when his beard grazes your neck, the sweet way he exhales when he's inside of you. 

And it's not just the tactile, it's everything. It's him sharing his deepest pains and accepting yours. It's his smile when you say something funny. It's the softness of his eyes

I wanna give you everythin'. 

You want to give him the same. You want nights and days with him, dances and card games, dinners with he and Ellie. A family. 

Images of Jennifer and Ellie go through your mind, going through an imaginary list of their potential responses. In the end you realize it doesn't matter. You're going to tell them tomorrow, you tell yourself. No more waiting.

Jennifer will understand, you're sure of it. She may be hurt at first but she's an understanding woman, she's your best friend. As for Ellie... That may be up to Joel. But either way the truth is coming out. 

The dance is in less than two weeks and you want to go feeling happy and beautiful on Joel's arm. You want people to smile and greet you. You want both of you laughing with Jennifer and Luke, you want to dance with Maria and Tommy there cheering you on.

With this fantasy in mind you shower and dress in fresh clothes, wrapping your red scarf around your neck and tugging on your gloves. 

Your leg is still sore, but you can walk just fine on it, only limping slightly. The pain is nothing to you though because you're buoyed by the promise of Joel's face bleeding into a smile when he sees you, the warmth of his eyes when he opens the door.

You make it there quickly, thankful you don't run into anyone you know on the way. Your heart pounds in anticipation as you rap your knuckles on his door. There's a shuffling and then the door creaks open. Joel stands there dressed in his customary flannel and jeans. His hair is damp from a shower. He blinks at you slowly.

"What're you doin' here?"

The response is colder than anticipated, but you chalk it up to him being in pain. You can see the stitches running over his cheekbone, subtle but there. Another scar, another horrible memory. You reach a hand out to touch him, confused when he steps back further into his home, tilting his face from you. 

Silence falls and he doesn't invite you in. Indecision starts to creep into your belly; making your body feel colder the longer you stand there staring at him. He remains half in the shadow of his dark home. He doesn't look welcoming or even relieved to see you. He seems hard and unmoving. 

"Is Ellie home?"

"School."

“Oh. Good."

He raises a brow at that, a flash of movement on an otherwise stoic face. He doesn't look away from you, but he doesn't beckon you closer. You think perhaps he's feeling a bit out of sorts from what happened and you think perhaps this is a good time to brighten his day. 

“I thought we could talk?”

He turns away from you, walking into the house but leaving the door open. Confused you trail in after him, following him to a room you haven’t seen before. This one is neat and organized. It’s got tables holding papers with scribbled notes, pieces of wood and hammers hung on shelving. Joel is digging around in one of the drawers.

“I’ve never been in here,” you observe. “It’s so organized.”

“Have to be organized if you’re in construction.”

“Guess old habits die hard,” you offer brightly, coming to stand behind him. Your hands trail over the wood table, noticing the carved dog in wood. It looks like Buckley.

“Yep,” Joel mutters to the bolts he sorts through. 

You thought that hanging with Joel at his place would be a good idea, a chance to talk and hold one another. But judging by his tense shoulders and the way he won’t look at you, you decide perhaps an outing might be better.

"So there's a movie on tonight. A Curtis Viper one. You were saying that you and Sarah watched those movies right? You wanna go and-"

Joel sighs, throwing the last of the bolts into the drawer. He slams it, turning to face you. He crosses his arms, his lower spine balanced against the table. An ugly darkness has settled over Joel's features. Something you recognize as one recognizes the sound of distant thunder; a warning. It makes the rest of your question die in your throat. 

"I'm not goin' to the movies," Joel says quietly.

There's something about the way he's looking at you, this quietly intense stare that makes you shift the weight from one foot to another. 

"Oh, are you busy?"

"No."

You give an awkward huff of a laugh at his truncated response. A breathless, insecure thing borne of the building gravity in his face. 

"Then, why-"

"Because I'm not your fuckin' boyfriend."

And just like that the cold, cruel Joel is back. 

You thought he'd been cast aside, slain like some mythological creature. But no, he's here in the flesh standing with his painfully beautiful eyes and disdainful curl of his mouth. You feel uneasy, a creeping insecurity flirting across your features. 

"I never said you were, Joel."

No, the words had never been spoken aloud. But hadn't they been there, seeping through the cracks? Hadn't it been whispered in the touch of his fingers on your skin? Hadn't it been huffed over your heart when you told him about your sister and he told you about Sarah? Hadn't the two of you morphed from something more than just patrol partners? 

Apparently to Joel that's all you two remain. He stands with his feet planted, dragging his muscled arms into a tight cross over his chest. You wish he'd look away from you with that ugly expression, but at the same time you long to look at his face. 

"I’m not fuckin' you anymore," Joel says stiffly. "I'm done with all that." 

You feel the way your eyes well at the cut of his tone. You swallow thickly and as your do you see it - the flash of soft that creeps into his gaze. The brows that almost saddle before forcing themselves into a knot. He turns angrily, facing away from you to busy himself with his tools. 

"Joel, please," you say barely above a whisper, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over your lash line. 

"Please what?"

You exhale softly before wiping your damp eyes with the back of your sleeve.

"Please don't do whatever it is you're doing."

You watch his shoulders sag, head facing down. 

"What am I doin'?"

"Pushing me away." You blink at his back. "What I don't understand is why you're doing it."

"You're actin' like we were in some kind of relationship," Joel says, the sneer evident in his tone. "We were just fuckin’ each other because we were bored."

"That's not true," you tell his shoes.

"It is true," Joel says, voice dead. He starts busying himself with putting away his tools.

You stare at his broad shoulders a moment, wanting to pull him harshly to face you. Insist with a scream that he tell you the truth.

"We wouldn't share the things we've shared with each other if this was just sex," you insist, chin wobbling. "You... You wouldn't ask me to go to the holiday party."

He falters for only a moment, his broad hand sweeping a few screws into a drawer.

"I would if I wanted to get you in bed," Joel says over his shoulder and you don't miss the ugly curl of his mouth as he says it. 

 "Joel, you can't-"

"You're a good lay," Joel cuts you off. "But I'm bored of it so I'm done. You’re gonna have to find a new fuck buddy." 

You let out a soft sound halfway between a whimper and a gasp. It physically hurts to hear this coming from Joel, to hear the words that you secretly feared. That you pinned all this affection on a man who saw you as nothing more than ready sex. 

But you don't want to believe him.

"Joel you can't... You don't mean that."

He balances the base of his spine against the table before launching off of it. He comes to tower over you, tilting his neck down, forcing you to look into his face. His eyes are fierce.

"I'm only sayin’ this once and then I want you outta my house." His voice has dropped to a menacing baritone. "I don't wanna see you anymore."

You physically recoil at this statement, not just from the words but from the dark pitch of his eyes. 

"I don't need some useless patrol partner who can't even shoot straight clinging to me like some needy little-"

He stops abruptly when he sees your shaky hand rise between the two of you. It's like you're holding him off from physically attacking. 

"Stop," you all but beg, cringing away from him. "Just... Stop."

Joel's mouth closes slowly, jaw clenched so tightly it tics. It’s almost like he catches himself and you’re half convinced you see regret in his gaze.

Useless. 

The world is tilting, growing hazy as you try to steady yourself. You take a moment to breathe deeply, trying to organize the thoughts racing in your mind.

Joel doesn't care for you at all. You're a fucking idiot to have thought he could. You built up this vision in your head of some tragic romantic figure when he's been clear all along. He never promised you anything, never claimed he liked you outside of your time fucking together. You pieced that together with your own delusion, taking snippets of moments and trying to give them deeper meaning. 

"I'll leave you alone," you tell him in a shaky voice. You blink rapidly, refusing to cry in front of him. "I... I'll... I'll go. Just please stop talking."

You twist around, swallowing the sob in your chest. You grope for the doorframe, the world becoming a watercolor blur. You move into the cold of the night and it stings the tears on your cheeks. 

You think you hear his footsteps coming towards you, creaking over the wood porch and you hold your breath. Seconds pass and you realize it's your imagination. 

You're alone. 

As you walk back to your home in a daze you think of the doe that first day on patrol. The empty look in its eyes after Joel killed it. At the time you'd only been able to think of Chiyo, about how his eyes had that same glazed look when you killed him. 

But now you realize you were the doe all along, just waiting for Joel Miller to strike.

-------------------------------------------------- 

WARNINGS/TAGS/DO NOT READ FURTHER UNLESS YOU WANT SHIT TO BE POTENTIALLY SPOILED.

tags/warnings: romance, love, soft!Joel, ANGST, gore, blood, Animal death, human death, mentions of guns, P in V (protected), oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, trauma, clickers, horror. I think that's it.

--------------------------------

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SMTL Chapter 18 PART 1

I couldn't wait to post...

PLEASE READ: This is PART 1 of 2 for this chapter because apparently Tumblr wants to make my life a nightmare and won't let me post the whole thing in one. So please don't panic, PART TWO IS HERE.

Also important: TAGS AND WARNINGS FOR THE WHOLE CHAPTER ARE FOUND AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAPTER UNDER THE JOEL GIF. SCROLL THERE TO SEE ANY WARNINGS OR TAGS.

And lastly... please review. This chapter is over 30K. It was re-written after laptopgate 2024. It is blood, sweat and tears. Please review, reblog, and COMMENT. Even if you're mad at me.

Daylight bleeds into the bedroom, waking you with a gentle stir. Delight rests heavily in your belly making the world tinge a pink and yellow glow. Joel asking you to the dance. Holding your hand until the two of you made it back to town. But then just as quickly as you glow from the inside regret creeps in, darkening the moment.

Jennifer.

You have to tell Jennifer.

You’re desperate to get this ugliness out of the way. You want the party to be fun. You want the two of you to dance with your men without having to hide it. You want to giggle with her about Joel, to confess to her how you feel about him like girlfriends do. 

So an hour later you head over to her place with a coffee for her, surprised to see her still in her pajamas when she opens the door, her eyes red -rimmed.  She always looks beautiful, but today she appears to have been crying.

"Hey," you chirp happily extending the coffee to her. "Up for a visit and some shooting?" 

"Visit yes, shooting no." 

Your smile drops as she gives a sniffle. She takes the coffee from you before indicating that you should enter. You follow her to her couch, noticing that even up close she looks a bit drawn. You feel a twinge of panic.

"Jenny, what's going on?" 

Jennifer sighs, scrubbing her hand down her face.  

"It's Oliver," she says quietly. "He uh, he and his girlfriend got back together last night. He just came by this morning to tell me face to face. Said he felt like he owed it to me." 

Fuck.  

"I'm so sorry," you say, your hand going to her shoulder. 

"It's not your fault," she says taking a sip of coffee. 

Isn't it? 

You pushed her into Oliver's arms without knowing anything about him. You encouraged the romance for your own selfish gain. And now look at what happened, Jennifer, the sweetest woman alive feels like shit. 

"The worst part is I thought I really liked him," she says scoffing to herself. "But I don't know if I liked him or I just liked not being alone."

Jennifer was always one of those women that you saw surrounded by men and women. People clamored to be around her, to exist in her orbit. They still do, but something has changed. You see it when she's in a crowd, her smile not as bright. 

"I used to like the flirting and the sex and all that distraction," she explains. "But now, I dunno." 

She's quiet and you don’t like the downcast expression in her face. Guilt consumes you when you see how devastated she looks. And you know it’s because of your own selfishness that she’s like this.

"Is there anything I can do?"

She gives you a weak smile.

"Can we take a break from talking about men?" She laughs, rolling her eyes. "I'm sick of ‘em."

You swallow. So much for sharing about Joel. Bringing that up right now would only hurt her further. You force a smile to your face. 

"Yeah, of course."

///

"Let's go for a walk.”

“I dunno…”

You’re at Maria’s house on her front porch, your mind whirring about Jennifer. You thought that a visit to Maria might help. She’s answered the door dressed, but her hair is askew. Stains litter the front of her shirt. Tommy comes up behind her, gazing at the back of her head. He holds a grunting Douglas in his arms, smiling at you.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Trying to convince your wife to go for a walk with me,” you chirp merrily waving a bag in the air. “I even brought a carrot to feet Chestnut if you want.”

Maria still looks tentative; it's if she wants to turn down this idea. But you know how much she loves the animals. You know she’s been hiding herself indoors and you just know some fresh air would do her good.

“Go on, honey,” Tommy encourages gently. “Me and Douglas are just goin’ for breakfast anyway.”

“Make sure he-“

“Has his thick socks,” Tommy finishes for her with a gentle nod. “I know, Maria.”

Maria relents with a small smile in his direction. She presses a small kiss to Douglas’ forehead and Tommy’s cheek. You watch her pull on her boots and her thick winter jacket and the two of you make your way towards the stables. 

Maria has that distant look you associate with folks you've run across in your years since the outbreak. Eyes that have the life sucked out of them, cold and blurry like they're somewhere else. 

She walks next to you in silence, her hands shoved deep in her heavy coat pockets. For once it's you who needs to chatter away, still uneasy about how to speak with her when she's so withdrawn. You don't want to push her further into herself, but you also don't want to trudge beside her in silence. 

You smile at this. Maria looks up ahead to the stable and barn where several sections of the livestock are held. 

"When I first got here I used to come here all the time," you explain as you walk beside her. "I liked watching the chickens. When I first got here there were tons of chicks. So cute and fuzzy." 

Maria hums a response and any further comments you might have made fall into the snow, forgotten. 

Eventually the two of you come to the entrance of the barn. You unlatch it, tugging it open with a creak. Maria enters first, kicking the snow from her boots on the cement floor. You follow after her, closing the door with a thump. 

The barn inside is quiet, peaceful even in the early hour of the morning. The chickens are in this section, clucking madly as you pass. 

"Sorry folks, not breakfast for you yet." 

Maria smiles and you feel relief that her mood already rising. Goats bleet quietly on the other side of the barn, some of the kids kicking up hay. You and Maria take your time here, walking and watching the animals play. Some nuzzle your hand when you reach into the pen. 

You spot a light grey nanny goat at the far corner of the pen, lying in the straw. Two little ones with similar coloring nestle against her plump belly sleeping soundly. 

Maria runs her hand along the wood fencing that keeps them penned in. She sighs heavily. The Nanny goat raises her head sleepily at Maria, watching her with marble eyes before going back to resting. 

You feel rather than see Maria shake her head. 

"You know what's funny? I helped make this barn. I helped fix up the old houses and man the dam and build these very pens." She clicks her tongue, as if amazed. "And until Douglas I never really slowed down enough to really see it, you know?"

You don't say anything; you just stand next to her, shoulders almost touching as you stare at the goat. Maria needs to talk and you need to listen, it's as simple as that. 

"When you move fast it's real easy to overlook stuff. Like, that my baby is gonna grow up in this place, probably gonna run things if he's anything like me or Tommy... Or me." She smiles. "But that's a real uncertain future. What if the dam stops working? What if things get worse?" 

She looks at you now and you turn to face her, your arm resting on the fence. 

"We were so damn selfish bringing a baby into this shit."

Her eyes are filled with tears, fresh ones and you watch her chin tremble. She looks away from you, back at the goat and her kids. One of the kids has woken up, stretching. Maria folds her arms on the fence before lowering her head to bury her face in them. She's so broken that it actually hurts you to watch it. 

Your hand goes between her shoulder blades, rubbing gentle circles. She allows this, not tensing under your touch. 

The kid makes its way over to you both across the straw, giving soft little bleets. You cast a smile, watching as it attempts to nibble at the bottom of Maria's pants. 

"It's nature, Maria," you offer softly. "It's natural for some people to have the desire to create new life with someone they love." 

"You wouldn't," Maria says sharply. She's prickly now, exposed and hurt. She waits for your response with the look of someone waiting for a slip up. Or maybe hope that she's wrong. She deserves more than a lie.

"No," you admit truthfully with a slow shake of your head. "I probably wouldn't." 

Maria looks at the goat by her feet. 

"But you're so good with Douglas and you get along so well with Ellie."

You grin. 

"Well Douglas is an angel and Ellie, yeah, she's a cool kid. I probably like them so much because I don't have any of my own. Love surplus."

Maria seems to find this amusing because she looks at you with a small smile. 

"A love surplus. I like that." 

The two of you go back to looking at the animals, watching the Nanny goat who has just now realized that one of her babies is missing. She rises shakily before moving over to the quietly bleeting kid by you. 

"She doesn't know about tomorrow," you tell Maria, pointing at the mother goat. "She just knows she has a kid that she brought into this world and needs to protect it. That's all she can do. That's all she can control." 

Maria is quiet for a moment, absorbing what you’ve said. 

"Are you really comparing me to a fucking goat?'

You hear the levity in Maria's voice and it brings a smile to your face. 

"Yeah, I guess I am." 

She gives you a playful shove with her shoulder. You grin before urging her to follow you to the closed barn door leading to the stables. You open the adjoining door to the stalls and feel your chest tighten when a familiar broad shouldered figure is seen standing by the pens. 

He's murmuring something to Chestnut, patting his nuzzle. But when the door creaks open he glances over quickly in the direction of the sound. When he sees you and Maria his brows rise in surprise. Maria walks towards him with a wave. 

"What are you doing here, Miller?"  

"Needed a break from Ellie. She’s found a new CD and she won’t stop fucking playin’ it. Givin’ me a headache."

He shakes his head good naturedly, as if to say some people’s kids.  But there’s no anger in it, no resentment, just gentle amusement.

“How about you two?”

"This one insisted I get out of the house," she says with a thumb pointed over her shoulder at you. 

Joel's eyes slide over to you, the depths of the dark brown color warm and sweet.

"Good." 

You feel your cheeks heating as he gazes at you before he drags his eyes back to a whinnying Chestnut.  

"I know, I know, your favorite girl's here," he murmurs to the horse. Something about the way he says it makes your heart flutter.  

"I thought we could come give Chestnut a snack," you explain holding up the carrots in front of you.  

"Only if you brought enough for the rest of the class," Joel teases. 

"We have enough." 

You hand Maria a few of the carrots from the bundle. You step towards Chestnut in his paddock walking back and forth eagerly as you approach. 

"I'll feed these guys," Maria says leaning over the opposite paddock to run her hand over Glimmers muzzle. Midnight stands in the corner, looking with uncertainty between you and Maria. 

Joel moves a little closer to you at the fence of the paddock, his eyes scanning the horses before you feel them coming back to land on your face. 

You can't look at him though; you know you'll give everything away if you do. It's getting impossible not to gaze at Joel these days, your eyes heavy with longing. Instead you keep your attention on the horse, your face warm. 

"Hello handsome boy," you croon at Chestnut. "Did you have a good sleep?"

Chestnut comes trotting over to see you, his downy muzzle coming to rub your cheek. You giggle at the sensation before raising the carrot in his direction.

"Okay charmer, relax. You're getting one." 

Maria feeds Glimmer and a few of the other horses as Chestnut chomps away on his treat, the chewing noises loud and pleasant. You place a kiss to the center of his forehead before rubbing his flicking ears. 

You hear Maria's entreating voice. 

"C'mon boy. Just a nibble." 

Maria holds out a carrot to Midnight who still stands off to the side looking petulant as the rest of the horses enjoy their morning treat.  

"He's a toughie," Maria says in amusement, holding the remaining carrot outstretched towards you. "You try." 

"I think Joel'll have better luck," you tell her, unable to look at the man as you say it. "Midnight likes him best." 

You feel Joel shuffle a little closer beside you, his forearms resting on the wood fence. He scratches his beard absently while he looks to the Midnight staring balefully at everyone. 

"You should do it," Joel says to the back of your head. "He's gotta learn to be less stubborn if he wants somethin'." 

