‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ hi, i'm juliet but you can call me juli! 20, my pronouns are she/her and i’m bisexual. i write, watch movies and listen to music.
‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ i love all types of music, tv shows musicals and movies, reading, the pitt, fleetwood mac, luca guadagnino and pedro pascal.
‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ im still new to writing but this blog will be primarily used for posting my fan-fiction; mostly for my general interests, so if you enjoy, a follow would be very appreciated! any sort of discrimination or disrespect is not tolerated here and will be blocked immediately.
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i’ve been so quiet on here lately but i promise there’s a reason for that! i definitely need to try and be more active on here between my writing but i’m currently in the midst of writing the next chapter of my joel series so that should be out this week:))
summary: You move to New Mexico to get away from the city life, law was your job– but maybe politics was your calling?
warnings: smut (18+ mdni), some dirty talk, infidelity, no mentions of age, consumption of alcohol (not reader), campaign manager!reader, ted is silently pining, no use of y/n.
w/c: 10.1k
a/n: wow... this is a long one, i've been working on this for the past week so i really hope you enjoy!
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2015-2016
Law, that was your job, justice– even if the person didn’t deserve it. You were amazing, working in one of the best law firms in your state, but it wasn’t easy– and the more cases- the less time you had for yourself.
You were losing yourself slowly, and it wasn’t enjoyable– so on a whim, you moved. As far as you could possibly get, signed your resignation and got on the first plane to New Mexico. At first you moved around a little– from small town to small town, working odd public defence cases like you had been.
Then you settled into Eddington, the third move in a year and a half year, nowhere before had felt like home but the moment you stepped foot in this outskirts town, surrounded by desert– you knew this is where you should be.
You lived just outside of the main town, house single standing and far from what your modern apartment looked like back in New York. It was old, fairly sized for one person, practically falling apart at the seams, white paint peeling off of the old wooden structure– yet there was something comforting about it, homey- like it had been lived in so long it just held the energy of every other person who had lived there prior.
When you first got there, you expected no work, that is until your first Saturday there– there was knock at the door, you were reading a book– some silly romance novel you picked up from the local library. Your head perked up at the three heady knocks, authoritative, you stood up and walked over– you didn’t unlock the door, just looked out the peephole first. You weren’t expecting anyone, you’d only been there a week and left your house twice, to grab a few things and to get acquainted with what Eddington had to offer.
When you looked out the small glass circle you saw a man, sheriffs badge placed right over his heart– shiny but a little worn, a white cowboy hat placed on his head, hands on his hips while he sported a tan shirt and jeans. You froze a little, you hadn’t done anything illegal– you were sure of it, so why was a sheriff at your door? There was another louder knock, so you just decided to open the door, you were a lawyer after all so if anyone was to deal with officers– it was you.
You opened the door slowly, once you’ve taken the chain off you look at him with a small, polite smile. “Hi officer, can I help?”
He stands there and gives a polite smile back, taking his hat off and resting it at his side. “Sorry to bother you ma’am– just wanted to welcome you to the town, I’m Joe, the sheriff. Was wonderin’ if your lookin’ for work? We could use another public defender in this town.”
Your brows furrowed, how did he know you were a lawyer? “You must be wonderin’ how I know what you do? Im friendly with Mr Jacobs, the guy whose renting you the house, told me about a big-shot New York lawyer movin’ in.”
”Oh, right yeah… thank you for the offer, I’m not really looking for work right now, was actually trying to steer clear of public defending for a little while.”
You laughed, he didn’t, just nodded– almost like he was pissed off but he responded plainly. “I understand, well offer still stands if you ever change your mind, you ever need anythin’ just come by the station.” And with that he puts his hat back on, nods once, and then steps off of your porch and gets back in his truck.
You closed the door, locking it again, that was the strangest interaction you’d ever had with an officer– and you’d dealt with a lot of cops in New York, so that was saying something. You went back to your couch, sitting down and just staring at the wall for a second, it made you uncomfortable that he just showed up, offered you a job and then got pissed when you rejected it. Why would anyone ever except an on the whim job from the local sheriff with no sense of professionalism or boundaries?
You didn’t shake the interaction for weeks, almost worried he was going to show up again, this time at an odd hour and with an even stranger attitude– he just seemed off. Thankfully those ideas never came to fruition, you’d seen him out when you were around, but he was the sheriff so it was normal– you didn’t know why you got such a bad feeling, everyone else in the town seemed to love him but there was just something that made him unlikable to you.
You had lied slightly that day, you were looking for work, but not in public defending. There wasn’t many places to work in Eddington to begin with, but there were zero for someone with your qualifications, aside from the one Joe had offered.
That’s until the next mayoral election, you’d been in Eddington for months now, arrived in late June of 2015– spent summer building up social circles and having a much needed break, autumn was dry but got colder as the months went on, winter was worse– but you’d dealt with New York winters for years, so you got by.
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Then spring hit, it was nice, not nearly as hot as summer– but better than autumn. You had friends now, Elsie– who worked in the bank as a teller, Imogen– who owned a clothes store.
They were very different, had been friend with each other for years– but they helped you settle in and didn’t treat you any different, it was like you’d all been friends for years. It was nice, you could finally focus on the thing you used to lack in New York, being a functioning person and not a work robot.
But it didn’t last for long, you’d saved up enough the past few years, and all those jobs you took in the last two places you lived before, meant you were able to afford living without working. You got the house you lived in at a cheap renting price, didn’t splurge a lot, spent a little to fix up the house but that was it. Now that it was nearing months of living work free, it was catching up to you, and the money was running out.
So you had to find a job, and fast. That’s when you got the flyer through your mail box– EDDINGTON MAYORAL ELECTION 2016. There were names, photos, the candidates you assumed– you didn’t pay much attention at first, politics and you had a long history, it was actually the first type of law you studied. That was until you seen how competitive everyone around you was, and it made it unenjoyable, so you switched to criminal law– not that it was any less competitive, it just felt a little more rewarding.
You never really understood why you choose political law at first, it felt silly once you’d left the classes, the last thing you wanted to do was suck up to some broody governor who’d gotten himself into a stupid mess over nothing.
That was until last Thursday, you were walking back from having lunch with Imogen– you two walked by the town hall when you saw the flyer on a flag pole, VOLUNTEERS NEEDED: CAMPAIGN VOLUNTEERS WANTED FOR MAYORAL CANDIDATE TED GARCIA. . Imogen paused at the pole and you turned to her with a raised brow. “You gonna volunteer?”
She shook her head and then turned back with a slight smirk. “Not a campaigner, just admiring the view.”
You laughed softly before you shook your head. “Of a pole with a flyer on it?”
“No… whose on the flyer.”
She says it like its the most obvious thing ever, but it just made you all that more confused, your brows furrowed– you hadn’t caught much of the flyer, so you walked back over and looked. Sure enough there was a guy, brunette with a moustache and slight beard, suit and tie– he was probably a decade or so older than you both- smiling confidently but there was a hint of kindness in his eyes, all for the camera, you thought.
“Him?” You say in a taken aback tone, you didn’t get it. He wasn’t ugly, just kind of… standard. She whips her head toward you, utterly horrified by your response.
“’Him’?! Yes! Yes him! Do you have eyes? He’s hot… like three steps from the sun type hot.”
You put your hands up in mock surrender as you laughed. “Okay! Okay I apologise for my offensive comment about…” you looked to the poster again, then spoke in a sarcastic professional tone, “–mayoral candidate three, Ted Garcia.”
She looks back to the poster again, gawking once more before she nods. “We can go now.”
“Enough gawking for queen of the fan club? Y’know you could just take that, they’ll put another one up– then you can tape it to your roof and see him before you sleep!” You tease and she just laughed softly, then you both began walking again.
Though Imogen was looking at the flyer for selfish reasons, it caught your eye for another reason, you’d worked in campaigning before– in high school, purely so you could make your college resume look good, but you actually ended up enjoying it.
It felt nice to help campaign someone who was going to help a whole community, so the last few days you’d been deciding wether to volunteer or not– you thought maybe you shouldn’t, that you might take it away from some kid who needed it like you did back then.
Then you seen more flyers around, it felt like a sign, so you decided to go– you brought your resume, just incase, maybe they had actual job positions. Besides, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to show your glowing resume anyway.
You’d pulled on the most casual yet ‘I’m a professional’ outfit– which was a light sweater and some jeans. You walked to the address on the flyer, one that had been stuck to a lamp-post just outside of your house– it was clearly a constituency office, he must’ve rented it when he decide to run.
Walking in, it was quiet, there was a guy, late 60s, sat at a table with a laptop in-front of him. It was kind of barren, a few oversized flag posters on the wall and one banner that looked like it had been used for ten Fourth of July parties already. You walked up to the guy and smile politely.
He looked up, looked you up and down, then went back to his over the top typing on his laptop. Rude, and not a good start. You didn’t let it affect you, just cleared your throat and gave a sarcastic polite smile when he looked at you with an exasperated sigh.
“Im here for the campaign volunteering.”
“Aren’t you a little too old for that?” That made your brow raise.
“Excuse me?!” He shakes his head again.
“Clearly you got the wrong idea ma’am, these are volunteering positions require time– effort. Don’t you have kids or a house to tend to?”
You scoff, its 2016– not 1950, women’s prospects aren’t only kids, or being a housewife anymore. “No, I don’t actually. Besides, even if I did why would it matter? It’s the twenty first century, not nineteen fucking twenty. I thought this was a candidate office? Not a conference on women rights.”
That caught his attention, his brows furrowed. “This is a candidate office, for Joseph Collins.”
“Oh.” That was all you said, you just nodded and turned around– walking out. Sure enough, you looked up and it did say Joseph Collins– he was another candidate who was very controversial in his policies, you’d read about him when you researched Ted. You must’ve read the street number wrong, you looked back to the flyer and sure enough it said 24 instead of 26. Then you looked across the street, there was another building with Ted Garcia in large writing.
You took another deep breath before walking over, there was a bell over the door that jingles when you walk in, it’s a lot more lively– walls covered in things other than flags. Though, there are little flags scattered in desk pen holders, there are multiple people in the office, some typing– others looking over papers.
When you walked in the young woman at the front desk smiled as you walked over. “Welcome! How can I help you today?”
Immediately the atmosphere felt a lot less intimidating, a lot more inclusive and welcoming, no old man telling you you’re too old, for one. “Hi, I’m here because I seen you were looking for campaign volunteers?”
“Yes! Is that your resume?” You nod, then hand it to her– her eyes widen when she reads it.
She laughs a little and then looks up from the page. “Wow, I think you’re incredibly overqualified.”
You smiled sheepishly, then she hands you it back before she clicks something on her laptop. “Actually, we’ve been looking for a campaign manager– our last one wasn’t really up to task and it’s been a struggle to find someone well equipped for the job around here. I think Ted would appreciate talking to you.”
“Oh… well, I’ve never really managed a campaign before–“
“Don’t worry, with your resume you’d definitely be able to do it.” She clicked something else on her computer. “Ted’s actually in the back, and he’s free to talk.”
You felt bad saying no, so you just smiled politely and nod, she stands up and leads you through the office to a door in the back, she knocks and theres a ‘come in’ from behind it.
She opens it and walks in, gesturing you to come in with a nod, you walk in behind her and stand in-front of the desk. He looks up from the papers on his desk and you smiled.
He looked kinder in person, professional in a way that made you feel comfortable in his presence, he smiled back at you and looked over to the young woman. “Who’s this Anna?..”
“This could your new campaign manager. She’s highly qualified and enthusiastic about the opportunity, but I’ll let you two talk first before we make any major decisions.” And with that she left.
At first it was a little awkward, you’d never applied for a position like this before so you didn’t know how to treat the interview process– this clearly wasn’t a traditional interview, even in this line of work.
You sat down and he spoke first, assured tone. “Is that your resume?”
You nod and set it on the desk, he looked it over and had the exact same reaction Anna did– brows raised before a smile etched his face.
“Its not on there but I’ve done some campaign work prior to this, I was in high-school so it made it to my college application but thought it was outlandish to add it to my CV.”
He laughed softly, looked back with a look of admiration before handing it back to you. “Well… I don’t think it would have changed the fact you’re definitely far too qualified for the position you’re being offered.”
“I suppose, I may be over qualified but do I even have the proper qualifications for the position?”
“I guess you have a point there. Though, you seem more than capable to learn, no?”
You nod, he tilts his head slightly. “Im shocked that the sheriffs department hasn’t snatched you up yet, unemployed public defender waltzing the street here is like their dream needle in a haystack.”
“They tried. One of the reasons I moved here was to get away from being lawyer actually.”
You smiled and he nodded, sitting a little straighter before he clapped his hands together. “Well! We’d be more than grateful if you took the position, but if you’d rather not that’s completely okay–” he was rambling without realising so you cut in, not harshly– just convincingly.
“I’d love to actually, I’d be honoured with helping!” He looks back to you again, a little dumbfounded that you said yes.
“I… I appreciate the enthusiasm, I will… uhm. I will call Dan who’s been stepping in as head of campaigning and he can fill you in?”
And just like that, you had gotten yourself a job, an actual job– the pay wasn’t the best, Ted made that clear as you went over the terms. You didn’t mind, it was enough to keep you afloat and help out someone who actually seemed like a genuinely good person– who wanted to help his community.
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Your first week was nothing short of hectic, they may have looked put together as a team– and for the most part they were, but the campaign plans were a travesty. They had no plans on how they were going to get the word spread, digitally or in the community.
Ted was well respected in the community, he had a bar– that everyone went to. But you knew that outside interest would help his campaign immensely– if others wanted him where they lived, then the people here would try and keep him that much more.
By Friday you had redesigned the posters, rewritten slogans, had made plans for a public conference in a weeks time– you had also made plans for a video to be made, showing a sneak peek into the more personal side of Teds life– as well as explaining his policies in depth and why they were important to him.
People appreciated honesty and perspective, they wanted an understanding of who they were voting for, not just the changes they promise.
Ted had a wife, and a son, he was a family man through and through– people loved stuff like that around here. So you asked if they could be involved, you didn’t want to overstep so you brought it up to the team first, they knew Ted might be hesitant.
He tried to keep that part of his life private, he believed that the scrutinisation he received was okay– he knew it would happen, but he put himself here anyway. Whereas his family didn’t, it would feel wrong to ask them to put themselves in a public position when this was his choice.
You understood, but you also knew how people would perceive him if they didn’t get involved. He wore a ring– though he barely spoke of his wife, he spoke of his son constantly, and about his family values; the importance of them. If people knew he had a family but never saw them, they’d start to question the integrity of his statements– it’s more bother than its worth, that’s what you told him.
He was still hesitant, but he agreed to talk and think it over with his wife. By the second week, the video you had made was edited and out to the public– it was receiving a good amount of traction but when a clip from the public conference you had set up went viral, it grew major traction over-night.
In two weeks, you had him everywhere, all across the country. People where talking, non-stop– every corner on Eddington there was an election poster with his face on it, people wearing badges, hats- even fucking hoodies with ELECT TED 2016.
People where treating it like a full blown presidential election rather than a mayoral one, you were right– once people get wind of others trying to take what’s theirs, they get territorial, try that much harder to keep it in their grasp.
The clip that was taken from the conference was a speech you wrote, Ted was good at talking– but his speech writing was average. He’d written one and when you read it you laughed, not because it was funny, because it was bad.
His brows furrowed as you snickered slightly, looking down at you as you sat at your desk– he was leaning his hip against the side of the table as he crossed his arms. “What?… Is it funny?”
You shook your head and looked up to him, grinning. “Hilariously awful more like… did you even pass English in high school?”
He snatched it back, but a smile was threatening to grace his face. “Yes.” He spoke, feigning offence as he looked back to the page.
”Look… its just a little blunt. Yes– you need to be forward, but its sounds a little like a parental complaint rather than a compassionate speech about understanding. It needs to sound like you’re having a conversation about the changes needed and looking for their insight, not making them listen to you berating the government higher-ups that represent the town– even if they are…”selfish imbeciles” as you so colourfully stated.”
