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Adjustments

Summary: Adjusting to life in Jackson isn't easy. But making friends with one of the school teachers certainly helps. Or, Ellie makes a friend and kind of sets Joel up.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!teacher!Reader

Word count: 9.4k

Warnings: mostly fluff, smut (piv, fingering), soft Joel Miller, good dad Joel Miller, protective Joel, some jealousy, post-season 1, mentions of past death, mentions of depression and suicidal ideation

A/N: You voted and I listened! Here's the Joel fic! Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback! 💕

“He’s quiet, huh?” You ask, scrubbing a rag over the counter.

“What’s that?” Tommy turns back to you. He’d been staring across the community hall at his wife.

You grin, amused, and meet Tommy’s eyes. “Your brother. He doesn’t talk much.”

Slowly, you cut your gaze to the table where Joel Miller sits, his eyes on his daughter across from him. There’s an affectionate smile playing around his mouth. One that only appears when he’s looking at Ellie. “His kid does though.”

“Oh, yeah, Ellie’s always got somethin’ to say,” he agrees. “They’ve been through a lot.”

You nod, “Looks that way.” You don’t ask what, just go back to polishing glasses. “You put ‘em up next to me.”

“Figured you’d keep a good eye on them,” Tommy’s eyes turn back to you, away from Joel who’s glanced up and caught both of you looking, his expression flattening. “They might need it. Kinda feral.”

You nod, “Remind me of cats.”

Tommy laughs, pushes his glass across the scarred wood to you. “They’re havin’ a hard time adjustin’. Not used to regular society.”

“Well,” you splash whiskey into his glass. “Who among us is?”

“You did okay,” he takes the glass back and lifts it to his lips. “When you first got here.”

You nod slowly, replacing the cork in the bottle. “Well, I didn’t have a little girl to worry about. The world looks a lot worse when you’ve got that.” You know that from experience, but quickly zip the thought away.

You glance up from the bottle to find the pair in question making their way over to you. “Speak of the devil,” you chirp lightly.

Joel is frowning at you when he and Ellie arrive at the counter, the divot between his brows deep. He’s handsome, you think, and not even just for an older guy. He’s handsome, full stop. You like his dark eyes, the gray of his hair, and the broad planes of his chest and shoulders.

You even like the stony expression on his face. It makes the corners of your mouth twitch.

“Tommy,” he greets his brother. “We thought we’d come over since it looks like we’re the subject of conversation.”

“Yeah, you guys fuckin’ suck at hiding it,” Ellies adds, mirroring Joel’s posture when he leans into the wood next to his brother.

Joel turns to shoot her a look. “Mind your manners,” he reprimands.

Ellie just rolls her eyes.

“You’re right Tommy, they are kinda feral,” you smile at both of them. “Just talkin’ about how we’re neighbors now.”

Joel raises a brow, “Feral?”

“Like cats,” you confirm. “I was just tellin’ Tommy I’d keep a close eye on you.”

“We’re gettin’ babysat now?” Tommy snorts into his glass at the outraged cut of his brother's voice.

“No,” you smile. “But if you need anything I’m right next door, haven’t gotten to come over and introduce myself yet. I keep pretty busy.”

Ellie’s face blooms with sudden recognition. “Oh, shit! I know you! That’s why you look familiar. You’re the teacher. For the younger kids.”

“I am,” you nod, polishing another glass to sit in front of Joel even though he hasn’t asked for a drink.

He watches you pour the amber liquid, his eyes not moving from your face, his features set into stern lines.

It doesn’t bother you. You’ve learned from watching him that’s just how he looks, unless he’s talking to Ellie or Tommy. “What are you doin’ here, then?”

“Like I said, I like to keep busy.”

Tommy claps his brother on the back and drains the rest of his glass before standing. “Neighbors, I’ll leave you to get acquainted,” he says before ambling in the direction of Maria.

“Hard to believe you’re our neighbor,” Joel comments. “House looks empty.”

He has a nice voice, you like the gruff way the words roll off his tongue. “I guess it mostly is,” you shrug, “It’s just me there. And I’m busy.”

“So you said.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Joel,” Ellie says. “Sorry, he just sounds like that.”

Joel shoots her another look.

You try not to laugh, folding up the cloth in your hands to replace under the counter. “I am there, most evenings,” you say. “I only pick up shifts here when Tommy really needs me to. I’m usually out back at home. If you do ever need anything.”

“You should come over for dinner sometime,” Ellie says. “Since we’re being neighborly.”

“I’d like that,” you glance between them. “Since we’re being neighborly,” you repeat.

Joel doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Anytime.”

You don’t expect Joel to take to you.

He’s silent and gruff and focused on his unit, his family.

That’s fair, that’s fine. You understand that. You’d been that way too, until you lost everyone, until you came to Jackson.

You’re still like that, it’s just that your unit consists of just you.

But he does, after a while, take to you. Mostly, you think, because Ellie seems to like you so much.

Ellie invites you over to dinner one evening when she catches you on your front porch. Her tone was one that brooked no room for argument, for turning the invitation down. You hadn’t so much been asked, but told you were having dinner with the Millers.

Ellie had cooked, and the food was very solidly okay. She had been proud of herself, and that made it five stars in your opinion.

You’d watched with some amusement the verve with which she’d devoured the food, eating too quickly and talking her mouth full. Joel had apologized to you several times, his scandalized expressions only making you laugh harder.

Ellie started walking with you to the school in the mornings, and waiting in your classroom in the afternoons to walk back home again.

Joel was usually still out when you got back, and so she started making a home for herself in your house - reading your books and abandoning them halfway through, listening to your sparse music collection, helping you work in the vegetable patch in your backyard.

