18 years after the world ended, and you never thought you'd find yourself stranded and alone in the Boston QZ. you've got one friend, a tendency for violence and sticky fingers, so what happens when you run across two notoriously ruthless smugglers one night and they choose to save your life?
one-shots
sweetheart | joel miller x reader
you're home from college for summer '99 to visit your parents, when your eye wanders upon their next-door neighbor, joel miller.
no strings attached | joel miller x fem!reader
you can't deny there's always been something between you and joel miller. The question is, is either of you going to do something about it?
all of the works listed below and published on this blog are copyright protected. I do not consent to them being translated, copied, reposted or shared in any way. Any illegal reproduction of this content will result in immediate legal action.
vi: sympathy for the devil | joel miller x f!reader
flash point (series) masterlist
pairing: pre-TLOU! joel x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
general summary: on a particuarly wet night, you run across tess servopoulos and joel miller, and they help you out of a tight spot
chapter summary: two years have passed since joel and tess stitched you up in their kitchen, and in some ways, your life in the QZ is still the same. in other ways, though. . .
chapter warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, but this chapter is particularly gritty and violent, so much swearing, the slowest slow-burn of slow burns (because I'm trash and like to make you all wait for it), reader is a little shit but joel lowkey likes that, joel calls reader kid x1 time (just once, promise it's contextually relevant), mentions of reader having hair, mentions of drinking, depictions of smoking, some allusions to sexual content (nothing explicit, yet), so much sam backstory (sorry), a serious amount of angst, !TW!: attempted sexual assault (not by joel (or sam!))
a/n: please please please heed all the warnings. this is a pretty gritty chapter. also hi hello I know it's been over a year and a half but i have decided I want to finish this story and apparently a lot of you like it so here I am, back again. to those of you that have stuck around waiting for an update; you're angels. this is for you. don't hesitate to let me know if you like it :)
"As heads is tails,
just call me Lucifer
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint "
The rain had been relentless lately.
A veil of mist had descended over Boston, shrouding the towering, decrepit skyscrapers and narrow alleyways in a ghostly embrace. The wind, laden with the chill of a seemingly perpetual storm, whistles through the streets, carrying with it the stinging cold of raindrops that slice through the air like tiny daggers. Faces hidden beneath hoods and scarves bear expressions of weariness, their bags larger and more pronounced than ever, eyes devoid of purpose or hope. The pervasive damp seeps into every nook and cranny, permeating homes and workplaces, creating an unshakeable sense of discomfort and discontent that pollutes the entire QZ.
Joel doesn't necessarily mind this kind of weather because it seems to match his eternally gloomy moods, but the QZ always seemed much more depressing when it got like this, and he can almost feel the heaviness that overcomes the city in his bones.
As he weaves through the small groups of people on the sidewalk coming home from their daily assigned activities, Joel’s mind wanders.
You’d absolutely kill him if you knew who he was on his way to meet, but he guesses he can handle it if you decide to have a meltdown about it.
That’s not to say he’d particularly enjoy it; you’d found out once before and gotten so angry about it with him you’d ended up screaming at each other in his kitchen and Joel had honestly thought you were going to try and physically fight him. He’d never found out, because you’d stormed out after Tess had told you both to ‘knock it the fuck off’. You hadn’t spoken to him for two entire weeks after that.
Joel wasn’t normally upset by silence, but for some reason, after nearly two years of knowing you, silence from you was. . . unsettling. He had grown used to your almost continuous conversation, which he noticed only got worse when you were nervous about something.
Joel turns the corner into an alley, walking down all the way before coming face to face with the tall, barbed-wire topped fence that marks the edge of the Boston QZ. He walks along the edge, before his eyes fall on his target. He makes a straight line for it; the guard post isn’t in use anymore, but they hadn’t bothered tearing down the small structure. The metal sheet overhang is dilapidated and the holes in the top allow some drops to fall onto Joel’s coat, which he ignores as he waits underneath, shielding him from most of the rain pouring down from the sky. He can’t see much, the misty air around him heavy as he hears the telltale boots crunching down on the frozen ground as someone comes to stand under the post next to him.
“You’re late,” Joel grumbles to the soldier, who heaves a breath, but doesn’t say anything.
“Barely,” he replies, voice hardened and bitter, and Joel looks up only to find himself staring right into the eyes of Samuel Burke.
Well, he supposed it was Samuel Hartwin Burke, now.
He looks annoyed, eyes shut into bitter slits as he regards Joel. “What did you have that was so urgent?”
Joel watches as Sam’s eyes flicker over his shoulder, trying to peer searchingly into the mist for a split second.
“You can quit looking,” Joel says, “She ain’t here,”
Sam’s irritated silence tells Joel enough, before he looks up at him.
“She alright?” Sam asks through gritted teeth, making it clear he’s having a serious amount of difficulty with the fact that he has to ask Joel about this, of all people.
“Dunno,” Joel says with a shrug, and the soldier gives him a look.
“You don’t know?” he repeats back to him sarcastically, “I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Believe what you want,” Joel says gruffly, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to brush it off.
Sam lets out a scornful laugh, shaking his head. "I know her. . . that girl bonds for life, so I'm betting you're in touch with her, whether you want it or not,”
“Look, I don’t have time for this,” Joel says in an exasperated tone, blowing an irritated breath, “I’ve got something you’re going to want,”
Sam frowns slightly, but there’s a sparkle of curiosity in his sullen gaze. “What is it?”
“Oxy,” Joel says gruffly, “About twelve pills,”
“About twelve?” Samuel says with a scoff, raising a single eyebrow in an eerily similar way to you, “What you do, have yourself a little half for breakfast?”
Joel scowls, trying hard to suppress the hot spike of annoyance in his chest. “You want them, or not?”
Samuel extends his hand between the two of them, and Joel reaches into his jacket pocket with a grunt.
“Where’d you get them?” he asks, and Joel's eyes darken with an expression that advises Samuel not to inquire further as he drops the baggie into his palm.
Instead, he lets out a scoff. “And I’m going to tell you? Just like that?”
Joel barely even thinks about the snark when it comes out of his mouth, his mind now so accustomed to your mannerisms he hadn’t even noticed taking some of them over from you.
Samuel, however, stops for a split second, arms freezing as his eyes fix on Joel, flitting between the pills and his face. Then, clutching the pills in his fist, he reaches into his back pocket for a wad of ration cards.
“She still your sweetheart?" he asks, his tone a hint of defiant as he cocks his head to regard Joel.
It's a bitter word, filled with the pain of years of unrequited emotion. Joel feels his own wave of emotion wash over him at the mention of you, and the name he calls you, which stirs up more feelings in his chest he'd like to admit to as crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the kid.
He lets out a scoffing breath, shaking his own head slightly as he allows his emotion to get the best of him for a minute, eyeing a clip of cards that Samuel has fished out of his pocket. "Grow up, kid. She doesn't want you, never has,"
This strikes a chord with Samuel, and Joel lifts his gaze just fast enough to see as his face fills with a brief flash of pure despair, before he covers it up.
"You didn't answer my question," he says, and the surprising composure and to-the-pointness in his voice also reminds Joel of you.
He realizes to his shock that you're alike, you and Samuel, probably due to spending the last 15 years in each other's company, under each other's wing. . . Joel can't deny he hadn't developed similar habits to Tess, either. Or to you now, as well, at this rate.
Joel says nothing, only glaring at Samuel, who nods with a raise of his brow as he passes the clip of ration cards between his fingers. “So?”
His voice doesn’t sound dejected, and much to Joel’s annoyance, he even sounds a little triumphant about the fact that Joel didn’t confirm or deny his question.
"She's fine," Joel says eventually through gritted teeth, but his tone still sounds sincere enough.
Sam nods, pursing his lips. "That's good,"
He says it quietly, his eyes fixes on the gravel between his shoes as if deep in thought about something. Eventually, he looks up from where his eyes had been trained on the floor, and pushes the clip into Joel’s hand at last. "Don't tell her I asked, she'll chew your head off."
Then, with a final look in Joel's direction, he's gone, hunching his shoulder against the rain as he hurries down the street and out of sight before Joel can even mention he’s paid him too many cards. Joel decides to stay sheltered under the metal sheet a little longer and wait out the worst of the downpour, not feeling like peeling the soaked clothes off his body when he gets home.
Eventually it dies down, and Joel takes his chances with the remaining drizzle as he begins the 20-minute walk home. It’s stopped raining by the time he’s climbing the first set of dingy stairs and into the hall. The sounds of life surrounding him, the crying baby, the music coming from the downstairs neighbours, the young couple who’s always arguing. The air is so thick with the humidity it feels stifling, and Joel can’t tell if the patch on the back of his shirt is sweat or damp.
When Joel steps into the apartment, he’s met with the blasting sound of the radio, and the distinctive smell of cigarettes, which can only mean one thing: you’re home.
Sure enough, he sees you sitting by the open window in nothing but a tanktop and a tattered pair of shorts that had once been someone’s boxer briefs. You’re hunched over slightly as you lean against the knee you’ve propped up to reach your foot, and it takes Joel a second to realize you’re painting your toenails, head bopping along to the blasting guitar in the background. The length of your bare legs are on display as you sit propped against the open window frame, and Joel has to stop his eyes before they instinctively run over your form.
For a second the scene looks strangely like art to Joel; the grey, misty sky through the open window despite the oppressive humidity and heat, the smell of an impending storm heavy in the air. Some ends of your hair have come loose, the shorter strands curling into corkscrews from the humidity, others stuck to the nape of your neck with a slight sheen of sweat. Your face is a mask of focus as you paint a toenail, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate.
“She’s got it,” you hum along, cigarette hanging precariously loose on your lips, “Yeah baby, she’s got it,”
The slam of the front door has you looking up at Joel, smoke curling around you as you take a drag.
“Home already?”
“It stinks in here,” Joel says in an irritated sigh as he steps towards the kitchen, and you grimace slightly, turning your head to blow the smoke out of the window.
“Sorry, I thought you’d be out longer,”
You sound a little put out by his tone of voice, and for a small second Joel feels an inkling of guilt at the thought that his first words to you after not having seen each other all week was a snide remark about the smell of your nail polish.
“What are you doing that for?” Joel grumbles as he pours himself a glass of water in the sink, before reaching across the table and turning the radio down a little so that he can hear himself think again.
“It’s for the new man I’m seeing,” you say, not trying very hard to conceal the joking undertone as you paint another toenail, “He offered me three ration cards to suck on my toes. . . figured they should at least look nice,”
You look up at Joel and to your great satisfaction, he looks suitably horrified and disgusted, standing by the kitchen counter grasping his glass of water, which makes you smile cheekily.
“Gotcha,” you tell him through a laugh, shaking your head as you blow out a plume of smoke, “Man, the look on your face alone would’ve been worth it,”
“Very funny,” he says dryly as you chuckle, shaking your head.
“Anything from the radio?” Joel asks as he collapses on the couch, groaning slightly.