You smirk at that before giving a shrug. "Sure, I'll try." 

You take the carrot from Maria, going to stand closer to Midnight's section of the pen. You hear Joel following you close behind. 

"He's picky," Joel informs you. "He only eats from the palm 'a your hand. Small pieces." 

You nod, cracking the carrot into several bite sized pieces before cupping them in your palm. You tilt over the paddock, clicking your tongue. 

Joel waves off the other horses who linger, waiting for a chance to get extra. 

Midnight watches Joel standing behind you before taking a wary step forward. You flinch when Joel's hand goes to your waist, holding you against him. His mouth is at your ear. 

"Stay real still or you'll spook him."

His hand squeezes your waist gently and your body trembles in response at being so close to him in front of someone else. 

You sneak a glance to see Maria's eyes fixed on Chestnut. She kisses the horse between the eyes, gently murmuring to him. You look back to see Midnight keeping his eyes on Joel as he ambles over, his nose twitching, catching the scent of the carrots. 

"Palm flat," Joel says huskily in your ear. You suppress a shiver at the sensation of his warm breath huffing against your earlobe. 

You know how to feed a horse from your hand safely. You're about to tell him as much when you feel his wide hand going to yours. He stands behind you, cupping the back of your hand in his and rising it towards the waiting horse.

You watch his arm under yours, lifting your hand and flattening. Your palm goes flat, the carrot pieces bunched together. Your breathing is unsteady, and you should be looking at Midnight but all you can focus on is how Joel's thumb strokes the side of your wrist. 

"Just let him take it."

You swallow at this, trying not to observe how silky Joel's voice has gotten. How it's dripping, sinfully sweet in your ear like honey. 

One hand stays on your hip, squeezing slightly. The other still holds your own hand under Midnight's mouth. Midnight still waits, looking at you with large, shiny eyes. 

"Go on," you say softly. 

You watch the distrustful animal bend forward, huffs of warm air falling over your palm. Then with gentle precision you feel him take the first piece of carrot into his mouth, crunching quickly. 

Joel's warm mouth is at your ear, his voice dropping an octave. 

"Good girl." 

It's murmured quietly. Your face feels like it has a heartbeat, throbbing in time with your pulse. You don't even mean to, but you let out a shudder exhale.  You hear Joel's breathing hitch before he steps back from you, clearing his throat. 

"Tommy up with the baby?"

Maria nods, staring at Glimmer.

"Yeah, when we left they were heading for breakfast."

"Might join him. I'll see ya later." 

You watch as Joel gives you both a short wave before ducking out the side door of the barn, closing it behind him. 

You cling to the fencing, feeling like you're going to pass out. There's something about Joel that gets you so wound up. You wanted nothing more than go home with him right now, to force him into bed and to ride him until his eyes roll back in his head. 

"We should head back too," Maria announces before shooting you a smile. "This was a good idea. Thanks." 

You grin; delight blooming behind your ribs. Maria already looks much more at ease, her countenance relaxed as the two of you walk back to her house. You can see the fresh tracks left by Joel in the snow, a trail leading you both home. 

"I like the two of you together."

Maria says this suddenly, breaking you from your thoughts. You fight to keep your face and voice neutral. 

"Who?"

"You and Joel."

Your head jerks back to face her, your eyes wide. You physically come to a stop, sliding in the icy patch of wet snow. 

"Excuse me?" 

Maria's eyes bounce between yours, trying to read your expression. 

"We're not …. That's not..." You stammer further when Maria stares at you, a playful smirk crossing her lips. 

"I’m not blind," she states sagely and you can see in her eyes that there's a relief in her knowing this part of you. Like she isn't the only one being vulnerable in this friendship. You feel the walls start to come down.

"It's new. I don't exactly know what it is." 

"But you're happy?"

A flush crawls up your neck as you suppress a small smile.  "Yeah." 

"I always thought there might be something there," Maria says tilting her head after the direction he left in. "You're a good match. Always thought so."

"Yeah, well, like I said it's still new. Nothing's official." 

Maria opens her mouth to say something but then thinks better of it. She settles for walking quietly with you towards her place. 

"I don't want people knowing," you say quietly. "Not until I've figured some stuff out. I'm pretty sure Joel feels the same." 

"Your secret's safe with me," she assures you with a pat on the back of your arm. "I won't say a word to anyone, not even Tommy. Not until you're both ready."

You don't speak anymore on it, but there's a lightness in you at having shared this. A strange relief that bubbles up in your chest at the realization that someone else knows about you and Joel. And that there was no recrimination or judgment involved. 

When you approach her house you see one of Maria's neighbors, Bethany, there with a pie, waving at you both. 

"I was hoping to have a visit," she tells Maria as the two of you approach. Your friend holds in a grimace, forcing a weak looking smile 

"That's so kind, Beth but I'm a little tired."

"Well that's fine by me. I'll just come read by the fire while you nap."

The woman's face is sweet and you can see the anxiety there in her eyes. Maria sighs before nodding, realization hitting you both. Tommy set this up in case he wasn't home yet. A babysitter. 

You and Maria bid each other a goodbye with a quick hug and then your feet are hurriedly making their way towards the dining hall. 

You're hoping to catch up with Joel. 

You feel like you're turning into a bloodhound because you're certain you can smell the leather of his jacket in the air. You round the corner of Magnolia Street and see his broad figure walking slowly down the sidewalk. 

Some folks wave a hello to him as they pass and you fight the urge to call out his name. Instead you walk quicker, watching his long legs carrying him to the dining hall. 

You watch as he comes to a stop in front of one of the shops, peering in and glancing around in the display window. 

You walk casually towards him, your boots crunching snow underfoot. Joel must hear you approaching because his dark eyes dart up to catch yours in the windows' reflection. Something about the sight makes your stomach flip. 

You walk up to him casually, aware that there could be eyes on you. You keep your eyes on his reflection, your heart loud in your ears. 

"You wanna come over for coffee?" 

Joel’s brow furrows.

"Thought you didn't drink coffee."

"Wasn't really talking about coffee."

You can't help the little smirk that crosses your mouth when you say this, surprised at even yourself. You don't miss the grin Joel hides behind his palm. 

"Yeah, okay."

He follows you home and then upstairs to your bedroom and fucks you so hard that your headboard chips some of the plaster off your wall. You laugh about it after when he remarks that he's "too strong for my own good” after coming so hard your body twitches well into the afterglow. You feel drowsy, facing Joel, his hand over yours. Your eyes are closed but you feel him staring at you.

“What was Tommy talkin’ about that night in the Bison?”

“Huh?”

“You were with your friends talkin’ about repairs he said somethin’ about  rememberin’ you and the stables.”

You cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory. The day Joel sat next to you in the pub while Tommy brought up your embarrassing lack of carpentry skills and you go to pull the sheet further up your body.

“When I got here I volunteered to help with rebuilding the stables. Only I’m just as shit at repairs as I am with patrols.”

“You’re not shit with patrols.”

“Oh no?” you roll onto your side, grinning at him. “I feel like you may only be saying that considering what we’ve done on them.”

“Nah,” Joel says softly. “You got good eyes and good ears, and I’m a good shot. We make a good team.”

You snuggle closer to him in the bed, head resting on his chest and the two of you fall into a drowsy mid-day nap. You can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat underneath, lulling you into a comfortable half-slumber and before long you wake still in his arms. A moment of concern hits you when you see the sky is starting to darken and you glance up to see Joel is already awake, looking at you.  

“Will Ellie be waiting for you?”

“Nah, she’s visitin’ her friend.”

“So you can stay a little longer?”

You feel Joel’s smile on the top of your head. “Yeah.”

Thoughts of Ellie bubble up in your mind, her sweet smile and the way she talks about Joel like he’s the most wonderful man she knows. There’s a familial feeling despite their lack of blood relation.

“Ellie doesn’t really talk about how you two know each other,” you tell him, gazing up his shoulder. “She’s private like you.”

Joel exhales gently, his dark eyes unfocussed as he stares off into middle distance.

“I was takin’ her to the Fireflies. Tess and I were, actually.”

Tess, his not-quite-girlfriend if you recall correctly. The Fireflies that radical group your dad told you about.

“I didn’t wanna do it, but Tess had that way of persuadin’ me.” Joel rubs at the back of his neck. He speaks slowly, deliberately. “Tess got infected pretty early on, but she made me promise to take Ellie all the way to the Fireflies. It was the least I could do for her.”

Joel takes a deep breath, thinking back.

“S’funny, I couldn’t stand the kid when I first met her. Thought she was annoyin’ and reckless. But, you know Ellie, she has a way of makin’ you come around to her.”

You smile. Yes, she certainly does.

“Anyway, took us a while to get there and when we got there to the hospital, they. . . “ Joel blinks rapidly, his chest rising. “They wanted to operate on her. Cut open her brain and see if they could find the cure that way.”

“What the fuck?” It comes out of you in a rush, your eyes widening in disgust. You push up in the bed, clutching the blanket over your bare chest. “She was okay with it?”

“She didn’t know.”

Anger flashes in your eyes, unmistakable.

“How…Was it guaranteed? This cure?”

Joel shakes his head slowly. Your mind races, trying to understand how Ellie went from being with the Fireflies in the hospital, her life at stake, to living with Joel in blissful youth. It doesn’t add up.

“But, how did she get out?”

Joel sweeps his eyes to you, seeing your hand raised to your mouth and you almost wish he hadn’t. His big, dark eyes are so fucking broken that it literally takes your breath away. It’s like you can see the hurt living in him.

“I couldn’t save Sarah, but I could save Ellie.”

It feels like a gut punch and you go still, your eyes searching his.

“You got her out?”

“Yes.”

He stares you down, almost daring you to force him to justify his actions. It’s like he wants your ire or your disgust. You give him neither, instead you take his hand, nodding. You understand. You picture sweet, childish Ellie in a hospital gown; knocked out and unknowing her short life was at an end.

You can’t say you wouldn’t have done the same if you had the same tactical skill set.

“I’m done having the people I love taken from me,” Joel murmurs.

“Same here.”

There’s a heavy emotion in the air, something sweet that lingers. But it makes you feel strange, almost anxious. Despite this you take his face in yours and press a kiss to his pouty lips. You don’t miss the sheen to his eyes as he kisses you back, lowering you onto the mattress and making love to you slow and deep.

Help me forget, his body whispers, each groan and thrust a silent beg for you to take him away from that darkness. To repay him for all the times he’s made it go quiet for you. And you do, body drawing him closer, soft exhalations of his name again his neck.

You both continue to lay in the bed afterwards, sex warmed and intimate. You hear Joel begin to hum under his breath, a twangy tune you half remember. You let it twist lazily through the air, the deep notes spinning slowly in your mind. You prop your cheek up with one hand so you can grin at him. 

"Have you always been musical?"

"Since I could afford an instrument," Joel says with a far-off in his eyes. "Wanted to be a famous singer when I was a kid." 

"Yeah? Johnny Cash?"

"The man in black himself." Joel chuckles softly at your amused grin. "But I'm not a suit guy."

You watch his chest rise and fall in the following quiet. Your free hand twitches before it goes to rest gently over his sternum. You feel the smooth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat thumping steadily under your touch. He covers your hand there with his own heavy palm, keeping it there, keeping you close. 

"Sarah always got embarrassed when I sang in the car with her," Joel grins, eyes unfocused. "I'd be drivin' her to soccer practice and Elvis or somethin' would come on. I'd start singing and she'd cover her ears moaning that I was embarrassin' her." 

You grin at the remembrance of being a teenager girl with an embarrassing dad. Before everything went to shit you were a teenage girl who loved riding horses, going to the mall, reading, flirting with the guy that worked at the movie theatre. Anything to be considered cool. 

When your own father threatened to take you to school in his pyjamas and walk you to class if you skipped out of math again it had felt like the end of the world. 

How strange that the end of the world would happen not long after. 

"Did you ever want to be anything else?"

"Oh sure," Joel shrugs. "When my dad was teachin' me n' Tommy how to shoot I was convinced I was gonna be a hunter and that I'd live off the land, have my own farm. Then when I played highschool football I figured I'd do that professionally until Sarah came along."

You watch him speak, your mouth slightly agape as you take in every word he says. Every time he takes a breath you're worried that he's finished, that no more stories will be told. 

Suddenly you understand why Ellie sits and stares at you when you talk about the past, why she urges you to tell her more and more. 

This is an insight into a world you don't know, a world where Joel played guitar and dreamt about being a singer. A world where he went to Sarah's soccer matches. You want to learn more, to hear more. 

"What was Sarah like?"

It slips out of you before you can help yourself. It spills over your lips before you can realize how personal a question it is. Joel's dark eyes grow glossy in the moonlight and you mentally kick yourself.

"She was funny," Joel says, surprising you. He inhales slowly, eyes distant. "She was so damn funny without even tryin' to be. And she loved goin' to museums. I think I took her to every single one in Texas by the time she was twelve. She loved watching bad movies with me. I remember our favorites were the Curtis and Viper ones. You know those?"

"Action movie?"

"Yeah."

"Then no. I was strictly a rom-com girl back then," you smile as you jiggle your hand against his sternum, prompting him. "What else?"

Joel gives a grin. 

"She was beautiful, had the most beautiful smile and she was so loving. To animals, to other people. That was my girl, all heart."

You close your eyes, imagining this girl with a bright smile and gentle disposition. You wish you could have seen more than the one photo of her you got from Maria.  

"She was smart as hell too, smarter than I ever was." He sniffs softly. "N' so responsible... Too responsible, maybe. I think she felt like she had to take care of me sometimes." 

"Take care of you?" You hope the shock isn't too evident in your features. The thought The Joel Miller would need someone taking care of him of all people surprises you. 

"Yeah, I think because..." Joel looks puzzled, as if explaining is impossible. "I think she saw me single, workin' all the time at a job I didn't really love, takin' care of Tommy, no social life, and she felt like I needed to be taken care of too. Was just in her nature to think of other people." 

You both fall silent as the words settle in your mind. 

"She sounds like an amazing kid," you finally whisper. "You were lucky to have her."

Joel's head slowly tilts until he's facing you, his gaze fixed and gentle. 

"Yeah. I was." 

You nod, lowering your cheek back to your pillow now. Your palm is still flat on Joel's sternum, his big hand over yours. You watch them rise and fall as he breathes, slow and steady. You chance a look up at his expression even though tears are prickling the back of your eyes. He's got a wet look to his gaze, the kind that turns his dark eyes into glassy marbles. 

You shuffle up the bed slightly, sliding your hand to his neck before kissing him slowly. His hand finds itself cupping your jaw as your lips move against one another. Joel sees you about to nod off, wrapping his arms around you and settling against you in the bed. You shift until he's curled around you, his mouth at your shoulder. 

"Sleep." 

Immediately you feel yourself dropping off. You think he says something but you can't be sure and you can't reply. You're asleep, nestled in the safe harbor of Joel Miller's arms. 

///

"What are you signing up to bring?"

It's later that week and you and Jennifer are crowded around the notice board in town. You've both been reading the potluck list for the winter party. You can't help but feel your stomach do a little jump when a familiar name pops up on the list in familiar sharp script.

Joel Miller - drinks

You hide your smirk. How Joel Miller. 

A pencil tied to string is pinned into the cork next to the brightly colored paper. You take it in your hand, hunching over. 

"I think I'll bring brownies," you say as you write your name and the dessert onto the potluck list. "I've got a good recipe for it at home." 

"Oh that's a good idea," Jennifer nods, looking at the list with scrutiny. Many names are already on the list along with items. Soup, bread, fruit preserves, casserole, vegetables. 

"I think I'll bring... Apples."

You turn around and laugh sharply at your friend. 

"Everyone loves apples," Jennifer laughs back. "They keep the doctor away."

"Jenny, you can't be serious," you say giggling still. 

"I can't bake very well! You know that!"

Jennifer is laughing but you can sense a bit of insecurity there as well. She's good at so much in the world, but not this. You give her a half smile, shaking your head in amusement. You go back to the list and add Jennifer's name before writing "apple tarts" next to it. 

"Hey I -"

"I'll be making them for you," you tell her, holding a hand up before she can deny this. "You're making me a whole dress, Jenny. Let me make you some fucking tarts." 

Arm in arm the two of you laugh all the way to the dining hall, breaking apart when you see an anxious-looking Ellie waving you over. Jennifer sees a few of her friends at the far side and mentions she’s going to catch up with them.

You sit across from Ellie, taking in the girl’s frantic features.

“I need your advice.”

You nod, attempting to listen but all you can think about is how you’re going to tell both she and Jennifer about you and Joel. You’ve both been so busy you haven’t seen much of each other to talk. It seems whenever the two of you do find time, most of it is spent with him between your legs and you falling asleep in his arms. Part of you doesn’t want to bring up the potential awkwardness of what’s to come. You don’t want to think of Jennifer hating you or Ellie being disgusted.

“….on Thursday?”

You're completely distracted, your eyes glazed as Ellie sits across from you. She repeats the question twice before snapping and calling your name. You blink, coming to attention. 

"Huh? What?"

The sounds of the dining hall come flooding back, reminding you where you are.

"I said Dina is coming over for dinner Thursday night," Ellie explains patiently. "And I wanna make it special. So could you help me make something good for dessert?"

"Sure, of course." You pause as you think about it. "I could actually use some practice baking apple tarts. How about I come over Wednesday after your school is done?"

"Great," Ellie says, satisfied.  

"So," you offer gently, not wanting to come off as annoying. "Is it like a date?"

"Don't know how much of a date it can be if Joel is sitting there scowling at the other end of the table," Ellie says with a frown. 

"I don't think he'd do that," you offer. "He'd give you privacy." 

"You don't know Joel," Ellie laughs into her porridge.

Her reply eases your mind. She clearly doesn't even suspect about you and Joel. You both need to talk about how you're going to explain it to Ellie. Something tells you it's got to be handled delicately and it should come from Joel. You don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.

///

"Damn, you're getting really good!"

You flush at the praise from Luke at the side of the target, giggling when Jennifer claps wildly for you. 

"It's just a lucky shot."

"One is lucky," Jennifer assures you, taking the gun from your hand. "Four is a talent."

You feel delight at this. Jennifer is a really good shot so to have her praising your skills makes it feel like you might sincerely be improving. 

You're glad to see her out here pink-cheeked and looking happy. She's even wearing a new jacket she made with embroidered roses along the collar. 

You went to her this morning and after a bit of gentle prodding she decided she was tired of being miserable and that she needed to get out and forget all about Oliver. 

So with Jennifer's gun slung over your shoulder you both knocked on Luke's door and the three of you make your way to the target practice site. 

You've all been taking turns with Jenny's gun, practicing your shots. It's at the range and no one is around. Tin cans and targets are set up far away. 

You watch as Luke sets up the tin cans you knocked over along the log before jogging back, his air huffing in front of him in the chilly air. 

Jennifer focuses her light eyes, lips thinning as she hones in on the targets. Her lean finger wraps around the trigger and then a crack sounds out and you see the first can shoot up into the sky. 

1, 2, 3, 4, 5... All of them go up into the air, knocked perfectly out of the way of the others. 

She readjusts her stance.

... 6,7,8,9,10. 

And on the tenth when the can flies up she shoots again, spearing it out of midair. Your jaw drops as it slams into the snow with finality. 

Just when you were feeling good about your four shots she goes and pulls off a perfect ten. Luke bounces up and down whistling

"Damn, Jenny!" 

You can't help but cheer loudly because that's some remarkably impressive shooting. You feel a tiny stab of jealousy at how easy she makes it look, watching her hand the gun to Luke. 