“You should show Joel,” she’d told you when you showed her your little workshop in the basement, that you built things when the materials were available. “He used to build stuff. He was a contractor.” She’d said the word with such reverence and pride you hadn’t been able to help the laugh that escaped.

Joel stopped in on your front porch to fetch Ellie sometimes, apologizing to you as he did. “You can tell her to leave if you’re busy,” he says each time. You weren’t and you liked the company.

She reminds you of your niece, of the good days you’d once had together. She makes your heart ache, but it's not in a bad way.

Dinner with your neighbors quickly became a weekly occurrence. There was just no way of avoiding it. But it became something you looked forward to, and which Joel jokingly started calling parent-teacher conferences, and which Ellie did not appreciate.

You always leave before it gets too late. You feel as though you’ve intruded on a world you didn’t belong to.

You do better on your own anyways. There was a reason Joel and Ellie had thought your house was empty their first few weeks in Jackson. You tended to keep to yourself for the most part.

Aside from your weekly dinners, you hardly see Joel, and certainly never on his own. Ellie is always glued to his side.

Which is why you’re surprised to hear his voice call out to you one afternoon and find him alone.

“You need help with that?”

You lower the heavy chain in your hand, the end of it attached to a wooden bench swing. It thumps down onto the porch, the other end still suspended by the chain on the other side.

You glance up, “What?” You squint out into the autumn sunshine.

Joel Miller stands just outside the perimeter of your yard. “Help,” he calls, louder this time. “Do you need help with that?”

Your first instinct is to tell him no, but you reconsider. Joel is taller than you, he might be able to reach the hook in the ceiling more easily and you could be done with the thing. “If you’ve got a second,” you agree.

He swings your front gate open, his stride long and jilted. “Hip hurting you?” You ask as he approaches.

“Just gettin’ old,” he grumbles.

“I think it’s the cold,” you step back when he climbs the front steps to your porch. “It came early this year and my joints hurt like hell.”

Joel takes your place by the swing, reaching down for the chain. He easily slips the end back into the metal hook in the ceiling. “What were you doin’ anyway?” He asks, stepping back with hands on his hips, examining the swing and the chains it hangs on.

“One of the links was starting to rust through. I was replacing it,” you answer. “I got it down just fine. I guess it’s pretty heavy.”

Joel nods, his eyes still on the swing. “It’s well built. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh,” you take a seat on the swing and gesture for him to do the same. “Well, I didn’t get it from anywhere. I built it. I’m surprised Ellie hasn’t said anything to you. She helps me some afternoons.”

He looks surprised for a moment before taking a seat next to you. “Really?”

“Yeah, showed her a while ago now. I did a lot of woodworking with my grandpa. Before the outbreak. Every summer we made a couple swings. Sold ‘em to neighbors and friends usually.”

Joel looks uncomfortable, settled stiffly on the swing next to you. You wonder why he decided to sit down at all. You’re both a little bad with people. “I wanted to ask you about Ellie,” he says suddenly. “She’s over here often enough. Almost all summer.”

“I enjoy her company,” you reassure him, but that just makes his brow furrow tighter. “She’s no bother, really. Go on and ask.”

“How’s she at school?” His voice takes on a worried edge. “It’s hard to tell how she’s settlin’ in sometimes. She’s still crazy about the food.”

You nod, “That’s to be expected. I was too. We all are in some ways.”

The food in Jackson, the amount of it, is overwhelming sometimes. Nice, but overwhelming.

You lean back against the swing back, pushing your foot against the floor to sway you along a little. “I don’t know much about how she is at school. I’m not her teacher. She’s with the older kids.” Joel nods but waits, staring at you in that intense way he has. “She does okay,” you relent. “Good as any other kid. And a lot better than she did at first. Made some friends. She’s still a little skittish with groups. Standoffish sometimes, but she’s doing better.”

“She’s been through a lot,” he admits. “I worry about how she’s taking to life here. But she seems to like you.”

You nod, “I like her, too. She’s a smart kid. I heard you both went through a lot. She’s doing okay, really. You’re doing a good job with her.”

Joel clears his throat and glances around your porch, obviously trying to think of how he could change a subject he brought up in the first place. Your compliment seems to make him uncomfortable, like it’s something that just is, that he does, and shouldn’t be mentioned.

“Gonna start sitting out front?” He asks gruffly. “Thought you liked the back better.”

You smirk, “Well, if I’m to listen to you teach Ellie how to play the guitar I’ve got to. You only practice on the front porch.”

Joel shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “Heard that, huh?”

“Little hard not to,” you shrug. “She’s a quick learner.”

“Too quick sometimes,” he says.

“Quick is good in this world,” you remind him. “Thanks for your help with the swing.”

A little to your dismay, Joel takes your words as a dismissal. “Sure. Anytime,” he grumbles as he labors to his feet.

He stomps down your steps, and tosses a surprisingly domestic, “See you at dinner,” over his shoulder.

Joel pops in more often after that, usually under the guise of helping you with something, like he had with the swing.

Radiator needs fixing, the banister is wobbling, the upstairs sink won't stop leaking - Joel takes it all on for you.

Ellie gets a little annoyed at the intrusions sometimes, possessive of her time with you. “He’s just shy,” she tells you one day. “I think he likes you. Like a crush or something.”

You just chuckle, and point her back to the homework she was supposed to be doing.

When Joel emerges from your basement several minutes later, his face is just a little flushed, and you think he might have heard.

Then comes the day when Joel finds you after the school day ends in place of Ellie.

“Not that I’m not thrilled to see you Joel Miller but where is that menace you call a daughter?”