“Nothing new,” you say as you paint another toe, “60’s,”
Joel frowns slightly as he listens to the song blasting over the radio. “This isn’t 60’s,”
You give him an obvious look. “Shocking Blue is 60’s, Joel,”
“Well, did you check the book?” he asks, and you look even more perplexed, eyes widening slightly.
“You’re serious? I didn’t have to, Joel,” you reiterate in a slow, obvious tone, “Because it’s Shocking Blue,”
Joel lets out an exasperated sigh as he picks the enormous book up from the coffee table, before moving to the 60’s pages to fact-check you.
“Your trust in me is astonishing,” you let out sarcastically as you turn back to your toenails, and Joel only huffs, before his eyes fall on the bottom of the page.
Venus – Shocking Blue (1969)
Joel doesn’t say anything, just drops the book back on the coffee table with a thump, defeat written all over his features nonetheless.
“Told you,” you say, eyes sparkling with mischief as you look back at him, now leaning back against the couch, legs spread and hands over his face in exhaustion.
“That,” Joel says, moving his hands to nod towards the cigarette you’re nursing, “Is a disgusting habit, you know that, sweetheart?”
You’re unfazed, rolling your eyes as you inhale the smoke pointedly, eyes back on your half-painted toes.
“So?” you say, cigarette hanging loose between your lips, “I don’t call you an alcoholic, do I?”
“That’s because I’m not an alcoholic,” Joel huffs back, and you raise a single unimpressed eyebrow.
“A drink or four every night?” you muse, before grimacing jokingly, “Boy, do I have news for you, Mr. Miller,”
“Don’t you have your own apartment to go to?” Joel snaps at you, and you chuckle to yourself.
“Tess asked to use it, trust me, I'm not coming to be your roommate of my own free will,” you say with a snort, and as Joel opens his mouth, you interrupt, “Don’t ask me why, she didn’t tell me,”
Lie. You knew exactly why Tess had wanted to use your apartment, but something told you that given her and Joel’s history, she didn’t need you sharing that information with him right now.
“Well, how long will she be needing it?” Joel asks in an obvious tone, already feeling in his gut he isn’t going to like your answer, and you grimace.
“Probably all night,” you say, and you don’t have to look at Joel to hear him groaning.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Joel lets out in an irritated breath, and you wave him off.
“You can fucking relax, grumpy,” you tell him, before putting out your cigarette on the metal bars of the fire escape, “I actually do have someone to meet tonight, so you get the place to yourself for a few hours,”
“How generous of you,” Joel says with a roll of his eyes, but his curiosity is piqued and he can’t stop himself from asking his next question, “Who’re you meeting?”
“Someone I’m painting my toenails for, apparently,” you say through a cryptic breath, shaking your head. You feel Joel’s eyes on you, that piercing gaze you’ve come to know so well looking right through you, and you look up to be met with his unimpressed face “God, don’t give me that look,”
“What look?” Joel says, tone a hint defensive, and you roll your eyes.
“That look,” you accuse, “Like you’re my dad or something. . . look, he’s not a serial killer, I know him,”
“Yeah, I know all about the people you know,” Joel mutters to himself through a heavy breath as he repositions himself to lay flat on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.
You frown at him from across the room. “Meaning?”
Joel doesn’t see the look you’re giving him but feels your eyes on him, and gives you the most annoying, nonchalant shrug you think you’ve ever seen.
“You know what it means,” he says in a nonplussed tone, which makes you roll your eyes as you close up your bottle of polish.
“Joel Miller everyone,” you say sarcastically, hopping down from the windowsill, “Conversationalist of the fucking year,”
“You can always leave if you don’t like it,” he remarks, and you let out a scoff, shaking your head as you walk past him to the kitchen. Before you can chicken out, you use your index finger and thumb to gently flick him on the forehead.
“You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?”
“Watch it!” Joel barks, sitting upright in anger, but by the time he turns his head to glare at you, you’ve fled into the bathroom with a snickering laugh.
The peace and quiet is nice.
Joel spends his evening on the couch, enjoying a glass of whiskey and listening to the single CD he has on the radio, which is a limited edition of Fleetwood Mac’s sixth studio album, Bare Trees. It had been a gift from you for his birthday, and even though at the time Joel had muttered and grumbled, firstly to Tess about even telling you it was his birthday, and then to you about how much a waste of ration cards it had been, he hadn’t let the thing out of his sight.
He would never outright admit it to you, but Joel loves that CD, and he listens to it any chance he gets, so much so that he can exactly point out all the times the record skips during its 37 minute runtime.
He doesn’t do much else with his evening, spending most of his time looking at his map. He does, other things, too, at the beginning of the evening, but his ears are strained the whole way through, heart beating fast not only at the hand he’d had wrapped around himself, but also the idea he could’ve been interrupted at any time. You hadn’t told Joel when you’d be home or in fact if you’d be home at all, but despite this, he was still a cautious man. After he’d cleaned up, he’d spent most of the evening drinking and looking at the map, propped up in his bed with his boots kicked off on the old floorboards.
Joel had expected you to be gone most of the evening at least and maybe even well past curfew, so when barely a minute before 10pm he hears the door slam from the bedroom, he frowns.
There’s more noise, followed by a loud clatter, and Joel sits bolt upright from where he’d been sitting against the headboard, studying his map of the QZ. For a second he’s worried you’ve actually had the audacity to bring the guy home, but he doesn’t have to wonder for much longer.
“Mother of fuck,” he hears you swear at the top of your lungs, “Stupid, fucking–”
There’s another sound of clattering, accompanied by the distinct sound of the trashcan being kicked over and what sounds like the lid rolling across the floor. There’s more noise, like cabinets being thrown open, before Joel hears your heavy footsteps thundering through the apartment and your silhouette appears in the doorway of the bedroom a minute later, arms crossed over your chest.
“Where’s the bottle of whiskey you keep under the sink?” you ask him bluntly, and he turns his eyes back to his map, deliberately avoiding your gaze.
“It was delicious,” he replies, and even though he isn’t looking at you, he can feel the glare burning into the side of his face.
You let out an irritated breath, before your eyes zero in on the half-full bottle of whiskey standing on his nightstand, next to an almost full glass. “Fine then,”
You trudge over to the bed, kicking off your shoes before crawling onto the spread next to Joel. Before he can even process it, you’ve fully leaned over him and reached for the bottle on his nightstand, and it takes the existing remainder of Joel’s southern manners not to look at the face full of your cleavage your leaning over him like this gives him.
“Hello?!” he lets out in surprise, his tone almost indignant. You ignore him as you manage to grab the bottle and prop yourself against the headboard next to him, before you unscrew the top and bring the bottle to your lips, taking three almighty gulps.
“Help yourself, why don’t you,” Joel grumbles as he turns back to his map, shaking his head.
You swallow down the whiskey, before screwing up your face a little at the burn. “I need it more than you,”
Joel lets out a non-committal hum as his eyes roll over the map, examining every little street and mark Tess has made, and for a moment, the both of you sit in silence, the only sound the sloshing of the whiskey in the bottle as you take another sip.
“Need me to wring his neck?” he asks in an even tone, not looking up from his map, and you let out a snort, which morphs into a groan as you bring your free hand up to rub your forehead.
“No,” you let out in a breath, before making a face, “I guess he was being a gentleman,”
Joel lets out a sarcastic snort. “So you’re angry that he didn’t take advantage of you?”
“I’m angry–” you say pointedly, “–that he spent the entire evening with his eyes glued to my breasts but didn’t even kiss me goodnight.”
Joel makes a face at this, grimacing slightly. “Sounds like a boy to me,”
"–and what you need is a man," you say back to him in a rather poor imitation of his voice, and Joel's eyes move up from the map for a second in exasperation, but his head doesn't turn to look at you.
“He was a fucking waste of my time,” you mutter on, taking another swig of the bottle.
Joel shakes his head, raising his brows as he takes another sip of his glass, eyes focused on the map again.
“He wouldn’t have known what to do with ya,” he says eventually.
Your head snaps up at his comment, one of your eyebrows raising as you try to ignore the flutter in your stomach when you look at him.
“And you would?” you return, keeping your voice level and sarcastic, “When’s the last time you got laid, anyway? 157 BC?”
Joel shakes his head again as an almost condescending chuckle escapes his nose, corners of his mouth pulling into the hint of a knowing smile as he deliberately ignores your jab about his age.
“Practice makes perfect, but wisdom comes with age, sweetheart. . . I’ve got tricks that would make your little head spin,” he says, turning his head to look at you for the first time for the whole conversation.
His eyes bore into yours as he raises an infuriatingly cocky eyebrow. It’s not a side of Joel you see very much, given his usual default. After two years of knowing him, though, you’ve come to learn that despite his hard exterior, Joel has his moments, and underneath all the grouch and harshness, he’s actually got a personality.
“Really?” you ask him, your tone sarcastic, before you raise a challenging eyebrow, “Why don’t you show them to me, then?”
For a second, Joel’s expression sucks you in, eyes boring into yours as you return his gaze with challenge. You ignore the burn in your lower tummy his words have ignited.
“I have a bad back,” he says eventually, corners of his mouth twitching, and that makes you let out an actual laugh as you turn to look away from him.
“Don’t worry,” you say jokingly before taking another sip, “I can be gentle,”
“I can’t,” Joel replies as his eyes continue to roll over the map, and you somewhat choke on the whiskey already burning its way down your throat.
After a few coughs, your head snaps to look at him, mouth falling open slightly.
“Hello, Mr. Miller,” you say, your tone amused as your eyebrows raise on your forehead, your voice still somewhat croaky, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Joel says pointedly, before he snatches the bottle from you and sets it down on the bedside table next to him, “That I ain’t discussing this with you,”
“Prude,” you snort, and Joel shakes his head as his eyes return to the map he’s studying.
“Private,” he corrects easily, “There’s a difference,”
“Well both–” you retort, before leaning over him again to snatch back the bottle of liquor, ignoring Joel’s glaring eyes in the side of your face, “–are boring,”
Joel lets out a derisive chuckle as he flips the map over with a pointed movement, eyes never leaving the lines.
“That ain’t an insult to me, kid,” he says with a grunt, “A little mystery keeps us sane,”
Joel feels your gaze boring into the side of his face, but ignores it, before he hears you scoff, head turning to focus on the bottle of whiskey you’re nursing, instead.
“You’re a fucking poet,” you tell him sarcastically, before you down the rest of the bottle in one go.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me,"
Your eyes narrow as they regard Robert, who is standing opposite you, and shrugs his shoulders.
"Don't know what you want me to say," he says in a nonchalant voice, and your eyes almost bug out of your head as you look at him, "Price went up,"
"I want you to say you're a fuckin' grifter is what," you tell him, "This isn't the first time you pull this shit, Robert. . . you're a slimy fucking weasel,"
"You've got a pretty big mouth for such a little girl," one of the boys standing next to Robert sneers, and you fight a serious urge to roll your eyes.
"Come closer and I'll show you just how little I can swing my fist," you rebuff him, and you watch with a degree of satisfaction as his shoulder square slightly at the threat, "Or are you too afraid you'll get your ass kicked by this little girl?"
