stardust in your lungs, suns in your eyes

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[lightsinthedistancee]

Honeysuckle

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 9.6k

Summary: Following Joel and Ellie’s return, you’re there to mend things over.

“When night comes, he wants to drown in your presence, drown in your eyes, feel you, remember what home is like again—it requires three of you, together in one place.

The picture of the month he puts together for you is jumbled, vague. There’s already an underlying sense of change, and he’d rather focus on the things that remained.

You. Only you, in his arms.”

A/N: Set right after Joel and Ellie return from the hospital. (Tagged everyone from my “everything” list, but it’s a new character for me, so no pressure to interact!)

Warnings: Brief smut, loss, angst (but with a happy ending and plenty of soft moments!), implied age gap, language

“Joel?”

Your back is pressed to his chest, his heavy arm draped over your waist protectively. Your voice is a whisper in the darkness, a breath in the night.

He tenses at it, presumably reminding himself that they’re safe. Ellie’s just down the hall, and you’re evidently not alerting him to danger. It’s a foreign feeling—their own house, their own space, their own room.

“What?” he finally replies, voice scratchy with sleep and disuse. A smile almost—just almost—pulls at your lips at the way he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You remember how it’d surprised you how cuddly he was the first time the comfort of a shared bed was available.

“You’re thinking,” you simply reply.

He pauses, and you wouldn’t for a second believe it’s in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” You squirm in his grasp, turning over, placing a tender hand on his cheek. You can just barely make out the outlines of his features with streetlight filtering in through the window. “And you’re not sleeping.”

“Well…when you get to my age, you won’t be sleeping that much either.” It comes out serious, in that Joel sort of way when you can never tell if he’s joking. It’s not entertaining to you even if it were.

“Joel,” you insist more forcefully this time. His long nights of restless sleep, bags forming under his eyes, tenseness with the young girl down the hall, are starting to get to you. “Talk to me,” you whisper. “Please.”

He grows quiet, only the sound of your breaths intermingling filling the room. There is something amiss in the household, like a secret withheld from you, one Joel and Ellie both share and despise, a wall driven between them.

His lips part like he’s going to say something, then they close once more. So close, but he deflects. “I’m okay, darlin’,” he promises, his voice softening, filled with a genuine gentleness as his hands creep into your hair. “I’m okay.”

You accept when he presses his lips to yours, slow, tender, as if you might shatter in his hands—a plead for you to let it go.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You met them on the outskirts of Kansas City.

You saw her first. Small, young, evidently scrappy as she tears through the shelves of a long abandoned convenience store. There’s a rage about her, her eyes perhaps slightly red, hands shaking.

But still something youthful—the naivety of it, the inexperience of it. She’s entirely too loud, entirely too unaware of the eyes on her. Too quick to assume nothing will come looking for her. They’re no longer in the safe central city.

A clang sounds from the back of the shop. You wished you hadn’t thought it, that maybe you’d conjured it up. You want to scream at her—protect her—she’s so small after all. But it’s not right. You should run. You should fucking run. But you don’t, paralyzed by this perverse show in front of you as she stills, frozen like a deer in headlights, an awful snarling sound coming out of the dark.

It seems to reverberate, her large doe eyes widening even further as she finally goes for her pack. Too slow. Without a thought, you raise your pistol, and it’s done.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You’d thought the world had gone black for a second.

All you’d heard was a shriek of a name from the girl, followed by a weight slamming into you, a broken cry that you don’t recognize as your own piercing the air. The cool metal in your hand is wrestled away, and as you scramble upright, as your vision clears, a taller figure stands over you.

For a few moments, you just stare at one another. There’s a wildness to his eyes, an unbridled paranoia that’ll strike if prodded too hard. They’ll want your bag—you’re sure of it.

But no. He places a hand on the young girl beside him, eyes never leaving yours, taking a wary step back, ready at any second to turn on his heel and leave.

“Give it back,” you say quietly, eyeing your gun, making every effort to hide the shake in your voice. You won’t survive without it. You might not even survive with it, a thought that continues to weigh heavily on your mind.

He only stares, an imperceptible shake of his head.

“I saved your goddam kid’s life,” you bite out. “If I wanted to shoot her, I would’ve.”

He looks at her for confirmation, and all she has to give him is a look, thought it evidently only partially helps your case.

“You want fuckin’ food or what?” You slowly grab your pack, and he tenses.

“Stop,” he says. So he talks. His voice is gruff, grinding; it makes you shiver.

You catch the young girl’s eye. You don’t miss the way she perks up at the mention. “Well, you guys must be hungry if you’re digging through empty cans like rats.”

“Joel,” she insists, resting a hand on his arm. He gives her a conflicted look; you know there’s nothing more urgent than a hungry kid.

His gaze refocuses on you, and you continue undoing the straps.

“Dump it out,” he orders, flicking the gun for emphasis.

You swallow, obeying, a few cans falling to the floor. You give them a look—see?

You stare back at him fully for the first time, conjuring up enough steel to match his own eyes. “Now put the fucking gun down.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Some days, Joel thinks you’re too soft for him.

Not weak, but soft.

It’s only become more evident with your time in Jackson. The opposite of him.

And it’s painful in a way, especially with you. You flourish here. In a way he doesn’t think he can. Ellie does too, but she’s just a kid; he’d always expected that. You, on the other hand, he always saw you as like him—an adult, for one, but also hardened.

It quickly becomes obvious however, that the years he has on you have done something more to him, something that maybe jarred something loose, that he wants to hide from you, the doubt already settling in with so much time to think, and after all, he feels like he’s broken, because all he seems to dream of nowadays are Fireflies and Ellie, and—

“Joel!”

He comes to as someone snaps their fingers in front of his face.

“You good?” you tease, a small smile on your lips as you lean over the table, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. His honest initial thought is that you have no right to look this good at this hour, dressed for the warmer day in a tank top and shorts that could certainly afford to be longer.

“Yeah,” he finally responds, turning at Ellie’s soft huff of laughter to his right, where she eats some scrambled eggs you’d cooked.

“Old man hearing,” she says under her breath, a smile twitching at her lips.

You don’t try to hide your soft laugh. “He’s trying, El’.”

He rolls his eyes, keeps the smile off his own face in a force of habit, but he’s never minded.

“You wanna work on some guitar after breakfast?” he asks her. It’s Saturday; they have the whole day. But she retreats into herself at the question, clearing her throat, the energy of the room seeming to contract.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she replies, a coldness emerging all of a sudden.

The room lapses into silence, and he clears his throat. You give the two of them a confused look, your own cup of coffee clutched between your hands, the small of your back settled against the counter.

He doesn’t want you to know.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Joel had put the gun down.

Henry did it for him. He’ll do it for you—a repentance.

There’s a sickening sense of anxiety in his stomach as you eat together; it all feels the same. But he refuses to believe it will be.

But Ellie’s taken just fine, the trauma of the last day seemingly washed away. But he knows it lies dormant, just beneath, ready to come bursting free when the moment is unfortunate enough.

He only half listens to your story, takes away the big points—fled the St. Louis QZ, you’re all alone. You’re scared. You hadn’t said that part, but he can feel it. It clouds the air around you, subtle, but there. He knows Ellie can sense it too with that uncanny ability of hers, the way she reads people.

He’s wary, of course, but he can just feel you. That you’re good. And it goes back in forth in his head, that maybe you’re actually good or that he’s simply distracted by how goddamn kind and pretty you are.

We’re going to Wyoming. It feels like they’ve barely known you when Ellie says it, but the statement doesn’t strike the dread in him he’d expected.

Instead, he watches you. The way your shoulders rise at first, a blink, as you process the meaning. The way they fall as a tension seems to leave your body, a belief that maybe you’d finally feel safe.

But before you can respond, he cuts in. “Let’s camp out here for the night.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

He takes first watch, but you don’t fall asleep.

He didn’t expect you to.

Ellie’s curled up near the corner, pack as her pillow, jacket as her blanket. You, however, sit against the wall, knees curled to your chest. It’s surprisingly cold, and he sees the way you shiver.

“She yours?” You finally break the silence, staring ahead at the wall.

He’s immediately reminded of the before—before the world had gone to hell—how the list of conversation topics with strangers always went to kids first once the weather had expired.

“My best friend’s kid,” he lies, fingers twitching on his rifle; he’d never given your gun back, but you seem unperturbed. “Before he…”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly.

He softens slightly at your genuine response to his lie, a fact he remains hidden externally.

“Does she help though?”

“What?”

You turn to look at him, head tiredly following the pane of the wall. “I see the way you treat her. You were someone’s father once.”

He doesn’t think he freezes at that. But he wants to. The words are painfully familiar, utterly agonizing as the memory of Henry and Sam and Sarah all come together with that one statement. He feels it’s written all over him—can people just see it? See how broken he is? You were someone’s father once.

You had someone once.

You loved someone once.

Something’s changed; it’s mutually sensed as you clear your throat, making a clumsy save. “So where’re you from?”

“Austin. You?”

“Chicago.”

It again lapses into silence, only the sound of Ellie’s soft breath, the visible cloud of your own breath in the night air.

He mutters your name, and you turn, eyes widening as he tosses you his jacket. It’s accepted graciously.

He thinks you’ve got a fire in your eyes and a survivor’s mindset, but a small part of him knows—you’re not going to make it out here on your own.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

“Can you stay here till I fall asleep?” Ellie asks quietly.

“Of course.”

She still has trouble sleeping on her own. You don’t blame her. It’d been hard at first, separating in the darkness because, for so long, darkness had been danger. For months, the three of you had always holed up in tiny, found shelters, sometimes with barely there walls, sometimes huddling together for warmth. Always someone keeping watch, someone to protect them.

You all had done the same the first week in Jackson—one room despite the spaciousness of the house. But you’d decided that it was time for Ellie to adjust. She’s a kid, her own space is what she deserves.

You’d helped her redecorate, and it was more fun than you thought it’d be, running around town to find things she liked. You vaguely remember that this is what it’d felt like before the outbreak, when there was time for frivolous things.

She settled well enough—but sometimes you stay, obviously. The lamp stays on as you sit in the chair by her bed, your current read in your lap. She’s undoubtedly too old for this, would probably be fine without it, but you submit, for in all honesty, you yourself are glad you don’t have to sleep alone.

You’re glad that he’s there—protecting you, always. Someone to feel when you think you’re slipping away from reality, struggling too much with the past.

You know she struggles too, but she looks so angelic when she’s sleeping. She certainly wasn’t meant for the life she’d been forced to endure, and the coolness about her since she and Joel had returned occasionally makes your chest tighten.

The nightmares certainly come. On bad nights, you’ll wake up to your mattress shifting, her rolling under the covers on your side of the bed, waking you just enough for you to roll closer to Joel and make room. Maybe it’s a little ridiculous, but it’s what everyone needs.

You remember the first time it’d happened. How you’d woken to her figure just standing in the dark, her hands shaking. Confusion was first inevitably, but you knew the look on her face. “Come here,” you’d whispered, offering her your hand.

You think that’s when you’d finally settled it with yourself—she’s yours.

Her breath growing louder and leveling out brings you out of your head, and per routine, you close your book, switch off the lamp. “Love you, El’.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You grew up on the Great Lakes.

You miss deep dish pizza.

You had a friend you fled with.

Those were some of the things Joel learned as the days dragged on, albeit mostly from you talking with Ellie, not him.

For the first time in his life maybe, Joel learns what it’s like to walk. Truly walk. The days are long, slow. His knees ache. It’s agonizing progress, with a lot of time to pass.

Mostly he listens at first. Ellie’s certainly glad she has someone new to talk to, someone undoubtedly more responsive. She laughs more—which he didn’t even think was possible—and he finds yours is equally bright and clear.

Sometimes he joins, when you and Ellie rope him in, goading him into revealing little things—movies he likes, his favorite food before the outbreak.

He has to admit it’s nice having someone else around, an extra set of eyes to share the responsibility. A part of him hates himself for letting his guard down, but a couple weeks in when he finally lets you take solo watch, he truly rests for the first time in weeks.

“You want some?”

He blinks, startling slightly as you say his name. You’d brought him food, part of a rabbit he’d gotten in the morning. He mutters a thank you, and to his surprise, you sit down next to him. Still, he eats in silence, as you fiddle with your own fingers, slender and delicate, something he focuses on more than he’d like.

“I wanted to say thank you,” you say all of a sudden, casting down your gaze.

“For what?”

“You know what.” You’re hunched over, almost as if you’re ashamed, your throat bobbing as your eyelashes flutter. He wants to rest his hands on you and ease the pain away. “I was looking for…people.”

“‘s alright,” he responds, the usual monotone he forces into his voice. “No one can make it out here on their own.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh that catches him off guard. “I’m sure you could.”

He’s silent for a long time at that, wrestling over what he should say next. The fire crackles quietly in the distance, Ellie’s silhouette resting near it. “No,” he finally admits. “She saved my life, y’know.”

He knows you hear it, with the way your breath hitches. There’s a silent question on your lips, one he’s thankful you don’t ask.

“And I’d rather she not have to do it again.”  There’s a sharp edge to it. He himself doesn’t really know what he’s trying to say, but it lingers in the back of his mind—I’ll protect you, but you better protect her.

“You’ve done well, y’know,” you say softly, changing the topic. Still tender, still strong; you’re not intimidated by him.

“What do you mean?”

“I think she’s a good judge of character, I can feel it.” You draw you knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. “And she likes you.”

Something’s amiss. Something in him feels off when he looks at you and you don’t even spare him a glance back.

“I don’t know where you got her Joel, but I know it wasn’t from your friend. And she had no one before. And she likes you.”

He says your name, but you talk right past him.

“Kids like that can get overly attached, I’m sure you know. But you’re good for her.”

It’s only been three fucking weeks. He likes to think you know nothing, but he knows you’re right. You can see right through him. Just like Ellie in that sense, and it makes something in him alight behind that cold exterior.

But he doesn’t think of you like he thinks of Ellie.

And again, as if you can see through him, the two of you sit in silence—time for his thoughts to simmer, for your pull to grow stronger.

Your jacket’s off, drying after being washed, and you’re just in a tank top, for it’s warmer tonight.

He likes to think of himself as beyond this, but it still piques his interest, the way it hugs your form, leaving little to the imagination, but still leaving plenty for him to imagine.

It’s not the first time, though. You’d always piqued his interest, even before he fully trusted you—hell, maybe since the moment you’d regained your bearings and looked up at him in that dilapidated convenience store.

At first, he thought it was because he hadn’t had someone in so long, that maybe you were just pretty and young and new and practically placed in front of him all the goddamn time, but as more time passes, he doesn’t think it’s just that, he thinks it’s you. So kind with Ellie, so kind with him, soft, but strong, perhaps what he aspires to be on some fundamental level.

And sometimes—like now—he thinks of how soft you’d be, how you’d sound, the way you’d respond to his touch. He imagines how your voice would change, high pitched and girlish, how his name would sound from your lips with a little extra breathiness and—

Fuck, he can’t do this next to you.

He grimaces at the fact that you’re still looking off into the night beside him in the comfortable enough silence, completely innocent in all this.

He blinks, standing with a quiet groan, needing to get away. “I’m gonna go check on Ellie.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You wake with a gasp, startling out of your sleep.

It’s dark, the silence unsettling all of a sudden, the fact a corner lies in shadows making you uneasy.

Your head pounds with a crippling fear, and you sit up, massaging your temples. You have to look to your side to make sure he’s still there, and it feels routine at this point.

The way you compulsively get out of bed to walk down the hall and make sure Ellie’s still there, safe and secure from the world you’d always tried to protect her from. It’s the only thing that keeps you sane when you wake with a chill in your bones.

Back in your room, you climb back under the covers, your heart still pounding in your chest a little faster than normal as you lie on your side and look at the sleeping man next to you.

He only ever seems fully at peace when he’s like this. Your eyes flutter shut—you force them to—as you nestle against him. An arm comes around you, the only indication he’s awake. He doesn’t say anything, just shows his comfort through actions.

You take a deep breath, but you’re still wide awake, too overly conscious of the calm of this situation in this moment, when you’ve just woken from visions of quite the opposite.

It feels ridiculous in your head, but these are nights you want to wake him and whisper, Joel, are we in a dream?

And you just want him to reassure you.

But you never do, content enough to let him sleep, to calm yourself and push through it because that’s what life is like now.

It’s safe, and it’s real.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

There’s a pureness to it as you watch Ellie’s eyes light up, as the sweetness overtakes her tongue.

The three of you had come across a honeysuckle bush by the abandoned house you’re staying in for the night. The bush is the first one you’d seen in years really, and you’d broken a flower open to let her taste the nectar.

It tastes like summer to you, and she savors the sweetness her body has been so deprived of.

“You take off this green part at the end,” you explain, showing her. “Then you pull the little tail thing out. But make sure you’re gentle so you don’t break it.”

She copies you, delightfully tasting another drop from a new flower.

“Tastes like sugar,” she remarks, a bright smile on her face.

You laugh at the contemplative expression on her face. “It is sugar.”

She cocks her head slightly, and picks another flower. “Makes sense.”

“Well, you’ve got claim on the whole bush, El’. Eat up.”

You make the short steps back into the house, where Joel’s standing at the window looking over a map. You can feel his eyes lingering on you.

“She’s definitely gonna pick that bush clean,” you remark, rifling through your pack for something to eat.

Your hands pause as you hear his heavy footsteps behind you. “Well, that’ll keep her preoccupied for a while,” he says quietly, and you gasp as he spins you around, capturing your lips with his.

Your eyes flutter shut, melting into him. It’s been nearly two months now—things have undoubtedly elevated.

It was maybe a few weeks ago when it’d started, when Ellie had been sleeping. Somehow the conversation had turned to the days before, when life was normal, safe. When loved ones were numerous, and sleep came easy.

But Joel had implied something, something that explained the pain in his eyes, and you hadn’t pushed it. You knew it would come later.

But it made something in you twinge, the way his hands shook.

And you’d wanted to make him feel better.

You’d seen the way his gaze tended to linger on you, the way you couldn’t ignore him either. The way pinpricks seemed to run across your skin whenever he touched you. The way both of you would stay a little too long when he offered you a hand when hiking rough terrain.

When you’d kissed him, he pulled away like he’d been burnt, his eyes wide, his guard thoroughly broken for maybe the first time in years.

But he’d returned, forceful, the dominating presence Joel always was, consuming all of you. The moment you let out a quiet moan, you knew you were a goner. Surely, he was too, the way he’d seemed so inherently gentle for once.

And it’s no different now as he wraps his arms around you waist, caging you against the table. It makes you rub your thighs together as his lips move to your neck.

You yelp as he pulls you with him to a room further in the house, lest Ellie decide to come bursting in, and it’s there that the intensity of the moment escalates.

You feel so surrounded by him, smothered by this feeling, and sometimes it’s precious to just forget about everything, to just return to this base need.

There’re no hard and fast rules to this, no defined feelings or commitments, and it’s freeing.

He unbuttons your jeans, slips a hand in, drags his fingers through your slick folds.

You whine, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. His damn voice always gets you; it’s no different now. “Shhh…I’ve got you, sweet girl.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

There’re drying flowers hanging from your windowsill. A small vegetable garden sprouting in the backyard.

It’s the first time you’ve had the opportunity to create a normal, mundane life as an adult, and after everything that’s passed, it feels nice to play homemaker some days.

You already have more than you ever imagined—a growing set of clothes, a collection of plants, even more recently you’d obtained a bottle of flowered hair oil.

Sometime there’s still that doubt though, that anxiety that all this is an illusion that’ll disintegrate at the slightest touch—but at the end of the day, you’re happy.

You think Ellie is too. She goes to school, and she actually likes it. You’d expected it though—she was always so curious. She has acquaintances, friends, and maybe a little crush, but you’re still trying to weed that one out of her.

But that brings you to Joel, and for once, he’s the one that worries you more than Ellie. It seems like he only ever lives in his head some days, unaware of what they have around them. In all honesty, it reminds you of the first days, when you were just strangers, at a tentative injunction of trust.

Some days, it makes you doubt all of this. That maybe this isn’t as great as you see it, that maybe this whole place is a cheap attempt at a remake of before—after all, he’s the one that had truly known the before.

The only days you remember are like an endless summer haze—warm, blissful. You remember sun, fruit, water, friends. You hadn’t yet been old enough for the ordinary world to do you any true harm, and you’d never imagined it could.

But he knew it. He’d had her. And there’s no doubt you haven’t missed the fact of the parallels between now and then for him.

His coldness seems to bleed, to your doubts, to Ellie—or maybe just to you because now you’re really beginning to suspect it’d originated with him and Ellie, when they were gone. There’s an energy about them now that makes you just want to pace in circles till you can forget about it, till maybe you can think everything is normal again.

She’s never the usual chatterbox when he’s around. He less and less seems to express that deep warmth you know he’s more than capable of, and it worries you.

“What’s wrong?”

He jumps as you put your hands on his shoulders. Some days are better, some days are worse. Today is the latter.

He’s bent over a technical book he’d borrowed from the library. “The electrical wiring in the basement.”

You huff, falling onto the couch beside him; Ellie’s gone for the day. “Very funny.”

He doesn’t even turn to you.

“For real, Joel.”

Maybe he just needs someone to get him out of his head.

Maybe he just needs a distraction—there’s always too much time to think here.

“Hey,” you murmur, and when he turns, you surge forward, pulling him into a kiss. It’s a desperate thing filled with one idea. I love you. Please….

He groans into your mouth, pulling you against him, into his lap. This isn’t what you had in mind, but he’s decided. The idea of how he moves you so easily still makes you shiver, and a tremble wracks through your body as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck.

Maybe he just needs to feel better.

You don’t even know anymore, can’t even muster the energy to think of it further, so you submit, letting him pull your shirt off you.

But in one last second of resistance,  you pull away, glancing to the side. You hate when he gets like this, so avoidant, turning what you’d intended into something else, and you’ve tried and tried and tried and you just want him to open up and you can’t. You love him and hate him and want him, but it’s difficult to even look him in the eye.

“What’s wrong?” he says, voice strained, slightly grinding up against you where you straddle him.

You know damn well what’s wrong, you want to say. But instead you shake your head. Forget about it.

You climb off his lap, and his objection turns into a groan as you drop to your knees, undoing his belt.

Maybe he just needs to feel better.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Your jaw drops the first time you see Jackson.

It feels unreal, like one of those cute Western towns you used to ski at with your family as a child.

You go about it in a haze, in awe, but anxious. There’s more people than the three of you have seen in months—strangers, and your eyes dart around as you walk.

You’d met Tommy, Maria, already scolded Ellie once or twice for her language.

But the house they give you hits you the most. One of those standard suburban homes that feels too familiar to you. Too homely, for it reminds you of everything that’s been lost. You think Joel feels the same, the way he’d paused in the doorway, just for a split second before continuing.

There’s marks of someone else’s life in here. You wonder what happened to them.

That evening, you sit on the bed as the sound of the shower runs in the background. Your hair is still wet, and a lamp illuminates the room in a soft glow. The sheets are so soft, and it’s warm for once.

It’s too much to process, like the old world has just been forcefully shocked from your system, and somehow you weren’t ready for everything to be okay all of a sudden, and you don’t know why exactly, but you draw your knees to your chest and tremble.

It’s agonizing, this reminder. That maybe this is what could’ve been all along if the world hadn’t gone to shit. That maybe you’d still be on the water, that you’d have a family, that maybe you’d see your  parents every weekend.

You take in deep shuddering breaths, forcing yourself to calm as the door to the bathroom opens. You hear him pause before a weight sinks onto the bed beside you. He pulls you into his arms.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he murmurs.

You exhale, resting against him. He’s so warm. “It’s just a lot.”

That’s all he’s going to get, and apparently he decides he’s fine with that. “I know.”

The silence is eerie as he leans against the headboard, your head on his shoulder. You can feel his heart beating in his chest as you stare at a framed picture on the wall—a wedding photo of two strangers from another life.

“Did you tell her yet?” you ask quietly.

He tenses. “No.”

When he’d told you his decision to have Tommy take Ellie, you didn’t know what to say. You already knew it was a lot for him to process, that he didn’t take it lightly—he’d already walked in with his shoulders hunched, a broken look in his eyes.

Your first instinct had been an objection—you don’t really agree with his reasons, but at the end of the day, you decide to respect what he wants.

“You should tell her now,” you say quietly. A small part of you knows that you should go too, that she was no longer just Joel’s, but your fear wins over the selfishness in you.

He nods, gently lowering you to the mattress. The door closes as he steps out.

You inhale the scent of freshly washed sheets, and try to think of anything else. If you dwell on it, you think you’ll go yank Joel from Ellie’s room and beg him to change his mind. She was both of yours after all, she stays with the two of you.

Except she’s really not, and the reality stings.

But you perk up, propping yourself up on your elbows as you hear yelling. They’re fighting.

Joel’s voice, even muffled through walls, sends a shiver down your spine. Then a shrieking slew of words from Ellie that you can’t quite pick out.

And you startle as a door slams.

Joel bursts into the bedroom, and your eyes widen as his gaze settles on you, and for a split second, you think you sense something dangerous.

“Did you fuckin’ tell her about Sarah?” His voice is shaking, barely controlled from a yell, and it scares you, and you’d never seen him this mad.

“What? Of course not,” you insist, fully sitting up and crossing your arms in some sad attempt at self-comfort.

“Then how the fuck did she find out?”

You know he has a hard time with her, exponentially harder than he has with you.  He’d never lost someone like you, but he’d definitely lost someone so completely like Ellie.

The question goes unanswered, and he fumes, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

You rest on your knees, moving slowly, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Joel…” you whisper.  

He mutters something under his breath and shakes his head. “It’s done.”

And you watch helplessly as he turns off the lamp and climbs under the covers. Conversation over.

He lies on his side with his back turned to you, and you stare at the door for a moment. You want to go to her, hold her, but it’s done. It’s over. There’s no use in rubbing salt in the wound.

So you lie down too, tentatively sliding closer to Joel, and you wrap an arm around his waist. The fact that he doesn’t push you away is what tells you it’s welcome. It’s so small, so small it could be mistaken, but you think he trembles.

And you slide a hand up his body, past his neck, to his cheek. You find the wetness you’d been suspecting, and tenderly, you wipe the tear away.

You don’t say anything, he doesn’t want you to.

You just go to sleep.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

“I did the wrong thing.”

You groggily rub your eyes. It’s six in the morning, the sun is beginning to rise. He lays wide awake beside you.

His dread seems to roll over the whole room. “Maybe,” you whisper.

“She’s scared,” he says.

“I think she’s always been scared.”

He makes a noise somewhat evocative of pain as he sits up, massaging his temples.

“I can’t…” he bites out.

“Can’t what?”

“She wants it to be me—us, actually.”

“Of course she does.” You sit up too, resting a hand on his back.

You have a lot of thoughts running through your mind, but in some terrible avoidance, you cling to the idea that this is his choice. They’d started this whole thing, they finish this whole thing.

His hand twitches. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, getting out of bed, and tossing his pack on the dresser, his choice obviously made.

It feels right.

“When are we leaving?” you ask quietly, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

“You’re staying.”

You freeze, your back still turned to him as you process his words, wondering if you’d heard him right. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “You’re staying here.”

“What the fuck do you mean I’m staying here?” You jump to your feet, glaring at him.

“It’s two weeks,” he insists. “Easy and quick.”

“Then why the fuck can I not come?”

“‘cause it ain’t safe.”

“But you just said—“

“Stop it,” he interjects, uttering your name with something menacing to it. A warning.

“Joel,” you plead, walking over to him, where he stands his ground.

“You’re safer here,” he says, softening slightly as he forces himself to take a breath. “Shit happens out there; I’d rather at least one of you be safe.”

“But—“

“Please.” He firmly cradles your face in his hands. His gaze on you is unwavering. You couldn’t break away if you wanted to. “I’ve never asked you for anything,” he begs, “and I’m asking you for something right now.”

You tremble, staring at him. He’s waiting for you to say something.

And finally, you swallow and nod, a pang in your chest at the thought of being left behind. “Okay.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Two weeks pass in a haze.

Day fifteen is anxiety-filled. Day sixteen is excruciating.

You can’t be alone. Again.

So you throw yourself into work to forget. You work in the gardens by day, clean the large house by night. You sweep the floors, clean up twenty years worth of dust, erase the remnants of the last occupants.

The night scares you, alone in the big house, and many are sleepless as you toss and turn, ultimately sitting downstairs till you fall asleep on the couch.

Tommy sends people out after about two and a half weeks. Nothing.

Just be patient.

“Please…” you whisper some nights. You don’t know if you’re talking to yourself, or them, or someone above.

The fear is debilitating, makes your head pound some days. On the third week mark, you give in for the first time and cry. In bed, your face buried in the pillows as you sob. You’d never let them see you like this, so shouldn’t you stop?

You can’t.

If Ellie comes back, you decide you’re going to tell her she’s yours, that she always will be. You’ll tell Joel you love him

You can’t lose another family.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Cordyceps grows in the brain.

He feels like he wants to hurl as he stares at the tile floor.

“Take him out to the highway. Leave him with his pack.”

Her. All that matters is her.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You’re done.

You can’t stand it anymore. You feel like you’re either going to scream or burst into tears.

There’s a tenseness going around the house today, not just a coldness.

They’d fought yesterday—Ellie and Joel—she’d said something rude, he’d yelled something about ‘showing a little goddamn respect.’

Everyone seems on edge, including you, and you know one thing for sure—this isn’t the family you’d found on the road.

You feel alone, stuck between some conflict no one will tell you of, and it’s slowly breaking you. Utopia gives too much time to think, and the well-functioning community around you drives you insane, for the situation at home is quite the opposite.

And Ellie also refuses to tell you anything—sometime it kills you how similar they are in some ways, and you can’t even count how many times you asked Joel about it.

This must be the millionth, as you stand before him, in the foyer for some reason, where this had all started.

He looks tired, and for a second, you think he’s going to walk out the door, leave you hanging. Again.

“You’re gonna tell me right now what happened,” you say, voice dangerously low. There’s a dish towel still in your hand, some mundane kitchen cleanup turned tense, one last avoidant flight before it could be avoided no longer.

He’s done pretending. “Leave it,” he hisses, turning around to walk off into the depths of the house.

You lunge out, grabbing his wrist. “Joel!”

He stops, still a modicum of respect left, roughly jerking your grip off of him. You stare back at him, a heat rising to the back of your eyes. He can be so cold.

“I deserve to know,” you bite out, your voice shaking.

“Will you just listen to what I tell you for once in your goddamn life?” he says, voice just a little too loud to be considered a normal volume.

Your eyes widen, fingers twisting painfully into the fabric in your hand as you shake your head. “All I’ve ever done is listen to you since you got back. And I’ve been waiting, Joel. I’ve been fucking waiting.”

Tears poke at your eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let it escape.

“I don’t know if you really realize this, but you’re my partner and she’s ours. I don’t know why we keep pretending we’re not, but that’s the fucking truth, and whatever the hell is going on between the two of you needs to include me.”

He falters, lip parting before closing again. He rests a hand on the railing of the stairs, like he’s having trouble keeping himself up, like the weight on his shoulders has just increased tenfold. “You don’t want to know,” he says quietly.

“You can’t keep this from me,” you exclaim, voice cracking. “You can’t keep this from me after you left me.”

His head snaps up at that. “I didn’t leave you—“

“Yes, you did, you fucking left me, Joel!” you exclaim, tears finally falling. You fall quiet, finally aware of how much pent up anger you have left over, how scared you’d been.

You grab onto the banister, burying your head in your hands. You become acutely aware of his nearer presence, as he wraps his arms around you, leading you to the couch.

“You can’t leave me and then not tell me what happened,” you say quietly into his chest.

He exhales, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I can’t stand it like this,” you gasp, shaking your head.

“I know, sweet girl. I know,” he murmurs, wiping your tears away. “Don’t cry,” he mutters, hardly audible, his face twisted in something like pain.

It’s silent for a few moments, his chest rising and falling in something intense.

And then he tells you.

Cordyceyps grows in the brain.

I couldn’t let them.

“I killed them all,” he whispers. But his voice remains unwavering. You don’t think he regrets it. “I don’t know what happened…I just couldn’t let them.”

You let out a shuddering breath. You don’t want to even ask the number—twenty? Thirty?

“And then…then Marlene—she said Ellie would’ve wanted it…but I killed her too.”

Joel looks out the window instead of at you, into the street where people walk, completely oblivious to what had happened.

“And then, I lied to Ellie, told her they’d given up, that I’d rescued her from raiders attacking.”

It comes together as he continues, his hand grasping yours as you trace circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.  

“And I keep sayin’ to myself there’s no way she would’ve wanted that, and I keep sayin’ I would’ve respected her choice if she did, but I would’ve done the same. I would’ve done the same fuckin’ thing a million times over. I couldn’t let that happen to her—she’s just a kid.”

He hasn’t cried since the night before he and Ellie had left, and that had been in darkness. It’s light now, and he tries to hide. But it’s too much, the pull of the conflict on him, your still remaining tear streaks.

“And she knows you lied,” you say plainly, a confirmation.

He nods. “I know she fuckin’ knows.”

He turns, looking straight at you, and the fear in his eyes makes you swallow. It’s so foreign. Joel is never afraid.

“What if she hates me forever?” he asks, voice cracking on the last syllable.

You shake your head, a silent reassurance. It’s your turn to pull him against you. “She won’t.”

You don’t think Joel has ever let you hold him, ever let you treat him with the tenderness he deserves.

“You did the right thing, Joel,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hair.

Other considerations don’t even occur to you because this is right. It’s right to you because she’s yours—and no one takes what’s yours. No one hurts what’s yours—not even some stupid delusion of guilt, and you hold him as if you can soothe the pain away.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, in silence, against each other. At some point, he falls asleep, his head in your lap, a much needed rest.

You stare out the window, only the sound of his breath in the background. It’s green outside. Beautiful.

The sound of the doorknob turning brings your attention, Ellie walking in.

She looks at you, then Joel, that coldness developing in her eyes with the latter.

“Ellie,” you say as she’s about to dart up the stairs.

She freezes. “Yeah?”

“Let’s talk tonight.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

They return to you a month later.

Haggard, tired, lacking one less horse than they’d left with.

He wants to sob the first time he sees you again. But he doesn’t. Lets you do it for the both of them instead as you collapse in his arms, as he reassures you, as a million words rush out of your mouth, the flow of anxiety that had accumulated over the weeks. Your other arm is tightly around Ellie. “We’re okay, baby,” he murmurs. “We’re okay.”

He just wants to forget this first day back, for when he’s not in Ellie’s presence, he lets go, let’s that doubt creep in just the tiniest bit.

You’d revitalized the house, started a garden out back, and it feels like years had passed while they were out there. All except with you.

When night comes, he wants to drown in your presence, drown in your eyes, feel you, remember what home is like again—it requires three of you, together in one place.

The picture of the month he puts together for you is jumbled, vague—he doesn’t know what Ellie tells you, but you’d sat with her in her room for a while. There’s already an underlying sense of change, and he’d rather focus on the things that remained.

You. Only you, in his arms.

The bedroom’s been repainted, the curtains new. You’d rearranged too, the bed and dresser moved around. But now there’re undoubtedly signs of you—there’s clothes in the drawers, a bouquet of flowers on the side table, a bottle of perfume in the bathroom that he remembers smelling on you.

“Do you like the room?”

He turns from where he’d already been looking at one of the dresser drawer tracks that stuck.

“Of course,” he replies, throwing his jacket into the hamper. It’s dark out already, that same lamp illuminating the room, but it’s warmer now, the lightbulb changed.

“Go shower,” you tell him, a small smile twitching at your lips. “Then come to bed.”

He savors the hot water, but doesn’t take too long. He doesn’t know if you were really insinuating what he thought you were, but he hadn’t asked—he supposed he was fine with the surprise.

He’d said he wanted to drown in you, and it’s as if you can read his mind when you push him back, into the freshly changed sheets.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your body resting on his. The admittance is not the first, but one of few, and he takes it in equally, murmuring it back.

He wastes no time in getting your clothes off, taking a second to admire, for you’ve gained some much needed weight, the dip in your waist and the curve of your hips much more pronounced.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against your skin, almost chasing you as you pull away to unbutton his softer flannel sleep shirt—he decides it was a waste of time putting it on in the first place.

Honestly, he’d barely looked in the mirror, so he forgets. He’s only reminded when you freeze, your eyes dead set on the gnarly scar in his lower right abdomen.

He shakes his head, meets your eyes, pleading with you. Don’t.

But—

Please.

And you oblige, dipping down to press a chaste kiss to the scar tissue.

“Come back.” He pulls you back up towards him, his hands wandering. You’re so soft, both your body and the way you seem to mould to him. Too delicate for him, too precious, but still, all he wants is you.

You giggle at his groan when you slip your hand past the waistband of his boxers; the corners of his lips twitch at the bright sound that leaves you lips.

But it turns to a gasp as your grip tightens, his body tensing in anticipation.

“Relax, baby,” you whisper.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

She’s lying on the bed when you come in, on her stomach, a comic clutched in her hands.

She scowls when she sees you, but there’s that apprehension hiding behind those doe eyes of hers.

“You’re not in trouble,” you assure her as you sit down in your usual chair near her bed.

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m in trouble,” she bites out, sitting up cross legged.

“Sure,” you merely reply. Her scowl seems to deepen further at your nonchalant response—you’re not Joel, she’s never gotten a rise out of you.

You shift uncomfortably, for the room feels stifling despite the open window. The tension in your shoulders betrays your reasoning for waiting till night.

You take a deep breath, your palms flat on your lap. “Do you know what happened?”

She stays silent for a long moment. “Let me guess…it was for my own good, you’re gonna say.”

You flinch at that biting tone, letting out a sigh. You push her to the side as you instead sit on the bed beside her. “El’…,” you warn, looking her dead in the eye. She subtly gulps. She’s not used to this intensity from you. “Do you know what happened?”

“I know he lied,” she says, looking down. “I know it.”