You take your turn setting up and jog over to the log, uprighting the cans along it for Luke before making your way back through the snow coming to stand next to Jennifer. 

Luke shakes out his arms before raising the weapon and aiming with intense focus. You and Jennifer watch, cheering when he hits most. 

You take a sip of hot chocolate from your Thermos, watching Luke's stance. You make a mental note to square your shoulders more. 

"Hey, come by the shop next week," Jennifer tells you as you both clap at Luke's next shot. "Gotta do the final touches on your dress."

"Sounds great."

Your pulse and heart flutter as you think about yourself in that dress. The graceful way you'll move into the dance, floating between the couples until Joel greets you by bringing you into his arms. You imagine him dipping you, kissing you with gusto, making you swoon inwardly. 

"Your turn."

Luke breaks you from this daydream by handing you the gun with an encouraging smile. You blink before thanking him and taking his spot. 

You raise the gun to your shoulder, bracing it there as Your eyes lower to the scope. The old empty bean can sits there just asking to be knocked over. 

Focus. Go quiet. 

Sometimes it comes to you, that ability to make things go a little quieter. You try to shut out all the noise surrounding you right now but you can't help but catch Luke's low murmur to Jennifer just as you pull the trigger. 

"Have you noticed Joel Miller lately?"

Your gun falters and the shot goes wild, burying itself into the log the cans perch on. You fight to keep your breath even. 

They don't notice your wild shot, both are chatting back and forth, focused on the topic at hand. 

"What do you mean?'

"He's different." Luke's voice is amused as you raise the gun back to your shoulder. "Not as miserable."

"I hadn't really noticed." 

"Bastard must be getting laid."

He and Jennifer share a laugh and you fight to swallow the grin that threatens to spill across your features as you pull the trigger.

///

"We start with the crust because that needs to be refrigerated for thirty minutes.”

It's Wednesday afternoon and you've arrived with all the components needed for apple tarts.

Joel answered the door the second before you knocked, his dark eyes dancing as you smiled at him. You hadn't seen him since Sunday and even though only three days had elapsed you felt yourself hold in a sigh at the sight of him. 

He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Ellie was in the kitchen before sliding a forefinger through the empty belt loop of your jeans. With a gentle tug he pulled you into the house, capturing your lips with his as he closed the door. Then as if everything was normal he gave your ass a pat, nudging you in the direction of the kitchen.

Now you're in the kitchen next to Ellie, vibrating with your desire for him as you pull on your apron, trying very hard to concentrate on the recipe you found in one of the old library books you keep at your house. 

"Will you stay until they're out of the oven?" 

"Sure," you say, trying really hard not to think about Joel in the next room. The two of you begin working on the crust, mixing bowls in hand, butter softening and the sound of faint guitar playing in the background. Joel is playing his guitar and right now you’re dying to listen to him. But you’re here for Ellie and she deserves your undivided attention.

“So, this is all for Dina?”

Ellie flushes to her roots before shrugging; giving a half-smile that is so Joel-coded it makes your chest tighten.

“She uh, she’s good. She gave me a book for me to use when I sketch.”

She awkwardly brushes some of the hair from her face and you’re amused when she leaves behind a swipe of batter along her cheek. You grab a cloth and gently take her chin between your fingers.

“You’re a messy baker,” you tell her with affection, “just like Charlie.”

“Who’s Charlie?”

“My sister.”

Ellie goes quiet at that, allowing you to rub the batter from her face. You work quietly, allowing the dough to rise before starting on the next step, peeling apples. As you do this Ellie brings a chair to sit at next to you at the sink.

“Tell me about Dina and the book.”

"We went for a walk to see the horses and uh, yeah, well she knows I like to draw and stuff so she got me this drawing book. So I can get the proportions right and stuff." 

"Ah, hence the dinner,” you say with a sly wink. “A little payback.”

"Yeah, I wanted to do something nice back and I found some of these old magazines at the library," Ellie tells you. "There was a lot of stupid shit in there and ugly clothes but there was this thing where people write questions to someone?"

"An advice column?"

"Sure. Anyway, it was this girl asking what counted as a date because she wasn't sure if this guy she liked was dating her or just being her friend."

"Oh yeah?" You try to hide the amusement from your face, especially when Ellie looks so serious about the topic. She raises her fingers, counting off what facts she's learned.

"Yeah so the other person says that a romantic date has just the two people on it, and the people dress up nice and they eat together and do an activity. So I'm getting dinner and then we're gonna have dessert and then I dunno, I'll think of an activity." 

Your mouth twitches as you fight back a grin at the innocence of Ellie. Despite everything she must have seen, there is a sweetness and naivety that charms you. 

 "You're really going all out, huh?"

"I want it to be special," Ellie explains, brows furrowed as she looks over the recipe you've written. 

"Trust me Ellie, this is special." 

Ellie doesn't look at you, but you see the blush under her dusting of freckles. The two of you begin adding the dry ingredients to the wet, swirling the mixture until it's ready to be formed. 

"Do you remember your first real date?" 

You take a moment from kneading, trying to recall and then you breathe out a small chuckle, nodding. 

"I do. I was twelve, it was Michael Ramos. He had tons of freckles and his hair was really curly. He asked me to the movies and when he showed up to my house he had these beautiful flowers for me." You smile fondly at the memory. "The movie was terrible and Michael was obnoxious, but I'd never gotten flowers before. I kept them until well after they died in the vase." 

Ellie laughs, imagining such a time. It’s hard for her; she’ll never know what it is to go to the movie theatres, waiting anxiously outside for your date in a new outfit as cars drive by. She’ll never experience the plush seats and dimming lights and the scent of popcorn in the air. She’ll  never see trailers for new movies or sing along to the dancing hot dog telling her to go to the lobby for snacks.

All Ellie will know is a crowded old building with a makeshift screen. She’ll know crowded bench seats and popcorn with no butter. She’ll be happy and content with this, but your heart aches for the traditions she’ll never experience like you did.

"Hey, I got paper," Ellie tells you after a beat. "We could make some of those paper flowers! Then I could give them to Dina!"

“Great idea.”

She scampers off, returning almost immediately with the supplies. The two of you take a seat around the kitchen table and she watches you intently as you fold. The two of you chat about the upcoming dance and target practice. Things are going swimmingly until a creak of wood sounds behind you and you force yourself not to tense.

Ellie glances up from her folded abomination, scowling at Joel as he enters the space.

"Just getting a water," Joel says holding up his hands in mock surrender before retrieving a glass from the cupboard. "Don't lemme ruin girl’s day."

He pours the water into the glass as Ellie wrinkles her nose. 

"Ew, don't call it that," Ellie says as she struggles to fold one of the stems. You smirk, murmuring to Ellie how to double fold the leaf. 

“It’s tricky but the folds need to be really precise,” you explain. “The sharp creases make it possible to fold back.”

You glance up to see Joel watching the two of you, his eyes stuck on the rose you're folding to show Ellie. He must feel your gaze because his eyes drift up to meet yours. He winks at you and you look away, flushing.

“Can you show me that part again?” Ellie asks, frustration lacing her tone. She’s intent on watching your fingers. You fight to keep them from trembling when Joel moves to stand behind your chair. 

You feel the warmth of him there behind you and you're shocked at how turned on you are just having him in the same room. You know you can't look at him too long, can't touch him as he passes. The inability somehow makes it arousing. 

"Those look nice," Joel murmurs in that deep, sexy voice of his. 

"They're fuckin’ hard to fold," Ellie grunts. She's completely consumed with the task at hand, her nose inches from the paper. 

You hold in a giggle when you feel Joel's fingers go to the bottom of your hair, winding a piece around his finger and tugging it gently, playfully. 

"I give up," Ellie sighs and you feel Joel's hand drop from you. He leaves the room and you feel your heartbeat slow a fraction. 

"Don't give up," you say, bringing her a new sheet of paper. "We'll go slow. Step by step." 

When Joel is gone from the room Ellie leans forward, dropping her voice to a whisper meant only for you.

"See what I mean? He's gonna hang around me and Dina and make it weird."

You hold in a laugh. 

"Why don't you just send him over to Tommy's? Tell him you want him out of your hair for the evening. I bet Tommy'll keep him busy doing dishes or changing Douglas's diaper or something."

Ellie laughs at that. "That's a good idea." 

///

You begin the following day by wandering into town to get some groceries, just small staples like fruit and jerky for the days you sleep too late for breakfast or just feel like keeping to yourself.

You clean your house from top to bottom and strangely invested in having your space more colorful, you begin to hang more things on the walls. Paintings given to you during your move here, knick knacks you’ve gathered are put onto the coffee table. Books that rested in boxes are brought out and shoved onto bookshelves.

You stare at your belongings, lingering on the mantle before your feet carry you to Maria’s, your mind fixated on something. Tommy answers the door and encourages you to come in, citing that he’ll take Douglas for a walk while you two visit. The fire roars pleasantly and Maria looks more upbeat than when you saw her last. This encourages you. 

“You look different,” she says as she walks back into the room with two steaming cups of tea. She hands you one before settling on the opposite side of the couch, surveying you.

“Oh?”

“Lighter,” she says, scanning your eyes. “I can’t explain it.”

You give a soft giggle and not want to say much about that you change the subject.

"The party sure looks fun," you say through a sip of your tea.  "I'm making brownies and apple tarts for it."

"Oh yeah?" Maria gives a little half smile at this. "I haven't had apple tarts in years."

"Hopefully mine are decent."

"All your baking is good," she assures you with another sip from her teacup. "Ellie still brags about the pop tarts."  

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Maria smiles. “As for me, I think the turkey is gonna be a nightmare this year.”

"You want help?"

"Nah, apple tarts are more than enough as long as everyone remembers to bring their share. Last year Monica over on Trestle Ave said she was bringing cookies and she showed up empty handed, saying she forgot." Maria rolls her eyes and you giggle. “Except the year before she forgot mashed potatoes too.”

You both giggle over this, talking companionably about decorations (Yes, you and Jennifer have been planning on what to do) and the tree (Joel and you found a great one) and setting up (All three of you are planning to cut it down next week, closer to the event).

And not once does she mention the romance of you and Joel. Not once does she wink and nudge you with an elbow and pry for details and for that you are so grateful. You’re not at a place where you feel really comfortable talking about that yet. You think it’s because you still haven’t told Jennifer.

“Oh, I almost forgot, come with me,” Maria says out of nowhere, gripping your wrist and dragging you to her bedroom.

She pulls you beside the dresser and begins digging around in the top drawer. As she does this you notice the real photograph next to the bed, one you’d never noticed before. It’s of a young Tommy from his army days dressed in fatigues, a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth.

“He and Joel look so alike and yet so different,” you mumble, looking at the photo.

“I wish I had more photos,” she frowns glancing at it. “I have a few of my family, but I’m greedy, I want more.”

You smile.

"Hey can I borrow that photo of Sarah for a day?" You ask. "I'll bring it back tomorrow."

"Of course," Maria shrugs. "It's not going anywhere."

She moves to one side of the room, plucking the photo of Sarah from where it sits and hands it to you. You thank her before shoving it into your pocket. Maria digs in the desk under the window before giving a crow of delight.

“There it is!”

She turns back with a delicate gold chain holding a sweet dark blue sapphire. Or it could be a fancy blue rock; you’d never know the difference.

“That’s beautiful Maria,” you said admiring it. “Are you wearing it to the party?”

“No, you are.”

You look at her confused. She’s smiling broadly.

“I wanted to give you this,” Maria says, slipping the necklace into your palm. “I’ve had it for years and I think you’ll look beautiful in it.”

“Maria I can’t-“

“You can and you will. I want to give it to you. You said the dress Jennifer made you is blue. This’ll go perfect with it.”

You take it, your heart bursting. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever owned. You take it and gingerly place it in your pocket. You can’t wait to put it away in the drawer back home. You might just hang somewhere in the house so you can look at it all day.

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.”

Maria smiles, pulling you into a crushing hug before releasing you. The front door creaks open and you hear Tommy call out.

“Hey honey, Dougie and I are back. Brought you a coffee!”

Maria smiles indulgently before rolling her eyes.

“You know since the… you know,” she drops her voice and winces, “Tommy hasn’t left me alone for more than three minutes. Either its him or one of his babysitters.”

“He’s just worried, I guess.”

“I know,” she says with a small sigh. “I just feel like such a burden at times.”

You grow serious, hand on her shoulder. “Maria, no. Please don’t say that. I don’t know how I would have survived in this place without you.”

Maria isn’t close to crying, instead she has a strangely eerie calm about her. A resilience you don’t remember seeing before. She hugs you again, thanking you and citing that she’ll come to your place for coffee next time.

You bound home with a spring in your step, breathing deeply as the crisp air of the day invigorates you. You make a small detour to see Arthur and Penny before heading home with your groceries from earlier, thoughts on what to make for dinner. Perhaps you’ll have Jennifer over for dinner and talk to her then.

///

You’re in your kitchen later that evening thinking of how you’ll admit everything to Jennifer. Perhaps over dinner tonight you could soften her up? Remind her of how wonderful and understanding she is. Then the two of you could take a walk tomorrow and chat about it further, you could tell her then? Then it might be more palatable.

You’re still mulling this over when a knock sounds. You’re confused, walking over and pulling open the door.

Joel stands there, looking as handsome as ever. He smells different, like he’s wearing cologne or something. It’s heady and masculine and it makes you blink rapidly as you open the door wider.

"Joel. Hi. C’mon in."

You step back, allowing him to enter despite your confusion at his presence.  

"Told Ellie I was goin' out to give her privacy for her date," Joel says, stepping into your house. "You mind if I stay here for a bit?"

You close the door behind him. 

"Of course, c'mon in. I was just about to start dinner," you tell him, pleased.

"No need."

From behind his back he produces the bag in his left hand, the scent of chicken and potatoes emitting from it. He gives you a shy smile. 

"Stopped by the dining hall on my way here." 

"Amazing," you say grinning widely. "Follow me and I'll grab you a drink and we can dig into this."  

"Sure, thanks," he says clearing his throat. 

Before you can move he's brought his hand out from behind his back, thrusting a bouquet of wilted red paper roses towards you. Many have been folded over and re-creased. 

"I made some after you left the other day," he explains. "Ellie was right. They're hard to do." 

You feel a smile breaking out over your features. You take the bouquet from him, holding them as dearly as if they were real. 

"At least these ones won't die on ya." 

He quickly turns pink as you smile dreamily at him. 

"But only if you wanna keep em, I mean." Joel looks flustered. "You don't have to. I know they're kinda ugly but I remember you said red was your favorite color so-"

You wrap your arms around his middle before standing on tiptoes to kiss him. He melts into it and you feel him relax in your arms. You can’t believe that big tough Joel Miller spent time hunched over his table, folding and re-folding paper just so he’d have flowers to give to you.

"I love them, Joel."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome," he replies, ducking to kiss you again. 

You quickly place them into the vase along with your yellow flowers from weeks ago. You blink back the tears that are sitting there, just waiting to fall. To distract yourself you bring out a few apple tarts from your ice box, placing them in the oven. You set it to warm, wanting them to brown slowly. You don't want to rush this dinner. You want to take your time having Joel in your home.

"Can I help?" 

"Nah, just relax." 

Joel nods, fingers drumming anxiously on the table. 

"I like baking but I don't really enjoy cooking," you admit as you slice up the chicken and plate it, quickly followed by the potatoes and green beans. 

"I don't mind it," Joel says, taking a sip of his sweet tea. "Can't say it's my favorite thing to do."

You nod, passing him his plate and sitting next to him. The two of you begin to eat and you catch Joel glancing at the flowers in the center of the table. 

It's strange sitting across from Joel in your own home, digging into a dinner that smells delicious. It feels strangely domestic to have this man sitting across from you, eyes raising to yours between bites. 

"This is nice," you say without thinking. Embarrassment creeps up your neck the second the comment hits the air. But Joel surprises you by smiling and nodding. 

"Yeah," Joel says warmly. "It is." 

You go back to your dinner, taking slow bites and trying not to stare at Joel. 

Is this a date?

You can't ask that out loud, that would be humiliating. But it sure feels like a date. Flowers, dinner, being together one on one. All that's missing is an activity, according to the article Ellie read. 

If he suggests an activity this is definitely a date, you tell yourself. You can't help but observe that you really want this to be a date. 

"So Ellie and Dina," Joel says between bites. "Who saw that one coming?"

"Me."

 Joel raises his brows at you, amused. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. She was always complaining about Dina," you offer with a smile around your fork. "But I saw the looks she shot her."

"Really?"

You nod. Joel looks stumped. "I thought she hated her."

"That's how I knew she liked her," you say. "How does the saying go? It's a thin line between love and hate? Passion is passion."

Joel blinks, letting your words register. 

"It reminded me of Charlotte and this guy in her algebra class. He teased her all the time, for months. She hated him and I mean hated him," you push your peas around your plate as you reminisce. "Then Valentine's Day rolls around and who do you think got her chocolates and a card confessing he had a huge crush on her?"

Joel's fork is beside his empty plate, his focus rapt on this story.  "Really?"

"Yeah."

"What did she say?"

You giggle. 

"She smashed the chocolates and told him that next time he liked a girl he should try being nice to her."

Joel laughs loudly, the rich sound ringing through the air as you grin. You like that sound, it fills your small home and makes it feel cozy. 

"Damn, she and Ellie would have gotten along."

"You know, they actually would have," you acknowledge with a laugh. "Charlie didn't take shit."

"You called her Charlie?"

"Ever since we were kids."

And then out of nowhere it's there on the tip of your tongue. Desire to tell Joel everything. About Rock River, about the scar you wear. But the moment is so peaceful, this evening so beautiful and you want it to stay that way. You have so few truly happy memories, you want to cherish it. You want to file it away, a movie you can return to and watch over and over if things get grim. 

Joel must notice something in your face that betrays your mixed emotions because he glances over your shoulder, breaking the tension. 

"Damn, those tarts smell good."

Then he stands, taking his empty plate and yours over to the sink. You watch him, belatedly springing into action. 

"You don't have to-"

"S'okay," Joel insists gently, kissing the top of your head as he walks by. “You did enough.”

You feel your heart swelling as you watch Joel carry the plates and cutlery to the sink, pouring in soap. Joel's rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, humming gently to himself as the sink fills up, bubbles dotting the water. 

You launch yourself off the chair and go to your cupboard. You crouch down to pull out the red coffee tin from your low cupboard before straightening. You set the kettle on the stove, already half full from this morning's tea. 

Joel glances over, intrigued at what you're doing. 

"Thought you might want coffee with dessert,” you explain. “Interested?”

"Yeah, I'd love some."

You smile, pleased with yourself before scooping the coffee out of the tin. The smell is divine, rich and calming. You pour it into the paper filter, shoved in a homemade drip system you made out of an old sugar lid. 

Joel is drying the dishes by the time the kettle squeals. He turns, wiping his hands on the towel as he finishes, watching you pour the water over the coffee system. 

"Clever."

"Necessity is the mother of invention," you quote as you pour the remaining water over your teabag in the mug placed next to his. Joel puts the plates and cutlery away as you set the kettle back onto the stove and seal the plastic lid over the coffee canister. 

"You can take it with you if you want," you offer to Joel, holding the tin in his direction. 

Joel shakes his head, coming to take the coffee mug instead. 

"Nah, keep it. That way I'll have it to drink when I'm here." 

Something about the casual way he says it makes your heart flutter. Like he's planning on being here at your place often enough to need it.  The thought pleases you immensely as you watch him come back to the table. 

You bring out the apple tarts, inhaling the rich aroma of cinnamon. It takes you right back to fall nights with your family. Joel is wandering around your living room with his coffee mug, sipping slowly as he takes in the portrait over the hearth. 