Joel steps into your empty classroom, looking too large and slightly uncomfortable among the tiny desks and colorful drawings. “She came home early with a cold and made me promise to come walk you back. Didn’t want you to worry, I guess.”

“Well, that was kind of her,” you pull your backpack on and follow Joel outside. “I would have worried about her.”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Easy thing to do.”

It’s silent for a moment, and you try to hide a smile as you watch Joel struggle to find something to say. You wonder how much of this had been orchestrated between the two of them. Ellie had been fine, after all, when you walked to the school that morning together.

“Were you a teacher before the outbreak?” Joel asks, hands fisted in his pockets, his back stiff.

You shake your head with a smile, “I was just starting college. My mother was a teacher, though, and I always knew I wanted to be one too.”

“Jesus, you’re young,” he says suddenly, looking surprised, like he hadn’t realized.

You smirk, “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve got the bones of an eighty year old.”

“Younger than me,” he says, glancing sideways at you.

“You aren’t that old, Joel,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t go gettin’ a complex about it.” You nudge an elbow into his side, “Ellie told me you were a contractor before. Seems to think it was a pretty cool job.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, well, why not rewrite history a little bit?”

“And with all the things you’ve helped me with you’ve never offered to help with my building projects?” You tease. “Afraid you’ve lost your touch?”

“Just figured it was personal,” he says, drifting into your side a little as you walk, the brush of his arm against your sending pleasant nerves singing through your veins. “You said about your grandfather and all.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Just didn’t know you paid such close attention.”

“Of course I do,” he says simply.

The rest of the walk goes by quick enough. Joel talks more than you’ve ever heard him talk before. But it’s nice. He smiles a couple times, and the wind turns his hair into a mess.

You like Joel, and it's clear that he or Ellie or both liked you enough to keep you close, to make sure you were okay.

It’s an odd feeling. You’ve been in Jackson for a few years, but you’ve never felt a part of it, not really.

Grief had eaten you raw, scooped out your insides and left you hollow. But recently that’s started to change. Maybe Tommy knew exactly what he was doing when he put his brother in the house next to yours.

Joel leaves you at your front door, and, lo and behold, Ellie turns up five minutes later, claiming to feel much better.

Ellie yawns and leans into your side. “We should have dinner over here more often.” You open your mouth but she continues, “I mean you have fucking candles everywhere. Coffee for Joel, hot chocolate for me-,”

Your porch is infinitely more cozy, at least from your perspective. You’d gone to great lengths to collect those candles, and burning them at night on your front porch is an indulgence you love to take. Ellie had helped you set them out after dinner, and you let her have the matches to light them one by one.

Before you had let them go outside after dinner, you’d announced you had a surprise. “It’s not as good as dessert but it's hard to come by,” you’d offered. “Coffee or hot chocolate or both?”

You knew Ellie had a sweet tooth, that she’d want the hot chocolate, but you hadn’t anticipated Joel’s reaction to the word coffee.

You may as well have told him that you found the answers to all of life’s questions. So, you’d brewed coffee for Joel and made the hot chocolate for Ellie, letting her pick whether she wanted some from the fancier canister of the stuff or from the boxes of cheap packets that had been a staple in your childhood.

You’d let Joel watch over the coffee, brewed the old fashioned way on the stove.

When they had their drinks, Joel had brought out one of the dining chairs and sat across from where you and Ellie sat on the swing, mug of coffee clutched in his hands like a lifeline.

You have a blanket tossed over you and Ellie, fingers tangled in the material, to keep the cold at bay.

“You can have the rest of the hot chocolate,” you interrupt Ellie. “If you want it.”

“No fucking way, seriously?”

“For sure,” you agree, turning to meet her eyes. “I was waiting for someone special to give it to. And I don’t drink it.”

She presses her face into your shoulder in a rare moment of physical affection, like she’s embarrassed. “Thanks.”

“Oh, anything for you, kid,” you say, patting her hand. “It’s pretty late though, and I hear you’ve got school in the morning.”

Joel nods at you from his place across from you in thanks for mentioning it. “Yeah alright,” Ellie grumbles and looks up at Joel, a question in her eyes.

“You go on ahead,” he says. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She stands, shaking the swing as she does, but carefully keeps the blanket over your lap. “Ellie,” Joel starts when she starts down the steps, but before he can say anything further she turns back to you.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re very welcome, Ellie, and you don’t have to thank me.”

Ellie raises a brow at Joel and then tromps down the steps without another word.

You and Joel watch her make the walk next door. Ellie gives a sarcastic wave before going inside.

The second she’s safely inside, Joel rocks to his feet and moves to sit next to you on the swing.

You toss the blanket over his lap, and Joel doesn’t make a noise of complaint as he sets his empty mug to the side.

“Who’d you save it for?” He asks. “The hot chocolate?”

You shrug, “My sister’s kid. She died a couple years ago now. Before I got to Jackson.”

“They who you were traveling with?”

“Just the kid. My sister died the day of the outbreak. My niece just happened to be staying with me that night. I was the cool aunt, y’know? I had just moved into my first apartment and she liked to stay with me.” You look over at him, “We found the hot chocolate right before she died. It’s wild that we did. Those packets of cheap shit and the fancy stuff. It was her favorite when she was a baby.”

The breeze ruffles the wisps of gray curls, and his eyes don’t leave yours. “How’d you know?” You ask quietly.

Joel smells nice.

Like cedar and soap, something earthy and warm.

You resist the urge to lean in and inhale.

“Takes one to know one,” he says. “You don’t like mixing with people. But you like Ellie.” He meets your eyes, “Lost my daughter. First night.” Joel hesitates, then asks, “How old?”