"I ain't afraid of you," The kid's nostrils flare in anger as he glares at you, taking a small step forward, whereas you stay exactly where you are, perched on the small wall opposite them, eyebrows raised in challenge.
"Noah, enough," Robert says, his voice full of authority, and the guy actually listens and backs off as Robert turns his attention to Joel, who is standing opposite him.
“Yeah, Noah, enough,” you tell him with a condescending smile, and you watch the hatred in his eyes with great satisfaction as he glares at you.
“I can pay you with some extra painkillers I have left over,” Joel says, looking at Robert, whose eyes seem to light slightly at the mention of painkillers. They were a rare commodity in the QZ, provided you had the right connection and found the right FEDRA clientele to sell them to.
Joel, unbeknownst to you, had found the former.
If you knew who it was, you’d probably not talk to him for a while, and Joel was strangely eager to avoid it. Not that he cares that you would be angry with him, but your presence is one Joel has gotten used to over the past years, and when you go silent, it still leaves a pretty big hole in his day-to-day that he'll only grudgingly admit to noticing.
“How many?” Robert asks, an eagerness in his voice that has Joel feeling triumphant.
“Four,” he tells Robert, knowing full well that the pouch he’s carrying has at least nine.
Robert nods for a second, making a show of thinking about it, which Joel finds ridiculous, and when his eyes briefly turn to look at you, you make a gagging gesture.
Joel fights an urge to roll his eyes as he looks back at Robert, making an impatient noise. “Well? You want em’ or not?”
“Sure,” Robert says eventually, and Joel pulls the pouch out of his pocket and tips 4 pills into his palm.
He takes a few steps, handing them over to Robert, before pulling the clip of ration cards from last night and pulling out 5.
What Joel doesn’t notice is the way your eyes zero in on the leather clip, gaze narrowing slightly as recognition sparks in your gaze. A small frown folds itself into your brow, but you seem unsure, eyes still trying to catch a glimpse of the clip as Joel’s body half-shields the exchange.
“There,” Joel grumbles, stuffing the clip back in his pocket before holding his hand out for the bag Robert is holding him.
You don’t remember exactly what’s in it, because, if you were completely honest you hadn’t been listening to Joel when he’d been telling you, but you had remembered it was something related to the radio. You knew the radio was important, because it was your only way to get in touch with Bill and Frank. What interests you more, however, is where Joel had gotten those ration cards in that clip.
Joel leaves you no time to ask as he turns on his heel, and you have to jump down from where you were sitting on the little wall to follow him.
“Nice doing business with you,” Robert directs at you with a smile that makes you queasy, and you fight the urge to make a face.
As you level with him, Joel puts his hand on your arm as you walk away, not dragging you, but fingers still firmly and reassuringly wrapped around your coat to lead you away. You don’t mind the display; you know he’s doing you a favor if anything, because Robert is terrified of Joel, and would rather steer well clear of you rather than risk his size 11 boot up his ass for making a pass at you.
The moment you turn into the alley, you open your mouth.
"Where the hell did you even get the extra cards?" you ask, but Joel stays tellingly silent, instead shouldering on stoically, "Joel,"
"You don't want to know," he huffs out, dropping your arm, which makes you frown.
Out of the years you've known Joel, he's been many things; angry, gruff, a little inflammatory, but never secretive. Despite his rather cold manner, Joel wasn't known to mince his words or hide things, knowing that a partnership in this industry of the QZ, so to speak, was better done openly and with all the information available.
"Well now I definitely want to know," you say with a frown, and still Joel says nothing as you round the corner of the street. He's walking fast, so you almost have to jog to keep up with him, and he's looking straight ahead, refusing to meet your eye, "Hello?"
"Will you give it a rest?" Joel snaps suddenly, giving you a thundering glare as he abruptly stops, and it makes you recoil slightly, flinching at his tone of voice.
Sure, you're somewhat used to this side of Joel, but you're not exactly sure what you've done to deserve his shitty mood today.
"Jesus Christ, fine," you mutter, putting your hands up defensively, "No need to be a dick about it, you know,"
Joel feels a brief stab of guilt as he looks at the hurt flashing in your eyes for a split second, before he turns on his heel and continues down the street. You walk in silence until you reach the apartment, and when Joel marches through the door with you in tow, Tess comes in from the bathroom.
"How'd the deal go?" she asks tentatively, taking note of Joel's demeanor, and you shrug.
"It went okay," you say, stepping over to the counter before making a mocking face, "He's sulking,"
Joel ignores you pointedly, and Tess frowns slightly, before she heaves a sigh and shakes her head.
“What are you sulking about?” she asks him, but he doesn’t even get the chance to respond.
“Nobody knows,” you give a dramatically mock-wistful tone, “But it’s always something,”
At this, Joel turns to face you, unimpressed eyebrows raised. “F’you have something to say, sweetheart, say it to my face,”
“Yeah, right,” you say through a sarcastic snort, before shaking your head, “If I say it to your face, you’ll knock out all my teeth, and I like my teeth very much,”
At this, Joel’s mask drops for a split second. It was no secret he wasn’t the nicest man in the QZ, but for you to consider he’d actually use violence against you, especially after the last 2 years, made Joel a little uneasy. Tess seems to notice the look on Joel’s face, and tries to suppress a knowing look. He may have one of the best poker faces she’s ever seen, but she’s also known Joel long enough to see it in his eyes.
“You have any more ration cards?” she asks, changing to subject instead, “We ran out of milk and I need it to make dinner,”
“Ask Joel,” you say with a grumble as you walk past towards the kitchen table and drop into one of the chairs, crossing your arms over your chest, “He has plenty,”
Your tone is childish, and once again Joel feels a stab of irritation as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve what’s left of his cards. He hands the whole clip to Tess with an annoyed expression, eyes glaring at you where you give him a smug look.
When you catch sight of the clip in which the rations cards are held, however, you frown as a flicker of recognition ignites in you. "What's that?"
"What's what?" Tess asks, turning her head to look at you, and you nod towards the clip in her hand.
"That," you repeat, nodding towards the clip, and your expression has become stony as your eyes turn to Joel, who’s trying his best to look unbothered even though he knows he’s been rumbled.
"Are you fucking serious right now?" you seethe at him, your glare piercing through the side of his face.
"Don't start," he says with a slight groan as he gives you a look, "He's a good buyer–"
"I don't give a shit!" you let out angrily, throwing up your hands as you get to your feet, "Jesus Christ, I knew you were lying to me earlier,"
Your voice is accusatory as you shake your head, and Joel heaves an exasperated sigh.
"So what?" he snaps, giving you an expectant look, "What do you want me to do about it, hm? I'm not going to go and give them back, am I? S'pose you also don't want the ration cards we got out of selling these, either?"
Your jaw sets angrily as you glare at Joel, whose expression is almost smug as he stands opposite you, his body language standoffish. There’s a moment of silence before you speak, and when you do, your voice is trembling with anger.
"You're a bastard, you know that?" you tell him, and he huffs a sarcastic laugh.
"What's new, sweetheart?"
Joel knows antagonizing you isn't a good idea; he knows you probably won't talk to him for the next few weeks, but he just can't stop it coming out of his mouth. Sometimes, you really fucking push his buttons, and he can’t help but push yours back.
With a furious glare in his direction, you snatch your coat off the chair.
"You can keep the ration cards, I don't fucking want them," you snap at him, before you walk past him and Tess towards the front door, making sure to shoulder him on the way and slamming the door shut behind you.
After a minute of tense silence, Tess lets out a low whistle as she looks at Joel, pursing her lips into a half-grimace.
"Nicely done," she says sarcastically, and Joel glares at her.
"Don't you fucking start, too," he warns, turning around to skulk into the kitchen, heavy boots thudding against the floor as she puts her hands up defensively.
"Wasn't going to," she says nonchalantly, before sitting down at the table with a sigh, "When is she going to forgive him? It's been over a year,"
Joel shakes his head as he stands by the sink, back to her as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small baggie of pills from earlier.
"I was there," he says as he tips the pills out onto the counter to count them, "The answer's never,"
Tess lets out an exasperated sigh, hand coming up to rub her forehead.
"So then why do we still trade with him? If she's going to have a tantrum every time she finds out we've even been near him–"
"He's the most stable buyer of painkillers we've had in years," Joel says with a shake of his head as he turns to Tess, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the counter, "She'll get over it,"
Tess makes a face, getting to her feet. "It's your funeral. . . if she ever asks, I'm pinning it on you,"
"I can handle her," Joel says with a snort, and Tess' brows go up on her forehead as she gives him another sarcastic look.
"I'm sure you can," she says cryptically as she turns her back on him, but before Joel can ask her what she means by that, she disappears through the doorway and into the bedroom.
You spend the next few hours roaming the QZ; normally, you’d have gone home to your apartment, but you know Tess has a key and you’re not in the mood for her to come over and try and make peace between you and Joel.
You’re still furious with him for lying to you about trading with Samuel; you weren’t an idiot of course, and part of you had known on some level that Joel was still selling to him after the last time you’d caught him, but you were mostly upset about being lied to. Maybe it was silly to expect Joel Miller of all people to go out of his way to respect your wishes, but it had still been more than a few years since you’d been in each other’s lives, and you expected some degree of loyalty. Even though it put you slightly on edge to even admit it, his dishonesty felt like a nastier gut punch than it would’ve coming from anybody else. Joel was also the only one, apart from Samuel, who had learned the truth about what had happened with your dad, including the extent of your former friend’s betrayal, which made his lying about meeting him all the more bitter.
The QZ is busy at dusk, the oppressive weight of the day’s heat slowly giving way to the chill of the evening as inhabitants rush to get home. The sky turns a bruised shade of purple as you walk, casting a dull, fading light across the tall, graffiti-tagged concrete walls that rise on either side of the streets, barbed wire spiraling on top. The air smells of rot, more than usual, the heat and humidity of the summer creating an unpleasant mixture of mildew and the collective smell of an exhausted, working population. the streets grow quieter as curfew approaches, and even though you know you should probably get indoors before that, you keep extending your walk, the prospect of having to face Joel or Tess even more grim than when you started.
Your mind wanders as you continue to walk well into the darkness of the evening; you still remember how beautiful the skies had been in Pasadena, where you grew up, sitting in the backyard eating dinner as the sky turned marshmallow pink. At the time, they had just been part of the scenery and a daily show you had barely paid attention to, but now?
You would trade anything on earth just to enjoy another dinner under pink skies.
Even though you don’t like to be out past curfew, you walk with the practiced ease of someone who’s spent far too many nights doing it–quiet, unnoticed, blending into the crumbling landscape and occasionally ducking to avoid the sweeping lights of passing FEDRA convoys.