"You got it framed," he observes. His voice sounds strangely unimpressed. 

"Yeah, the woodshop guys whipped it up for me," you say over your shoulder as you plate the warm tarts. 

Joel hums, but you think you can hear judgment in it. You have no idea why. You hear his footfalls as he moves around your space. You watch him peer at the bookshelf and table before he turns to you.

"You got playing cards?" 

"Uh, yeah I think so," you say absently motioning towards the cupboard by the door. "Top drawer." 

You watch Joel dig around inside the drawer before finding them next to a few old pencils and a collection of dust. He brings them back, his eyes on you as you place the plate of tarts in the center of the table before you sit back down with your tea. 

"You wanna play Texas hold ‘em?" Joel asks as he takes his seat. 

"How cliché, Texas," you muse, taking one of the tarts off the plate. "How about crazy eights instead?"

"Damn haven't played that one in a while," Joel says shuffling the cards. You watch how smoothly he does it, fingers snapping the cards together, loosely shuffling. He deals you both eight cards and as you lift them to read you realize something. 

Playing cards together is an activity.

This is a date. You're on a real date with Joel Miller. Your cheeks heat as you glance at your cards, smiling widely. 

"So what are we playing for?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"Whenever I played cards with friends or my sister the winner got something as a prize." 

Joel's brow raises, a smirk crossing his plush lips. He tilts back in his chair slightly, pressing his lips together in thought. 

"What were you hopin' for?"

"I dunno," you shrug, distracted as you parse through the cards in your hands. "Winner picks I guess. Anyway, I think I go first."

Forty minutes later, six tarts, two drained mugs and the two of you are both on three. You watch as Joel lays down the remainder of his cards. 

"Two."

"You're cheating," you huff, knowing he's not. Joel breaks out into a soft chuckle, amused at your poor sportsmanship. 

"Don't need to cheat when I'm this good." 

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and the game continues. You crow when you pick up a six of spades on your following turn, matching the remaining six of hearts in your hand. You slap it onto the discard pile in the center of the table. 

"I'm on two!"

Joel just smiles patiently at you, holding his growing collection. You can tell he thought he'd be out by now. You pick up the two cards at the top of the deck, your heart leaping. It's the two of clubs and the two of hearts. 

Joel scowls, looking at his hand before picking up another card from the deck. You slap down your pair, eyes bright with delight. 

"One!" 

You reach for the top of the deck, sliding the top card face down towards you. Joel watches this, his dark eyes tracking your card. Joel and you look across the table from one another, cards in your hands. You're playing for something, you just don't know what. 

He places down a jack of hearts, quickly followed by the five of hearts and the five of clubs. He still has two cards in his wide fingers. Tension is now palpable in the room. It wasn't there for the majority of the game, but you feel it pounding between you now, so strong you can almost taste it. 

Joel's eyes dip to your chest and then your mouth and then finally back up to your eyes. It's clear what Joel is going to demand if he wins this game and it makes you swallow nervously. It wasn't where your head was at previously but now that's all you can think about. Demanding a prize from Joel Miller, anything you want. Now your eyes drop to roam his body, your thighs pressing together. 

"Go on," Joel encourages softly. "Let's see what you've got." 

You glance down at your card, licking your lips nervously. You feel a broad grin stretch across your face as you slap the card down on the pair of fives.

An ace of hearts. 

"I win!" You pump your hands in the air dramatically. "And the crowd goes wild!"

You raise your hands to cup around your mouth as you make fake group cheering noises. Joel watches all of this with a soft little smile on his face. You lower your hands, unsure of what to make of his expression. 

"What?" 

"Nothin'," Joel says with eyes butter soft and a voice to match. "Just like seein’ you happy is all." 

He must realize how sincere and sweet that sounds because he clears his throat and tosses his remaining cards onto the table. 

"Guess I should let you win all the time."

"Yeah right," you laugh, taking the cards and shuffling them together before placing them into the card sleeve. "You just can't accept that I'm finally better than you at something."

Joel looks like he wants to say something but decides better. He just watches you, dark eyes scanning your features as you place the cards to the side. The undercurrent of tension is still there, a gentle thrumming that tightens your nipples under your sweater. 

You rise from your chair slowly, noting that its only Joel's eyes follow sharply as you approach him, the rest of him remains still. You come to stand next to him seated in the chair, your pulse ticking. 

"I won," you murmur.

Joel remains sitting, but he swivels around to face you. You watch him reach around your legs and you feel his wide hands come to land on the back of your thighs. Your stomach jumps when you feel his palms slowly sliding up. 

"Yeah, you did."

His big hands are warm through your jeans, fingers tightening as they curve around your ass.

"So I think it's time for my prize," you whisper, almost embarrassed to say it out loud. 

His cock lengthens in his jeans, straining against the zipper and Joel tugs you to come stand between his parted legs. Your pelvis tilts towards him when he begins to knead your ass, lust clear in his expression, but his eyes never leave your face. 

"Whatever you want it's yours," Joel murmurs eyes like bright coals as he waits for you to decide. 

"Anything?"

Joel tilts his head, amused. "Within reason."

You smile back, eyes disappearing into crescent moons before you nod. His smile fades slowly when you begin to kneel between his legs, your jeans hitting the floor gently as you grip his thighs on the descent. 

His breathing is elevated as he watches you smile up at him from your position. He tenses, flinching away when your fingers go to his belt. 

"Hey," be rasps, hands coming to cover yours. "What're you-"

"I'm collecting my prize," you remind him firmly, pushing away his hands. "Anything I wanted, yeah?"

Joel hesitates, dark eyes bouncing between your mouth and your gaze. He's throbbing under his jeans; you can feel it through the denim. Finally he relents, leaning back in his seat with a creak of the old wood at his back. 

"Yeah." 

You nod satisfied before tugging down the zipper through the teeth of his fly. He watches you smiling, nibbling your lower lip in anticipation as you pull him from his boxers. 

He's hard of course, the weeping tip a rosy blush that has you aching between your own legs. You are momentarily snapped from your trance when you feel Joel's palm curving around your cheek. 

"You don't have to do this," he murmurs down at you, concern marking his features. 

"I know," you answer back honestly. "If I thought I had to I'd never do it."

Joel chuckles at your honesty. Then he watches as you lower your mouth to his waiting cock. You keep your eyes on him as your tongue gives a gentle drag around the tip. Joel swallows, grunting at the sight.

You swallow him shortly after, finding yourself desperate to have him in your mouth again. When all you can taste and breathe and feel is him in your mouth you sigh happily, eyes glazed as you stare up at him.

"You sure you like doin' this?' Joel murmurs, the indecision clear in his eyes. "Still?"

"Mhm," you offer, your mouth stuffed full of him. You don't just like it, you love it. 

And unlike all the times before, Joel is so gentle. He barely moves his hips and his eyes are on you the entire time. When in your eagerness you take too much of him and gag, he presses his bottom into the chair, trying to inch out of your mouth. 

"Hey, hey, you really don't have to do this." 

His hand comes to cup your cheek, thumb slowly rubbing as he pulls you off of him. It's tender and sweet. 

"I want to," you whisper. "Please, Joel."

He’s breathing heavily through his nose, his eyes flitting between yours and then finally, he nods.

Your mouth circles the head, tongue flicking the underside of the mushroom shape until you feel his legs start to twitch. Then you take all of him, tonguing him as you go. 

"Fuck, you look so good like that," he rumbles, his mouth parted. You preen under the compliment, smiling around his cock.   

You and Joel never look away from one another and you revel in the rumbled helpless sounds he makes as he watches. You continue like this, taking your time, enjoying the intimacy of the act in a completely new way. 

"You take what's yours," Joel murmurs, echoing his words of days earlier. 

He comes hard, but instead of it being done with cruelty it feels intimate, like he's letting you see a private part of him as he gasps, his eyes never leaving yours as he floods your mouth. You swallow him down, savoring the taste of him. Joel's cheeks are blotchy pink and he's breathing heavily. You smile up at him, blinking slowly like a satisfied cat. 

You squeal when he launches forward, gripping you around the middle and bringing you into his lap. He grips your jaw, kissing you fiercely as you squirm along his softening length. You feel heady and powerful making a man like Joel come apart like that. His taste still lingers in your mouth as your tongue dabs his. 

Your arms circle his neck, holding onto him as he grips your thighs tightly. You roll your hips against his, unable to stop the whimpering that escapes you at the pleasure it brings. 

"Those sounds," Joel groans against your mouth. "Those fuckin' sounds you make." 

His hands are curving around your ass, holding tightly, urging your core against his pelvis. You rut against him, sitting on his lap, kissing him lazily. You can't get over how natural it feels to hold him to you, to have him in your home like he belongs there. 

"You're so fuckin' sexy," Joel murmurs between kisses, nudging your nose with his, urging you to tilt your head. You move your head back, his mouth nibbling down your jaw as you moan at the sensation. No one has ever called you sexy, you don’t even think the word fits you. But Joel is rutting against you and you believe he believes it.

"Joel," you breathe when his teeth scrape your pulse point gently. Joel groans into your neck at the sound of his name on your lips. 

You feel him twitch to life between your thighs and you can barely hold in your pout when he urges you off his lap. But it's replaced by a grin when he herds you in the direction of your bedroom, swatting your bottom playfully, citing:

"Now it's time for the runner up prize." 

You can only laugh at that until his mouth meets your core and then all you can do is moan. He works quickly and it's only a matter of time before your hips are rolling against his mouth as his wide palms pin you in place. 

Your hands are fisted in the sheets as he pulls pleasured noises from you. He holds your thighs in position over his shoulder as he sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking with his tongue. You let out a sharp cry.

"Joel, I'm so close!" 

You watch his eyes slowly crack open, pussy drunk as he looks up the length of your undulating body. The sight causes you to arch your spine, and when you release you can only hear the sound of Joel's delirious pleasure as he feasts between your legs. Then just as you feel you’re going to pass out from the bliss he tugs on a condom and lines himself up with your core.

"Gonna take me now," he tells you, hips gently rutting against yours. "Gonna take it all, yeah?" 

You nod, already feeling so loose limbed and relaxed. He smiles down at you, his cock circling your entrance before with aching slowness, he sinks into you. The sensation causes both of you to groan in unison, eyes locked. 

"Look at that," Joel whispers, groaning as your cunt starts to milk him, eyes trained on where you join. He feeds his cock into you until your clit rasps against the curls at the base of his cock. "Look at you takin' me so well." 

He moves slowly against you, his body curling over yours; protector, leader. Your mouth is open in a silent scream, body jerking under his as the pleasure floods you. 

“That's my good fuckin' girl," he grunts before his mouth comes crashing against yours again.

Then it's frantic, his hips rutting against yours, his arms holding you to him and you feel him release deep within you through the condom before you're tumbling quickly into a second pleasured release. Sweaty and smiling in the afterglow you snuggle together.

“I liked your prize.”

“Me too.”

///

A short while later you exit the shower in your sleep clothes to find Joel still lying in the bed, under the sheets. He looks like he's contemplating something. You turn off the bedside light. 

"Can you stay the night?" you whisper, climbing under the covers and snuggling up to him. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah." You feel Joel smile at the crown of your head. "I can stay."

The room is dark, the moon low in the sky this evening. Everything feels quiet and calm. Joel’s arms are around your, holding you to his side. Your fingertips trail along his sternum, feeling the warm flesh there. Joel’s finger begins tracing the scar under your ribs. The one you know he’s curious about.

“It was an old woman that did it,” you whisper in the darkness. “She attacked me when we broke into her house. She wasn't evil or anything. Just a scared woman who thought I was there to hurt her."

You don’t miss the way Joel’s arms tighten around you. You lapse into silence, the soft tick of your alarm clock the only sound aside from your breathing.

“You never said what happened to your sister.”

His voice is soft, softer than the way he holds you, softer than the way his breath feels huffing against your neck. You don’t answer him. He feels your hesitation and so he changes tracks.

"What's your favorite memory with her?”

The question floods your eyes and brings a shaky smile to your face. Your favorite memory? How can you pick just one? In all the years of sisterhood there were so many to choose from. And yet as you lay here in the quiet of night one comes to mind immediately.

"Easter, I was in the fourth grade, she was in the third. We always had to wear these stupid matching dresses and frilly socks and bows in our hair for the family pictures and then this big family dinner my mom would host. We looked fucking ridiculous. I wish I had the photos to show you.”

You hear Joel’s soft chuckle.  

“Anyway, the dress that year was really itchy. I mean I don't know what the fabric was, but it was awful. The tag drove me nuts and all I wanted was to be rid of it. I was almost in tears with how much I hated it and I told Charlotte as much.” You shift in the bed, your memory carrying you away. “ So we're starting the hunt for eggs, mom's got the camcorder following us around while dad is giving hints where to look. And all of a sudden I feel these hands come up from behind me and shove hard. I go flying, the eggs go flying out of my basket, I slide into the biggest mud puddle, I'm drenched, the skirt part of the dress is torn, and it’s done for.”

“Oh shit,” Joel chuckles again.

“Yeah, and I turn around and there's Charlotte with a strange little smile on her face. And you have to understand that Charlotte was the good daughter. Never did anything wrong. And I'm crying because it hurt and my knees sting and my eggs are gone. But Charlotte is just smiling down at me until my mom marches over all furious, she saw everything. Charlotte is immediately sent inside after a swat on her butt and I have to inside and change into some old dress from Christmas. A lot more comfortable.”

“Less ruffles?”

“Ruffle-free,” you tell him giggling. “Charlotte and I shared a room and I remember going to change and she was on the bed, all teary from being grounded. I remember asking her why she did it because she was never a violent kid. And she looks at me all serious and goes, ‘Now you don’t have to wear the itchy dress.’”

Joel makes a sound halfway between a chuckle and an ‘awww’.

“So I brought her my chocolate basket and thanked her. And The thing is I remember confessing to my mom that Charlotte and I hated the dresses and my mom telling me "Charlotte doesn't mind." And I told her "Sure she does. She hates it just as much as me." My mom had this little smile on her face. "You know why Charlotte never complains that I get you the same matching dresses every year? Because she thinks the two of you look like twins. You're her hero." I've never forgotten that. Her hero."

The smile dies along with the warmth in your eyes as the last sentence is uttered.

And then the fire is extinguished, the flame snuffed out. 

///

Jennifer and you walk quietly through the snow, darkness encroaching. Your feet feel heavy, your body hollow. You look at her, heart sinking when you see she’s not even attempting to make eye contact with you.

"Please say something, Jenny." 

She looks upset, her beautiful face crumpled. She winces away from you as the two of you come to a stop. Snow whirls around you, the world around you both grey. This is not going how you wanted it to. Jennifer looks devastated.

"You knew I liked him."

Tears run down her face. You wish you could hug her but your arms won't move from where they hang at your sides. 

"You lied to me." 

"I didn't mean to, Jennifer." 

Your eyes go to the ground, watching the flakes circle your ankles.

"He's going to break your heart." 

You look up from the snow in just enough time to see the knife raised above Jennifer's head in her shaking hand. The blade is brought down brutally, stabbed into the center of your chest with a wet thunk. Red blooms under the wound and your eyes fly from the injury to Jennifer. 

But it's not Jennifer anymore, it's Charlotte. Red runs from the deep sockets where her eyes once were, her nails black and broken. When she bares her teeth they're rotted, many missing. She leans forward and her stringy hair clings to her sagging flesh. She bares her teeth again. 

"Where were you?"

"I'm sorry!" You cry out, the injury forgotten. You reach for Charlotte, trying to grip her but she's floating back from you, her hands outstretched. 

"Don't leave me!" 

You scream out, running after your little sister but your feet won't move fast enough. She's being pulled by an unseen force, disappearing into the ether. You scream again, ragged and desperate. 

"Wake up!" 

Someone is shaking your shoulders and you jerk awake mid-sob, your entire body trembling. Your legs are tangled in the sheets and your hair is soaked with anxious sweat. You blink in the darkness, taking a moment to register where you are. All you know is that you're crying and you're terrified. 

You feel strong arms envelop you, pulling up into a strong, firm body that begins rocking you gently.

"Hey, you're safe, you're safe." 

Joel’s voice is thick with sleep and it rumbles against your ear. 

"Shhh, shhh, you're okay," Joel soothes, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're okay."

You cling to his sleep-warmed body as tears wet the front of his t-shirt. Your fingers are claws, digging into him like you'll never let go. His mouth is at the curve of your ear. 

"What happened?" 

His softness, his strength, his gentle way of sitting there and holding you gives you the ability to find words. 

"N-nightmare," you hiccup. 

You blink away the damp to see Joel peering at you in the darkness. He brushes the hair from your eyes. 

"Wanna tell me about it?"

You shake your head, feeling your face fall again as you think of the pain and the hurt in dream Jennifer's eyes. Of Charlotte’s screams. You sniffle, bowing your head into the crook of his neck and continuing to cry softly. 

Joel holds you, waiting for you to catch your breath. The tears and whimpering cries soon ebb, leaving you sagging against him. Your face is hot, the tears brushed away by the back of your arm. 

"You wanna glass of water or somethin'?"

His fingers skate up and down your spine, his voice a rumble against your ear. If you hold your breath you can hear his heartbeat slow and steady. 

"No. I'm okay."

You gently extricate yourself from him, lowering yourself back onto your pillow. Joel does the same, rolled onto his side, gazing at you. 

Joel is a man that's often hard to read and you think it's the wall he presents to the world, a way of guarding the softness in him. But half asleep and with you there's nothing flinty in the way he looks at you. 

Your palm rests between your bodies on the mattress. His hand covers it, thumb brushing your knuckles. You welcome his touch, eyes locked on his. His even breathing and his touch are comforting to you as the dream fades in its terror.  

"It was my sister," you say quietly. "Charlotte."

Joel nods, his beard rasping against the covers. He doesn't push you for any further information; he just lays there with quiet calm radiating from him.  There's something about the way he holds your silence and your pain that makes you feel safe. You know that you could pretend to go back to sleep, that you could just ignore what happened. But something compels you to tell him. Something no one else in the entire world knows.

"Joel, I want to tell you about Rock River."

WARNINGS/TAGS/DO NOT READ FURTHER UNLESS YOU WANT SHIT TO BE POTENTIALLY SPOILED.

tags/warnings: romance, love, soft!Joel, ANGST, gore, blood, Animal death. Human death, mentions of guns, P in V (protected), dirty talk, trauma, clickers. I think that's it.

--------------------------------

TAGLIST

Please note that due to the volume of people asking to be added to my taglists (thank you all!) I have stopped adding to the list and started an update blog here that you can follow asap for all stories!

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Decisions, Decisions

Click here for my masterlist.

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Notes - If this is ooc or some things are wrong I’m sorry! I literally know nothing about tlou other than what I’ve seen from episode one.

Prompt - ‘Sometimes you make the wrong decision and that leads you to the right decision.’

The thing about the end of the world is that nobody expected it. Sure it was a thing everyone knew would happen one day, one of the many, indisputable facts of life, but nobody ever thought it would happen to them. When people pictured the end of the world it was usually a wave of fire and panic before nothing, everyone expected nothingness at the end of the world.

So when the world did end on some random day in September people didn’t realise it for what it was, not yet. There was no end worlding bang, no thing in the sky falling down to destroy everything.

There was panic though, God was there panic. Every person was consumed by that panic, that fear of what was happening, so consumed that they couldn’t think past it, couldn’t think about whether there was a future after this.

It was the end of the damned world and yet the world stayed standing.