She was always softer with you than with Joel, meeting you where you were at. You think it’s where she really wants to be.

“I remember…falling asleep, but they never told me anything.” Her voice shakes as she implies the thoughts that have been running through her head for so long.

A cool breeze blows in through the open window.

“But he fucking lied to me,” she says quietly. “Why? We’d gone so far. I…I could’ve fixed everything.”

You shut your eyes for a moment, your chest twisting painfully.

“Ellie….” You reach a hand out, tilting her chin up to make her look at you. “Sometimes we do things that….” You pause, struggling to find the words. “Sometimes we do things for each other that we don’t—“

“Mean? Mean to do? Things we don’t mean to be selfish?” Her interjection startles you, those doe eyes of hers suddenly seeming so dark.

You let out a quiet groan, massaging your forehead. But she’s not done.

“So you’re taking his side? I—“

“There’re no fucking sides here, Ellie!” you exclaim. She falls quiet.

When you take her hand in yours, you can feel the slight shake.

“Look, I don’t know if what he did was right,” you say softly. “No one here is expecting you to pretend everything is okay and no one’s expecting you to believe everything will be fine, but I just need you to understand….”

She just stares at you, a silent command to keep going.

“I’m sorry, El’.” You wipe away a stray tear with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry for everything, but at the end of the day, what matters is that you’re here. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I…I would’ve done the same.”

She deflates slightly at that. You don’t know how to interpret it.

“You know why?” you ask.

She pauses. “Why?” she finally croaks out.

“Because that’s what parents do.”

She shakes, her own tears falling, freezing up as if already worrying she’d heard it wrong.

“He told me what you said, y’know. That you had to do this, after everything you’ve been through and done. And…and I know you’ve never had anyone, El’. But I promise,”—your grip on her hand tightens—“you do now. And I want you to know that your life is worth more than some bullshit cure that probably wouldn’t have even worked.”

She’s stone still, the only movement her chest rising and falling with some unspoken urgency. And it takes you by surprise when she lunges forward, throwing her arms around you. It’s so unlike her, but the shock becomes irrelevant when you begin to feel her trembles, something twisting painfully at her reaction—the strength of which is a testament to how alone she’s always been.

“I love you, El’,” you whisper. “We love you. I hope you know that.”

Her face is buried in the crook of your neck, as your eyes fall to the doorway. You’d sensed his presence, somewhere between your insistent words, and he leans against the frame. You meet his eye, and he lingers, eyes on the two of you. There’s an inexplicable warmth to him.

“Joel.” You call him to attention, gesturing at the chair near the bed.

She jerks away at the realization, eyeing him warily. You keep an arm around her shoulders, easing away the tension.

He settles, that gaze of his always unwavering, intense.

“Ellie,” he says quietly.

She slowly leans into you, wiping her eyes. You give her side a small squeeze, a reassurance.

His eyes flutter for a moment, hands clasped tightly together. “I’m sorry,” he finally says, and for the first time, he looks away, head bowed in something like shame. “I couldn’t let them.” A direct mirror to what he’d told you earlier.

She seems as if she doesn’t know how to react, her head just laying on your shoulder. She looks tired; you’ll have to insist she go straight to bed after.

“And I’m sorry for lying,” he continues, fingers twisting together. “I keep looking for a reason, but I just…I couldn’t lose you. I just couldn’t….”

There’s a frustration to it, a struggle to convey what he means exactly. He makes the same switch as you—sitting on her other side, bridging the divide.

“We’re safe here, Ellie.”

You drop your hand down from her shoulder, grasping his.

“You deserve to know life like this.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

He’ll never get tired of that laugh of hers.

It’s maybe the brightest thing he’s heard in twenty years.

Some days he feels like he’s drowning in white, drowning in this purity. White sheets, white clouds, white-capped mountains—clean, beautiful. And he lets go. It’s a self-forced surrender, a difficult thing he thinks he’s finally overcoming.

“Here.” He kneels to the ground, pulling out a small switchblade to cut Ellie a small branch of blackberries. She still has some in her mouth, that bright smile of hers. It’s the first time she’s ever had them.

The adjustment can be harsh some days, shocking. But things improve, the normalcy, the slow mend of tensions—it certainly helps that you seem to take to this better than him.

“Don’t go through the whole bush, El’,” you call out, weeding the garden on the other side of the yard, a white-flowered honeysuckle bush to your right that Ellie equally adores. “You’re gonna give yourself a stomachache.”

A smile tugs at his lips as he watches her roll her eyes slightly. “Yes, mom.”

It’s in that usual sarcastic Ellie manner, but he swears he sees your nimble fingers pause for a moment before you continue your work. It makes him pause too.

“Better listen to her, kid.”

She nods, only snatching the switchblade from his hand to cut another small segment. He shakes his head, barely restraining a small chuckle as he walks nearer to you, sitting on the small garden bench you’d recently acquired, watching Ellie from a distance now.

“She’s getting better,” you say, softly enough that she can’t hear.

He only swallows and nods. For him, at least, some days it’s better, others the guilt is overwhelming, a deluge of thoughts that he can’t quite shake. She reminds him so much of someone else undoubtedly, and deep down, the thought of how he’d hurt her is agonizing. She’s so young, has so much right to be untouched by this world.

“Hey…” you say softly, bringing him back to the moment, where you’d come to sit beside him. “What is it?” He instinctively leans into your hand on his cheek.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. “Nothing, I just….” His voice trails off.

“I know,” you merely answer, resting your head on his shoulder. It’s one of those lazy summer days, a little too warm to run around town, just right to simply bask in the sun.

It’s all you and her—it’s why he wants to stay. Stay here. Stay out of his head. Stay present in this world that’s not completely broken yet. One to bring him back, one to solidify it. He doesn’t know what he’d do without both of you.

He remembers clearly the words you’d whispered a few nights ago, in bed, in darkness. The night of his apology to Ellie, her cold reaction. Not one for poetics, he still remembers, the feel of your hand curled around his wrist, the subtle disturbance of your breath, your words that will forever stick with him.

“We’re here now, Joel. We’re safe.”

He remembers his own breathing sounding labored almost, the way his hand curled around the back of your neck had gently tightened.

“I know you’re not used to this, but this is the only thing left, Joel, and then we’re on the other side.” You’d leaned forward, a small, chaste kiss. “Only love can save us now.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Taglist: @dark-academics-and-florals, @theultimateslashgirl @princessxkenobi @djjarins @jitterbugs927 @whoviayanesha @iamskyereads @dessinemoiunehistoire @damerondala @laura-naruto-fan1998 @something-tofightfor @mandosmistress @hoodedbirdie @ginger-swag-rapunzel

A/N: This is the longest thing I’ve ever written (by far!), and honestly, I really love it. I haven’t written in a while, so I’m a little nervous, but this has been brewing in my mind since the finale aired—I really hope you guys enjoyed. Thanks for reading 💕

Masterlist

[stylesispunk]

Waiting room

Joel Miller x f! reader

summary: A few years ago, Joel saved your life and you have loved him ever since but he didn't reciprocate your feelings or that's what you thought. word count: 2,5k a/n: I didn't write a chapter for "The Not so Invisible String" series but wrote this. I would appreciate receiving reblogs and comments. Happy reading!

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

"What happened to me?" you questioned, your curiosity seeking answers.

"I found you," the stranger replied. "You had slept for two days."

In two days, you changed the rules of the game.

In two days, Joel came across with his humanity when he found you laying on the ground after being beaten up by some smugglers.

And what a plot twist you were.

You were so young and naïve when the world broke into a mess, and the reminisces of your old life before were just fogging memories threatened to be erased completely by the clouds of your head. You had forgotten your mother’s voice, the taste of the cookies she baked on Sunday’s afternoons, and the essence of her perfume enveloping you in embraces you were never going to get back.

You still craved a lingering, real sort of comfort that hadn’t come. In this world, emotions make you weak, and being weak means you die.

The closest thing to caring you received from someone was from Joel. The day he found you, he treated your wounds, he prevented you from dying by starving himself, and he fed you with his food.

“I broke my rules for you.” He peeped once you recovered, but still, he let you stay.

Through the months and years, you had become accustomed to the idea of him and Tess being the only people you could trust; they were older and wiser than you, a perk but also a source of constant disappointment over the idea of you being seen as the foolish, weak kid.

You felt a burden. You were a constant troublemaker, getting into trouble with everyone who seemed to mess with you, but under some eyes, you were still Joel’s girl, just that you really weren’t. You just idealize the idea of it.

Because every time somebody hit you, he was there, and if that wasn’t love, what the fuck was it?

You knew that there was something between them beyond a simple partner-in-crime relationship. They weren’t what you would call lovers, but there was unspoken language between them you couldn’t decipher, not because you were a fool but because you weren’t a part of them.

Because you weren’t important,

You didn’t know if Joel cared about you coming back.

You were just someone Joel found almost dying.

Whereas for you, he was the closest thing you felt to home.

"Where were you?" his voice called out in the middle of the dark room, breaking the silence of the eerie night.

“God, you scared me,” you answered. "I thought you were asleep."

"You know I don't go to sleep unless I know you're here." His voice was so sharp it could cut in half.

Liar.

“You are asleep other times,” you acknowledged, trying to remove your boots without whimpering as the pain settled in your bones. “And I'm here. You can go to sleep now," you hissed, out of frustration but also from the pain emanating from cuts.

"No."

"Well, I'll go then," you replied.

“Come here, show me,” he demanded.

“No.”

“Come here,” he repeated, frustrated this time.

“I said, “

“Now!” the raised tone sent shivers down your spine, forming a lump in your throat.

You were there, not moving, and he was closer. The dim light in the room cast eerie shadows as he examined your face, his fingertips tracing the evidence of the scars painted on your skin.

The cut on your bottom lip throbbed with each breath. A bruise, vividly purple, marred the skin around your eye, testimony to the violence that had been part of it and the cut on your nose, which seemed to be broken.

Not only do you face hurt, but all your body is carrying the consequences of a beating you didn’t think you deserved. Your bones felt crushed under the pressure of the emotional turbulence going on in your head.

And Joel’s touch, his gentle touch, so delicate yet full of fury, not towards you but at the merciless people that forced such a wound on you. You winced as his fingers grazed the tender skin; his silence was so loud.

“Who did this to you?” he muttered, frustration lacing his voice. The sharpness of his earlier tone softened under your teary stare.

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied.

“It does to me,” he retorted.

“No. Joel, let me be alone. It hurts; my body was hit, and I would be dead if it weren’t for you,“you sobbed.

“For what?”

"For you," you admitted through a shaky breath, the weight of the truth bearing down on you. The room seemed to shrink as you uttered those words, exposing a vulnerability that had remained buried beneath the facade of strength.

Joel's eyes softened, and the fury in his touch transformed into a gentleness that contrasted with the brutality of reality outside. In that fleeting moment, it was just the two of you, suspended in a fragile moment.

His voice, now a whisper, carried a mix of concern and disbelief. "For me?"

“The only reason I’m not dead is because of you. Can you believe it?” You chuckled. “One of the men there recognized me as Joel’s girl, who I am not, and then they stopped. Not even because I’m a person, but because I am associated with a man.”

Joel's expression tightened at the revelation, a flicker of anger passing through his eyes.

“Let me clean your wounds, “Joel began, his voice a gentle plea to attend to your wounds.

"No. I don't need your fucking help," you interrupted, frustration lacing your words, tired of being the dog at Joel’s door waiting for him to notice your loyalty and devotion.

"Yes, you need it because you're a fucking naive baby acting restless and so careless." Joel retorted, frustrated.

“"I have no one. My life is just a waste of air for this damn world, so why should I care about my well-being?" you shot back bitterly, the pain in your voice mirroring the bruises on your body.

"Because I care about you," Joel admitted, his words a brief glimmer of hope. However, before you could fully grasp the weight of his confession, he extinguished any expectations. "You have Tess and me; we share our roof with you."

"Exactly. Your place, not mine," you argued, a stark reminder of the boundaries that confined your sense of belonging.

"Your point?" Joel challenged.

"You found me once and brought me here, okay? Thanks for it. But that doesn't mean I have your respect," you asserted, the frustration bubbling to the surface.

"My protection is not enough." Joel questioned, his patience wearing thin.

"It's not," you replied with conviction.

"Then you can go and find your own fucking place."

"That's what I'm doing. I'm leaving the QZ. There may be a place that fits for me," you declared, the decision firm in your voice.

Joel's silence echoed through the room, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. But you offered none, maintaining a stoic resolve as you walked away from the confrontation.

"What? Where?" he finally managed to utter, a mixture of confusion and concern etched on his face.

"Goodnight," you replied tersely, your voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. The darkness of the hallway enveloped you as you retreated towards the bedroom. The door creaked shut behind you, leaving Joel standing in the dimly lit room, grappling with the echoes of your departure.

The room was shrouded in darkness, and you lay on the bed, the events of the night replaying in your mind like a relentless loop making fun of you for being so foolish, but despite the physical exhaustion, sleep eluded you, and your thoughts continued to wander through the tangled maze of emotions.

And Joel, of course, whom you were leaving behind tomorrow morning before he could even notice you were going to disappear.

As you lay there, the door creaked open, and Joel entered, carrying a small bottle and a cloth. The soft glow of a flashlight in his hand illuminated his face, revealing concern and remorse for his previous attitude.

"I brought something for the pain," he muttered, his gruff voice softened by a vulnerability you rarely could see. You remained silent, acknowledging his presence with a nod.

Joel approached, his movements deliberate as he poured a few pills onto his weathered palm. "Take these. They'll help with the pain and help you sleep."

You reluctantly accepted the medicine, swallowing it down with a sip of water from a nearby bottle. The bitterness lingered on your tongue.

Joel then reached for the cloth, dampening it with water. Gently, he began to clean the wounds on your face, his touch surprisingly tender. The initial sting of contact faded, replaced by a strange mix of relief and discomfort.

"Joel,” you said, but he didn’t answer and focused on tending to your injuries.

"Joel," you repeated, a little more assertive this time. His name hung in the air, yet he remained silent, his attention fixed on the task at hand. The rhythmic motions of cleaning your wounds seemed to be his sole purpose.

You took a deep breath, the weight of unspoken words settling heavily in the room. "Joel," you said once more, this time with an edge of urgency, attempting to draw him out of his concentrated silence.

He finally looked up, meeting your gaze. "What is it?"

The room felt hot with tension as you hesitated before finding the words. "I appreciate this—the medicine, cleaning my wounds. But it doesn't change my mind about leaving.”

His gaze held yours, an unspoken plea for understanding. "You're hurt; you can't go so far in your state," he replied, a touch of concern in his voice.

"So what?" you retorted, frustration bubbling to the surface. "If I have to die outside, I will. I don't care. I'm just tired of this life."

Joel's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from anger to concern. "What would make that thought go away?" he asked, his question cutting through the defiance in your tone.

"What?" you responded, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

"What would make life worth living?" he repeated, his gaze unwavering. The weight of his inquiry settled in the room, demanding introspection.

The silence that followed was heavy, the question lingering in the air as you grappled with the complexities of your own desires and the harsh realities of the world outside that broke any chance of achieving the dreams you had when you were a child.

The silence stretched, becoming a tangible force in the room, until Joel's desperation cut through it like a blade. "I'm waiting," he said, his tone laden with urgency.

"To have someone," you confessed, your voice carrying the weight of unspoken longings.

"How?" he pressed, searching for clarity in your cryptic words.

"To have someone that cares for me," you explained, the vulnerability in your voice laying bare a deep-seated yearning, a yearning you had been carrying for years.

"You have me," Joel insisted, his desperation now tinged with frustration.

"You're not mine; you're hers," you said, invoking Tess. "Do you think I don't hear you both having sex?”

His eyes widened, realization dawning on him as the unspoken truth reverberated in the room.

"Maybe my body was hers, but inside, it's here." Joel took your hand and placed it over his chest, just above his heart. "I'm craving for you."

A tense silence enveloped the room as your words hung in the air, and Joel's eyes reflected all the sincerity of his feelings slipping from his lips. Your skepticism pierced through the charged atmosphere, casting a shadow over the vulnerability that had been exposed.

"I don't believe you," you declared, a note of disbelief in your voice.

Joel's expression tightened, a blend of irritation and determination etched on his face. "You don't?"

"You're just saying those things out of pity," you accused, the walls of defense rising once more.

He shook his head, a flicker of frustration evident in his eyes. "You are whiny, a pain in the ass, arrogant, naive..."

"Stop!" you exclaimed, the litany of criticism hitting you harder than expected.

"Yet, despite it all," Joel continued, his voice a mixture of exasperation and something deeper, "you make me go crazy, and still, I want to break every single finger that has been laid against you."

The weight of Joel's words hung in the air, a revelation that cut through the tension and laid bare the depth of his emotions. His eyes, always filled with exasperation, now held a raw vulnerability.

"You don't realize that you brought sense back to my life!" he exclaimed, the urgency in his voice echoing through the room. "If you go and you die, there's nothing left for me to fight for."

"I want to be the last one you love," he spoke, his hands cupping your face, fingers tracing delicate patterns over the scars that adorned your skin. His gaze, dark and intense, held a promise that lingered in the air. "I want to be your ending."

"And I want you to be my ending," he added, referring to the weight of the words hanging between you.

A profound silence settled, punctuated only by the erratic beats of your heart against your ribs, In that moment, you felt that the confession of love coming from Joel was the last source of breath you needed to become a person again.

And then, he kissed you. With a warning written on his dark eyes, yet you didn't see it coming. He kissed you because there wasn't anything else to do. He wanted to claim your lips as them because they were his.

Joel's lips lingered against yours, the warmth of his kiss irradiated foreign feelings for you. You had never felt so loved for someone before, and as the kiss deepened, a subtle smile played on his lips, a rare expression coming from him.

He pulled away slightly, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of resistance. His hands, calloused and weathered, gently caressed your face, tracing the contours of the scars on your face.

"You're not leaving," he spoke against your lips, with another gentle peck on them.

A shy smile played on your lips in response. "Whatever,” you replied.

Joel's confession had acted as a healing salve, mending not just the physical scars but also the emotional ones that had marked your journey through this world.

Joel's eyes softened as he caught the playful glint in your smile, and a warmth seemed to spread through the room. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. The strength in his arms felt like a shield against the harshness of the world outside.

"You can be stubborn as hell, you know that?" he teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As he held you in his arms, the world outside faded away, and all that remained was the warmth of the embrace and the quiet assurance of shared moments.

"Get some rest," he murmured, his voice a soothing whisper. "I'll be right here."

With Joel's arms wrapped around you, the weariness of the day and the weight of the past seemed to dissolve.

In the arms of Joel, the night embraced you, and as you closed your eyes, you found life worth living because of him.

[lightsinthedistancee]

Honeysuckle

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 9.6k

Summary: Following Joel and Ellie’s return, you’re there to mend things over.

“When night comes, he wants to drown in your presence, drown in your eyes, feel you, remember what home is like again—it requires three of you, together in one place.

The picture of the month he puts together for you is jumbled, vague. There’s already an underlying sense of change, and he’d rather focus on the things that remained.

You. Only you, in his arms.”

A/N: Set right after Joel and Ellie return from the hospital. (Tagged everyone from my “everything” list, but it’s a new character for me, so no pressure to interact!)

Warnings: Brief smut, loss, angst (but with a happy ending and plenty of soft moments!), implied age gap, language

“Joel?”

Your back is pressed to his chest, his heavy arm draped over your waist protectively. Your voice is a whisper in the darkness, a breath in the night.

He tenses at it, presumably reminding himself that they’re safe. Ellie’s just down the hall, and you’re evidently not alerting him to danger. It’s a foreign feeling—their own house, their own space, their own room.

“What?” he finally replies, voice scratchy with sleep and disuse. A smile almost—just almost—pulls at your lips at the way he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You remember how it’d surprised you how cuddly he was the first time the comfort of a shared bed was available.

Keep reading

[justreblogginfics]

Oh my gosh! 😭

This is absolutely amazing, I am utterly speechless. All I can say (coherently) is that you wrote a masterpiece, it’s truly something!✨✨✨

Gif credit: Unknown, saved from Pinterest or Google

[lightsinthedistancee]

Thank you so much!!! I’m so glad you loved it 🥰

[pedrointofolklore]

Rosebud

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: carnations bloomed when you saw joel. too shy to admit your feelings, but too overcome to not, you began leaving flowers at his doorstep. 

warnings: very brief but graphic depictions of violence, mentions of death/grief, tragic backstory, emotional processing, reader is a loser who falls in love in two seconds, lots of metaphorical language, swearing, mostly just self-indulgent fluff, joel is soft, big age gap (reader is in late 20s), no smut, no use of y/n (reader has a nickname), jackson era.

word count: 6k

a/n: hey y’all. i’m delving into the world of fanfiction writing and i’m tentatively posting this as my first story. this story by @army-author is what inspired me here—i read it years ago and loved the concept ever since. i also super don't know much about flower gardening so apologies for any inaccuracies.

Your earliest memory was sitting in the garden with your mother one September. You were small then, no more than three years old, covered in soil and some residual stickiness from whatever fruit you’d just devoured, watching with a curious eye as your mother pruned her roses.

When you thought of her, you thought of that garden. In your memories, it was a labyrinth. Flowers, shrubs and vines overflowed the yard. You used to fear getting lost in the brambles, but at some point, you started to crave their thorny embrace.

It was a pink rose, so bright and intense, like a painting come to life. She shed the thorns, tucked it behind your ear and pinched your chubby cheeks. That was the first time she called you ‘Rosebud.’ Nobody ever called you anything else.

You couldn’t have known then that you were just a few Septembers away from losing her.

She died on the first day, in the centre of the garden. Your lasting memory of her was your father driving a pair of garden shears into her jugular. She collapsed to the ground, blood as dark as a crimson rose pooled around her as your father wept over her lifeless body. You sprinted inside and threw up.

She died a stranger. You didn’t understand what was happening to her then, but you understood that she was gone before the shears even entered her neck.

It haunted you for the next twenty years—but that person was not your mother. 

Whenever the wound opened, and that memory came flooding back, you closed your eyes and thought of her as she truly was—kind, gentle, passionate. You recalled her soft smile, her musical laugh, the books she read, the flowers she loved.

When you were a kid, you thought of her as the sun that kept those flowers alive. As you grew older, she became the sutures that kept you from falling apart.

You knew your father had no other choice, but you could never quite look at him the same. Still, he was all you had, and he kept you safe until the day he died.

It was your mother’s leather-bound notebook that kept you going. She listed every flower she could think of, and wrote the meaning next to it. That notebook went with you everywhere, all across the country. Every new species you came across, you found it in the book, memorised its meaning, and crossed it off your mental checklist.

Flower seeking had to be the most frivolous thing one could do at the end of the world, but it kept you close to your mother, and gave you some semblance of purpose. Each new flower felt like something blooming inside you—your own secret garden that grew from the depths of your soul.

Carnations bloomed when you saw Joel.

He first came to Jackson in December with a girl by his side. They were gone by the next morning, but you saw him. He was coming out of the bar, tugging his coat back on when you spotted him through the crowd of carolling townspeople.

Even from a distance, you noticed the pain in him—a pain similar to yours. There was a wistfulness in his face, a longing for something he missed, and a fear so intense it seemed paralysing. He clutched at his chest, holding in the marigold that grew where his heart should have been.

You wanted to know him.

He came back that spring with the same girl, and this time, he stayed.

It was a while before you spoke with either of them. Everyone who arrived in Jackson had a tendency to be closed-off at first, and you couldn’t fault them for that. You didn’t know where they’d been or what they’d done, but you knew they’d gone through hell.

You met Ellie first. She came by the greenhouse one day, arms crossed and face vacant. Her reticence might have been mistaken for hostility if you didn’t relate so much.

You tore your soil-covered gloves off and wiped a hand over your cheek, probably just further smudging whatever dirt was caked on there.

“Hi there!” You did your best to sound cheerful, to come across as someone who was definitely okay with unexpected visitors. “What can I do for you?”

“Maria told me you might need some help around here.”

You didn’t think you needed help, and it seemed like the girl wanted to be anywhere but here. But as you pondered her, you started to recognise what she was actually getting at.

She didn’t know what to do, but she needed to do something.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Ellie.”

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.” You held out your hand, which she stared at for a good couple of seconds before shaking. “Call me Rosebud.”

“You’re a florist named Rosebud?” She was incredulous, and you didn’t even care that she was making fun of you—it was the first time you’d seen her smile during this entire interaction.

“It’s a nickname,” you told her, “and I'm more of a floriculturist. If you want to help me out, grab some gloves and a trowel.”

“What the fuck is a ‘trowel’?”

You spent the next few hours with her digging holes in the soil, un-potting flowers and planting them in the ground. As apprehensive as Ellie had been to begin with, it didn’t take her long to warm up to you.

The first thing you learned about her was that she asked a lot of questions.

“Why do we have to move these?”

“It’s spring. They’ll do better in the ground.”

“Why didn’t Maria show us this place when we first came here?”

“It was winter. Half the flowers had gone to shit, so there wasn’t much to see,” you replied, flattening the soil around a sunflower plant.

The greenhouse had been established before you got there. Nobody ran it, it was something for everyone to tend to, but nobody cared enough to do so. The gardeners of Jackson preferred to focus on crops that could actually feed them. But then you arrived, and you knew how to grow a thriving flower garden, and with all the bees it brought, it only helped the agriculture. It also meant that Jackson had honey.

“This one’s cool. What is it?” Ellie asked. You looked over at the plant she was settling into the ground—a grassy little shrub with white flowers blooming at the ends.

“Starwort. It means ‘Welcome to a stranger.’”

“Appropriate,” Ellie said. “I didn’t know flowers had meanings.”

“It’s called floriography,” you replied. “I have a book all about it.”

Ellie stayed until the sun began to set, leaving in much better spirits than she arrived. You were used to working alone, and you thought you preferred it that way, but she turned out to be good company. You sent her home with a starwort blossom and a jar of honey as a thank you, and told her to come back any time. You really hoped she would.

You met Joel the next morning. 

There was a knock at your door, which you expected to be Ellie back again. Instead, you opened the door to find her guardian standing on your front porch.

Your eyes flicked shamelessly over his form. He was broad, strong, with plaid sleeves hiked up to his elbows—you didn’t know it was possible to be attracted to someone’s forearms. His features were beautifully angular, especially his nose. But it was his eyes that really got you. They were dark like coffee, deep and intense. You could fall into them and never stop.

The garden you carried in your soul had never felt more alive. It was weird you hadn’t spoken yet, but you worried if you opened your mouth, the brightest, reddest chrysanthemums would come bursting out.

“Good mornin’. Sorry to bother you,” Joel finally said, with the rehearsed politeness typical of a Southern man. There was still an earnestness to him, like he didn’t quite remember how to do this but he was determined to try. “I think Ellie was here yesterday?”

“That’s right.” You internally cheered when your voice didn’t fail on you. “Is that okay? I know I didn’t get your permission. She just kind of showed up.”

“No, that’s okay. I just came by to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“She's been struggling to…adjust, I guess,” Joel explained, “but she was in a good mood when she came home yesterday. I think being here helped her, so thank you.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say. People silently appreciated what you did for the commune, but nobody had ever gone out of their way to thank you for anything. It was a little overwhelming.

“Well, she’s welcome here any time.” You didn’t think Ellie was particularly interested in gardening, but you could see that the girl just needed to feel busy, and maybe needed some company. You were just glad she could find that with you.

“Thank you,” Joel said again. “What was your name, darlin’?”

“Just call me Rosebud.”

You expected a laugh, a mocking jab of some sort, but instead he just tilted his head and looked at you with complete sincerity. “Pretty. It suits you.”

Your cheeks were embarrassingly warm.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” Joel said. Your heart fell. “It was nice meetin’ you. And, uh, thanks again.”

He started to leave, but you weren’t ready for him to go. Before you could think it through, you called after him, “Wait.”

You might have imagined it, but for a split second after he turned back around, you could've sworn you spotted an eagerness in him, like he was hoping you’d say that.

“You can come inside,” you offered, “if you want.”

He did.

Five minutes later, Joel was standing in your kitchen, leaning against the counter. You could feel his gaze on you as you moved, getting the water ready and setting out two mugs.

“How do you like your coffee?” You were already sure of the answer.

“Black. No sugar.” Yep.

You poured the coffee into a mug, absent-mindedly blowing on it as you handed it to him. He didn’t wait for it to cool down before taking a sip, not even flinching at the heat.

You opted for tea with a generous amount of milk and honey.

“Thanks for the honey as well,” Joel said. “Ellie loves it. She’s never had anything so sweet.”

“That doesn’t surprise me if she grew up in a QZ,” you replied, turning to face him with your mug cradled in both hands. “I think I cried when I first got here and they actually had sugar.”

“When did you get here?”

“Around two years ago. My dad knew Seth—you know, from the bar—got in touch with him, and he told us how to get here,” you explained. You truly hated Seth, but he did save your ass and that left you obligated to be nice.

“Your dad’s not here, is he?” Joel spoke without any particular sentiment. It was an observation, plain and simple. You didn’t mind, you just shook your head. It felt normal to talk about your dad. You missed him, but his death wasn’t horrifically tragic to you—the man had a heart attack.

“What about you? I mean, how’d you end up here?” You were nervous about prying, or accidentally chasing him away before you really got to talk, but Joel had fascinated you since December. You needed to know more.

“I was in the Boston QZ for a while, left to look for my brother, found him.” He wasn’t going to get more detailed than that. Too much had happened that was difficult to talk about, and you could see that, because it was the same for you.

No matter how much you wanted to, you didn’t let yourself ask anything more. You didn’t ask why he’d been here in winter, why he left so soon, why he came back, why he didn’t come sooner if his brother was here, how Ellie fit into all of it. You didn’t ask, and you wouldn’t ask. All you could do was hope he’d open up in time.

It occurred to you just how different Joel looked now than he did in December, and not just because you were actually seeing him up-close. His whole spirit had shifted. Back then, he’d been like an open wound, barely being held together by exposed, bloody tendons that threatened to snap at any moment. He was different now—still wounded, but no longer in pieces.

There was something else in him too. Something dormant, but always on the verge of springing back to life. A quiet guilt.

“Flowers always been your thing?” Joel asked. You were grateful for the subject change.

“Pretty much. I used to know someone who loved them. Made me love them too.”

He nodded with an unexpected softness in his expression. It wasn’t pity, or even sympathy, but a warm kind of understanding.

“I know the flower stuff seems silly,” you said, looking down into the milky beige of your tea, “but it really is useful.”

“I know that,” Joel said. “I don’t think it’s silly.”

You could practically feel your chest split open that very second. Flowers sprouted from your heart, and they bloomed for Joel. They longed to reach out, wrap him up in their stems and vines and pull him into you.

Carnations. Chrysanthemums. Vervain.

You kept your composure until Joel left. You said your farewells, waved him off, shut the door, and immediately collapsed on your couch in a lovestruck heap. It was all so dramatic, the sofa may as well have been a bed of roses.

It wasn’t just that Joel was attractive—and fuck, he was attractive—it was the way he wholly and truly respected you. Respect was something you’d had to earn from everyone else around here, but Joel didn’t need any convincing. He saw your worth right away.

He was all you thought about for the rest of the day, the evening, until you went to bed that night. Even then, your mind wouldn’t stop racing.

These feelings were big, too big. Keeping them inside hurt, but you feared letting them out would be agony. They were safest with you, blossoming into flowers in your soul, where only you knew about them.

But still, you were wide awake, consumed by the urge to do something, say something.

So you got up, pulled your shoes on, went outside and picked a flower from your garden.

Jackson was desolate as you wandered down the street. The only residents awake at this hour were those on patrol. It might have been eerie if you weren’t so wound up. 

You scanned each house as you passed by, looking for Joel’s. Your heart pounded in your chest when you found it. You didn’t need to be so nervous, the lights were off, but you kept imagining someone walking out and catching you in the act. But you’d come this far, and his front door was just a few yards away.

You climbed the stone steps with a quiet urgency, twirling the flower between your fingers one last time before dropping it just outside his door.

A single gardenia.

You were going to leave it at just one flower—you didn’t want to be weird and scare Joel off before you really got to know him. But then Ellie came by the greenhouse again.

“Did you leave a flower on our front porch the other day?” she asked, watering a yarrow seedling.

“What? Why?” You felt so lame, and so stupid for forgetting that Ellie lived there too. Your gesture was bound to get intercepted.

“There was a white flower out there. I showed it to Joel, and we figured it was from you.” It was a very reasonable thing to figure considering it was from you.

“What did Joel say?” you asked, trying not to sound as desperate as you felt.

“He said it was for him.”

“So he took it?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said. “Don’t know what he did with it.”

Ellie wasn’t nearly as invested in this as you were, but it still sounded promising. Joel had accepted the flower, maybe even liked it. The thought made your stomach feel strange, like a bunch of petals were flurrying around in there.

“Well, it was for him…” you mumbled.

Ellie glared at you in feigned outrage. “I’m insulted.”

“What are you complaining about?” you laughed. “I gave you a flower.”

“It’s wilting.”

“Fine then”—you handed her a pair of pruning shears—“go cut yourself a new flower.”

She wandered around the greenhouse for about five minutes and came back spinning a flower between her thumb and index finger. It had pure white petals and a bright yellow pistil. “I chose this daisy.”

“That’s a cosmos,” you corrected. “It represents harmony and balance.”

Ellie assessed the flower in her hand, genuinely mulling over the meaning of it, and you realised how much you appreciated her. She saw value in something you cared about. 

“What did Joel’s mean?” she asked.

“I’m actually not sure about that one.” It was a total lie, but you sounded convincing enough that Ellie shrugged it off and carried on watering flowers.

You couldn’t help yourself after that. Knowing that Joel accepted your gift made you want to do it again. And again.

So you did. Every few days, when you were sure he and Ellie were asleep, you sauntered down to their house and dropped a flower outside the door. An aster, agapanthus, camellia…

Joel never mentioned it, and you never really expected him to, but the nods and soft smiles he gave you when he saw you around were enough to let you know he appreciated you.

But Joel would never know the true meaning of your flowers. It was better that way.

Maria and Tommy’s son was born later in the spring, and your garden had never seen so many visitors. The new parents were practically drowning in congratulatory flower arrangements, and eventually Tommy had to tell you to start turning people away.

One of these visitors happened to be Joel, and he was the one person you couldn’t turn away.

Unlike everyone else, Joel came to your door first. The slight nerves he’d had the first time he came over were gone, but so was the facade of sociability. Maybe this uncouth version of Joel should have irked you, but seeing him comfortable enough to drop the pretence just made you like him more.

“I need help with something,” he said, not even bothering with a hello.

“What is it?”

“A gift for the happy family,” he spoke bitterly, like he was actively trying not to grimace as the words came out.

“Flowers?”

“Flowers seem appropriate.”

Joel was strangely upset for someone who was welcoming their nephew into the world. You didn’t know the story between Tommy and Joel, just that they hadn’t seen each other for years before Joel and Ellie arrived in Jackson, and that Maria really disliked him.

But despite his sour attitude, it was clear Joel was trying. Whatever was weighing on him, he was pushing it down and choosing to be thoughtful for the sake of his family. Tommy could deal with one more bouquet.

You walked down to the greenhouse with Joel trailing behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets the entire time. On a better day, you would have tried to make conversation with him, but he obviously didn’t need that pressure right now.

He finally spoke up when you arrived at the greenhouse. “This place has seen better days.”

It wasn’t the flowers he was talking about, it was the structure itself. The contractor in him must have noticed the rusted metal pipes holding everything together, the holes and tears in the plastic sheets, and the fact that there was almost no room to walk.

“I know it’s bad,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It was built before I got here. I don’t think they used their finest materials.”

It was always cramped in here, but Joel being so broad and having such a presence made it even worse. He was closer to you now than he’d ever been. He smelled warm, like fresh coffee and leather and musk. It made your head spin.

“So, what kind of flowers are you thinking?” You needed to change the subject before you threw yourself at this man.

“Uh...pink?”

You laughed—you couldn’t help it. He couldn’t have been more vague if he tried.

“Why’s that funny?” He wasn’t mad, but he did seem impatient.

“Sorry,” you said, fighting back a smile. “Maybe you could elaborate on that?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned, running a hand over his prickly beard. “This is why I need help.”

You felt bad for laughing when he was so stressed out. He was overthinking something that should have been simple, and it made your heart ache for him. He was looking for guidance.

“We’ll do peonies for good fortune,” you told him, “and daffodils for new beginnings.”

His shoulders relaxed as some of the tension left him. Whatever was weighing on him was still there, but this was one thing that made it bearable. 

You walked back to your house after cutting the flowers, where there was actually space to work. You expected Joel to leave then, go home and wait until the flowers were ready like everyone else did, maybe even have you deliver them on his behalf, but he stayed by your side.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Joel asked, sitting across the table from you as you worked. “About flowers, I mean.”

You never got into this with anyone, but your inexplicable attachment to Joel compelled you to open up. Whatever pain resided in him reminded you of your own. He understood you.

“My mom had this book. She wrote down the meaning of every flower she knew of, and I guess I’ve memorised it all over the years,” you explained.

Talking about her didn’t hurt like you thought it would. It was actually a relief.

“When did it happen?” You knew what he was asking.

“First day,” you replied.

He nodded solemnly. “Me too.”

This wasn’t the first time you had seen through the gaps in Joel’s armour, but it was the first time he’d made the choice to let you. You didn’t know his limits, if those two words were as deep as he could get, but you wanted to see what would happen if you just asked.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t seem happy about this,” you said, straightforward but still cautious.

“I guess I’m not,” he admitted, looking down pensively.

“Why is that?”

“Just don’t understand bringing a kid into all this.”

You agreed with him. The people of Jackson were as safe as they could be, but outside the walls were infected, raiders, FEDRA, and a multitude of horrors too awful to speak of. It would only take one mistake for Jackson to be completely wiped out. You wouldn’t want to bring a child into a world like that either.