You get tired of walking eventually, turning into an abandoned alley that meets its dead end against the bulky perimeter wall of the buffer zone. There are two walls there, the first having been the original, now-collapsed perimeter, built 20 years ago when the apocalypse started. The new wall delineating the buffer zone only stands a few feet away from it, and where the part of the old wall connected to the facade of the building is still standing, exists the perfect spot for you to sit on and look out across what used to be the rest of Boston. It’s your favorite spot in the QZ, a tiny corner obscured by complete darkness and not in any danger of being spotted by the guards in the turrets or anyone patrolling the outer perimeter walls.
You sit with your back against the facade of the building for several hours, pressed against the cold, jagged surface, watching the enormous searchlights sweep over the buffer zone and beyond. You’re completely alone up here, and you like it that way– makes it easier to think, to quiet the rushing thoughts constantly echoing through your brain and the jagged flashes of memories from moments in your life that have defined you, their edges sharp and tearing at your insides.
The Boston QZ hadn’t exactly left you much room to think, which you found strange considering how calm it was relative to your past experiences. Granted, it was still a Quarantine Zone in an apocalyptic hellscape, but where Kansas City had felt like a constant fight for your life, Boston was practically a city asleep. People mostly minded their business and did their work to keep the system running, and the fireflies’ activities hadn’t escalated to such an extent they meant the collapse of the system. Even the FEDRA soldiers in the Boston QZ felt milder and devoid of the brutality you’d seen in other cities, mostly ordinary people concerned with their own problems and objectives rather than serving the system.
Make no mistake, FEDRA was still an authoritarian regime, but in Boston, people didn’t disappear off the streets for hanging up a poster.
It had been over two years since arriving, but contrary to the QZ’s you’d been in before, this had been the first time without Samuel. Well, barring the first 7 months.
As much as you hated to admit it, it feels strange, navigating this world without him. He had been a constant in your life since you had been 14, never leaving your side until your forced separation in Seattle. Even then, he’d left you with a whispered promise as his hands had clasped yours in the chaos of a collapsing city.
Boston. I’ll find you.
Those words had echoed through your brain as you’d trekked the over three thousand miles between Seattle and Boston. You still remember the way you’d collapsed and cried out of pure relief when you’d tried out an old bike you’d found stashed in a shed somewhere in Saskatchewan, and it had actually ridden. It had meant being one step closer to Boston, to Sam, and out of the nightmare that the three weeks since your separation had been.
When you’d finally gotten to Boston and managed to sneak your way into the QZ, you’d searched for him everywhere, in every single face you would cross, until eventually, his familiar features had come into focus, standing on a corner checkpoint with another soldier, sporting a familiar uniform and with a rifle slung over his shoulder. You’d wanted nothing more in that moment than to shout his name and collapse into him, but you’d been careful nonetheless, waiting until he was walking home to appear from the darkness of the alley behind him.
“You still leave your key in your boot, or did the military finally teach you how to lock a door properly?”
Sam froze, turning so quickly you’d been surprised he hadn’t injured himself.
You leaned against the brick wall across the narrow street, half-covered in shadow, your hair escaping in messy wisps from beneath a gray beanie, your face streaked with dirt and a threadbare coat zipped up to your neck.
“Speedy?” he breathed, the word like a prayer he hadn’t dared say aloud in weeks.
A tired, crooked smile curled at your lips. “You didn't think I’d walk across the goddamn country just to not make a dramatic entrance, did you?
For a split moment of panic, you had been afraid of his reaction. You didn't know what to expect, but you’d been living in this hellscape for long enough to know that this world changed people.
But then he said your name, your actual name, like it was breaking out of him, like it was the only thing holding him together.
And then he was moving.
You barely had time to push off the wall before he crossed the space between you and pulled you into him. The breath left your lungs in a rush as your bodies collided and he held you, arms tight around your back like he couldn’t trust his fingers not to let go. Your backpack fell to the ground with a soft sound as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into the familiar crook of his neck.
“I thought you were dead,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought you were fucking dead.”
“I tried not to be,” you murmured against his jacket. “Turns out surviving on foot from Seattle is just a really long, really bad camping trip.”
He huffed a laugh, but it was tight, strained, before something shifted in his voice. It became deeper. Rawer.
“Every day… Every damn day, I looked,” he whispered against your temple, “When they dragged out the bodies, when they left them hanging by the gate. I looked. I went up close, looked at their faces. All of them. Just—just praying yours wasn’t one of them.”
You leaned back slightly, just enough to look at him, hands coming up to his face, thumbs brushing dirt and dried sweat from his cheek.
“I know,” you said softly. “I know. . . ”
Your foreheads touched as Sam’s hands came up to brush a stray behind your ear, fingertips running along the fresh scar on your neck, just below your jaw.
“What happened?” he murmured, his breath fanning against your lips, and you shook your head slightly.
“I fought like hell. . . I couldn’t let it end out there, Sam, not like that. I just—I needed to get here. To you.”
His hands were shaking against your jaw, and you could feel his heartbeat like a drum between them.
“I waited,” he whispered. “I didn’t stop. I waited.”
And then he kissed you.
It was sudden and raw, full of all the things you hadn’t said, couldn’t say, or had been too afraid to hope for. His hands tightened at your waist, like he still didn’t believe you were really there, and your fingers curled into the collar of his jacket like maybe you didn’t, either.
You knew this wasn’t wise, knew this only would only lead to complications, but something about the force of it — the pure need, the sheer desperation between you. It undid you completely.
Your hands found the sides of his face, rough with stubble and grime, and you kissed him back harder, pouring every cracked and splintered piece of yourself into him and hoping that would fix it.
You didn’t care if it was a mistake. You didn’t care what it would mean tomorrow or that it would undoubtedly complicate years of friendship because you knew, deep down, the balance of emotion was off. You just needed to feel him.
The sharp crackle of a megaphone on a moving truck in the street below disturbs your thoughts, but the words quickly fade into the darkness along with the lights, and the remainder of your memories from that night.
Stay inside. Mandatory curfew in place to fight infection and insurrection.
It’s always the same shit.
A rustle from the mouth of the alley breaks the silence, and your whole body freezes up.
It’s soft, but unmistakable; the sound of boots scraping against the pavement. The alley is dark below you and you can’t see down below, but you can hear them now– low voices, much too close for comfort. You wait, every muscle tense, watching as the shadows shift and a group of three men pass the end of the alley on the main street. They move quietly, but their conversation is too loud, too familiar. They’re not wearing uniforms, and they don’t seem concerned with the curfew at all, which annoys you. The last thing you need is for them to draw attention to your little corner; it may be hidden away, but not so much that a well-aimed sweep of a FEDRA-issued flashlight wouldn’t expose you. You watch as they pass the entrance of the alley, walking further down the street, and your body relaxes a little as you let out a small breath.
You wait a few more minutes after they’ve passed, just in case. They’re not necessarily a threat, but you’re in no mood to deal with anyone tonight. Besides, you figure you’ve been out long enough, and you don’t want to face the lecture from Joel or Tess about disappearing for too lengthy periods of time if they don’t find you in the apartment in the morning. They’ve trusted you enough to give you the space you need, but that trust only goes so far.
You slide down from the wall, careful not to make a sound, and begin moving toward the alley’s mouth. It’s thankfully easy to blend in at this hour, but you’re still careful and as nimble as you can be, barely stirring the dust beneath your boots. You’re almost at the end of the alleyway when you hear the men again. Their voices are speaking in hushed and hurried tones now, and getting louder and louder by the minute, as you see a faint light of a truck searchlight sweeping over the main street.
Shit.
You figure they’re hiding from the same FEDRA convoys you are, but before you can reach the end of the street to disappear into an old doorway or hide behind a collapsed car on the main street, they reappear, ducking into the alleyway and right into your pathway. You resist the urge to swear as you’re forced to take several steps back, pressing yourself against the wall of the alley to stay out of sight. Your body is pressed against the cold brick as you stay low, keeping to the shadows. Sure enough, the hushed voices quiet into complete silence as the FEDRA truck drives past the alley on the main street, light barely reaching a few feet into it before they disappear again. You let out a small breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in, but you also know you aren’t out of the woods yet; ahead of you, the three guys are talking again, and they don’t sound friendly, per se.
You keep moving slowly to get past them as quickly as you can, but in your haste to get there, you accidentally kick a loose piece of rubble, which knocks against the wall with a thunk that echoes through the alley.
Shit, shit, shit.
The voices go completely silent for a moment, before a gruff voice calls out.
“Who’s there?” it yells in a whisper, but you stand as still as you can. You’re almost past them and at the mouth of the alley, almost there and you can just turn the corner and slip away–
Then you hear it– the unmistakable click of a flashlight, before a feeble beam of light cuts across the dark like a knife, and then shines right into your face.
Your pulse spikes as your eyes squint slightly to adjust to the light.
“You mind not shining that thing in my eye?” you mutter as you try to make out the faces behind the flashlight.
“Well, look who it is,” comes a voice, louder and more distinct this time. Your eyes finally adjust and you recognize one of the three faces standing opposite you.
Your stomach sinks. It’s Noah, Robert’s watchdog from earlier, and two of his cronies.
Out of all the people you had to run into by yourself, in the middle of the night, and it was these three fucking morons.
“Evening,” you say with a sarcastic smile, “Nice time for a stroll, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, little girl?” Noah ponders with a mocking smile, and you purse your lips with contempt as you fix him with cold eyes.
“Well shit, if it’s past mine, it’s definitely past yours,” you fire back, and one of the guys to his left suppresses a snicker as Noah’s mocking smile freezes on his face. His eyes sweep to your sides, before he cocks his head slowly.
“No bodyguard tonight, hm?” he asks you, and you feel your stomach flutter with unease as you realize he’s referring to Joel.
God, please, you know you shouldn’t have yelled at him, but don’t make me pay for it now.
“I’m on my way to him now,” you tell him, “So I’ll be on my way,”
As you move to step towards the end of the alley, the two figures with Noah move to block the mouth of the alley, moving so comically in tandem it feels like they’ve rehearsed it.
You freeze, eyes darting between them—tall, broad-shouldered, shadows outlined against the dim light from the main street.
“I don’t think so,” Noah says in a leisurely voice as he saunters to stand in front of them, now forcing you to face them. There’s no real way around them unless you barrel into one of them, the exit cut off.
You could try and turn back, but you’d have to clamber the wall and try and get over the barbed wire before they caught up to you. Besides, if a FEDRA soldier caught a glimpse of someone trying to jump the wire, you’d be shot on sight, no questions asked.
You step back, trying to steady yourself, but there’s nowhere to go. You can feel your breath coming fast, the pulse of panic trying to rise in your chest, but you hide it best you can. Your fingers brush the handle of your knife, but part of you knows that pulling it would only make things worse.
“If I recall correctly,” Noah says nonchalantly, “You’re having your midnight stroll on our turf,”
“What is this, West Side Story?” you say with a snort and a shake of your head, “Didn’t have you pegged for the musical theater type,”
“You’re funny,” he returns dryly, tongue kissing his teeth, “Real funny. . . you know what I mean. You’re on our territory,”
“We’re negotiating new ones,” you tell him with a dry smile, “Or does Robert not keep his dogs informed of his new plans?”