That made him pause, he looked back to you– that same look of awe glazing his eyes, it made you feel a little scrutinised– in a strangely appreciated way. “I think that’s one of the most oddly profound things I’ve ever heard.”
It may have been a compliment, but the look in his eyes and his admiring tone made it a little hard to breathe, you just laughed a little– almost nervously as you looked back to your laptop. “Well, I don’t know about ‘profound’, just experienced with the public.”
That day he had left the speech with you, and overnight you turned it from reprimanding about the lack of public service funding to an informational understanding of the changes needed for Eddington. From talking about the incredible small businesses that keep Eddington afloat, to public service workers, to people struggling with unemployment and the lack of resources and funding, infrastructure adjustments, new energy sources– it was all there.
When the clip garnered attention, everyone kept thanking you, grateful you’d shown up when you did. They kept mentioning how you’d done more in two weeks than they’d done the last three months, it was nice– to be seen like that, for so many people to be appreciative of your presence and work.
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It was Saturday again, early April and two months from the election. You’d been so busy with work that you hadn’t seen Elsie or Imogen in weeks, this was the first break you had in the whole month and a half you been working for Ted. You decided to make dinner reservations at the Italian restaurant just outside of the city, it was a thirty minute drive from Eddington.
The girls had showed up to your house an hour ago, already had a few cocktails in their system but you were staying sober because you were driving, you had been catching up while you got ready.
You were sat at your vanity, curling your hair as the two girls sat comfortably a-top your bed behind you, you had been talking about the guy who Imogen was dating when she changed the subject.
“So, what’s it like working for the hottest mayoral candidate?”
“Exhausting, but rewarding–“ you look back to her, piece of hair wrapped around the wand as you held the end between your fingers, “–y’know he has a wife.”
She nods, so does Elsie, who then speaks up– her tone a lot softer compared to Imogens. “Yeah, she used to work in the bar, so did my mom– that’s how her and Ted became a thing but they’ve know each other since high school.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that.” You nodded once before turning back to the mirror and letting the piece of hair fall off the curler, grabbing a straight piece and wrapping it around again.
“So what’s she like then?” They both tilt their heads.
“You haven’t met her?” You shake your head.
They both look at each other, you notice and furrow your brows, turning back to them. “What?”
“Nothing.”
They spoke in unison before Elsie changed the subject again, it confused you– why they were acting so strange about it all, but you hesitantly let it go.
You were ready after another hour, pulling on your dress– it was a plain black dinner dress, you had bought it for special occasions so it was a little fancier but the restaurant was formal. Your hair was curled and you had a little bit of make-up on, since you were driving you pulled on sneakers and grabbed your heels to pull on when you got there.
The whole way there, Imogen and Elsie spoke, sang, laughed until you pulled up and parked. The restaurant was classy, you’d never been before but Elsie insisted it was one of the nicest restaurants she’d been to so you just agreed and made the reservation.
You turned off the engine and pulled on your heels before getting out of the car, the humid air hit you in a wave, your body getting used to the contrast from the air-con in your car to the hot desert air. It was an exposed brick building, the bricks had been painted white, the accents of green from plants, dark oak window frames and gold hue from the fairy lights outside made it feel chic yet cozy.
The interior was the same, a little darker but still cozy, once you had gotten to your table you all ordered food and got back into conversation– talking about all the things you missed from childhood, exes, work again, laughing at everything and nothing.
You were all in the middle of talking and eating when Imogens eyes immediately caught someone. “You’re fucking kidding.” She muttered.
You and Elise looked back confused, that’s until you turned around and saw it, Ted with a woman, hand on her lower back. You assumed it was his wife but Imogen reaction made you question, when you seen her profile you knew it was his wife and let out a breath– one you hadn’t realised you’d been holding in.
The last thing you needed was to clean up some cheating scandal before he’d even made it to the town hall.
You looked back to her and continued with your food, shrugging as you ate a forkful of your pasta. “Small world huh..?”
But then she gave you that sly smile, like she knew something you didn’t before she sat up straighter, that’s when you heard footsteps getting closer and you knew, heavy steps coming from the direction of the bar towards your table.
God, this was going to be awkward, he must’ve seen you looking and thought he should say hello. You heard the smile in his tone as he said ‘hello’. You slowly turned, polite smile on your face as you looked over to him.
“Wow, hi! Funny seeing you here!”
It sounded too enthusiastic, and you heard Elsie snicker before you kicked her shin lightly under the table, she went back to her pizza after that.
He nods once, smile still gracing his face, he looked you up and down– it was fast but you caught it. Hands now in his suit pant pockets as he stood casually beside you. “Yeah… small world huh?”
Imogen shook her head from across the table, shovelling a mouthful of lasagna in her mouth to stop herself from commenting on the fact you had said the exact same thing– she had that look again, the one that made you think she knew something about you that you didn’t.
“Yeah..” Was all you replied with as you looked at him, you didn’t really know what to say– it felt inappropriate to bring up work, he was clearly relaxing.
“Will you be back on Monday?” He asked casually, with the election being so soon, everyone had started working on Saturdays– sometimes even Sundays if it got busy. You had taken the day off today so you could do this, it wasn’t an odd question for him to ask, but it made you feel a strange fuzziness inside.
“Yeah, yeah I’ll be back.” He nodded again and smiled.
“Well, enjoy your meal… I’ll see you Monday.” He turned but then turned back and spoke gently. “You look nice.” Then he walked off.
That made your heart stutter, and for a second you just sat there, dumbfounded that he said it– especially with your friends there and his wife across the room. It didn’t sound like he was flirting, it could’ve just been a friendly compliment– but something about it felt charged, like the air instantaneously got heavier and hotter after the words left his mouth.
When you finally regained consciousness you looked back to your friends, Imogens smirk was wider, Elsies eyes were wide as her fork lay loosely between her fingers– you didn’t comment, you knew why they were looking at you like that, and you did want to talk about it.
It had been silent, you were on your final bite when Imogen couldn’t help herself. “Well.”
You didn’t even look up, just shook your head and placed the last forkful in your mouth, setting the fork down in the bowl.
Imogen spoke again. “He likes you.” She said it bluntly, smirk still there, you could hear it in the way she spoke– that silent knowing, now getting louder with each word she spoke.
“No.” You said plainly, almost defensively, like you if you defended it– the connotation of it all would go away.
“Yes.” She insisted. “He was practically ogling you, he left his wife at the bar and everything-“
“Imogen. No.” You looked up as you cut her off, gaze firm– silently telling her to not push anymore.
She understood, you knew it would be brought up again, she is relentless but for now she won’t– and that leaves you time to think of ways to cope with what just happened.
You felt a little sick, like the food wasn’t sitting right ever since your interaction with him– it also didn’t help you couldn’t drink, you usually didn’t drink anyway, but for the aftermath of that conversation a glass of wine to take the edge off would’ve been nice.
The girls got dessert, you didn’t. The whole car ride you were silent, dropping them both off at the local bar- Teds bar. They were both too buzzed to realise what they were doing when they asked if you wanted to come with them, but you just politely declined. You were exhausted and just wanted to collapse in your bed, pyjamas on with a good movie to watch– you were also terrified he’d be in there.
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When you got home you got out of your dress and changed into shorts and a t-shirt, wiping off your makeup and brushing your teeth– before you had started getting ready earlier, you were in the midst of trying to book the town hall for another conference.
Since it was nearing the election and Ted had gained so much outside support, you thought it would be good to invite some local and non–local press to ask questions and write articles– it may have been a little overboard, but the more outside morale, the more inside morale.
There was also going to be a few debates set over the coming weeks for candidates, so you needed to prepare points and speeches for that also.
Your title was campaign manager, but you did a lot more than that– you didn’t mind, you took the job for a reason- to help people, so it was rewarding to be given so much responsibility.
You sat on your bed, movie playing in the background as you sat crossed legged a-top your mattress, light from both the tv and your laptop sat in-front of you- illuminating the room. You weren’t going to work today, you told yourself that yesterday once you got home.
It didn’t last long, you practically worked the whole morning up until the girls got to your house, and you just couldn’t help yourself when you got home tonight– you knew something needed to be done so your brain wouldn’t rest until you did it.
You were in the middle of writing the questions you suspected the journalists would ask, as well as multiple points that could help Ted answer. You finished it after a few minutes since you’d focused on it earlier and practically had it done before you left for dinner, the movie had been left to play– you watched ten minutes before the thought of work caught up to you and you couldn’t help yourself.
You had your chin rested on your knee, which was up to your chest, the other laying flat on the bed in the same position it had been when they were crossed. The light from your laptop screen flickering every so often as you scrolled through the page of candidates, there weren’t many- around four, but they all had an essays worth of polices each.
You were onto the second candidate when your phone buzzed beside you, you kept your eyes on the laptop screen, so wrapped up in what you were reading to even question the fact someone was calling you at 10:47pm.
You answered without checking the name, assuming it was a drunk Imogen calling to tell you another story– you placed the phone to your ear and your tone was playful.
“What guy hit on you this time?”
“What?..”
The confusion of a mans voices as well a gruff laugh jolted you out of your mindless reading and scrolling of mayoral policies, immediately pulling the phone back to read the contact name– Ted, your breath hitched as you realised the time, why would he be calling you at this time of the night? Wasn’t he just with his wife?
You hesitantly set the phone back to your ear, you stayed silent for a second before speaking up, apologetically. “Hi, sorry Ted– thought you were my friend calling to tell me about her wasted escapades.”
He laughed again, and your heart beat softened a little. “Well sorry to disappoint, not nearly that interesting.”
“No, no. It’s okay, I’m sure whatever you have to say is plenty interesting.”
“You do know it’s me you called though? Or is this a wrong number situation?” It was a normal question to ask, he was your boss of a month and a half, calling you late on a Saturday night.
“Yeah… sorry, I’m now realising it’s probably a little late to be calling.” He paused, took a deep breath, you could hear it through the phone.
“Is… everything okay?” You questioned hesitantly, like maybe you shouldn’t be asking him that– it sounded too personal of a question after everything that happened earlier, when he left his wife at the bar to practically hit on you.
“Yeah… I mean, no but I don’t want to burden you with that I shouldn’t–“ you cut him off, you did that a lot, but it was never harsh.
“It’s okay… I don’t mind listening, just can’t promise I’ll know what to say.”
He sighed softly, not one of annoyance, almost like he was relieved. “You sure?”
“Yeah… of course.”
“Okay, well… I spoke to Rachel about the things you suggested, for the campaign– she refused, got all defensive. I’d never seen her look so terrified, so i asked her about it– then she dropped the ball on me right before dinner that she’d been seeing someone else.” He sighed again, this one sounded more fed-up– exhausted.
You sat in silence, trying to figure out what to say to that, you felt awful– I mean his wife had cheated on him, that was bad. You knew him and his wife didn’t get along that well, he’d spoken about it to you a few times over the month and a half you’d been working– when it was just you two in the office working on speeches.
You let out a soft sigh, a sad one– your mood moved from quiet awkwardness to soft understanding. “I’m so sorry Ted, that’s really awful.”
“Yeah well, could’ve seen it from a mile away…” he chuckled weakly, “–she’s never been one to focus on one thing for too long.”
“Still, theres no excusing that– it’s a shitty thing to drop out of no where–“
He cut in, said something you never expected. “This isn’t the first time.”
You couldn’t hold back your complete and utter shock as you spoke. “What?.. What do you mean it’s not the first time?”
He laughed at your voice, like you had just been disarmed by his plain words. “Yeah, sounds pathetic when I say it like that. She’s done this before, twice, first time I found out on my own between the late night calls and her constantly hiding her laptop screen.” He took another breath before continuing.
“Promised me she wouldn’t do it again, ended up doing it a few years later, caught them at some dive bar outside town and confronted her– ended up in a fist fight with her boy toy. Did the same thing, apologised with the water works and I just believed it– this time she just said it like she was talking about a movie she’d seen, moved on like it was nothing.”
“Wow…” It was all you could muster up, you were genuinely dumfounded at the idea of Ted Garcia just forgiving his wife for something like that.
“So what’re you gonna do?”
“Dunno… probably nothing?”
You scoffed, you didn’t mean to but you just couldn’t help it, he sounded insane. “Ted– you cant be serious! You’re just gonna stay with her after she’s cheated on you? Not just once, but three separate times.”
He sighed again. “I know, I know… but she’s Erics mom. The last thing I want to do is take away him having a whole family.”
“I think he’d rather have a broken family than a whole but unhappy one.” You realised how harsh it sounded so you changed your tone. “Sorry, I’m too blunt sometimes– the last thing you want is me lecturing you about your family dynamic.”
He immediately spoke up. “No.. no I appreciate your honesty. You’re smart, you know what you’re talking about, I value it– your perspective. Sometimes I think everyone around here knows me too well, so I don’t get personal because I know how they can be when they get the latest secret.”
You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, you understood what he meant– people in small towns loved drama, and if they got wind of infidelity in Teds marriage it would spread like wildfire.
“Suppose you’re right… I know that first hand.”
“How so?”
You were surprised by his sudden interest, but maybe distraction would be the best thing– so you continued. “Well.. first week of me being here, I had a knock at my door one Saturday afternoon– at like 4pm. I barely knew anyone so I didn’t know who would be knocking on my door in the first place, come to find out it was the sheriff, offering me a job after my landlord spilled to him that I’d moved in.”
“I politely declined the offer, didn’t want to do anymore public defending, but he seemed pissed– I couldn’t really understand why but he just nodded and left. Felt a weird feeling about him that day, never really understood why but there was just something about him that I couldn’t shake y’know?”
He hummed understandingly. “He give you any other trouble after that?”
“No… seen him around a few times but never said anything, just stared a little.”
He hums again. “Joes strange, always has been– also doesn’t like me very much.”
“Really?” You questioned, in an almost sarcastic tone. “Didn’t you make a point to leave his name out when you were thanking some of the officers? Especially since he’s the sheriff.”
“Fight fire with fire, he started it– it’s up to him to finish it before he gets any thanks from me.” You chuckled at his matter-of-fact attitude.
That night you spoke till one in the morning, was it a little inappropriate to talk to your boss that late? Yeah… but no one crossed any unsaid boundaries, you just spoke about yourselves– that was it.
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You honestly believed it would be a one time thing, until the next Friday when another call came in at six in the evening, talking while you cooked dinner– all the way through to eleven at night. Then another the Sunday after that, and in the week following another two– one on the Tuesday and another on the Wednesday.
They were innocent conversations, but still there was something unspoken behind each call that came in, each one lasting just an hour too long for mere friendly colleagues. Especially when you both spent everyday with each other in the office, mostly having to work with one another since you were the one guiding him through everything.
You should’ve stopped, you shouldn’t have answered, should’ve made excuses or insisted it was wrong and you both had to stop– but you never did. You don’t remember the last time you’d met someone who spoke to you the way Ted did, he was such a good listener– and he always spoke about you in such a profound way, a way that made you feel seen.
You didn’t need the attention, especially not from a married man, but that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy it just slightly. You knew it was wrong, and incredibly selfish– yet you didn’t stop, you couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t.
There was just something about him you couldn’t shake, it was like the same type of feeling you got from Joe all those months ago– but the version that didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, it almost made you feel too comfortable.
It was a Saturday, now officially three weeks before the ballots open, and it’s getting hotter in Eddington with every day that passes. That hot desert air that you remember when you first arrived filtering in slowly, even thought it was 6pm it was still incredibly humid and sunny outside– you had on the thinest and loosest t-shirt you had, wearing nothing but your underwear underneath- it was baggy enough that it hit your mid thigh but you also had no neighbour to worry about in the first place.
You had every possible window and door open, accept your front door, you stood in your kitchen as you boiled pasta, you were going to let it cool before you made a pasta salad– cooking a full and heavy meal at this time of the year just wasn’t worth it, by the time it was ready you’d be so sweaty and exhausted that you wouldn’t have the appetite to even eat it.
Your phone buzzed beside you, you had an inkling of who it would be, you looked as it buzzed on the counter and saw Ted and you grabbed it– your thumb hesitated on the green circle, 'you shouldn’t’ was what you kept telling yourself.