But you also knew that most people who had kids post-outbreak hadn’t done it by choice.

“It’s not as if people have access to birth control,” you pointed out, stacking peonies onto a piece of tissue paper. “But I don’t disagree.”

“It’s just a lot for me to wrap my head around,” Joel continued—or maybe he was starting on a completely different train of thought. “Tommy’s the uncle. He’s always been the uncle. I’m…“

He couldn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

“You still are,” you told him. “Tommy’s still an uncle.”

Joel was silent, letting your words sink in. It was cold comfort, and maybe you shouldn’t have said it, but it was what you believed.

“Why do people call you Rosebud?” The question took you aback. It was completely unrelated, yet felt so important. He was the first person in twenty years to ask you that question.

“My mom came up with it when I was little. It’s what everyone’s called me since.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Joel asked. “Seems like a constant reminder of what you lost.”

It was hard having to live without her, but you never wanted to forget what you lost. “I guess I like the reminders.”

His hand absent-mindedly fell to the broken watch on his wrist, and for a fleeting moment, you were seeing the man you first saw in December. An open wound. Marigold.

“She didn’t stop being my mom,” you said quietly. “I didn’t stop being her daughter.”

And as quickly as the wound opened, it was once again sewn shut. He even managed a smile. “You’re wise, kid. You know that?”

Kid.

Ouch.

It felt like a kick to the stomach. In an instant, the carnations that bloomed when you first saw Joel all those months ago, that had been so red and vibrant, faded into yellow.

You held yourself together until he left. You finished arranging the flowers, wrapped them up, handed them over to him, said goodbye and wished him luck, then trudged over to the couch and flopped down onto it—this time in a dejected heap.

It wasn’t as if you thought you had much of a chance with Joel, but this just felt so awfully final. It didn’t matter that you were basically thirty years old—in his mind, you were a kid.

It was embarrassing. You thought about the flowers you left—a quiet admission of feelings—and prayed the couch would swallow you whole and suffocate you. 

You’d gotten it all wrong. Joel never appreciated it. He probably thought it was weird and pathetic but didn’t have the heart to tell you. You wondered why he even accepted the initial flower, and if you weren’t feeling so spurned and humiliated, it might have dawned on you that you were overreacting.

You still left a flower that night, if only to get some closure. It would be the last one you ever left him.

A red tulip.

Joel came to your door one day in July.

You’d come to expect Ellie on your front porch at least once a week, but Joel wasn’t a surprise either. You were friends now, even after such an embarrassing rejection.

Joel still never mentioned the flowers. He was probably relieved when you stopped leaving them and wanted to pretend it never happened, and that was fine by you.

Being friends didn’t help matters though. He was always rough and grumpy in his Joel way, but he was sweet too. So sweet. It felt impossible to move on.

“Hey, Joel,” you said. “Need help with something?”

“I wanted to help you, actually.”

“Me?”

“I can’t keep lookin’ at that greenhouse,” Joel said. “It’s a piece of shit.”

You had to laugh at his honesty. “You want to patch it up?”

“Was thinking of taking the whole thing apart and rebuildin’ it.”

The offer stunned you. It was so generous and so out of nowhere. Your first instinct was to say no, that it wasn’t worth the trouble, but something stopped you. It was Joel coming to you in earnest and saying he wanted to help. It felt like an insult to deny him.

You smiled warmly and nodded. “Okay.”

“When can I get started?” he asked.

Shit. You had dozens of flower pots you didn’t know what to do with. “Uh, I’ll have to empty the greenhouse first. I guess I'll bring the flowers here in the meantime.”

“Ellie and I can help with that,” Joel said. “I’ll go get her.”

You blinked at him. “Now?”

“You got other plans?”

You absolutely did not. “Ah, no. Now is good.”

“Great.”

That was how you spent your day, lugging flower pots from the greenhouse and unloading them in your front yard with Joel and Ellie in tow. It was so lovely it bordered on being painful—pink roses unshed of their thorns pierced your heart.

You let yourself imagine for a moment that this was reality. That you, Joel and Ellie were a weird, happy family. The carnations in your soul had never been more yellow, and you instantly regretted indulging in that particular fantasy.

Joel was already at the greenhouse when you went there the next morning. He was up on a ladder, and half of the structure was already torn down. Rusted metal pipes and discoloured, ripped up plastic sheets were piling up a few feet away.

“Need any help?” you called out.

He looked down at you and smiled—a real, wide smile you hadn’t seen on him before. “You know what you’re doin'?”

“Not really.”

“Then, no,” he replied. “Don’t want you droppin’ anything on that pretty little head.”

Huh?

You flushed all over, wishing your couch was here so you could collapse onto it. Less than two months ago he was calling you a kid, and now he thought your head was pretty. The thought crept in that maybe he was purposely messing with you, but you liked Joel too much to entertain the idea.

“Well, I probably can’t help with the physical labour,” you said, cursing how nervous your voice sounded. “But if there’s anything else…”

“You’re a sweet one, Rosebud,” Joel said. He had to be doing this on purpose. “You just let me do my thing, and we’ll leave it a surprise.”

You laughed. “In other words, you’re telling me to get lost?”

He grinned at you fondly. “Just trust me.”

It only took one exchange for that hope to come back to life. You tried to stop it, tell yourself he was just teasing, that he didn’t mean it that way, but it was too late. Those carnations were already morphing back into a searing red.

You wanted to come by everyday and watch him work, but you stayed away and waited for him to come to you. It only took a few days for him to show up at your door, looking infuriatingly hot covered in blotches of sage green paint.

“Is it ready?” you asked.

“It’s ready.”

You followed along behind him, keeping your eyes down so you didn’t accidentally spot the new greenhouse before he was ready for you to look. You ended up just ogling his ass, which was a decidedly better and much more pinch-able sight than the ground.

“Look now.”

You lifted your gaze, and your hands flew up to your mouth as you let out a dramatic gasp.

It wasn’t just good, it wasn’t just an improvement, it was beautiful—masterfully pieced together with timber and painted the same sage green that Joel was sporting on his clothes. And it was bigger. There would actually be space for you to walk around inside.

Joel started to panic from beside you, and you realised you were crying. “Is it the green? I can repaint it if you hate it.”

You seemed to have lost the power of speech to reassure him, so instead, you threw your arms around him and held tight. The suddenness of it shocked him, and his hands found your waist. You weren’t sure if he was about to push you away or pull you in.

“So, you like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” you snivelled into his shoulder. “Thank you, Joel.”

He hugged you back then, caging you in with his big arms and making you feel so safe. You felt a prickly sensation on your temple as he brushed his lips against it. 

Red tulips were threatening to burst out of you in droves. You didn’t want to let go, but you were seconds away from making a confession you couldn’t take back if you spent too much longer in his embrace.

You pulled yourself away, and even with the sun beating down on you, you missed his warmth.

He walked you back home, came inside when you offered him iced tea (you were out of coffee), drank it all even if it was too sweet for him, and all you could do was thank him repeatedly for what he’d done.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I wanted to do this for you.”

What did that mean?

“I’m sorry I never said anything,” Joel continued, a pink flush apparent on his cheeks.

“About what?” You knew exactly what.

“The flowers. I wanted to thank you, but I didn’t know how. I’m not used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Kindness.” He almost winced, like it hurt to say.

“It was weird. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t weird,” Joel assured you. “It was…nice. Bummed me out when you stopped.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I get it.”

You didn’t know what to say at this point. You didn’t want to be talking about any of it, and you were about to tell him that, ask him to move on from this, until he decided to put you on the absolute spot.

“What did they mean?”

Fuck. “Hm?”

“The flowers,” he said. “You said flowers have meaning. What did they mean?”

“I actually don’t know those ones.” That harmless little lie worked on Ellie, but Joel saw right through it.

“Why are you lying to me?” He didn’t even sound angry or annoyed, just genuinely curious, and a little sympathetic.

You considered doubling-down, insisting you didn't know, but you couldn’t do that him. It was a vulnerable conversation for not only you, but Joel as well. You understood how hard this was for him, and you cared for him too much to shut him down.

But you couldn’t say it, not verbally. Instead, you grabbed the notebook that was laying on your coffee table and held it out to him. There was a split second as he was reaching for it where you imagined yourself tugging it back out of his reach, forgetting about this entire thing, but then it was in his hands and it was too late. Nothing would ever be the same.

You held your breath as he flipped through it, his eyes flicking over the words. His face gave nothing away, but his finger was tracing over something.

Red tulip - declaration of love. 

He gently shut the book and set it down, and your eyes stayed firmly on the floor, hoping if you stared at it long enough it would split open and consume you.

“Are you surprised?” You couldn’t project your voice above a whisper.

“I guess not,” Joel said. It was the honest answer, and the one you most expected. “I thought you were just bein’ nice, then Ellie kept insisting you were interested.”

That girl was smarter than you gave her credit for—and you already thought she was very smart.

“I thought there was no way,” Joel continued. “You’re sweet and young and so pretty. I’m just an old man.”

“I don’t care how old you are,” you replied.

“I’ve done a lot of bad things...”

“I don’t care what you’ve done. I care who you are now.”

You were looking at him now. He looked moved, rapt, and not at all like someone about to deliver a devastating rejection.

“And you want me?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause where neither of you said anything, but the air was thick with an unspoken question: Where do we go from here?

“Can I kiss you, Rosebud?”

You nodded, and he did. It felt like dozens of chrysanthemums, camellias and carnations all springing to life under your skin.

He was gentle in a way you never could have imagined, cupping your cheek with his palm and holding your waist with the other. It was reminiscent of the hug you’d shared earlier, and you wondered if he’d wanted to kiss you then.

His lips were rough, a little chapped, but soft in the way he moved them. This wouldn’t be how he always kissed, you were sure of that. Someday it would be messy, frantic, all-consuming. But this careful, slow movement of his lips against yours was all you needed right now. 

He wanted to be gentle with you, because he cherished you like a rosebud.

flower translations:

rose (pink) - perfect happiness

rose (dark crimson) - mourning

carnation (red) - admiration

marigold - grief, despair

starwort - welcome to a stranger

chrysanthemum (red) - i love you

vervain - enchantment

gardenia - you’re lovely

yarrow - healing

aster - symbol of love

agapanthus - secret love

camellia (pink) - longing for you

peony - prosperity

daffodil (bunch) - new beginnings, hope, good luck

carnation (yellow) - rejection, disappointment

tulip (red) - declaration of love

rosebud (red) - pure, lovely

[jrrmint-deactivated20231020]

tiny drabble request if you feel up for it: canon, touch-starved joel getting a blow job for the first time in YEARS, from either joel or reader's pov?! I like to think he still fucked every now and then since the outbreak but more for a release than anything else, and getting head would've been a luxury he didn't allow himself. nor did he ever trust anyone enough to let them. but when he finally meets reader and she goes down on him for the first time, slow and languid, I can imagine him just dying and going straight to heaven and if there's ever a man who deserved a bj it's joel fkn miller LOL

starving

1.8k / post-outbreak!joel x f!reader

warnings: 18+, minors dni. somnophilia, oral (m receiving), implied age gap, smuggler!joel, post-outbreak!joel, kind of emotionally distant joel. took this request and just jotted this down in like half an hour so minimal editing (apologies), i hope it's ok for you anon!

It’s hard to keep track of time in the QZ. Everything just bleeds. The day bleeds to night and the night bleeds to day and the sky stays stunningly grey. You never see the sun rise and you never see the moon.

So if someone were to ask you how long, exactly, you’ve been sleeping with Joel Miller — you wouldn’t have a solid answer.

Three weeks, maybe. A month.

You don’t know how it started. It just…did. You’d been low on ration cards — low enough to panic — with one dingy, expired bottle of Tylenol to your name.

So you’d asked where you could trade. And everyone told you one name — the same name. Joel Miller. Down by the docks.

But only if you’ve got a death wish, they told you. That man is fucking crazy.

Dangerous. Murderer. Fuckin’ savage. Did you hear what happened to his daughter? Do you know how he got that scar on his head?

You’d heard every name in the book for Joel Miller. And you’d gone to find him anyway.

And — yeah. He’d been brooding, and silent, and the gun across his back had spelled a certain kind of violence. But he’d given you the cards, once you’d forked over the pills. So he was honest, at least.

And that was all it really took, that first time.

Maybe it was just that he was so much older than you, and so much taller, and staring down at you with a look that made you shiver. Maybe it was the way his fingers had grazed yours — rough and thick and bruised — when he’d handed you the cards. Maybe it was something else. The pain in his eyes or the hurt in his drawl.

Whatever it was — you’d taken the cards and then you’d taken his sleeve. Dragged him down the docks; to a little lean-to office on the corner of the wharf — and he’d taken it from there. He’d really only said one thing, the whole time, and it had been when you’d reached for his belt. Been awhile. A little apologetic, almost. But then he’d made you cum twice before his belt was even off, once with his fingers and once with his tongue, and you got the sense that maybe he used to be kind. And then he’d fucked you, with his gun still slung across his back. So hard and so good you’re pretty sure you’d seen stars.

He’d given you your pills back, too. When you were still too fucked-out to get up and stop him. Just…stuffed them back in your ratty fucking backpack — no words, no explanation. A gesture of good faith.

That was a month ago. Three weeks, maybe.

Now you wake up next to him, on a shitty mattress in his shitty grey apartment, and you watch sunlit smoke filter through his window. The smell of burning…something follows fast on its heels.

You roll over. Press your face into his flannel and breathe, deep, trying to mask the smell of death with his scent. And it works, sort of. If you close your eyes and pretend.

Joel doesn’t really let you touch him. He hasn’t said as much — he doesn’t really say much of anything, actually — but it’s become an unspoken rule these past few weeks. He gives you what you need when you ask. He takes what he needs when you let him. But he never lets you give him anything. You’ve never kissed him. You’ve never even held his hand.

So when you wake up, now — and he’s still sound asleep — you seize the opportunity. You touch his jaw with your fingers, and graze his chin with your thumb. You trace the hollow of his cheek and the slope of his nose and you almost, almost kiss him.

But then you have a better idea.

He never lets you give him anything. He’s too wound up. All coiled springs and broken pieces, like that old shattered watch that lives wrapped up on his wrist. He won’t tell you why he wears it. You think it has something to do with the silence he carries. With the way his heart beats too slow, every night, when you curl into him and let his chest cling to your back.

You don’t know if you can make him better. But you want to try.

You shift your weight down the mattress. Slowly — slowly — so you don’t wake him. You’re not sure what you’re worried about. He sleeps like the dead. Until a nightmare comes, or a gunshot cracks across the street.

You shuffle in between his legs and snake a soft hand up his jeans. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes, last night. He does that, on the rare nights where he doesn’t fuck you senseless. On those nights he falls asleep naked, next to you. On those nights he keeps you warm.

But last night you’d been asleep already when he’d stumbled back in. He’d wrestled the gun off his shoulder, and washed the blood off his knife, and sunk into bed beside you with an arm around your waist.

Now you can see he’d managed to take his boots off, at least. Nothing else. They’re scattered by the mattress, splattered with blood and ash and mud. So is the rest of him. But you can deal with that later.

You work your hand over denim. Featherlight. You brace one hand on the mattress and do his fly with the other, working his button free and his zipper down.

Then you pause, to see if he’ll wake up. He doesn’t. His cock twitches, though, jumping at your hand when you brush over his jeans.

You smile. You tug his jeans past his hips and bring his boxers down, too — just far enough to free him. Then you settle back against the mattress, shimmying between his thighs. Your head hovers over his aching cock.

He’s fully hard, now. Like he can sense your mouth hanging inches over him. The tip twitches, red and swollen, and he gives a shallow moan in his sleep. His fingers flex on the mattress.

You kick the urge to reach out and grab them. You don’t want to wake him — not yet — and you want your mouth to be the only thing he feels. You want to give this to him, because he never takes it for himself. He never asks. You think maybe he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

You think he does.

You press a kiss to the head of his cock and he groans. Deep, guttural — but his breathing doesn’t shift. Still deep. Still asleep. You hollow your cheeks and take him deeper, swirling your tongue across his velvet tip — and his hips jerk. His cock swells in your mouth.

You’d swear, if you weren’t trying so hard not to wake him. You’ve never seen him this…pliable. This soft. The noises he’s making now, in his sleep, with his cock in your mouth — are the ones he always swallows back, every time he’s fucking you.

You rub your thighs together. Clamp down against the wetness there. And then you take him deeper, fluttering your tongue along his length as you go. You choke a little on those last few inches. He prods at the back of your throat and you have to ball your fist into the mattress. But you don’t let up. You can take him. He’s fucking — huge — and impossibly hard, in the wet heat of your mouth — but you can take him.

Your mouth wraps tight around the base of his cock. He mumbles softly and it trails to a moan. His cock pulses somewhere deep in your throat.

You ease up. No hands, still. Just your mouth — tight and hot and soaked. You pull back, leaving a slick, glistening trail where your lips pull up his cock — and release him with a quiet pop.

You pause again. Still asleep. But his cock is straining, wide-awake, leaking pearly beads of precum.

You put your mouth back to the tip. Lick softly, gently, until his hips buck into your mouth. You find a spot that makes him moan, at the underside of his head, and stay there with the flat of your tongue until you feel his balls pull tight underneath you.

And then you say fuck it, and drag your mouth all the way back down his cock. Over and over and over, straddling his thighs, gagging a little when his cock hits your throat again and again.

You hear his breathing change. The short, shallow stutter when he opens his eyes, and lifts his head off the pillow, and sees you worshipping him on your knees.

“F-fuck,” he breathes. His eyes are glassy. “D-darlin’. W—“

He doesn’t get anything else out. Your pace is relentless, dragging him over the edge, and he’s cumming down your throat before he’s even registered he’s awake. The result is a quiet, breathy moan, still half-asleep and drunk on you. His hands move instinctively to grip your hair, pressing you to his cock while he spills inside your mouth.

“You — fuck, baby.” His voice is rough. “Wha — god — ah. Goddamn.”

You swallow every drop. He tastes like smoke and steel and something distinctly Joel. His hands go slack and you pull yourself off his cock. You lay your head on his broad thigh and he strokes at your hair.

It’s gentle. Easy. You’re pretty sure his fingers tremble.

He finally speaks, when you’ve almost drifted back to sleep. It surprises you. He speaks so rarely that you’re still not used to the sound of his drawl.

“You…” his fingers still in your hair. You think maybe he’s just now realized how intimate this is. How close. But he doesn’t take them away.

He clears his throat. You hear the snag in his breath.

“You ain’t gotta do that,” he breathes. “Don’t — have to.”

You tilt your chin so it’s resting on his thigh. Look up at him.

“I wanted to,” you say.

He shakes his head, slightly. He doesn’t ask it, but you can read the question. Why?

You lean in, a little hesitant. Drape your body over his. He doesn’t push you away; doesn’t flip you back over. He drags his hands up your sides and tugs you closer to him. Your lips brush his and he tips his chin to meet you.

“You deserve it,” you say, softly.

He shakes his head again. Or tries to. It’s hard, with your mouth hanging so close over his.

“Don’t deserve any ‘a this,” he murmurs. His hands rake your sides. “Don’t deserve you.”

You’re quiet. Your heart breaks a little for him. For how sincere he sounds, in that serrated Southern drawl.

“Done — bad things,” he mumbles. “I ain’t — I ain’t a good man.”

It’s silent, for a few moments. That sunlit smoke creeps closer to the mattress. Wraps in tiny, twisting wisps around your ankles.

“Yes you are,” you breathe, and your thumb rakes his jaw. “You’re good to me.”

And then he kisses you.

[cavillscurls]

Neon Moon | Joel Miller (Part 1)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Singer!Reader

Summary: Life in Jackson was proving difficult for Joel to adjust to, unable to find a piece of comfort in the place so many people called paradise. That was until you came along, unexpectedly weaving your way into his life through a language you both shared a love for: music.

Warnings/tags: MDNI. Jackson era/one month post episode 9. Not everything is canon. AFAB reader. No use of Y/N. Use of pet names. Foul language. Mentions of violence, blood, death, trauma & suicide. Age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his 50s). Angst. Insecure Joel. Soft Joel. Eventual smut. More detailed warnings will be given for each respective chapter.

Word count: 3.9k

⇸ Now if you lose your one and only

There's always room here for the lonely

To watch your broken dreams

Dance in and out of the beams

Of a neon moon ⇷

song inspo:

a/n: howdy!! this is my first time posting any work on tumblr bahaha so who knows how it is going to go, but i’ve had this idea stuck in my head for so long now, i simply had to get it out. any and all feedback is much appreciated !! I KNOW it’s a slow first chapter, but so much promise it picks up lmao. xx

Joel Miller was not what many considered to be personable.

Even in the last month of adjusting to the comfort and lifestyle of Jackson, the familiarity of guardedness and disdain for others had not been cleansed from his system. How could he be to blame, though? The atrocities he and nearly every other contained within the walls of the newfound community could not be erased. Decades of self preservation unable to be reduced to the foreign security Jackson provided.

So, it was no shock to Joel to see the surprised look on his younger brothers face when he begrudgingly decided to accept his invitation to Thursday night live music at the Tipsy Bison.

“You’re going to love it,” Tommy had promised. Somehow, even the wide smile across his face and the pleased sparkle in his brothers eye could not convince Joel so. Nevertheless, he obliged, and found himself that next Thursday evening awaiting Tommy’s arrival nervously near the front door. He wore his usual worn blue jeans and a green flannel atop a black t-shirt, figuring some music at a bar was not the occasion to dress up for. Not that he would have cared to, anyway. Settling for comfort over style any day. He fiddled with the laces of his brown boots before tying them, a dissatisfied groan escaping his lips as he steadied himself upright.

“You gonna make it through the night, old man?” a voice called from the living room. Splayed out stomach down on the rug, Ellie peered up at him humorously from whatever book she was reading.

He gave her an unamused look. “M’fine,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorframe. “You sure you gon’ be okay all alone? I can tell Tommy I—”

“Oh, no, no you don’t!” Ellie perked up, popping up to a sitting position. She placed the book face down in her lap, offering him a stern look. One that mimicked the one she had seen him give time and time again. “No excuses. You’re going.”

This was the first time since their arrival in Jackson Joel would be leaving her alone. He knew there were no real dangers; their shared home sat at a quiet corner of the street, the neighbors had introduced themselves, and those who didn’t — likely due to whatever rumors and gossip they had heard spread about the older Miller brother — kept their distance enough to pose no threat. To say he was feeling some anxiety in the pit of his stomach was an understatement. Whether that was due to leaving Ellie alone or having to socialize, he chose not to pinpoint. Nonetheless, his attempt to use her as an excuse failed miserably.

As if on cue, three knuckle wraps met with the door then. Joel offered the girl one last roll of his eyes before opening it to reveal Tommy, smiley as ever, in his jean jacket and a black cowboy hat. It took everything inside of Joel to hide the sneer that crept onto his lips. Well, he sure looks the part of ole’ Texan commune patrolman.

“Ready?” Tommy inquired.

“Oh, he’s ready!” Ellie chirped before Joel even had a chance to speak.

He snapped his head back towards her with a scowl, unsurprised to see her grinning ear to ear. “Don’t stay up late,” he grumbled after her as he pushed passed Tommy and out the door. He could hear her mock something after him and bid the younger brother a farewell before they both fell into a leisurely stride on the street towards the center of town.

Strung up lights lit their pathway and a comfortable silence fell. Joel knew his brother didn’t mind. In fact, their moments of alone time were some of the few Joel had experienced a semblance of comfort in since their arrival. It was taking him a much longer time to adjust, and while he was grateful to see Ellie so eager to assimilate, he could not shake the nagging buzz of panic that coursed through his veins, day and night. This was not the world he had known for the better second half of his life, and it sure as hell wasn’t one he could ease into so quickly.

“Couple’uh the guys said they’d meet us inside.” Tommy’s words sliced through the pestering thoughts as they approached the building, sounds of jovial chattering beginning to fill the air. Joel gave him a nod and grunt of approval, despite not quite being "one of the guys" in Jackson just yet. Not that it was a goal, anyway.

As soon as they entered the confines of the bar, Joel felt his shoulders tense. The Tipsy Bison was small enough as it was, a dozen tables or so fit for two, now crowded around by three or four. The air smelled of liquor, smoke, and sweat, nearly suffocating the man as he attempted to keep on Tommy's heels, weaving through the vaguely familiar faces that all seemed to watch him with an unwarranted fascination. At the front center of the room, a makeshift stage had been set up with wooden platforms. More strings of lights made up a back drop, an array of instruments including a keyboard, drum set, and various guitars took their respective places on stage. Some of them had certainly seen better days.

An eruption of voices upon their arrival towards the back of the room startled him slightly, glancing up to see the two other men who greeted Tommy with the warm welcome waving the Miller brothers over. By the looks of it, they were plenty of drinks deep, and Joel found himself unable to conjure up the names. One of them completely unfamiliar to him, though it was very possible Tommy had introduced him, and he just forgot. The other a Barry...Larry, Jerry? He couldn't recall, planning to skate by the night with minimal interaction.

"Saved you some drinks," one of them announced, sliding over two glasses of whiskey towards the brothers. Now this Joel would accept with open arms, and he did, leaning an elbow against the table and wrapping his fingers around the glass without a moment to spare. "Glad to have you join us, Joel."

"Mhm," he grunted in response, taking a generous swig of whiskey. "Yeah. Thanks."

Tommy was quick to swoop in for conversation, sensing the discomfort in his brother. Though it did not take much deliberation to see it, as he resembled that of statue in the rigid and unnatural way he stood. Joel wasn't claustrophobic, but he sure has hell didn't like being around this many people. Not when he could see them looking at him. Hear the occasional drop to a whisper as people would pass by. The rational part of him couldn't blame them; he was still relatively new, and they had every right to have their questions and curiosities. But the other side of him, one more frequently ruled by anger an instinct, felt like he could snap at any moment.

"Ladies and gentlemen--" the voice came as an echo from the microphone on stage, and when Joel turned over his shoulder, he could see the band migrating themselves onto the platform. A younger man who had slung the bass over his shoulder spoke into the mic. "We are gonna get started here for y'all in just a moment, but I wanted to take this time to introduce you to our beloved talent this evening." A few rounds of applause began to erupt from the crowd, excitement glittering the air. Joel could tell this was an awaited event, and as quickly as he began to question why, his thoughts were answered.

The moment he saw you, he couldn't look away.

The young man with the bass had stepped aside from center stage, an outreached hand gesturing towards the opposite side of the room where bodies parted to make way for you. You mounted the stage with a dazzling smile, mouthing thank you's towards the numerous folks who already cheered in anticipation, unaware of the new pair of eyes that followed your ascent with precision.

Even in his short month in Jackson, Joel had encountered plenty of women. Young, old, kind, distant, and those that were a bit too eager for his attention. But in that time, he had never laid his eyes on you. And by God, he thought the wind might have been knocked out of his lungs. Your eyes seemed to sparkle underneath the lights, the smoothest skin he had ever seen, silken hair tied up halfway and curled around your face. You wore a white dress that dipped into a delicate V below your collarbones, puffy sleeves that hanged off your tanned shoulders, and a skirt that ruffled just passed your knees. At your feet, a pair of worn leather cowboy boots.

Joel was oblivious to his gawking until he felt a nudge from Tommy beside him. His brother was giving him a knowing look to which Joel feigned annoyed confusion for. Not wishing to embarrass his brother, Tommy simply leaned over and offered Joel your name. "She's been singin' here for a few months now, every week. Got together the whole band for events at first, but the community loved it so much, they were willin' to make it a weekly thing." And by the community, Joel could tell he mostly meant the men. It was only then that he took a good scan across the bar, a notably uneven presence of testosterone. Not that he was better than any of them. The first thought once he got passed the initial shock of your beauty being a wondering of just how soft that smooth skin would have felt below his touch.

This was unlike him. Perhaps it was the environment or the alcohol, but he could not deter himself from the way your aura enamored him, and seemingly captured the entire room, too. He had no time to question Tommy about you when your voice picked up again.

"It's so good to see all your lovely faces again," you hummed into the microphone as you began to adjust the stand shortening it to your preferred height ever so slightly. Any worries from the days events rolled off your shoulders, instantly feeling at ease when you had stepped upon that stage. Up here, you didn't have to be anything but you. The inspiration flowing through your veins and out into the atmosphere. The moment your fingers wrapped around the mic, a sort of electricity filling you. It was difficult in a world as broken as this one to find ones livelihood, and here you were, basking in the the one thing that filled your soul with peace.

The pianist began to pluck a few warm-up notes on the keyboard. "As always, thank you for being here. And don't be shy if you have any requests." You tipped the toe of your boot towards the clear bowl at the foot of the stage, tiny pieces of ripped paper and a few pencils at the disposal of the audience.

With a nod of your head towards the fellow players, a slow and steady jazz tune picked up. You took a deep breath. No matter how often you had sung in front of a crowd, there were still the inevitable jitters. Closing your eyes, you soaked in the moment before your lips parted in melody.

Crazy, I'm crazy for feeling so lonely.

I'm crazy. Crazy for feeling so blue.

I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted,

And then someday you'd leave me for somebody new

Hums of approval, of reminisce, came from the audience, now silent at your will and the timeless words of Patsy Cline. Joel stood in the same spot, elbows leaned back against the table behind him, and neck slightly craned forward in surprise as the word flowed from you. He was not sure what he expected, but the angelic timbre of your voice certainly had exceeded his ideas. He was transfixed by you, noting the way you would lean in to each and every word, your expressive brows cultivating the pain and passion of the lyrics.

Worry, why do I let myself worry?

Wondering what in the world did I do?

He understood the appeal. How could he not? The way you swayed your hips ever so slightly and sultry to the rhythm, hands running down the body of the microphone. Your voice reached into him like an aiding hand, tugging him from the hole he dwelled in. Time could not exist in that room, not when you were there to bring it to a slow, captivating people and reminding them of a different time. An easier time.

Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you.

I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying.

As he watched you, Joel could not help but wonder if there was some truth to the words you sung. The way you bore your heart into their agony told a story he and many others could understand. Love, loss, regret. Things he would not normally bring himself to face but could bare to think about momentarily through your melodious storytelling.

He felt his throat constrict, and he swallowed hard.

No. Joel Miller was not about to get emotional over some silly song.

When it did come to an end, silence hung in the air for a mere beat before a roar of applause overtook the bar. Joel joined in willingly, setting his glass atop the table to offer his own appreciation in delicate claps. He watched you as your eyes properly scanned the audience now, taking in the appreciation with flushed cheeks and a pearly smile. You nodded your head towards a few people in the front row, brows pulled together in bashful gratitude. The work you were doing within those walls was simple, but you knew the gravity of its impact, and it filled you to the brim of an adoration the world outside Jackson could never supply.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The band went on to play for another hour and a half, ranging from old folk tunes that you teasingly remarked may have been much before your time, but would be plenty familiar to some of the patrons, to some softer rock hits from the late nineties.

Joel soaked in every moment of it.

And when you announced to the audience that they would be taking a thirty minute intermission prior to the next set, he could not help but feel a wave of disappointment. Tommy was right.

He did love this.

While the rest of the crowd seemed to disperse back into their respective conversations, Joel's eyes still lingered on the stage where you had stepped down to the foot of now, greeting the few residents who came up to shake your hand or compliment you on your performance. He noticed how that bewitching grin never seemed to leave your cheeks, a sort of delicate ease and confidence to the way you moved so brightly. Like a goddamn ray of sunshine, he thought.

He had half a mind to march over there and talk to you, only to realize he had no idea what the fuck he would even say. He was back to scolding himself then. Plenty of the old men around here already made no haste in ogling you up, you certainly didn't need one more.

"Terry's been workin' on fermentin' some of his own beer-" Terry. Fuckin' Terry is his name. Way off, Miller. It was Tommy speaking to him again. "We're gonna head over, give a couple batches a try. You oughta come with."

Joel blinked at him blankly, seemingly the only one still reeling from the performance he had just witnessed. Or maybe it was because this was his first time, and by the gradual smirk that came to rest on Tommy's face, he figured that was so.

"Stop lookin' at me like that." Joel grumbled.

"I fuckin' told you."

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, eyes falling to his boots that kicked at the dusted floor. "I did. I really did like it." Not just the music, he wanted to add, but didn't. He stopped himself from asking why they couldn't stay for the second set, but didn't either. The last thing he needed was more of Tommy's pestering. And besides, there was always next Thursday.

Joel lingered towards the back of the group as they eventually migrated their way out of the bar. The summer air fell cooler now with the sun below the horizon, and a few groups of people had migrated outside to chat or smoke a cigarette. Departing the premise appeared it would not be an easy task, as almost every person they passed stopped Tommy to say hello, ask a question, and occasionally offer an introduction to Joel. He didn't mind, though. Tommy could talk an ear off while he remained invisible by his side, for all he could care. The sooner they could leave the swarms, the better. Without the music to distract him or anyone else around him, Joel became vividly aware of himself around numerous bodies of strangers. The anxiety returned back to his stomach.

And just as it seemed they were finally about to escape, a call from the open bar doors hurdled their direction.

"Tommy Miller!" The group of men came to a halt, all turning around to face the voice. Joel stopped in his tracks as he saw you standing in the door frame, a jean jacket over your shoulders now, and hands rather dramatically on your hips. "I know you aren't leaving without saying hello, now, are you?" You tilted your head teasingly, that same smile creeping onto your cheeks as you skipped down the steps and towards them.

Tommy knows you. Well, of course he fucking knows you, but Joel didn't expect like this. Returning the smiles, arms open wide when you reach him, offering you a hug and congratulations on another fantastic performance. Joel suddenly felt paralyzed. Sure, he had contemplated speaking to you just moments ago, but that was a fleeting fantasy. Sharing in your presence with the entire room was a much different experience than having you so close. Up close, he could see the little details of your eyes, your skin that really did look so soft, the youthful and joyful aura that radiated off of you. He felt his hands clam up.

"Sorry, honey," Tommy continued, giving your shoulder a squeeze. "You're just so goddamn popular, we didn't wanna bother'ya."

You rolled your eyes, still beaming up at him. "Oh, please. Never. Never a bother." You had sung for he and Maria's wedding reception. It was a small gathering, and you were honored when they had asked you to be apart of it. They had always been good to you, and asking you to be a staple in their special day solidified a shared respect and trust.

Your eyes shifted then, acknowledging the tall man beside Tommy. A glint of curiosity flickered over them, and you wondered if this could be--

"Oh, hey. This is my brother," Tommy began, now giving his hand to Joel's shoulder which instantly stiffened upon the attention.

The things you had heard about Tommy's older brother did not quite prepare you for the man himself. Then again, you had never been one to gossip, though the subconscious effect this towns rumors had on your perception was impossible to avoid. The tousled peppered hair and hard lines of his face were the first traits that drew you in. Then, it was the broadness of his arms, shoulders, his whole being seeming to take up more space than he would have cared for. And finally, the chocolate brown eyes which bore into you in a way that made your chest tighten. Eyes that carried a story, history. The kind you could get lost into for hours.

"Oh, Joel, right?" He felt his lungs stop working. Now, it was him you were smiling at.

"Uh, yes ma'am," he spoke, voice hoarse from how dry his throat felt.

He saw your nose crinkle in feigned disgust, giggling. He could listen to the sound for hours. "Please, not the ma'am. You countrymen are too polite," you assured him, extending a hand and offering him your name. "Good to finally meet you. Tommy has spoken so much about you." And everyone else, for that matter. Did you know he use to raid innocent people? Smuggler in the QZ's. Not sure why they even let him in here. Killed people with his bare fucking hands-

It was all noise, as far as you were concerned. You may have been young when the whole world went to shit, but you were no strangers to the lengths anyone would go through to survive. Especially if it meant protecting the people they loved. And you had a feeling Joel Miller had gone through more than most.

When Joel did finally take your hand to shake, he was pleased to discover it was as soft as he expected, and much smaller, nestled securely in his grasp. He savored the moment that ended far too quickly, and when you let go, he balled his hand into a fist at his side.

"You, uh, you were great up there," he willed himself to say, the sincerity plain even behind the rough exterior.

You felt a blush creep up your neck. No matter how many compliments people payed you, you could never quite get use to them. Especially when they came from handsome, rugged men whose deep drawl made you want to listen to him compliment you for hours. That was another thing you had not expected about Joel Miller.

He was dashingly handsome.

"Thank you," you offered rather sheepishly, folding your hands behind your back and fiddling with your fingers. A nervous habit. "I love every moment of it."

You didn't have to tell him that for him to notice. It was clear in the way you owned the stage, but hearing your adoration for it out loud cracked a grin on his lips. You noticed, holding his eyes for a moment longer. You couldn't tell what was behind those eyes now, but it made your tummy flip, the unreadable elegance of them captivating you.

"And so did we!" Tommy interrupted the unspoken shared moment. Joel cleared his throat, his eyes falling back to his boots. "We'll let you get back to all the fun, but hopefully we can come by for next Thursday's show."

You nodded eagerly. "I would love that."

Tommy offered you another embrace before heading off with Terry and Glenn who both wished you a goodnight. You noted the way the older Miller brother seemed to linger a bit behind, using it as an opportunity to call to him.

"It was nice to meet you, Joel!"

Once more, he was stopped in his tracks, cocking his head over his shoulder to see that same giddy smile on your face, rocking from heel to toe adorably. Goddamn Terry and his stupid goddamn beer. He offered you another quaint grin that electrified your chest again.

"You too, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

The rest of your second set, you couldn't help but be a bit distracted. Wondering what it would have been like to look into the audience and spot his eyes on you. Patience was a virtue you both seemed to lack, for when Joel's head hit the pillow later that night, he couldn't help himself from praying next Thursday would come a little faster this time around.

chapter song:

[lightsinthedistancee]

I love this concept so much! And I definitely did not think this chapter was slow - I can’t wait for the next!