“You got a big fucking mouth for such a little girl,” Noah sneers again, shaking his head, “Maybe you finally need to be taught that lesson, hm?”
Your heart skips a beat at the threat, every bone in your body screaming at you that it’s time to get the fuck out of here.
“I’m all good,” you say sarcastically, before you take a breath and boldly push past him.
You don’t get very far, and before you know it you feel a pull on your hair and your head snaps back.
Fuck.
Noah uses the hand in your hair to yank you backwards and up to get in your face. “Where are you fucking going, hm? Didn’t I just say you needed a lesson in manners?”
“Leave me alone,” you spit at him, and he sneers.
“Fat fucking chance. . . no ape to protect you now,”
With that, he uses his grip to all but launch you to the ground by your hair. You land with a hard thump, and it hurts, but not as much as when his heavy boot sinks into your ribs with an almighty kick. The force of it knocks the wind out of you, and the pain of what you’re sure is now a bruised or broken rib sears through your chest. You gasp for breath as he leans over you again, pulling on your shirt collar and tugging you up. You barely have time to register the next hit—a sharp, vicious punch to the jaw that splits your lip and sends a spray of blood onto the pavement.
He drops you back on the ground, the world spinning as he steps over you and hoists you up by your collar.
“Ready to say sorry?” he tells you, his face inches from yours, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction, giving him a bloody smile and a ragged laugh.
“He’s going to fucking kill you,” you bring out, and Noah’s eyes flash with hesitance for a split second, before they narrow again.
“Unlike Robert, I’m not afraid of an old man,” he sneers, before he drops you onto the ground again, head thumping painfully against the gravel, and the rest of the group closes in.
Another heavy boot strikes you in the stomach, the impact reverberating through your entire body. A white-hot agony shoots through your bones, and you clench your teeth to keep from crying out. You try to curl into a ball, shielding your head, but the beating doesn’t stop, blows landing on every inch of your body. The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, the pain an overwhelming and constant, searing throb that makes it impossible to think.
Finally, the blows seem to lessen, the sound of fists hitting flesh echoing into silence as you try hard to stay conscious.
“Learned your lesson?” Noah asks, giving you a cruel smile as he crouches eye-level with you.
You lift your head, spitting out a mouthful of blood that lands on the toes of his boots. “You punch like a girl,”
You know it isn’t smart, but you can’t help it. Fuck these guys.
His face morphs into snarl, before he looks up at his friends as he gets to his feet.
“Hold her down,” his voice sounds from above you, and the blood in your veins turns to ice as you hear the unmistakable clink of a belt buckle. Your heart hammers against your chest as you try to fight off the arms that pin you to the ground.
“Stop,” you groan out as the tall one looms over you, finger undoing the belt and button of his jeans.
“Mouthy bitch,” he says , shaking his head, “S’alright, I know just what to do with you,”
“Stop, please,” you let out as dread takes over your body, and you feel hands grabbing at you as you try to no avail to thrash out of their grip. The neckline of your t-shirt tears as someone pulls on it, fingers digging into your exposed skin with cruel intention.
As he kneels over you, you find an extra burst of strength, somehow loosening your wrist from a grip and swinging your arm wildly. It comes up in an arc and smacks your main attacker right across the face, scratching deep welts into his cheek.
“Shit,” he swears as he recoils, touching his face, before his eyes harden as he glares at his friends, “Now you’re really asking for it, aren’t you? Hold her down, for fucks’ sake,”
You fight back desperately, but the grips are too tight, and the fear courses through you as you feel his fingers fumble with your jeans. He manages to undo them, having to sit down hard on your thighs to stop you kicking out. You feel the tears pouring down your face as you beg, your voice hoarse and desperate as you feel him pull your pants and your underwear halfway down your legs, moving off of your legs in the process.
“Please,” you sob, but nobody is listening, and in a final attempt, you clamp your legs shut as best you can.
“You’re just deadset on being difficult, huh?” he asks as his fingertips dig into the sides of your thighs trying to pry them open, but you’re stronger than he expects, and it doesn’t go as easily.
Just as you feel your resolve slipping, there’s a sound of a truck engine, and a light sweeps over the alleyway.
“Hey!” comes a voice as boots crunch on gravel, “What the fucks’ going on here?”
Almost simultaneously, you feel all three sets of hands lift off of you, and you scramble backwards as fast as you can, hands reaching for your pants and desperately trying to pull them up your legs. You never thought you’d say it, but you’re actually grateful when you catch a glimpse of the headlights of a FEDRA-issued truck.
“Hands on your head!” comes a shout, but you’re not focused on them, because the tall one, Noah, turns to face you as you pull your pants over your hips.
With a final sneer, he spits at you, his saliva landing a few inches from your feet.
"Next time, know your place," he growls, before turning away, putting his hands up against the blinding headlights.
“I said hands on your head, NOW!” comes another shout, louder this time.
“Take it easy,” Noah mutters as you watch him get handled, the soldier grabbing his arms aggressively and folding them behind his back, followed by the unmistakable click of handcuffs.
“You fellas have any idea what the time is?” the FEDRA agent asks in a mocking jovial tone, brandishing his rifle at them as they stand with their back to you.
When none of the three say anything, he continues in the same tone. “It’s one thirty fellas. . . that’s 0130 hours to you, which means you’re all in serious violation of the curfew."
The lights are too bright and Noah’s broad figure blocks your vision too much for you to see who the soldier is, and who the two standing next to him are for that matter, but his voice does sound strangely familiar.
“Come on, we’re just messing around,” comes one of the men’s voices, “We can pay in cards if you let us off,”
You hear the guard snorting. “And let you kill this poor soul? All the cards in the world ain't worth the damn paperwork. . . or the stain on my conscience, for that matter. Now play nice and get in the truck, will you? I don’t want to do any paperwork for shooting you, either,”
There’s a great deal of grumbling before you hear the distinct sound of boots on the metal bed of the truck as you try to collect the strength to get up. The slam of the back makes you flinch, your heart still beating a million miles per hour from your ordeal. You try your best to sit up at least, but every inch of your body is screaming in pain, and you’re fighting hard just not to pass out as you struggle to look back up at the soldiers.
“What about her?” one of the soldiers says, “She must’ve been out past curfew, too,”
You feel the dread in your stomach at the idea of getting sent to FEDRA lockup with the very guys who just beat the crap out of you, but another voice interrupts.
“Look at her face, dude,” the third one, who had been quiet until now, speaks up. The minute you hear his voice, it feels like someone has poured ice cold water over your head.
Now you know why you recognized the first soldier, you’d heard his voice once before, when you’d ridden in the back of Sam’s truck on the first deal you’d ever done with Joel and Tess.
Carter.
“She’s had enough shit for one night without us locking her up in there with them, too,”
When you look up at the source of the voice who’s just spoken, eyes squinting properly against the bright headlights of the truck, you feel your stomach do a sickening somersault.
Your heart stutters for a moment, and the world seems to freeze. There he is, standing before you in full military gear, his expression unreadable, but there’s something behind his eyes. You’ve known that look for years—too many years—but it’s hard to read now, harder than it ever was back then.
Of course it’s him. His familiar eyes meet yours, trying to convey a million words without ever speaking them, and every minute you spend looking into them, you feel the emotions well up inside of you. It’s confusing, and overwhelming, and combined with the haze of pain you’re fighting, you’re shocked your brain hasn’t short-circuited yet.
“Fine,” the main soldier, Carter, says eventually, before looking down at you, “You got a home to go to, girl?”
You give a short nod, swallowing with some difficulty.
“Come on, get up,” Sam says, his voice half-authoritative, but you can discern a glimpse of gentleness there, too. You let him help you, his fingers gently closing around your forearm as you slowly get to your feet, every part of your body screaming in pain. You pull your arm out of his grip the moment you can, but even despite yourself, you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.
You don’t look at either of the three soldiers, instead keeping your gaze between your feet.
“Better get going, then,” Carter sneers, “Cause if I catch you out here again I’m personally dumping you into lockup with those three brutes. . . what they do to you in there isn’t my problem,”
With that, he turns on his heel and walks towards the car, the other, smaller soldier following.
Sam doesn’t move however, still standing in front of you, close enough that you can feel his gaze boring into you as you keep your eyes fixed on his boots. Eventually you look up at him, and you can feel the tears building behind your eyes as they meet his again, the ones you’ve held back for so long, but you won’t cry in front of him. Not now, not after everything.
Sam’s eyes search yours for a second, asking a silent question. You know he’d seen you pull your pants, know he recognizes the torn neckline of your shirt, know that he’s itching to ask you if you’re okay.
There’s a part of you that wants to fall into him, to sob and let go of everything you’re feeling and let him hold you like he used to when everything was simpler, and this twisted world was something you could still face together. His gaze holds yours.
He wants to pull you close. You know he does. The moment hangs between you two like a thread, fragile and taut. You feel it then, a whisper of a touch, his knuckles brushing against your wrist–
For a second, you’re sixteen again, and everything that went wrong hasn’t happened yet. He’s Sam, your best friend, your family, and it’s him and you against everyone else. He was the only person who ever understood you completely.
You want to say something, anything—apologize, scream at him, tell him how much you’ve missed him—but you can’t.
He lied to you.
He knew, and he never told you.
“Let’s go, HB,” comes Carter’s shout, and the spell is broken.
HB. Hartwin-Burke.
His jaw tightens, and for just a moment, you think he might still say something, anything, but he swallows it back.
You look away and take a stumbling step back, eyes breaking away from his stubbornly. You hear him heave a defeated sigh, before he turns around and leaves.
Only when the car disappears down the alley do you crawl to the edge of the alley, leaning against the cold brick of the building. The adrenaline leaves your body and you’re overwhelmed by so much pain and fear you curl yourself into your knees for a second and sob, allowing the tears to flow freely over your cheeks. After a second it starts to rain, but you stay there, curled in on yourself as the rain deepens, seeping into your clothes, your hair, the cracks in your skin.
It would be silly to hope that the rain would wash away the feeling of dread in your chest, or the pain echoing through your body, but it still feels like a sort of momentary respite, hiding your tears and covering the sound of your heartbroken sobs.
You resolve to stay like that, just for a little moment longer, allowing yourself the small mercies that this cruel world will allow, wishing deep down that the rain would dissolve you until you disappeared.
I reread the previous chapters of flash point as soon as I saw your post, and omg I forgot how good it was! Can't wait to read the new chapter❤️
Omg I'm such a liar I forgot to post 😭 I promise it's all finished and ready for ya'll and I'll do it first thing in the morning ❤️❤️ and thank you for your lovely ask! It's good to know people still want to read my stuff 🥹
pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU
summary: in the aftermath of the raiders, you and joel struggle your way to jackson.
warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, canon-typical violence, guns, panic attacks, angst, blood, wounds, suicidal thoughts, smut, unprotected sex, no use of y/n
a/n: this is the third part to this. i know it's taken me 100 years to post this and i'm sorry about that. i've somewhat settled into my new job, but i have much less time to write now than i used to have. this story will be finished tho!
main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist / fic updates
from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.