You let it ring, but in the last second you caved and answered, holding it to your ear as you stirred the pot gently.
“What’s on the menu tonight?” You laughed.
“How’d you know I was cooking?”
“I know these things, eyes everywhere remember?” He reminded you with his usual matter-of-fact attitude.
“Yeah, that’s definitely not creepy? Getting someone to spy on a woman who lives alone? Reallll abuse of power.” He chuckled at your sarcasm, scoffing ever so slightly.
“Guess it was a little creepier than I intended… I apologise.”
“It’s fine… I think if there was to be anyone in this town to stalk me in an un-creepy way– it’d be you.” It was meant to be a joke, but the way you said it made it seem weirdly– deep and meaningful?
He didn’t respond, he stayed quiet, no laugh, no sarcastic retort– it hit him, and you had no clue how to take it back, or make it seem funny.
“Ted–“
“Sorry, I’ve got to uhm… I’ll see you Monday.” Then the line cut off.
Your brows furrowed as you looked back to your phone, and sure enough– he hung up. Did it make him uncomfortable? Was it because of the joke that didn’t land or the tone you said it in?
You just sighed before placing the phone face down on the counter beside you as you picked up the pot of pasta, you walked to the sink and strained out the water– god, what had you done?
Everything got a little awkward after that, but only when you two were alone, his words were fumbled and his gaze looked everywhere but you– it was almost worse this way, the awkwardness made everything uncomfortable.
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The last few weeks of planning went by quickly, and before you knew it the election was a week away, and the first of two full day debates was underway. Thankfully, Ted wasn’t on the stage till later in the day so he had time to prepare, you were going over the question prompts.
You were asking him question and he gave you the answer back, using the list of promoted points as well as improvisation– it was going okay, he was doing great and being really engaging, but something was holding him back.
You were holding off on saying anything, but after an hour of the back and forth questions you sighed softly and set the sheet of questions on the table– you watch as he raised a brow, stood across from you.
“We’ve only been going for an hour, I don’t need a break.”
“Just sit.”
He shakes his head. “No… keep going.” He straightened his back, along with his jacket.
You leaned into the back of the chair you were sat in, folding your arms as you looked at him with a soft shake of the head– a gentle way of telling him to calm down and sit.
“Sit down Ted, you’re gonna wear yourself out.” He looked to the floor, then looked back up before relenting and pulling the chair in-front of him out from under the table– sitting down as he looked at you.
It was quiet before you hear the chair scrape again, you turn to see him standing up and walking to a nearby table, where his bag sat as he pulled out a pack of playing cards.
He moved back to his seat, sitting down and opening the pack of cards in-front of him, you sat up a little straighter and gave him a questioning look– he smiled slightly as he looked back to you.
“Used to keep these in my bag to impress girls, then Eric came along so started showing him how to do card tricks– he’s older now but still keep them in there, just incase.”
That made you melt internally, of course he knew how to do card tricks, and of course he turned a pick-up tactic into a father-son bonding activity– because that’s what Ted was good at, adapting to the situation, that’s how he’d made it this far.
He pulled the deck of cards out and shuffled them a little before he looked back to you, fanning them out and holding them towards you.
“Pick one, don’t show it to me.”
You laughed slightly at his enthusiasm, but obliged as you picked out a card in the middle of the deck, you looked at it- ace of hearts. You smiled to him and he spoke again.
“Put it back in…” You nod before placing it back in the deck, watching him shuffle it again before he fans it out again and picks up a random card before turning it to you, “–is this your card?”
Sure enough, staring back at you is the ace of hearts, you scoffed playfully as you nodded. He gave a triumphant grin back, before cleaning up the deck.
“How’d you do that?” You quiz curiously.
“Magicians never tell their secrets.”
You rolled your eyes sarcastically before smiling again, this was probably the softest you’d seen him– so completely enthralled in something other than politics, the kind of boyish grin you seen on a teenage boy after he impressed his first girl with a card trick.
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After his debate, everyone was packing away, it went well– he held himself and got his points across firmly. You were packing your notes into your bag when you felt a hand graze your lower back, you straighten your back and instantly felt his breath on your ear.
“Need to talk to you..” Was all he whispered before he removed his hand and walked into the empty room connected to the one everyone else was in, you hadn’t taken a breath since his hand moved. You looked around the room, everyone was obliviously packing away as you slowly made your way to the room, shutting the doors behind you.
When you walked in it was a lot darker, most of the fuses in the overhead lights where blown– he was stood the farthest side of the table, arms folded over his chest, his shirt was more wrinkled than earlier and his suit jacket was now off.
His hair looked as though he had ran his finger through it one too many times, he watched you walk in– didn’t speak up, just stood staring at you as you made your way to the closest side of the table from the door.
“Is everything okay?” You sounded small, weak– not your usual self-assured and confident attitude being carried. He nodded, you nodded back once.
You looked around the room, his eyes were still on you, but the intense eye contact was making you feel things– things you shouldn’t feel, and you knew if you didn’t look away you’d do something stupid.
“Look at me..” He uttered gently, he was finally speaking– but you didn’t know how to feel about the tone. It was too soft, too charged to be friendly.
Yet you couldn’t help yourself, you looked back to him– and you seen the softening in his gaze, god if it didn’t make you want to walk around that table right now and kiss him.
“We should go back to every–“
“I like you, and I know its wrong– but I can’t stop.”
That made your heart stop, your breathing hitched and your eyes widened– you couldn’t think straight anymore, how could anyone think straight after a confession like that?
Its was so abrupt, so sudden that you had no time to prepare yourself, just one straight blow to every hard part of you– all of it suddenly disappearing and leaving you a soft mess right in-front of him.
You shook your head, it was all you could do, but he started moving– you couldn’t even follow him with your eyes as he made his way around the table to you.
He gently moved to stand in-front of you, you were no longer wide-eyed or shaking your head, but your breathing was shallow as you looked at him– head tilted slightly upwards.
His hands cupped your jaw gently as he pulled you in, one gentle kiss being placed on your lips before he pulled back to look at you again. It hurt in all the right ways, and after he pulled back you finally realised how real this all was.
You hesitantly moved your hands to rest on his forearms, holding them– as if they were grounding you as you spoke up, a smile slowly gracing your face. “I can’t believe you just did that…”
He laughed slightly, then shrugged as he moved his hands from your jaw to your waist. “Was feeling confident… it was now or never.”
You laughed softly, looking down, but when you looked back to him– something about his gaze made the desire in you take over, you moved one hand from his forearm to the back of his neck as you pulled him closer.
Inching up slightly as you pulled him into another kiss, this one wasn’t nearly as gentle as his– it was hungry and open-mouthed, his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer to him.
He turned you both around and pressed your back against the edge of the table as he continued to kiss you, he began to kiss down your jaw as your finger tangled into the back of his hair– your other hand rested on his bicep.
You let out soft breaths as he kissed down your neck, fingers tightening in his hair before he pulls back to look at you again, you feel his hand moving to rest on your thigh through your skirt– he speaks up, breath heaving slightly.
“Can I?”
“Mhm… please.” You nodded almost frantically as you pulled him back in for a kiss.
His hand slowly moved down your leg until it hit your bare knee, you were wearing a pencil skirt– so it was a little tighter than a normal skirt, the fabric it was made of didn’t help either but Ted adapted. Like always.
He managed to fold it up enough so you could open your legs a little wider, he traced his fingers up your inner thigh as you continued your hungry kissing– once his fingers grazed the wet patch across your panties, you let out a needy moan into his mouth.
Thankfully, his mouth soaked up most of the noise, he grazed the patch again– a little firmer this time, and your body chased the friction as you whined softly, gripping his hair harder as a sign for him to stop teasing.
“You’re being impatient..” He spoke into your mouth with a smile.
“You’re being a dick.”
He laughed softly, but then his fingers moved again, pulling your panties to one side and holding them there with his thumb– gently letting his middle finger move through the warm, wet folds.
You moaned into his mouth again as his finger-pad moved over your clit, already throbbing for more as you inched you hips closer to him– his finger continued its circular pattern over your clit, your hips stuttered the more he applied pressure.
After a few minutes of increasing pace and pressure, you were nearing your climax when his finger stopped– your forehead had dropped to his shoulder when you couldn’t hold your head up anymore. You lifted it to give him an ‘are you serious look?”, he smirked slightly and leaned back down to kiss you before pulling back again.
“You think I did all this just to make you cum like that?” He scoffed before he continued, a smirk still on his face. “Take off your panties and sit on the table.”
You rolled your eyes sarcastically, and smirked as you watched him stand back, you stood up straight before you bent over slightly– reaching your hand up your skirt as you gripped the waistband of your underwear and pulled them off slowly, stepping each foot out before you pick them up off the floor.
You look back to him smirking, before you hop up on the table and set the panties on the table beside you– he slots himself back between your legs, his hand move to your knees as he widens the space between your legs even further, you hear a few of the stitches in your skirt rip- you don’t even tell him to stop, you want him too much to tell him to stop.
He leans back in and kisses you again, you smile against his lips as you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling– pulling back and watching him as you lean back on your hands, a look of impatience in your eyes.
He smirks and shakes his head as you pull back to watch him unbutton his dress pants. “You’re so fucking dirty…”
“Wanna see what I’m working with is all.” Your tone was matter-of fact, but your mouth went dry the second he pulled down his boxers to free himself, his half hard cock popping out– it was big, bigger than you’d ever seen, you looked back to him and he just scoffed.
That made you want to kiss his stupid face and show him to never doubt you again as you took him fully, but then he spoke up.
“We’ll go slow-“
“I’ll be fine I can han–“
“We’re going slow, not because I don’t think you can handle it, because I wanna enjoy it.” That quickly made you shut up, even though it was a filthy thing to say– he always had a way of making everything so meaningful.
You nodded and smiled slightly, your hand moving to the back of his neck again as he guided himself towards you, slowly lining himself up before his tip enters you– you let out a soft breathy moan.
Then he adds another inch, making sure to take a second to let you both feel it before adding another– when he bottoms out you let out a noise that’s a mix between a whine and a moan before your hand grips the back of his neck firmly.
His first thrust made you moan, louder than you should’ve but you were both too focused on each other to realise- your hips moved with his as you chased the friction.
You moaned, whimpered and whined when each move of his hips hit into you, you could feel every inch of him– deeper than you’d ever thought was actually possible but, god- did it feel fucking fantastic.
Tears started to pool in the corners of your eyes as his hips quickened their pace, between his thrusts you leant back a little more- you’re single arm getting sore from holding all of your body weight on it, his hand moved from the sides of your thighs to your back.
You pulled him closer and kissed him hungrily, when he thrusted again it made you cry out– in all the manoeuvring, you’d accidentally found a position where he hit you even deeper, in a spot that made your vision go blurry and your legs tense.
He held you up by your back as his thrust got deeper and deeper, kissing you before you hit your climax.
You let out a string of cursed moans along with his name before your vision whited out and your body slackened, he continued as his pace got more frantic before he pulled out quickly– finishing on your inner thigh as he groaned, he continued to hold you up as his forehead dropped to your chest.
You both try to catch you breath as your fingers run through his hair, after a few minutes he lifts his head up and looks at you before he laughs slightly, you smile as you shake your head– gently pushing his chest before he stands up straight.
“You’re such a dick… and you just came on my thigh.”
“Better than inside you.” It didn’t take long for his smug, matter-of-fact tone to come back, along with that smirk.
You give him a dead look as you reply plainly. “Im on birth control.”
“Still… safer that way.” He pats the outside of your thigh before adjusts himself back into his boxers– then pulling his suit pants back up and buttoning them.
“How am I meant to clean it up, genius?” He looks around before handing you back your panties, you raise a brow. “I need to wear them.”
He shrugs. “Says who? You’ve got a skirt that hits just above your knees.”
You scoff with another shake of the head, he’s so fucking shameless, but you snatch them back and wipe your thigh before standing up, shimmying your skirt back to its original position– you look to see him holding out his hand. “What?”
“Gimme them.”
“Give you wh–“ you realise, and look down to the ball of fabric in your hand before you scoff again, you look up to see him with his hand out slightly– so you place them gently in his open palm, watching him shove them in his pant pocket.
“You’re insane.” He doesn’t say anything, just moves closer to you again and leans in– kissing you so deeply that your knees almost buckle, he holds your waist with one arm.
It may have been wrong, or a mistake, or both– but in this moment neither of you seemed to mind.
He pulled back after a few seconds, and looked at you with a smile. “See you Monday?..”
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Chapter Summary: There were years inside this bedroom, waking up and ignoring the empty side of the bed, once reserved for someone he realized he loved far too late to let her know. The regret sits inside him still, because of you. Because you showed him again what love is, letting it grow inside him, making him see it’s always been there.
Chapter Warnings: smut, drunk sex, porch fingering, cum eating, wine, panic attacks (sorry anxious bb joel), domestic bliss, return of the jedi, nevermind by nirvana in the apocalypse
Words: 5,500
A/N: Idk guys, I was struggling SO HARD writing this chapter, but once it clicked in place... I figured it out. (lol as if that's not the textbook def of writing) My thanks to my beloveds @schnarfer and @mothandpidgeon for calming my writing anxiety down, and talking me through things. Some lovely friends told me that if I wanted to end Healed, I could, but I'm not ready yet. I want Joel to get his official happily ever after that's been in my head for 5 years. So stick with me, hold my hands, and I promise we'll get to the end soon. I just need to stop putting so much pressure on myself.
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
You love the sounds of your mornings now. The creak of the stairs under your feet, the sizzle of the pan on the stove, Joel’s low voice murmuring a low “Mornin’” as you pad into the kitchen. Joel’s already poured you a cup of tea; it steams on the table, sitting next to his half-drunk cup of coffee.
Joel plates your breakfast after you take a seat at the table, still yawning the sleep away. Jefferson weaves around his feet as he brings the plates over, and he shoos him away with a gentle brush of his foot. He sets your meal in front of you: pancakes, eggs, and a side of peaches. It’s basic, yet luxurious. Sometimes, the normalcy of being able to enjoy things as simple as breakfast still surprises you.
“So, what’re you thinkin’ for dinner?” he asks, sitting across from you.
“Roast chicken, corn and tomato salad, roasted potatoes, biscuits.”
He eyes you over his mug. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“Not really. I’ll start early.”
“I swear you can do it all. Dream woman,” he says, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re sittin’ there, talkin’ about all the food you’re gonna make, barely dressed.”
“Shut up,” you say with a roll of your eyes as you’re clad in your old, threadbare sleep dress, its fabric paper-thin. “But I guess I can say you’re my dream man,” you say, meeting his eyes. “So we work perfectly together.”
He blushes and tries to hide the shy smile behind a drink of coffee, but you see it–the way you can make him feel.
Joel helps you with the dishes before he kisses the top of your head goodbye. “I’ll be back, gonna go invite everyone.”
While he’s gone, you open the windows, put a cassette tape that you borrowed from Ellie in the stereo, and begin cleaning the house. Something is grounding about it, caring for the space you share with Joel, a lived-in home, complete with a stack of books on the coffee table, your knitting basket near the sofa, and Joel’s half-finished carvings on the end table.
Jefferson hinders your progress more than he helps as you dust the shelves, straighten the cushions on the couch, and sweep the floors. He chases the feather duster and broom across whatever surface they touch, and you’re constantly trying to move around his tiny body.
You never used to stay anywhere long enough or care enough about it to really clean it. Now, you take pride in your permanence—the slight dip in the cushion of Joel’s armchair, the coffee stains on the kitchen table, and your jacket hung next to Joel’s on the coat rack near the front door.
Jefferson meows when you pick up the feather duster again, you kneel, running the plume of feathers across the floor in front of him. His bright green eyes go wide, little white socked paws reaching out to try to catch it.
This is your life now. Pancakes for breakfast, cleaning house, playing with a kitten, falling asleep, and waking up next to the love of your life—joy in a way you never thought possible before.
Later, you’ll open your door to the people you and Joel care for the most, feeding them and letting the house fill with joy and love.