[joelmama]

The Fisherman's Wife | Oneshot

no-outbreak!AU, no-Ellie!AU (😞), (basically it's pretty much devoid of anything canon, I'm sorry 😭 I just was desperate to see Joel as a fisherman.)(also don't ask what time-period this is set in i have no clue)

pairing: fisherman!Joel, soft!Joel x afab!fem!Reader content: arranged marriage, angst, fluff, smut. summary: The free-spirited Reader is arranged to marry a divorced Fisherman named Joel Miller. And although she protested this at first, she soon wonders if maybe she could be happy with her new husband. word count: 28.2k (yeesh) warnings: NSFW 18+ - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. mentions of death, age-gap (reader is 27, Joel is 48), smut - oral (f receiving and m recieving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, reader is inexperienced (meaning loss of virginity), lovesick Joel, and not beta'd! (if i left anything out please let me know :))

(oh and an obscene use of Y/N bc i write in third person 😩)

Ao3 Link

A/N: Hiii~!!! so usually I write fics for a completely different realm of content. but I haven't been able to continue my most recent fic bc this idea has been stuck in my mind for fricken weeks!!! and it wouldn't get out of my head until i actually wrote it down. TLOU has just been on my brain constantly these days i guess 🙄 (🥰). anyways i thought i'd write it, post it here, and then disappear back into my usual corner of the internet, never to be seen again 😈. i hope you enjoy my story!! ILY <3

Far out from the rainy coast of the Pacific Northwest, sat a small island, always caught in the throes of an aimless sea. It was called the Isle of Ardor. Named after the burning passion of love. It was a peculiar name for the island, as it was always embedded within dark, curling swirls of stormy rain clouds; As well as the sour emotions that came with the storm— provided, of course, by the residents of this Isle. So the island was often left without the feeling of love. Neglected, for lack of any other words. Far from the symbol of love that was known by the world. 

Sure, there was the love that was bestowed by marriage, when a man first sets his sight on his arranged lover dressed in white. Or even love passed between a parent and a child, when a mother first hears the first laugh that tumbles out of her sweet childs lips. Or the fumbling platonic love that creates itself in whispered secrets during sleepovers between friends. But none of it was burning. None of it was passionate. It was a simple form of love. A perfect representation of the simple life that was often led on the Isle of Ardor. Despite its exciting name. 

A more fitting name would perhaps be something more simple. Unembellished. Basic. Ordinary. Sturdy. Something to match the uniform march of the adults in this town, as they traveled along the cobblestone roads in early morning light. Headed towards their humdrum jobs that kept the economy of this island churning like a slow cog in the machine. Meanwhile, the children were taught about this monotonous life in school. Sat rigid in their seats, the stiff collar of their uniform scratching at their necks. Forced to listen, forced to learn that there was only one path for them to take. All signs pointed, roads led and everything suggested that these children— Just as their parents, and their grandparents—  were destined for a life of simplicity. 

It was the exact opposite of what Y/N wanted. She abhorred the idea of simple. She wanted excitement. Yearned for passion. Craved the burn of love that left scars on your heart and bruises on your lips. 

Her wants and desperate needs were proven in the way she grew up. There wasn’t a day that went by where she wouldn’t step out of line. Her wrists would be sore from the snap of her teacher's ruler. Her ears would grow tired of the constant reprimand from her father. And her knees would bleed freely from the times she would escape the horrid monotony of life, out into the nature beyond. But the island was small, and her feet could only take her so far, so she would always easily be caught. She would return home with her sore wrists, tired ears and bloody knees, and sit by her bedroom window, hoping for something greater to take her away. 

It never came.

Eventually, she grew older. She matured, and she learned how to stay in line. For the most part. But as she aged, her tongue grew sharper with wit, and she soon often got in trouble for using words that could rival a sailor’s. By the time she was of marriageable age, no one on the island wanted anything to do with her. This all of course was to the dismay of her father. Who at this point thought that he would never be rid of his rambunctious daughter. 

He loved her with all of his beating heart, of course. But on the Isle of Ardor, all fathers wanted the same thing for their daughters. By the age of eighteen, they wanted their girls to find a satisfactory suitor to take care of them so that the fathers didn't have to worry as they faded into their old age. 

By now, all of Y/N’s classmates were already married. While at the age of twenty-seven due to her wild nature, no one had brought any offers to their household for her hand in marriage. Her father grew weaker and weaker as worry settled into his bones. 

Y/N on the other hand was ecstatic by her lack of prospects. Being a spinster meant she didn’t have to worry about some silly husband, wife or partner she didn’t truly care about. If people thought she was crazy? So be it. It was all worth it for the price of her freedom.

And now as she had no other burden brought on by school or a job, she would oftentimes be found by the raging ocean. Her toes deep in the blackened sand, skin salted by the sea and her hair tangled by the mischievous winds. And this is exactly where she was the minute she found out about the news that would tear her world apart.

Her father had found her a suitor.

The news was brought to her by the young messenger boy who would carry the most recent word of mouth with him on his rusty bicycle. Her father had flagged him down, offering a bill or two to find his daughter and bring her home immediately to meet the man she was destined to marry. 

The poor boy. He didn’t deserve to be met with the rage of a mad woman, but that was what he stumbled across when the news of her arranged marriage escaped from between his lips. At the sight, he suddenly understood why she was considered the town spinster. She was angered and chaotic, screaming into the wind when his words finally registered. She looked like a feral animal, the way she gnashed her teeth, yelling about the unfairness of it all. 

Him being no older than ten years old, couldn’t really understand why she was so upset about this news. She mumbled a few things— Something about her loss of freedom and self expression. But it was all very strange. He was used to the usual reaction from young women whenever they heard the news of their engagement. They were always… ecstatic. Squealing like pigs as they clutched onto their nearest friend, family member or even just a stranger. Or if they were unhappy with the prospect of marriage— just as Y/N was now— they were always able to hold their tongue until they were alone. 

Her reaction was all just very… strange. Very different. 

And different, it was. She now sat, stewing in her anger, refusing to even spare a glance towards her future husband.

A celebratory dinner, made carefully and happily by her aunt, sat on the wooden table stretched between them. It was all the distance she needed to ignore the man she was meant to be betrothed to. But even though she could avert her gaze, there was no getting past listening in on the conversation that flitted between this man and her family members.

She had learned that he lived on the other side of the island. So now it made sense that she didn’t recognize his surname when the messenger boy first told it to her. She barely got to know the names of her neighbors, let alone those on the windward side.

He was known as Joel Miller, only learning his first name when her father greeted him at the beginning of the evening, with a sturdy handshake at their front door, the casual name falling from his tongue as they exchanged niceties. As she stood behind her father’s shoulder, she refused to look at him even then, her eyes steady on the toes of her boots. 

Now at the table, the topic of his occupation also arose during the conversation. He spoke of his adventures out at sea, and what he encountered in his life as a fisherman. 

Typical. A fisherman. The most sought out job on this island as they were mainly considered as gods since they provided the island with prosperous amounts of food and good fortune. The people that held the title of ‘fishermen’ were always the most sought after when it came to marriage. Y/N wondered how her father was able to find a man like that for her. 

But as the dinner went on, the secret was soon revealed. Because she soon learned that his wife had left him. Many years ago, late in the night as a stowaway on a cargo ship headed towards the mainland. The only thing worse than a spinster was a man whose wife had left him. And now the puzzle pieces were fitting together. 

They were a match made in heaven. The crazy woman and the unwanted man. 

Y/N felt nothing but sympathy for his first wife. Surely, she was just the same as she. The only reason a woman would leave her partner was if she yearned for freedom beyond the tassels of marriage. Maybe eventually, Y/N would make the score two for two. Leave him behind just as his first wife did. The thought brought an overwhelming onslaught of anticipation that burned within the girl's core. 

But she had to be patient. She couldn’t just leave him when all eyes were narrowed in on their engagement. The whispers on the street all revolved around her, and how she was finally able to snag a man after all these years. Even more speculation was offered when they found out who the man was. Apparently these two were a circus act around the Isle of Ardor. A horrific accident that none of the residents could tear their eyes from.

Maybe that’s why their wedding was so crowded. 

A few weeks had past, and she had yet to grant the man with her gaze. All she knew of his looks was the quick glimpse of silver she saw scattered amongst the brown in his hair, and the hard set of his jawline, clenched in an anger that seemed to always be present. So as she walked down the aisle, her fingers clenched around a wilting bouquet of daisies, she kept her eyes pointed towards the horizon that lingered in the distance.

Traditional Ardorian weddings were always held in the same place. On the cliffside, hanging over the tempestuous sea that always danced near the shores of the Isle. The same clergyman, performed the same ceremony, spoke the same gentle words every single time. She has been to countless versions of this very same wedding throughout the duration of her life. Though, she never thought that it would be her who was forced to stand under the wedding arch. Especially in her late-mothers wedding gown, in front of the entirety of the small town that sat on the coast of Ardor. 

The most surprising part of it all was when she exchanged her ‘I do’s’ effortlessly and without any complaint. 

Maybe that was what also surprised most of the wedding-goers, as they began to whisper to one another. The crowd seemed disappointed, almost as if they expected a spectacle from the woman they deemed a recluse. From the rumors they’ve already heard through the grapevine, maybe they were expecting her to grow reckless with abandon. To stomp her feet and scream out to the gods. So when they were met with this quiet, timid version of the woman, who spoke her vows with no contradiction, they all stood and left the wedding. Completely missing out on the part when the man was told to kiss his bride. Which he didn’t even do. 

A very strange wedding indeed. 

It all came to a head when the man called Joel finally brought his new wife towards the threshold of their (used) marital home. It was a few hours after the ceremony, and usually this part of the evening was paired with bright, eager smiles as newly-weds were finally allowed to consummate their love. However, as we already know with this couple, the night went very differently than the norm that is usually presented. 

As soon as he had unlocked the door for his established home, the woman stormed through the front entrance, her eyes darting around each corner as she took in each aspect of her new home. Trying to find something to dislike. But it was an agreeable home. Comfortable and cluttered with trinkets that must’ve meant a great deal to the man. It was… interesting. So after finding nothing she could truly complain about, and be the disastrous wife she planned to be, she whipped towards him in an unexpected flurry, her arms folding across her chest. 

Her eyes finally landed on him for the very first time. And she stilled. 

He was older. Much older. But she already knew that from the information she learned from her father. What she didn’t know was how good age looked on the man. He was handsome... And so much larger than she had thought. His shoulders were wide, emphasized as he stood in the doorway. His hands looked strong and calloused, obviously capable of working against the aggression brought forth by an unforgiving sea. 

Then there were the features she had only caught glimpses of, but yet she was overly familiar with— due to the flashes of her memory that blared across the dark of her eyelids whenever she tried to sleep. His brown curls were unruly across his forehead, despite his attempt to manage them with gel, most likely trying to look put together for the wedding. They were painted with faint hues of gray, evidence of the twenty-some years he had against her. 

Her eyes tugged towards his familiar jawline. Strong— just as she remembered. But it wasn’t clenched in anger, or anything else of the sorts. His features were molded in a form that looked to be like curiosity. Maybe this was the first real look he had of her as well…

That’s when she met the deep brown irises of his eyes. The sight of which was a drastic contrast of anything else she had known of him. They were almost… warm and forgiving, bordered by the faint outline of crows feet, formed over the years. His gaze was soft in the way he considered her features and dragged over the curves of her body. So different from the harsh lines of the rest of his body.

She held her arms tighter against her form. Feeling vulnerable under his stare.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to happen…” Y/N finally spoke the first words she ever said to the man who was considered to be her husband, “But I can assure you that it’s not what you’re thinking.”

The man simply stared at her, his eyebrows raising at her words. She took a step back as he took a step inside, but felt foolish as he only did so to turn around and shut the front door behind him. The familiar sea breeze now lost to them. 

When he turned back around, he spoke the first words he ever said to the woman who was considered to be his wife. 

“I wasn’t expectin’ anything.” He replied, his sentence simple and his accent faded.

She had heard his voice before. When he was speaking to her father and reciting his vows. But now that it was directed towards her, it finally dawned on her how deep it was. How it rumbled through his chest in such a way that it settled deep within Y/N’s bones.

She was perturbed by the sensation. So much so that her next argument was lost on her tongue.

“Follow me.” He said, in the absence of her words.

Since there wasn’t much left to do, she did just that. The small house shifted under the weight of their footfalls as they ascended up the creaky stairs. Y/N’s eyes were trained on the sight of his broad back, taking up so much space as he ventured through the hallways of this two-story home. 

Her eyes were soon torn away from his form as she took in the decor of the rest of his— their house. It matched what she saw downstairs. Everything was nautical themed, something common within the homes that littered this island. But the way this house was decorated was different. Instead of the manufactured ocean aesthetic that Y/N was used to, everything about this house was… natural. The way she felt in this house felt exactly how she felt on the beaches that ringed around this tiny island. She never thought she’d ever meet anyone who was able to capture the essence of the natural world so effortlessly. She began to soften, similar to what she felt when she saw that look in his brown eyes.

She squared her shoulders against the thought, forcing her resolve back to the forefront of her mind. This was the last place she wanted to be. She had to remind herself of that. 

“This is your room.” Joel muttered in that deep voice of his, stopping at a door sat at the end of the hall. His large hand twisting the golden doorknob, it swung open as he pushed against the wood. 

“My room?” Y/N questioned, as she stood on her tiptoes, staring into the confines that were now revealed from over Joel’s shoulder. She took in the sight of a wrought-iron bed, a vanity and a wardrobe built out of dark-stained wood. Furniture to call her own for the first time. 

“Your’s.” He nodded in confirmation. And then he stepped aside, letting her venture further into the room. She breathed in the fresh air that was granted by the windows that still stood open against either wall, crickets calling through the crevices, seeping in from the dark of the night. 

She ran a hand over the handmade quilt that covered the mattress, cool against her palm, unslept in for months— maybe years. 

The floorboards squeaked under her feet as she turned quickly towards where Joel was standing. But the doorway was empty. Her words of gratitude fell flat against the air now that there was no one to direct them to. 

He must’ve snuck off as she was admiring the room, assuming she wanted to be left alone. Which she did. But no one had ever respected her privacy before. She definitely wasn’t expecting the courtesy from the man she was forced to marry. 

A weird feeling wormed its way into Y/N’s heart, one she had never felt before. She chose to ignore it as she plopped onto the mattress, springs squeaking under her weight, staring at the vacant space where Joel once stood.

~

Weeks passed by, and neither one of the newlyweds tried to make any contact with one another as they resided in their separate bedrooms.

Since Y/N was now destined to be a doting housewife, no one had any expectations for her beyond the household she currently lived in. And since Joel was avoiding her just as much as she was him, it was easy to dismiss his heavy footfalls that rang out against the house in the early hours of the morning. All she had to do was wait until they faded off the steps of the front porch, and then she was free to roam the house that was now half hers. 

Though after her exploring was finished, most of her days were spent in the garden, overgrown from lack of maintenance, but Y/N happened to like it that way. She was elated to find it, as she stood on the precipice of the backyard that very first morning. And now Y/N could be found curled on the antiquated porch swing that sat among the weeds, a book cradled in her lap, stolen from the office she also discovered on her second day of living with her new husband. 

However, as she relaxed in the garden, sun shining over every inch of her exposed skin, guilt would soon riddle her bones. It was another feeling she wasn’t used to. But now that she was married and now that she knew that Joel wasn’t the horrible intrusive husband she thought he would be, she decided he deserved to come home to a warm meal. So eventually— after a few of her days spent basking in the sun, the guilt becoming too much— she would one day venture to the market nearest their marital home and pick up ingredients to make the man some dinner after his long day at the docks.

She would never actually eat with him, of course— only leaving the homemade food in a ceramic pot stationed in the middle of the kitchen table. But she hoped her gesture proved enough that she wasn’t exactly angered by his newfound presence in her life. 

Despite the fact that she still planned on her escape.

It was obvious that Joel wasn’t a bad husband. And of course, that brought pause to the woman. She wondered what exactly it was that drove his first wife to leave him when he wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought. But the mystery still couldn’t counter with the fact that Y/N was desperate for her freedom, and desperate for a love that would set her heart on fire. Surely she couldn’t find that sort of thing on this tiny insignificant island. She had to escape. Didn’t she?

The topic stayed constant on her mind as she perused the books in Joel’s tiny library (library being a generous term, it was actually just one shelf tucked in the corner of his office). One day, in the living room, she even stumbled upon a great big atlas that Joel had left behind, turned open on a page that showcased an image of the world. All the little squiggles and lines that made up the map of their great big earth, her soulmate must have resided within one of those faraway places. He couldn’t have been so close, on the tiny dot that represented the Isle of Ardor, it seemed impossible.

Now lost in thought about chances and percentages, the young woman paid no mind to the time that passed as she flipped through the large pages of the atlas. The sun was dipping low beneath the horizon, painting the skies with pinks, and oranges. She had yet to even make dinner when Joel had walked through the front door.

She stood quickly from her spot on the couch. As a habit, her tongue fumbled through the words that would leave her mouth whenever her father would return from work. 

“Welcome home.”

Joel paused in the doorway. His brows furrowed in confusion since by this time the woman was usually found locked in her bedroom. And typically, when one welcomes you home, you’re supposed to reply with some form of gratitude, at least this was custom to the Isle of Ardor. But Joel was at a loss for words. To have his new wife, ready and expectant of him was unfamiliar. Especially since she had granted no interest in him for the past few weeks.

“I forgot to make dinner.” She told him, seemingly desperate to fill the silence. Her tone was soft with apprehension, she looked like a timid little rabbit. “I’m sorry.”

Taking in her words, and the sight of her— chest heaving as she stood by the couch, almost as if she were caught in the act of something despicable— Joel soon realized that this was all an accident. He wasn’t meant to find her like this. She had only gotten lost within whatever activity she was currently indulging herself in. 

He caught sight of the atlas he left on the couch late last night. It was there since he was currently making plans for his upcoming fishing trip, but it was quickly forgotten once the threat of sleep had forced him to make his way back towards his bedroom. Was that what she was looking at? His lips parted with even more realization, if that was the case. He had a sneaking suspicion why she would be interested in a book like that. But he wasn’t about to ask her any incriminating questions.

“That’s alright.” He breathed, shutting the door behind him and foregoing any accusations he could potentially throw her way. “I can make something.”

“No, please.” She begged, as if guilt forced her back into the role of a doting wife. “You’ve had a long day. Allow me.”

She moved through the small living room of the house in long strides, headed towards the kitchen. She was determined to be the good wife she promised to be when she made her vows. Even if it was a lie at the time. Even if it still was as she planned for her escape.

As she brushed past Joel, her wrist was suddenly encased in a pool of unexpected warmth. His calloused fingers were wrapped firmly against her skin. In the month that they had been married, this was the first time he had ever touched her. Her heart lodged itself in her throat. Her gaze shifted so that she was staring wide-eyed up at her husband.

“Let me help you.” He murmured, his own eyes pleading her for something she was unsure of. 

“Okay.” She whispered, nodding her head slightly, since there was nothing else she could do.

Now here they were, standing in their humble kitchen, stove hot and burning as they both stood over the swirling pot of spices, vegetables and fish. This form of intimacy was unfamiliar to them. It was the closest they’ve been in weeks, and it felt far more vulnerable than it did when they stood across the aisle as they spoke their vows. Joel’s hand was gripped harshly against the wooden spoon as he stirred the contents of their stew. Y/N’s fingers were latched onto the salt shaker, her eyes trained on the little grain of bitter crystal that was lodged in one of the holes. 

“Here.” Joel practically whispered, holding up the spoon for his wife to taste. She glanced up at him through her lashes, hesitantly, before slowly leaning forward.

Her supple lips formed around the wood as she slurped at its contents. Joel shivered at the sight. He knew that his new wife was pretty, but seeing as she took his requests so willingly, was a sight to behold. Her lips seemed so plush, and the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she blew cold air across his offered taste, almost had him down on his knees. His adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed harshly against his dry throat, mind littered with filthy innuendos.

“How’s it taste?” He asked, his voice strained, forcing away the provocative thoughts that forged to the front of his mind.

Her brows furrowed in concentration as she held the flavor on her tongue. But soon a small grin flickered across her features. Joel’s stomach dipped at the sight. A feeling he hadn’t felt in years— maybe decades... maybe ever.

“It’s good.” She replied, wrapping her own smaller fingers around Joel’s hand as she brought the spoon up for a second taste. The touch of her hand was a shock, to say the least. It was only their second instance of skin contact and yet it was so much different than before. Only because it was her that was touching him. Willingly— no, purposefully. Embarrassingly enough, the surprise of it all was somehow too much for the older man. The spoon slipped from his grasp, clattering against the tile, splashing stew across the lower half of the surrounding cabinets, as well as the long hem of Y/N’s skirt. Joel took a large step back, the heat of shame licking up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Sorry— I— Sorry.” He stammered, finishing his words somewhat lamely. He felt like a shy little school boy, he couldn’t even meet her gaze. It was humiliating. 

That was until he heard the sound of her laughter. Soft and tinkling, with no hint of malice. She wasn’t laughing at him, she wasn’t even laughing with him. It was more like she was laughing at the entire situation, or maybe at nothing in particular. He finally braved a glance up at her, to see those supple lips curled into a bright smile. His heart lurched at the sight.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t acknowledge his fumbling apology, instead she shook her head slightly, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater, a smile still apparent on her face as she got to her knees and began to clean up the mess. She didn’t even worry about the splotches of blooming red that was scattered across the white fabric of her pretty skirt. She let it stain. Lasting proof of the very first dinner they shared as man and wife.

He served it up in heaping spoonfuls. Steam lazily swirling up from the hot meal, confined in ceramic bowls that Joel had pulled from the cabinets. After Y/N’s laughter had faded from the air, the only sound that graced their ears was that of spoons scraping against the stoneware as they savored their last bites.

No words were spoken as they sat at the kitchen table. And the woman couldn’t decide if it was awkward or not. She was never one to be deterred by the presence of silence, but she was curious if the man who now sat across from her was.

Not that he was a man of many words. He was silent in the very way he lived. His actions were always careful and well thought out. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t heard of him before their betrothal. You don’t turn the cogs of the rumor mill if you keep to yourself. Which is what Joel seemed to do. 

So maybe he liked the silence. Y/N decided she did as well. 

Though it was finally broken when they stood at the kitchen sink, Joel was washing the dishes while Y/N dried— All serenaded by the sound of running water and clanking utensils. That was all it was until his words filtered in through the white noise.

“I’m leavin’ tomorrow.” He told her, eyes trained on the tiny soap bubbles attaching themselves to the skin of his hands. They were iridescent in their color. The distraction of it left the furrow between Y/N’s brows unknown. She wondered where on earth he could possibly be going. But the question was soon answered as he continued.

“It’s the first fishin’ trip of the season. Gonna be gone for a week or two.” He explained. Her mouth formed around a silent ‘ah’ as understanding dawned on her.

Fishing expeditions were always a big spectacle in this little town. Caught in glimpses on her way to school, Y/N always observed the teary-eyed farewells passed between the fishermen and their families. Hands up in the air in enthusiastic waves of goodbye as the ship drew further out to sea, becoming a small insignificant dot and then turning into nothing against the horizon. 

She liked the return days far better. They always seemed much happier when loving arms wrapped around trembling shoulders, a warm embrace to signify how grateful the fishermen were to be brought home safe and unharmed. It was one of the few times this island lived up to its name. 

And now the woman was left wondering if Joel expected her to become one of the teary-eyed family members waiting down by the docks. 

“What time are you leaving?” She asked, carefully setting down the bowl that resided in her hands, it clinked against the wooden countertop.

“Early.” He replied, his large fingers hooking around the faucet lever, shutting off the constant stream of water. In its absence, the silence was louder and the same could be said of that deep voice of his. “Don’t worry. I’ll try not to wake you when I leave.”

So now the question was answered. He didn’t expect anything from her. Just like he said that very first night. It was still a foreign concept for her. She wasn’t sure if she truly believed it. 

Though the belief finally found her when she woke up late the next morning, the sun deep in the sky, shining bright over her bed and warming her skin. She laid there for a minute, staring up at the ceiling as she considered the quiet state of the house. It was silent now more than ever. Left without the sound of Joel’s familiar footsteps as well as a final goodbye.

~

The time spent alone in the little house was surprisingly dreary. 

At first— once the realization that she had the house to herself settled in, the woman was ecstatic. She had never been left to her own devices before. Usually she would have to cheat her way out of the ever-present company of her family, just for five minutes of precious solitude. Now she had hours of it— days of it. It was exhilarating. It was freeing. It was… lonely.

And maybe just a little bit scary, as she curled under her sheets at night, unable to explain away the creaks that filtered in from under her door now that Joel was gone. 

Joel.

The absence of him presented Y/N with the unexpected discovery that he was a form of comfort that surrounded the walls of this house. Almost as if he were the protector of this hearth. And now that he was gone, the little noises she heard at night shifted into dark threatening creatures within the confines of Y/N’s overactive imagination.  

She cursed herself for her sudden lack of backbone. 

However, the daytime was somehow worse. Because at least during the night, her fear would soon subside once the calming tendrils of sleep coaxed Y/N back into her dreams. But during the day, when she was sitting on that squeaky porch swing, boredom would be the next thing to burden her. And there was nothing she could do to alleviate herself from it. 

There were only so many books in Joel’s collection. Only so many rooms that were left to explore (excluding the master bedroom of course). And only so many activities that she could think to do to distract herself. So as she sat there aimlessly, swinging back and forth under a late afternoon sun, it dawned on her that she was most entertained when navigating this new delicate life that she shared with Joel.

Which eventually brought her to the greater realization that it wasn’t fear or boredom that caused the ache that burned low in her stomach. No, it was the fact of the matter that she had simply missed Joel. One might describe that ache as yearning. But Y/N would definitely not be the one to do so. So she ignored the feeling.

She ignored it until it was replaced with the growing buzz of anticipation when the day of Joel’s return finally arrived. 

Excited whispers were passed from mouth to ear as everyone spoke about the ship's return. Y/N had caught a conversation while perusing the pitted-fruits at the market, relaying the information that the boat was set to dock later that evening. And as she quickly returned the contents that resided in her basket— replacing it with enough ingredients for a meal made for two rather than one— Y/N wondered if she was perhaps sharing in the excitement that took over the small island.

Which would be very odd, for she never once felt united with her fellow townspeople, and she could hardly believe that she was excited to see the man she was forced to marry. Though the oddest thing was, (and this was still unbeknownst to the young woman herself) was that she hadn’t thought of her underlying desire to escape, whatsoever. Not even once while she was left alone for the past two weeks, which by all means would have been the perfect time to plan her getaway. But the notion was completely lost to her mind as she hurriedly made her way back home so that she could start on dinner.

It was a sight to behold.

Later that evening, as Joel stood in the entranceway, limbs overtired from his harsh venture out to sea, he thought he was hallucinating. The last thing he expected when he walked through that door was to be met with the image of his wife, looking oh-so pretty in a light blue dress, waiting eagerly by a table full of food. The whole scene of it was washed in a golden light from candles set across the room. It was set to look like a dream. Was he dreaming?

He had thought their dinner the night before he left would be the last one. In fact, he had thought that would be the last time he'd ever see her. 

Joel wasn’t an oblivious man. He knew how she felt about this whole arrangement. It was obvious in the way she would avoid looking at him when they had first met. And even if he couldn’t see the hatred she harbored for him within her irises, the woman wore her heart on her sleeve. He could see her indignation in the way she huffed around the house and stomped her way into the garden. Which was all made much more confusing when she started leaving him hot meals after his work was finished by the dock. He didn’t anticipate such a kind gesture from her.

She was a mystery. But he supposed she leaned more towards the side of completely hating his guts as she was still bent on avoiding him those first couple of weeks into their marriage.

Not that he could blame the woman. He only said yes to her father’s proposition because the man looked so desperate. He was practically down on his knees. And Joel couldn’t say he wasn’t enticed by the idea of not having to return to an empty home any longer. 

But Joel wasn’t attached to the idea of their marriage. 

So if she wanted to avoid him, he would grant her the space she needed. If she wanted to huff at him in anger whenever their paths did cross, he would take the onslaught. And if she wanted to escape into the night, never to be heard from again, who was he to try and stop her?

In the meantime, he would enjoy the meals she left for him.

Then came the night when she decided to share it with him. Sure, it was an accident. And the entire encounter was fumbling and awkward. But it sparked a small bout of warmth deep within his chest. 

He supposed that feeling was hope. Or at least that was the conclusion he came to as he was rocked to sleep by the ebbing waves underneath his ship. He had felt hope before, it’s been a long time, but he knew what it was. That’s all it could ever be. But what was he hoping for?

Hope that this could be something more than a marriage certificate? Hope that she would stick around, at least for a few more weeks? Hope that he would see her face amongst the crowd as their ship pulled back into the dock?

When he didn’t see her, the warmth was lost to him. And in its absence that’s when he knew that’s exactly what it was. Without that flame of hope, he was now shrouded in darkness just like he knew his house would be when he returned under the setting sun.

So he was not expecting this. Not at all. 

“You’re here.” He said, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. A little line appeared between her two brows as confusion riddled her features.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked, head tilting with the question.

“I don’t know. I just… thought that maybe you’d be gone.” He replied, shaking his own head slightly as he admitted his suspicion out loud.

Busted. 

Y/N’s shoulders tensed as the words hung in the air between them. She should have known that he’d catch on to her plans, she wasn’t usually the type to be subtle with her grievances. But there was a twinge in her stomach at his admittance. The one thing he expected of her was exactly the one thing she wanted. And he would’ve let it happen. The hidden honesty in his words coerced the same thing from her own lips.

“I thought the same thing.” She confessed, a small bashful smile forming on her lips. The corners of Joel's mouth twitched up into a fleeting smile. It was gone within seconds. But the gleam of it still shone within the depths of his brown irises.

Then he offered her a small understanding nod. And that was all that was needed. The flame of hope flickered on.

They both took their seats and ate the homemade dinner in comfortable silence.

~

The same fragile routine had now taken place every night since then. As soon as Joel would return home from the docks, he would be greeted by the sight of Y/N chopping up the chosen vegetable for that night. If he came home early enough, there would still be certain tasks that needed to be finished, and she never complained when he would step in beside her with freshly washed hands— the sleeves of his flannel rolled further up his forearms— ready to help. 

He liked those times the most. There was something serene in the way they moved around the kitchen together, as if they were living proof of perfect harmony. So most days, Joel would finish the menial tasks at work as quickly as he possibly could to return home before she finished cooking. He was greedy for more of these interactions to hold under his belt. And he would always be slightly disappointed whenever he found the table already set. Though that grievance wouldn’t last long as he was soon greeted by Y/N’s smile, that seemed to be getting brighter with each passing day. 

Unfortunately for Y/N, she was not granted with the same reassurance. 

As it turns out, Joel was a brick wall of a man, which was a fact he was completely unaware of. So his expressions of contentedness were lost on the woman. She wasn’t observant enough to notice how he would return home from work earlier and earlier each day. Or to catch on to the way his eyes would linger on her while they silently ate their dinner. 

What she did notice was how he never smiled. It was as if he never learned how to. Maybe he had been a sad little baby from the moment he was born. Or perhaps he did know how to smile, and he just never had a reason to. Not even now. Not even with her. 

Which, to be honest, was a punch in the gut for the young woman, since she had been finding so much joy during the times they shared together. 

She tried to be rational, because Joel had always been a very unemotional man. But Y/N’s brain always kicked into overdrive whenever she was left alone with her thoughts, and it always boiled down to the conclusion that perhaps Joel just didn’t like her very much. 

Oh, how the tables have turned. One minute she detested the man she was betrothed to and in the next she lapped up any attention he had gifted her like a small pathetic puppy. She was desperate to know more about the man. What was it that made him smile? Who was he? What were his interests? What was he like as a child?

And why on earth would his first wife ever leave him?

She had found out the answer to that— as well as caught her first glimpse of the surprising range of his emotions— all in the same night. 

There was a storm that evening. Dark and unrelenting as the onslaught of rain pounded against the roof of their quaint little house. Big bolts of lighting hung low in the sky, illuminating the world in small fractions of time. The thunder rolling deep on its heel. 

Joel was hours late. The dinner that sat on the table was ice cold. Though that fact was unnoticed by the woman, as she paced the distance of the kitchen, her bones wracked with worry. This was the perfect example of how her mind kicked into overdrive in times of distress. She assumed the worst. 

She imagined Joel dead, left unbreathing, body lost under treacherous waves. 

Panic quickened the beat of her heart. Any efforts she made to calm herself fell flat. Reason and rationality were lost to her completely. All she could do was to keep moving her feet. 

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Until her feet took her further. Soft footsteps rang out against the floor of the living room and then up the stairs. They paced the length of the hallway a few times until the woman found herself stationed in front of the door to the master bedroom.

Her hand had somehow found itself gripped around the cool metal of the doorknob. 

When she twisted it, the door swung open with ease. 

It was easy for Y/N to dismiss her worries when it was replaced by a burning curiosity. She stood at the precipice of his bedroom, eyes flickering over every surface. 

There was a large bed that sat in the middle of the room, left untidy by the man who stumbled out of it early that morning. The image of his large form tangled in the sheets flickered to the front of her mind, before she forced herself to focus on the next part of the room.

There was a bay window, looking out over the back garden. The bench underneath it was adorned with countless throw pillows, a detail that must have been added by his previous wife. Joel didn’t seem to be the type to appreciate that type of decor. A weird surge of jealousy was added to the other emotions she was already riddled with that evening. It burned bright behind her sternum. 

But then her gaze roamed over the bookshelf that towered over the rest of the room. It resided next to a door, but what could potentially be hidden behind it wasn’t what had her feet moving deeper into the room. (Since it was most likely a bathroom, anyways.)

It was a picture.

Sat on one of the middle shelves of the bookshelf. It was framed in an intricate engraved pattern of gold-painted wood, a happy memory captured in black and white. 

Frozen in time was the image of a young girl— most likely not even reaching double digits in her age. Her smile was bright and somewhat stubborn as she grinned up at her from the frame. She had dark skin and soft eyes that reminded the woman of Joel. Her hair framed her face in disorderly curls, tousled by the seabreeze. Y/N smiled softly at the wild look that sparked in the girl's irises, as if ready for any adventure that would be thrown her way. She ran a finger over the smooth glass, like she could caress the girl's face in her own hands.

“What are you doing?”

It wasn’t the words themselves that caused the woman to drop the picture, but rather the rage that was intertwined within them. Her eyes snapped up to find Joel standing in the door, backlit from the light in the hallway. His brown hair was matted against the skin of his forehead, soaked by the heavy rain. The rest of it dripped off of his clothes as they clung to his skin, creating a puddle around his boot-clad feet. 

The glass of the frame shattered once it hit the floor. 

“Who told you, you could come in here?” He seethed, reaching her in just a few long strides. She cowered against the bookshelf in his advancement but the collision never came. He bent towards the ground, large hands shifting through the broken glass.

“I-I’m sorry.” Y/N stammered, dropping down to help him. He pushed her hands away.

“Don’t.” He snapped. 

“Why would you do this?” He then added, his words were harsh. He looked up at her, his eyes were dark with his wrath. A small pathetic sound squeaked out of her throat, she shook her head, unable to find the words.

And then the next thing she knew, she was running. Was it the anger that caused her to run? Or perhaps her own embarrassment. She didn’t know. But the sudden invasion of his unconventional display of emotion had become all too much. The same feet that carried her towards the master bedroom brought her out into the garden.

Y/N barely realized where she was until she registered the harsh rain that bombarded her skin, her hair and clothes instantly soaked as she ventured out among the overgrown weeds. Her legs didn’t stop until her palms wrapped around the familiar wood of the porch swing she spent so much of her time with. Her shoulders shook with shame, cursing herself inwardly for her intrusiveness. 

And then… Somehow, through the howling wind, Y/N had heard her name. 

She whipped her head towards the house to see that Joel had followed her. He charged through the storm, through the vegetation that whipped wildly in the wind, until he reached her. She expected more of his anger.

Instead she was met with two large hands cupping her cheeks.

“Are you hurt?” He asked over the raging of the storm, before she could make any questions of her own.

“I— what?” She faltered, her hands instinctively moving up to caress the skin of his wrists.

“Are you alright?” He repeated himself with new words, his brown eyes flickering over each feature of her face, as if he was making sure each part of her was still there. 

“It’s only rain. Of course I’m alright.” She answered, a bit impatiently. Did he really think so little of her and her competence?

“You certain?” He asked, and that’s when Y/N took notice of the panic that resided in his brown irises. His breathing was dissonant and in a sense, frightened. This was something else entirely.

“Joel.” She said her tone shifted drastically from annoyance to something much softer. But his movements were still frantic as he searched her for any injuries.

“Joel!” She said again, louder this time, hoping to gain his attention. When she didn’t, Y/N tightened her grip around the wrist of his right hand, and shifted it towards her beating heart. She hoped he could feel the proof of her life that thrummed against the skin of her chest. 

The evidence of her heartbeat calmed Joel down, his breathing evened out.

“I’m fine.” She murmured, tilting her chin to kiss the palm of his left hand. She was unsure of what brought her to do it, but it seemed to help as Joel then pulled her into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. He sighed once he felt her weight against him.

“I’m alright.” She reiterated into his soaked flannel. His arms wound tighter around her.

And then they were back inside. To her objection, he had made her take a shower, to extinguish any chill that the rain might have instilled in her bones. She almost got away with not taking one until her chattering teeth proved her otherwise. He had given her such a demanding look that she had no other choice but to do as he said. 

So once she was showered and dressed in warm pajamas, (and once he did the same). They were now sitting in the living room. Her knees were curled up to her chest as she sat on the couch, Joel’s feet were solid against the patterned rug that sat beneath them, in an armchair angled directly in front of her. Their usual silence had found them again. Was it comfortable or not? Y/N had yet to find out. Joel broke it before she could.

“I’m sorry.” He told her, his cheeks pink with shame and his eyes averted to the ground. She shook her head in defiance to his apology, even though she knew he couldn’t see her.

“No, it was my—” She tried to counter. But he pursed his lips, causing her to promptly keep her mouth shut.