Under him, Joel felt the way the mare's muscles moved as he rocked back and forth in the saddle. She was a good horse, young, but trusting; always letting Joel take the lead. It made the job easy, the patrolling, knowing his horse could read him just as well as he read her. Softened thuds left horseshoe prints behind as they rode down the tired path for the fourth time this month.
A quiet day.
The snow had given way to the sun a few weeks ago, and when the last patch of rotten snow had finally dried up, the world had flowered with spring. Birds chirped, the days had gotten longer, and a hint of what some people would call hope was in the air.
But Joel wasn't 'some people'.
Under his padded leather jacket sweat dripped down his back as the sun warmed him from behind. All day it had bothered him – it was just too bright, and all the squinting had a headache brewing behind his eyes.
Behind him, Joel could hear the hoofs of Tommy's horse and his voice muffling praise to the stallion. His little brother. The one he'd spent his whole life protecting and worrying about, had now settled down with a wife and a child. Joel was happy for him, he truly was, but it also reminded him of all he'd lost.
Joel squinted up at the empty sky, and found himself wondering what would happen if he managed to shoot a hole in the sun. Would it fizzle out like a balloon draining of air? Maybe the hole would crash in on itself and explode in a supernova like he remembered reading in one of Sarah's old science books a lifetime ago.
The death of a star, and the birth of a black hole.
It seemed fitting. A black hole. That's what he was. A monster. Your words. A killer. Someone who destroyed everything in his path; destroyed every single thing that was good in his life. The reminder of your words, of that night all those months ago had an invisible hand wrap its fingers around his heart. His breath quickened and that familiar pressure started to build in his chest – the pressure that seemed to push him down more and more.
Fuck.
His hand moved on its own, loosening the reins before it tightened into a fist over his heart, pushing against the pressure. He tried to remember to breathe but it was like his throat had tightened into a pinhole.
C'mon now, Joel told himself, just breathe you stupid old man.
When the world started to blur at the edges something black and brightly orange fluttered before him. Joel had to use all of his energy to focus his eyes where it landed on his fist over his heart.
Slowly retracting and widening its wings, the butterfly rested over his fist. Watching it with widened eyes the pressure in his chest fizzled away, and suddenly with a shaky breath Joel could breathe again.
It's okay dad, he heard in the wind, it was her voice, his babygirl's, a voice he was so afraid of forgetting, you're on the right path.
Joel studied the wings, the bright orange against the intricate black lines, and he was reminded of the butterfly he'd seen in the woods with Arthur when he'd first arrived at the farm. How it had rested on his knee, calm and unafraid of the winter to come– a winter that had taken everything from him.
He wasn't on some right path, he'd steered off it the day she'd died and he'd never found his way back. Every waking hour for the last twenty years he'd lost another part of himself to violence, to the sound of a neck snapping, a gunshot echoing, or flesh breaking open underneath his fist.
Why pretend he could ever find his way back?
Joel figured he could live with all the blood on his hands, and all the nightmares reminding him of all the lives he's taken. They had all blurred together by now, all the red, like how you could get lost staring at a Rothko painting.
Shifting his weight in the saddle, the strap of his shotgun dug into his shoulder and rubbed at where he ached. The wound had healed up now, finally, but he'd wished it had taken him. Infection might've been the cruelest way to go, but didn't he deserve it after everything he'd done? To die painfully?
The only solace he could find in surviving was that you were finally safe. He didn't care that he was alone or that you hated him, you were safe– that's what he'd told you.
Down the barrel of Joel's gun your body shook, visibly, with widened eyes full of fright and your hands above your head. They were shaking too, your hands. To your left, inches from you, the man's lifeless body spilled red, feeling nothing as the life of him pooled in a steady stream at your knees where it stained your jeans. The wood drank greedily, feeding the foundation of the hunting cabin, turning fat and gluttonous from Joel's generous offering.
The way your eyes met his, terrified and disturbed, pulled him from the trance that had clouded his mind with fire smoke. Dropping his gun, he moved with haste, falling to his knees to take your head in his palms. Joel didn't realize how cold his hands were until they met your warm cheeks, but the way you flinched at his touch yanked at his heart.
"Shh," he cooed, "You're safe now, angel, you're safe," he told you, almost desperate.
"H-he's d-dead," you stuttered, "J-Jonah's d-dead."
He tried to soothe you, rubbing his fingers over your skin, but still you trembled under his touch. Worse, you didn't meet his gaze, instead your eyes stared a hole in his shoulder. Or maybe it was the bullet from the man bleeding out beside you?
"Y-you're b-bleeding," you muttered.
When Joel's own eyes found his shoulder he realized his mistake. Maybe it was the adrenaline leaving his body, or the way your terrified eyes looked at him, but the ache in his shoulder intensified into an excruciating pain.
Gritting his teeth, Joel had to pull himself together before answering, "I'm okay, angel, I'm okay." He emphasized every word with a rub of his thumb over your cheek, but what he'd meant to be a soothing action, instead, smeared blood in thumb sized streaks over your skin.
Fat wet tears mixed with the blood, and lines of salty rivers cut through the iron stains. The look on your face hurt more than the open wound and awakened the beast inside of Joel who screamed at him to protect, protect, protect.
"It's okay," he told you again, "you're safe."
Like repeating himself would do the trick, like if only he said it enough times it would come true, like hearing it again would convince him that the world wasn't broken.
More tears streamed down your cheeks, the drops wetting his fingers where they pooled over the ridges of his skin. You were shaking as you watched the blood pour out of his wound, or maybe this time it was him that was shaking? Joel couldn't tell – Joel didn't want to know – he just needed to feel you close, and know that you were real.
His nose pressed harshly into yours as he caught your lips in a rushed kiss, and he melted against you as all borrowed adrenaline-fueled energy seeped out of him and into your kiss. In his hands your body finally relaxed, the shocked stiffness of your muscles fading you away into a puddle of a woman – the water of you soon to run through his fingers.
The winter wind howled like a clown, laughing at Joel's attempt at orientating through the endless dark wilderness. The knee-deep snow clung to his jeans with every step, and made them stiff like they had been starched. If he'd been of clear mind, and with a gallon more of blood running through his veins, they'd stayed at the cabin until you'd gotten the bleeding under control. But his mind wasn't clear, and with each step Joel took he felt the life drain out of him.
You'd patched him up with shaky hands– twirled strip by strip of a torn cotton t-shirt around his shoulder, but the wound gushed blood with every movement Joel made. He didn't know where they were going, only clearing a path in the snow for you in the opposite direction he'd come from after he'd finally found you.
There was a town, a commune, something, somewhere– he remembered you'd told him one sparkling day when the sun had shone. A place where Tommy might be, where you'd been supposed to take him come spring. But Joel's dream of spring was as fruitful as a thirsty man's dream of water in the midst of a hot desert.
When night came, the branches seemed to rustle like living things as the wind picked up its pace whipping flakes of snow in your faces. Joel dragged his feet after him, and the weight of the gun tipped him to the side. Behind him, you'd been quiet all day– the only reason he knew you were still with him was the sound of your feet through the snow and the rhythm of your shaky breath.
Joel didn't know when you'd stumbled on the river, but the wind blew harsher here, biting through his body. The snow grew thicker and wilder, and soon the only thing Joel could see was a sea of white. He knew you couldn't continue like this– you needed a place to camp and ride out the storm.
When you happened upon the cliffside along the river bank, the wind hid behind the mountain wall, and the snow didn't feel like a thousand icy daggers no more. It was a relief, but without shelter Joel knew the night would be long.
"Joel."
Your voice was quiet, but firm nevertheless. “We need to stop.”
“It’s not much further,” he said through gritted teeth, blinking hard in an attempt to dispel the spots dancing in front of his eyes.
“To where? You’ve been saying that for three days now– but not once have you told me where we’re going,” you told him desperately, “I'm freezing, starving and I'm tired– you can barely stand straight... we need to stop and find shelter.”
A sharp gust of wind blew your voice away, and Joel felt the earth crumble underneath him before a pair of arms locked around his middle.
“T-Tommy?” Joel managed to stutter out.
“Joel,” you sighed again, but there was something hurtful hiding in the lilt of your voice.
In your arms Joel swallowed hard as he felt a wave of nausea sweep over him while the beat of his heart thumped through his poorly bandaged wound. In the darkened winter he searched for your face, but the moon had abandoned him behind the clouds that spat wild and icy snowflakes.
“I think I saw some caves on the cliffside when we were walking earlier... not perfect, but–” he thought he heard you say as you locked your arms tighter around him before you started moving.
Joel's feet somehow moved on their own as you dragged him along. He tried his best not to lean too heavily on you, never wanting you to carry the burden of him on your back – but once again he had failed.
This wasn't supposed to have happened.
The gun shot should've never had happened.
It had been so easy. He'd found their tracks quickly, fresh in the snow, like breadcrumbs to follow, and once he'd found the scout, a darkness had taken over Joel's body. Every pull of the trigger was just a means to an end, just a body standing in the way of the only light in Joel's world. But when he'd kicked down the last door he'd been blinded by you, and just for a second the time had stood still while a wave of relief had washed over him.
You were alive.
The man’s finger on the trigger brought Joel back to the moment in the blink of a gunshot, and the world that had moved in slow motion sped up. Joel's own finger on the trigger was quick, methodical, sending a bullet right between the man's eyes.
You were safe.
When you reached the inside of the cave, Joel stumbled out of your hands before he felt himself sink through his knees. Catching his breath he rested his head against the cold stone wall for a moment before he closed his eyes as exhaustion finally took over his body, the pain somehow intensifying as he struggled to keep his stomach from turning.
A rustling sound pierced through the pain and had him opening his eyes. He could barely see you where you moved about the hard stone floor of the cave, crouching down and searching around the ground with your fingers.
“No,” he croaked, shaking his head feebly, “No fire.”
“We’ll freeze to death,” you told him matter of factly, continuing to search for twigs and placing them on a growing pile.
“If anyone finds us, we’re gonna to wish we did,” he managed, but Joel’s eyes were starting to get heavy despite all of his efforts, and his body sank to the floor. He opened his mouth to rebut you, but instead felt his consciousness start to slip away before he could say a word, staying alert only a moment longer to hear your voice speak quietly.
“I’ll take my chances.”
Joel dreamt of darkness and a cold that made his hackles rise. It penetrated through him, through muscle and fat and deep into his bones. Nothing burned like the cold, and nothing was as blinding as the darkness.
When Joel regained consciousness, it was because of the pain.
Blinking his eyes open an angel leaned over him. The flickering flames of the fire contorted your face – casting strange shadows. Joel felt your hands on him, saw how they shook as you fiddled with the poorly bandaged wound, and then he felt it, spikes of hot red pain scouring through his body. There was nothing to hear except his own cry echoing against the cave walls.
"Shh," you hushed, your eyes glued to his wound.