—-
It’s midmorning by the time Joel heads out to invite your guests. He figures since it’s Sunday, there’s a good chance everybody will be home. He takes the quick walk down the driveway to Ellie’s garage, where he knocks a few times. Dina answers.
“Oh,” he says, surprised at the sight of her comfortable in one of Ellie’s old, faded shirts. “Ellie up?”
Dina rolls her eyes affectionately. “She’s still dead to the world. What’s up?”
“We wanted to invite you and her to our place for dinner tonight.”
Dina folds her arms with a wide smile on her face. “Well, we accept.”
He nods with a smile, “Bring Sally too,” he adds.
“We will.”
“And, let Ellie sleep in, she deserves it.”
“I will.”
Next stop is Maria and Tommy’s. Joel likes these walks; his limp is getting easier, thanks to his healing and the use of his cane. He notices a change in how he views Jackson now. Now it’s no longer a place just to keep himself and Ellie safe, but a place to build a future with you. He imagines your hand in his for the rest of his life here. He knows it, he’s felt it for so long, maybe ever since your air breathed life back into his lungs, you were meant to be with him forever.
When he reaches the gate for Tommy and Maria’s home, he smiles at the sight of a tricycle tipped over on the grass and a couple of worn action figures half-dug under dirt. Joel steps up on the porch and knocks three purposeful taps against the door.
Maria answers in weekend mode, a bonnet over her hair, a loose shirt over sweatpants, and an easy smile. “What a surprise,” she says, stepping aside to let him in. “Everything alright?”
“Just wanted to see if y’all want to come by for dinner tonight.”
Benji bursts out of the living room at the sound of Joel’s voice. “Uncle Grumpy!” he says, running over to him, attaching himself to Joel’s leg. “Where’s Doc?”
Joel smiles at Benji’s infatuation with you. “She’s back home, bud,” he answers with a smile.
“But you’ll see her tonight, we’re going over to Uncle Joel’s for dinner,” Maria responds with a smile.
Benji’s smile grows wider at the news.
“You’ll get to meet our kitten, too,” Joel says.
“How’s that going with the cat?” Tommy asks, coming down the stairs with a nod of hello to his older brother.
“Better than I thought,” Joel answers.
Tommy smiles a response, standing next to Maria. “So dinner, huh?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Joel answers. “She already has it all planned.”
“Well, we’ll bring dessert, I have so many strawberries,” Maria says.
“Sounds good, I’ll see you around six,” Joel says with a tussle of Benji’s hair before he leaves.
Joel can hear the music before he reaches the porch, and he smiles. He remembers a time when he never smiled, not even on a good day, but what really was a good day? Now he’s smiling because he can, because he feels like he’s living a life that fits him.
The sound of your sweet voice floats outside the wide-open windows. He can see you sitting on the floor of the living room with Jefferson, singing along to the Nirvana tape. He stops and allows himself to watch you on your knees, holding the feather duster, coaxing Jefferson across the hardwood.
Your head’s nodding up and down to the beat of the song, repeating the lyrics.
“I’m on a plain, I can’t complain. I’m on a plain, I can’t complain.”
The song changes, and a slow, rhythmic bass beat begins. He’s still watching you through the window. You scoop Jefferson into your hands and bring him up to your face, singing along to the song.
“Something in the way, yeah. Mmm-mmm.”
When he walks inside, Jefferson’s the first to turn his attention towards him. You follow the cat’s gaze, looking up at Joel, gifting him a smile that he can’t help but match.
“Hey,” you say, putting Jefferson down and standing.
“Looks like you two are havin’ fun,” he says, walking forward to wrap his arms around you and kiss your cheek. “We’ll have company tonight, Maria said she’ll bring dessert.”
“Oh, good,” you say, nuzzling against his chest in the sweet way you always do. He sways with you slightly to the rest of the song, you softly hum along to it, and he’s sure he’s dreaming about all of this soft domesticity.
You chuckle when the next song starts, and it’s a clatter of screaming and instruments. “Don’t think this one works too well for romance,” you say.
“Always been a little too loud and screamy for me, but Ellie loves it.”
“Well, it’s perfect to finish cleaning to,” you say, pulling away and turning toward the kitchen, your brain clearly running through dinner plans. “I should get the chicken marinade started.”
“I’ll finish the cleanin’,” he offers.
There was a time when he wouldn’t have cared about dust or mess. Survival didn’t leave room for it. Now, he wants to make this house feel safe and warm, for you and Jefferson, and everyone who matters.
Tonight, this house will be full. Tommy, his brother, who once survived alongside him. Maria, who’s now like a sister. Little Benji, who reminds him so much of his Sarah. Ellie, who changed everything. Dina, who makes Ellie happy in ways Joel never thought he’d see. And you. His miracle. The doctor who saved his life and his heart.
—-
The plates you’ve set out on the dining room table don’t match; some are ceramic with chipped edges, others are plastic and faded, and the silverware is also a hodgepodge—ornate silver next to sleek, stainless steel, but you smile at the sight of a fully dressed table.
“Looks perfect,” Joel says as he brings out the basket of biscuits from the kitchen.
“Thanks,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You’re excited for tonight, a real dinner party with real friends who feel like family.
You light the candles of different burnt heights, right as the familiar rasp of Tommy’s knocks land against the door.
“Smells like heaven in here,” Tommy says, walking in with a cake in his hands. Maria’s right behind him, holding Benji’s hand. Benji instantly smiles when he sees Joel, but his smile grows even wider when he spots you. He runs right into your arms when you kneel down to his height.
“Hey, guy!” you say, wrapping your arms around him.
“Auntie Doc! I missed you!”
You freeze in place at the name. Auntie. An almost verification of how much you mean to somebody else outside of this home.
“I missed you, too,” you reply, a little misty-eyed, before you hug him tight.
“I’ve brought a little something,” Maria says, reaching into her tote bag, pulling out a bottle of wine. “A nice, 2025 reserve,” she says with a wink as she hands it to Joel.
“Appreciate it,” he says, admiring the bottle.
Your eyes light up at the sight. You haven’t had wine in years.
You take Benji’s hand and lead him over the cat tree.
“This,” you say, picking up Jefferson from his perch at the top, “is Jefferson.”
Benji’s eyes go wide as he reaches towards the kitten and pets its fur.
“Hiii, Jefferson,” Benji says excitedly.
You kneel beside Benji, his hands are eager but gentle. There’s something in his reverence that makes you think of Sarah, and you wonder if she also had that careful gentleness that you see in Joel, too. You glance up when you feel the hush in the room—three sets of eyes on you.
Maria and Tommy stand near the door, watching you and Benji with knowing smiles, while Joel stands beside them, his face more serious, but in a deep way that you recognize as a look only reserved for you.
You relish the joy of Benji with Jefferson, a smile beaming across his little face as the kitten sniffs and investigates him.
When Ellie arrives, she doesn’t even knock; she just barges in, Sally in her arms, Dina following her with a glass jar brimming with wildflowers. Sally escapes her hold, galloping over to Jefferson and Benji.
You rise, leaving Benji in his kitten joy, and take the flowers from Dina with a “thank you” and place them on the table.
Joel excuses himself to grab a couple of glasses for wine, and you follow him into the kitchen. As soon as you turn the corner, away from the view of your guests, Joel pushes you up against the wall, his hands already reaching up your dress, mouth hot against your neck.
“You know what this dress does t’me,” he growls in between kisses.
You had a feeling Joel would appreciate you wearing the same light blue dress you got from Wendy for Dina’s birthday party. You chuckle, weakly trying to push him away. “Joel, we have company and dinner’s ready.”
"They can wait," he growls, before kissing you, pressing you firmly against the wall.
It takes everything you have to push him off, smoothing your dress.
“Later,” you promise. “Now, take the veggies to the table.”
He sighs, picking up the serving bowl and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before returning to the dining room.
When you walk out of the kitchen, carrying the large, ceramic platter holding your perfectly roasted chicken, Joel still watches you in a way that makes you think he’s still thinking about later. Everyone oohs and ahhs when you place it in the center of the table.
Joel sits at the head of the table, his hair combed back, showcasing his handsome face.. When he picks up the carving knife, he looks like he’s straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Everyone piles food onto their plates, compliments being sent your way from your happy guests. Tommy says you’ve baked the best damn biscuits ever. Maria asks you for the recipe for the vinaigrette you use on the corn and tomato salad. Benji asks for seconds of your roasted potatoes. This truly feels like home, and like the family you’ve dreamed of having.
You don’t know if your heart has ever been so full before. You look across the table, Joel’s brown eyes watching you with a contented smile, you smile back, lifting your glass of wine in a silent toast to him. You’re so thankful for him and the family he’s brought you.
—-
Joel leans against the doorframe between the dining room and living room, watching you sit cross-legged on the floor with Benji settled in your lap as he cradles Jefferson carefully. You're talking with Maria, as you tell a story that makes her throw her head back in laughter. The sight of you with his family makes his heart ache. This is what happiness feels like, he thinks. This is what he never thought he'd have.
Jefferson escapes Benji's gentle grip, scampering a few feet away before settling to groom himself. Benji giggles, still happy in your lap, his small body leaning trustingly against yours; he’s smitten with you, and Joel isn’t surprised.
Maria laughs again at something you say. Joel can't remember the last time he saw her so relaxed. Of course, you’d help her forget about the heavy weight of Jackson’s responsibilities for a night, you soothe everyone. Tommy sits on the couch, his arm around Maria’s shoulder, talking to Dina, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sally sleeping on her lap.
You whisper something to Benji, and he giggles as you tickle him. Everyone loves you. It's as simple and as profound as that.
You look over across the room at him, and you smile; it makes his heart stutter in his chest. Benji says something that makes you laugh. The sound of your joy should fill him with happiness, and it does, but there's something else beneath the surface. A cold, familiar fear that wraps around his heart.
What if he loses you?
The thought comes unwelcome, but once it takes root, it spreads like a virus. He tries to blink it away, to focus on anything else but the fear—you, Benji, Jefferson, his family gathered in his home—but his vision begins to blur and the noises of the small get-together begin to fade and turn into high-pitched ringing in his ears.
Joel has lost too much. Sarah, Tess, and nearly Ellie. The universe has taught him repeatedly that happiness is only temporary, that love is vulnerable, that everything can be taken in an instant.
What if raiders attack while you're outside the walls? What if another group of infected appears on one of your plant-gathering expeditions? What if you get sick, and nobody can save you?
What if, what if, what if...
He tenses and untenses his hands at his sides, trying to ground himself, trying to pull himself back from the spiral. His breathing comes quicker, shallower. He knows this feeling. He hates this feeling.
"Hey man, you okay?" Ellie's voice breaks through the fog, pulling him back to the present. She stands beside him, looking at him with concern.
"Y-yeah. I am," he says as steadily as he can.
"Alright, you don't look it.”
"No, I am," he tries to reassure her, forcing his breathing to slow.
Ellie's gaze follows Joel's when he looks back at you.
"I really like her," Ellie says, nodding in your direction. "You're lucky to have her."
"I am," he nods.
"She's lucky to have you, too.”
Joel looks over at her, surprised. A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, seeing it again, so rare and precious to him now… that it helps take away his fear.
"Even if you can kinda be an asshole," she whispers as she walks away and joins Dina.
He joins you, settling in his recliner, and you scoot across the floor a bit, so you can rest against his leg. Benji still sits in your lap. He looks around his living room, noting how alive it now feels. You’ve brought everyone here into the home he shares with you. He doesn’t think his heart has ever been happier, if only his brain would allow him this feeling without the fear.
—-
You’re definitely not used to two glasses of wine; you feel pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.
Your company leaves, well past everyone’s usual bedtime, after hours of conversations and laughter. You wave one last goodbye to Tommy, who carries a sleeping Benji in his arms with Maria next to him. Ellie and Dina left with Sally a few minutes earlier. Now it’s just you and Joel, on the porch, in the quiet night. All of Jackson should be asleep by now.
“That was really nice,” you say.
Joel hums in agreement as he settles into his rocking chair.
"They really loved the chicken," Joel says. “Did you see Tommy ate four biscuits?”
“I did,” you chuckle as you sit in your trusty kitchen chair next to him. “Remind me to make him some just because.”
Joel reaches for the small glass of whiskey he brought outside with him. Your mouth begins to water as you watch him lift it to his lips and take a drink. When he licks the remnants of whiskey from his lips, you nearly moan at the sight, wanting to taste the burn of alcohol that remains against his tongue.
All night, you’ve sensed his eyes on you, his desire for you heating you from within. Now, you want nothing more than to press your lips to his and let him drink you down like the whiskey in his glass.
The tipsy haze you’re under makes you bold enough to stand and move to the far end of the porch, where it’s dark, the light not reaching.
"C'mere," you say, your words a bit slurred, as you stand in the shadows.
Joel sets his glass down and rises with a soft grunt, moving to you, his broad body standing behind you. You reach back, grabbing his hands and guiding them around your waist, pulling until your back meets his chest.
"Mm," you breathe, leaning your head back. "You're always so warm 'n hot."
“Baby, how much did you drink tonight?"
"Mm, enough," you answer, swaying slightly in his arms. "Enough to feel good and light but also enough to want to still be fucked by you."
Joel tenses before he exhales a heavy sigh. "Baby, you drank a lot tonight."
"I know, and I'm having fun," you respond, pressing your ass against his crotch. "But I'm definitely not inebriated enough to want your cock inside me."
He groans. "Well, you did just use inebriated, so you can’t be that bad."
You laugh, the sound turning into a moan as you begin to grind your ass against him, feeling his cock hardening against the curve of you.
"Go on, Mr. Miller," you say, angling your head against his chest to look up at him. "Stick your hands up my dress and feel how wet she is."
He grunts, his large hand slides up your thigh, and when he reaches the apex of it, he moves your panties to the side, his fingers finding the slick heat of you.
A long, low groan escapes him when he feels how ready you are. "Baby, you're drunk," he grits out, and yet his fingers still explore your wetness.
"Then get me a cup of coffee, and I'll drink it while you fuck me. She's needy for you, Mr. Miller," you whine, your hand pressing his firmer against you. “Feel how fucking wet she is, how fucking bad she wants your cock inside her?"
His finger sears against you with more force, sliding inside you as his other arm tightens around your waist, holding you steady as your knees threaten to buckle. Behind you, his hips begin to buck, grinding his hardness against your ass.
"I want you to fuck me, Mr. Miller.”
"Fuck," he grunts, suddenly withdrawing his hand. "Get inside right now," he commands.
You obey, throwing the front door open and stumbling through the doorway. Joel stalks right behind you, his hands find your waist, and spins you to face him as soon as you're inside. He kisses you, and you taste the whiskey and desire on his tongue as you lick into his mouth.
He walks you backward until your back hits the wall next to the bookshelf, his hands already bunching up the fabric of your dress as you reach down to unbuckle his belt, greedily unzipping his fly before you wrap your hand around his cock with a satisfied hum.
Joel breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. "Turn around," he orders, the growl of his voice causing a shiver through your body.
You obey, turning to face the wall, bracing your hands against it. Joel pulls your hips back, pushing your dress up, before he tugs your panties down. You gasp when you feel him press his cock against your wet pussy, collecting your slick across himself with a groan.
“Been thinking about this all fucking night, baby,” he grits as he sheathes himself inside your eager pussy, your walls accepting his thick cock.
The shelf next to you begins to rattle, a couple of books and wood carvings falling to the floor when Joel begins to fuck into you.
"This what you wanted?" he growls against your ear, hands gripping your hips hard. "This what you been thinkin' about all night in that pretty dress?"
"Yes," you gasp. "Yes, god, yes."
He grunts, pistoning into you with a steady force, each thrust shoving you up against the wall, your palms splayed to brace yourself. You feel owned by Joel, a scream leaving your throat when he pulls all the way out and slams back into you.
Joel’s hand finds your mouth, muffling the sounds that escape from you as he molds himself to you. “Gonna have to be quiet, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t want all of Jackson knowin' I’m fuckin’ my woman against the walls, do we?”