“I shouldn’t’ve yelled at you like that.” He said after a brief pause.

“It was well deserved.” Y/N admitted, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “I shouldn’t have entered your room.”

Joel shook his head the same way she did, only slightly, but Y/N caught it.

“It was about time, anyways.” He commented. She resisted the urge to pry for more, cause she knew that eventually he would indulge in her curiosities. And he did.

“She was my daughter.” He murmured, knuckles white from his grip on the arms of the plush leather chair he was sitting upon.

“The girl. In the picture.” Joel clarified when he was met with her silence. But Y/N already knew that. Her silence to his explanation was due to the word he used. Was.

She repeated it out loud, in the form of a question. 

A sigh escaped Joel's lips, he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He still wouldn’t meet Y/N’s gaze.

“Do you remember that storm twelve years ago?” Joel questioned, his palm running over his forehead as he prepared himself to tell this story. Y/N responded with a soft ‘yes.’ It was a horrible, outrageous storm that caused so much damage to their little town. So much loss and heartache that hung over the island, even to this day. She was fifteen years old. The fear of it all was still present in her memories.

“Well, my daughter… Sarah. She…” His voice cracked, he dragged in a shuddering breath. “Somehow she got outside. Debris from the old farmhouse across the street was picked up by the wind. Pierced right through her—” 

A sharp sob interrupted his sentence. Y/N wasted no time. She pushed up from her spot on the couch and was on her knees, sitting in front of him in a moment's notice. Her hands were splayed across his own thick thighs, she squeezed her digits around the muscles in reassurance. He didn’t need to say anything more. The picture was painted.

“She was nine years old.” Joel whispered into the hand that was still hiding his features, finding the courage to speak more about it once he felt her touch through the fabric of his pajama pants. “Nine years old, and she lost her life.”

And now everything was clear. It made sense why he was so scared for her life out there in the garden. He had experienced a loss like that before. A cruel twist of fate that took the life of his daughter. Right in his front yard.

“I wish every day that it was me instead of her.” He admitted, more sobs wracking through his body, large shoulders shaking.

It was peculiar to see him like this. Usually he was such a vision of strength, but now that these emotions were presented to Y/N, everything made so much more sense. He was hiding himself. Scared of more loss, if he opened his heart up to anyone else. This was only more confirmed as he continued.

“My wife— My first wife, she couldn't handle the loss of our daughter.” Joel relayed, “I don’t think she was happy with me. Not until Sarah was born. And once she was gone… She didn’t have a reason to stay…”

His words died in the air after that. But yet again there was no need to continue. Y/N understood. And all she could do was shift her hands so that her arms were now wrapped around his neck. She pulled Joel in as close as she could, her waist now fitted between his thighs. He clutched onto her in return, fingers gripping into her nightgown. His head resting in the crook of her neck, mouth pressed against the tendon. 

“I won’t leave you.” Y/N whispered into his hair, still damp from the recent shower. 

She wasn’t exactly sure what brought her to say those words, but once they were hanging in the air she knew them to be true. And she knew he did too once she felt his lips form into a distinguishable kiss against her skin. It was faint, but the spark of it lingered, and it changed everything.

~

A few months had passed since the night of the storm and a lot had changed for the woman, at least inwardly. But their routine? It was all the same. They would make dinner, share in their comfortable silence (sometimes punctuated with lighthearted conversation) and then they’d return to their separate bedrooms. Every. Single. Night. Nothing more, nothing less.

It was a bit frustrating to say the least. 

And then he would leave every few weeks, on a venture out at sea. Where he would be gone for days at a time. And of course, she would miss him terribly. But would Y/N accompany him to the docks whenever he would leave? No. Would she ever be there to greet him home? Also no.

So it was safe to say that the blame was partially on her. Which frustrated the woman even further, because now she couldn’t even rely on the fact that the indifference was all one sided. Her actions apparently proved otherwise.

But what was it that she wanted to change? Maybe she expected their conversations to be much lengthier now that they had crossed the boundaries of hidden grievances. Or maybe she expected him to extend an invitation to sleep in his bedroom, now that they had participated in small instances of physical touch. Whatever it was, Y/N only knew one thing.

It had seemed they were still stuck at square one.

And with every one step forward there were three steps back. Not so long ago they were so close, lips against skin in the quiet of their living room. Safe in each other's arms as the storm raged on. But now? There was nothing. 

She resented the fact that she was falling into the wants and desires of the common Ardorian townsman. It all seemed very mundane against the aspirations she held close to her heart before she was married. But as she stewed in these feelings— especially during the times that Joel was away— she wondered if these desires were just part of the human experience. Perhaps they were even the desires that came with the burning passionate love she yearned for…

Now that she knew what it felt like. It all seemed so natural. You meet the one who befuddles your heart and soul and all you want is… more, more, more.

Would she ever get what she was hoping for?

Maybe she could, if she was brave enough. 

The opportunity presented itself the eve of Joel’s next expedition. 

He had gotten home early that day, so he was around to help finish up dinner. Y/N remembered being unable to look away as his large hands sliced each potato that needed to be added to the pot. He was attentive with his actions, just as he always was. She was jealous of the knife that resided gently in his grasp. Heat burned under her cheeks at her desperation.

Of course every detail of her wants and needs went unnoticed by Joel. Everything about their usual marital customs went off without a hitch, why should he think anything different could happen?

They ate their meal in silence. They cleaned up after themselves, as always. And then they slowly made their way up the stairs, just like they did every night. 

Joel stopped on the landing at the top. Y/N followed his actions. This wasn’t unusual, the same thing happened on every eve of his long departures. He stood, towering above her, she looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

“I’ll be gone before you wake up.” He told her, his voice gruff. She nodded, once. Simple and to the point. Just like always.

Joel nodded back in confirmation and then turned to go, like a captain dismissing his subordinate. It was all very formal. Almost passionless, which was such a great contradiction to what the young woman was feeling inside of her chest. She was just about ready to burst. So even though she wasn’t exactly intending on doing so— she wasn’t surprised when her hand shot out to clasp her fingers around his wrist, stopping him before he disappeared into the secret confines of his bedroom. 

“You okay?” Joel asked, once he was facing her again. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, but that wasn’t the way she wanted him to look at her. She shook her head, but it wasn’t an answer to his question. It was more like she was trying to tell him that that was the wrong thing to ask. Or rather, the wrong thing to do. 

“What’s wrong?” He inquired. 

As it turned out, Joel was not a mind-reader. And since Y/N was too afraid to speak out loud about any of her desires, she did the next thing she could think of. 

Her hands moved to grasp firmly against the lapels of his flannel. The floorboards beneath her creaked as she shifted onto her toes. She pulled Joel closer— closer than he’s ever been. She squeezed her eyes shut— almost like she was terrified when really this was all she wanted— and then before either of them knew it, she slotted her mouth against his own in a fervid kiss.

Joel stilled under the soft touch of her lips, surprised by the action, heart thrumming in his chest as he wondered if this was real. But the hesitation only lasted a split second before he reciprocated her kiss, leaning into her. The eagerness of which had caused their bodies to shift so that Y/N’s back was against the wall. She gasped against his lips, the grip on his shirt loosening.

He pulled away, but only slightly. His nose brushed against hers as he searched her eyes for any protests. He only found her pupils blown out with lust, paired with an indiscernible nod, a concession to keep going. 

In an instant, his large hands were now cupping her face, calluses rough on her skin but she didn’t mind— in fact she relished in it. Her fingers twisted into his shirt once again as he traced her bottom lip with his tongue, pulling another soft gasp from her. He used that to his advantage, slipping his tongue against hers. She whimpered at the taste of him, earning a groan that rumbled deep in Joel’s chest, each of her sweet sounds causing an involuntary twitch from behind the zipper of his pants. 

Joel was becoming more eager, selfish for more of that saccharine sound, his hands started to inch downwards. Smoothing over the curve of her neck, following the path of her shoulders, trailing down her arms, until his hands rested near the small of her back. He pulled her in closer, away from the wall. His fingers clutched onto the fabric of her dress. In a haze, he gathered more and more of the cotton within his hands, unknowingly exposing Y/N’s skin as he did.

She shivered as the back of her thighs met the frigid air, and soon almost the curve of her ass. It brought more attention to the heat that was pooling between her legs— A more intense version of a feeling that she’s only felt a few times before. It was harsh and greedy and it only grew stronger as Joel detached himself from her lips.

A whine spilled over her tongue at the loss, but all was forgiven when he began to press ardent kisses to the skin of her neck. She arched her back into his large frame, bringing notice to her nipples pebbling under the lace of her bra, another moan escaped her lips. He returned the noise with his own grunt of pleasure as his beard scratched against her supple skin. Suddenly she was aware of every single part of him. 

His lips sucking softly at the skin just below her jawline. His flannel-clad chest was strong and solid underneath her hands, heartbeat pulsing into her palms. His own larger hands pulled her closer between every groan that vibrated through his throat. And then there was the hard heat of him pressed against her lower stomach.

The sign of his arousal had caused an ache so deep within her core that it shocked her. It was new and exciting, but it was overwhelming and it made her afraid of the strength that her desires possessed. The burn of shame licked white hot against her skin. 

Joel— unaware of her inner turmoil as his lips kissed against the tendons in her neck— was given quite a shock when her hands pushed him away with surprising strength. He stumbled backwards, back hitting the other wall of the hallway. His eyes were wide and fearful that he did something wrong. Cheeks splotched a pretty color of pink and his lips swollen from her kiss.

Y/N covered her face with her hands, embarrassment and immense arousal caused her shoulders to tremble.

“I’m sorry.” She squeaked between her fingers, “Um, Thank you for… that, but I should…”

She backed away as she spoke, her sentence unfinished as she quickly escaped through the door to her bedroom. It slammed shut, abrasive in the action itself. 

Joel stood with his back flush against the wall and a harsh strain against his zipper as he stared dumbfounded at the wood of her closed door.

~

Her humiliation kept her within the boundaries of her room the entire morning that next day, refusing to step even one foot out into the rest of the house until she knew Joel was gone. The sounds of his footsteps came and went just like they did every time he left for the docks. But Y/N’s dread seemed to have projected itself into the way time moved.

It felt like ages before he was actually gone, almost to the point where it felt like he was dragging his feet, hesitating to go. Like he was waiting for something to happen.

But that couldn’t have been the case, because Joel had his morning routine down to an art. So Y/N was convinced it was her own hallucination that caused time to move at such a snail’s pace.

Once the sound of the front door swinging shut rattled the foundation of their home, Y/N finally allowed herself to breathe. Just his very presence within this house— even separated by walls and other rooms— had such a strong effect on her that she couldn’t let herself recount the events of last night until she was certain she was completely alone. 

And once those images returned to the forefront of her mind, she immediately pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

Though that only made the memory of it stronger through the stars that burst behind her eyelids from the hard press of her hands. A frustrated whine escaped her lips as she squirmed in her sheets. The movement of it caused her to take notice of the slick pooling in her panties, ever present since the first touch of Joel’s lips.  

She rubbed her thighs together, trying to relieve some of the ache (though of course her efforts fell flat). 

How was this at all possible? How was Joel able to pull such aggressive lust from just one single heated interaction? 

Maybe it was because no one had ever touched her like that before.

The awkward, clumsy kisses she had shared with others in the past couldn’t hold a candle to what Joel had done to her. Forgotten was the memory of her very first kiss, which was frail and timid like a wounded bird. Or those later in life which were nice and gentle, but nothing special. Those moments of her past were now replaced by a roaring beast of want and desire. Joel had made her feel like the world had shifted on its axis, that he shifted it himself with his own two calloused hands. Just for her. And that was only with the touch of his lips. What else was he capable of doing? 

The sheets rustled under Y/N’s weight as she quickly sat up in bed, regret stirring deep in her belly. She just realized— what with the way she reacted last night— she may never be able to find out. It was such a monumental milestone for their steady forming relationship and she had ended it by pushing him away and leaving him behind in the dark shadows of the hallway. She hadn’t even spared a glance in his direction, his reaction to her abrupt dismissal will remain forever unknown.

Or at least until he returns home.

But that wouldn’t be for another three days. Sure, luck was on the girls side since it was on the shorter side of his usual expeditions. But seventy-two hours left a lot of room for her overactive imagination to run rampant. 

And she was now stewing on the outlandish conclusion that based on her reaction Joel would never want to touch her again. The frustration of that notion followed her throughout her morning.

It prickled at her skin as she stood in the shower, the hot water not doing enough to wash it away. Her skin was practically rubbed raw by the time she stepped out into the steamy bathroom, her hopes to scrub away her humiliation going down the drain, along with the lavender scented soap bubbles. 

It caused her hands to shake, as she tugged the soft green fabric of her favorite dress over her head, the skirt of it swirling around her ankles as it fell into place. Y/N had thought if she wore her favorite clothing item that she might feel better about the whole situation.

But it didn’t help.

In fact, none of the aspects of her usual morning routine had helped her calm her beating heart, or her racing mind, or even the arousal between her legs— that, yes, was still there despite her forcing away any reminder of how it felt to have Joel’s lips on her skin.

She now stood at the kitchen counter, her eyes clenched shut as she begged her brain to conjure up any other image. But that just brought up a confusing mixture of childhood memories intertwined with the heavy sound of Joel’s breathing in her ear. Which made her feel shameful as she felt so much more different than the young restless girl she was back then. Was this the loss of her innocence? She supposed it was.

But then again, she was married to Joel. And these feelings were quite expected for a wife to feel towards her husband. There was no reason for her to feel ashamed by these thoughts, especially if they seemed reciprocated— brought forth by the evidence she felt last night pressing against her stomach.

The reminder brought heat up to her cheeks and that very same ache deep in her core when she had first felt it. 

Y/N breathed in the air around her, dragging it into her lungs, pushing it out in a heavy wistful sigh. A flash of Joel’s hands flitted across her mind. Goosebumps littered her skin as she recalled the way his fingertips felt on the skin between her neck and shoulder. 

Subconsciously she brought her own fingers to that very same spot. Tilting her head, she dragged her fingernails over her skin in slow circles, causing shivers to run up and down the length of her spine. She imagined how Joel’s hand was soon replaced by the soft touch of his lips, and her hand moved to her collarbone, a place she wished he had discovered with his tongue. Another sigh left her lips as her imagination replaced her hand with Joel’s. Her eyes were closed again, softer this time as she conjured up the fantasy.

Lips against skin. Hands wandering. Breathing heavy.

Though the tantalizing image soon vanished into the air like a bubble popping, when the sound of the front door slamming shut rang out through the tiny house. A gasp slipped from between her lips as she whipped around towards the intrusion. Her palm flush against her chest to calm her beating heart.

The sight of Joel standing in the doorway knocked the air out of Y/N’s lungs. It was as if her improper thoughts had manifested him to be standing right there in front of her. The curls of his hair were askew, as if he had been running his fingers through it, over and over. His large chest was heaving with slow heavy breaths, the same way her own chest was moving. 

He swallowed, the adam's apple in his throat bobbing. He shook his head slightly, his brows furrowed, and then he looked back towards the door he just walked through. As if he hadn’t realized where he came from or what he was doing.

“Joel?” She questioned, her tone was breathless, desperate for something to fill the silence and tension that was slowly forming between them.

“’m sorry.” He breathed, when he turned back to her, his eyes shining with something that Y/N couldn’t quite place. Was it surprise? Curiosity? “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“What are you doing here?” She asked, somehow feeling brave enough to take a step forward. “I thought you were leaving on your trip?”

“I was— or I am.” He stumbled through the words. “It just got delayed for a couple hours. There were some last minute repairs needed on the ship…”

“And you had enough time to come back?” She questioned.

Joel paused, swallowing again. His eyes scaled over Y/N, taking in the look that resided behind her irises, the way she was breathing heavily, and how that green dress caressed her curves. She looked like she had just been caught in the act of something inappropriate, despite her just standing in the kitchen. An endeavor that was innocent in and of itself. But— god— the look of her, standing there in the golden light streaming in from the window above the sink, she looked downright sinful. Or maybe that was his own lust taking control and projecting itself onto her.

A lust that had kept him on edge this entire morning. Throughout the night too, when he was restless in his bed— remembering what happened between them— tossing and turning like the ocean tide. It never relented, so much so that when Tommy told him they had a few extra hours, Joel’s feet were already moving back towards his truck so that he could spend that time with Y/N. In this house. And even though he told himself to behave when he walked through the front door, It persisted. Even now as he stood in front of her, taking in the sight of her blown out pupils, eyes darkened with what he hoped was that very same lust. 

“I forgot somethin’” He then said, as he realized she was still expecting an answer. “Had to come back to get it.”

“Oh… alright.” She replied, blinking as if she were just pulled from a trance. “What was it? I can help you look for it.”

Joel shook his head, deliberately this time. He took a step forward, the tension growing thicker as he did. His brown eyes held her stare. “I know where it is.”

His words were soft as they rolled off his tongue, causing an involuntary shiver to forge its way through Y/N’s bones. It was much more forceful than what she had felt under her own touch, only a few minutes prior. Joel must have taken notice of the effect that his voice had over her body, as he dragged in a low shuddering breath.

He took another step forward. And then another. And another, until he joined her in the kitchen, standing right in front of her, their chests only centimeters apart. Y/N had to tilt her head up to be able to look him in the eye. Which she was shocked she was brave enough to do, considering how he looked like he wanted to devour her.

“What are you doing?” She whispered, her eyes flicking down to his mouth as Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. The sight of it was magnetic, pulling her in so that her chest was now brushing against his with every breath. 

“Tell me to stop.” He said, his voice in that same hushed tone. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Y/N, defiant in her own nature, replied. “What was it that you forgot?”

“I didn’t forget anythin’.” Joel told her, honestly, his fingers moving to pinch at a piece of her flowing skirt. As if the small action would keep her right there in front of him. Where he was desperate to have her. Hoping that it would keep her in place instead of having her running away like last time. 

“It’s more like…” He continued, tilting his head down so that his forehead rested against hers. She gasped at the skin contact, relief flooding her form as she quickly realized his touch wasn’t lost to her like she had feared. “Somethin’ I regret not doin’.”

“And what do you regret, Mr. Miller?” She murmured, her eyes averted to the floor beneath their feet. The surname fell out of her mouth unexpectedly, as if garnering his respect would grant her the knowledge of his secret.

“Well, Mrs. Miller…” The reminder that she shared that very surname with him by holy matrimony caused a jolt of surprise to coarse through her veins. But it was replaced with satisfaction soon enough. She marveled at the fact that she wasn’t exactly bothered by the concept, in fact she almost relished in it. And then Joel said his next words.

 “I can show you exactly what that is… if you’ll let me.”

She didn’t have it in her to speak. Any reply that she could’ve had was lost in the back of her throat. All she could do was to nod eagerly, any shame she could’ve had at her desperation was tossed out the window.

“I need you to use your words.” Joel said in response to her movements, his voice hoarse as if he were holding himself back and the action of doing so was terribly difficult. 

“I— Yes… please, Joel.” She whispered, her breath fanning across his cheeks. “I want you to show me.”

This time, Joel was the first to bring their lips together in a zealous kiss. The green fabric that resided between his forefinger and thumb was soon shifted to be gripped by his hands as he pulled her in. Their bodies were now flushed together. The softness of her breasts pushing into the solid form of his chest. Simultaneous sighs of relief intermingled on their tongues when they finally let themselves melt into one another.

Y/N gasped into his mouth when his teeth nipped at the plush skin of her bottom lip. She had already known how brash he was with his movements from their kiss last night, but now it seemed as if all of his inhibitions were lost to him, his hands now smoothing over the curve of her ass. Joel’s fingers gripped at the supple flesh through her dress, pulling her waist into his own. 

She moaned at his touch, as well as the sign of his arousal digging into her hip. Her arms shifted to wrap around his broad shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles on his back, urging him to move closer, if that were even possible. 

And in this instance, she wasn’t disappointed by the loss of his lips, because he was quick to replace them somewhere else on her skin. It was as if he had to kiss every inch of her before he moved on to undiscovered territory. Joel’s lips were kissing at the corners of her lips, and the apples of her cheeks before he moved down to her jawline. 

Though this was where he became more selfish in his actions, nipping at the skin so he could hear the sweet little whimpers that would waver from between her lips. Then he would lick over the bruised skin, soothing her of the slight pain he might’ve caused, heart hammering at the soft sighs of satisfaction she gifted him. Joel groaned at the sounds she made, relishing in the glory of every moan, whine and sigh. He could feel as he grew harder against the strain of his pants, the pain of it almost too much to bear. But this wasn’t about him. Instead, it had everything to do with the woman arching into his lips.

Thick fingers curled around the square neckline of Y/N’s lovely dress, knuckles brushing against her sternum as he tugged down at the fabric. A sharp gasp rang out into the air as her sleeves slid down her arms, allowing the exposure of her nipples to cold morning air, already hardened by her arousal to the man committing these actions. The flesh of her breasts bouncing slightly from the momentum in which he moved. 

Joel pulled his mouth away from her, eager to get a look.

Y/N could feel herself flush under his stare, suddenly shy as he drank in this new image of her. She wanted to look away and hide in her self-consciousness, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of his dilated pupils and the endearing shade of pink that tinted his cheekbones. A burning need was flashing across his brown irises, the sight of it sparking an odd sense of confidence in the woman. She straightened her shoulders, letting him look at her. Because he would be the only man who would ever get to see her like this. 

He groaned again, at the sight of her perked nipples paired with her newfound boldness.

“S’ pretty.” He mumbled, smoothing a large hand up over her breast, he could feel the pebbled skin pricking into his rough palm. She hummed at the compliment as well as his touch. Though a second later it was replaced with a harsh ‘ah’— pulled from her lips when his hand shifted so that he could pinch at her nipple. 

It was the most torturous form of pleasure she had ever felt in her life. That was until he guided her body until she could feel the kitchen table digging into her lower back. His free hand gripped at the flesh under her ass, lifting her up and making it so that she was now sat against the surface. With her now stationary on the table, he was able to bend over, lips finding purchase on the nipple that wasn’t trapped between his fingers.

A high pitched moan was ripped from her throat as she subconsciously spread her legs, Joel’s hips fitting perfectly in the space between her thighs. Her hand splayed out on the wood behind her as she arched into his tongue that was now currently swirling lazy circles around the sensitive bud. And though she had never done anything like this before, her hips started to move in the only way that seemed natural. The only way that seemed to relieve the ache that pulsed between her legs.

Y/N rolled her hips up into Joel, the hardness of him firm against her clothed center, soaked from her constant arousal since their first kiss. She wondered if she would make a mess of the pants he was wearing, but the thought was fleeting once Joel pulled away from her skin.

“Fuck.” He stammered, resting his forehead in the valley of her breasts, his brown curls tickling her skin.  “D-don’t do that, darlin’.” 

Y/N stilled. “Why? Did I hurt you?”

He laughed breathlessly, the air of it fanning over Y/N’s chest. “No, nothing like that… Just feels t’ good.”

“Oh.” She said, a bit bashfully, but a small smile tugged at her kiss-bruised lips. Pride started to swell deep in her stomach at the admission that she made him feel just as good. And that idea was too precious to pass up on. “Then maybe I should keep doing that.”

She grinded her hips against him again, forcing him to remove himself from her chest, sucking in a harsh breath. His hand shot out, gripping onto the supple flesh of her inner thigh, now exposed as the skirt of her dress had shifted during their hectic movements. 

“Please, sweetheart.” Joel begged, his nails digging into her leg. “You gotta stop.”

“But I wanna make you feel good.” She pouted, hips stilled by the brace he instilled upon her. Joel released a shaky breath, moving his forehead to rest on Y/N’s once more. His gaze was averted to the green fabric bunched up under her breasts, his brown eyes lost to her.

“You have no idea how much I want that— how long I’ve wanted that.” He murmured. “But I came back here for a reason.”

His voice sounded more determined by the end of his sentence. In doing so, it made the woman’s tone that much smaller, but she was still quite the contrarian to his words.

“I thought this was the reason.” She countered, sliding her hand up behind his neck, fingers toying with the curls at the base of his hairline. This time it was him shivering under her touch.

A soft smile curled upon Joel’s lips, he shook his head against her forehead, in slight laughter. “No. It’s close to what I was picturin’... but not quite.”

“Then what were you picturing?” She asked.

Joel leaned back, finally gracing her with the sight of his eyes, He didn’t answer her question, only holding an excruciating form of eye contact with the woman. And then, the once rough fingers that had tugged at her clothing and groped at her flesh were now trailing soft patterns into the skin of her thigh. Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as they started to move closer to the spot between her legs. The ache she felt for him was now burning with great white heat.

Her own hands were gripping in their respective areas, meaning one was tugging at Joel's hair, pulling satisfied groans from his lips, while the other was locked around the edge of the table. Her hips jutted forward by their own accord when his fingertips skirted around the edge of her panties.

“Joel.” She whined, frustrated by his featherlight touch, though strangely enough also reveling in his gentle caress. 

“I know.” He whispered, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “I know… I’ll give you what you want— just let me…”

He splayed his large hand onto her thigh, pushing against it so that she’d spread out wider for him. There was no resistance from her, only eager relinquishment. There was a harsh twitch of his cock at the thought that she would let him do anything with her, along with the idea that her body was all his for the taking. A covet he never thought would come into fruition. 

“Please, Joel.” She urged again, and Joel realized right then that he was just as much hers as she was his. He would do anything for her. His body ached to give her exactly what she wanted. 

So he did.

Y/N gasped when his thumb pressed firmly against the darkened spot on her panties, a similar gasp falling from Joel’s lips when he finally learned how wet she truly was. And it was all for him. 

He moved his digit at an agonizing pace, moving in slow circles around the most sensitive part of her, not even sparing a fleeting touch to the bud of nerves. The torture of it all was exquisite. Y/N’s head fell backwards as she moaned, the tendons of her neck stretched out in front of Joel, the sight of it too enticing for his own good. He leaned forward, touching his lips against her skin. 

Now having to focus on two things at once, his movements against her core became sloppy, and his touch harshened, slipping over Y/N’s clit. An embarrassing squeal forced its way from her throat as she jutted her hips fiercely into Joel’s thumb. He grinned against her skin.

“Oh, you liked that, didn't you?” He chuckled, placing more kisses down her neck, his beard scratching her skin as he moved. Y/N had a response to his teasing tone, perhaps it was even quick-witted, but it was stolen from her lips and replaced with another desperate moan when his tongue swirled around her nipple.

It was all becoming too much with every tiny ministration he committed on her skin. She felt as though she could burst into flames. Little did she know that it would all come to a head when Joel would kiss his way down her body, heavy knees dropping to the floor. There was no patience left within him when he practically ripped Y/N’s panties off of her body, hands roughly pushing her thighs apart.

“J-Joel, what are you doing?” She questioned, forearms braced against the table, being pushed back further up the furniture as Joel started nipping at her inner thigh, goosebumps following in his wake

“‘m doin’ what I came here for.” He mumbled into her skin, teeth grazing the malleable flesh. She was about to ask exactly what that might be, but the question was answered when he licked a long stripe through her slick folds.

Curses tumbled out of Y/N’s lips as he used his mouth on her. Never in a million years would she imagine that he would do something so… obscene. And she never would have anticipated how much she loved it. Her eyes were wide as she marveled at the sight of him. His brown eyes were staring back up at her from over her mound, drinking in every little reaction he spurred from her. His hair was wild, the look of it brought on by Y/N’s fingers as she ran them through the tendrils, forcing him closer and closer. And then there were the noises of him slurping and groaning and relishing in the taste of her. 

At the beginning, Joel was slow with his actions, his tongue going up and down the length of her slit. Again he would frustratingly avoid touching her clit, tracing big circles around the bud, building up anticipation deep in Y/N’s stomach. But as he continued, every so often he would flick over it pulling more whimpers from Y/N’s throat. He would moan against her folds in satisfaction, the vocalizations causing slight vibrations to run through her entire form. 

Y/N’s head fell with a soft thump against the table, her back arching up into the air, squirming under Joel’s actions. A hand snaked up from Y/N’s thigh, placing itself on her sternum. His palm was rough against the skin between her bare breasts, holding her down and keeping her in place. 

Finally, seemingly deciding that the woman had been through enough torture, Joel wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking on it harshly. She all but screamed at this new sensation overcoming her, her right leg slipping over his left shoulder, unknowingly trapping him in place. They were locked in a heated tryst, his hand still braced on her chest, her calf pushing into his back and Joel’s mouth and tongue were still unrelenting. 

She couldn’t help but to twist her fingers into his hair, tugging him closer against her cunt, she grinded her hips into his face, any tribulations that she might be hurting him lost in her pleasure. But if only she knew how much Joel adored her desperate nature as she chased after her high on his tongue. In fact he had never been this hard in his life. He could feel himself dripping inside of his pants, making a mess of his boxers as precum spilled from his tip with every twitch of his cock. His hips were thrusting into the air beneath the table in his own desperation. The seam of his zipper was rubbing firmly against the length of him. Joel honestly would not be surprised if he ended up cumming without even having to touch himself.

And as it turned out, eventually he would.

Joel’s name was now falling freely from between Y/N’s lips in broken fragments. The movements of her hips were becoming clumsy, stuttering as Joel continued to lick at her clit, groaning everytime she pulled at his hair. The heat burning low in her stomach began to grow hotter and more incessant. And with one more deliberate move of Joel’s tongue against her clit, it all began to burst.

The sight of Y/N cumming was the prettiest thing Joel had ever seen. Her head was thrust back against the table, supple lips drawn open as more of her moans escaped into the air, along with the sound of his name. Her whole body was tensing and shaking as the waves of her orgasm washed over her body. Joel’s mouth was ruthless on her cunt, drinking anything she had to offer him as the proof of her orgasm splashed over his tongue. The sight of her, as well as the taste of her, was all too much to bear as his own hips involuntarily jutted into nothing, the confines of his pants working against him in a way that had him finishing. He shuddered at the sensation, his shoulders trembling as he could feel his own cum spill into the fabric of his underwear. He whimpered into Y/N’s cunt, breathing sharply out of his nose, still trying to coax her down from her own orgasm as her body became limp and her breathing heavy, until finally everything started to slow down. 

Searching hands groped around until they finally found purchase on Joel’s shoulders. She tugged at his shirt, forcing him away from her oversensitive core and out from between her legs. 

She was met with eyes blown out with lust and a fading orgasm, red lips parted in amazement and beard shining with her cum. His clothes were askew and his brown curls were all over the place. He looked completely out of it. Though she probably couldn’t say she was much better.

And Joel admired the image of it as he stood above her. She blinked up at him, leaning back on her elbows, a look of pure wonderment painting her features. Her green dress was bunched around her middle, nipples still perked in the cool air of the kitchen, her chest stuttering with every breath. He smiled softly at her, leaning to snake a hand around her waist, pulling her up into a sitting position, her hands instinctively looping around his broad shoulders.

“You alright?” He asked gently as he stood her on shaking legs, the skirt of her dress now falling back in place. She shivered when she felt the touch of his knuckles on her chest once again as he shifted the top of her dress back in its proper position.

“I—  um… yeah.” She said breathlessly, words lost to her in her post-orgasmic state. Joel couldn’t help but grin at her flustered demeanor, bringing a hand up to her cheek. She was grateful for his touch, leaning into his hand as he caressed her cheekbone with his thumb. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to her lips causing Y/N to taste herself upon his skin.

“Did you… get what you were looking for?” Y/N questioned, once they pulled apart. Earning soft laughter deep from within Joel’s chest. The sound of it quirking up the corners of Y/N’s lips in a shy smile, pride swelling in her belly since she was the one who caused it.

“That I did, sweetheart.” He smiled, running a hand over her hair, his eyes sparking with contentment. Her shy smile morphed into that of a bright grin, pulling him back in towards her to share a deeper kiss. He groaned into her lips, unexpected for the both of them as another surge of lust sparked between them, seemingly unsatisfied by what they had just finished. She whimpered back into his mouth as tongues started probing and teeth nipping once again. At a particularly boisterous moan from Y/N, Joel had to pull away. 

“W-wait.” He breathed, “I— We can’t, we don’t have time. I have to go back.”

Y/N deflated at his words, but ultimately nodded her head in understanding. She took a step back from him, needing the distance to quell her need to melt into him once more. Though Joel’s fingers quickly wrapped around her own, stopping her from moving away any further.

“You’ll still be here when I get back, yeah?” He asked, the question causing Y/N’s heart to drop down to her stomach. As she looked at him she found insecurities scrawled across his features. Maybe she hadn’t done enough to convince him that she wasn’t going anywhere. Or perhaps this was leftover from pain he endured in the past. She brought his hand up, brushing her lips across his knuckles in a sweet kiss, and then covered that spot with her free hand.

“I promise.” She whispered, her gaze locked on his searching eyes, flickering over her features, trying to find the truth. When he found nothing but her earnest smile he felt brave enough to go, but not before leaving her with one more breathless kiss. 

Y/N had watched silently as he got ready to leave, washing his face with the bar of hand soap left on the side of the kitchen sink. She didn’t say anything as he readjusted his clothes and threw his bag over his shoulder. And she didn’t beg him to stay when he finally placed that final kiss upon her lips. All she did was sink further and further into the throes of missing him, despite the fact that he was right in front of her.

It only grew stronger as he whispered more promises of continuing when he returned three days later. She held onto that promise, close to her chest like a dying flame, watching as the view of his truck disappeared over the horizon. 

She prayed to the gods above that time would fly quickly.

Though perhaps she should’ve been praying for something else entirely. 

Because later that night and hundreds of miles out from the shoreline, a little ship bobbed at sea. The workers on deck scrambled in preparation. Worry stiffened their brows. Prayers to Poseidon fell from their lips. A soft pattern of rain began to sprinkle over their heads, it was unassuming in its very nature. But that was just the first sign of the oncoming danger as they headed into the eye of the storm. 

Three days came and went.

Joel had yet to return home. 

Y/N knew that the life of a fisherman was dangerous and unpredictable, she had heard many stories, most of which when she was younger, whispered to her by her classmates as they relayed the most gory details from the sad news of a shipwreck. Some were overheard at the local pub, traumatic events recounted around a bottle of brandy as fishermen tried to top each other's stories.

Frankly, these stories hardly bothered the young woman like it did to others in town. She couldn’t indulge in the disturbance of it all because the way these stories were told, relayed like an unattainable fairytale. It was all folklore in her mind. She was certain that nothing like that could ever affect any aspect of her life.

She was eating her words now. 

It was on the sixth day that Joel was gone when she heard that it was a storm that delayed their ship, knocking it off its course.

The information was brought to her front doorstep by her very own father, who in his old age made the trek across the island to do so. This left Y/N’s stomach unsettled, for he would never go to such great lengths unless something truly terrible had occurred. 

She was reminded of the day her mother died. He adorned the same face that painted his features now. Eyes downcasted, lower lip trembling, hands twisting around his patched cap. He was sitting on one of the wooden chairs strewn around the kitchen table. Y/N was leaned up against the counter, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“We didn’t get the message until early this morning. Radio was down, they barely got it  workin’ when they reached us...” He said quietly, to the toes of his boots.

“And?” Y/N urged, knowing her father had more to say.

“They lost a few men.” He said quickly, as if he couldn’t stand to have the words left on his tongue. Y/N sucked in a breath. She turned around, facing the window over the sink. She braced her palms on the counter, vision blurring as tears pricked the corner of her eyes.

“Did they say who?” She asked, words choked between her tightening vocal cords, constricting from her tears.

“No, couldn’t keep the signal for long enough.” He murmured, she could hear him stand, the legs of the chair squeaking against the tile. “But they did say they’ll be returning by this evening.”

Y/N whipped around at that, her features twisted in vexation. The lead buried so much deeper than it needed to be. She would have to keep her annoyance left unsaid, however, as now there was no time to waste. 

She brushed past her father hastily, ignoring the way her name was called after her as she staggered around the living room, clumsy in the way she tugged her boots over her feet. Her jacket was long forgotten on the hook by the door as she hurried outside, the thought of it only coming once the cool winds whipped at her exposed arms and cheeks. But she wouldn’t turn back for it. Her adrenaline kept her warm, anyways.

It was a two hour walk to get to the docks. Beads of sweat ran down her spine, blisters pinched at the heels of her feet, her breathing was labored as she pushed her anxiety out of her lungs. Though none of that mattered. All she knew was that she had to get to the docks. She had to get to him. If he was even there…

She swiped angrily at the tears that now carved pathways down the skin of her cheeks. Never in her life had she ever been able to keep her emotions at bay, she was always willing to scream at the sky and cry til her throat was raw. That fact was unchanging even as she grew older. So she let her tears fall. They didn’t distract from her current mission, anyhow. Her eyes were set on the small town that appeared over the horizon. 

The whole town congregated at the docks. Passersby stood on the cobblestone streets, their inherent nosiness ill-concealed by their feigned looks of concern. Whispers flitted between them as if this were all just a dramatized show to keep them entertained. Y/N let no apologies slip through her lips as she pushed her way through them, knocking into their shoulders and earning glares as she did. 

When her footsteps rang out on the wood of the dock that's when she was surrounded by the people like her. Family members worried for their loved ones lost at sea. They all stood silently as their eyes were set towards the ocean, hands clutched in prayer, whispering hopes that it wasn’t their spouse, parent or child who lost their life to an unrelenting sea. Y/N was too impatient to do the same. She just stood and waited for any kind of sign that Joel would be home soon.

It came only thirty minutes later. When a small boy at the front of the dock screeched in anticipation, pointing out a small dot wavering in the distance. Y/N’s stomach swooped down in a mixture of hope and apprehension. She was terrified to learn the truth of what happened.

But twenty minutes after that, the truth had arrived as the ship pulled in with the tide. Everyone advanced closer to where the fisherman would eventually unboard. Y/N stayed behind, her feet frozen to where she stood. Maybe she was trying to delay the inevitable. 