“She was, uh, three, at the start,” you try to clear the tightness from your throat that always comes when you think about your niece. “She died just before her eighteenth. Just before I got to Jackson.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

You still aren’t clear on how Joel and Ellie came to be together, other than they’d traveled from the Boston QZ to Jackson in search of Tommy. However it happened, you’re glad of it. You can’t imagine one without the other, not really.

They’re a little less like feral cats now, but still territorial in a way that makes it hard for you to believe they’ve half accepted you into their little fold.

“You’ve got yourself a great girl,” you say finally. “I find it really hard. To be here. Sometimes. Around normalcy. Or whatever we’re close to. She shoulda made it. I wasn’t strong enough. I did horrible things to keep us alive. I mean, she was only three. When it started.” Your heart pounds, anxiety chasing your breath away. You hate thinking about it, talking about it. “It was real hard. And it didn’t matter in the end. I get to be here and she doesn’t. But you two make it easier,” you admit.

Joel’s quiet for a while, the guttering candles casting shadow over his face. “Ellie makes it easier,” he agrees.

That’s not what you said, but you don’t correct him.

Joel clears his throat roughly, just like you had, “And the coffee? Where’d you come by that?”

“Well, now, that,” you say smugly, the pressure in your chest easing a little, “I’ve been hoarding for years. Since the early days.”

“Really?”

“It kept me human. It reminded me of before,” you shrug, “For special occasions only, when times were tough or something really good happened.”

Your nerves feel oddly stretched when you look back at him, a pleasant fluttering in your belly. “Was this a special occasion?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” you tease, “Maybe I just really like you two.”

Joel shifts closer to you, his arm along the length of the swing behind you. “I know Ellie does.”

You nod and jump a little when his knee bumps into yours. Joel leans closer, his face tilted over yours. “And what about you?” You ask.

“I like you just fine,” he answers, his hand slipping down from the back of the swing to settle at the nape of your neck.

You keep your gaze settled on his, not blinking away from those dark depths. “I know what you mean,” he says. “About it bein’ hard.”

His breath ghosts over your lips. Between the pressure of his hand on your neck and the intense look in his gaze, your breath has arrested somewhere between your lungs and your mouth.

Joel’s thumb caresses the column of your throat slowly, and you finally manage to breathe. The breath you pull in is sharp and nearly painful. “Yeah,” you manage, voice hitching. “Doesn’t seem right sometimes.”

You glance down at his mouth, wondering how his mustache and beard would feel against your skin, if his lips are as soft as they look.

When you look up, you freeze, the dark depths of his eyes heavy and intense, like freshly turned soil and ink.

His other hand cups your jaw when you start to glance away, the pull of his gaze making you dizzy, sucking you into an orbit you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to exit again.

Joel tilts your head up, his eyes still searching yours.

You aren’t sure what he finds, but whatever it is convinces him to lean in and kiss you.

Your eyes flutter shut, Joel’s thumb pressing lightly at the underside of your jaw.

His is an oddly soft kind of possession, like it could turn hungrier and darker at any second. Like it would turn violent should someone try to take you away.

That’s okay, you’ve never minded the dark, you’ve gotten used to violence.

He presses closer to you when you hook one hand on his wrist, trying to steady yourself against him.

Joel drags you closer, groaning into you. The sound is because of the stretch of pulling you closer and not from pleasure.

It makes you laugh, and you toss one leg over his lap before kissing him again, this time opening your mouth to his tongue when it swipes along the seam of your lips.

Joel moves one hand to the crest of your knee, his broad palm sliding down your thigh. Goosebumps race across your skin, heat blooms in your chest.

You think he’ll do more, press you back into the swing and devour you, but he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours.

“I have to get home,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly. “Ellie’s gonna give you shit.”

“I know it,” he pulls away, and you move your legs from his lap, standing when he does, feeling rather shaky on your legs. “She probably saw.”

He glances at the side of his house, squinting into the darkness. You flush with heat at his words. “Jesus, that’s embarrassing. Worse than being caught by your parents.”

Joel laughs, then turns back to you. “A little worse,” he agrees. “This one wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Houndin’ me about it.”

“So that’s what that look was,” you tease. “She wasn’t wantin’ you to come home with her, she was wantin’ you to man up.”

He shuffles a little and then nods. “Yeah.”

You smile and move to his side, glancing up at the windows and catch the curtains moving. “Like I said, you’ve got a good girl. She’s lookin’ out for you.”

Joel fits his hand between your shoulder blades, and turns you toward him, his hand sliding up to the back of your neck again. “Let us look out for you too.”

“I already do,” you disagree with a shake of your head. “Tell Ellie I’ll give her that hot chocolate tomorrow. I’ll teach her how to make it and all after school.”

He nods, and drags you back for another kiss, this one with a little more bite than the first one. It makes your body sing, nerves skating down your spine to settle heavily in your belly.

You fist your hands in the front of his shirt, to keep him close to you for just a second longer.

It’s not a loud moment, this claim over you. It simply is.

“Excuse me,” a man stops on your left at the bar.

You’re drinking tonight, not tending. You shoot him a smile. He’s new in town, or maybe he’s not. You’re not familiar with a lot of the residents of Jackson, aside from the school children and sometimes their parents. You’re too much of a recluse for that.

“Can I help you?”

You don’t like going out. You never have, not even before. But you hadn’t wanted to be alone with the thoughts tying knots around your head and against the top of your spine. You feel like you’re being choked by the past.

Those voices were creeping up again. The ones that told you to run as far as you could, to walk into an ocean, to throw yourself in front of a clicker or off a cliff.