There was fire, a lot of fire, cities, houses, cars and planes went up in flames, smoke spreading fast and thick until people struggled to breathe through it. There was screaming too, people lay on the ground screaming as the dead bit into them, people screamed as they ran from the dead who moved too quick, people screamed as the military raised their weapons and shot them just because they had been ordered to.

The world stayed standing but everything else ended.

Communications had long since stopped working, if you were alone when it happened then you were alone for good…at least for a while. If you were one of the lucky ones you kept yourself safe until you could get taken in by the official quarantine zones. If you weren’t lucky then the dead would make quick but painful work of you.

Those were the two kinds of people nowadays, the lucky and the unlucky, the dead and the survivors.

Then there was you.

You weren’t lucky, you weren’t a survivor. When the world ended you had panicked along with everyone else. You were alone in Texas, it hadn’t even been a month since you moved out there for some job you had sworn was going to change your life.

You had no idea how you survived as long as you had, months into the outbreak or whatever this thing was, you were tired. The panic still existed, it consumed your every waking minute, you paused before turning a corner, held your breath at a creak in the house. You were trying to make your way to one of the safety points the government had set up, the ones closest to you all filled and your feet ached as every car you passed failed to work.

You were tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being scared, tired of being alone, you were tired of being tired.

So when you left a house you had spent the night in and heard a noise to your right you knew you had a split second to make your decision. Did you want to die? No, of course you didn’t, the answer came to you straight away but then so did the next question; did you want to live?

The answer didn’t come to you so clearly this time. You didn’t want to die but what was there to live for anymore. This was the world now, no hope, no cures, nothing. Why would anyone want to live in this world? It wasn’t living anymore, it was surviving one day just to survive the next.

And that was your answer wasn’t it, there was nothing to live for so why were you still fighting?

You saw it coming for you out of the corner of your eyes before you scrunched them shut, bracing yourself for the pain and hoped it would be quick. You felt its hand grab you before it went limp and fell to the floor and you let out a shuddering breath as your eyes flew open and down to the ground before turning to look around.

You weren’t lucky, you weren’t a survivor; you were something else. You were saved, saved by a man who looked as tired as you were, saved by a man who look like he was carrying a hefty weight on his shoulders, a man who scowled and shook his head as he snapped at you, asking what the hell you were thinking.

As he stepped closer to you your mind began running at a mile a minute. The main thing you felt was relief, thankful this man had made a decision for you, thankful he hadn’t left your fate up to you.

When he was close enough you didn’t even think, you couldn’t think properly, instead you threw your arms around him and hugged yourself to his chest. The man let out a small huff as he went tense in your arms before he sighed and wrapped your shaking figure in his arms.

“You’re ok.” He told you, his voice was gruff as he spoke and you couldn’t stop the sob that left you, one of the man’s hands lifting to cup the back of your head.

It had been so long since you had spoken to another person, you didn’t know who to trust these days but months of isolation were bound to make you just a little bit desperate for human contact.

“Sorry,” you said as you pulled away, voice croaky from not speaking for so long. “Sorry, I um, thank you.”

“You’re alright.” He told you again before his eyes ran over you, checking for something before his frown deepened. “Where’s your weapon?”

They were already dead, kept moving by whatever virus or parasite had infected them but still…it had never sat right with you to kill them. So you didn’t. It had been months since the world ended and you hadn’t killed a single one of them.

You weren’t a survivor, you weren’t lucky. You were careful and you calculated every single move you made.

You were tired.

“I don’t have a weapon.” You watched his frown deepen even more if it were possible.

“You don’t have a- how the hell have you stayed alive?” He asked you and you couldn’t do more than shrug at him. “You were ready to let that thing get you.”

It wasn’t a question, he had witnessed it himself and you weren’t going to correct him. Both of you knew you were grateful for his intervention.

Joel got it, he really did. Some days it took all his energy to not put a bullet in his own head or be done with it and let the dead have at him. The months since Sarah had been killed, had died in his arms, had been the worst of his life. He got you being ready to leave it all behind because most days he was right there with you.

And Joel looked at you and saw himself. He saw the tiredness, the bone deep exhaustion, he saw the hurt and the brokenness that felt like it would never mend. He saw himself in you but he also saw you, he saw the way you didn’t carry a weapon, he had watched a moment that was probably your most vulnerable and he had watched the relief in your features as you fell against him.

It didn’t take him much longer to make his decision.

“C’mon we gotta make the most of the daylight.” Joel said after a few moments of silence and began moving before you could even register his words.

In the span of five minutes you were making two life altering choices, you regretted you first decision but you had a feeling you were making the right decision this time and trailed after Joel as he led the way and for the first time in months it felt easier to breath as you made your way through the city, watching as Joel lay a protective arm in front of you, pushing you behind him, as he dealt with the dead.

__________

Joel Miller Taglist -

  New character, add yourself to the taglist.

Thank you so much for reading!🤎

Reflection of the Moon masterlist

Joel Miller x f!reader Explicit, 18+ No use of y/n

Series summary: An affair and resulting pregnancy with Joel in post-outbreak Jackson forces you both to reflect on what it means to forgive.

Warnings: Smut, angst, age gap, pregnancy, infidelity, grief, emotional unavailability, love, mutual pining, possessiveness, pregnancy kink, acts of service.

🌙 Chapter 1: First one's free

🌙 Chapter 2: Bet you do

🌙 Chapter 3: What do you want?

🌙 Chapter 4: Stuck with me

🌙 Chapter 5: You're a mess

🌙 Chapter 6: Eyes on me

🌙 Chapter 7: I'm all yours

🌙 Chapter 8: Couldn't wait

🌙 Epilogue

I have ditched my taglists, due to the majority of tags not working, and have created a notifications blog instead. Follow Angelic Notifs and turn your notifications on if you want my new fics served directly to you!

Balsam Series Masterlist in progress

This is a story about trauma. What trauma does to a person, and what trauma does to a community. And how, in the midst of it, people find their way to joy, delight— even love.

Pairing: Joel Miller x original female character Summary: After the events of tlou, Joel and Ellie try to establish a “normal life” in Jackson, but neither of them are any good at normal. A town doctor tries to care for residents who have experienced unspeakable trauma, and struggles to overcome her own past at the same time. Joel finds himself drawn to her, as their lives become increasingly intertwined. Meanwhile, outside Jackson, troubling things are happening...

Chapter 1: Some Kind of Noble Calling Chapter 2: Knife to the Jugular Chapter 3: Every Brown Blade of Grass Chapter 4: A Little Cemetery

Comment if you want to be tagged with updates!

Just Too Good To Be Gone Masterlist

(Joel Miller x female reader insert)

UPDATED 12/7/2023

(Header made by the incredibly talented @stealyourblorbos​)

Just Too Good To Be Gone Playlist:

Listen on Spotify

Detailed info/warnings on individual update pages

Tag list sign up link in bio

While I’m imagining Pedro Pascal as the Joel in these stories, I’m sticking with a few game-canon things.

The outbreak takes place in 2013.

Joel was 29 in 2013, and so in the “present” (when he’s with Reader), he’s 49-50

This series was started BEFORE the Remake came out. Joel’s canonical birthday according to that is 9/26/1981 - HOWEVER I am keeping that he was born in 1984 (like we all thought for almost a decade) just because I’ve gone too far to change it now.

While she isn’t explicitly given a birthday or any physical characteristics, the reader insert was 22-23 at the time of the outbreak - so it’s a 6-7 year age difference between her and Joel.

There will be spoilers from both games in this series.

Story is listed in chronological order on this masterlist, BUT I am still filling things in as I go - so it is not complete.

NSFW/Smut will be marked with an *

- Spring/Summer 2034: 

A Detour in Your New Life - Coming Soon

Still Chasing For That Feeling  (2.1k)

Waiting For This Sky To Fall (11.1k)

Everything’s Changing Now

Part 1: Let It In  (‘Cause I Want You So) (10.3k)

Part 2: We Could Live Like Kings (If We Take A Risk)* (12.5k)

Harder To Find What’s Right (5.2k)

Promise Not To Stop When I Say When (11.3k)

- Autumn 2034

Help Me Get Away From Myself

The Cabins / The Whiskey - (small batch)

Part 1: You Let Me Complicate You (7.9k)

Part 2: The Only Thing That Works For Me* (14.7k)

Everybody’s Waiting For The Next Surprise

Part 1: Take A Chance And Roll The Dice Part 2: This is Halloween* (15.6k)

- Winter 2034/2035

Your Eyes Outshine The Town (9.6k)

- Spring 2035 

You’re Tellin’ Me Something Real (6.3k)

Can’t Swallow What I’m Thinkin’ (5.3k)

Found My Place in The Sun (936 words)

- Summer 2035

Some Things Are Meant To Be (7.8k)

Lessons You Learn From A Past You Can’t Change

Part 1: Constants Like Gravity, Heartbreak and Shame (10.1k)

Part 2: Nothing To Lose Is A Path You Can Choose* (10.6k)

 - Autumn 2035

We’ll Feel It All Tonight * (16.3k)

No One Sings Like You Anymore - Coming Soon

- Winter 2035

More Than You Could Ever Know (5.3k)

- Spring 2036

Make This Old Heart Give In* (14.7k)

Joel at the wedding (art by @/stealyourblorbos)

Summer 2036

Burdened Black Heart - Coming Soon

 - Summer 2037

The Colors I See* (3.8k)

Spring 2038

All I Ever Needed* (12.3k)

Astoria Hot Springs

Men Who Are Fighting To Be Warm (Joel Miller NSFW Alphabet)* (11.8k)

Extras:

Trick or Treat Joel Commission from @valkblue​

Bound to the Smuggler - a birthday surprise by @stealyourblorbos​

Joel and Reader’s love languages (answered ask!)

Joel and JJ (And Ellie and Dina) (answer based on picture ask)

Joel and flower crowns (answered ask!)

Just Too Good To Be Gone Banners (all made by @stealyourblorbos and they are too pretty to not show off!)

Original / Alternate A / Alternate B /

always yours- a joel miller x reader

summary: joel has carried guilt with him his entire life, especially after losing you many years ago. you were young and naive, and joel was cold and distant, a match that simply wasn’t meant to be. (so he thought.) when he and ellie finally make it to wyoming, he’s in for the surprise of a lifetime.

warnings: joel pov for a bit, pining, so so much pining, ellie and joel dynamics, a lot of angst, various flashbacks throughout the story, guilt is one of the main themes of this piece of writing, a rather large age gap that is the center of joel’s guilt, a very brief mention of joel having sex with another woman (tess), post outbreak, and of course- smut. (allusion to m receiving oral, brief female masturbation, unprotected sex, cream pie, f receiving oral, some dirty talk.) mdni

The smell of pine swirled lazily in the air, the promise of a fresh snowstorm making its way through the tree line like the wafting scent of slow baking cookies. The white ground crunched beneath Joel’s leather boots, imprinting the shadow of their soles into the thick wintered earth. With each step his bones ached, shoulders heavy with the fate of the world.

Behind him, a figure trucked lazily behind, giggles occasionally filling his ears.

“What’re you up to back there?”

“Hey, hey. Check this one out, Joel. Why did the can crusher quit his job?” There was a long moment of silence. “Because it was….. soda pressing. Ha! Get it?” Ellie jogged closer to Joel, nudging him with her elbow. “Do you- do you get it, Joel?”

A heavy grunt escaped the man. “Yeah, I get it.” A tooth pick hung loosely from his lips as he glanced down at the girl, a slow roll of his eyes following.

“Want to hear some more?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Okay. Okay… that’s fine.” Ellie cleared her throat, humming as she took in the world around her. “I do have something on my mind. Something real heavy.”

Joel looked at her, his eyes glossed over with a hint of concern. “What is it?”

“Last week I….I-” Ellie paused, sniffling a bit, feigning a look of guilt. “Last week I called someone a watering hole, but I swear I meant well!”

Joel stopped, his jaw clenching momentarily before he met the gaze of Ellie who, in the midst of her terrible joke, was choking back a roar of laughter. He sighed out, shoulder slacking, before giving in to the chuckle stuck in his throat.

“Okay, okay. That wasn’t half bad, I’ll give you that.”

“You’re laughing! I made you laugh! I know you liked that one.”

“I did. Don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Joel shook his head with the hint of a grin teasing against his mouth. “Now quit with the shitty jokes, alright? You’ll miss the scenery.”

Ellie saluted him sternly, giving him a thick nod. “Aye, aye, Captain!” She declared.

Joel sucked in a thick breath.

You were staring at him, with your big, beautiful eyes, gnawing on a stale, unseasoned piece of venison jerky. The flickering flames of the campfire in front of you illuminated your face with glimmering sheens of orange, blanketing the hue of your skin with crimson and gold. A sunset, personified.

He stared at you, long and hard, analyzing every inch of you, taking in your beauty. He wanted to drown in it. The softness of you lips, the apples of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose. Joel wondered how smooth your skin was, how the curve of your waist would feel against his calloused palms, how the heat of your breath would feel fanning against his throat. His eyes dragged down to your small hands, eyeing your manicured nails. What shape would they imprint upon his skin?

“Who the fuck made this shit, Joel?” You guffawed, rubbing your eye with your free fist. “I hate jerky. Tired of it!”

“Well, you’ve just never had good jerky. Before the end times, we had lots of good brands. Jack Link was pretty popular. Was my favorite.” Joel looked at you, a stray curl falling against his forehead as he set the paper bag down. “Ever heard of them?”

“No. Never. When…. all this happened, I was too young to remember. I’ve got no memories from that time, honestly.”

It was a simple statement. One that shouldn’t have made Joel’s stomach clench and turn. Yet it reminded him. It reminded him of his age, of your youth, your naïveté. His chest tightened with the deep feeling of wrongness, the bitter taste of guilt like bile in the back of his throat.

“Don’t, uh, don’t remind me.” Joel mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You, none the wiser to the war raging on in his mind, laughed sweetly, saluting him lazily as you finished the last of your venison jerky. “Aye, aye, captain!”

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

“Heyyyy!”

Joel’s neck snapped towards the noise, where Ellie stood still, leaning against the thick trunk of a pine tree. “Huh?”

“Dude, you were just standing there. Like a fuckin’ statue. You okay? I thought you were dying.”

Joel rubbed a scruffy cheek, the thick bristles of hair irritating his fingers as he stared into the distance, taking in a deep breath before resuming his walking. “I’m fine. Let’s jus’ keep goin’, onwards and upwards. Should be there in a day or so.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Ellie kicked a stray pebble in front of her, jogging every so often to meet the long strides of Joel.

In front of her, Joel was lost in deep thought.

He felt the ache of remorse tugging at his heart. A reminder it still worked. A reminder he was still human, still alive and breathing. A human, a man, who hoped and yearned and craved and cried. A man who loved. This remorse, this pain, this guilt, that had corroded away at his soul piece by piece, kept him stable and nailed to the ground. It was a nudge towards the idea that perhaps after all these years of killing, after the taste of blood and haze of destruction, perhaps his heart was still capable of something good, something right.

Joel thought he was right, when he did what he did. Even with the tsunami of tears threatening your eyes, even with the quivering of your lip, the tight furrow of your brows, the embarrassment on your face- even with the sheer look of pain and betrayal that you wore like a masquerade mask- Joel felt that what he did was for the best. That the line in the sand he carved with his own bare hands would help you in the end.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Joel warned, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t look at me like that, girl.”

“Why?” There was a shrill crack to your syllables, a dejected figure emerging from the shadows of your mouth. “Does it make you feel bad? Am I hurting your feelings?”

“This is worse enough as is. I don’t need you flashin’ them puppy dog eyes at me. Ain’t gonna change a thing.”

“So you just used me. Fucked my mouth until you got what you wanted. And now what, Miller? Now what? Gonna ignore me? Gonna start doin’ runs with Tess again like there was nothing between us?” Venom dripped from your incisors as you took a step towards him. Your tears, your sadness, the heavy weight of your heart had been replaced with rage. Burning hot rage. It consumed you until it was oozing from you, spilling from your eyes, your mouth, your nostrils. It was you.

“Yeah. That’s what I’m goin’ to do. ‘Cause you’re right, kid. There wasn’t shit between us.”

Ellie’s humming brought him back to reality, clearing his mind of any thoughts, before she broke the silence with a dreadful question:

“Did you ever have any girlfriends, back at the QZ in Boston?”

“Told you not to ask me any questions like that.”

“I know, I know. But it seems like things with you and…. with you and Tess were weird. I remember what she said, how she never asked you to feel what she felt.” Ellie cleared her throat, gripping ahold of the straps on her backpack. “But, you know, it got me thinking. If someone as cool as Tess liked an old fart like you, some other chicks would have had to, too. Right?”

Joel sighed a deep, tired sigh, rubbing at his temples. “Me and Tess…. we weren’t. We- just. No. Tess and I, there was nothing there.”

Ellie held her hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Geez, no need to throw a bitch fit, asshole.”

“Watch it.” He grumbled, adjusting the strap of his rifle. “But there was one girl.”

“Really? What was she like? What was her name? What did she look like?”

“Slow down, Ellie, slow down. Way too many questions. I’ll answer one. One! So pick wisely.”

Ellie walked in silence for a moment, rubbing her cheeks in thought as though she had a beard. She nodded with a sense of finality, catching up with Joel’s long strides. “Why did you like her?”

Why did Joel like you? Why did he love you? What was so special about you that Joel, a man concrete in his stoicism, a man lost in his own selfish, distant ways, could crumble at the sheer thought of you? What was so special about your sparkling eyes that made his chest pound? What was so special about your soft voice that made his jaw slack? What was so special about your gentle touch that made his body shiver?

How could a giant such as Joel Miller come crashing down at the feet of someone like you? Someone so pure, so happy, so kind and thoughtful? How could Joel have ever let something like that happen? How could he have been such a fool?

“Hello? Earth to Joel.” Ellie waved her hand in front of Joel’s face, eliciting a groan.

“Um…” He scratched at his chin.

“When I was a little girl all I wanted, the one thing that mattered most to me in the world, was to go to the zoo. My momma used to tell me all these stories. How you could touch the stingrays, feed the giraffes… But you know what I want to see most of all? The gorillas.”

Joel was staring out the window, keeping watch as you shuffled through the drawers of the abandoned room, looking for extra stuff that could be worth smuggling. His eyes scanned the road, but he was mostly interested in listening to you. Quickly and slyly he turned to look at you.

He saw the glimmer glistening through your gaze, the smile lines crinkling ever so slightly at the corners of your eyes as your pretty lips turned up into a big grin. Your face was aglow with passion, your heart pinned proudly to your sleeve. You were the exact opposite of him when it came to that, it only drew him closer, like a moth to a flame.

“The zoo? I went to the zoo. Took my daughter all the time to the one in Austin. Never saw a gorilla though, not up close. Just on the Animal Planet.”

“Animal Planet?”

And there it was, that familiar twinge of guilt. “Yeah. It was a TV Channel.” Joel explained with a grimace, his voice soft and quiet. “You, uh, you find anything good yet?”

“Nah. Just a half empty box of condoms and some bandaids.”

“Condoms? We could use those.” Joel explained, turning to you quickly.

A look of surprise crept on to your face. You hoped you hid the butterflies erupting in your stomach well enough. Surely it was a slip of tongue, you thought- Joel was never forward like that.

Realization soon dawned on his face when his words finally settled in. “Not….. not us, I mean. For- for trading. Could get some ration cards. The, I mean- I would never be…. I- Uh.” A guttural noise of defeat escaped him as he slumped into the wall, groaning deeply against the palms of his hands that his face was now buried in. “Forget I said anything.” Joel seethed through gritted teeth.

“You sure do have a way with words, cowboy.” You teased. A beautiful laugh, one that haunted Joel, escaped your chest as you threw the box of condoms towards him. “There you go, lover boy.”