Relieved cries and overjoyed calling of names soon swirled into the evening air as loved ones were reunited. Warm embraces and fervent kisses were exchanged between them. But it was all backtracked by the ones who received news of a death, heartbreaking wails mixing in with the sound of reunion.

It was an unsettling cacophony of sounds. The way love and loss intertwined within one another. Two sides of the same coin. And Y/N still had yet to know which one she was on. 

Her hands were shaking. Her sight was restricted by the many heads that stood in front of her. She scanned each face, none of them holding the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to. Her stomach sank deeper and deeper, her throat started to constrict again, a sob threatened to burst out from between her trembling lips.

She couldn’t hold it back once she registered a mess of brown and gray curls making its way through the crowd. The sob released itself, though not in anguish as she had thought, it was instead paired with the most intense form of relief she had ever known. Her feet started to move by their own accord.

His name fell desperately from her lips. 

Joel stilled once he heard the sound of it. Brown eyes wild as he searched frantically for where it was coming from. When they found her through a split in the crowd, Y/N was met with the same look of relief she knew was apparent within her own irises. 

His stride lengthened as he worked fast to cut the distance between them. As she drew nearer, he registered the tear stains on her supple skin, fresh ones following the same path. His heart lurched at the sight, the overwhelming need to hold her burning his skin. Burning hotter as she drew nearer. Setting him ablaze when she was right in front of him. 

He tossed his bag to the side in favor of wrapping his arms around her. He relished in the way she sank into his arms, curling into his chest. He felt how her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, beating in the same pattern as his own. Joel held onto her even tighter.

“You scared the hell out of me.” She cried, tone muffled by his cable knit sweater as she hid her face in his warmth. A large hand smoothed over the back of her head, bringing her in even closer if that was even possible. His nose dropped down into her hair, the scent of her invading his senses, comforting him. He was back home. Safe. And she was here waiting for him. 

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” He murmured, the nickname falling freely in his solace. 

She didn’t seem to mind. 

They returned home just as the sun dipped below the horizon, losing the orange hues of the sunset to a dark velvet sky littered with stars. The journey was much easier on the way back now that they had Joel’s old truck that was waiting for him down by the docks. As well as the fact that the reassurance of Joel’s return replaced the heavy feeling of fear that had haunted Y/N for the past three days.

They were greeted by a homemade meal, left behind by Y/N’s father. A gift either of consolation or celebration. She was grateful it was the latter. 

And once their bellies were full and the pain of the day was washed away in soothing streams of hot water, the two of them stood in the hallway once again. Y/N was unsure of what to do. Less than a week ago they had crossed a boundary she hadn’t even dreamed of. Now they were standing at the precipice of something even greater. And since Joel was safe at home once again, the anticipation to act on it was dripping from the walls. 

Was she ready for such a feat? Was Joel expecting something like this to happen? Nerves brought a tremor to her hands. 

Meanwhile, Joel could feel the tips of his ears burning at the memory of what happened the last time they were alone together. Her moans had him weak in the knees, her skin was soft to the touch, things he only knew since Y/N had made the first move in this very hallway. A bolder woman than what stood in front of him now, as her eyes stayed glued to the floor, her breathing fragmented from timidity.

His gaze softened as he took in the sight of her.

“I don’t know what you’re expectin’ to happen...” He breathed, a soft smile turning up the corners of his mouth, “But I can assure you it’s not what you’re thinkin’...”

Y/N’s eyes flickered up at the teasing lilt to his words. She was met with a mischievous gleam in those brown eyes as he repeated the very first thing she ever said to him. She couldn’t help her own grin that bloomed across her lips. 

At her smile, he felt brave enough to bring a hand up to her cheek. 

“You have nothing to worry about, darlin’” He then murmured, stroking his thumb over the soft skin. She leaned in his touch, peering up at him through her lashes. “We don’t have to do anythin’.”

“I want to.” She whispered back, her words causing his breath to hitch in his throat. “Eventually… but tonight…”

He nodded, removing his touch from her face. “I understand.”

The floorboards creaked as he took a step back. But surprise shot up his spine when she moved to clutch his fallen hand with both of her own. 

“But tonight could you just lay with me?” She quickly added.

She looked up at him expectantly, the plush of her bottom lip dragged between her teeth. He let out a low labored breath.

“Y-yeah.” He nodded, the word weak on his tongue. He was afraid that if he spoke any louder he might scare her off. Though the grip of her fingers locked around his palm proved to him that she was there to stay. A reassurance he was always grateful for. 

Y/N tugged at his hand, urging him to follow as she guided their way into her bedroom. It was an odd choice, considering the master bedroom was just right there and the bed was bigger. But to be invited into her private sanctuary was an opportunity he would never pass on. So his feet followed eagerly.

It was dark in the room when they entered and it stayed that way as no one made a move to turn on the light. Unfortunately, what she had done to make the bedroom her own was lost to his eyes, but that regret was soon forgotten as he heard the squeak of mattress springs and the shuffling of blankets.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found Y/N’s form on the bed in front of him, he stood on the side, basking in the glory of this moment. 

“Come here.” Her whisper found him through the dark. His stomach swooped at the sultry sound of her voice. But he ignored any provocative thoughts that wormed its way into his brain. Instead, he obeyed her command, the mattress dipping as he slid under the covers beside her.

In an instant, his senses were invaded by her scent as well as her warmth. There was only an inch or two of distance between them. Both lying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

A sharp intake of breath rang out from Joel when the touch of her fingertips smoothed over his open palm in the space between them. Naturally, his own digits curled around hers. He heard as she sighed happily from his reciprocation. 

And somehow— despite how fast his heartbeat was when he had her writhing under his tongue only a few days prior, it was nothing compared to the small gentle act of holding her hand.

~

Joel was up before the sun.

As was the case every morning, since his body's internal clock was intune with the demanding schedule his occupation thrusted upon him. So he was used to opening his eyes to a darkened world, not yet warmed by rays of sunlight.

Though today was slightly different. He wasn’t woken by the natural fluttering of his eyelids as his dreams from that night slipped away; Instead it was the press of another person’s form against his body, an arm draped over his torso, legs intertwined between his own, head resting on his chest.

He stiffened once he remembered where he was and who it was.

Y/N.

She was warm through the fabric of their pajamas. So much so that Joel didn’t even miss the warmth of the sun like he usually did during these dark and frigid mornings. A deep contented sigh pushed through the structure of his chest, Y/N’s head moving in time with his breathing. The movement elicited a small whine from her lips.

The sound had his heart racing yet again, reminding him of the other noises she was capable of making.

Those noises had been replaying over and over in Joel’s mind ever since he was blessed to hear them— even better, to create them with the touch of his own hands and lips. He brought the memory with him when he was on that small boat, miles out at sea, restless in his cot as he ached to return home to her. 

When they were caught in the throes of that storm all he could think about was her. The drive of it kept him alive throughout the chaos. 

Now here he was, sharing in her warmth, despite the awkward navigation of their newfound forms of intimacy. Anticipation surged through his muscles, pulling away the last dregs of sleep that had plagued his limbs. 

Joel cursed under his breath as something else began to stir to life. 

This was a young man's game. He was in over his head with the feelings she evoked from him. Never in his life had he experienced anything quite like this. The way every part of his body begged for every part of hers. Everything he’d felt for those before her was just a crude imitation of what he felt for her at this very moment. It was almost an insult to compare. Nothing could ever compare..

And he had no idea what he was supposed to do. 

Which was funny. Because this woman was his wife. She was the one person he should feel this for. But with the way they had started Joel wasn’t sure what he was allowed to take what he wanted. Was he allowed to be selfish the way he wanted to? Everything surrounding the two of them was delicate. And Joel was terrified of breaking it with his large and clumsy hands.  

For now he would just have to hold himself back. Be gentle in the way that he navigated this unknown territory. Which meant he had to do the hardest thing in the world. 

He had to get out of this bed. 

Slowly and cautiously he detangled his limbs from the woman beside him. He trained his eyes on her face, searching for any sign that his movements were waking her up. The line between her eyebrows showed itself when her cheek lost the firm foundation of his chest, but that— and a few incoherent mumbles— was all that occurred as he slipped himself out of her bed. Luckily, she seemed to be a sound sleeper as she curled up into herself without Joel’s warmth. 

Joel stood above her, almost caught in a trance from how disgruntled she looked now that he was gone, proof of the effect he had on her as well. A small smile danced on his lips. And then he allowed himself one indulgence as he leaned over to brush a faint kiss over her forehead. He felt her features smooth under his lips, seemingly content with his departing gift.

~

To wake up alone in a cold empty bed was not what Y/N had expected that morning. There were a few instances during the night, when her dreams took a pause that she would wake up, eyes blinking in the dark. And she quickly grew accustomed to the strong presence that Joel was. The soft steady sound of his snores was a comfort to the girl’s ears as they rumbled through his chest. At some point in the night his strong arms had encircled around her waist, pulling her into his warmth.

That very same warmth, having been taken away from her, was now sorely missed. She stretched an arm out over the expanse of her bed, fingers groping at where Joel once lay. 

She supposed she should’ve expected to wake up like this, considering how early he left every morning. But she would have thought she would’ve woken up when the time came. At least long enough to spare a goodbye before he headed off to work. 

Disappointment sat heavy over her form like a stormy rain cloud. Y/N tried not to dwell on it, but as always her feelings were too strong to contain, so throughout the whole rest of the day she moved about the house wistful in demeanor. Yearning for Joel despite the fact he would be home in a few hours time. 

Was this usually how it happened when you start to feel this way towards someone? Like your whole world stops turning when they aren’t near? Whatever the case, she knew that these feelings were not to be taken lightly. There was a rarity to them that made her heart much more precious to the woman. She felt like she needed to keep it safe, deep in her pocket where no harm would find it, and no one would be able to see the extremities of her feelings.

And that’s where she kept it as her restless feet wandered into town. 

But as she walked, something funny happened. Everywhere she looked, everything seemed so much brighter. The people who passed her by greeted her with warm ‘hello’s’ and ‘how are you’s’. Kids were laughing as they played in the street, laughing. There were lovers in front of shops holding hands and exchanging stolen kisses. Birds were singing. The sun was… shining? Everything that used to be dreary about the island, everything that Y/N hated, had somehow flipped to be the exact opposite of what it used to be. Or perhaps… it had always been like this and she just hadn’t noticed, too caught up in her own pretension and desperate need to escape. 

Perhaps this island really did live up to its name.

Why was it that she had just noticed this now? What had changed?

She thought of her beating heart, hidden in her deepest pocket. And then froze in her tracks. 

She was reminded of something. Something she had only heard in the old sea-shanties her father used to sing while he cooked. In the stories her mother used to whisper to her at bedtime. And that used to worm her way into her dreams late at night, planting the idea that she had to escape in the first place. She had to go find it. 

It was love.

And it hit her like a ton of bricks. 

Well, not the love part, that made sense to her as the loose ends were finally tied together. What surprised her the most was that she didn’t have to travel to the furthest reaches of the earth to find it. It had been on this very island the whole entire time. And it was fated to be shared with the man she was hell-bent against marrying. 

Incredulous laughter began to bubble out of her throat. So much so that she had to brace herself on her knees as she gasped for air. She was definitely living up to her reputation as the crazy woman, earning strange glances from passersby. But she didn’t care. She never cared. All she really cared about was burning passionate love, that’s what she had been yearning for all her life. And she was almost too stupid to realize that it was right under her nose.

Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!

The clocktower in town was chiming at the start of the new hour. Five o’clock… It pulled Y/N out of her unexpected fit of laughter. Joel would be on his way home right at this very moment. And without thinking twice, the woman began to run.

~

Joel returned to an empty house. This wasn’t entirely unusual, as there were some days Y/N would be out in the garden, lounging on the porch swing she loved oh-so much, having lost track of time. He would always find her, caught in the middle of a fascinating passage, one she couldn’t tear her eyes from. The idea of dinner would not have crossed her mind, as it was often lost in the clouds.

He never minded that, though. In fact, he quite liked finding her like that because then it meant that he would get the chance to be by her side while they made their meal together. And he also couldn’t lie about the fact that he enjoyed seeing the image of her, so carefree, with her knees tucked beneath her, skin glowing underneath the evening sun. He would always take a moment to stop and watch her, drinking in the sight of her peace before having to force her out of it.

A small smile spread across his lips at the thought he’d catch her like that now. His heavy footfalls rang out into the quiet household as he crossed the floor towards the back door. His anticipation flickered deep in his stomach once more, excited to see her.

But he was left in disappointment and slight worry when he was greeted with the sight of an empty porch swing. It looked so much sadder without her presence, the loss of her making obvious the peeling white paint and rusted chains that made the furniture what it was. Lackluster without her. A feeling now all too familiar to Joel as he searched the rest of the house, finding empty room after empty room.

He had seen this before. Lived through it. Deja vu in the form of his ex wife whittled its way into his brain. He recalled the day he found her missing. How he felt when he realized she wasn’t coming back. This was so much worse. Because now it was Y/N.

The woman he had unexpectedly fallen for, head over heels. The woman who promised him she wouldn’t do the same and that she would stay right here with him in this house.

It must’ve been too much to ask for. Joel must have wanted too much. Taken too much. She must have come to her senses and realized the potential she was wasting in a marriage with an old man like him. Dread was quick to overtake him, he knew that much. But he had never been a lucky man. Everything he ever loved was always lost to him. Why would anything change now?

Joel found himself sitting on the front step of his porch, head clutched in his hands. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that brought him out there. Maybe he needed the fresh air to rid the panic in his lungs. Or maybe it was that flicker of hope that still burned within his heart. Maybe she would return home to him. If his hopes weren’t for nothing.

“Joel?”

His head snapped up to find Y/N standing in front of him. She was out of breath, a sheen of sweat covering her skin, causing her to glow brighter than she usually did. Her irises sparked with worry as she took in the sight of his hunched form on the porch. Though once he registered that she was really there, standing in front of him, he shot to his feet.

“Y/N.” He replied, his voice riddled with a confusing tone of surprised awe, eyes thick with relief. The girl’s brows furrowed. He took the remaining two steps down to where she stood, his hands bracing themselves on her shoulders.

“Where were you?” He questioned, somewhat angrily, though through that she could see a form of desperation hiding behind it all.

“I’m sorry I was— I just came from town.” She answered, having not yet fully caught her breath, the words were hushed between her overworked lungs. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He practically begged out the question. “I could’ve brought you home.”

“I’m sorry.” She said earnestly, wrapping her fingers around his wrists. “I didn’t think of it. I was in a hurry to get back.”

“Why?” 

She looked down at the ground between their feet, the distance between them small, soon to become even smaller, she was sure. A bashful smile crept up onto her lips. 

“I wanted to see you.” She murmured, eyes still averted as a slight heat pinched at her cheeks. Somehow it was much harder to face him, now that she had put a name to what she had been feeling.

Surprise stiffened her shoulders when Joel let out a harsh breath of relief, his head dropping into the crook of her neck, arms looping around her waist. She soon softened under his embrace, her fingers tangling within his sea-breeze tangled hair. 

“I thought you left.” He mumbled into her skin. Y/N’s stomach dropped at the hidden fear behind his words. She now understood completely where this strange new demeanor was coming from. She quickly shook her head, knowing Joel felt as she did when her cheekbone brushed against his ear in time with the movement.

“No.” She whispered. “No, I would never.”

His hold on her tightened with the words spoken. Y/N smoothed her hand over the back of his head, hoping it brought some form of comfort to the man.  As his shoulders began to relax, she knew that it did. She continued her reassurance.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N tilted her head towards him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should’ve come down to the docks.”

“Why didn’t you?” He asked, pulling back from his hiding spot, eyes searching for the answer. 

Y/N drew in a deep breath, the heat in her cheeks burning fiercer than before. She averted her gaze towards the gravel pathway, taking a step back so that possibly she could find her words within the created distance. Nerves, fairly quickly, took over her form.

“Well… to start, I think— pretty early on in our marriage you must have realized that I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the whole ordeal.” She rambled as she began to pace, wild with her movements the way she was erratic with her words.

Joel opened his mouth to confirm, but she was speaking so fast that he never had the chance. So he watched on, almost incredulously, eyes following her as she paced back and forth in front of him, avoiding his gaze.

“I mean… I don’t think you were totally happy with it either, considering how we were at the beginning… —Anyways, none of that matters now.” Y/N waved her arms, trying to get rid of any more unnecessary words.

“The reason I was so unhappy— at first— was because I was so desperate to fall in love.” She continued, the last word ringing familiar in Joels ear. A smile perked up the corners of his mouth as realization dawned on him, patiently waiting for the girl to finish her rant.

“And I didn’t think an arranged marriage could have any possibility of that.” Y/N glanced quickly over at Joel, finding him nodding along in exaggerated understanding, strong arms crossed over his chest.

“But then a funny thing happened, when I was walking into town and I suddenly realized…” She stopped moving, facing the man head on as she said her peace. “I think I may be in love with you— No… I know that I’m in love with you.”

As he considered her— standing in front of him, with begging eyes and shaking hands— he bit back a brighter grin. With this onslaught of information he wasn’t exactly sure how he should say what he wanted to say. If the girl would even give him the chance to do so.

“And that’s why I didn’t meet you at the docks.” Y/N finished, quite lamely, hands raised out from her sides as if offering him the floor. Though, her arms flopped back down to their original position quickly after.

“So…” Joel started slowly, killing the woman with every second his pause dragged out. “You didn’t come to the docks… because you’re in love with me?”

“It would seem so.” She confirmed, her voice small with apprehension. “Do you have anything to say on the matter?”

“Just one thing.” He breathed, before taking a step forward, he looped an arm around her waist pulling her against him. A gasp fell from her lips at the eagerness in this action, her hands impulsively landing on his chest. Joel's other hand moved to rest on the side of her face, guiding her lips to slot against his in a deep-seated kiss. 

It was as if the entirety of her being were in her lips, like there was nothing else in the world as he pressed soft kisses to the plush skin. Kisses that somehow conveyed the entire range of how he felt towards her. The passion showed itself as he nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth. The tenderness shown in the gentle caress of his tongue. The love being presented as he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, it shining in the deep brown of his eyes.

“I love you too.” He confirmed what she saw within his irises, her heart swelling that she wasn’t on her own in feeling this way.

“I didn’t realize that’s what it was until I thought you were gone.” He told her, “I think I might’ve…”

His words trailed off, replaced with a deep breath as he pulled her in closer, as if making sure she was really there in his arms.

“I think I might’ve felt this way for a really long time.” He ended. Y/N smiled warmly up at him, tilting her head to brush her nose against his own.

“Me too.”

And neither one of them really knew exactly when that could have been. Perhaps it was the very first time they laid eyes on each other. Or during one of their many shared meals as they sat across from one another in comfortable silence. Or the distance that kept them apart by raging seas. Maybe it shifted with the constant storms that would rain down over their house. Or maybe it was written in the stars, destined to happen. Whatever the case, it didn’t really matter to them now as they melted back into each other, lips crashing in a great crescendo portraying exactly the burning passion this island was supposed to be known for. 

Their next movements were like a white blinding light as they forged through the front door of their home, shoes left behind,— the excitement that should’ve been present on their wedding night was now following them through the living room and up the creaky stairs. Y/N’s grip on Joel’s hand was strong as she pulled him down the hallway towards the master bedroom, but she still wasn’t strong enough to keep him moving when he stopped abruptly. She turned to face him.

“Wh—?” Her question was interrupted when he pressed her against the wall, his lips finding hers once more. A small squeak of surprise from the young woman was muffled by Joel’s kiss, swallowing it down. His hands were firm on her waist, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt. Her skin was hot to the touch. 

“Joel.” She moaned against his lips, the touch of his thumb rubbing slow circles into her skin sending bolts of electricity straight to her toes.

His name sounding like that coming from her was enough to have Joel’s entire being on fire. He could feel himself harden with every moan she gifted him, as well as his resolve weakening, patience wearing thin. 

Shifting his grip, his hands were now clutching at the back of Y/N’s bare thighs (since she had miraculously had the good sense to wear shorts today). On instinct, using the leverage of Joel’s grasp, she jumped into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. The momentum of their bodies coming together had Joel stumbling backwards, back hitting the other wall. The artwork hanging on aging nails rattled in their frames, threatening to crash to the floor as they shook from the collision. Neither husband or wife paid this any mind as they clutched onto each other, lips still vehemently attached, moans and grunts being traded within their kiss.

Soon, Joel’s feet were moving once again, carrying Y/N over the threshold of his bedroom. Like a man was supposed to do with his bride, finally given the chance to do so. Though his grip almost slackened when she pulled her lips away from his, replacing them on the skin below his ear. He cursed under his breath as she began to suckle against a sweet spot he never even knew existed. 

Against all odds, he made it to the bed, falling backwards against the plush surface, springs squeaking under their combined weight. Y/N was not at all deterred by this new position, her forearms bracing themselves on either side of Joel's head as she kissed her way down his neck, hoping she was even half as good as Joel was at this sort of thing. 

She supposed she wasn’t half bad as his breathing was soon labored under the touch of her lips, thick fingers twisting into the fabric of her shirt. She smiled against his skin, especially so when she finally lowered her hips down over his own, the sign of his enjoyment pressing harshly into her inner thigh. Y/N rolled her hips into him, hoping for that very same reaction she had gotten the first time she did this. With no surprise at all, she prevailed.

“Shit—.” He hissed, hands darting to grip at her hips. “Wait.” 

Somehow he was strong enough to still her movements. Or maybe Y/N couldn’t help but obey the words said by this man. In either case, time began to slow down, their frantic movements ceasing. Y/N pushed up on her hands, sitting back on her heels so that she could meet his gaze. Joel’s hands found their home on the skin of her thighs, thumbs instinctively rubbing those soothing circles once again.

He drew in a breath, staring up at her with soft brown eyes. “Have you ever done this before?”

A shy look flitted across the woman's pretty features, her bashful smile weakened as her bottom lip was tugged between her lips. She shook her head, eyes trained to the top button of Joel’s shirt.

He swallowed against a newly dry throat as he realized she was willing to give him everything. Pink swelling up into his cheeks when his cock convulsed at the thought. Surely she had to have felt that, the gasp slipping from her lips proving that she did.  

“I… I don’t wanna rush you into doing anything you’re not ready for.” Joel murmured, “We can take it as slow as you need.”

Y/N offered him a sweet smile at his words, her fingers toying with that button she had her eye on. They were trembling slightly, not out of fear but instead a steady form of anticipation.

“We’ve been married for almost a year now.” She responded, her tone soft. “I think we’ve taken it slow enough.” 

“Alright then.” Joel responded in that same tone, a small smile matching her own, his heart lurching at what was to come next. 

And he could have easily slipped back into the pace they had set when they had crashed into the room. His desires were certainly begging him to do so. But this was their first time indulging in this act as a married couple— her first time at all. So despite the protests of his aching body, Joel would take his time, offer every part of himself to her and hope she would offer the same. 

He smoothed his hand up her thigh, carving his way up to rest his fingers behind her ear, thumb against her cheek. Without much force at all, he guided her gently until their lips were touching once again, this time in a slower kiss. She relaxed against him, chest resting on his. A small whimper escaped the back of her throat at the tenderness of it all.

The small noise spurred Joel into rolling Y/N onto her back, flipping the preexisting roles, covering her with the shadow of his form. His hands were braced on the plush surface beside her head, holding his weight above her. His knee was positioned between her thighs. She was a whimpering mess, grinding up into him, desperate to relieve the ache between her legs. Joel couldn’t help the smirk that appeared over his lips. The bold woman who was kissing down his neck just a mere few minutes ago was long gone. A dark part of him took pleasure at the sight of her like this, desperate for him. It didn’t help how pretty she was splayed underneath him, eyes darkened with lust, bottom lip trembling, hips rutting towards the thigh that was too far away from where she wanted him.

He wouldn’t give it to her. Not yet at least. He was going to take his time. He set his hand against her hip, forcing her to stop her movements, holding her in place.

Lowering himself towards her, he brushed his lips across Y/N’s in a quick kiss. He placed another on the apple of her cheek. Another on her temple. And again at the corner of her mouth. He was moving so slow that she could feel the flutter of his eyelashes tickling her skin. She sighed at each kiss, relishing in his attentiveness. 

She was cold when he removed himself from her, standing up at the side of the bed. Even more so when his hands lifted the hem of her shirt, pulling it up over her head. Her nipples were pebbled against the white lace of her bra, made more obvious as she leaned up on her elbows. His darkened eyes roamed over her body, no inch left undiscovered. His fingers continued to do their work of revealing more, when he popped open the button of her shorts. The garment soon discarded on the floor with her shirt. 

All that she was left in was her undergarments, grateful she had put on a matching set that morning. Joel stood fully clothed in front of her, on unequal ground but somehow the thought excited her. She could feel herself flush behind the skin of her cheeks, turning her head so she could hide behind the back of her hand.

“Don’t hide from me, darlin’” He whispered, catching her in the act, fingers clasping around her wrist. She complied letting the limb fall back to its original position. She dared herself to meet his strong gaze as he continued, another gasp swirling into the air when he spread her thighs, the wetness between her legs more obvious once the cold air contrasted with the heat of her arousal. 

“Look at you…” Joel groaned, toying with the hem of her panties where her thigh met her center, the fleeting touch of his fingers causing her hips to twitch up towards him. He watched her restlessness with slight amusement, though he granted her some form of relief as he dipped his pointer finger into her soaked panties. Though he only did so to pull the fabric away from her burning heat, and a second later he let it snap back down, the sound louder than expected as it smacked against her folds. 

“Don’t do that.” Y/N whined, squirming under his teasing.

“What? You don’t like it?” He did it again, causing the girl to jolt up further on the bed. She whined once, but she didn’t exactly have any words to argue with him. She sort of did like his teasing. But impatience was taking over her.

“I— I think I’m ready.” She breathed heavily through her nose as his fingers continued to play around with the fabric of her panties. 

“Ready?” He questioned, brows furrowed.

“Ready for you to— for your…” She stammered, embarrassment flooding her senses as she couldn’t find how to put it.

“For my cock?” He finished for her. She squeaked at the unexpected harshness of his words, but was pleased by the sharp ache that probed at her core. 

“Mhm.” She nodded, shutting her eyes, almost as if bracing herself. 

They shot back open at the sound of Joel’s soft laughter filling the room, she was greeted with the sight of his bright smile, his head shaking.

“What?” Y/N asked, slightly perturbed at the fact he was laughing at her. He only shook his head, bending to loop an arm around her waist, shifting her body with ease so that she now lay properly on the bed, head sinking into the plush material of his pillows. She huffed in annoyance, lifting herself up back on her elbows so that he could feel the full force of her glare. 

“You’re not even close to ready for me, sweetheart.” He told her, a strong knee propped on the bed. His fingers were working on the buttons of his dark green shirt, revealing a smattering of hair that was once hidden by its confines. Y/N paused as she hungrily drank in the reveal of his skin, but was soon disappointed when he stopped at the third button down. Any complaints she had were lost on her tongue when he swung his other leg onto the bed, trapping the woman between his knees as he sat above her. 

He looked like a god in this position. Skin shining under the sunlight that slid into the room in its golden hour, the shadows of his strong features accentuated. She wasn’t sure if she should cower under his might, she was more grateful to be bestowed with this sight of him. Ready to sacrifice anything to him.

“I feel ready.” She murmured up to him, “Want you inside of me, Joel.”

An unanticipated shiver shot up the length of Joel's spine at her admission, his erection growing harsher within the limits of his underwear. He sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head as if he had to deliberately make the move to hold himself back.

“I want that too, baby.” He mumbled, shifting to smooth his hands down the expanse of her stomach, needing his hands on her in some shape or form. “But ‘m too big for you.”

“Too big?” Y/N parroted her eyes widening. He nodded.

“Have t’ get you ready for me.” He relayed, “Especially since you’ve never had anythin' up there before.”

“Yes I have.” She countered, her tone becoming more defiant. Joel stilled at her words, knowing that could only mean one thing.

“Your fingers?” He swallowed against the words. Y/N’s shy demeanor returned, she looked away.

“Yes.” She said, her voice small.

Joel held back a groan threatening at the back of his throat, the image of her playing with herself, cumming around her fingers, forcing its way to the forefront of his mind. He could feel as more precum leaked out of his tip, slicking against his skin. His heartbeat was ringing in his ears.

“It’s not gonna be the same.” He strained, shaking his head.

“Will it hurt?” 

“A little… at first.” He told her honestly, “That’s why I need you to be ready for me. It’ll hurt you less and I… just wanna make you feel good.”

Y/N softened at the earnest look in Joel’s eyes as he spoke, her heartbeat hammering in her chest with how much care he was providing for her. 

“Okay.” She relented, her hands moving up to grasp at the bottom of his shirt, tugging him towards her. He followed her movements with no resistance, leaning down to kiss her, deep and steady. 

“Make me feel good then.” She whispered into his lips.

“As you wish.”  He replied, in the same hushed tone.

Joel sat back on his heels, admiring her in the golden light for just a second longer before he started. They held each other’s stare, the love they confessed blooming in the air between them, warming their bones, making their hearts beat in time. 

His touch was light as he slid her panties down her legs, losing the piece of fabric somewhere on the bed behind him. He placed a featherlight kiss across her collarbone as he unclasped her bra, her back arching into him so he had the room to remove it. He tossed it in the same aimless direction. And when he sat back, she was bare to him. 

“Beautiful.” He mumbled, tracing his knuckles down her sternum to her belly button, she shivered under his touch, or maybe from the compliment. 

Then he placed himself gently on the pillow beside her. He brought a large hand to her chin, tilting her head to the side so that she’d meet his gaze. Kissing her lips gently, he slid that same hand down the length of her stomach until his fingers were pressing into her pubic mound. He pulled away from her lips, so he could see every little reaction that she had for him.

Her pretty lips fell open when he dipped his fingers lower, collecting the wetness that was pooling at her entrance. He hummed at how wet she was, the slick covering his two fingers when he brought them back up to rub circles into her clit. A moan was instantly pulled from her, her body jolting at the sensation, breasts bouncing as she did. Joel drank in every minute of it. 

And once he knew she was completely ready, he finally slipped a finger inside of her. 

Y/N sucked in a harsh breath, she wasn’t expecting his finger to feel so large inside of her. But it was nothing to what she had felt before when she tried something like this on her own. She felt so full with just the use of his finger, stretching her out so resolutely, that she wondered how it would feel once it was the real thing. She was whimpering once again due to Joel’s actions, her hands shot up to grasp at Joel’s bicep, his shirt taut over the flexing muscle. 

“You want another finger?” He asked into her temple.

“Y-yes.” She breathed, already wanting more from him. And he wasn’t going to deny her of what she wanted. So he added the second finger, the obscene sound of it squelching into the air. He changed the position of his hand, as well, his thumb now prodding at her clit whenever he thrust his hand back into her.

Y/N’s hips moved in time with each of Joel’s movements, even as he sped up, the sound of his palm smacking against her wetness growing louder and louder. Her moans were now tumbling over her tongue at a constant rate, her head thrown back against the pillow.

Joel’s eyes were still watchful over her, he gaped at how beautiful she looked, coming undone with only the use of his fingers. He couldn’t stop from grinding himself into her hip, moving at the same pace as his fingers, too turned on by her to try and hold back.

His own moans were muffled when he started kissing at her neck, and then down the soft flesh of her breasts, until he flicked his tongue over her sensitive nipple.

That was the beginning of Y/N’s breaking point. Him curling his fingers inside of her, probing at a small spongy spot hidden deep inside of her, was the end. 

Her orgasm ripped through her like a freight train, her cum splashing itself onto Joel’s palm. Her legs couldn’t stop shaking, even when he pulled his digits out of her. He chuckled softly as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. On instinct she curled into him, fingers clutching at the lapels of his shirt, her body still trembling as she floated back down from the sky. 

“How was that?” He questioned, holding her tighter against him. She could feel her own slick on his fingers as they pressed into her lower back. 

“Good.” She said into the crook of his neck, voice shaky, earning another laugh from the man. 

“We can stop now, if you want.” He told her, lips pressed into her hair. 

Y/N pushed against his chest, freeing herself from her previous hiding spot. She looked at him with furrowed brows and found nothing but honesty and adoration flickering across his irises. God, he really would stop for her, if she asked him too. In fact, the look he was giving her told her that he would do anything for her. She let out a frustrated breath, surely he wasn’t so stupid to think that she wouldn’t do the same for him. 

“I don’t want to stop.” She said, genuine with her words. Maybe a bit too forceful as she sat up.

“O-okay.” Joel relinquished, eyes wide at her eagerness, following her in the action of sitting up, his back now straightened.

“It’s slightly unfair, you know.” Y/N then said, placing a hand to the center of his chest, pushing lightly so that he would rest against the headboard. There was no resistance, he did as she said. 

“What is?” Joel inquired, his breathing quickening as Y/N sat on her knees beside his hip. His eyes were trained to the crease between her thigh and waist, relishing in her every curve. It was a cruel reminder of his hardened cock trapped in his pants, twitching at the sight. He didn’t even notice as her hands started to unbutton his shirt. That was until she started kissing at each newly revealed piece of skin. He sucked in a harsh breath at the touch of her lips.

“You always get to see me like that.” She said between kisses. And he could’ve argued that it had only ever been twice, but he didn’t want to know what would happen if he interrupted her wrath. “And yet you always hide from me.”

“I don’t hide from you.” Joel countered, his knuckles white from his grip on the sheets beneath him. “You’re just not the opportunist like I am.” 

A surge of pride spread out under Joel’s skin as Y/N’s sweet laughter bubbled into the air. The sound of it doing as much to him as her moans did. He loved hearing her laugh. Like it was proof that she was actually happy with him. Though he supposed the proof was right in front of him, as she continued to leave loving kisses across his chest.

Joel’s shirt was finally discarded, granting Y/N the sight she had been desperate to see for so long. A beauty to behold. He wasn’t exactly all hard lines and jagged edges. But he was strong and large, and soft in the places he needed to be. His skin was tanned and taut over muscles that could only be carved by the waves of a raging sea. But there were scars left behind, probably a result of tragedies endured on his countless journeys. Y/N left a soft kiss over each one.

And then her hands were soon preoccupied by a new task, the metal parts of his belt clanking against each other as she removed the constriction.

Joel waited with bated breath. He had to force himself not to ask if she was really sure about this. Because if she wasn’t, she definitely would not be slowly sliding open the zipper to his pants. Or then tugging them down his thick thighs, revealing the black fabric of his boxer briefs. And she definitely would not now be palming at the bulge between his legs. Which she was.

A groan fell from his lips once she had her hand squeezing at his erection. His hips jutted forward into her palm, his need for her touch too obvious for his own good. His eyes flickered up to find a look of pure wonder on the woman’s features, maybe she was surprised she could elicit such reactions from him. 

“Feel’s s’ good, baby.” He reassured, the words falling from his lips between soft grunts of pleasure. Y/N’s eyes snapped up to meet his. He stared back, lids hooded over darkened eyes overblown with lust. His hips were now rolling up into her hand, over and over, unable to stop.

“Really?” She squeaked.

“Yeah.” He grunted out, any coherent sentences lost to him as lust overtook him. Especially when her fingers hooked around the hem of his underpants, pushing them down to follow the path of his pants.

He gasped when the cold air hit his burning erection.

She gasped at the sight of it.

His cock sprang up once it was finally free from its confines, the tip hitting his lower belly, leaving behind a splotch of precum against his skin. And Joel was right… he was big. It was thick, just like the rest of him, with protruding veins running up the side. The head of it was red and angry, shining with the proof of his arousal. 

And surprisingly, despite the aggressive look of his erection, the woman wasn’t scared like she thought she’d be. Instead she was drawn to it. Drawn to him. Because she was drawn to every part of him. So there was no time wasted when her smaller hand wrapped around his length.

Joel cursed under his breath, head falling back against the headboard with a dull thud. Just the touch of her hand already had him weak, ready to unravel. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last once he finally felt the tight confines of her cunt fluttering around him. So for now he enjoyed the soft touch of her hand, closing his eyes as her thumb spread his precum over the tip with gentle touches. 

She was slow with her movements, which was alright by Joel. It granted him time to breathe, as well as the fact that this was the first time she’s ever done anything like this. He didn't need to move any faster than this if she didn't want to. His arousal sat low in his belly, happily waiting in the anticipation. 

Though, his blood spiked when he felt the wet touch of her tongue against the head of his cock.

“W-what are you doin’?” He asked, head snapping up to find her crouched down at his waist, hands splayed out on his thighs. She looked up at him through her lashes, tongue still unyielding against him. It was a sight he had dreamt about and longed for, but he never expected her to do anything like this tonight.

“You did this for me, right?” Y/N said between the tiny kitten licks she administered,  “‘m only returning the favor.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He replied, shaking his head slightly. He brought a hand to her jawline, ready to pull her away from his erection, “You don’t owe me anythin’.”

“Okay… Well then it’s because I want to.” She countered, ignoring the presence of his hand and dipping her head downwards again. This time she wrapped her moistened lips over the entire tip. 

“Fuck.” He hissed into the air, his hand moving from her cheek to her hair. He tried to be gentle with his grip, knowing she was new to all of this, but it was increasingly difficult to do so. Especially when she hummed in pleasure around his cock, seemingly relishing in the slight pain of having her hair pulled. She swirled her tongue around him, pulling a stuttering whimper from his lips.

She looked up at him at the sound. His head was thrown back once again, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin, he was breathing harshly through his nose, his handsome features twisted with euphoria. And it was all because of her. 

Y/N felt as more wetness pooled between her legs and dripped down her inner thighs, she squirmed slightly as her arousal increased once again. As it turned out, she seemed to like having Joel like this, writhing under her in immense pleasure, whimpering from the touch of her tongue. She wondered if this is how he felt when he did the same thing to her. If he was this hard in her mouth because he gained pleasure from her pleasure. The thought spurred her on, moving her mouth further down his length.

Another deep groan rumbled out from his chest, eliciting a sound of affirmation from the woman, the vibration of her vocal chords shooting electricity through his body. He glanced back down at her, watching as she took him in as deep as she could.