"Angel," Joel muttered, breathlessly, while his hand searched for you, for something to hold on to. Under his fingertips you tensed, your whole body twisting away from his loose grip to get a better look at his wound.
In his chest, Joel's heart cracked – a pain stronger than the hole in his shoulder. His hand fell to the cold rock, and Joel couldn't look at you. He'd been so strong for so long now, but the blood loss and tiredness had drained the last remaining drops of strength from his body.
Instead, his head fell back and his gaze fell on the cave ceiling – to how the shadows seemed to dance on the walls. They contorted against the ridges of the stone walls, flicking flashes like splatters of blood. When the shadows shifted into faces, haunting him with hallowed expressions and dead eyes Joel wished to forget, he shut his eyes tightly.
He let you fuss over him, tie the makeshift bandage across his chest again, and sucked the melting snow from your fingers. It didn't take long before his body shook from the cold, but inside he felt like burning up.
You didn't say much, but he felt your eyes on him where you'd laid him down close to the fire. Joel tried to stay awake, he didn't know why, he knew it didn't look good for him. It seemed like the night was forever, and Joel couldn't stop shaking. You sat watching the fire, lost in your own thoughts.
Joel tried to focus on you, on memorizing every inch of your face, how the lines of you curved, how your hair looked, and he knew he wanted you to be the last thing he saw before he died. He'd been ready for so long, ready to die, but now he couldn't let go. So, he forced his eyes open and watched you as you fed the small fire.
His angel.
When it seemed you'd had enough, you crept closer and laid down before him. Reaching out your hand, you hesitated only for a second before he felt your arm around him and all the tension in his body fell away.
"You should get some rest, Joel," he heard you whisper, but to Joel no rest would come easy knowing it might be the last time he'd ever hold you.
The day blinded him and the harsh white of the snow burned his eyes as Joel struggled to keep them open. Every step he took felt heavier than the last– even with your arm around him helping him with each step. From the sky a thousand butterflies flickered like blinking stars, and Joel felt his mouth stretch into a smile at the sight…
"Please," he heard a voice say, but it sounded so far away it couldn't possibly be important, "Help me, please, Joel."
Shimmering wings landed on Joel's arm and the glint of them caught in the deepest depths of him. Another set of wings landed on his arm, and another, and another, and soon he felt heavy with the weight of a child on his back. Small fingers dug into his jacket, and he felt the ghost of a kiss to his cheek.
Joel laughed.
"Joel," he heard the voice again, cutting through the warmth of his memories, "Please," it cried, but Joel just laughed.
The beat of drumming thunder surrounded him, circled him, and the weight slid off his back in a stream of red. It coated his fingers and his clothes, stained him in crimson. When he looked down at his hands his vision tunneled slowly, and for a small moment Joel frowned.
"No," he muttered, "No, babygirl, no-no-no."
Joel felt himself fall to his knees as a darkness enveloped him, the intensity of the blackness making his head spin…
Dad?
Joel perked up at the word, one he hadn't heard in a long time. Stumbling to his feet, Joel could move mountains with the strength it took to walk into the pitch black. There was something there– something bright and peaceful at the end.
Deeper and deeper he walked while muffled voices he couldn’t interpret hammered at the walls surrounding him. They didn’t matter, he felt safe in here– like he was finally where he belonged.
The closer he got, the clearer everything became. A smile crept over his features when he spotted the wooden door, and he didn't hesitate as he pushed it open. In the blink of an eye the darkness vanished, and Joel was stood by her bed.
Sitting down at the edge as quietly as he could, Joel let his hand rest over the back of his sleeping little girl. Her body rose and fell in a calming rhythm and his palm warmed at her touch as he brushed it gently over the fabric of her sleep shirt.
Then, a shout, a garbled voice he barely recognized.
Shaking his head at the noise, Joel laid down next to his daughter. She was so small – curled up into a little ball with her legs tucked up under her. Wrapping her up in his arms, Joel remembered when she'd just been born; how small she'd been as she'd slept so peacefully on his chest.
Another shout, this time clearer. His name.
Joel’s head moved to look, his eyes squinting down the darkness of the tunnel, seeing nothing. Then, a strangled wince startled him, and he looked back, only to watch as Sarah started gasping for air.
No, no, no, no.
The ground underneath him dug into his knees as he turned to sit up. Beneath him, his babygirl panted for breath.
Okay… Joel acted on autopilot. You're okay. Move your hand, baby. Move your hand.
“Joel,” the voice floated through his head, an echo like the grating of rocks against each other, his temples splitting with pain as he tried to focus on Sarah, “Stay with me, Joel.”
I know, baby, I know, I know, I know, I know. I know it hurts. Stay with me, Sarah.
Her blood gushed beneath his fingers, and the sound of her labored panting had a coldness run down Joel's back. He had to do something. The sound of her pained yelps chipped away at his heart as he gathered her up in his lap.
Come on, baby. You're okay, you're okay. You're gonna be okay. All right… baby, baby, baby, listen to me. I gotta get you up, okay? I got to get you up. All right? You come on.
Joel could feel her clammy arms dig into his shoulder as he moved her. Burning tears pushed at the back of his eyes as he tried to stop the bleeding.
No, no, no, I know, I know, I know, I know.
"No," he muttered, his mouth forming around the words sluggishly, his frown deepening, "No, babygirl, no-no-no."
"Joel."
There it was again, that same voice. It hooked itself at his neck and pulled Joel away, further and further from Sarah as she laid, dying, in his arms.
“No,” he muttered, before something surged through him, a strength he didn’t know he had, “No! Sarah!”
He was shouting now, he was sure of it, the force of his voice reverberating through his throat as he felt the vague imprint of hands on his shoulders, pulling him out of the darkness.
“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he felt hot tears push behind his eyes, “Please... Sarah.”
Through the welling of his tears a face swam into his vision, a face he hadn’t seen for a long time, a face he had longed to see.
Tommy?
A surprising wave of relief washed over him, picked him apart and put him together again. Joel wanted to speak, but the words felt too heavy, and he found himself somehow unable to form the words with his lips.
"I'm here– I’m here, brother."
Brother. Brother. Brother.
The word bounced around in Joel's brain as his vision tunneled again, this time darkness creeping around the edges, growing and growing until eventually, Joel felt himself slip, falling backwards into the abyss, mouth open in a silent scream as his mind went completely dark.
In the silence of the blackened darkness Joel moved deeper and deeper into the blinding emptiness. He didn't know what he was searching for, and he couldn't feel his feet move, but he knew something was wrong with him.
Something was very wrong with him.
Still, even if he knew what was wrong it wouldn't matter anyway. Nothing had been right in a long time.
Lies.
The voice echoed against the walls of his brain, like the voice came from within and not from the depths of the darkness. It didn't frighten him, it felt familiar in a way he couldn't put his finger on, a voice he'd heard thousands of times before. Joel kept moving.
Lies, lies, lies.
Her face bled through then, and Joel felt a smile pull at his face. A rift opened in front of him, and in the blink of an eye he was back in their apartment, in their bed with her arms wrapping around him.
"Hey," he rumbled, his voice stained with sleep. Her arms tightened around his torso, and his own hand found hers. It was warm and bony, and Joel felt himself relax into her.
"Hey," Tess whispered back, "Sorry, did I wake you?"
"No," he answered back, "impossible to get a second of shut-eye when FEDRA's blastin' that alarm every half hour."
"Yeah, fucking Robert," she cursed, and Joel could feel her breath against the back of his neck.
Then a curious feeling of deja vu flickered in the back of his mind, and he knew he'd had this exact conversation before. In a second Tess would tell him that she'd spoken to Bill and that they'd have to delay their planned delivery drop for the month. It was too risky after yesterday when one of Robert's guys got busted by FEDRA and most likely had ratted out their current routes.
Joel didn't want to admit how jittery the thought of going a month without the pills made him. At least he had his whiskey, but he couldn't sleep without the pills– he needed them to dull his dreams.
And Tess knew. She always knew.
Slipping her hand from his grip she sat up and pushed him onto his back. Joel let her do it, they both needed it just as much as the other. Pushing the blanket away she fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, and when he felt her hand wrap around him, Joel couldn't help but let out a breathless sigh.
She pumped him a few times before she sat up to pull at her own jeans. Joel watched her undress for him while he pumped his cock, spitting in the palm of his calloused hand to make the glide easier. When she moved to remove her shirt, Joel reached out to stop her.
"Joel," she only said, wisps of her hair falling in front of her face like a curtain fall, "let's not kid ourselves."
Tess held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, a conversation passing between them he wasn't sure he understood. It wasn't love, they both felt it, but it wasn't not love, either. Instead, it was a need. A need for companionship; a need for someone to understand who he was and not flinch away.
She helped him out of his clothes, and when she straddled him naked as the day she was born, Joel's only thought rolling around in his brain was of how beautiful she looked above him.
With one hand resting her weight on his chest, and the other guiding the head of his cock to her entrance, Joel let her use him like she wanted. A deep grunt escaped him when he felt the walls of her wet cunt pulse around him, and his hands slid up the thick of her thigh to grip dents into the skin around her hips. When she started to move her hips, Joel held her down, eyes closed for a moment longer just to feel the warmth of her this close.
His back ached when he sat up, bringing her with him as he leaned back against the headboard. Her lips tasted like whiskey, but her soft moans sweetened the taste. Tess rode his cock like the world was ending, and it had, so many years ago. She kept a steady pace; let Joel touch her how he wanted as she chased her own pleasure as well as his own. It was animalistic, both of them caught in their own worlds and thoughts.
Joel watched her face, how her mouth hung open, and the way the skin around her eyes crinkled when she shut her eyes tightly as Joel met her hips with his own thrusts. He loved to watch her like that– a side of her she'd only show to him. It turned him on, to watch her take what she wanted from him– to know he gave her pleasure. When her legs started to shake and he felt her cunt tighten around him, Joel felt his own orgasm quickly approaching. Wrapping his arm around Tess' waist he flipped them around. Taking his cock in his hand Joel hovered over her as he pumped his cock, coaxing forth his own orgasm.
"Come, Joel– come for me," Tess ordered, her eyes locking with his. With a deep grunt and a tug of his cock Joel came hard, painting her stomach and tits in ropes of hot cum.
In the aftermath Joel wiped her clean, wet cloth in soft hands, as Tess looked at him in the way only she could– like she knew all his secrets. Crawling back into bed, Joel felt Tess' arm wrap around him again– like they'd held him so many times before.
"Try and get some sleep, Joel…" she said, words unsaid lingering between them, words about his dreams, about remembrance, and about remedy.
Closing his eyes, the room faded out into black, and when the rift opened again it was morning. The sun through the yellow curtains stained the room in sepia, and in his arms an angel slept. Joel thought nothing of it as he dipped his head to breathe in the intoxicating scent of you.
Something inside him missed you, something inside him always missed you; he missed you even when he held you in his arms, it was never enough.
You stirred, heavy eyes smiling at him as you took him in in the morning light. Then the smile spread to your lips and you hovered above him, pressing light kisses to his eyelids. Whatever was wrong with him didn't exist anymore when he was with you, or it was like the thing that was wrong with him was also wrong with you, like when two puzzle pieces from two different puzzles fit together.