You nearly sob at the sound of him calling you his woman, as he fucks you harder and deeper, his hips snapping into you. You love being owned by him, the way his big, broad body makes you feel delicate and small, even as you take his cock to the hilt, so greedy for everything he’ll give you.
He fucks your orgasm out of you, fast and hot, your knees going slack, his big hands now clamped on your shoulders as he owns you. You cum so hard, your hands slip on the wall, and you almost lose your footing.
When you clench around him, that undoes him; he pulls out, jerking himself with a fist as he spills across the curve of your ass and the back of your dress, panting your name over and over.
You both stand there, catching your breath for a second, before Joel drags his thumb through the mess on your dress.
“Fuck, I guess I do really love that dress, don’t I?” he asks.
You turn, grabbing his wrist, bringing his thumb to your mouth, and licking it clean.
“Christ, baby,” he growls. “How’d I get so damn lucky?”
You place a kiss on the pad of his thumb before leaning up to kiss him. “Mm, I could ask the same thing,” you say.
He pulls you close, a low rumble of a chuckle vibrating against you. “Let’s get you naked and get to bed. We’ll clean up tomorrow.”
—-
Joel wakes before dawn and tries not to disturb you. He never used to allow himself to stay in bed, not even in the old life, too much to do, too much to worry about. But now, he tries to linger as long as he can, letting himself hold you close and study your beautiful face, the way you sleep so soft and trusting beside him.
He tries to remember how he was able to survive before you, how he would live out his days without getting lost in the longing for more than what he had. He’s not sure he can remember. You’ve made him into someone new and more vulnerable. He still doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
You shift against him, making a small, happy noise that vibrates against his chest. He smiles at the sound.
There were years inside this bedroom, waking up and ignoring the empty side of the bed, once reserved for someone he realized he loved far too late to let her know. The regret sits inside him still, because of you. Because you showed him again what love is, letting it grow inside him, making him see it’s always been there.
He lies awake for a long time, the sky outside turning gray, then pink. The fear inside him rises and crests, along with the rising sun. He knows that since love is there, he could lose it so easily and so quickly. He can’t help but think about the possibility of it all falling apart.
He never wanted to be weak, never wanted to depend so deeply on another person again, but here you are, sleeping in his arms. He wishes he could erase every ‘what if’ from existence by holding you even tighter. But it doesn’t work, his breathing starts to increase, his body heating as his heart begins to pound against his chest. He burrows closer to you, folding his body into yours, nestling his face against your neck, breathing you in, trying to match his breathing to the soft pattern of yours.
When he’s finally calm, he allows himself to hold you, tracing soft patterns against your smooth skin before he unwraps his arms around you and gets out of bed. He’s thankful you don’t stir through it all, even when he clears his throat as quietly as he can and picks up Jefferson, who’s lying nestled against your leg. You still sleep peacefully, oblivious to him leaving a kiss on your cheek before he puts on a pair of sweatpants and heads to the living room.
There’s quite a display downstairs, books are scattered across the floor, empty glasses cover the coffee table, and there’s a stack of dishes to be washed in the kitchen.
He starts with the books, kneeling down with a grunt and putting away the random paperbacks and hardcovers. He then carries the empty glasses to the kitchen, Jefferson following close behind him, ready for his breakfast.
He heats a pan as he fills the sink with water, splitting his time between cooking eggs and washing dishes. He figures if he stays busy, he can’t focus too hard on the voice of fear in the back of his head.
He brews some coffee, getting a little sad when he picks up the canister and feels how light it is, but he knows you both need a good cup of coffee today, especially after his lack of sleep, and all the fun you had last night.
Joel sets the last clean dish in the drying rack, then arranges breakfast on the tray—two egg sandwiches, a small bowl of oatmeal, and a sliver of leftover cake. He grabs the mug of coffee and breakfast, carefully balancing everything as he makes his way upstairs, much slower without his cane.
He settles on the edge of the bed with the tray in his lap before he leans over and nudges you gently, pressing a kiss against your forehead.
“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he whispers against your temple.
You gently wake, your hand shielding your eyes from the sunlight with a groan. “Morning,” you mumble, your voice scratchy.
"Brought you breakfast."
You groan again, pushing yourself up to sit up, slightly wincing. "My head," you sigh. “It hurts.”
"This should help," he says, handing you the mug of coffee.
You accept with a tired smile."You're too good to me," you say.
He hmphs a happy sound as he moves to sit beside you and hands you one of the egg sandwiches. When you take a bite, a small moan of appreciation escapes your lips. He loves providing for you, seeing you enjoy something he's made with his own hands.
"How bad is the hangover?" he asks, taking a bite of his own sandwich.
"Not as bad as I feared," you admit. "Just a headache. The coffee and eggs should help."
He insists you drink most of the coffee, watching you slowly wake up.
After breakfast is done, he cuddles close to you, letting the lazy morning stretch. He only has one more day left of vacation, and he’s going to savor every second of it, and you, it helps quiet the fear inside him.
—-
“I love that you cooked for fifteen people when we only had seven,” Joel says, filling his plate full of leftovers.
“Hey! I’ve seen you house half a chicken in one sitting,” you respond, filling half your plate with potatoes. “Plus, I love potatoes.”
You both carry your heaping plates to the sofa, and Joel presses play on the remote.
Yellow text crawls on the screen over a loud, orchestral introduction.
EPISODE VI
RETURN OF THE JEDI
“Saved the best for last,” you say, balancing your plate on your knees, and savoring each bite of leftovers.
Once your plates are empty, you cuddle up next to Joel, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.
Your final night of vacation is here. Tomorrow, you return to the clinic, Joel to his construction work, and back to your life in Jackson. The past few days have been a perfect bubble of domesticity, welcoming Jefferson and relishing in each other.
"I still can't believe Dr. V gave us a TV," you say.
"I know. I can hardly believe it,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “Nobody’s ever liked me enough to give me a TV.”
You chuckle, cocooning yourself in the warmth of him. “I like you enough to share my TV with you.”
You get lost in the galactic adventures, and as Luke Skywalker enters Jabba’s Palace on the screen, Joel speaks up.
“Sarah used to cover her eyes during the rancor scene,” he recalls.
You smile at the casual mention of his daughter. You angle your head to look up at him. The light from the screen, catching the silvering streaks in his hair, the lines around his eyes that have softened since you’ve known him. He looks content, peaceful in a way that still surprises you sometimes.
“I don’t blame her, they’re terrifying. I’m sure you did a good job of protecting her.”
He glances down at you before he wraps his arm around you tighter. “I did.”
Jefferson leaps onto the couch and settles in Joel’s lap as you reach over and scratch behind the kitten’s ears.
“I’m worried about him being alone all day tomorrow,” you say.
“He’ll be fine,” Joel assures. “Cats are independent. He’s got food, water, and plenty to explore.
You nod, trying to push away the almost-maternal worry that’s already formed for Jefferson.
“Plus, I already asked Ellie to pop in and check on him,” Joel says with a smile.
“Thank you,” you say, a bit of your anxiety lifting thanks to Joel.
“Of course, baby,” he says.
Though you’re sad your vacation is coming to an end, you’re almost looking forward to your return to a normal life, routines, and responsibilities, because there’s a comfort in that too… in the knowledge that this is your life now. That even when vacation ends, you’re still coming home to Joel and Jefferson each night. Your own little family in the apocalypse.
—-
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chapter 2. | youre all i need masterlist. | chapter 4.
summary: Even after friendships fall apart, Joel still can't seem to let go even if he knows he might not be able to give you what you want.
warnings: slow burn, angst, joels pov, age gap (mentions of past ages, presently reader is 36 and joel's 61), mentions of guns, violence, abby shows up, joel still yearning, conflicted feelings, arguments.
w/c: 6.3k
a/n: hello everyone! thank you for all the love for this series it means the world to me<33 i was struggling a little with this chapter but after a few revamped ideas i got there in the end, hope you all enjoy:)
The last few years flew by, for Joel the last few months had been dull– very. fucking. dull. It was his fault, the argument, that led you two to end the friendship– it was stupid, yet led to here.
You two were no longer friends, its lasted till the February of 2028, it wasn’t because you two didn’t get along– that would make more sense, it was partly because Joel was holding back, you could tell and it pissed you off but also because he got pissy at Matthew that night.
He thought he was getting too handsy, made a few passing sarcastic comments about respecting women, you didn’t seem uncomfortable– but still. You and Matthew had been friends so it wasn’t unusual for you two to be together, but you were also pissed about the comments, it was sort of the thing that broke the barrier on the words already threatening to spill.
It was a week before Valentines day, another birthday party leading to late stumbling home, Joel was there a lot more now– saying he wanted to get more involved, yeah right.
He would always walk you home, especially if it was late– it wasn’t that he didn’t trust everyone in Jackson, it was more that he felt it was his duty to make sure you got home safe. As a friend, or whatever.
It started off normal, you stumbled slightly and his hand was right there, instantly to your upper arm, holding you steady. You weren’t even drunk, you had a slight buzz but it was more the fact Jackson was covered in a new layer of snow everyday– and after a day of people walking all over it, and the freezing air, it became icy.
It was quiet for the first few minutes, just the sound of parts of frozen snow and ice crunching under both of your boots, Joel looked over every so often– you were so focused on the prospect of not falling you never noticed.
Joel noticed everything. The cold breeze hitting your face, leaving a slight chill on you as you happed up your jacket further, the air you breathed out turning to fog as it left, your hair still sitting perfectly after the long night– you never not looked perfect to him, but there was something about you at night that made the ache hurt even harder.
He looked away before you spoke up, tone quiet but not necessarily soft. “Joel…”
“Yeah?” Immediately the words leave his mouth, he looks to you again, hands in his pockets as you still walk side by side.
You don’t look to him, you keep your gaze ahead. “I’m just going to say this now, because it’s eating at me and I know it won’t go away.”
Joels heart stops, a flicker of something like hope hits his chest, he keeps a straight face but inside he’s beaming– he simply nods in retort as you continue to walk.
“I feel like… you aren’t being honest with me, I feel like I’ve been really open about myself but I always find that when we have conversations they always go back to me.” You paused and looked to him, his gaze was straight ahead now– head slightly bowed.
“And those comments tonight? I know we’re friends, but I don’t need a keeper– I’m able to talk for myself y’know? If I was uncomfortable I would’ve said something, I can set boundaries for myself, it was inappropriate to accuse Matthew of not respecting me. I don’t appreciate it, at all.” Joel looks back to you, eyes hard.
And then the real him, the one he wanted to shield you from, comes out. Sharp and harsh, just like everyone said. “What did you want me to do? Stand there and let him do that… it ain’t appropriate, you don’t do that.”
Your brow furrowed, but you kept your head held high. “I had no issues with it, do you not think if I was uncomfortable I’d be dancing with him or be with him practically the whole night- its was friendly touch, he’s my friend.”
“Right.” That was all he said, in a tone that was so sarcastic it just added fuel to the fire of annoyance building in your eyes, he seen it before he looked away.
The rest of the walk was silent, it was no longer comfortable. The reason he got so pissy was because, shocker, he was jealous! It was stupid, juvenile and he’d never get over that, which is why he was being so defensive.
Then in the silence, he came to his senses, realising that snapping at you was unnecessary– the complete opposite of how he should be treating you, its not your fault he won’t be open- its his, just like you said.
So when you finally got to your porch, he was going to apologise and promise to change, you beat him to it– flat and blunt words that hurt him more than he ever expected, worse than the feeling of love is loss, and that’s exactly what was happening.
“We shouldn’t be friends anymore.”
Joel looks up from the ground, your backs turned as to him as you hold the door handle, you were just friends– it shouldn’t matter to him as much as it does, but his brows furrow as his tone falters.
“What?..” He could tell you weren’t expecting a retort, you didn’t look at him.
“We’re too different and I think a lines been crossed tonight, we just don’t understand each other so its better to leave it here.” Joels swallows harshly at your blunt tone, how could you be so unaffected while he’s stood here with his heart threatening to pour out of his mouth.
“If this is about my tone I didn’t–” You don’t even let him finish, you just jump in before he can even apologise.
“I don’t think us being friends works Joel… I thought by now you’d trust me enough to open up, its been two years. I really appreciated you telling me about Sarah– but ever since you’ve been holding back. I don’t know what more to do, and the thing with Matthew was just a wake up call, we have different ideas of the friendship we have, I don’t understand you and you don’t understand me. It’s okay.”
Joels world crumbles in that moment, he didn’t realise his way of getting to know you made you dislike his company so much. He had you so close and now he was losing it again, all because of his regrets– and his feelings.
Why did this keep happening? He kept losing the things closest to him. He knew why but he didn’t understand how to fix it, it was never a problem before the outbreak, even after it he had no one wanting to know him– but now he did, he didn’t know how to.
That night he just nodded, waited for you to walk in to your house and then placed his hands back in his pockets and walked home silently– his head slightly dropped as his heart ached.
That was over eleven months ago, you two hadn’t spoken since, you made it clear where you stood and he respected that. He busied himself, worked more, patrolled more, it was the only way he could cope with the thoughts- if he busied himself he wouldn’t be reminded of all the things he should’ve said.
Like many of his days– he was stood in his kitchen, coffee cup in hand, reading a manual on something as his reading glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. When the door knocked once, Tommy walked in.
“Hey!” Tommy calls out and Joel just nods back with a hum, tipping his coffee cup in Tommys direction.
He walks in further as Joel sets the cup on the counter, setting the manual aside, Tommy sets his bag on the kitchen table across the room. “Got a favour..”
Joel tilts his head before he nods again and Tommy continues. “Would you take a team out on patrol for me? Every other good patrollers comin’ with me to scope out a new route, need them all– you weren’t down for today so we never asked but it’d help if you went with the other group.”
“Yeah, yeah sure… what group is it?” Joel begins to take a sip.
“Pretty sure it’s twelve.” Tommy say as he looks in his bag for something, oblivious– but Joels sudden choking pulls his head away from the bag, he raises a brow. “You don’t wanna do it or somethin’..?”
Why would he say yes before asking what group? He can’t go back on his word to Tommy of all people. He shakes his head in the most unassuming way he could. “Nothin’, it’s all good… I’ll take it.” Tommy smiles, nods once and then grabs his bag.
He explained the routes to Joel before he was out onto the street again, walking away and not realising the position he had just put Joel in. Group twelve was one of the three groups where patrolling wasn’t mandatory every week, this is because everyone in those groups had more mandatory jobs actually in Jackson.
They couldn’t risk losing their doctors or educators so they were lenient, those groups went out every so often, on the safer routes and they always had a well-established patroller guiding them.
They went in levels, from most experience to least, if they were less experienced they’d be in group ten– every time you got more patrolling the better you’d get, then you’d move up unless you were already at a higher level. You’d always been in twelve, Joel knew why– you were good, really fucking good.
He’d heard about it from other people who patrolled with you, even Tommy and Maria had spoken about it to him, but he’ll never forget the day he got to see it for himself.
It was January 2027, and a relatively foggy day, the snow had cleared but it was still freezing. Joel and you were currently on your way to the stables, to pick up your gear and the horses.
“Tommy put us on a harder route, said we’d manage it, also said he wanted to give you a challenge.” He was hesitant when Tommy made the suggestion, he’d never want to put you in harms way just because Tommy needed someone to do the rounds he didn’t want to.
But he ate those words before they even left his mouth when he saw you, you were incredible, you could shoot like there was no tomorrow– insanely good at keeping quiet and even better at following orders or understanding situational problems.
He barely had to tell you how to do anything, not that he would anyway, but he didn’t understand why you weren’t put on more patrols– you were more use than they realised.
You two decided to take a break in the next checkpoint building, it was the second to last one but you both needed a minute to replenish your energy– you sat down on the couch in the room.
All checkpoints were set up with things you would need had problems or weather arise, it was easier to shelter if there was a storm or you needed a place to hide in a place with beds, food, water and boardgames.
He sat beside you and rested his hands in his lap, he spoke up gently– tilting his head to the side to look at you. “You’re really good, at patrollin’… I’m surprised they don’t make you do it more… better than some of the guys I go with every’ week.”