“God, you look s’ pretty like that.”

And she did. Her mouth around his rigid cock, tears filling her eyes as he pushed deeper down her throat, her pupils blown out with need for him. He could cum to that sight. No— he was going to cum at the sight. He could feel the coil deep in his core about to snap as she continued. But he wasn’t going to let it end here. 

“W-wait. Please, darlin’, you have to stop.” Joel said softly, as he gently pulled her off of him, Y/N’s features held a look of confusion and disappointment. 

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked as he pulled her into his lap, his burning shaft now pressing nicely against the curve of her backside. He could feel how wet she was as she pressed her center into his lower abdomen, soaking the coarse hair spattered across the skin there. 

“No.” He shook his head, “No, you were absolutely perfect, sweetheart. I just… I want to be inside you before I finish.”

“Oh.” Y/N smiled shyly, her head dipping down in slight embarrassment. “Okay.”

“Do you think you’re ready for me?” He asked tenderly, placing kisses onto her cheeks. She closed her eyes against his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and nodding her head.

Soon she was on her back, head surrounded by Joel’s fluffy pillows. The sun had slowly dipped further down towards the horizon, only leaving a little bit of light left in the room. It was soft and gentle, caressing the two of them in dimming shades of blue. Joel braced himself over her, bicep flexing when he lowered himself to leave a kiss against her lips. 

“I’ll start slow.” He whispered to her afterwards, leaning his forehead onto hers, a large hand smoothing over her outer thigh. The pressure of his fingertips were somehow soft within his guiding grasp, positioning her leg over his hip. A shock of pleasure erupted in Y/N’s core as she felt the length of Joel’s cock nestle in between her folds at this new position. Joel’s shoulders trembled, breathing growing heavy, his reaction to the same thing.

Y/N’s own breath hitched in her throat as Joel’s hands snaked between them. He wrapped his calloused fingers around his shaft, guiding the tip through Y/N’s slit and brushing it lightly against her clit. Simultaneous gasps intermingled in the air between their lips as they relished in the sensation. 

“Joel.” Y/N whimpered, the unsaid words begging for more. He only nodded in return, his attention locked on the space between their hips, slowly growing smaller as he finally pushed the head of his cock inside of her.

Y/N could immediately tell the difference between this and his fingers. Before was barely anything compared to this. Now she was finally full, finally complete. And it was only the beginning as Joel slowly pushed himself deeper.

She whined at the stretch of him, fingernails scratching over his back. Joel wasn’t any better, hiding his face in the crook of her neck, releasing the most sinful of moans as he was slowly sucked in by her tight, wet warmth. The feel of her around him was more incredible than he imagined. So much so that he pushed in faster than intended, earning a sharp gasp from the woman beneath him. He stilled, immediately.

“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling away from her neck to gauge her true reaction. Her eyes were shut, bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“‘m alright.” She replied, her heavy breathing causing her sensitive nipples to brush against Joel's chest, another spark of arousal surged through her bones. Another harsh moan was released from the man above her.

“Shit— baby, don’t do that.” He gritted his teeth.

Unknown to Y/N, when that bout of pleasure had traveled the length of her body, she had clenched around him at the sensation. The instance of which made Joel feel as though he might burst into flames. His cock jerked inside of her, the coil returning, slowly starting to unravel. 

“Think you can take any more?” Joel questioned, once he could calm his beating heart as much as he could have.

“There’s more?” She stammered, confused since she already felt so full.

“Y-yeah there’s more.” Joel told her, trying his hardest not to move an inch, the task becoming increasingly difficult. Y/N released a shuddering breath.

“Yeah.” She nodded, “I can take it.”

“That’s my girl.” Joel chuckled airily, the affirmation causing a nice pool of warmth to settle in Y/N’s belly. But the feeling was soon replaced by the head of Joel’s cock as it moved deeper inside of her, the length of him making her believe he was truly proding into her stomach. 

Slowly but surely the rest of him was sheathed inside of her, proven by the soft tickle of his pubic hair against her inner thighs. Joel let himself rest inside of her, allowing her to adjust to his size, his breathing deep and heavy as her walls squeezed around his cock. 

She started squirming beneath him, desperate for him to do more.

“Please Joel.” She whimpered, “Move.”

“You want me to move, sweetheart?” He murmured, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth, her desperation causing something wicked within him to start teasing. 

“Y-yes please, Joel. I need you.” She breathed, squeezing around him again. “Want you to fuck me.”

Joel’s entire body lurched at the words that slipped from her tongue. His heart hammering against his ribcage as it was completely unexpected. It caught him off guard, but he regained his bearings quickly, shaking free from the surprise as he took enjoyment from her dirty language.

“You do, huh?” He mumbled back, feeling her nod into his shoulder. “Is that what you want? For me t’ fuck you?”

“Yes.” She whined, a bit impatiently, more soft chuckles tumbled out of his lips.

“Okay, sweetheart.” He answered, “Anythin’ for you.”

And then he started moving. Slowly, so torturously slowly, sliding out until it was just his head that was left inside of her. Then, just as slowly he would sink all the way back in. He did that over and over again, causing an onslaught of pleasure to rip through the girl as the grooves of his cock carved into her walls so deliciously. She was a mess beneath him, shuddering and gasping with each slow movement he made.

Y/N arched into him, hands grasping at his back as he dipped his head, placing a kiss to her shoulder, moaning softly into her skin. Pleasure radiated throughout her body at every point of contact his skin had with hers, burning the brightest where the two of them connected. Even more so as Joel started to gradually speed up, still making long deep thrusts, but a little faster each time.

The bed started creaking beneath them, mixing in with the sound of their sensual moans as well as their skin slapping together in time with Joel’s thrusts. A cacophony of pleasure swirling around the room and serenading this moment as they finally connected in the way they always wanted to. 

The sting of Joel’s size was now long forgotten as Y/N savored in the pleasure of him. Her arms were wound tightly around his neck, holding his head into her shoulder. She could feel his lips pressing into her skin, leaving deliberate kisses after each thrust. Her legs soon followed the same pattern as her arms, looping around his waist, pulling his body in close. Now there was no part of them left untouching. 

His own arm soon snaked around her waist, drawing her in even closer if that was possible, her clit now firmly pressed against his pelvic bone. Y/N threw her head back with a deep moan, Joel’s lips attaching to her neck in record time. The heat low in her stomach returned from before, signifying that everything soon would come crashing down in a crescendo. 

Joel’s cock twitched inside of her as he felt her walls fluttering around him. His own impending orgasm weighing heavy in his chest. He pulled his lips away from her skin.

“Look at me.” He said softly, despite the fact that his thrusts became sloppier by the second, his pace staggering as he involuntarily thrusted harder inside of her.

Y/N— despite struggling under the onslaught of her own oncoming orgasm, opened her eyes for him, meeting his soft brown gaze as they chased their highs. It was strange to see that gaze in this context, especially since the first time she saw it she would have never guessed this is where it would bring her. But now that she was here she couldn’t ask for anything she wanted more.

Except for one thing.

“Kiss me.” She said in return, and since Joel couldn’t deny her of anything, he did just that, bringing their lips together in a tender kiss. The touch of it sending Y/N over the edge.

Joel felt as she came around his cock, squeezing onto him like a velvet vice, her cum gushing out around the base of him, soaking his skin. He moaned deep and heavy at the sensation, his own orgasm on the precipice. He placed his thumb on Y/N’s clit— hoping that will be enough to help her down from her high— as he pulled himself out of her.

He grunted with each spurt of cum splattering itself onto Y/N’s stomach, his free hand tight around his shaft, the length of it jerking in his hand. His thighs tensed as his orgasm shot out from his hips, shoulders trembling from the pleasure of it all, his heart racing.

Then, as the euphoria began to fade, his legs were weak as he sat back on his knees, chest heaving as he looked down at the mess he made on his beautiful wife. 

His cum was shining white against her skin, the gleam of it reflecting in the moonlight as her stomach moved up and down with each passing of her shallow breaths. Her limbs were limp against the mattress, eyes hooded as exhaustion took over her form. He smiled softly at the sight of her, sliding a hand underneath her to bring her up to his level. He pulled her into his lap, holding her flush against his chest—  not caring that his cum was now smeared across his own stomach.

“You did so well, sweetheart.” He whispered to her, stroking his knuckles across her cheekbone, she leaned into his touch, humming in content. Joel leaned forward, placing a kiss on her forehead.

They sat like that for a minute, savoring the silence between them and the embrace of their lover. But it didn't last too long as Joel spoke once more.

“Come on.” He abruptly said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, taking Y/N with him as he did. She whined when she realized she was being pulled away from the comfort of a warm bed.

“What? Why? I wanna sleep.” She argued when her feet hit the wooden floor beside his own, moving to dive back under the covers. He caught hold of her before she could.

“We gotta wash up.” Joel countered, pulling her towards the door that sat in the corner of the room, the mystery (that was not so mysterious) soon to be revealed.

“And then we can go to bed?” She questioned, as her shaking legs became more willing to follow him

“Not quite.” Joel grinned, guiding her into the shower. When she offered him a look of confusion at his words, he answered the question written on her face.

“We still have to make dinner.”