“Her laugh.” Joel finally broke the silence, his eyes secured to the track in front of him. “She was always laughing. Real happy, curious, always day dreaming. She was….”

“The exact opposite of you.” Ellie filled in, laughing to herself. “Man, she sounds great. And she liked you back?”

“I said one question a day.”

“But-”

“No buts. You can ask another one tomorrow.”

“Well, can you at least tell me her name?”

Before Joel could stop himself, the syllables of your name rolled from his tongue. He hadn’t spoken it out loud in years. He promised himself he wouldn’t, not after losing you. But it escaped him quicker than he could stop it, like a dog running from its cage, sniffing its way to freedom.

Ellie repeated it to herself. “That’s real pretty.” She hummed in approval, and Joel continued walking, his eyes stirring with the burning hot threat of tears.

Angry, regretful, bitter tears.

“Have you seen her anywhere?” Joel was pacing his room, frantically throwing supplies on to the bed. “Did she- did she say anything? Where she was going? What she was doing?”

“Joel.” Tess’ voice rang through the air. “Joel.”

“What? I need to get to her, God dammit.”

“She’s gone, Joel. Said she left four days ago. You won’t be able to find her.” Tess rested a hand on his shoulder as she sat down on the edge of the mattress, looking up at the disheveled, broken man before her.

“This is all my fault.” A single sob racked through his body as he fell down beside her. “Putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger would have been the exact same thing. She’ll die out there, Tess.” Joel buried his face in his hands as he fell back, jaw clenching in unison with his flaring nostrils as he sat and stewed in the crashing waves of resentment. “She’s going to die, and I won’t be there to protect her.”

Teas traced her hand down the broadness of Joel’s back, taking in a sharp breath. “You’re right. Better move on now, we have work to do. If you’re going to get over it someday, you might as well do it now.” If there was one thing Tess wasn’t going to do, it was sugar coat things. Especially not for Joel fucking Miller. “So get up, stop crying, and do your fucking job. You got it?”

That night Joel drunkenly fucked Tess with her face in the pillow and ass in the air, and the whole time he imagined it was you.

Dusk was soon approaching by the time Joel had rolled out his and Ellie’s sleeping bags. The canvas of the sunset was being torn apart by sparkling stars, the moon illuminating the snow covered trees surrounding them. It was a quiet, peaceful night, shrouded with the sort of yearning and hope that only came once the sun set.

“Can we start a fire? Please, Joel?” Ellie was shivering beneath her sleeping bag, pulling her jacket tighter to her chest.

“Use my bag. I’ll take watch while you sleep.”

“We’ve been walking for like, a hundred hours. You need sleep too. Nobody will find us here. We’re in the middle of butt fuck nowhere.”

“You don’t know that. Now take my bag or stop whining.” Joel’s voice was gruff as he sat against the tree, the light of the lantern illuminating the hardness of his face.

“Okay, geez. Don’t have to be an asshole.”

“Go to sleep, Ellie.”

Joel hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He never liked sleeping, for many different reasons. The lack of control, the possibility of danger, the lurking nightmares about his past. But most of all, he hated sleeping because they brought him dreams of you.

In the beginning, when he had you, dreams of your body, or your face, of your voice- they were all welcomed. He would wake up in his mattress, bathing like a cat in the golden rays of sunshine, and would go about his day slightly less grumpy. Not a changed man, by any means, but how could a man be completely cold and detached after a visit from an angel?

But now these dreams were different. He would wake, not quite remembering them in their entirety, but always feeling the heavy burden of loss thick in his mouth, like phlegm during a nasty cold. For the rest of the day he would think of you, unable to shake the memory of your face away from his mind. You had branded him like a cow at the slaughterhouse.

Joel knew he was yours forever, always yours, despite the pitter pattering footsteps of guilt that followed him around like a needy child.

Tonight, he dreamed of his past memories with you.

“Oh, this is a good one.” Joel hummed out as he turned the record player up ever so slightly. “This is Nat King Cole. My mom used to play his stuff while she was cookin’.”

Sometimes I wonder how I spend the lonely night,

Dreaming of a song. The melody, haunts my reverie,

And I am once again with you, when our love was new.

“He’s got a nice voice.” You quipped. You swung your legs off the desk, walking towards him before extending your hand.

He looked at you like you were crazy. “What’re you doin’?”

“Dance with me.”

“Dancin’ is a dangerous game. I ain’t no good at it.”

“That doesn’t matter. Come on. Just dance with me, cowboy!” Your giggles ignited the air with sparks of comfort, warming Joel’s body through with the familiar pang of affection he so often suffered from when he was around you. He thought on it for a moment before letting out a long sigh.

“Fine. But if you tell anyone about this I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Spank me? Come on, just live a little. If it was actually the end of the world none of us would be here. So be alive and human with me tonight, and dance.”

Joel stood, looking down at you as his hands found your body. He rested one palm against the small dip of your waist, his other finding your hand, quickly engulfing it, wrapping around your fingers like a blanket. You swayed, barely shuffling your feet, a smile of contentment washing across your face.

“See?” You hummed. “This is nice.”

He stayed silent, swaying with you to the crooning voice of Nat King Cole. Joel sucked in a sharp breath as your cheek rested against his chest. He ran his hand down to the small of your back, instinctively pulling you closer.

And now my consolation is in the stardust of a song,

Besides the garden wall when stars are bright,

You are in my arms, a paradise where roses grew

Though I dream in vain…

“Joel?” You whispered, craning your neck to look up at him.

His eyelids fluttered open, lips parting ever so softly as his eyes met yours. Chocolate irises, flashes of gold glittering within them, drunk every inch of your face up, memorizing you as thought it was the last time he’d ever see you. “Hmm?”

“Will you kiss me?” The question escaped you before you could think, your eyes slightly widening at the boldness which preceded you.

Joel stopped swaying. He looked down at you, a thumb slowly tracing across your cheekbone.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I- I wasn’t thinking.” Your face was hot with embarrassment, and your hand on his shoulder quickly dropped.

Joel remained quiet as he gently grabbed your fallen hand, moving it back to his shoulder, up towards his face, until you were cupping his cheek. “You really want me to?” He asked softly, curiously, his thumb gently running across your lower lip. You nodded without hesitation.

He leaned forward, the curve of his nose brushing against the tip of yours as he moved both of his hands to hold your face, eyes open and staring in to yours, as though he were trying to make his way through your soul. A stabbing breath hitched in the back of your throat as you gently pressed your body to his, lips mere centimeters away.

“Joel…” You whispered softly.

He paused right before your mouth, eyes now full of remorse, wide and guilty like a petulant child who had just been caught red handed. When he spoke, you felt his moustache tickle your cupid’s bow.

“I… I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Do you not like me?”

“That’s not the issue, darlin’. It’s the… opposite of that, actually. But I just- I… I gotta go. I’ll stop by tomorrow with some more ration cards.” Joel pulled away from your body, rushing to the door.

“Joel, wait. Joel!” But before you could stop him, he had already left. Your heard his footsteps soon disappear, left with nothing but the scratching vinyl.

In my heart, it will remain

My stardust melody

The memory of love’s refrain.

Joel awoke with a violent jerk, to the bitter smell of coffee and the bright warning of morning light.

“Wakey, wakey sleepy head. Made you some coffee!” Ellie smiled at Joel as she dug her heels into the dying fire, handing Joel the metal cup of brown liquid.

“I told you no fires, Ellie. Someone could see us.”

“It’s fine. It’ll be okay. And if anyone comes and tries to hurt us, I’ll use my super slick Ninja skills I learned on ‘em! Promise! Now drink your nasty bean juice and let’s get going.” Ellie rolled up the sleeping bags as Joel stared into space, sipping his coffee before dumping the rest of it out.

“How long was I out for?”

Ellie shrugged, walking beside him as they made their way towards the open valley. “No clue. But you were muttering to yourself. Woke me up.”

“Was I? Mutterin’ what?”

Ellie looked at him, a small, sad smile playing on her mouth. When she said your name, his stomach turned. That beautiful name. That terrible, awful name that haunted him at every corner. It crept through his mind like a ghost, in and out of the hallway of his memories, refusing to ever leave.

“Weird.” Joel finally said, after a long, thick, uncomfortable silence. “Let’s…. let’s head out now.”

An hour or so had passed, hiking through the forest towards the open valley, before Ellie realized Joel had been whistling. She had never heard him whistle before. And, like always, her curiosity got the better of her.

“What is that?” She asked.

“What’s what?” Joel answered, looking around to try and pin down what she was talking about.

“The song you’re whistling. What is it? I like it.”

“Oh.” Joel hadn’t noticed he had been making any noise. “It’s called Stardust. An old song, before my time even.”

“Who’s it by?”

“There are a few renditions, I can’t remember who did it first. My favorite version was by Nat King Cole.” Joel explained, clearing a makeshift path through the jutting branches and scratching leaves.

“I’ve got my one question, you know.” Ellie stated with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “About her.”

“M’kay. Make it quick.” His voice grumbled out lowly like an over worked furnace, eyebrows tight together as he walked ahead of her.

“Where’d she go?” Ellie finally mustered up the courage to ask the question, slowly looking at Joel’s back. She noticed how it stiffened at the question, and for a moment she regretted ever asking anything.

But Joel’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “What do you mean?” He finally choked out, clearing his throat.

“Like, if you liked her so bad, why isn’t she with us? You’ve protected me all this way. I-… I can’t imagine the lengths you would go for someone you actually liked.” Ellie joked, trying to lighten the air, the air which had suddenly grown so chewable, so thick and stuffy.

“I don’t hate you, kid.” Joel mumbled, rubbing at his face. “She, uh, she left. While I was out doin’ a run with Tess. Just up and vanished. No note, no nothin’.”

Ellie could feel the pain radiating from Joel, although she couldn’t quite pin point it in his words. He was good at hiding things like that. You don’t spend months with a person and not pick up their habits.

“How long ago was that?” She asked quietly, softly.

“‘Bout three years before I met you.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah.” Joel muttered. “Now, no more questions until tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Ellie grumbled, watching her feet as she walked.

“Joel!” His name tangled through the air, breathless and wanting. His ear was pressed to the door, hand on the door knob. Waiting. Thinking. Pondering.

Your legs were spread open, jeans halfway down your legs, panties to the side as your middle finger lazily rubbed circles in your clit, your free hand kneading against your exposed breast, chest flushed with the hot hand of want. No. Of need.

You couldn’t get the image out of your head. Slick curls pushed back, lips turned into a scowl, bulging arms chopping at the thick log of wood like it owed him something. You remember the rage swirling in his eyes, dark and angry, knitted brows tight and bold. Why was he so god damn hot when he was livid?

“Oh, God. Fuck.” Your whimpers filled his ears, well- his good ear, at least- and Joel felt his jeans beginning to tighten.

Something overtook Joel. Something primal, something instinctual, because before he had a chance to think, he was barging in to your room, mind empty with thoughts only of you, of your pleasure. You jumped with a squeal of surprise, face coated with embarrassment, grabbing a pillow to try and cover yourself up. It was a fruitless attempt, because Joel still saw exactly what he wanted to see. You.

“Joel! Oh God. Jesus Christ….. how-how much of that did you hear?” You wanted to cry. To deteriorate into a pile of rubble would have been your best option. Anything to not have to deal with his gaze. Stern, unreadable, dark. Your heart was slamming against your chest.

“I heard enough.” He whispered, slowly stepping towards you.

You blinked the forming tears of embarrassment away quickly, propping yourself up better on your elbows, finally garnering the courage to look up at him, right in his eyes. A long, deep, sensual gaze steaming from him.

Joel reached for you hesitantly, his hand gently grabbing your knee. A rough thumb traced circles into your skin, smooth and vanilla scented from the lotion he had smuggled for you on a particularly boring run. He watched the way your skin pricked with goosebumps, the way your leg leaned in to his touch. You wanted this. He knew, looking into your eyes, so soft and tender with desire, that he was the only thing on your mind.

“Please,” you whispered, voice shaking in the dimly lit room. “Please touch me, Joel.”

When he finally gathered the courage to lean forward, when those horrible thoughts of shame that so often plagued him had been pushed to the back of his mind, he heard Tess shouting his name in the distance.

When Joel saw Tommy for the first time in ages, he could barely contain himself. He embraced his little brother, tight and hard, feeling the familiar heat of tears welling in the pits of his eyes.

As dusk soon pulled across the sky, Tommy made sure to tell Joel which house would be his. “House 37! Two lefts and a right.” Tommy reminded him, as he jogged away to meet Maria.

It was only until he reached the movie theatre that Tommy realized he gave Joel the wrong number. Oh well, he thought to himself, Joel will figure it out.

The hot water cascaded down Joel’s back, steam dancing through the air, covering him in a warm blanket, the smell of vanilla body wash filling his nostrils. Vanilla. It reminded him so much of you. Of that night, the night he almost had a taste of you. You were so close, yet still managed to remain just out of reach.

Joel was so preoccupied with his thoughts of you, you, you, that he hadn’t heard the front door downstairs open.

• • •

It had been a particularly long and exhausting day for you. You had been posted a mile south in a rundown factory, keeping watch for Raiders as a group of workers focused their abilities on turning the old building into a new extension of your town.

Maria wanted to turn it in to a greenhouse and new horse stable. With the newest foul in town, Shimmer, she figured horse breeding could be a bright part of their future, and if it grew well and but enough, they could extend further out into the wilderness.

Well, that was Maria’s dream. But you had seen how slow these workers went about their business, how they often broke into fights and managed to forget their tasks entirely. How Maria had ever cultivated this place…. well, that was beyond you.

Your thoughts were full of Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

He was a hard worker. Persistent and tenacious, strong and able, stern and forthright- he was everything you wanted in a man. He was just like the knights you would read about, yet he had a twinge of anti-hero that always enticed you, always pulled you in closer.

Thinking about Joel was always draining. You missed his laugh, gritty and low and never that frequent. You missed his hands, well worked and scarred. You missed his eyes, deep and mysterious and full of something that you could never quite pin point.

After these long day dreams with him at the forefront, it left you craving a life you had never gotten to live with him, a life you had never known.

By the time you reached your house it was dark, and your feet ached from the long trek. You felt much older than you actually were. Taking your boots off, you noticed the hallway light upstairs was on.

“Weird.” You whispered to yourself, ultimately shrugging it off as you switched it off, walking to your room.

The door was shut. Double weird. You lived alone, and almost always forgot to shut your door.

The bathroom door was ajar, and you saw steam swirling out of it, yet the shower was off.

“Okay, what the fuck.” You hissed, reaching for your knife. You had already turned your gun in. Hand to hand combat…. well, that would have to do, even if it wasn’t your strong suit.

Behind the closed door of your master suite, you hear someone opening up drawers. “God dammit, Tommy!” You heard a muffled snarl, and your eyes widened.

You dropped the knife, clattering against the carpet with a faint cling, as you brought your hands to your head. No. No. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be him. Surely not.

You rarely spoke to Tommy. You heard he had a brother named Joel here and there, but you never asked. Never gave any part of yourself away. To the people of Jackson City, you were quiet and reserved- kind, always- but haunted by something.

No, by someone.

Your hand was shaking. The metal door knob was cold on your palm, shivers coursing straight down your spine. With a quivering lip, you barely had time to turn the handle before the door flung open, thoughts of self defense and protection miles away.

A figure, huffing with annoyance, stood in front of you. A white shirt stretched taut against a broad chest, sweatpants hanging on a low waist, a bundle of dirty clothes resting in his arm. His arm. His familiar, tanned, muscular arm.

Joel.

Joel. Joel.

The syllable rolled around your brain, head empty as you gathered the courage to slowly look up at the man. His eyes were wide, lips parted in surprise as he stared at you. Both of you stood, in the midst of a proper western stand off, the air stagnant around your bodies.

Neither of you said a word. How could you? What was there to say? You blinked rapidly, rubbing at your eyelids in an attempt to spook the apparition of Joel Miller away. Surely it was a ghost. Perhaps you were finally losing your mind. Perhaps the end of the world had caught up with you.

You went to speak, but a gargled mess of noises were all you could come up with.

Before you had a chance to correct yourself, he had scooped you up in to the tightest hug of your life.

Joel’s left arm was wrapped around your waist, pressing you close to his chest, while his right laid across your back, his large hand pressed into the back of your head. You grasped ahold of him, fingers digging into his skin as you tried to make sense of what was going on.

Before you could catch them, tears were flowing from your eyes, staining his shirt with a puddle of wimpy cries.

“Shh.” He cooed, voice shaking. “I’m right here. I’m here.” Joel held you as though you would vanish if he let go, slowly falling to the floor with you tightly pressed to him. He cradled you in his lap, strong arms secure and steadfast around your body. Joel wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

When you finally looked up, you saw his own cheeks west with the ghosts of previous tears.

“Oh.” You whimpered, touching his face gingerly. “I haven’t seen this face in so long. Look at you.”

“Look at you.” He countered, thumb tracing down the apple of your cheek. “You’ve only grown more beautiful.”

“How… are you…. you’re the Joel Tommy mentioned? How could I have been so stupid.” You whispered, shaking your head.

“How long have you been here?”

“Two years. Managed to find a group of mercs, travelled with them to Kansas City before FEDRA got ahold of them. I was the only one to escape and, somehow, I found myself in this place.” You explained, his face now cupped in your hands.

His lips looked so tantalizing. The thing you wanted most in this world, right in this moment, was for Joel to kiss you. Hard. Deep. Passionately.

Joel looked down at you. He knew that look. Knew those emotions in your eyes, knew the way you looked when desire overtook your being.

He was so tired of being scared, so tired of the shame and guilt that followed him like smoke.

“Can I kiss you?” He finally asked, taking a thick gulp.

You nodded slowly. “Kiss me.”

And he did. It was just as you had always imagined. Soft and sweet, deep and passionate. Your mouths molded together as though they were two puzzle pieces created for each other. It felt right. It felt good. It felt…. perfect. The way you had dreamed it would.

You shifted in his lap so you were straddling him, arms thrown around his neck as you beckoned him closer, his palms pressed firmly into your sides as he held you in place. You both knew you weren’t going anywhere.

You parted your lips as his hungry tongue swept against you, gently exploring your mouth, tasting your spit, the minty residue of your now thrown away gun mixing with his mouth. Joel groaned as you shuffled, and you felt the bulge in his sweatpants where his cock was getting harder and bigger.

You had seen his dick before. Once. When you both stumbled to your room drunk and you had given him a blowjob. The best blowjob of his life, as Joel remembered. He had held you by the hair, barely touching you except a gentle brush of his hand down your cheek after he had finished down your throat. You remembered how his eyes had engulfed you, how you watched as he seared the image of you on your knees into the recesses of his memory.

That was the closest you two had ever got, the farthest he had ever dared to go. And even then, it was selfish of him. He went to bed under the heavy blanket of ignominy, and he swore he would never do it again. He was drunk, Joel assured himself, it wasn’t like he….. loved you or anything. Right?

But now, with his tongue searching your throat and his hungry hands feeling their way around his skin, with the way your clothed bodies moved in harmony against the scratchy carpet of the hallway floor, what else could it be? Lust? No. Lust doesn’t last like this. It sizzles away at the prospect of someone new. No, no. You both knew what it was. Love. But you both too fearful to admit it.

“Joel.” You whispered against his mouth. He opened his eyes at the sound of his name, the way it so sweetly rolled off your tongue.

“Yes?”

“Take me to bed.” Your words stuttered against themselves as you took in a heavy heave of breath. “Take me to bed… and make me yours.”