You smiled sheepishly as you looked down. “Thanks… that’s really kind.”
“Im serious… everyone else was talkin’ ‘bout it and I was hesitant at first.” His tones soft, almost… playful?
You gave a mock offended look before you replied in a sarcastic tone. “You didn’t believe in me then?”
“No… no I did, well– maybe not fully. Just thought they were biggin’ you up to make me feel better ‘bout havin’ to do patrol with you, since y’know…” He smiles at you, waiting for your sarcastic retort– you two knew how to go back and forth very well.
“No– I don’t know, why don’t you enlighten me Miller? Why didn’t you trust everyone’s opinion on my gun skills, something to do with me being a woman?” Joel laughed at that, like he always did, he’d never met someone so blunt and quick- who could make it funny. Well, maybe just you and Ellie.
He shook his head and smiled again. “Just never expected you to be so good, think you’re the first person I haven’t had to give instructions to while patrollin’,
'sides Tommy.”
You give him a shocked look as your brows raise slightly, then they drop into a concerned, wary furrow. “Are you feeling okay? I swear that was an actual compliment I just heard leave your mouth?”
“I’m feelin’ fine..” He reassures before he chuckles again. “You’re too quick, I can’t compete.”
“Old brain, huh?” Of course you retorted again, you were worse than Ellie sometimes. He gives you a feigned offended look, before he speaks matter-of-factly.
“Ain’t that old, you’re what? Thirty-something… I’m only fifty nine.” He shakes his head again, you would think he’s actually offended but he’s still smiling.
“Thirty four to be exact, and I’m kidding.” You counter before looking ahead again, Joel looks over again.
He always was, anytime he felt your gaze anywhere but him he’d revert his back to you– just for a glimpse of you, even if he had seen your face seconds before, staring at him and smiling, having a joking back and forth, one he could really get used to. He already was.
He was looking at you like he was trying to speak to your soul with his eyes, like somehow the words he couldn’t utter out loud, or the thoughts that were too scary to materialise, or even the feelings it hurt for him to feel– would all imbed themselves in there.
So much so, that he wouldn’t have to utter the words, let the thoughts materialise, or feel the feelings, that you’d just– get it, randomly. Like one minute you knew nothing, and then the next…everything… without him having to ever do the hard thing of coming clean.
That was the thing that terrified him the most, the prospect of being open and honest; laying all his cards on the table at once.
Not because he didn’t want to, he did, he desperately wanted to. It was the rejection that could follow, that you wouldn’t want him if he completely laid himself out for you.
That if he told you every horrible thing he did before Jackson, if you knew every selfish, imperfect, atrocious part of him– you’d leave, or be scared, or hate him.
That terrified him, it wasn’t the admitting, it was the cognisance you’d gain about him afterwards– the understanding that he wasn’t a good man. He didn’t want you to hate him, he didn’t know if you would, but he didn’t want to find out either.
So he held back, regrettably, but he did it. He wanted to know you first, so intimately that if you did end up leaving, he’d know enough to not forget– that he’d know parts of you others didn’t and could hold onto them till his deathbed.
He would ask you questions all the time, about life before the outbreak, your loss and loves, your likes and dislikes, your favourite things in life. All so he could compartmentalise it in the section of his brain he kept just for you, he may be getting older, but he never wanted to forget it.
Every passing comment you made was stored, every time you looked at him, all those nights he walked you home and let you ramble– he never butted in because all he wanted was to hear you. All the lunches you two had or the one dance you two shared– the one you practically begged him to do cause you were bored.
It was all in there, engrained deeply in his mind, he’d never forget for as long as he could physically control it. He took pride in it, knowing you so deeply, remembering the simple things– and the big things.
He knew the level depth he wanted wouldn’t be possible with friendship, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t keep it all in his mind. Knowing someone so profoundly meant something to him.
He always wondered if it would pass, or if it was love. Like the love they spoke about it poetry or music, the kind you felt everywhere– all the time.
The kind you didn’t understand but you weren’t scared of, the kind that made you ache with want. The only problem with his love was that it was unrequited, and to him– one hundred percent unattainable.
It’s stupid, for someone to believe that something like love and feelings are completely off the table if you’ve never asked. You two arguing that night set that feeling even bigger in his mind, but it shouldn’t have.
He’d thought about it for weeks, and maybe you were right, maybe he felt unrequited feelings because he never gave you the chance to know him.
When he thought back to the conversations, you never played off your flaws, you owned them– you were raw and vulnerable with your wrongdoings. That’s one of the reasons he liked you so much, you were open and honest– and maybe if that’s what you were, you also needed that from other people.
You didn’t judge yourself harshly for your bad judgment, so why would you do that to another person? Wouldn’t you understand more seeing as you had experienced lapses of judgment in hard situations? Still, something was holding him back.
He cared about you too much to judge, everything you told him was something he’d remember but never in vain, but it’s different when its yourself. That was Joels problem, he was so harsh on himself that it seeped into his attitude toward the people that surrounded him.
He analysed himself so mercilessly over his choices, that it made him inherit an attitude that was unlikeable to other people. He seen it with you, when he’d let himself joke around and not worry about if you’d perceive him as ’too unserious’– you never did.
If anything he’d get a compliment from you about his humour, or wittiness, you’d always laugh. When he’d told you about Sarah, he was open, that was probably the most open he’d ever been with someone new. You never judged him for that.
What you did judge him for was exactly what he was being, and it was unlikeable, so he needed to fix it. He would fix it, and maybe this patrol was the exact time to try.
He finished his coffee and made his way upstairs to shower, he had an hour to make it to the stables. He got a quick shower, pulled on his usual clothes and an extra jacket since it was January again, it was the first actually– new year, nothing different. How he had been here for five years still shocked him, it felt like just yesterday him and Ellie were walking back here.
She was nineteen now, god– it still felt weird to say it, she’s no longer the kid he was tasked with smuggling all those years ago. She’d made a place for herself in the old garage in the backyard, Joel fixed it up for her– like always.
He made his way to the stables, slowly, thinking back to the night before. The New Years Eve thing, he went, though after you two stopped being friends his presence at parties and gatherings were back to– twenty percent chance he’s there, eighty he’s not.
He saw you that night, talking at the bar with your friends, he hadn’t seen you in so long. By that point it had been 8 months since he’d last seen you, even on the street, you two knew each other’s routes in Jackson so you were both avoiding one another by going different ways.
The ache came back, it always did, but this time was different– it hurt worse. So bad that he had to excuse himself from Tommy and Marias table to get some air, he was clenching his chest as he tried to calm down.
A lot happened that night, him and Ellie hadn’t been on great terms prior to him pushing Seth in her defence. He hadn’t expected her to speak to him the way she did– but the words hurt, and embarrassed him so much he left.
He was doing it again, being selfish and making bad decisions at the expense of the validation from others– he wasn’t supposed to be that person anymore. He was trying to be better, let Ellie live her life without him peering over her shoulder at every decision.
He’d also been trying to be more honest with himself, let himself feel things without judging it, trying to not assume others feelings. It was all to do with Gale, his new therapist, if Joel had told himself years ago he was seeing a therapist– he’d laugh in his own face.
But he supposed after trying it everyone wasn’t wrong, talking about it does help. He should’ve tried it a long time ago.
He wanted to try and stop burdening everyone because he was burdening himself, with things that weren’t burdens– they were flaws, but everyone here had flaws. This world wasn’t flawless so how could the people in it be? Everyone was in a shitty position at one point in their life.
Everyone did things without second thought, or said things they didn’t mean– Joel was working on his insecurities and trying for the better of everyone, but more importantly, himself.
The walk to the stables was short and quiet, Joel was panicking, internally– but he just breathed through it as he walked through the wooden doors to the stalls. Stood inside was a group of people, and you.
He stood in-front of them all for a second before he spoke up, clearing his throat to get their attention. “‘Kay, ‘m gonna be the one takin’ you on patrol today, you all know the drill– grab your gear, maps and horses then we’ll head out.”
Everyone nods and starts moving but you stand there, brows furrowed as you look at him, he feels a little scrutinised before your eyes veer over to another person– your joint gaze breaks.
Your handed two maps from a stable hand before you walk over to him, you hand him one and he raises a brow. “I’m usually with the guide, since I’m the most experienced we take the harder route on this trail.”
He doesn’t question it, just mutters a thanks before he moves past you, arm brushing yours as he goes to grab his gear and horse. After a few minutes, everyone’s on their horses and split into groups of two– you’re all let out of the gates before you head in your respective directions.
There were two other pairs with you both for the first twenty minutes on horseback, then you both veered off in the direction of the route you two were taking. Joel had been this way a few times, it was very uphill than the other routes on this trail.
It was still quiet, just the noise of the horses hooves crunching in the snow, the chill in the air was getting colder. He decided he should say something, he could’t sit in silence this whole time.
“So… you been okay?” He sounded awkward in that moment, like you two had never spoken before and this was your first interaction.
You nodded, plain and simple as you kept your gaze ahead, Joels brows furrowed– were you ignoring him? He couldn’t help himself, he was trying to be open so if he had a thought– he’d voice it. “You gonna stay quiet for the whole patrol then?”
That clearly caught you off guard, you ended up halting your horse by its reigns, he did the same– you stared at him, a pissed off look on your face. He tilted his head at you, confused by the sudden stop but then you spoke sharply.
“And why should I talk to you Joel?” You scoffed. “You think you deserve that?”
Joel face pales, he’s caught off guard by the bluntness, this time it wasn’t playful– it was spiteful and full of rage. “I didn’t-“
You cut in. “You don’t ever mean anything! That’s always been the problem! Do you know how upset I’ve been since everything?… I thought that maybe you’d understand and try but instead you ignore me! Then we get here and you start speaking to me like I’m the one in the wrong, all because I don’t want to talk like nothing happened?”
You take a breath before you continue. “I tried… I tried to forget it, but it’s you. You just! God! I don’t know– it’s like us being friends meant something! Now you act like I don’t exist all because I said I wanted to know you better?!” The frustrations apparent, but the hurt is what catches hm off guard.
You sound genuinely hurt by his treatment of you, or lack thereof really. Had he been wrong? Did this actually affect you?
You didn’t act like it did at the time but Joel should know better than anyone to take someone at face value, had you done what he always does? Deflect how you really felt to keep yourself safe?
“What?” Was all he could muster up, his tone faltered when he said it, like he was scared that he’d dreamed it up and didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“Is that all you’re gonna say?” He shakes his head, looking away before he speaks.
“No, just caught me off guard…” He takes a deep breath. “‘m sorry, ‘m really sorry, for everythin’. I was a dick and deflected when all you were tryin’ to do was be nice, ain’t your fault ‘m so stubborn. And I should’ve apologised months ago, you were honest and I wasn’t– but I am tryin’ to be better.” When he looks back to you his voice falters.
He sees the softening in your gaze, and god- it kills him all over again– it’s like that night you smiled at him for the first time. All function of his brain disappears and he just smiles, it’s all he can do.
Its all he wants to do, even if its freezing, and you’re both on the back of horses shouting at each other– he still wants to smile and that means everything. In the last 25 years, he barely wanted to smile, but anytime he looks at you– its all he can think to do.
Your eye twitches a little as your face melts into a sad smile, you’re holding back tears, he can tell. He sees the twitch in your lip as you look at him, the wind picks up a little but you both stay staring.
He wondered if it meant something, he felt like it did. Like something unspoken broke open. Something good.
In that moment it felt like all those times he looked at you, trying to whisper to your soul while you stayed oblivious, had worked. Maybe it etched itself in there, and broke open when you lost him.
It was quiet, gentle– but there was something behind it, something he was too scared to name in that moment. Just as you were about to speak the wind picked up even more, and then came the snowfall.
You two had barely made it halfway up the mountain, but it the weather was picking up more with every passing second. It was clearly a snow storm, and if Joel and you didn’t find shelter soon you’d both risk getting frostbite or hypothermia.
The wind had picked up even more as you both grabbed the reins and began to ride up further, it was getting hard to see and the sheer force of the wind was pushing you and the horses backwards with every movement.
You somehow made it to the top of the mountain but if anything, it was worse, Joel spotted a building in the distance and pointed to it– turning back to make sure you understood what he was asking, you nodded and began moving again.
After what felt like an hour you got inside, you had came across a few infected as you rode in, he shot them as you rode by, he was quick when he needed to be. Once you got into the building, which looked like an old factory, you heard gunshot come from above and Joel quickly hopped off his horse.
You were about to follow suit when he stopped you, he couldn’t promise to keep you safe out there– whereas in here you could try and radio for help. “Stay here, radio back to Jackson.”
“Joel–” He shakes his head and hands you his radio, he holds the radio in your hand and looks at you firmly.
“Stay. Here. Promise me?” You nod understandingly.
He walks up the stairs, and sees a door being jammed with a piece of wood, he pulls it out before he opens the door slowly. He walks out when another gunshot goes off, it’s coming from behind him so it must be at the other side of the building.
He slowly moves to turn the corner and that’s when he sees it, well over a hundred hoard of infected storming the wire fence. His face drops but then the gun goes off again and he quickly runs to the fence, that’s when he sees it, a girl- no older than twenty four, being attacked by an infected.
Joel immediately moves and shoots it, shooting a couple of infected as he helps her up, when she stands up he nods in the direction of the door– a silent way of saying ‘come on’.
They both run back into the building and he jams the door shut again, the infected bang against the door before your voice cuts through the adrenaline high. “Joel! Is that you?!”
He calls out. “Its me!” He moves to where the girl went and looks at her. “Are you bit?” She doesn’t reply to him, too caught up in the shock so he speak louder.
“Hey kid! Are you okay?” She nods, he nods back. “Any bites?”
“No… no.” Her breathing’s heavy as she replies to him, then the door gets louder as more infected bang against it, he grips her arm gently as he pulls her up before they run down the stairs.
When they get to you– you’re still on your horse, your brows furrowed as you look at him. “What do we do?”
“We go back.” He hops on his horse.
“To Jackson? It’s too far we’ll freeze to death before we even get halfway down the hill!” You retort as you look at him.
“It’s either that or we get eaten by a hoard of infected.” He retorts as he grips the reigns of his horse, then the girl speaks up and both of your gazes jump to her standing in-front of you.
“My friends… they’re in a lodge not far from here, we can go there.” Joel looks at you and you just nod, she hops on the back of his horse and you all make your way to the lodge.
The ride had been a blur, all he could remember was the snow and wind, blinding as they made their way further up the mountain. He kept checking beside him every so often to make sure you were there, you always were and after a few minutes you were arrived.
The girl jumped off the back of Joels horse and he followed suit, he seen you shivering as you tried to hop off, he immediately rushed over and helped you off. Wrapping his arm around your shoulder and you both made your way inside.
When you got inside, someone handed Joel a blanket and he wrapped it around you, he stood beside you and walked you to the fire. Joel waited a minute before he whispered he was going to try radioing Jackson again and walked across the room.
The girl mentioned all her friends names. She was Abby, another one was Owen, there was Mel, Nora and Manny– she mentioned your name but held off for a second before saying Joels.
It was like someone had flipped the switch in an instant, you had someone grab you from behind, arm around your neck and gun to the side of your temple– a warning of what could happen if you don’t listen.
Joel had his back turned to the scene, continuing to try and radio Jackson, but then you speak in a hurried tone and he instantly turns around. That’s when he sees it, you with a gun pointed to your head and his face pales again.
Shit, he was about to pull his gun out when Owen pulls his gun on him, slowly Joel begins to raise his hands in surrender as Abby speaks up in a firm tone. “We’re not gonna hurt her, not if you listen.”
He watches as Nora makes her way over to you, grabbing your gun from its holster along with your knife in your pocket- throwing them aside and removing the cartridge from your gun. She then walks over to Joel and does the same, as well as taking his radio from his hand, he looks at you.
He’s worried, of course he is, someone has a gun pointed to your head but he gives you a reassuring look before his gaze goes back to the others. Abby begins again.