It’s been awhile since you felt that kind of itch, since your niece has appeared in your dreams, and in your waking hours. You just needed to drown your sorrows for a bit, forget for just a little while.

She wasn’t much older than Ellie when she died.

Maybe that’s what’s brought it up again, the worry that something terrible could happen again.

You should have went and checked on Ellie and Joel instead of going to get a drink. You’d seen them in the front window of their house as you passed by earlier in the evening when the sun was still up.

Forgetting what happened to your niece with them would have been better. You bet Joel would have something strong to give you, a drink. And you could have watched them.

They both had mugs, and were sitting around a little game.

But you’re like a wounded animal in that way. When you’re hurting, you want to hole up and lick your wounds.

Instead of stopping in, you’d decided to try to drown yourself in something that would make you forget.

Only, you haven’t quite gotten that far.

“I was wondering if I could buy you a drink,” he says, not unkindly, his voice soft.

He’s handsome, young, probably just a few years younger than you with wheat blond hair and green eyes.

You smile, and lift your glass. “No. I got it covered. Thanks though.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs, the sound nervous.

You nod and he leaves you alone about it. But he doesn’t leave, instead taking the seat to your left while you sip your drink.

Your head is starting to pound, and you regret coming to the hall.

“I heard there was a pretty school teacher around here. But I couldn’t believe it. No one ever sees you,” he tries again. If you weren’t already spoken for, you might be flattered. He’s cute and clearly anxious about trying to talk to you.

You laugh despite yourself, lifting the rim of your glass to your lips, “Pretty huh? You let me know when you find that teacher.”

“Aw c’mon. It is you, isn’t it?”

“Hey, you gotta be careful,” the guy on his other side warns him, leaning around his friend to get a better look at you. “I heard Miller was after the pretty one. Y’know how he can be.” His eyes flick over you, “Are you Miller’s girl? Little old for you, isn’t he?”

You raise a brow, “I look younger than I am.”

The blond laughs before you can answer, seeming to have gained some confidence. “Leave her be. We’re just talking, right?” He addresses you with a smile. “Nothin’ against talking. So, why don’t we see you around more?”

You’re interrupted again when a strong hand curls around your waist. You stiffen against the touch before Joel’s voice asks, “She is pretty, isn’t she?” You tip your head up to glance up at him. “I wouldn’t speak for her, but she is mine.”

The two men next to you go a little pale when they glance up to see who had spoken. “Hey darlin’,” he greets you. Joel slides close to your other side, his hard gaze not leaving the guys next to you.

You certainly hadn’t expected him to be at the community hall. Joel hates being out as much as you do. He must have come looking for you, and you can’t decide on what his mood about doing so is.

He smells nice though, like leather and something earthy and Joel. His presence is a comfort you hadn’t expected, his shoulders are dusted with melting snow, his hair damp around his ears.

Joel’s arm is heavy around your waist and you wish again you’d just gone over to see him and Ellie.

You don’t respond for a moment. Not sure how. Too surprised that he’d come to find you at all.

“Hi,” you answer, staring up at the ticking muscle in his jaw, beneath the gray patchy beard that you’ve come to adore. “What are you doing here?”

“Ellie saw you pass by,” he answers, finally looking down at you. His features soften a fraction, and so does his voice. “We were expectin’ you to drop by when you came back past. But you never came home.”

They were waiting for you, one or both of them. You hadn’t realized either of them had seen you, but of course they had.

You should be angry, that he’s keeping tabs on you, monitoring your comings and goings. You should be angry about the possessive glint in his eyes and the hand on your hip, but you aren’t.

It’s nice to feel claimed, even a little. It’s nice to feel protected.

You like it. You haven’t had someone look out for you in a a long time.

There’s an odd look in his eye, his hand still firm on your hip, fingers digging into your flesh.

It’s territorial, you realize.

That thought comes to you again, the one that always lingers in the back of your mind - Joel protected his unit, his people. He doesn’t just protect them, care for them, he’s territorial over them. His expression is possession and protection all wrapped up in one.

He and Ellie are both that way.

You aren’t sure when you became one of his people.

That’s why he waited for you to come home, that’s why he came out to find you.

“I just wanted a drink,” you say honestly. “I didn’t have anything. I was gonna come home.”

Joel nods and slips onto the stool to your right, corralling all your attention to himself. It’s a dismissive move to the blond guy you’d been speaking to, but you very seriously doubt Joel cares.

“I’ve got somethin’ at home. You could have just come over. You wanna come home with me?”

You drain your glass and let Joel pull you to your feet. His hand stays grounded against your back, a firm guiding pressure until you’re outside in the early autumn snow where he tugs you into him, his mouth firm on yours. His hands anchor on either side of your face, calloused fingertips brushing along your cheekbones and behind your ears.

“Was he flirtin’ with you?” He asks against your mouth when he pulls away.

“Badly,” you admit, watching the snow stick in his hair, the gray going slowly white. “But yes.”

One of Joel’s hands moves to the back of your neck. He holds you steady like that for a moment, staring into your eyes.

He doesn’t say anything but you can read the look in his gaze, the warring swirl of emotion. “I couldn’t get in a word between the two of ‘em. Nobody means anything to me. Nobody but you.” You hook a hand around his wrist, sweeping your thumb along his pulse. “Joel. There’s only you.”

That seems to snap him out of whatever thought is trapped in his mind, like a fish behind glass, wavy and warped and unknowable. “I know,” he agrees, releasing your face to trail his hands down your arms before wrapping his arm around your waist.

The walk back to his house is silent, and Joel keeps one hand tucked in your back pocket the entire walk.

You’re surprised to find the house dark when you get there. “Where’s Ellie?”

“Stayin’ with a friend,” he says.