Joel swallowed the tight lump dangling at the back of his throat. He had two options. One, say no and push you away. Two, give in to his deepest desires and fall further into this love he had tried so hard to forget.

The last time he chose one, you ran half way across the country.

He was a smart man, Joel. He knew exactly which one to pick. No more would he run.

He scooped you up into his arms wordlessly, carrying you to your neatly made bed. Your hair splayed across the white pillows, your doe eyes staring up at him, full of yearning, full of want.

You watched with hawk-like eyes as he slid his shirt off, moving to do the same before Joel stopped you.

“No. I want to undress you myself.” You swallowed thickly at his command, nodding as your neck grew hot with desire.

When Joel was left with nothing but his boxers on, you drunk his image in. A small tuff of hair rested above the hem of his underwear. His belly was soft, and stray curls of hair dotted across his broad chest. His shoulders were strong, broad, welcoming.

You looked up into his face, eyelashes fluttering.

He had a few more wrinkles, a lot more gray in his hair. There were a few more scars etched into his skin, a darker tint to his eyes. He had aged. But so had you.

You had always liked your men older, anyways.

Joel Miller was the man of your fucking dreams, and he was standing nearly naked in front of you.

“Up.” He motioned for you to sit up and you did without hesitation. A smile crossed his mouth as he cupped your cheek. “So good for me.” Joel murmured, slowly peeling your shirt off.

“For you.” You whispered with finality.

He nodded, eyes twinkling with….. happiness. Joel worked the lace of the leather boots you wore, carefully pulling them off your feet before sliding his hands towards the zipper of your jeans. He watched your face as he slowly unbuttoned them, stripping them from your legs. He watched the way your lips parted with desire, the way your eyelids shut as the feeling of his hands grazing your skin.

“Look at you.” Joel whispered, and you met his steaming gaze. “So beautiful.” He learned forward, pressing a kiss to the hem of your underwear. “Lay back for me, honey.”

You did as you were told, shivering as his warm hands pried your legs apart. He stared at your clothed pussy, the patch of wetness showcasing your arousal. Joel chewed on his cheek as he drunk the image in, taking in a sharp breath as he discarded your underwear.

And there you finally were. Open and exposed, laid bare for him, and only him. Joel slid down on his stomach, inching his way towards your cunt as he reached forwards, using his thumb to slowly trace down your outer lips.

You shuddered, taking in a deep breath of as your hands snaked to his head, running your fingers through his thick curls, watching his finger slowly move. You saw him spread you open, you pink, wet pussy on display for his searing gaze.

“Ain’t that a sight.” He hummed out. “This all for me?” His voice was smug. He knew. And you knew he knew.

“All for you.” You admitted, pushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

“Bet you taste real nice, too.” Joel leaned forward, extending his tongue as he swept it flat across your clit. This made you whimper out, your grip on his hair tightening. “Just as I thought. Sweetest thing I ever had.”

Your head fell back onto the pillows as he wrapped this lips around your swelling clit, sucking softly at the button. He was holding back, his movements teasingly gentle. You were squirming for him, nails digging into his scalp, your breath begging for me.

Joel pulled back, much to your dismay, and rubbed his middle finger against your entrance. He slowly pushed it in, grunting quietly.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight, honey. Can’t wait to feel you stretched against my cock.”

“Oh, God. Joel, please.” You murmured, watching as he resumed his tongue against your clit, swirling and flicking. Your thighs were shaking on his shoulders, where you hadn’t even realized you had propped them up.

Joel chuckled against your pussy, savoring the sweetness of your arousal, letting it coat his tongue like sugar. He lapped at your clit, middle finger slowly hitting up against that spot, coaxing you closer towards an orgasm.

“If-if you don’t stop Joel, I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Babydoll, that’s what I want.” He responded smugly, sucking harder at your clit.

“B-but I want to cum on your cock. I-I’ll be too sensitive.” You explained, hips grinding as your fingers pulled at his curls even more.

“We’ll see about that.”

Joel added his ring finger into your pussy, pushing and pumping into you, wanton noises of filth filling your ears. You cried out his name, right on the brink of orgasm, as Joel continued his same movements, never daring to stray or pause.

“Joel. Joel! Oh, fuck. Joel. God dammit. Joel, I’m cumming!” You were sure the whole neighborhood could heard but you weren’t half fussed about that at the moment. All you knew was his mouth was drawing you in to the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.

Tears pricked your eyes as he rode out your climax, his mouth never leaving your clit. His fingers slowed down to a halt, yet his mouth never left your cunt.

You whimpered, trying to push him away from your sensitive pussy, but Joel didn’t let up. He grabbed your thighs, relishing in your moans as he made sure to lick up every drop of your cum, every inch of your wetness. He wanted the flavor of your pussy to be stuck in his mouth for the rest of his life.

You collapsed onto the bed as he slowly pulled away, leaving a hot kiss to each thigh.

“Was that nice?” Joel asked smugly, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Shut up, asshole.” You teased, a soft laugh escaping you. “Oh.” You murmured to yourself once you saw the bulge tenting at his boxers. You reached forward, gently grabbing it with your small hand. “Looks like we should do something about this.”

Joel hissed in a sharp breath of air, watching with intent as you tugged off his boxers. He kicked them off, his thick cock slapping against his stomach. He was thick, long, sexy- his cock could have been in a porn magazine, to be frank.

“Yeah, we should do somethin’ ‘bout this.” He had climbed on top of you, hands cupping your head as you glanced up at him with a tantalizing look stuck deep in your eyes.

“Yeah, we should. Fuck me, cowboy.” You whispered, resting your hands on his cheek. “Fuck me like you missed me.”

“I did miss you.” Joel admitted, almost shyly.

“I know.” You ran your hand through his hair, feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance. You sucked in a soft breath of air as he slowly began filling you up, allowing you the time to grow accustomed to the way he felt inside you.

“‘Course you do.” He snorted through gritted teeth, filling you completely up to the hilt.

You groaned softly, wrapping your arms around him as you held him to your chest, smiling up at him softly. “Feels so good.”

Joel buried his face in your neck, slowly moving his hips. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. So fuckin’…. so fuckin’ good for me. A god damned dream.” His words were hot, guttural, melding in to your skin like paint on a canvas.

You shuddered, dragging your nails down the length of his back, resting them on his ass. His movements grew harder, wilder, every inch of his throbbing cock deep within your walls.

“Christ, Joel.”

He groaned against you, propping himself up on his palms to watch your face. His nose brushed against yours as he leaned forward, lips pressing to yours in a burning kiss, igniting your body aflame.

“Love how you say my name.” He whispered as he pulled away from your mouth.

“Joel.” You mumbled, a teasing grin cascading on to your face:

With a smile of his own, Joel’s hand traced across your neck, down your shoulders, fingers tickling the skin of your arm before he reached your hand. Joel held it in his own, lacing your fingers tightly within his, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

His thrusts were steadier now that your eyes were on each others, hand held tightly in his own as he took the feeling of you in. The way your pussy clenched around him, the way your body felt tight on his. He pulled away from you, sitting back a bit as he held your hips, fucking himself in to you.

“Touch your clit.” He ordered, eyes darkening. You swallowed, lowering your hand to your pussy, where you did as you were told. You shivered. “Rub it.” He whispered, voice soft.

You rubbed it, your middle finger circling your swollen clit tenderly.

“You’re going to cum one more time for me. Okay?”

You nodded obediently, gently placing your free hand on to his arm. “Okay.” Your voice was sweet, angelic. It made Joel’s cock twitch, an animalistic grunt soon following.

He looked on with hungry eyes as you played with your pussy, stretching it out for him. You both watched the way his cock filled you up, the way the lips of your pussy strained against him. You whimpered at the sight, wondering how something so big could even possibly fit inside you.

You resumed your masturbation, fingering at your clit as he pumped in to you.

“That’s a good girl, rubbing your clit for me. Such a good fuckin’ girl.” He murmured, eyes glossed over with desire.

“Gonna cum for you again.” You warned, hips bucking.

“Yeah? Cum on my cock, honey. Paint it with your pretty cum.”

That’s all it took to send you over the edge. Your back arched off the mattress as your second orgasm washed over you, vision blurring white. Joel grabbed ahold of you and pulled you up, legs wrapping around his waist as he held you, pumping up into you as you shivered and shuttered against him. You chanted his name like a mantra, crying out against him.

You were eye level now, and Joel has you by the jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“I’m gonna cum inside you. Gonna fill this little pussy up.” He whispered, forehead resting against yours.

“Cum inside me.” You begged, hands moving to his shoulders as he fucked your body on to his cock.

Joel groaned, primal noises filtering out as his dick convulsed inside of you, his hot cum painting the inside of your cunt. You moaned at the feeling of being properly full, grinding against him gently as you sat on his lap, your arms holding each other close and tight.

When his orgasm had subsided and you both fell against the soft mattress, you were still entangled with one another, his dick still stuffed inside you.

You stared at one another as though you had never known anyone else, eyes searching, reaching for the soul, sparkling with love, swimming with adoration.

His fingers traced down your back, resting on your thigh as he brought you closer.

“I’m sorry I left.” You whispered, your hand resting on the side of his neck. “I… I didn’t know what to do with all of it.”

“All of what?” Joel asked, voice deep and quiet.

“All of the love I had for you.” You sniffled, nuzzling your cheek into his. “Have.” You corrected.

“Have?” A smirk was tugging at his voice.

You took in a deep breath, bravely nodding your head. “Have. I…. you know I do.”

Joel rested his head against yours, looking down at you. “I’ve always known.”

A moment of silence fell over your bodies.

“I don’t think it’s goin’ anywhere, either.”

“Good.” Joel whispered, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I want it. All of it. ‘Til the day I die.”

“It’s yours, Joel. Always yours.”

upcoming fics!

okay here’s a list of my many drafts i’m planning to post!

ivy, joel miller

peppers, triple frontier boys

telephone, dean winchester

a&w, agent whiskey

there will be more to come (that’s what she said) but there will be a ton from different fandoms so be prepared!!

comment if you want a dedication on any of them!!

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

Diehard

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Erectile dysfunction. Daddy kink. Praise kink if you squint. Overstimulation. Cumplay. She/her pussy pronouns. Pushing physical limits with a pre-negotiated safe word in place for it.

Note: No more limp dick erasure. We die like [old] men.

Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse | Word count: 986

Joel just wanted to prove he could fuck like he used to.

He didn’t think he’d almost kill you in the process.

“JOEL!” you screeched, heels digging deep in the mattress as your climax came in seismic waves.

The stimulation was insane. Normally the much-older man would have been down for the count after two—and usually one—big O, but now his chest was heaving, hips relentlessly beating a punishing pace against your own.

Your walls were slick with not only your cum but his, milky ropes of his arousal making for an obscene set of sounds every time his dick slid in and out of your cunt. You could feel his balls tighten and twitch with every forthcoming spurt of him, practically reeling with the pulse of each new sticky gift inside you. His groans rumbled low, but the power and pleasure and outright primal fervor they conveyed were unmistakeable. You had to look down, feebly, to believe it yourself—Joel never fucked his way through your orgasm and his.

Then you felt a palm slide up the back of your head, and Joel held it up to make sure you watched him fuck you.

“J-Joel,” you whimpered, watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a half-dozen times as you did.

“Just a little more, honey,” he murmured against your forehead. The smack of each thrust was dizzying, “Want my pretty girl nice and full’a me before she leaves, okay?”

Joel never could let you head back to college without a few of his loads and a head full of filthy memories—something to hold you over until your next visit home. You would’ve liked to mumble back, ‘Okay,’ but then your pussy clenched around him, and his thrusts grew faster.

“My sweet girl,” he grinned, “She likes that, huh?”

You could scarcely manage a nod. The weight of your head was held fully by him, and if that wasn’t indicative enough of your fucked-out state, your face surely said the rest. When Joel leaned back to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he caught sight of your hooded, glossy stare and almost came all over again. He slowed his pace for once.

Then he dipped a finger between your body and his, just long enough to douse the tip of his digit with cum. He bottomed out inside you, watched you part your lips in a gentle gasp, and pressed his touch to that open space.

It was almost like you didn’t have the strength to suck. You just let him smear the sticky stuff along your lower lip, gaze plastered to his. Then Joel’s cock sank deeper.

“O-ow!” you whined, partly reanimated by the stretch.

“You can take it,” Joel grunted.

The double entendre wasn’t lost on you. You could, and would, take his finger and his cock inside. You suckled dumbly on the cum-drenched fingertip in assent.

But when Joel’s finger popped out of your mouth and his thrusts picked back up, you weren’t entirely convinced you would be able to hold up the second half of that deal.

It wasn’t fair. He took one magic pill, and poof, his dick stayed hard for half the fucking day. You had nothing but your youth and two shaking legs to ensure your survival. When Joel worked his cock back and forth a couple more times and it seemed your body was about ready to scream, you took hold of his biceps and squeezed tight.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

The tip of his cock nicked a soft ridge inside you, and you jolted back. Joel’s palm was still pressed to your head, holding you to him, and his hips had you pinned as well.

Instead of answering, you whimpered.

You didn’t want him to stop, but you also weren’t sure if you could handle any more. Your eyes met his, pleading.

“Can’t what?” Joel pressed, a little more sternly.

Another whimper. Inside, Joel’s cock was rubbing that pleasure point raw, and you felt another climax coming.

“Use your words.”

“Too— too—”

Each new thrust was sending stars before your eyes. Joel was one sick man if he tried to make you talk while he fucked you past the point of all intelligible speech.

“Too what? Tell me, baby.”

You’d get that fucker back someday. Joel just grinned.

“Too much,” you hissed when his hips delivered another mind-numbing push. Then, feeling pleasure threaten to peak at almost a painful degree, “Toomuchtoomucht—”

Joel continued thrusting, knowing damn well you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop. As if to underscore this point, he tipped your head back and made you hold his gaze, features creased with a frown.

“That sure don’t sound like the safe word to me.”

It wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t. He didn’t need to tell you twice, or even breathe a second word besides. With one more brush of Joel’s thick, throbbing, implausibly hard cock, he sent you over the edge and into your fourth orgasm of the morning, hitting that spot again and again.

And again.

And again.

Just like before, Joel fucked you through each wave, catching your lips this time to stifle your cries. You might’ve gone blind for a second or two, but that was alright; the pleasure, proximity, and then the sweet, erratic pulse of his cock sending rope after rope of his cum deep inside made the overstimulation worthwhile.

Your body went limp against the bed, held tight in Joel’s grasp, when you felt that sickly sweet dichotomy of soft, tender touches and a cock lodged between your walls that was as hard as it had ever been. Still trying to console you with kisses, still trying to warm you up for another round, perhaps, Joel almost laughed out loud in your mouth when you groaned into his and whispered:

“Please don’t ever take that fucking pill again.”

Joel and Preggo wife chillin at home where Joel is meandering around the kitchen. And you're sitting in your big chair eying him suspiciously. The microwave chimes off and Joel retrives his little cup. Stirring his fork in the dry mix, he blows on the contents.

Youre leaning very far over your chair to unsuccessfully get a glimpse at the soon-to-be-yours food in his hands.

"What are you making?" You ask curiously.

"Mac and cheese," he says calmly, looking down.

"And you aren't gonna offer me any?"

"Oh," Joel looks over to you: his a little angry pregnant gremlin. How stupid of him not to offer. His poor pregnant wife could smell anything over a mile away, and hes just ignornantly in his own world helping himself. "Sorry, would you like some?"

You fold your arms attitudinally and shift forward away from him. "No."

He shrugs. "Ok."

Joel's taken his seat on the couch opposite, fanning cool breath over his Mac and cheese. His fork is 1 cm from his open mouth when you interrupt: "Well....okay yes i'll just have one bite of yours."

He pauses, the steam teasing his tongue. "Ah ok." Getting up, he hands you the cup and fork.

"Ya bastard," you mumble clearly.

You takes one bite, humming contently as the cheesey noodley highly processed gooey mess fills your buds and travels warmly to your belly. Joel reaches for the cup but you take another forkfull. Then you continue to mix and eat it, absorbed in the tv while Joel just stands there, his mac and cheese cup getting emptier and emptier.

Despite his hovering, he quickly accepts he's not getting it back and goes to make another for himself.

When you finish and set it down on the table with a satisfied "ahhhh", rubbing your pregnant belly, Joel grins.

"Good?"

"Meh. Was just ok."

You don't see him frowning, looking back at the empty cabinet with no more Mac and cheese.

Title: Echoes of the Past

(Joel miller x platonic!gn!reader)

---

The sky was overcast, a blanket of dull gray that seemed fitting for the world they lived in. The air was thick with the scent of decay, a constant reminder of the life they had lost twenty years ago. Joel Miller walked steadily, his eyes scanning the area with a vigilance honed from years of survival. Beside him, you moved just as cautiously, your steps echoing his, a silent testament to the bond formed in the crucible of the apocalypse.

You had known Sarah Miller. The memory of her was a bright spot in the dark chasm of your past, a beacon of innocent days when laughter came easily and the world was wide open. The night the outbreak began, you had been at her house, the two of you staying up late, talking about dreams that now seemed impossibly naive.

The screams, the chaos, the bullets—Sarah's death had shattered you. She had been your best friend, your anchor, and in a cruel twist of fate, you were left adrift. Joel had been there too, his own world destroyed in the span of a heartbeat. Your shared grief had created a connection that neither time nor the harsh realities of the new world could sever.

"Keep an eye out for runners," Joel's voice broke through your reverie, grounding you in the present. You nodded, gripping your weapon a little tighter. The two of you were searching for supplies in an old apartment complex, the remnants of forgotten lives scattered around like leaves in autumn.

The silence was oppressive, filled with the weight of unsaid words. You both worked well together, a seamless partnership forged from necessity and mutual respect. Yet, the specter of Sarah hung between you, a ghost neither of you acknowledged but both felt keenly.

As you moved through the building, your eyes caught sight of a faded photograph on the wall. It was a family picture, the smiles frozen in time, oblivious to the horrors that would come. You paused, your fingers brushing the image gently. It reminded you of Sarah, of the life she had and the future she would never see.

Joel noticed your hesitation and turned to look. His expression softened for a brief moment before hardening again. "We need to keep moving," he said gruffly, but there was an undercurrent of understanding in his tone.

You nodded, tearing your gaze away from the photo. "Yeah," you replied softly, following him out of the room. The two of you continued your search, finding a few useful items among the wreckage. As you made your way back to your makeshift camp, the tension eased slightly, the familiar routine providing a semblance of normalcy.

That night, as the fire crackled and the darkness pressed in around you, Joel handed you a small flask. "To Sarah," he said simply. You took it, your throat tightening as you swallowed the burn. "To Sarah," you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was heavy with memories, but it was a shared silence, a moment of understanding and connection. Joel's gaze met yours, and in that instant, you knew you weren't alone in your grief. The world had changed, but the bond you shared with him—born of loss and forged in fire—was a constant.

"We'll get through this," Joel said, his voice steady and resolute. "For Sarah."

You nodded, the weight on your chest easing slightly. "For Sarah," you agreed, the words a promise and a prayer. Together, you faced the uncertain future, two souls bound by the past but determined to survive.

In a world gone mad, you found strength in each other. And as long as you remembered Sarah, her memory would be the light that guided you through the darkest of times.

Me every time I see someone telling me not to write angst^

WIP Title Ask Meme

Prompt: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks for the tag, @adhdprincess!