“You wanna rob us? Fine, take what you want.” Joel calls out.
“Do we look like raiders to you?..” Joel shakes his head and she scoffs. “What do we look like?..”
Joel gets a moment of clarity, of realisation, nostalgia even– he knows exactly who these people are. “Military…… Fireflies?”
He watches as Abby takes off her jacket and sets it down across the room. “Used to be, didn’t you hear? They’re allll gone, see– some lunatic came in and shot up their base, killed eighteen soldiers and one doctor.”
Joels eyes revert to you, still being held at gunpoint to the left of him, shivering from fear and the cold– so much for him laying it out on the table for you. He looks back to Abby and she continues.
“Id say you’re what– six feet, in your sixties now, scar on your right temple?” Abby scoffs. “Ill give you one chance to tell the truth Joel. Otherwise, she…” Abbys gaze veers to you on the right of her, “–dies.”
Mel cuts in. “Wait Abby…”
“Shut up Mel.” Abby spits out harshly.
Joel looks to you, you shake your head, he just gives you a look– one that’s says “don’t say anything”.
But when you see Abby move for the shotgun beside her your heart stops, your mouth moves before your brain does and calls out. “Wait! Wait!”
Everyone’s eyes move to you, Joel gives you a hard look but your voice just wavers as you continue. “Please. Please don’t do this.” You plead as you look at the girl across the room from you.
She looks at you for a moment before she picks up the shotgun from beside her, cocking it before she shoots Joel once in the upper left thigh, you cry out as Manny grips you tighter.
Joel lets out a groan as he falls to the floor, Abby turns to Mel again. “Put her to sleep.” Mel just nods as a tear falls from her eye before she moves to her bag.
“No! no! no! Please… please, please stop he doesn’t deserve this!” You cry out as you try to get out of Manny’s grip, Mel walks over to you with a syringe filled with milky white liquid in her hand.
You try to plead with her as Joel watches from the floor, gripping his leg as he groans out. “It’s okay…. just do what they say.” Then you look to him as you let out a soft sob, he just nods and you shake your head again, Mel grabs your hand in that moment and pushed the syringe in.
You let out another cry before your eyes closed slowly, then you go limp before you’re lay on the ground beside him, still breathing.
He looks back to Abby, she was moving across the room again, grabbing a golf club from the bag sat there. “I have a code, don’t kill anyone who can’t defend themselves. That would be you right now… but I am going to kill you.” She turns to him and walks over slowly. “That doctor, that was my dad, yeah… he was trying to do good and you shot him. The nurses said you barely looked at him while you did it.”
She kneels down in-front of him a tear falling from her eye. “I looked at him, I saw him, I was nineteen. So even if you have rules like me, or your a ruthless piece of shit like you, they’re are just some things everyone agrees are– just. fucking. wrong.” She stands up slowly, then takes her first swing as Joel lets out a groan, then a second, then a third.
He’s face down on the floor, barely conscious, not even able to make a sound anymore– all he can focus on is you, across the floor from him. He wonders if this is how he dies? How he never got to tell Ellie the truth, or how he never told Tommy he loved him enough, or how he never even told you in the first place.
He should’ve said it all years ago.
tags: @myotakureprieve@orcasoul@boscogirlsworld@styleslfreak @anoverwhelmingdin, @mandolauren, @honeyphiil, @mystickittytaco if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!
summary: After Joel's abrupt departure, you decide to try and figure out the reason behind it. Maybe even find yourself a friendship here in Jackson.
warnings: slow-burn, age gap (not specified), fluff, joel yearning, slight angst, mentions of death and grief, readers POV, reader sort of oblivious to joels feelings, joels in the friendzone;((, no use of y/n.
The door slammed shut, you looked back with a confused furrow etched in your brow. Strange. You moved to the doorway of the kitchen to look down the hall– you didn’t know what you expected other than a closed door and no Joel, which is exactly what you found.
Did you say something to make him uncomfortable? Maybe it was the way you answered the door? Like you didn’t want his company, it wasn’t that, it was just unexpected– someone you’ve barely spoken to, showing up randomly and offering to fix your stair again, like he owed it to you. Or at least that’s how his expression felt to you, like he owed you the stair– even if he didn’t break it in the first place.
You stood in the doorway, the front door that had been slam shut moments ago staring at you– and those words he muttered loudly down the hall still ringing in your head, along with the slam. It took you a second, but you just shook your head to yourself before walking back to the counter, resuming the reading you were doing.
You hadn’t spoken to Joel prior to that one interaction in the town hall, and this night he fixed your stair. You’d heard stories from the other town folk about him being ‘sheltered, closed off, blunt and harsh’, though that wasn’t the reason for the lack of pleasantries between you two. Joel was Tommys brother, but they couldn’t be more different– which meant that when people got wind of there being another Miller in town, they had expectations.
Joel wasn’t like Tommy, and that was okay. Yes, Tommy was amazing around Jackson, him and Maria kept this place afloat with a smile on their faces– and that wasn’t easy at times, but it wasn’t fair for everyone to expect Joel to be the same.
Joel owed no one here anything, no explanation of why he was the way he was, why he barely spoke or went out– theres no obligations in Jackson.
If you wanted to be social you could, if you didn’t you wouldn’t. That was an undisclosed sentiment of Jackson, no meddling in others lives if they didn’t want it. Instead of meddling, people gossiped, they fed off of it like bees to pollen, and it always spread like wildfire– you hated it. Never got involved where you didn’t need to be, never acted different towards someone because of what someone heard.
You would never actively steer clear from someone just because a few people where making assumptions based off of his expressions and general demeanour– none of them had probably talked to him either, so what did they know?
It was more the lack of crossover you and Joel had in the town, you were always busy at the school and the patrol group you were in was one with fellow teachers and doctors- some of the more major figures in Jacksons society, which meant you all got a little leeway when it came to patrolling- less shifts, easier routes, half the time spent out compared to everyone else.
Joel was a construction man, and went on patrol multiple times a week, he was good with a gun– which meant he was incredibly helpful when patrolling opportunities arised. People with such differing schedules would never cross paths unless they actively sought out the contact.
And neither of you did, but something about his words, his tone, and that slam, made you wonder– it slowly ate at you, not because you cared, well maybe part of you did, but because you wondered what could make him react like that.
You couldn’t help yourself, you were an over-thinker by nature– about everything, so even if you and Joel were merely acquaintances, it still made you think. And think. And think.
You thought your whole way through dinner, and dishes, and your night routine, even when you got to bed you held off sleeping for five minutes–just– so you could try and come up with a plausible explanation for his overreaction, but nothing popped out at you– which left you even more confused.
That night you told yourself you’d ‘figure it out, one way or another’. So with that , you turned off your bedside lamp, curled up under the covers and closed your eyes.
The morning came early, the sun slowly flowing into the room as it rose above the edge Jackson, the soft gold hue casting a large stripe through your window. You stirred for a second, yawned before sitting up– throwing the covers off of your legs and sitting on the edge of your bedside. You looked out the window briefly, from where you sat you couldn’t see much but it was too early for anyone to be out– that was one of your favourite times in Jackson.
The morning dew smell filling your nose, the soft, butter hue casting a heaven-like colour over Jackson, the calm silence that made it quiet in a gentle way– as if the town was getting ready for the incoming day slowly, on its own time.
You stood up, stretching slightly before reaching for your grey, fluffy robe sat on the chair by your desk in-front of the window. Pulling it on and tying it at your waist loosely, even though you were up early– this was a day off for you, which meant you were practically plan-less all day. Anyone else would be making plans with friends, or running errands that would otherwise be pushed to the last minute- but you were always ahead on everything you needed, and you didn’t have any close friends.
It wasn’t that you were anti-social, you did a lot in Jackson, for everyone– you just hadn’t had that click with anyone before, so you were mostly alone, by choice. You could’ve tried harder, made friends and have been able to have plans today– but with friends came expectations, responsibilities and time.
You didn’t have time to throw around, you were usually too busy working or doing something for the council. You also felt that it was easier to have a bunch of friends, ones you weren’t super close too but could talk to when you needed it and vice versa. That was basically the whole model of Jackson, everyone was a friend of one an other.
Though part of you deep down probably wishes you did, but you had a past, before Jackson, before becoming the loving teacher the kids adored and the parents thanked– it made you hold back. If anyone knew the things you did, you were worried it would change your image– which is why you became a new woman here, Jackson was your second chance. At first you felt like a phoney, like you were some imposter who planted themselves here, who maybe didn’t deserve the communities praise and admiration– but after a while the guilt left, you believed you changed and that was enough.
Today wasn’t like those other days, with no plans and endless wandering of the Main Street, like you were trying to buy something you didn’t need– just because. No, today you were a woman on a mission. You walked down your stairs, made your way to your kitchen stove and grabbed the stainless-steel kettle– moving to the sink and filling it halfway before placing it back on the stove and turning the gas up.
Once the coffee was in your hand and you were waiting for the toast to pop up, you were brainstorming ideas on how to figure Joel out. You were sure you didn’t have a thing for him, but still, something about him made you wonder– what was he really like under the gruffness? Would he be kinder? Softer? Not as closed off?
You also couldn’t help but feel slightly sorry for him, it’s not that they had shunned him, but they talked. He probably didn’t know about the talking part, but it was obvious they steered clear– maybe that’s all he needed, a friend.
And maybe you both had more in common than you thought in that regard, so you made a decision. You’d become the friendly neighbour, a confidant, someone he could come to if things got hard– you know first hand this world isn’t easy. With that comes a sense of independence, a sense of not wanting connection because of the fear of losing it.
It’s hard to be open with someone when tomorrow isn’t promised, how can you expect to give yourself over to another person when theres a chance they could disappear or up and leave– but this is Jackson. It’s not like a QZ or an overthrown city, it’s home- safe and reliable.
Which means so are the people in it, maybe Joel just needed to see that to believe it– that’s your job, your mission, to make him see he’s welcome. Wanted, needed and appreciated– that’s what friends are for. You could show him your trust-worthy, help break down the barrier of self-preservation– and maybe in turn, he’d help you do the same.
You finished your coffee and buttered toast while you marked the rest of the kids work, you cleaned up a little, thinking of how to go about getting through to Joel. Your head was thinking all morning till something your grandmother used to say appeared front and centre again, she was a funny woman– incredibly intelligent since she was a lawyer, but also an amazing cook.
Your mom used to ramble on about everything she made her and her siblings when they were younger, your grandfather would always joke that she got to his stomach and somehow ended up in his heart– she’d call out from the kitchen, every time, and said the same thing. “Best way to a mans heart is through his stomach!”
It wasn’t an original saying she made up, but it was true. So maybe that’s what you needed to do, you didn’t need to make it to his heart in the same way your grandmother made it to your grandfathers– that wasn’t the goal. The goal was showing him you cared. Appreciated the stair and his kindness for offering so abruptly, and that maybe you both needed someone like that to lean on, a real friendship.
Immediately you opened a cupboard, looking inside to see if you had the ingredients you needed, you did– when that saying popped into your head, along with the image of your grandparents, another memory pulled you back in.
Sundays in the rainy outskirts of Pittsburgh, where your grandparents grew up and never left, you’d always stay on a Saturday night to give your mom a break. Being an only child, and only grandchild in close distance with your grandparents, you spent a lot of time with them- you’d wake up to the smell of waffles and syrup, homemade hash-browns and eggs that your grandmother was tedious about. Then came along the smell, the one you yearned for even as a child, her homemade chocolate chip cookies. They were perfect, soft on the inside with a slight crunchiness on the edge– the browned butter giving them a caramel taste, and she always did half milk chocolate half semi sweet, for balance.
They were probably the best things you’ve ever eaten, it had been so long since you had them that you had forgotten, but in an instant the memory flooded back– you swore you could taste them in your mouth. That’s when you knew how you were going to get Joel, so you started, first off browning the butter– then taking it off the stove and letting it cool.
You mixed the butter and mix of brown and white sugar, adding in a few eggs and splash of vanilla– whisking it before the flour was folded in. You added the chocolate chips in, folding it again before adding a few more– ‘theres no such thing as too much chocolate, measure with your heart’ was another thing your grandmother whispered when she first showed you the recipe, always in a confiding tone like you were the only one she trusted with such secrets like her recipes.
They went into the fridge for an hour before being cooked and left on the side to cool, while they cooled you cleaned up and got ready– after a shower, you opted for your usual jeans, long-sleeved woollen navy sweater and a dark grey undershirt below since the weathers getting cooler. You walked down the stairs a little before you stopped on the stair he fixed, the board was a slightly lighter shade of wood than your other wenge-coloured boards but it didn’t bother you– you stood on it, appreciating the fact it was there again.
Smiling to yourself before you walked fully down, going back to the kitchen– you grab a small plastic container and place four cookies in it, leaving you with two. You couldn’t give him cookies and not also give him some for Ellie, you knew Ellie from the few times you seen her working in the restaurant– she wasn’t shy and you both got along quite well.
Pulling on your boots at the door before picking up the container again, you opened your door and stepped-out, closing it and walking down your porch step. You hadn’t thought about the fact Joel might not have been working, but you knew about the library– him being in charge of the renovations, the ones you had asked for.
You’d brought it up in the council meeting, presenting the idea to the rest of the members, explaining that the children need more selection than the small one that sits in the school– that it would be useful for the whole town, you even suggested giving the jobs to the new comers since they’d been wanting to help out more. Working in a library was less stressful than having to shove them right into the restaurant kitchen.
Making your way there you weren’t nervous, why should you be? He’s getting cookies and company, why would he be annoyed about that? The building came more into view as you walked further down Main Street, smiling at people who passed by with a wave, some of the kids shouting over at you as you waved back– it was nice.
Slowly but surely, you got there, you seen Tommy across the way and decided he’d be the best person to ask about Joels whereabouts. You walked over, waiting for him to notice you since he was mid conversation with one of the other workers, both holding mugs in their hands.
He notices you hovering and smiles. “Hey! Everythin’ okay?”
You nodded and held up the container slightly. He looked at the contents for a second before raising a brow. “For me?” Pointing to his chest.
You laughed, shaking your head. “No… your brother, is he here?”
That makes his head jolt as his face goes even deeper into the surprised expression. “You made Joel cookies?”
You nodded your head again, brows furrowing as if this was normal and Tommy was the strange one. “Yeah, why? Does he not like cookies?”
“No.. no he does, he’d probably eat anythin’… just shocked. Didn’t know you two were so close– suppose that would explain the stair thing.” He spoke to himself rather than you in that moment.
“Well, they’re actually because he fixed the stair… it was so nice of him but he wouldn’t let me give him anything for it, so– I made cookies he couldn’t refuse.” You joked and Tommy chuckled.
He nodded then shook his head, in slight disbelief, mug still in hand. “And here I thought he’d never make an impression… full of surprises that one.” He nods into the building. “He’s in there… everyone else took a break– but Bobs too much of a builder, refused to stop.”
You laughed with a thankful smile before you moved by him, muttering a thanks on your way by. You walked inside, the buildings different now, a grey-white colour from the layers of plaster having been applied to the walls– it looked huge now. You heard banging from behind a wall in the back corner, you moved in that direction.
Slowly you stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as you seen him, back turned as he stood on a ladder– hammering a shelf to the wall, this was one of the first rooms they finished so it looked more put together. It had designs on the wall, one of the painters in Jackson had done it by hand, a farmyard scene on one wall– dinosaurs on the other and a full diagram of the planets on the last one.
It looked great, you knew the kids would love it, and now the shelves were going up– each set a different colour to blend in with each wall. You were brought of your admiration when you heard a muttered curse come from Joel, you didn’t want to startle him by talking so when he started descending from the ladder you stood up straighter.
Once he had landed his feet on the ground he turned around and instantly froze, you smiled– welcoming as you held the container in your hands, he didn’t look unpleased just- frozen, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“I brought you cookies.” You called out to him as you held up the container, smile never wavering.
He coughed gently before letting out a gruff hum, he couldn’t muster up a thanks? It struck you as weird but you let it go.