“Really?” You ask, surprised. “That’s great, Joel.”

It’s great for both of them, that Ellie felt secure enough to be parted from Joel for a night, and that Joel felt safe enough to let her go.

He nods absently, flicks on the lights and reaches for your hand. He pulls you into him so he can kiss you again, this time with heat. You meet his tongue with yours, and let him guide you backwards until your thighs hit the back of the couch. His teeth hook against your bottom lip, your breath strangled in your chest when he slots himself between your thighs.

Joel cradles your face between his palms, his breath sharp against your cheek. “I didn’t know you were one to drink alone,” he says. “What happened?”

“You pay too much attention to me,” you huff, reaching up to circle your hands around his wrists again.

“What happened?” He asks again, chasing your eyes. His gaze is intense. “You scared us.”

It’s that look he gets when his mind runs on a loop of fix, protect, care.

Fix, fix, fix.

He wants to fix it. He wants to be good enough to fix it, fast enough.

But you don’t want to call it what it is. You don’t want to say that sometimes you don’t feel like living anymore. You also don’t want to tell him that you just have to wait for it to run its course, that the feeling comes and goes.

“It’ll sort itself out,” you say, tired. “It always does.”

“What does?”

You nudge your knee against his hip. “Me,” you say simply. “I’m missin’ my - I’m just missin’ people today.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, his accent drawing the vowels out as he pulls away from you. There’s an odd look in his eyes, one you can’t decipher and you know you’ve revealed more than you meant to. “Settle down here. I’ll get you something.”

You nod and hop off the back of the couch when he moves away, shrugging out of your coat and toeing off your boots. You glance around their living room which is oddly still and silent without Ellie in it. Boggle lies on the table by the front window, the pieces still scattered. “Were you losing?” You call toward the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he answers when he comes back into the room. His coat is gone, and his hair is a mop of tousled curls, like he’d run his hands through it. “Of course I was. We need a different damn game. I always lose at Boggle.”

You smile and settle next to him on the sofa. “I have some games if you want to borrow them,” you offer.

Joel just hands you a lowball glass with just a splash of something clear in the bottom of it, a matching glass in his own hand. You toss it back and it burns going down.

Joel shakes his head at you and then does the same, before taking the glass out of your hand to set both aside. His lips are on yours again before you have a chance to breathe, the burn of alcohol on his mouth like fire.

You sink back into the couch. His hands are still chilled from your walk home, and the caress of them on your hips when he sinks his hands beneath your shirt burns hot. He’s an all consuming presence. Everything about him is intense. His scent, the heated chill of him, the demanding touch of his hands.

His facial hair scrapes along your jaw and chin, his tongue parting your lips impatiently to meet yours.

The burn of him sets you on fire, presses out all the other thoughts that had been swimming in the back of your head all day, louder and louder.

Joel tugs you down, so you’re flat against the cushions, his knee slotting between your thighs. He knots his fingers into your sweater and pulls it gently upwards.

You let him, and he curses when you slip out of it and toss it to the ground. “Jesus,” he says. “You’re tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart.” Decades roughened hands slip up your torso, brushing over your belly and hips to your chest.

The sweater had been bulky enough you didn’t feel the need to wear a bra.

He traces the pads of his thumbs over your nipples, a hungry, nearly ravenous look in his eyes. “Joel,” you say, and his eyes flick up to yours. “Take me to bed.”

He nods and helps you up, grabbing your sweater to carry with him.

It’s an oddly sweet thing to do, and it makes a lump form in the back of your throat.

Joel’s room is cozy and when you crawl onto the bed, the sheets smell like soap, like Joel’s skin. He’s just behind you, already over you again, weighing you down, pressing himself into all the cracks of yourself.

He lowers his mouth to take one nipple in his mouth, his body aching against yours. You bury one hand into his hair and he groans when you tug. “Joel,” you croak, something in you already broken. His fingers sink into your waist, guiding your hips up so he can pull your jeans off.

It feels vulnerable, to be naked in front of Joel. But its oddly nice too, like being seen for the first time in years.

Joel slots himself over you again, and you make a point of raking your hands up his back, beneath his shirt.

You can hardly breathe from the way he kisses you, sharp with teeth, sucking on the tip of your tongue. He licks into you he means to leave the taste of himself with you forever. You moan and arch into him when his fingers skate down your side to the plush of your thighs and pass briefly through your wet folds.

You work at the buttons on his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against you. The fabric feels harsh on your skin, too rough, bruising.

He pulls back and presses his forehead into yours, shrugging out of the flannel before he lies down next to you.

Your face burns when you’re forced to watch his hand against your body.

An embarrassing sound leaves you, and you bury your face against his shoulder so you won’t have to see.

His hand pauses and he says your name. You only look up when he presses one broad palm to your jaw, his fingers slip behind your ear when he strokes his thumb slowly across your cheek.

“Look, sweetheart,” he says. “I get it. I get sortin’ yourself out,” he traces a thumb beneath your eye. “More than you know, I get it. But don’t leave us. Don’t do that.”

His words are heavier than the sentiment warrants.

Your throat closes and you nod into his shoulder. Joel’s hand trails back between your legs, thick fingers sliding against your lips. “Open up, honey,” he says, and your belly clenches.

“It’s been a long time,” you admit, parting your legs.

“‘S okay,” he murmurs, sliding one finger into you, and then a second. “I’m right here.” The gravel of his voice soothes you into it. You clench around him, digging your nails into his arm. “Yeah, you know I’ve got you, honey.”

Your eyes flutter closed, his thick fingers curling deep inside you, reaching places your fingers can’t. “Mm,” you bury your face in his neck. “I know.”