(these are all TLOU fics)

Definitely Happening:

Scars

AbelCode

Support Group (not the final name)

Ghosts

Maybe Happening:

A Dungeon Master’s Guide to Trauma

Orange Juice

Turnaround

September (not the final name)

Criminal (not the final name)

Tagging: @mildredellie @captainredspade @wordspinning @logan178 @freetobeyouandmichi-me and anyone else who wants! (Sorry if I tagged you and you already did one, I tried not to tag anyone who already went but I probably failed lol)

Scars Out Now!

(Warning: It’s a rough one…)

Pretty angel

{You can’t hide your insecurities from Tommy, not when he’s so attentive with you}

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It starts off with small things, as it always does with this kind of stuff, it happens before you even subconsciously notice and by the time that happens you’re too far gone in your own self-sabotage.

But Tommy notices, he notices how your eyes never linger on the mirror, he haphazardly hung up, almost as if you do everything in your power to not look at it, and when you do he notices the grimace that stains your face, the disgust that tarnishes your eyes and he can’t imagine the words that scratch heedlessly at your mind.

It hurts him more than you know, his heart aches at the thought of you thinking that you’re anything but a downright angel sent from the heavens above, and there’s an odd sense of guilt that squeezes him because maybe he’s not telling you enough?

He watches you intently as you walk into the living room a certain sadness casts over your beautiful face, and he smiles so brightly as he pats the empty seat beside him, and it’s hard not to smile back.

“Hey love bug” he beams like a lovesick puppy pressing a kiss to your cheek and he doesn’t miss the way you almost wince away from his touch, and his heart near enough breaks.

There’s an odd silence that wedges between the two of you, “So, what we watching tonight?” You try and be as chirpy as possible pushing all the negative feelings you have about yourself down and covering them with fake happiness.

But he notices, of course, he does. You’re Tommy’s absolute world, “Your pick baby” he reminds you gently

You nod with a small smile before getting up to where he keeps all the DVD’s and you flick through them before finally settling on the cheesiest romance movie you can find, and you giggle when he lets out a groan, “I know it’s your guilty pleasure, just admit it sweetheart” you laugh and Tommy’s heart blooms at the sweet noise.

“Yeah yeah, you got me, baby, it’s a real guilty pleasure of mine” he chuckles as you excitedly put it on.

However his smile soon falters when you decide to sit away from him, and his chest feels heavy when you slightly shift away as he inches closer.

There’s a silence that stifles the air with tension, and it’s enough to make you feel nauseous. Tommy knows he needs to talk to you he can't let you keep isolating yourself.

His hands take yours carefully, “You gotta talk to me honey— it just feels like you’re tryin' to distance yourself from me, what’s going on sweet thing?” he suddenly asks and your eyes widen in shock as panic seeps into your bones, and there’s a horrible blocky feeling that wedges itself in the back of your throat as tears sting the back of your eyes.

You don’t know what to say you completely freeze up and you look down at your shaky hands determined not to meet his soft gaze.

“I— I just— I don’t—“ you huff out in frustration when you can’t find the words to describe what you’re feeling, and he gives you an encouraging look, squeezing your hand in reassurance, “I don’t feel very pretty” you mumble feeling a little silly.

But it’s true nonetheless, there’s a loud voice in the back of your head that reminds you constantly of all your flaws it repeats in your mind like a mantra and it curses you until you start believing the horrible words to be true leaving you exhausted.

“Oh, Darlin come here” he whispers his brows knit together in sadness, you rest your head against the crook of his shoulder as his arms engulf you in a loving hug.

He doesn’t really know what to say and he’s completely freaking out on the inside. Tommy doesn’t understand, he thinks you’re an absolute angel, the prettiest person to walk planet earth, and his heart shatters at your words.

“I’m sorry it’s silly— I’m being silly” you sniffle wiping away your tears, and you watch the worry pour into his eyes, how his face is full of concern and it makes you feel guilty.

Tommy shakes his head, “It’s not silly baby, it’s not” he promises his tone is so soft and caring, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, his rough hands gently cupping your warm face.

“Tell me what can I do, how do I help?” He asks, “Anything you name it I’ll do, absolutely anything sweetheart” there’s almost a desperation in his tone and it weaves through his face.

And your heart jumps at his words, and you realize that he cares, of course, he cares it was silly of you to think otherwise, but you know there isn’t anything he can do to stop the horrid thoughts that scratch at the back of your mind, “You just being here is enough for me” you smile wiping the tears that fall from your eyelashes.

He nods softly with a somewhat bashful smile, “You’re beautiful you know? I mean absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart” he smiles with a genuine look in his eyes, as he presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, and you relax into his side his arm hooking around your shoulders bringing you closer to him, and you feel so loved.

His words bring another wave of tears to your eyes, and you can’t stifle the sob that pushes its way out your mouth, “Hey, don’t cry sweet thing” he mumbles against your head, and he can feel the dampness on his shoulder, his hand rubbing the expanse of your back.

“I’m sorry, I just love you, Tommy, so much” you sniffle and his heart melts at your words.

“I love you too, my pretty angel” he smiles as you let out a breathy giggle, and he wipes your tears away with his thumb before placing gentle kisses all over your face, and you go warm under his soft touch, heart full with happiness.

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☾⋆AN this has been in my notes for a hot minute, enjoy my lovelies!! <33

Late Night Visit || Joel x Reader Smut

Summary:  Joel pays you a visit late at nigh while seeking for a shelter.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 3340

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Area 4. Boston zone.

Night there was quiet and calm as much as it could be with all the soldiers patrolling the streets.

It was way past the curfew so there were two options.

One was to sit in one place like an idiot and not get spotted by the military, or second -  to find a safe place to spend the rest of the night.

Joel groaned deeply annoyed, rubbing his face. He was on his way back from another smuggler job and he was stuck. Fucking pissed, dirty, beaten up and tired. He really wasn't in a mood to deal with this now and there was still long way to his flat.

Joel thought of what to do and he got one idea -  not the best one but surely working for his favor.

So there he was, trying his best to get to one of the  buildings without getting spotted. Somehow he entered and now he stood in front of your door.

You were his old friend. He worked with you few times and apparently you liked him much enough that you offered him help whenever he will needed it. Joel looked around and hoped that whoever else lived there had a deep sleep and you aren't asleep yet. Letting out a deep sigh, he knocked at your door using his fist, just to be sure you hear him.

You were awakened by knocking to your door. Lazily, you opened eyes and yawned. Rolling on your side, you reached to a nightstand to pick a watch up. 1:17. "Fuck," you murmured unhappily, yet you got up slowly.

You had a silky, pink nightgown on, an old one actually, but the only that was still in a good state. It was maybe too loose now as you have lost a pound or two, but you still like your reflection in a mirror with this one on.

You hair, loosened, were messy, so you ran fingers through them in an attempt to brush them a little.

Hesitantly, you left bedroom, walked along the corridor and stood in front of the main door. "Who's there?," You asked, raising voice a little.

"Maybe don't raise your voice, girl. It's enough I risk my ass being here. Open the door, it's me, Joel," he muttered, looking around still being careful to not draw too much attention to both of you. "It would be nice if you hurry up, it's curfew time. Unless something has changed and I don't know."

You blinked as soon as you heard his voice. You clenched hands in fists; you felt how anger started rising within you.

After moment of hesitation, you opened the door for him, yet didn't move aside to let him in. You measured him with a cold glance. "Joel. How long has it been?"

Joel was getting more and more annoyed just by waiting for you to open the damn door. Last thing he really needed was your mood swing, but it was who you were. He already got used to it after working with you. "Long and don't give me that look. I have enough of everything and I just use the invitation you had gave me," Joel explained with a frown.

With a roll of your eyes you shifted aside, making a room for him to enter. As soon as he did step into your little flat, you made sure to lock the door with key and a little chain.

You looked at him above your shoulder; he indeed looked like an old, tired man that was overwhelmed with the world itself.

Joel nodded and walked past you to your living room. He took off his backpack and put it on the floor next to the couch.

"Sorry for coming here that late, it wasn't in my original plan. There was this or trying to get to my own flat," he muttered stretching his back. "I won't be much of a bother, I can crush on a couch and maybe use a shower."

You stopped in a threshold, leaning your side against a doorframe. "Yeah, I bet it wasn't your original plan," you said theatrically, and walked to the little kitchen to pour him a glass of whiskey. Thankfully, you had a nice magazine of those.

As you returned with a glass, you passed it to him, and took a seat in an armchair, crossing legs nicely.

"It's been half a year. Without any sign from you."

"Yeah, I planed to get home but I fucking failed due to some fucked up shit I had to stumble upon," he explained and turned to you, looking a bit suprised at the fact you offer him a drink.

Joel gladly took it and then sat down on the couch. He downed drink quickly in one big sip. It was a nice change than the simple water, apparently he needed it more than he though. "I know, been busy. You know, trying to somehow earn my living in this shithole.”

You didn't reply to his words, you simply listen to his story, nodding from time to time. "Still, you could have informed me. I was dying of stress."

Joel let out a sigh, did you try to guilt trip him or something? He wasn't really sure what you tried to achieve, he was tired. "Well, I couldn't. There was one job after another. I also never saw you bothering yourself with coming to me," he shrugged, rubbing his eyes. "Can I use the shower or not?"

"Feel free to use whatever you want," you informed him as you got up, and walked to the door. "I'll bring you a blanket and pillow. You can find a fresh towels Inna cabinet in a bathroom."

"Yea, I remember where and don't worry. I will be gone as soon as the curfew will be over. So I won't bother ya too much," Joel explained before getting up from the couch and simply walking into your bathroom.

You returned to your bedroom, initially you left the door open, just in case Joel would want a hand.

You climbed to your bed and placed head into the soft pillow.

"Oh fucking hell... This is what I needed," Joel muttered to himself at the feeling of water washing off a 4 day worth of a dirt, blood or whatever was covering him at that point.

He rested his head against the shower wall, simply enjoying the pleasant feeling. Joel made sure to check himself in case he needed to tend any wounds. As for a hit with a fucking metal baseball bat, I am surprised my ribs are still intact, he thought to himself. Only thing that kinda bothered him was a wound on his leg.

It took him half an hour to get himself to somehow permissible state. After drying himself he redressed and left the bathroom. Sitting down on the couch he started to dig through his backpack to find the aid kit to tend the wound on his leg.

You got awakened up by Joel again. It was probably caused by the fact you were having a light sleep.

Your eyes opened slowly, you rolled on the other side and looked at Joel through open door, yet you didn't get up from your bed.

Oh, how jealous you were of him. You knew you two were only colleagues but you counted for something more, and always were trying to do anything for him to notice you. He never did though, that's why you gave upon him.

Joel could feel a chills ran down his spine as he felt someone's eyes on him. It wasn't extremely unpleasant but for him it was simply unnecessary. Man looked over his shoulder right at you. "Have someone ever told you that staring is rude?," Joel asked and then turned his attention back to his leg.

"I am just checking if you don't need a hand," you replied and nuzzled to your pillow. You tried to hide the blush.

"Do I look like I need it? I'd ask for help if I would need one," Joel summed up, ribbing the bandage in half before tying around his leg and hiding the rest in his backpack.

You turned on the other side with a loud gasp. "Like you wish, Joel. Good night."

"Night," he said simply, getting comfortable on the couch. All he used was the pillow you gave him.

The anger raged within you. You couldn't believe that he has simply came to take a nap on your couch.

You grabbed your pillow and got up from bed, you walked on your tiptoes to stand right next to the couch, then you hit him with a pillow. "How could you left without a fucking word, Joel?!"

Joel nearly jumped out of his skin because of this sudden assault from your side. Probably if not the fact he knew where he was and who you were, he would punch back. For sure not with pillow.

"What the fuck, the hell is wrong with you, girl?!," He growled sitting up and turning to you.

You hit him few times with pillow. "You told me you'll come back. You never did! Only now! And only because some time ago I offered you a safe place!," You screamed at him.

He got up from the couch and stood in front of you. Joel was two if not three times your size, he was way bigger than you so disarming you wasn't much of a problem. "Seriously? Pillow? Try harder next time," he muttered and threw the pillow over his shoulder. "I told you I was busy, besides, since when you want me to be around?"

"Since the day we met, eh?," You snarled, and looked him hardly in the eyes. "You good knew that I have a feeling for you, even despite the fact you and Tess...," You gasped. "It's not important now, anymore. It's not important. I'm sorry for my outburst, it shouldn't have happened."

He looked at you with a frown, deeply confused at you confession. You had feelings for him? Was that even possible?

"No, it is important. Explain it now. What me and Tess?," Joel asked. He was curious what he will he hear from you.

You clenched palms in fists. "You and her are a thing, I'm not an idiot. You live together. You have common stuff to which you both are fully committed."

Joel chuckled and shook his head. Everything you just said was a complete nonsense.

"Listen..," he muttered and rubbed bridge of his nose. "Me and Tess, we were never a thing. Not even in the sightless degree. Sure, we worked together and she slept in my flat but that's it. Nothing more, nothing less," Joel explained.

"Yeah, yeah, if you think I'm going to believe this, you're mistaken," you told him, then went to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of whiskey, but instead of downing the glass, you downed the bottle itself.

Joel rolled his eyes and followed you. He took the bottle out of your hand and put it down on the countertop away from your reach. "And why would I lie to you, Y/N?"

"Because I'm only a colleague of yours, you don't need to tell me the truth," you shrugged.

"Oh, is that so?," He leaned on countertop, looking at you.

Joel did promise to come back to you but he indeed never did. There was few factor that made him stay away. You were younger, less experienced. That meant you deserved some as young as you, someone who isn't as broken as he is. Joel indeed cared about you but what was the point for him. “What If I tell you that you are really mistaken?"

"I don't care anymore," you grabbed the bottle he took away from you and downed it. "I don't care. Past few months have taught me that I can only count on myself, as everyone around is lying on purpose to gain something," you told him and ran fingers through your hair.

"Now I call it bullshit, Y/N. Because if you truly didn't care anymore, you wouldn't try to murder me with a pillow," Joel said crossing arms over his chest. He got a really stupid idea. "Okay, listen. I care about you, I really do... That's why I didn't come," Joel said, facepalming mentally.

You shrugged. "Good to know. After half a year," you went back to the little living room and flopped on the couch, you wiped a drop of whiskey that have left on your lips with the top of palm.

Joel rolled his eyes and joined you. "Well, you weren't much better. Just now I found out you have feelings for me because I really had no idea you were jealous of Tess," he chuckled and poked you on the ribs.

"Don't touch me," you snarled and shifted aside. "You were a dumbass then, how was it possible for you to not realize that I had a feeling for you?," You chuckled on your own words.

"Y/N. I am an old, broken smuggler," he sighed and looked at you. "You know me, you know everything. Can you blame me for this?"

"Yeah, I kinda can," you chuckled coldly and laid head on the pillow you borrowed him. "You might be old but with your age a wisdom should come along."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Joel rolled his eyes and grabbed your hand to pull you up and onto his laps.

It was a mistake probably and it was wrong. You deserved far more than him but it wasn't a point then. He grabbed the back of your neck tightly and pulled into a kiss only to pull away as soon as he ran out of the air in his lungs. "Will this make us quit this smart talk?"

You licked you lips after the kiss he offered you.

Your heart rate increased, you were taken off your guard by his sudden movement.

Without questioning your own actions anymore, you started kissing him, while rolling your hips a little, to rub your core against his crotch.

He kissed you back, placing hand on your hip while the other moved under your silky nightgown. His rough hand caressed your soft, warm skin.

Soon you were flipped so Joel was hovering over you. His kisses moved down to your neck and even lower, he quickly found himself between your legs.

Joel looked up at you, checking if you didn't change your mind.

You tried to rub thighs together while moaning quietly for him. "And don't try to tell me that you didn't want this before," you whispers and bit your lower lip, observing man's movements. "I've dreamt of it."

Placing your legs on his shoulders Joel moved nightgown up, exposing your belly.

"Well, I can see that just by the fact you're wet already," he hummed before giving your pussy a one big lick, after this he wrapped his lips around your clitoris.

Joel played with your bundle of nerves and soon his thick fingers started to slowly slip inside of you.

You grabbed one of his hands and placed it on your boob. "That's it, handsome. Just keep going," you praised softly and tangled your fingers with his hair.

You rolled hips gently to get a little more friction.

Despite the fact you didn't want to manifest it, he was right; you became wet as soon as you've seen him at your door.

He smiled against your flesh, his fingers slipped inside of you. They moved in fast pace, curling inside of your from time to time while his lips never left your clit. "Come on, princess. Don't hold it back, I know you want go cum."

"I... Want... To... Cum... Around your... Cock," you gasped and cupped his face with both of your hands, rolling hips faster, fucking yourself against his bearded face.

Joel continued to eat you out until he decided it was enough. He moved away only to sit up and removed his shirt along with his pants, he pushed them down enough to free his cock. There was no time for playing around. Joel grabbed your legs and pulled you closer. He took his cock and teased your clit with it. "Are ya still sure about it?"

"Yeah," you murmured, biting your lower lip. You traced your hand right between your thighs to rub your pussy. You were soaking wet, indeed.

"But hands we keep up here," he said and grabbed both of your hand, Joel moved them over your head and kept them there using one of his hands.

He lowered himself and kissed you, pushing his cock deep inside of you without any warning. Joel started to fuck you hard and deep.

You ached your back and wrapped legs around his hips, you did it to deepen his pushes.

His cock stretched you nicely, and you moaned lowly, gasping a little when his tip hit the back of your pussy.

He moved faster, thrusting deeper and deeper with every move. Joel groaned lowly at the nice feeling of your warm walls squeezing his hard cock.

"You like it, huh? Is this what you wanted?," He snarled and his free hand moved between your bodies to pinch your clit before rubbing it in a slow circles.

You closed your eyes, and parted lips, a moan escaped them, and you rolled your hips a little more for Joel.

Joel hummed satisfied, looking down on you. You looked so beautiful, just a whimpering mess under him, just because of him.

He released your hands so he could wrap this arm around your waist to deepen the thrusts as much as possible, Joel moved down to place few kisses and bites on your neck.

Your hands rapidly went to scratch his back where you scratched a little. You loved the way he was hovering over your figure, you felt secured, in his arms you felt like in home.

You let him do whatever he wanted, you felt how desperate he was for your touch as well, but you knew he would never admit it

He hummed nuzzling to your neck, placing few more kisses there. Oh, how he loved the feeling of your small fragile body trapped right under him.

"Come on, princess. I know you want to cum, I can feel it," Joel purred deeply right into your ear.

You nuzzled to his bare, naked chest. You trailed your lips along every scar on his body, you moaned in a rhythm of his thrusts.

But when your climax has came, you remained silent. Only a little gasp of yours and tightening grasp of your legs wrapped around Joel's hips determined the moment you've reached your peak.

Joel gave you few harder thrusts before cumming deep inside of you. "Fuck," he growled and nuzzled to your neck with a happy hum.

He stayed motionless for a moment, trying the gain back the control on his own breath. Suddenly, Joel chuckled, kissing your neck and cheek. "Honestly? I expected more sound from you, princess."

You gasped and blushed oh so hardly, you didn't expect him to be so open. "Joel," you gasped. You blushed harder when you felt how your mixed cums dripped down your thighs when he slipped out of your core.

He hummed and gave one one more teasing thrust before moving up to look at you. "What is it, princess?"

"Don't go... Please, Joel, don't go... Don't leave me... I won't survive..."

He hushed you, pulling out slowly and laying both of you in comfortable position on the small couch. "I ain't going anywhere. Now, try to get some rest, okay?," Joel whispered, kissing your forehead.

"And when I wake up, you'll be still here?," You asked, letting your eyes closed.

"Yeah, I promise. Cross on my heart," he said hugging you tight.

You quickly drifted into sleep, being flanked by a firm grasp of the arms you loved the most.

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