"Joel?" The voice was like a rock tossed in a still lake, making ripples in Joel's heaven.
No… no, no, no.
Blinking open his eyes, Joel glimpsed a figure to his right. Everything was clouded in fog, and when Joel tried to move a sharp pain shot from his shoulder and ran through his body making him wince.
"Joel!" The figure suddenly moved closer, and through the fog Joel could make out the face of his little brother.
"Where…" Joel tried, his throat dry like sandpaper and his voice not above a whisper.
"What are you sayin', brother?" Tommy squeezed his hand.
Looking around, Joel could make out what looked like a faded hospital room. The walls had yellowed over time, and in places he could see where the paint had started to peel.
"Where… is… she?" Joel tried again.
Tommy shifted in his chair and leaned forward in his seat like he couldn't find a comfortable position. His brother wouldn't meet his eyes, they looked past him, flickering to the wall behind him before he got up to push the chair even closer to Joel's bed. Squeezing his hand tighter, Tommy's front teeth caught on his bottom lip as he ignored his question, "How're you feelin'? The bullet caused you a pretty bad infection and you ain't out of the woods yet–"
Shaking his head Joel couldn't listen to any more of this, it wasn't important, "Where is she?"
Squeezing his lips together, Tommy finally looked at him. There wasn't a time when Joel couldn't read his brother, how he bit his bottom lip when he was nervous, the glint in his eye when he was teasing, or the barely there smile of gratitude he'd gotten so many times when they were kids and Joel had taken the blame for something Tommy had done.
"Tommy," Joel begged in only the way a man on his deathbed could.
"She's… she's alright brother… she's safe– she's sleepin'," Tommy told him with a friendly squeeze of his hand.
She's safe.
The words had a soothing relief spread through Joel's body and he sunk back into the bed. Knowing you were safe was like a switch had been turned off and Joel could finally relax.
He'd found his brother and you were safe. Joel could rest now.
His eyelids felt heavy then, and for the first time Joel noticed how awful he felt. The wound ached with every breath he took, and he felt somehow both like he was burning up and shaking cold at the same time.
"What happened man?" he heard Tommy ask, "You show up here– half dead and both of ya covered in blood. She won't say a thing, not to me, not to Maria… What am I s'posed to to think here, brother? That poor girl's traumatized."
Traumatized? No, Tommy said she was safe.
The word was like a trigger, taunting that thing inside of him that needed you, that thing that barked and howled to keep you safe, to protect you from everything cruel in the world.
"I need to see her," Joel said, moving to sit up. Unknowingly, he leaned his weight on his injured shoulder, sending a blinding shocking pain through his body. Gritting his teeth, Joel yelped in pain.
Tommy's chair screamed against the floor, and it hurt Joel's ears as he fell back against the pillows. Through his heavy eyes Joel watched his brother's face multiply and slowly fade away into black.
Traumatized…
No… happy.
You were happy.
Sitting across from him at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee in your hand, you looked happy. Maybe a little tired, but tired in that drowsy Sunday morning way where the hours pass on their own.
Joel flipped the page of the newspaper in his hand, and in the corner of his eye he felt your gaze roll over him. The letters danced before his eyes like they'd been tossed randomly across the page. Squinting his eyes he tried his best to put them back together again.
"Forgot your glasses, old man?"
Joel could hear the laughter in your voice, and when he looked up at you you’d raised your eyebrow playfully at him. Behind you the early morning Austin sun streamed in through the kitchen window and stuck to every surface.
"Who you callin' old man, huh?" Joel teased and folded the newspaper, "Ain't what I remember you callin' me last night, angel."
Letting out something between a snort and a laugh you hid behind your coffee cup for a beat before you placed it gently down on the table. "Careful now, honey," you leaned forward on your elbows, "You don't want your daughter hearing you talk like that, right?" you whispered as you nodded towards the ceiling.
"She's sixteen– Ain't no way she's awake before noon on a Sunday, baby," Joel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest.
He'd done it on purpose, and couldn't fight the smirk spreading on his lips as he noticed the way your eyes trailed over his biceps. When he cleared his throat playfully with a raise of his eyebrow, your eyes found his. Something like pride bubbled up inside him then, pride at having caught you checking him out.
When you realized you'd been made, you rolled your eyes at him and stood to your feet. With slow steps you rounded the table, stalking towards him with a curious glint in your eyes.
"So we've got what? 2 hours of alone time to kill?" You stepped between his spread legs, and Joel couldn't fight his hands from finding your waist.
"Somethin' like that," he smirked, looking up at you with moony eyes as your hands threaded through his hair. A wave of emotion washed over you suddenly, like a needle had popped the balloon of your happiness and your lips started to quiver.
Outside, rain started pouring down heavily, drumming harshly against the windows. A panic started to bubble up in Joel's chest and he quickly stood to his feet to pull you into his embrace.
"What’re you talkin' 'bout, angel– I ain't leavin' you," he tried to wipe away the tears starting to stain your cheeks.
"It's too bright," you started to babble, "The light is too bright– don't go," you cried.
Joel tightened his arms around you, but the closer he hugged you the more it seemed like everything fell apart. The walls of his home crumbled around him, brick by brick tumbling down as they fell away into darkness. His hands clung to you tightly, but in his fists you sifted through his fingers like sand.
Traumatized…
The room was darker when he woke again, only lit by a small candle close to burning out. Turning his head slowly he watched how the wax had spilled out onto the weathered wood of the bed side table while the flames flickered shadows across the walls. It triggered a memory in the back of Joel's mind of a cave wall and your arms around him.
A crack in the door invited a line of light to cut through his bed. It was harsher than the candle, and it blinded the drowsy sleep from his eyes. Sitting up in his bed his head felt clearer now and Joel started to remember.
He remembered the cabin, and what he'd done. He remembered how the snow had blinded him, and the people he'd killed to save you– what he'd done to keep you safe. It all came back to him in flashes. He remembered how you'd taken care of him in the cave, and the face of his brother.
"… there are clearly things you don't know about Joel…"
Down the hall Joel heard echoing voices, and he could've sworn he heard your voice answer. Swinging his feet out of bed, the floor was cold underneath him. The pain in his shoulder had dulled to a small ache, but it wasn't important anymore, only you were– he needed to see you.
"… so then you understand my concern?""
Pushing the door open, Joel felt a smile tug at his lips when he spotted you down the hall talking to a woman with a baby in her arms. Joel tried to be quiet, to not disturb your conversation, but the woman with the baby noticed him quickly out of the corner of her eye. Following the woman, you turned your head towards Joel and when you finally locked eyes, a smile spread over his face.
"Joel?" you said, almost stunned, and stepped a little closer, "You shouldn't be out of bed."
Joel couldn't care less if he shouldn't be out of bed, especially not when you were finally walking towards him, the real you this time, not some twisted dream version of you that would fade away.
The woman with the baby called out your name, and with a quick look over your shoulder you stopped dead in your tracks. "We'll wait outside for you– ten minutes is enough time, right?"
Ten minutes? What was this lady talking about?
"Okay, Maria," you said with a nod, and finally closed the space between you. Joel watched as Maria vanished around the corner, finally giving you some privacy.
"Hi," he said, reaching his hand out to touch you, his voice deep and gravely from no use.
"Um, hi," you said, your eyes not meeting his as you ignored his hand, instead your hand found his back, pushing at him to go back inside the room.
"You need to get back into bed, Joel. You were really sick– you lost a lot of blood and the bullet caused an infection. We didn't think you were gonna make it," you told him, but your voice seemed far away like they'd been rehearsed.
"I'm okay, angel," he told you, sitting back on the bed, "I'm alright–"
"No, you're not, Joel," you cut him off with a strain to your voice.
It sent a jolt through Joel's body, it perked up his senses and he could finally see you clearly. The way your shoulders seemed to hike up over your ears as you crossed your arms around yourself. It should've been his arms around you– his arms to sooth you.
"What're you talkin' 'bout?" Joel forced himself to say.
"Nothing… I– I've been staying with Tommy and Maria– that's his wife," you informed him as you started to pace back and forth, "you'll get your own house when you're better–"
The way you moved about the room had his head hurting, he wanted you to sit down and look him in the eye the way you always did– he wanted you to look at him like he was a good man.
"You mean we are?" Joel asked, eyebrows pinched together as he tried to process all this new information. He figured they'd finally made it to Jackson, that you'd been rescued somehow out in the cold– his brother had been there, he remembered.
"No."
"Why?" Joel's voice was quiet and hollow, and finally you stopped your pacing.
With your back turned to him, Joel watched you take a deep breath, and the seconds that passed before you finally spoke felt like hours.
"Because…" you turned around and Joel could see tears push at your waterline, "I don't even know who you are anymore, Joel." A tear broke loose and ran down your cheek, "I didn't want to believe the things they told me about you, but they're all true…"
Joel's eyebrows met in a furrow as he stumbled to his feet, "Who're 'they', angel? What things?"
"Please," you sighed and stumbled backwards, "please don't call me that– don't call me that anymore."
Joel froze to the ground. You'd stepped away from him and he felt like a bad dog who's leash had been yanked. There was no reason for this, no reason for you to be afraid of him.
"I don't…" Joel trailed off as he sat back down on the bed.
"I know what you did Joel–" The way your face twisted with hurt, he knew exactly what you were talking about. All the blood on his hands, what he'd done to survive all those years ago when the world wasn't worth living in. "–I know it's true, a-and the worst part is that it could've been me and you know that– it could've been me and my family."
"I know, ang–" Joel stopped himself before the pet name slipped from his lips, "but you gotta understand I did what I had to do to survive… I ain't that man no more."
"But you are," you almost shouted, "I-I saw it with my own eyes– you k-killed all those people and you didn't even blink… like some kind of–"
"Monster."
Joel finished for you, and the poisonous word stained his mouth.
i hope someone liked this? i'm very curious about what your thoughts for the last part will be, so if you have them please leave a comment, reply or an ask. they are always super welcomed, and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!
once again, you nail it out of the park with another piece.......i simply love this story, isa; your ability to be so realistic in your writing allows you to convey a wealth of emotions without making it exaggerated or over the top, and the subtlety is what makes everything hit just a little harder and makes me, as a reader, rightfully conflicted about who the fuck I'm supposed to be siding with 😭
loved the entire fever dream sequence, it literally FELT like a fever dream only for the crushing confrontation afterwards, and I also kind of love that maria stuck her nose in a little and may have set off the whole 'idk who you are anymore'. pop off queen never stop being messy! (although tbh i would have most likely done the same as her)
thank you for sharing lovely isa <3 looking forward to the next part ☺️
I would give anything to be the one to have taken this picture on holiday, with my shitty disposable camera, while sipping my second g&t of the night and admiring this gorgeous, gorgeous man in the golden evening light.
janainaart
dailybridgerton
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
stormborns
kaledo-art
blakekathryn
dededos
baratheonpilled