His thumb presses against your clit, one long, slow circle traced there. “Look at me,” he says.

You pull away from his neck and reluctantly meet his gaze. He’s frowning at you, his brows lowered over his eyes. “You can’t leave us, d’ya understand?” He pulls his fingers out, and thrusts them back in. Your eyes roll back, pleasure settling heavily around your bones. “I understand. But you can’t do that. You come to me. If you feel like that. But you can’t leave.”

“Yes,” you agree. “I won’t.”

“No, you won’t,” he says, like he can will it into existence.

You stifle a moan when Joel curls his fingers against that spongy spot inside you, stars bursting behind your closed lids.

Joel nudges your face up and kisses you hard in a clash of teeth and tongues. His voice is rough when he pulls away, “You’re takin’ me so well, sweetheart.”

You keen and trace your fingers up Joel’s torso, determined not to look at him looking at you. Joel is littered with scars, and so are you. Only some of them could be considered beautiful, others are jagged and sharp, like the hooks of teeth sunken into prey.

His cock strains at his jeans. You fumble with the zipper, your hands not obeying your commands.

The sound of you around his fingers makes your skin burn, like iron hot needles pricking the inside of your skin. “I got you, darlin’,” he coos, his voice almost sweet. His fingers slip out of your pussy, and you gasp against him, giving up on the zipper to palm him through his jeans.

Joel’s hips stutter into your hand when you squeeze him through the rough fabric. He groans, the sound loud and surprised, and the appealing idea of making him come like that flashes through your mind for a moment.

That would have to wait.

You want to see him, you want to feel him inside you, heavy and full.

He drags his hand through your folds, his fingers swiping over your clit before he pushes back inside you. “Come for me,” he whispers, his voice a strained rasp. “Let me feel it.” His thumb presses against that bundle of nerves as his fingers thrust at a steady pace.

The pleasure and heat swimming under your skin suddenly bursts, your hips pushing up into his hand even as you grasp at his wrist. “Joel,” you keen his name, eyes clenched shut.

But he just moves his fingers faster, wringing every bit of pleasure out of you until your mind goes white and blank.

The pleasure turns briefly to pain before it crests into something euphoric. You aren’t sure if you ride the same high or if you come a second time. Your cunt pulses, clenching hard around Joel’s fingers.

“That’s it sweetheart,” he’s muttering, a man possessed, not stopping until you’re mumbling, begging him to give you a rest.

His mouth is against your forehead, the brush of his lips warm as they move against your skin.

You aren’t sure what he’s saying until. “-gotta stop squeezing me like that or I’m going to come.”

“Want you to,” you say, rubbing your palm against the bulge in his jeans.

“I’m going to,” he assures you. “But not like this.”

He peels himself away from you and you turn to watch him pull off his jeans.

You’re covered in a thin layer of sweat, your chest still heaving. The space between your thighs is wet. Slick drips down your legs.

Your mouth goes dry when you turn your eyes to Joel, propping yourself up on your elbows. He fists himself in his hand, but when you reach for him, he pushes your hand away. “C’mere,” he pulls you to the edge of the bed, hooking your knees against his hips.

His cock slides against your messy cunt, the head nudging against your clit, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine at the feeling.

You reach between you when Joel presses himself over you, his lips finding yours. He still tastes like booze, his breath minty against chin and cheeks. He’s heavy in your hand and when you twist your wrist around him, he groans against the corner of your mouth and thrusts into your first.

Before he can complain again, you notch him at your entrance. Joel is by no means an average man, and he seems aware as he pushes into you, giving you time to adjust to his girth.

The stretch is painful, but good.

He sits heavily inside you for a moment, mouth tracing down your neck and over your clavicle and chest. Letting you have time to adjust for him.

His hand soothes along your side. “Ready darlin’?” He asks, teeth scraping lightly over the swell of your breast before he sucks one pert nipple into his mouth.

“Yes,” you sigh, tangling your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

Joel pulls back slowly, letting you feel all of him before his hips snap forward. You gasp, raking your fingers down his back.

He groans into you and does it again, the rhythm of it culminating in a frantic chase to his high. It’s rough and fast. It’s dizzying. It’s Joel.

His skin is warm beneath your fingers, the broken moans falling from his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat like angel’s wings. He keeps his face buried in your neck as he fucks you, muttering something under his breath.

Just your name at first.

Eventually words come to him.

“Takin’ me so well, honey, just like that,” he says, tracing one hand down your waist, his thumb divoting over old scars. “Come again for me, sweetheart, you’re taking me so fuckin’ well.”

You can hardly breathe, your body flushed with a delicious heat that makes you feel as though you might burn out, like a falling star laid to rest. “Joel,” you clutch tight to him, listening to the smooth guide of his voice.

“What is it?” He slows, the thrust of his hips harder against you. “I’m right here. Doin’ so well. Takin’ me so well. Come for me. You can do it.”

Joel skims his thumb over your aching clit, the touch light against your overly sensitive core.

Your body seizes hard, pussy clenching around him as you cry out a silent scream. You aren’t sure you’ve breathed in the last minute, your vision swimming as pleasure courses through you. You arch into him and clutch at his shoulders, riding out your orgasm, clenching hard around his length.

“Jesus, you’re squeezin’ me tight,” Joel manages to choke out before he curses and wrenches back from you. He fists his hand around his cock as he comes on your pussy, your lower belly.

You finally manage to take in a gasping, stuttering breath, your lungs finally filling with air as your cunt flutters around nothing.

Joel collapses into you, his messy, sweat dampened curls stuck to his flushed forehead.

He pushes back up the bed, to lie next to you. “Please, Joel,” you coax, babbling, begging. “Back inside.”