And soon, after all the proof of their passion was washed clean from their skin, underneath swirling puffs of cedar-scented steam and occasionally interrupted by stolen kisses, the two of them made their way down to their kitchen. And an hour later, as they sat across the table from one another, under the golden glow of their kitchen light. They divulged in their carefully prepared meal, sharing shy smiles and fleeting glances between each bite. The sight of them alone contradicting any statement that the island they resided on didn’t live up to its name. 

~~~

A/N: honestly this fic was born because of the smut scene in the kitchen, i can't lie 😩 and then i rewatched the music video for adore you by harry styles so i wanted this oneshot to be something romantic and whimsical in it's nature, so i hope that came across. Is it corny? yes! but I had so much fun writing this so i hope you had fun too!!! thank you so much for taking the time to read my work !! and now i'll be leaving, goodbye forever!! <33

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, minors dni

Summary: Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

You expect the infection to eat you from the inside out, turning you into something horrid. But instead, you find yourself with leaf-shaped ears and antlers that belong to a deer. While you live out the rest of your days trying to adjust to your new features and survive, you meet Joel, a survivor just like you but with a more grim approach to life.

Both of you adopt the forest as your home. One wants the other gone, meanwhile the other will do anything to not be left alone.

A few things to keep in mind; after the fallout with Tommy instead of heading to Boston Joel heads to the woods to escape it all, and the 20-year time jump doesn't happen. Which means, for now, no Tess, no Ellie. Joel is 32-33 here (since in the prologue he's around that age) and reader is in her mid-twenties

a/n: warnings will be given before every chapter and the oneshot (which will be both listed below) I've been sitting on this for so long and so excited to finally share it on the 15th.

I quickly want to shout a huge thank you to @pedrito-friskito who listened to me rant, brainstorm for months and edited this whole thing. I love you brain twin, I have no idea what I would do without you ❤️❤️❤️

chapters marked with ** indicates smut

spotify playlist || cross-posted to AO3

Exile Full Story (13k): This is the one-shot version of the whole thing. Feel free to read this or read it chapter by chapter below! Enjoy ♡

Prologue(September,2013)

Episode One: Eight Months Later (May,2014)

Episode Two: Two Months Later (July, 2014)

Episode Three: One Week Later (July, 2014)**

Episode Four: Three Months Later (October, 2014)

Episode Five: Two Weeks Later (October, 2014)

Episode Six: Two Months Later (December, 2014)**

Episode Seven: Next Morning (December, 2014)**

Epilogue(March, 2015)

[lightsinthedistancee]

I loved this so much! The new element of Domestics you created was so interesting, and I love the slightly whimsical feel to it in some places 💕

[mari-positas]

To Hell and Back l One (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only, minors DNI. Canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, I’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. Basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

Word Count: 8.1k (good lord I am so sorry)

A/N: Not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. At least I think it is, I could be wrong lmao. This is by far one of the most challenging things I have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay. This was meant to be up a couple of days ago, but I have been having a hard time with some things going on in my personal life (I finally have hot water tho lol) For anyone who has been waiting to read this or any other of my works in progress, just know I appreciate your patience so, so much. Also I wrote the first draft in a different tense and did not like it so back to the usual tense I write in!

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries. 

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment. 

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting. 

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up. 

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment. 

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” You whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away. 

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.  

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly fluttered open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filtered in through the ripped, white lace curtains that were hanging over the small, square shaped window right above your head. 

Blinking the sleep away, you propped yourself up slightly on your elbows and took a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago was tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeked—it smelled damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you were certainly in no position to be a chooser. It’s not what you considered to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you were too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks; it’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there was also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent play to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell. 

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. 

You swung your legs over the side of the mattress and sat up, slipping on your pair of warm, woolen socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molded to your feet almost perfectly. You stood up and lifted your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiffened back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You were only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but your bones snapped, crackled and popped with your movement, making you feel twice your actual age. 

The thought of it made you snort. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you were unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you made your way over to your khaki colored pack and pulled out your aluminum canteen from one of the pockets. You twisted off the cap and gulped back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid made it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbled out loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today. 

Maybe you’d get luckier and spot a pheasant.

You drank some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pulled on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and picked up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked over clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers. 

Still, a bow was useful in its own right. 

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one, simple as that. 

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” You had asked him.

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly had ammunition for. There was ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it. 

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grabbed the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and left the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decided to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours. 

You stepped out onto the creaking, three step porch and a gentle breeze whisked its fingers through your hair. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside was fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue. 

You made a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There was a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decided that behind it was the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pulled out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You leaned your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lifted them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hoped to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later.

Diligently, you scanned your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife. 

That’s when you saw it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasped as your sights fell upon the deer.

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blinked furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It wasn’t a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer—a female, and from the look of her, she had to be at least about a hundred pounds.

You tried to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it was too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper made your mouth salivate. The rest could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remembered you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You thought about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reached for your bow and plucked an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You were careful to be as silent as possible as you took a few steps closer towards the grazing animal. You positioned yourself and stood perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you were a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you didn’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off so it would have to do. Once you were comfortable enough with your stance, you nocked the arrow and set it on the string. You then held the string and steadied your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you reached your anchor point, which was always the corner of your mouth. 

Breathe, you reminded yourself calmly as you aimed at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe...

Just as you were about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whipped her head back towards the trees and her ears pricked forward—a split second later, she darted, zooming off across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing. 

Your mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” You muttered.

Frustrated, you lowered your weapon and just as you started to contemplate whether or not it was even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly heard something—it wasn’t until the noise drew closer to where you stood that you realized it was the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squinted over in the direction of where you thought it was coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerged from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle holding a rifle in one hand and the reigns clutched tightly in the other. 

Gasping, you whirled around on the heel of your boot and immediately made a beeline back to the boulder. You swung around the rock and crouched down, ducking out of his sight. You weren’t sure if he’d seen you or not, but it didn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washed over you and you could physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still hadn’t reached for it and continued to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead.

Swallowing dryly, you turned and carefully lifted yourself up just enough so that you could glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you saw a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he was on foot instead of a horse. He was also armed, carrying a shotgun. 

“You’re mine you son of a bitch!” he shouted. He lifted his weapon, aimed, and then squeezed the trigger, shooting the horse in his side and bringing him down instantly. His rider went flying off and he hit the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze.

Your heart anxiously jumped up into your throat as you watched the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moved slow and with no haste seeing as his victim was lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man came to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifted his shotgun once again and pointed the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovered over the trigger. 

Before your mind and body could even make the connection, you rose to your feet and aimed your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumpled, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bled out in less than sixty seconds.

You waited it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body went limp and you were certain he was dead. Taking a look around, you made sure the coast was clear and grabbed your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you made your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouched down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It made a loud, horrid squelching sound as you removed it and blood from his jugular splattered your blue jeans. You then picked up his shotgun and checked the chamber for ammunition.

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there was hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you dropped the gun on top of his chest and moved on in search of the rifle. You spotted it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously made your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decided to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot. 

He groaned and his head rolled to the side.

He was still alive.

You effortlessly strung the bloodied arrow in your hand and aimed it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbled, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lowered your bow.

Without realizing, a little bit of your guard lowered along with it. 

Carefully, you sank down onto one knee next to the man and got a better look at him. He was much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He had harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that was speckled with many grays and wild waves of thick hair that looked soft to the touch. Though some of his features were a little worse for wear due to his age, he was still quite a handsome man from what you could see. He also appeared to be in decent shape, clean and well fed and you could detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world.

You hesitated, but then lifted a slightly trembling hand and took the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turned his head towards you. 

There was some blood on his right temple and your fingers reached up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realized it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trailed up even further and ventured into his hair which, as it turned out, was in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You found a small gash on his scalp and your fingers became coated in the man’s blood. 

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand left his hair and you placed it on his broad chest as you begun to check him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lifted the hem of the dark green thermal henley he wore and you discovered the scar on his temple wasn’t the only one he possessed—he had several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You were so preoccupied with checking over the remainder of his abdomen that you didn’t see one of his hands slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man took your hand in his so damn gently that it startled you and took you by surprise, but it hadn’t frightened you. Weakly, he laced his fingers together with your own and he spoke again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knitted together.

It almost sounded like he was pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s talking about?

Your other hand moved up to his shoulder and you gave it a violent shake. 

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You tried to speak the words, but couldn’t. They were formed in your mind and it felt like they were right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you opened your mouth, they refused to come out. You frowned.

It’s happened before.

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It had felt like your voice was stuck. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you could speak.

You’d talk to yourself often. You’d read your books out loud. Hell, you even loved to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. 

A gunshot sounded off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shook the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It was useless. He was losing all consciousness. 

You heard another gunshot and this one sounded like it came from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you knew, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it didn’t really fucking matter. You didn’t want to run into either one of them regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone was a fucking bad guy.

Yanking your hand out of his, you got to your feet and prepared to make a run for it. But just as you were about to take off, the man mumbled one last time. It was incoherent and barely audible, but you managed to catch that name again. Ellie. 

For some reason you couldn’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounced around in the inside of your skull.

You chewed the inside of your cheek anxiously. 

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened back in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you found yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you didn’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why.

You exhaled a sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gathered up your belongs over your shoulder and picked up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rested comfortably against your backside. You walked around him, leaned over, and hooked your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you had inside of you, you started dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly could.

The pretty melody filled his ears as he came to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller wasn’t all too sure if heaven was a real place that actually existed, but the very minute he heard the feminine voice singing, he couldn’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’d gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that.

So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung was all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairytales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after dinner—it would air on TBS and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deall?”

Sarah would beam at him. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall into his food coma before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.  

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops 

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words faded and the rest of the song was now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thought.

Even the humming was too fucking beautiful.

Joel felt a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything was sore. 

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on the front lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That was how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head was fucking killing him. 

Joel’s eyelids twitched and he cracked them open ever so slightly, just enough that he could see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. A woman, he’d assumed, taking note of the longer hair. He felt a hand at the crown of his head as the other continued to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It felt incredible against his warm skin.

He let out a small groan and the humming stopped.

Finally, he managed to force his eyes open.

Joel heard a gasp and the bed he’d been lying on squeaked and then shifted. He then heard a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor. 

Although he was still disoriented and his entire body ached with even the slightest movement, Joel managed to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadied itself after a minute and he glanced around. He was in a small, single room wooden cabin that had seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he saw he’d been lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He wracked his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it took him a moment, but one by one, the memories started flooding back to him. Joel had been leading morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembered shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off and far away from the direction of their commune. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was a blur.

Joel took another look around the cabin and that’s when he saw you.

You were on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes were wide and round, like a deer caught up in the headlights. Your chest was heaving, rising and falling rapidly—you reminded him of a frightened little animal that had been corned by a vicious predator. You were clutching the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel could see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles. 

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaced slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb. 

You didn’t reply.

Joel moved onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tried again. “Are you alone?”

Silence. 

Joel took a better look at you.

You were young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you were still the prettiest damn thing he’d seen in a long, long time. 

Joel spoke again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he was met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raised an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna say somethin’ or what?”

You could only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowned.

Were you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you couldn’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thought to himself.

He raised his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You winced, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could hear him, alright. 

Joel swung his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He held up his two hands, demonstrating that he had no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He decided to show some patience and gave you a minute to respond, but when you said nothing, he couldn’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lifted your free hand and held up three trembling fingers. 

His stomach sank. “Three days?”

You gave him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel cursed, hanging his head. He couldn’t help but begin to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others? Had they been able to make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashed in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold. 

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her, looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—to Ellie.

And he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looked over at you again. 

“Are you all by yourself?”

You hesitated, but then nodded in reply. Yes.

Joel sighed, relaxing his tense shoulders. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much about what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There was too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explained. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he was in your cabin and he was alive helped him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nodded again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raised up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he couldn’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spilled from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all, would go unanswered.

You looked overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it was best to take it one step at a time, Joel stood up and he slowly walked over towards you. He held out his hand. “It’s alright,” he assured you in the most gentle voice he could muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refused to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made. 

He released your hand and took a step backwards to give you your space. He wasn’t too sure if you couldn’t talk or simply didn’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guessed it was the latter. 

Joel tried to think of questions he knew you’d be able to answer without having to speak.

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you held up one finger. 

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You made a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He didn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You pointed at him. That’s right. 

Joel was beside himself.

It might’ve been wrong, but he was almost in awe of the fact that you’d survived on your own for so damn long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. But I just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker,” Joel mused when he noticed the offended expression your face. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reached behind yourself and pulled out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then showed him that you’re low on ammunition and didn’t have more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you stepped around him and walked over to a corner where his rifle was propped up against the wall. You picked it up, made your way back over to him and handed it over. 

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he uttered quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ about the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes tried meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really do.”

You shrugged, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he said after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stared at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbled sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stopped himself, but he was sure you knew what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snorted and rolled your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckled and held up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he said. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my ass, you know.” He clocked the way the corners of your mouth threatened to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How about a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You held up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pulled out a large, severely creased map of the state of Wyoming and unfolded it. You handed it over to him and as he held it out for you, you pointed to your current location. 

“Jackson’s about fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmured as he scanned the map. Suddenly his dark brown eyes flickered over to your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around it.

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retracted your hand away from the map and pulled your sleeve down. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the marks, clear as fucking day. 

Joel awkwardly cleared his throat and for the sake of not causing you discomfort, he pretended he hadn’t seen a damn thing. He turned his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he stated, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town is gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out now we can make it there by nightfall—”

You backed away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocked an eyebrow at you. “Look, I don’t mean to offend darlin’ but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner.”

You glared at him and lifted your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks.

Having read your mind, Joel sighed. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shook your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned.

Joel observed you, and it didn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softened. “Listen sweetness, I ain’t all too sure about what’s happened to you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry about a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You tossed him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swore. “My brother runs it along with his wife. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips parted slightly and your eyes glimmered with something that looked a lot like recognition, though Joel couldn’t be too sure what prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life.

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he listed off in an attempt to tempt you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lifted your chin again.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bit back another frustrated sigh.

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him.

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offered. “Hell, you can walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel better.”

You squinted at him.

“Or that bow of yours,” he added, chuckling. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel safest. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull. All I ask in return is that you at least make the attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bit your bottom lip. 

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel said, taking a step closer towards you. He found himself feeling a little surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he hoped that meant that to some degree, you did trust him. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waited, giving you the chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sighed and reluctantly nodded your head. 

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel said, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.” 

[lightsinthedistancee]

This was phenomenal! - can I be added to the Taglist (if you’re doing one)? 💕

[itslikeaspaceship]

Ellie is absolutely terrified of storms the first couple months in Jackson.

Every time the clouds overcast, and it even remotely looks like it might do more then rain, Ellie is complete glued to Joel’s side. She’ll follow him around town, holding onto his arm or his hand, and when he’s busy doing something else she’ll sit just a few feet from him, but never to far away where she can’t reach him if she needs to. Joel’s dad senses are also heightened on days like these, he can sense one of Ellie’s meltdowns from a mile away, and he doesn’t even need to think twice before going to her.

“Ellie look at me.” Her eyes are always focused on the sky, her hands shaking as she listens to the thunder clap. “Ellie.” He always has to guide her face to meet him, his thumb rubbing in gentle motions against her cheek. “It’s just thunder baby, you’re okay.”

She nods everytime, sniffling as her fingers twist around his jacket sleeve. “Tommy.” Joel calls, turning to face his brother. “We’re going home, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Joel I-” The second he sees Ellie sitting on the ground, eyes wet with tears, he’s quick to shut-up, nodding his head and calling one of the other guys over to help him with his project.

“C’mon honey, let’s go home.” Joel pulls her off the ground, grabbing her backpack and helping it around her shoulders. He notices she hasn’t ate much, she never does on days like these.

Without saying another word he grabs her hand, pulling her along out of the stables and on the way to home. The whole time she clings to his side, watching the sky for lightning. When another clap of thunder echos through the sky they’re only a few feet from home but that doesn’t stop Ellie from stopping in her tracks, burying her face into Joel’s side.

“Almost there baby girl, just a couple more steps.” He guides her through the gate and up the stairs, only pulling her back when they’re inside with the door shut.

“Let’s take off your backpack and we can go lay down.” But Ellie doesn’t move, she instead burrows further into him and wraps her arms around his waist, leaving Joel to do all the work for her.

He laughs as he takes off her backpack, and then her coat, gently laying them down beside the door.

“Shoes Ellie Bellie.” She doesn’t look up as she pulls them off with her own feet, kicking them to the side when her heels slip out.

“You wanna go to my room or the couch?”

Her voice is muffled as she answers, but it doesn’t matter, she didn’t choose either one anyway, just mumbled ‘I dunno’ into his stomach.

“That’s okay. I have a better idea.” Gently pulling her away, he moves her over so she’s resting against his side, and they both walk up the stairs, Ellie still glued to Joel. She doesn’t pay much attention to where they’re going, because if she does she’ll think about the storm and if she thinks about the storm she’ll freak out. So instead she focuses on the sound of Joel’s voice, his warmth, the way he smells, anything to keep her mind away from the booming sounds coming from the sky.

“Where are we going?” She whispers, hearing Joel open a door and guide her inside.

“Well, I figure you can sit with me, watch me work on this new animal I’m trying to carve.”

“Oh.” Ellie breathes out, freezing when he moves to sit down in the chair.

“Well where am I gonna sit?”

“Right here.” Joel pulls her down, letting her get comfortable on his lap before moving the chair forward. “Like you always do.”

He picks up the new piece of wood, picking up where he left off earlier that morning. Ellie eyes the thing very carefully, watching him carve away as she cuddles into his chest, trying her best to override her fear with other things. But yet another clap of thunder, followed by a lightning strike, makes her tense all over again, and before she knows it she’s hiding her face in his chest, fingers gripping onto his arms for dear life. “Ain’t nothing to worry about babygirl, just a storm remember.”

“I know it’s just-”

“Loud.” He finishes. “I know.” He kisses her head, placing down the wood and knife so he can wrap his arms around her. His fingers trace gentle patterns against her back, making her giggle every now and then when he hits a sensitive spot on her ribs.

Eventually his weight and warmth soothe her, and he can feel her relax against him, eyelashes fluttering against the skin on his neck. “You can sleep Ellie, I’m not gonna let anything get ya.”

“You promise?” She whispers, nuzzling her nose into his neck.

“I swear.”

[itslikeaspaceship]

She’s not used to this kind of affection really. It’s odd, scary kind of, the way he’s so gentle with her. Maybe it’s because after the hospital she was convinced it was a one-time thing, that he’d only done it because she was to fragile for him to treat her any other way, but the longer they lived in Jackson the more she realized that Joel was just like this.

For such a large man, he was so insanely attentive.

At times it was even intimidating.

She remembers the first time he’d ever wiped food off her face. He had sighed beforehand, staring at her as she rambled on and on to Tommy about whatever dinosaur she was currently fixated on. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, and every second that passed with him staring at her, the more she’d talk. This wasn’t the first time adults had gotten mad at her for being excited, but Ellie wasn’t gonna back down just because he wanted some quiet.

Eventually the sighing stopped and he instead reached out his hand toward her face. That’s when she flinched.

Joel was a tough guy, sure, but she’d never gotten the impression he’d hit her. Apparently she was wrong.

She pulled back, taking a deep breath to prepare for the sting, but nothing happened. Peeking open an eye she saw that his thumb was resting against her chin, and he was simply just frozen in place. Even Tommy had stopped eating.

“You had some soup on your face kiddo.” He said, clearing his throat.

“Oh.” She leaned back into his hand then, allowing him to swipe his thumb along the juice on her face.

The rest of dinner was quieter, and she knew they were watching her, silently talking back and forth with their eyes.

It wasn’t like it was that big of deal, FEDRA agents did it all the time, it’d just been so long that he’d taken her by surprise.

Joel however didn’t see it that way.

When they’d gotten home, he’d ushered her inside, sitting her on the couch and demanding her to stay there. “I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

She listened for about five minutes until curiosity got the better of her and she ended up peeking through the curtains. She watched as he paced back and forth, jaw clenched while he muttered to himself.

She couldn’t understand why he was so angry about this. It wasn’t like she actually thought he was gonna hit her, it was mostly just muscle memory, and besides, it was a normal adult thing to do. Right?

When a kid messes up, that kid gets punished. She was talking to much when he might’ve wanted her to stop, so he was punishing her. Except obviously he wasn’t and maybe he was mad because she was convinced he was.

She bit her lip at the thought. Why wouldn’t her brain just fucking shut up for once?

“Ellie.” The door creaked and she jumped from her spot at the window, literally throwing herself down back on the couch.

Joel’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way to her, but his face wasn’t as harsh as before. She couldn’t decide if that comforted or scared her.

“Look Joel-”

“No ma’am.” He said, one finger flying out from his clenched fist. “It’s my turn to talk.”

Her breath was caught in her throat at that. Maybe she was wrong, maybe he was angry at her.

He was quiet for a moment, mouth opening and closing until eventually he began to speak. “When we were at dinner tonight, and I went to get that food off your face, why in gods name did you flinch?” Maybe he could see the fear in her then, and so he made sure to clarify. “I’m not mad, I promise, I just wanna know. I need to know.”

Even then she wouldn’t look at him, eyes glued to whatever surface looked the most interesting at the time. “It’s not even that big of a deal Joel. I knew you weren’t gonna hit me.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw his own widen for a split second. “Ellie.”

She groaned, tossing her head back. “Seriously Joel can you just let it go. I get it, I had food on my face and you were wiping it off. Now I wanna go to bed.”

She tried to jump up from the couch, feet carrying her as fast as she begged them to go, but Joel was faster.

“Ellie we are not done here.” He grabbed her wrist, making her jerk around.

“I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about this. It’s not your fucking problem.”

“The hell it isn’t. Ellie you thought I was gonna hit you, your insane if you think that’s not something we address.”

And maybe it was the confusion about this whole situation, but something in her snapped. “Why the fuck do you care?! You said it yourself, you’re not my dad, and I’m not your fucking kid so stop acting like this is something it’s not.”

She saw hurt flash in his eyes then and it made her feel physical pain knowing she hurt him, but for some reason her mouth just wouldn’t stop.

“I know your pissed okay, but just let it go. It’s none of your business and-” Suddenly his arms were reaching out, and though she tried to fight it, he was wrapping them around her, pulling her as close to him as possible.

She didn’t react at first, body tense and arms straight at her side, but then Joel did something he’d never done before. He kissed her head.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against her hair, giving her yet another kiss.

For some reason every bit of fight left her body then, and she completely crumbled against his chest, arms looping around him and squeezing him as tight as she could.

“I’m so sorry kid.” She didn’t mean to cry, but a few tears escaped anyway, and she just wiped her face on his shirt, relishing in the utter warmth it brought.

“I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you were anything less then my kid.” He rubbed her back as he spoke, voice so gentle she swore it wasn’t really him talking. “And I would never ever hit you. No matter what you do, how bad it is, we keep our hands to ourselves. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She whispered. And so he kissed her again.

After that day, he saw the incident as cause to treat her like actual glass. His hands were so light everytime he touched her, cradling her against him like she was this precious thing. It was so confusing.

It would be different if she didn’t care, it wouldn’t bother her so much, but it hurt worse when she started craving it, and it became almost a problem when her body felt as if it was failing when he simply didn’t kiss her head.

There was one day where he was leaving for an early patrol, and of course, he was late. And instead of kissing her head, he just yelled goodbye and ran out the door, promising he’d be back before dinner.

She hated that day. Every hour that passed all she could think about was how she wanted Joel. She didn’t eat lunch and barely touched her dinner.

Joel stared at her the whole time, trying to gently encourage to take a few bites, but it was like a switch flipped. Sure Joel was here but she hadn’t felt him, so why would she want to do anything at all?

“Ellie?” He gently toed her with his boot, eyes all soft and easy. “You gotta eat something baby.”

She just shrugged her shoulders, pushing some more food around with her fork. “I’m not hungry.”

“Not even for cheesy potatoes?” He said lightheartedly, putting his fork on her plate. And despite her mood, she couldn’t help but smile.

Cheesy potatoes were in fact her favorite, but the catch was, she never put them on her own plate. Instead, she let Joel get them in bulk and then she’d steal whatever she wanted from the pile, knowing he’d finish the rest. He always teased her about it, telling her to get her own food, but she saw the smile and the little shakes of his head that came with it, indicating he was in fact amused.

But tonight she hadn’t even looked at him or touched his plate for that matter, she opted instead to stare at her own food and dwell on why she felt so weird. It was a feeling she assumed that not even cheesy potatoes could fix.

“No.” She sighed, putting down her fork altogether.

Joel looked absolutely flabbergasted at that. “You’re not eating cheesy potatoes? The world must be ending. You feelin okay?”

She shrugged for probably the millionth time today. “Yup, just not hungry.”

He gave her a hesitant look, stopping his movements as well. “Hey, you sure?”

Fuck, why did he have to be so nice about it? So fucking gentle?

“Mmhm.” She mumbled, running her sleeve across her face to catch those stupid tears she hadn’t even meant to cry.

“Ellie.”

“No it’s good, I’m good.” She gave him what was probably the least assuring smile ever, and picked her fork back up to push some more food across her plate.

Joel didn’t like that, and so he stopped eating altogether. “Why don’t we just go home?”

She knew it wasn’t a question, and yet she still argued. “No it’s fine Joel, just finish your food, you’re hungry.”

“Mm, not really.”

“Jo-”

“I think I’ve had enough cheesy potatoes to fill both of us for a week, let’s go home.” Though this statement was said with love, she heard the demand in it. It was time to go home.

“Okay.” She said quietly, slipping on her jacket and racing out the door.

More tears threatened to spill over as she raced to the house, feeling Joel’s stare as he walked behind her. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just fucking let things go. They didn’t need to talk about everything, which of course was what he was gonna do, but things would all be so much easier if he would just fight with her. If they would yell and scream, hell, sometimes she’d prefer him to just dig a hole and throw her in it. For some reason she felt it would hurt less then actually telling him what was the matter.

It would also be less embarrassing.

She swears she’s in the clear when she pushes the door open, already forming a plan to get him off her back, but she’s barely even inside for a minute before he’s right behind her, telling her to stop.

“Ellie.” That’s all it takes, one single word and she’s turning around, feet glued to the ground.

“I’m going to bed.” It’s defiant, an opening to an argument, but it’s easier then admitting what she really wants.

“No ma’am you’re not, sit down.” He points to the couch, slipping his coat off and tossing it on the rack.

Every muscle, every bone in her body says to keep walking away, to start a fight. But her mind won’t let her. She must stand there for what feels like forever debating whether or not it’s worth it, but when Joel looks at her, eyes still soft besides the gruff sound to his voice, she caves immediately. With a groan she begins stomping over to the couch, hearing Joel mumble something about dinosaur feet on his way to her.

Any other day she’d laugh, come back with some stupid statement about how he’s older then a dinosaur, but all she can think about now is the way he gently placed his hand on her shoulder when he walked by, how the place where it was is warm and tingly. How she feels like there’s a piece missing from her just because it’s gone.

“You gonna tell me what the hell is goin on or am I gonna have to beat it out of ya?” He says it with a smile, a ploy to get her to laugh. She doesn’t.

“Nothings wrong.”

“That’s not what I said.” He replies, hands clasped in front of him as he leans forward. “Talk to me kiddo.” He just stares then, waits for her to speak, to yell, anything. But she feels stuck, like she’s walking through quicksand, going so far down she can’t breathe, can’t see anything other then her own fear.

“Ellie hey,” He grabs her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. She cracks a little more, eyes growing misty as she feels his callouses touch her newly soft skin. Why is this so hard?

“Look at me honey.” He crouches down, hands on her knees. There’s warmth everywhere on her body now, reaching from the tips of her toes all the way up to the top of her head, and yet somehow she’s still so fucking frozen in place.

“I can’t” She croaks out, a little sob shaking her upper body.

This obviously scares him, she feels it in the way his jaws ticks a bit, his hands tightening their grip on her own. “Ellie I promise you, whatever it is, no matter how bad it is, you can.”

She fights for a little while longer, Joel’s thumbs keeping her grounded as they brush along the skin of her hands and every now and then her knees.

How does she explain this? Where should she even start? Hey Joel, I feel like a fucking mess whenever you don’t hold me all the time because I’m a little baby with absolutely no self-worth and can’t function unless you kiss my head goodbye.

That wouldn’t do. No matter how much it was true, it wouldn’t do.

The frustrations of not being able to voice it made her chest feel even tighter, her fingers instinctively curling around Joel’s as she fought to breathe.

“I can’t.” She says again, eyes closing shut.

She hears him sigh before he readjusts to sit on his butt, hands never moving from hers. “Try.”

“I-”

“Ellie try.”

She inhales deeply, still struggling to find her own footing. It’s like a war inside her brain. Tell him, don’t tell him, back and forth nonstop. The only thing that seems to quiet it is when he lifts her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles and massaging her tense hands. “Try.” He whispers again, in what she reads as a plea.

But how?

“You know,” The words come before she can even understand what’s happening, and she starts to stop, but he whispers it again and so she keeps going. “You know in the mornings when you like, when you hug me bye or like,” She sighs, still struggling. “I don’t know, when you kiss my head and stuff.”

She thinks she sees recognition flood his face and for a moment can breathe. “Oh Ellie, if you don’t like that just….” Everything goes quiet and her ears start ringing. Just kidding, he doesn’t get it.

“No.” She says quickly, “no please it’s not that. Confusion now, and she feels even worse. “It’s, I like it when you do that.”

“Ellie I’m not understandin. I’m sorry.” She inhales again, trying not to cry. It’s his fault he can’t read her mind and it’s not his fault she doesn’t know how to speak it.

“Promise you won’t make fun of me? No matter how crazy.”

“I promise.” He says it with no hesitation, without even blinking. She thinks that’s a good sign.

She takes a deep breath. “I don’t like it when you don’t do that. Like this morning when you left without a hug and you didn’t do anything I thought I was gonna explode the rest of the day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me?”

Joel gives her a little smile, cupping her cheek. “Baby there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yes there is.” She says frantically, pulling everything away from him. “I’m almost fifteen, I should-I should be able to function by myself. I should be able to go to sleep without you around, I should be able to have a normal fucking day at school without needing your hugs. But I can’t do it.”

He opens his mouth to reply, eyes going even softer as he watches all of her frustrations fall into his hands. “Ellie.”

“No there’s-there’s something wrong with me, I know it. I’m like a baby and I shouldn’t-”

“Hey now,” He says, grunting as he moves next to her on the couch. “Don’t talk like that, you’re not a baby and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yes there is.”

“Ellie listen to me.” He guides her eyes to meet his, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. “You’ve gone your whole life without anybody to hold your hand. Nobody to say it was okay when you were scared, nobody to take care of you when you’re sick. And your goddamn tough for that.”

She smiles a bit at that and he takes it as a window to keep going. “But you’re still a kid, and kids need affection. It’s normal, hell,” He laughs, “Sarah still cuddled the same damn way you do. So it’s okay.”Ellie sniffles, nodding her head at his words. “And really the only difference between that babygirl and this one is that you have a shit ton of catching up to do. But it’s okay.” He repeats it, needing her to get it through her thick head. “You hearin me?”

He leans their foreheads together, his lips gently kissing her temple and she just closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of his utter presence “Yeah.” She thinks she does.

“Good, now no more theatrics.” He says jokingly, pulling her to his chest. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She laughs, nuzzling into his side.

It’s still not easy really.

It takes her weeks to finally walk up to him and just wrap her arms around him in a hug, but she does it, and a little bit of the weight loosens when he rubs his hand over head.

He takes the whole thing like champ, tries to make it easier for her to come to him. She doesn’t understand what he does differently or if he even changes anything, but everything else seems to just fall into place on its own until eventually it becomes normal for her to randomly walk up to him and fall against his chest. No matter where they are or who they’re with she learns that it’s okay, cause he’s gonna pull her in close and keep her shielded from everything and everyone every single time.

And now, instead of feeling likes she’s walking through quicksand, it’s like she’s standing in a field of flowers. Easy, safe, and most importantly, home.

[actual-changeling]

No matter how many nightmares Ellie has, how many times she wakes up screaming, how many times she screams and doesn't snap awake - Joel comes to her.

In the early evening when she accidentally falls asleep reading a new Savage Starlight comic he got for her, he races up the stairs taking two steps at a time and holds her in the dying sunlight until she can think of the stars and no longer sees blood.

Hours past midnight, street lamps long turned off, when her cries are quiet and small, Joel still notices, still crosses the handful of feet between their bedrooms and lets her cling to him for the rest of the night.

In the sweltering summer when all physical contact only traps heat between them and leaves them sticky with sweat, Joel keeps her pressed against him for as long as she needs, sharing his body heat and comfort just like he does in the coldest winter months.

Ellie calls out his name during the day with joy glowing in her voice and he responds with the same urgency as always, following the promise of her smile with his own lighting up his face. She asks questions and requests hugs, tells pun and teases him when he looks up despite knowing she is only doing it to fuck with him, and sometimes, when the doubt settles back into her bones against her best efforts, she says Joel with a rare vulnerability laced into her voice, only letting out the breath she was holding when he still responds, still comes over, still loves her.

There are days when she waits for him to grow tired of her, fearing the time she asks for him and he refuses to seek her out, to follow her call to wherever she is, but no matter how long she waits, he always comes.

Always.

Doesn't it bother you, she whispers one night, that I need you this much?

Joel brushes her hair out of her face and presses his forehead against hers, one hand cupping her jaw and tracing the line of her cheekbone before he leans back again to leave a kiss right below her temple.

Doesn't it bother you, he whispers back, that I need you that much I'm always here, no matter what?

Ellie falls asleep curled up against his chest, face buried in his neck, and when they drift apart in their sleep, she reaches out from the middle of her dreams, a silent call, trusting that Joel will pull her back into his embrace and carry her to the next morning.

He does.

[actual-changeling]

Joel thought he would never hear her laugh like this again, light and melodic and laced with a childlike innocence he knows she lost long ago, but it's spring and the snow has melted and she is giggling.

She is playing with a puppy, watching it overestimate its own speed and tumble to the ground, holding it with the same gentleness he feels in his own hands when he touches her, basking in the pure expression of joy only animals are capable of. They're free of untainted memories, the air smells like roses and lilac, his fingertips have been numbed by his guitar strings, and Ellie turns to look at him with a smile, a memory that has carried him through winter.

The sun has yet to grow hot but it is already turning her hair into shimmering copper, her ends barely reaching past her shoulders, and when she remains unbothered by the breeze blowing through it, strands tickling the back of her neck, he knows he will get to watch it grow again, watch her grow.

After not being a father for twenty years, the thought of experiencing another childhood, no matter how broken, no matter how short, fills him with equal parts of fear and devotion. Her spark is still there, the twinkle in her eye when she asks can we keep her, the brightness illuminating her face when he says yes and doesn't bother to hide his smile. There are crocuses in the grass, bright specks of color among the morning dew, and Ellie's skin when she presses her cheek into his palm is softer than their petals.

Joel remembers the giraffe, the dog and her in the snow after his world had stopped, her laughter anchoring him back down, her tiny hands that should have never had to aim a gun softly holding their horses face so she can press a kiss to his nose.

All he can do is stretch out his arms and offer her a space to grow, the promise of an embrace whenever she needs it, a constant I love you he cannot quite say, not yet, but only the innocence preserved in the trusting eyes of an animal, the carefree joy of a toddler in her arms, can help her find her childhood again.

There is too much violence in the world, too many memories haunting them to ever escape the pain, but Ellie presses herself against his side, warm, alive, happy, and she is laughing again.

It's enough.

[actual-changeling]

There is something so fragile and painful about Joel hiding his nightmares from Ellie and not asking for help. He sees himself as the caretaker and for the most part he is, but he takes it to an extreme it doesn't have to reach and denies himself any kind of comfort she might offer that isn't focused on her. In the fic I wrote about it, Ellie has already figured out how to help him, but I wanna write about the very first time Joel wakes her up while having a nightmare, both before Jackson and then once they settle.

I wanna say the first time is after episode five, he has them every night but they get worse sometimes and that are the ones that make him wake up in the middle of the night. Henry and Sam dying the way they did is a gigantic mirror of Joel and Sarah, and combine that with almost seeing Ellie get ripped apart by infected and you get a nightmare that makes you snap out of it with a full-blown panic attack.

Joel doesn't scream, doesn't shout, he simply shoots upright and his pupils are blown out with frantic terror. The ragged breaths he sucks in while hyperventilating are the only sound in the clearing they have chosen for the night, the fire having long died down and leaving them in almost complete darkness. Maybe if she hadn't already been awake she wouldn't have noticed it at all, but Ellie has barely slept for the last three days because she sees blood and bullet wounds whenever she closes her eye.

Her sleeping bag is right next to his, a silent choice they both initiated the first night after Kansas City, and she is on her knees before Joel even spots her in his confusion.

There are things neither of them can say in the daylight, but there's only the moon and the distant stars as their witnesses now, and the desperate Ellie he chokes on lays all of them out in front of her.

She doesn't quite know what to do, doesn't know what she is allowed to do, but Joel's hands are shaking and her heart is pounding and he held her surrounded by Henry and Sam's blood on the motel room floor, so she shuffles closer. As soon as his gaze lands on her the tension holding his shoulders up drops and her head hurts with the hours and hours of sleep she has been missing out on, so she feels not an ounce of embarrassment when they meet in the middle and Joel pulls her closer.

Ellie doesn't know why there are tears dripping from her jaw or why the soft touch of Joel's cheek on top of her head breaks something deep inside of her open, but she curls up in his lap amidst the heat he is radiating and listens to his heartbeat until it slows. The forest is a cold void stretching around them, and she squeezes her eyes shut when his breaths calm enough to allow his words to reach her ears, the same phrase mumbled into her hair over and over again.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

[actual-changeling]

for @ellie-licious, love you meg <3

-

Ellie doesn't sleep.

She should, every cell in her body is begging her for a break, exhaustion puling on her bones, but she can't. Her skin is clean of blood, hair brushed out and tied back again by Joel when she couldn't get her hands to listen to her long enough to do it herself, but still. Ellie can't sleep.

The fire has died down over the last few hours, but the glowing wood continues to ward off the cold, and Joel's chest against her back keeps her warm. It's the safest she has been in ages, knife in her hand, gun a few inches away, and with Joel finally awake and capable of protecting her if needed. For some reason, it makes everything worse.

Paranoia comes to life beneath her skin, bugs crawling all over her body, making her itch, and her breaths are oddly light without the weight of her panic, only Joel behind her keeping her tethered to the ground or she would float away with the last wisps of smoke rising from the campfire. Whenever she closes her eyes, there's none of the darkness she would welcome at this point, just a sea of red pulsating to the beat of her heart.

Joel's left hand rests on the wooden floorboards below them right beside her thigh, fingers splayed out to keep them from shaking; the tremors started when he brushed against her hip and she flinched so violently it almost send both of them toppling to the floor. They still haven't stopped. Maybe she should be the one shaking, but despite the electricity in her veins jerking her back to the present whenever she gets too close to drifting off, her body is cold and still.

She feels like a statue, pristine marble forever changed by the imprints of angry hands around her wrists, her arms, her chest, her-

No amount of sculpting will smooth out the marks she will have to carry around with her until her body finally gives out and decomposes, peace and innocence found only in the cool dirt where fire and ash can no longer reach her, safe from the snow.

"Joel."

It is the first word she has said since he found her, and Ellie slides down a bit when he shifts, startled, hands fluttering uselessly in her periphery, too scared to touch, of what her reaction might reveal. She hasn't been able to look at him, not since he washed the blood off her face with movements so gentle her mind almost didn't trust them to be genuine.

Ellie turns around now and kneels in front of him, lowering the knife to the floor, vision so clear his features are almost piercingly bright.

"Joel, I'm cold."

Hold me, she wants to say, would say if her voice wasn't so broken she is scared it will turn soft words sharp. Make it go away, make me feel something else, something good.

She is still wearing the same sweatshirt, blood sprinkled along the neckline, smelling of metal and smoke and whatever remains of her innocence, and she can't decide if she wants to throw it into the fire and see it go up in flames or keep it close to her chest as a reminder that he is dead, that she killed him, that he won't come after her.

Joel is quiet, features pained, concerned, rage barely contained, and she wonders if seeing him kill David would have brought her the same relief or if this was something she simply had to do on her own.

Help me.

His hands are safe, she has seen them damaged and bloodied after beating someone to death for her, felt them taking hers and pulling her behind him, the last line of defense between her and a world that seemed determined to take the parts everyone else had left behind, too rotten for them to be of use.

The knife clatters to the floor, knuckles aching with the sudden relief, and then she is falling into him, clinging to his chest and begging him to cling to her, too, to not let her drift away or seep into the frozen dirt, to keep her alive, real. Joel is warm, so warm, his body melting beneath her and rearranging itself to spin a cocoon around her, weaving and stitching his words into her skin. He smells like fire and gunpowder, protection, like blood and the basement she knows will be haunting both their dreams, still alive, like cold snow and the promise of spring.

I got you, baby girl. I've got you right here.

[lightsinthedistancee]

This is so beautifully written - haunting and delicate. The imagery you paint and the way you convey Ellie’s train of thought is a perfect example. This deserves way more notes!! 💕

[lambsigh]

We Don’t Have to Talk About It

Joel raises his voice at you and it has you shaking on the floor. You both go from there.

Word count: ~1.5k

Warnings: Heavily implied past domestic violence. Mentions of shoving, slapping, insults, though all hypothetical (you’ll see what I mean). It’s obvious reader has experienced DV but there are no details provided. Panic attack. Brief mentions of making out. No use of y/n.

Please don’t read if you think any of the topics listed in the warnings has the potential to upset you. Taking care of yourself includes minding your media consumption.

It’s early morning. Every day starts like this. You wake up in a warm bed, the cream colored duvet heavy over both of your bodies. All of your limbs free of aches and horror. You usually walk with Joel into the kitchen before it’s light out, years of sleep deprivation weigh on you strangely.

On the one hand, each night’s sleep feels incomprehensibly deep, as if making up for decades of lost rest. At the same time, it’s hard to doze longer than six hours at a time.

So, both of you have unknowingly developed a comfortable ritual to start every morning.

Both of you descend the stairs quietly and then sit at the wooden table in the kitchen. It’s a peaceful margin to your day where time feels irrelevant.

Sometimes you kiss, perched on his lap, his hands pressing into your back under your sweater, skin warm on yours. Most of the time you don’t speak, the tender side of his body tucked against you enough.

Today isn’t one of those mornings. There’s a grimace on his face, directed at you. He is standing near you in the space between the table and the stove countertop, and his voice is loud. Your arms are crossed over your chest protectively.

It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying. He usually doesn’t talk to you like this. He doesn’t talk to you like this ever, period. You don’t remember what you’re arguing about. There’s a vague awareness of him saying something about patrol, his tone firm. Is he angry because I asked to go on patrol?

No, you don’t think so. You don’t wish to go on patrol in the first place. Is it Ellie? Did I suggest Ellie should be allowed to go on patrol? That rings truer, but you’re still not sure.

Your ears are buzzing with something, probably your blood. There's a rhythm to it. Too enthralled in the pounding in your ears, you fail to notice the silence in the room. And then you look up.

You don’t think Joel’s yelling anymore. You register his towering figure looming over you at once. You cower instinctively, hands coming up to your face to cover you defensively. The speed with which you do it surprises you, and you don’t feel the pain in your butt from the force of your crouch. Maybe you’re shaking.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so small. It feels endless, inescapable. You don’t move.

And then it’s like all your senses come back to you at the same moment, overwhelming you with the reality. It’s quiet, you suppose.

And then immediately after, there’s his whisper is loud in your previously deafened ears. “Sweetheart,” His voice sounds laden with emotions, anger not one of them. Still, you find it’s impossible to move.

You blink once and realize that he is also crouching in front of you. He moves your hands away from your face with care. You blink again a few times, breathing coming in tiny gasps. Joel looks nauseated, and you detect the feeling of wetness on your cheeks. When did you start crying?

Joel says it again, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, “Sweetheart.” As you take in your surroundings you notice he is troublingly pale.

Your breathing comes steadier, beginning to understand. You’re not in danger, there was an argument.

Swallowing a lump down your throat you acknowledge that at one point in your life, an argument very much meant you were in danger.

There’s little to say, so you just choke out a “Joel”, voice wrecked. His eyes take in your expression carefully.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t answer him, looking down at your socked feet. It angers you, him raising his voice at you like that. Leading you to think that he would hurt you. So yes, you’re angry at him.

But nothing angers you more than this having to be your reaction by default. You know it isn’t your fault, and yet. It’s debilitating, and it exposes something ugly in your past without you voluntarily handing it out. It has you fucking shaking.

Joel doesn’t speak for a long moment. He is probably gathering his thoughts. There’s too many conclusions to be drawn from what just happened. It might be possible to avoid the worst of them. In the end, you’ve all survived unnamable tragedies and brutality.

And, as much as it ties his throat into an agonizing knot to recognize, he’s aware you’ve seen him be quite barbaric more times than he cares to count.

Still, he had hoped it wouldn’t make you afraid of him. Had prayed he’d shown you enough times that he would die before doing anything to scare you or Ellie. He understands there’s things he has no control over.

You’ve never reacted like this to him. Never. It’s just too specific to brush aside. The realization that you’re more frightened of whatever this reminded you of than he’s ever seen you, more affected by this than by the horrific carnage you’ve survived the past decade of your life, has his stomach like an upside down bag of sugar.

He finally speaks again. “Hey, baby, why don’t we sit down?”

Your eyes are wide, but you nod. You crumple into the floor, folding your knees into your chest, and he doesn’t hesitate before he settles in front of you, a pronounced distance between you. You’re almost sure that he meant sit at the table, but you’re honestly afraid your legs won’t hold you up all the way there.

It’s been a while since you’ve seen Joel this distraught. He’s probably thinking the same about you. His voice stays kind, though there’s a tremor to it.

“I’m sorry.”

You nod, still unable to answer him, your thoughts too overwhelming and confusing.

He continues, “You just—sort of went away. And I walked towards you because it scared me.”

You nod again, eyes burning worse. You feel ridiculous. He was checking on you. He interrupts any further spiraling,

“But I know that wouldn’t have caused that reaction if I hadn’t been yelling.” He breathes once, deep enough that you see his chest expand. “It’s not okay that I got like that. No argument grants it.” The image of you shrinking into the floor in panic floods his mind. His voice is strained, but he aims for steady, “You didn’t deserve it.”

You look at his face, see the raw concern there. It's difficult keeping your eyes on his.

His voice breaks, next. “I don’t ever want to scare you. Not you, baby.”

Your breathing is back to normal. You’re torn as to what you’re supposed to do. You know Joel, understand easily that he means what he’s saying. He raised his voice, that’s all he did.

He didn't insult you, or shove you, or slap you. And yet, still. You’d be lying if a part of you isn’t doubtful for a moment. You can’t not, after everything that’s happened.

You push the thought away, though you know you will have to acknowledge it later, once your head has cleared. That openness pacifies you, understanding that you can explore it, that you aren’t automatically shutting it down. You can think it through by yourself, open up about it with Maria, maybe even come to him.

You lean forward a little bit, and Joel understands you're seeking out his touch. His voice is sort of raw, though still gentle, “Can I touch your face?”

You slide towards him, “Yes, please.”

His two hands come to the side of your jaw, his right thumb stroking along your cheekbone. His eyes are still darting all over your face, as if looking for something.

You try to speak, but it comes out more like a sob, “I’m sorry.”

Joel strokes a bit firmer, frown deepening even further as he shakes his head. “Hey, easy. Easy, baby. You’re not the one who has to apologize here, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You shake your head. That’s not what you mean. You don’t know how to explain everything you’re thinking, not with the adrenaline still coursing through you. You look at him, and simply say,

“You don’t scare me. You’ve never scared me.”

Joel breathes out at once. It looks like his lungs empty in a single blow. You feel him wipe away a stray tear from your swollen face, concern clear on his as he takes in your expression.

You speak again, feeling the need to move this forward, leave this moment. “I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.”

He chuckles, but there’s no real humor behind it. “It doesn’t matter now, baby.” He raises his eyebrows, making sure you look at him when he says, “I was just irritated and I took it out on you. It wasn’t okay.”

You frown. This is the proof that he’s understood something new about you. There’s no hiding behind anything now. This is why he’s so wrecked. He saw the reaction for what it is. The knowledge gnaws at your insides.

You close your eyes. He must somehow sense your discomfort, because he tries to soothe at once,

“You know you can tell me anything, right? Anything at all.”

The searing in your eyes reaches a boiling point, and the tears spill over. You give in completely, crawling towards him, all your shame gone. You mold your body to his, arms wrapped around his front, head pressed against his chest.

Your grasp is harder than he’s used to. His hands reach around your shoulder blades, kneading the skin there as he squeezes you to him.

You’re fully sobbing now, tears and snot soaking the grey shirt he sleeps in. His hand is steady on your back. It startles you that this is happening now.

It feels like every moment has been leading you here. You’ve never talked about this before.

“I don’t want you to look at me differently.”

You feel his chest expand against your skin. “Nothing could ever do that. It's just me. You can tell me.”

Centering your gaze on the open devotion on his face, you try.

The title comes from the song “Cool About It” by boygenius.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, remember to reblog if that’s something you want to do; it makes a world of difference. Have a beautiful day!

[softlyspector-deactivated202408]

Crush

Summary: Joel Miller has a crush for the first time in thirty years, and he isn't sure what the hell to do about it.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~3.5k

Warnings: flirting, fluff, Ellie and Tommy bonding by playing matchmaker and annoying Joel, assumed unrequited affection, mentions of violence, menace status Ellie and Tommy, Joel might be ooc but I can't tell, Joel has a lil bit of a voice kink lmao if you squint

A/N: This fic came to me like a premonition. Joel is so weird because he doesn't know how to deal with having a crush and I think its very cute. Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy!

Joel ain’t quite sure how it happens. 

One day, you’re just one out of the many in Jackson. The next, Tommy’s teasing him over having a crush. 

Crush. 

Like what? He’d asked. Like a damn kid? 

Exactly like a damn kid, Tommy had answered. Just like a damn kid. Ain’t ever seen you like this, big brother. 

It’s horrifying, because it's true. He's enamored, smitten. He has a fuckin' crush.

It becomes worse when Ellie notices. 

“She got something stuck to her backside or something? Why are you looking at her so much?” Ellie openly squints across the room at you. 

The question is loud, posed in the middle of the lunch rush in the canteen. Joel’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest. “Would you — Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ellie. Keep it down.”

Luckily the chatter drowned out her voice, and only Joel seems to have heard her. You laugh and put a hand on the forearm of your friend, clutching at her, your other hand clenched on the brim of your stetson. 

“So,” Ellie prompts. “Does she?” 

“No,” he grumbles, drawing his eyes away from you. He glances at Ellie briefly who is smiling at him, before he refocuses on the bowl in front of him. “I ain’t lookin’ either. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Ellie just laughs and shovels another bite of food into her mouth. “You so are, man. Tommy’s right, you’ve got it bad.” She drags out the word bad, stretching it until Joel tells her to shut up. 

He manages to keep his gaze off you for all of six seconds before furtively searching for you again as Ellie chatters on about something else. 

You aren’t in line anymore but sitting at a table. You’re listening to someone talk, a pencil tucked behind your ear. There’s a smile playing around your lips, your eyes crinkle at the corners. 

Joel’s never seen anyone look so effortlessly beautiful, just sitting still—

“Dude!” 

“What?” He snaps, head whipping back to Ellie. 

She rolls her eyes, “You’re just proving my point. Have you even fuckin’ talked to her?” 

“Of course I have.” 

And he had.

Exactly once. 

Tommy had fallen ill and you’d volunteered for the patrol shift he would be missing. 

Something about you left him a little tongue tied, though he isn’t sure you’d noticed. He has a reputation for being quiet anyhow, and you’d filled the silence with so many words he hadn’t needed to say anything. 

The tight shape of your ass in your jeans as you rode ahead of him only distracted him a little. Sure, you had a voice he could listen to forever, and yeah, maybe you looked like some kind of goddess riding through the autumn light, red and yellow leaves swirling down around you—but that didn’t mean a damn thing about what he was feeling. That choking, stuttering, warm feeling fluttering around inside him. 

“When?” Ellie demands. “I’ve only ever seen you look at her.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, and scrapes the remaining bit of chili from his bowl. “Patrol.” 

“That was weeks ago!” 

And ever since then, he can’t seem to stop seeing you, he can’t seem to stop looking at you and for you, listening for you, the sweet lilt of your voice. But he hasn’t approached you. 

But that's a fuckin’ pipe dream.

He’s sure you have a bad impression of him after your one and only patrol together. 

Joel stands, “I ain’t had much cause to cross paths with her again. Now finish eatin’ and leave it alone. I don’t got a crush.” 

Ellie grumbles under her breath as Joel returns his dishes and leaves the canteen. Outside the autumn sunshine is warm. The sky is clear and perfectly blue. He breathes out and shakes himself. 

His brother and his kid might be right. 

He might have a damn crush. 

If only you weren’t so goddamned pretty. When Tommy told him he was changing shifts with someone, he’d expected someone like himself, like Tommy. Someone who would just get the job done, quiet and gruff. 

Most are. 

But you’re sunny as sunny can be. Cheerful. 

He’d assumed you’d lived most of your life in Jackson, coddled and protected from the harsher realities of the world. But you were new to Jackson, had only been there a couple of years. 

When he asked Tommy about it, he’d just shrugged. Always been like that, ever since she got here. She’s been through shit, but she’s just like that. 

“Hey,” a voice calls from behind him now as he crosses through the center of Jackson. It’s your pretty voice. Christ, he could listen to you read a phonebook. Footsteps pound along the pavement. “Joel.” 

The sound of his name in your mouth sends something rolling up from his gut to nest down in his lungs, a burning kind of pain that’s half pleasurable. 

Jesus, your voice. He wants to hear you sing, he bets you sound so good. He wants to hear your voice in other ways too, panting, with his name on your lips.

He turns to find you, in all your shimmering, pretty glory, catching up to him. Something seizes him by the throat. His tongue is too big for his mouth, his breath caught in his throat. When was the last time he felt like this? 

Years. Decades. Maybe when he first met Sarah’s mother, before things got complicated and everything fell apart between them. 

You come to a stop in front of him and smile. 

It’s a beaming, radiant smile. 

It makes him feel like he’s having a heart attack. 

Jesus. He needs to get a grip. 

“Hey, darlin’,” he manages, clearing his throat. “You need somethin’?” 

You blow out a breath, your cheeks puffing out. You rock back on your heels and stuff your hands in your pockets. “Well, maybe it's a bit forward of me,” you start, making Joel’s heart lurch in a way that he swears physically hurts him. He’s too old for this. Too old for crushes, too damn old for heart palpitations. 

“My usual patrol partner isn’t gonna be able to make my next rotation,” you continue. “And I thought we got on pretty well that time I filled in for Tommy. You think you’d wanna come along with me this time?”

The corner of your mouth lifts in a little smile. 

He swallows, tracing the bottom curve of your lip with his eyes. You have your stetson on now, and even though the brim of the hat shields your eyes from the sun, you still squint at him, those little crinkles appearing by your eyes. 

“You can say no,” you say when he just looks and doesn’t say a damn thing, laughter in your voice. “I won’t hold it against you.” 

Joel shakes himself. “No—I, of course. ‘Course I will.” 

“Really?” You sound surprised.

He lifts a brow, “Is that surprising?” 

You smile again. “Despite what I said before it did seem like I was a little much for your taste last time.” The twist of your lips turns self deprecating. 

Joel doesn’t mean to ask why you’d think that, but the words fall out anyhow. “How do you mean?” 

“Ah, c’mon, now,” you roll your eyes. “I know how I come across, and I know what it makes people think of me.” Before he can get a chance to respond to that, you’re continuing on. “So you’ll really be my partner?” 

“Sure,” he agrees again, like it doesn’t make him sick with nerves. Being alone with you for hours on end. “Just lemme know when.” 

You beam and flick your hat back with your forefinger to get a better look at him. “Great, thanks!” You give him the day and time of your rotation, but all he can focus on is how you still have that pencil tucked behind your ear, the curve of your cheek, the column of your throat. 

Seemingly without warning, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you, you spin away and make your way back to the canteen. 

“So you’ll actually have a conversation with her this time?” 

“Ellie—” 

“I’m just sayin’, man. You gotta snap that one up. You see how everyone looks at her.” 

Embarrassment like he’s never known it blooms in his chest. “Ellie,” he sighs again. “Go back to the damn house.” 

She relaxes further into the pile of hay she’s lying on, a comic book Joel had found for her held up in front of her nose. “No way, I gotta see this.” 

“Good morning!” Your sunny, sugared voice echoes from the entrance to the stables.

Ellie peeks at him over the edge of the comic book, clearly waiting for him to make a fool of himself. He tightens his grip on the reins of the horse he’d been saddling and glances around the edge of the stall. “Hey, sweetheart, good mornin’.” 

“Ready to go—Oh, Ellie, good morning, honey, what are you doing out here?” 

Ellie gets slowly to her feet, making a show of dusting her jeans off, hay feathering down as she does. “Just seeing the old man off,” she quips. “Didn’t want him to get lost on the way over.” 

You smile and laugh. “Hey if you meet us when we come back, I’ll get you those colored pencils like I promised.” 

Joel nearly strains his neck when his head snaps to look at Ellie. She’s just smiling, the little shit. “Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely meet you when you come back.”

You tilt your head at her tone, still grinning. 

Ellie wacks Joel on the arm with the comic as she walks by. “Don’t be weird,” she hisses under her breath.

You don’t seem to have heard, busy saddling your horse. “How are we on time?” You ask. 

“We got plenty. You and Ellie—”

He’s cut off by the laugh that slips past your lips. 

Joel watches the lift of your shirt, the thin line of exposed flesh between the edge of your t-shirt and your jeans. “Ellie is really good at attaching herself like a burr to certain people,” you confide. “She saw me drawing once in the market. Hasn’t left me alone since.” 

Ellie’s room flashes through his mind. The pad of paper she’d started carrying around, drawn pictures of people around Jackson, wildlife, the town, improving with each crack she took at it. She’s been drawing for months. 

She’s known you for months. 

That little shit. 

“She get that sketchbook from you?” He asks, just to confirm as he swings up into the saddle. 

“Yep,” you smile over your shoulder and then hook your foot into the stirrup. “Ready to go?” 

He nods, the knot in his chest a little looser at the ease between you. He can do this. He can converse with you, get to know you. 

Joel feels like he’s never had to talk to anyone in his life when he’s around you. He can’t remember what it's like to have a conversation. 

But you more than make up for it.

The way you chatter, he knows you’ve never met a stranger. He does his best to respond in kind, but his mouth and brain don’t seem to be on the same frequency. You don’t seem to mind his short answers, not bothered by his reluctance to say much of anything. 

Patrol is quiet aside from a few infected that you both quickly dispatch. You have a wicked aim, more than competent with the rifle you carry. 

He had tried not to doubt that you could handle yourself. He doesn’t think you would have been put on patrol had you not been able to. But seeing the determination settle into your features, the stern cut of your jaw as the smile disappeared from your lips, had reminded him that you weren’t the sheltered thing you seemed to be. 

You’d known something hard, before. You’d clearly known loss, with the hollowness that pulled at your eyes after the encounter. 

By the time you get back to Jackson, you’re smiling again, and Ellie is waiting as promised. You barely have your back turned before Ellie is nudging at Joel’s ribs with her elbow and lifting her brows. 

He shakes her off with a grunt, only for Ellie to offer you a place with them for dinner. “Tommy and Maria usually sit with us too,” she informs and you smile.

“I’d like that.” Your eyes briefly flick to Joel and then away. He can’t read the twitch of your lips, the way you duck your head. “Wanna come along for the colored pencils?” 

“Yep, c’mon Joel.”

He doesn’t protest, knows it's no use.

The warm, rocky feeling in his gut swims into his lungs when your fingers brush his as you walk along together. Ellie on one side, you on the other. Electric shoots through his veins. 

It’s only a matter of damn time before you really do give him a heart attack.

At your place, he sees your drawings. There are portraits of Ellie, Tommy, Maria, other folks around town. A couple of girls on horseback. All of your art is of Jackson, capturing life there. There’s no way you know every single one of those people personally.  

And yet, not a single one is of him.

“She’s lookin’ at you.” 

Joel huffs and lifts his beer to his mouth. The community hall smells like popcorn, like butter and salt. “She ain’t,” Joel says, keeps his eyes focused on film being projected onto the wall. 

“She is,” Tommy insists. “Just look over there.” 

Ever since you had dinner with him and his, Tommy and Ellie had decided to appoint themselves matchmakers. Maria rolled her eyes, but let it happen because it so clearly annoyed Joel. 

It reminds him of how Tommy and Sarah used to rib him, so he can’t be too irritated with them. 

He’s spent most of any of his free time with you over the last few months. He’s better at talking to you now, finds ease in your presence even when he feels warmth settling between his bones like something cancerous. You’re growing inside him, slow moving, choking off all other thoughts. 

Joel spends a lot of his time watching you draw anyone but him as you talk his ear off. It’s pleasant. He’ll never get tired of it.

Despite Joel’s words, he can’t keep his eyes from wandering, from seeking you out.

You’re sitting alone at the back of the room and you definitely aren’t looking at him, as he’d suspected. He rolls his eyes at Tommy’s dramatics but doesn’t look away from you. You set aside the glass in your hand and then begin to fidget with your fingers when your eyes suddenly flick up. 

You smile as soon as your gaze meets his, your whole face brightening. He swallows, and returns your wave when you raise a hand to him. 

“You always were bad with girls.” 

He groans. “Tommy would you jus’ let it go?”

“No,” he answers. “Just go on over and sit next to her. What’s the harm in that?” 

Joel grits his teeth. “Ain’t no harm unless she don’t want anythin’ to do with me.” 

Tommy whistles lowly. “Ain’t never seen confidence so low before—” 

“Jesus, alright, fine,” he slams the bottle down on the bar and works his towards you, going the long way around so he doesn’t block anyone’s view of the movie as Tommy’s laugh follows him. 

You glance up when he stops by your side. “Evenin’,” he greets, his voice waspish to his own ears. 

Great.

“Why hello, Joel Miller,” you respond with mirth in your voice, the melody of it melting into his skin. 

“Seat taken, sweetheart?” He asks gruffly. 

When you shake your head, he settles himself in the seat next to you stiffly. You stare at him and then glance around. The motion of it is so dramatic and put on that he has to ask—“What?” 

“Oh, nothing, I’m just looking for the snipers that must be trained on you,” you joke. “To make you so clearly sit next to me against your will.” 

He’s not sure what makes him do it, but he reaches over and cups your chin in his hand to direct your gaze to Tommy. “Right there he is,” he says, releasing your face. “My idiot brother.” 

“Ah, so you don’t wanna be sitting next to me.” 

“Never said that.” 

You grin. “Well I was hoping you’d come over, so color me flattered you aren’t being held at gunpoint.” 

He chuckles, his irritation easing. “It’s an honor, darlin’. My brother was just testin’ my patience.” 

“Siblings will do that,” you say with a nod. “I think he means well though. Him and Ellie both actually.” 

He frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, c’mon, Joel, neither of them are very subtle are they?” You nudge your knee into his. “Ellie asked me if I thought you were handsome just a few days ago. She looked kind of disgusted about it.” 

Joel swipes a hand down his face, sweat beading on his forehead. His stomach tightens with nerves. Leave it to those two to ruin something without even trying. He knew they were playing matchmaker, but he didn’t think you knew it too.  

“Jesus. I—I’m sorry if either of ‘em has made you uncomfortable.” 

You blink at him. “Well, Joel, don’t you wanna know my answer?” 

He winces. This is it, you’re putting him, all three of them, in their place. “Not so sure I do.”

You tilt your head and lie one hand against his forearm. “Well, okay. I won’t tell you how I said I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever laid eyes on. And I won’t tell you how that made Ellie gag and say she doesn’t need those kinds of details.”  

A laugh startles out of him, heat blooming in his neck and cheeks. He’s blushing like a damn teenager. 

He doesn’t dare to hope. 

Not yet. 

“Look,” you continue. “I knew what they were trying to do these last few months. And I think, maybe, neither of us are very good at this. I’m—I’m certainly not good at this kinda thing. I’ve never needed to be but,” you pull away from him and shuffle through your pockets. “This is what I was drawing that first time I met Ellie. She’s got a keen eye, noticed right away.” 

He takes the paper you pull from your pocket, folded into a creased, neat square. When he unfolds it, he finds he’s staring at himself rendered in pencil and charcoal. “Here’s where I embarrass myself and admit that I’ve had a—well, I guess it's a crush. For a while.” 

In the drawing, he’s standing with Tommy outside the stables. It’s clearly spring time, flowers budding on the nearby trees. “Was this last spring?” 

“Yep. So I jumped when Tommy needed someone to fill in.” You squirm, your hand hovering over the paper like you’re stopping yourself from snatching the drawing away from his fingers. “And then I didn’t shut up that whole time on patrol and you were so annoyed. I thought I messed it up.” 

Joel finally glances away from the paper and into your eyes. “Messed it up? Darlin’ I was—Jesus, I still am—struck by you. My tongue was twisted.” 

You blink. “Really? So I’m not making a fool of myself?” 

It's only then that he realizes how embarrassed you look, that you’re waiting for him to shoot you down, and that he hasn’t said anything to you, not really. “No, no, I’m—” 

Joel catches Tommy smirking from across the room in the corner of his vision, and when he looks around Ellie is laughing too, from where she sits with a group of her friends. No one else is paying you any mind, turned toward the flicker of the movie. “So damn obvious about it too,” he rolls his eyes. “Ain’t very good, are they?”

You laugh. “They seemed to be having fun. Bonding over it, really. And there was no harm in it, anyway, so I left them to it. Besides, y’know, maybe getting my feelings hurt a little.” You duck your head, a smile playing around your lips. 

“Well, I guess there wasn’t any harm,” he acknowledges. “Sorry, sweetheart but they, uh, they were right. I’m just about as stubborn as a bull.” 

You nod. “Got that impression of you.” 

Joel swallows, all the words tied up inside his mouth finally coming together, “I might be stubborn. But I ain’t above seeing when I’m wrong.” 

“And what are you wrong in?” 

“Waitin’ so damn long,” he says. 

The room is dark and no one is paying you any mind. When Joel cups your face in his hands, you lean into his touch and the tight fist around his lungs loosens. 

You taste like the sparkle of the drink you had been sipping on before he came over. Your mouth is as soft as your laugh, as smooth as the flutter of your voice. 

All the I told you so’s he’s about to be in for, are worth it.