“Want me back inside your pussy, darlin’?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, slipping his cock back inside your soaked cunt.

“I’m here,” he says after a few minutes, lips against your neck, his breath still coming in low pants. “Calm down. You’re okay.”

It’s only then you realize you’re repeating his name, over and over. “You’re alright,” he soothes again.

You bury your nose in his neck, the scent of him stronger there. “I know,” you murmur, your racing pulse finally slowing. “I know,” you say again, breathing him in.

Joel shifts and tugs a folded blanket up from the end of the bed. He surprises you with the gentle way he tucks it around you, holding you tight against him.

A silence presses between you, a comfortable quiet that lulls you nearly to sleep, the warm solidity of him enough. “I’m gonna get somethin’ to clean you up,” he says in your ear when he slips out of you, gently extracting himself from your grip to sit up.

“Okay,” you murmur before reaching out to grip his hand before he can stand. “Wait, Joel, is it alright if I fall asleep here?”

He stares at you through the light reflecting off the snow that still falls outside. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it?”

“Ellie-,”

Joel leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It’s alright,” he says simply.

You close your eyes to the feeling that blooms hot in your chest. Joel cleans you gently and then climbs back into bed with you.

He tucks you into his arms, close to his chest. You feel warm and safe, and you’ve almost drifted off when he takes your hand and brings it to his temple.

You feel the bump of the ridge of scar there.

You try to pull back from Joel so you can see his face but he holds you fast, your head tucked under his chin. “I just want you to know I understand,” he says. “I get it.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Jesus, Joel, I-,”

“It’s alright,” he says, his accent drawing the word out long. “Settle. It’s okay. I just want you to know. But you can’t go anywhere, understand? You come to us. We’re yours.”

You loosen your fingers on his, calming. “I understand. I know. I wouldn’t.”

“You aren’t going to go anywhere are you?” Ellie asks one day that winter. She’s sitting in front of your blazing fireplace, staring deep into the jumping flames.

You’ve come down with a cold and she hasn’t left your side. Even going so far as to sleep on your couch.

Her concern doesn’t match the situation but you try not to dwell on it, not sure you should ask.

You glance up from the book in your hands. Snow peppers down outside in thick drifts. “What do you mean?” You sniffle.

“Don’t get pissed,” she starts and you groan, closing your book on your finger. “I just - don’t get pissed at Joel but he told me about your kid.” You glance up at her, and she corrects, “Your niece but she was your kid.”

You tilt your head at her, “Why would I leave because of that?”

“He seemed worried about it,” she says and you raise a brow. “Jesus, okay, fuck, I overheard him talking to Tommy about it.”

Surprise settles heavily in your belly. “Really?”

“Yes, and I just -,”

You hold out a hand, and Ellie rolls her eyes and dramatically drags herself over to your place lying on the couch. “He has no reason to worry and neither do you. I’m not going anywhere.” You press a hand to her cheek, “Really.”

She looks embarrassed but doesn’t push your hand away, instead settling against you on the sofa, her back against your hip. “You can talk to us, y’know,” she says cryptically. “We like you.”

You laugh and pinch her side, “Ow, fuck, what was that for?”

“The mouth on you, Ellie,” you roll your eyes. “Well, I would hope you both like me. I love you both of you.”

“You do?”

“I thought it was obvious when I handed over my whole stash of hot chocolate.”

“You told me you didn’t fucking like it!” She accuses. “I’ll got get it right now and give it back to you-,”

You pick up your book again and crack it open. “You’re right, I don’t fucking like it.”

“Hey, now who’s using bad language?” She says, staring across the room at the fireplace again, seeming content to sit against you.

You glance up to answer and jump, causing Ellie to fly to her feet. “Jesus, Joel, how long have you been standing there?”

His face is set in its usual grumpy expression. “You two need to pay more attention,” he says instead of answering. “I could have gotten the jump on you.”

“It’s not like we’re the ones that are deaf,” Ellie says, earning a glare.

Ellie settles back down against your side and rolls her eyes at you. “Well,” you say, “Maybe someone shouldn’t be creeping around.”

“You left the back door unlocked.”

“Oh,” you say, watching Joel take his shoes off and then his coat.

“Yeah, oh,” he grumbles. “Oh gets you killed.”

“Good thing you’re here then,” you say, and Joel’s head snaps up, his eyes flickering between you and Ellie. “What?”

He shakes his head, but seems flustered by your words. “Nothin’.”

“Well come sit down then,” you hold out a hand. “Ellie was about to tell me how she’s going to make me soup to help me feeling better.”

“I was not,” she protests.

You pout at her, “C’mon, I would do it for you.”

She rolls her eyes and stands, “Fine. But only because I like you.”

“Love you too,” you call after her as she swings around the doorway and down the hall.

Joel takes her place, shifting your legs and then tugging them into his lap. “You heard me didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer, just digs his fingers into your legs, massaging the muscle. “I’m not taking it back,” you tell him.

“I know,” he nods. “That’s okay.”

You tilt your head, Joel’s dark eyes following the movement. “Do you need anything? I came over to see if I could help.”

It’s the closest you’ll probably get to an I love you from either of them, but that doesn’t mean you don’t hear it. “‘Course you did. You two act like I’m on my deathbed. It’s a cold. That’s all.”

“Just let me take care of you,” he says. “Let us take care of you.”

You want to hound him about what he said to Tommy, but you decide to let it go for the moment. For now, you have the two people you love most in the world taking care of you like you mean the world. Neither of them know how to say it, but they know how to show it.

“Okay.”

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

I wrote a follow up part which you can find here if you're interested!

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