You began to walk over to him, the room wasn’t huge, but big enough that it took you a second to get to him– by that point he was on one knee in-front of his tool box looking for something. You stood behind him, a few feet away.
You spoke up again, trying to break the awkward silence. “You left abruptly last night, never got to thank you for the help. I really appreciate it. No one else offered so thank you for that too, it was sweet.”
After you said that you swore you seen his shoulders tense, it was subtle, barely there but you seen it through the fabric of his flannel. Why was he being so strange? Was he allergic to friendly compliments and gratitude from an appreciative neighbour? Or was it just you specifically, had you said something?
No point wondering and making it worse in your head, so you did the brave thing and asked. “Have I done something to make you uncomfortable Joel? If I have I apologise, that was never my intention.”
Immediately he stood up, so fast that it startled you a little, then he turned and shook his head at you– reassuringly. That shocked you a little, as-well as the softness in his gaze, like a silent apology- one you knew you’d never hear in words from him, but somehow it made it more sincere.
“No… you did nothin’ wrong, sorry about how I’ve been actin’… this places been keeping me up at night,” he looks around the room slightly as he continues, “…want it to be perfect, done on time too. Very hard to do both.”
When he looks back to you, you give him an understanding smile. “Well, I think it’s looking pretty perfect so far, you’ve done a good job.”
Your eyes soften slightly, just so he knows you’re being sincere before you hold the box out. He looks down at the container and then back to you with a raise brow. “Told you it was a favour, don’t need nothin’..”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t take them, theres some for Ellie too– so lets just pretend they’re a gift for her and there just so happens to be two extra, means you’re not taking anything and I know I’ve given you something.” Your tone is gentle, but leaves no room for arguing as you urge the box into his hand.
He just sighs and shakes his head, but when he looks to you theres a slight upturn to his mouth– like always its slight, but enough for you to have felt your job was executed excellently and appreciated. “Thank you.” It’s earnest.
You gave him a friendly smile. “Heard you’re refusing to take a break?”
“Tommy?” He raised a brow.
You nodded, laughed softly before you looked at him. “Y’know this place won’t run away on you just because you pause for lunch?”
He looks down sheepishly, a slight chuckle leaving his lips.
You tilt your head, querying in a friendly tone. “Why don’t we get lunch? Then if it does magically run off– it’ll be my fault.”
His head shoots up, abruptly– like you’d just asked him to commit a crime, both brows raised in a shocked but also wary way. As if you’re playing some elaborate prank on him, but he speaks up– the slight shock never faltering. “Seriously?”
You nodded once, firm, sure of your decision and making sure he understood that. “Yeah, I’m not working today– nothing lined up. Besides… think we could both use a friend, no?”
It was blunt, you were just a blunt person, some people found it rude, others a little intimidated– you were fully expecting him to be angry, as if what you’d said was an insult. Instead, he just nodded, gratefully, then smiled– an actual smile. “That’d be nice.”
And that’s how the friendship began, it was slow at first and a little awkward, but weeks passed and the conversations got less surface level, it started with small talk– then the usual backstory stuff, life before the outbreak, interests and hobbies. Then he told you about Sarah, he looked heartbroken as he spoke about her– told you she was the light of his life, you couldn’t help but feel sad for him.
You actually cried that night, when you got home, it sort of hit you in a funny way– like the sight of him so bereaved, even after all these years, he loved her and then she was ripped from him so horribly. It hit you in a way nothing had before, and it explained him more.
Why he was so guarded, and emotionally quiet– he lost his daughter and never got her back, that would ruin anyone.
After that lunch you decided to be open, you told him what happened to your mother– you’d mentioned she’d died just before you got to Jackson four years ago. You never mentioned how it happened though, you never had to anyone.
You sat across from him as you spoke gently. “We were in this raiding group, she wanted an out– they weren’t good people. We decided one night we’d go search for a route out, we were staying in a mall at the time, we hadn’t explored the whole place. So that night we did, but we got into a store and there was an infected– it was so dark and we didn’t want to wake the others with the light from our torches so we went in blind. It was really stupid.” You paused for a sip of water.
You had grieved her a long time ago, but part of you still hurt a little as you spoke about her– you still kept it together enough as you spoke up again. “It pounced on me, since we weren’t exactly being quiet it heard us– I screamed and she immediately ran over as I tried to fight the thing off… my gun had fell out of my hand when I fell, she refused to carry one so all she had was a knife. She stupidly decided to stab the thing from behind, it didn’t do anything but make it angry and run for her– I grabbed my gun and shot it as quickly as I could. It was too late, she got bit.”
Your voice cracked as you said the next part, swallowing back the hurt as you looked out the window beside you. “I…. I had to shoot her that night, she begged me, said I had to do it before she turned– she didn’t want to hurt me. I–” Your head dropped and Joel spoke up gently.
“Hey.. hey its alright…” He placed his hand a-top yours, it had been resting on the table as your fingers jittered a little. “It’s hard to talk about these things, aint easy to remember somethin’ like that.”
Your eyes looked to his, the sadness betraying in your gaze as you give him a sad smile. The fact his hand is on yours doesn’t faze you, it’s not intimate touch– at least not to you. “You’re stronger than you know, she’d be proud of you– you got out and made somethin’ of yourself, like she wanted you to.”
You then placed your other hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze– a silent, grateful squeeze. “Thank you for being so understanding… I don’t normally tell people that story, I just say she passed and leave it at that.”
You notice his gaze falter from yours as he looks at your hands, you move your hand off his, expecting him to do the same. He doesn’t, his touch lingers, for a few seconds before he sees someone passing and quickly pulls it away– looking away… sheepishly?
Your brow furrows, why would he be so embarrassed by a friendly touch of comfort? You didn’t mention it, but it lingered. Heavy and strange.
A few days later, you were walking back to the library, like you had been the last few months. Holding a brown paper bag in your hand, wrapping yourself in your heavy jacket tighter as the November chill set in. Once you got to the site, you did your usual nods and polite smiles as you walked by everyone, walking in and going to where Joel was sat– waiting as he fiddled with some sort of electrical in his hand, glasses rested on his nose bridge.
You sat down in-front of him and he looked up with smile, looking back down to the thing in his hand. “Hey, been fixin’ this…” he clicks something, “…all damn day.. done now.”
He sets it down on the floor, pulling his glasses off as you sit with the brown paper bag in your lap, you reach inside and hand him a sandwich wrapped in parchment, then you pull yours out– resting the bag on the ground beside your seat before you look back to him, already unwrapping his.
This had become the normal for both of you, anytime you had a free lunch schedule or the day off, you’d come down here to the site– or you’d go to the coffee shop. It had became a tradition now, you making sandwiches, sweet treats for after, and he’d provide the coffee.
“You’re eager today..” You laugh softly as he takes a bite like he’s not seen food in decades.
“Is’ good… real good.” Even if he bites like an animal, he always covers his mouth when he speaks– so polite for such a gruff man.
That made you laugh again, a matter-of-fact tone showing as you talk back “Well, I’m glad I could please the critic.”
He chuckles, taking another bite as you take your first. It’s silent as you eat together, the silence is different now, less awkward and more comforting– like you’re just enjoying the company of one another and that’s all you need.
Once the sandwiches were finished you pulled two peach muffins from the bag, both wrapped up with parchment also– you opened the packaging as he poured the coffee into two mugs.
You handed him a muffin in exchange for the mug of his famous coffee, which was actually very good– you smiled and muttered ‘thanks’. He nodded once before he uncased the muffin and took a bite, letting out a hum. “Wow…” he finished chewing before he replied again.
“This is amazin’… thanks.” His voice sounds do appreciative, like he can’t believe someone actually made him a muffin– just because.
You shake your head dismissively as you give him a soft look. “Its okay… gives me something to do, besides what are friends for? Would rather you eat than starve and work too hard.”
His gaze lingers, you look down as you pull a piece off, placing it in your mouth before taking a sip of coffee– chewing throughly, looking back up to him. You catch his gaze lingering, but immediately he looks away, taking another bite– again, you say nothing, but it lingers.
“Coffees good…” You keep your eyes on the top of his head before you speak up again. “Joel… you’re acting strange.”
He looks up, brows etched with confusion. “What?…”
“You’re acting strange, like you’ve got something big to say but won’t.” You place another piece of muffin in your mouth as you watch him, chewing as you await his his retort.
A flash of something that borders on a caught feeling glazes his eyes, but it disappeared as he spoke up. Shrugging and looking away like he’s hiding something. “Dunno what you’re talking about, everythin’s alright.”
You don’t believe him, but you also can’t force him to talk so you just nod. “Okay, if you say so… but if you do have something you need to talk about, you can tell me– y’know that right?”
He looked back to you, and his eyes softened, he smiled and nodded. “Yeah.. ‘course. You can talk to me too, about anythin’.”
You smiled again, a little harder this time, never in a million years did you think you’d be here– sat across from the harsh man everyone walked the opposite way from, who never opened up, never showed any other emotion besides a scowl and plain tone.
Yet he’s here, one of your closest friends in all of Jackson– sharing a muffin and a smile, reminding each other you’re both here. No matter what. Neither of you judged each-other, or kept the harsh realities of pasts hidden. You lay them out on the table, raw and bare.
And it didn’t change a thing, for either of you, it just brought you closer.
chapter 1. | you're all i need masterlist. | chapter 3.
summary: After Joel's abrupt departure, you decide to try and figure out the reason behind it. Maybe even find yourself a friendship here in Jackson.
warnings: slow-burn, age gap (not specified), fluff, joel yearning, slight angst, mentions of death and grief, readers POV, reader sort of oblivious to joels feelings, joels in the friendzone;((, no use of y/n.
The door slammed shut, you looked back with a confused furrow etched in your brow. Strange. You moved to the doorway of the kitchen to look down the hall– you didn’t know what you expected other than a closed door and no Joel, which is exactly what you found.
Did you say something to make him uncomfortable? Maybe it was the way you answered the door? Like you didn’t want his company, it wasn’t that, it was just unexpected– someone you’ve barely spoken to, showing up randomly and offering to fix your stair again, like he owed it to you. Or at least that’s how his expression felt to you, like he owed you the stair– even if he didn’t break it in the first place.
You stood in the doorway, the front door that had been slam shut moments ago staring at you– and those words he muttered loudly down the hall still ringing in your head, along with the slam. It took you a second, but you just shook your head to yourself before walking back to the counter, resuming the reading you were doing.
You hadn’t spoken to Joel prior to that one interaction in the town hall, and this night he fixed your stair. You’d heard stories from the other town folk about him being ‘sheltered, closed off, blunt and harsh’, though that wasn’t the reason for the lack of pleasantries between you two. Joel was Tommys brother, but they couldn’t be more different– which meant that when people got wind of there being another Miller in town, they had expectations.
Joel wasn’t like Tommy, and that was okay. Yes, Tommy was amazing around Jackson, him and Maria kept this place afloat with a smile on their faces– and that wasn’t easy at times, but it wasn’t fair for everyone to expect Joel to be the same.
Joel owed no one here anything, no explanation of why he was the way he was, why he barely spoke or went out– theres no obligations in Jackson.
If you wanted to be social you could, if you didn’t you wouldn’t. That was an undisclosed sentiment of Jackson, no meddling in others lives if they didn’t want it. Instead of meddling, people gossiped, they fed off of it like bees to pollen, and it always spread like wildfire– you hated it. Never got involved where you didn’t need to be, never acted different towards someone because of what someone heard.
You would never actively steer clear from someone just because a few people where making assumptions based off of his expressions and general demeanour– none of them had probably talked to him either, so what did they know?
It was more the lack of crossover you and Joel had in the town, you were always busy at the school and the patrol group you were in was one with fellow teachers and doctors- some of the more major figures in Jacksons society, which meant you all got a little leeway when it came to patrolling- less shifts, easier routes, half the time spent out compared to everyone else.
Joel was a construction man, and went on patrol multiple times a week, he was good with a gun– which meant he was incredibly helpful when patrolling opportunities arised. People with such differing schedules would never cross paths unless they actively sought out the contact.
And neither of you did, but something about his words, his tone, and that slam, made you wonder– it slowly ate at you, not because you cared, well maybe part of you did, but because you wondered what could make him react like that.
You couldn’t help yourself, you were an over-thinker by nature– about everything, so even if you and Joel were merely acquaintances, it still made you think. And think. And think.
You thought your whole way through dinner, and dishes, and your night routine, even when you got to bed you held off sleeping for five minutes–just– so you could try and come up with a plausible explanation for his overreaction, but nothing popped out at you– which left you even more confused.
That night you told yourself you’d ‘figure it out, one way or another’. So with that , you turned off your bedside lamp, curled up under the covers and closed your eyes.
The morning came early, the sun slowly flowing into the room as it rose above the edge Jackson, the soft gold hue casting a large stripe through your window. You stirred for a second, yawned before sitting up– throwing the covers off of your legs and sitting on the edge of your bedside. You looked out the window briefly, from where you sat you couldn’t see much but it was too early for anyone to be out– that was one of your favourite times in Jackson.
The morning dew smell filling your nose, the soft, butter hue casting a heaven-like colour over Jackson, the calm silence that made it quiet in a gentle way– as if the town was getting ready for the incoming day slowly, on its own time.
You stood up, stretching slightly before reaching for your grey, fluffy robe sat on the chair by your desk in-front of the window. Pulling it on and tying it at your waist loosely, even though you were up early– this was a day off for you, which meant you were practically plan-less all day. Anyone else would be making plans with friends, or running errands that would otherwise be pushed to the last minute- but you were always ahead on everything you needed, and you didn’t have any close friends.
It wasn’t that you were anti-social, you did a lot in Jackson, for everyone– you just hadn’t had that click with anyone before, so you were mostly alone, by choice. You could’ve tried harder, made friends and have been able to have plans today– but with friends came expectations, responsibilities and time.
You didn’t have time to throw around, you were usually too busy working or doing something for the council. You also felt that it was easier to have a bunch of friends, ones you weren’t super close too but could talk to when you needed it and vice versa. That was basically the whole model of Jackson, everyone was a friend of one an other.
Though part of you deep down probably wishes you did, but you had a past, before Jackson, before becoming the loving teacher the kids adored and the parents thanked– it made you hold back. If anyone knew the things you did, you were worried it would change your image– which is why you became a new woman here, Jackson was your second chance. At first you felt like a phoney, like you were some imposter who planted themselves here, who maybe didn’t deserve the communities praise and admiration– but after a while the guilt left, you believed you changed and that was enough.
Today wasn’t like those other days, with no plans and endless wandering of the Main Street, like you were trying to buy something you didn’t need– just because. No, today you were a woman on a mission. You walked down your stairs, made your way to your kitchen stove and grabbed the stainless-steel kettle– moving to the sink and filling it halfway before placing it back on the stove and turning the gas up.
Once the coffee was in your hand and you were waiting for the toast to pop up, you were brainstorming ideas on how to figure Joel out. You were sure you didn’t have a thing for him, but still, something about him made you wonder– what was he really like under the gruffness? Would he be kinder? Softer? Not as closed off?
You also couldn’t help but feel slightly sorry for him, it’s not that they had shunned him, but they talked. He probably didn’t know about the talking part, but it was obvious they steered clear– maybe that’s all he needed, a friend.
And maybe you both had more in common than you thought in that regard, so you made a decision. You’d become the friendly neighbour, a confidant, someone he could come to if things got hard– you know first hand this world isn’t easy. With that comes a sense of independence, a sense of not wanting connection because of the fear of losing it.
It’s hard to be open with someone when tomorrow isn’t promised, how can you expect to give yourself over to another person when theres a chance they could disappear or up and leave– but this is Jackson. It’s not like a QZ or an overthrown city, it’s home- safe and reliable.
Which means so are the people in it, maybe Joel just needed to see that to believe it– that’s your job, your mission, to make him see he’s welcome. Wanted, needed and appreciated– that’s what friends are for. You could show him your trust-worthy, help break down the barrier of self-preservation– and maybe in turn, he’d help you do the same.
You finished your coffee and buttered toast while you marked the rest of the kids work, you cleaned up a little, thinking of how to go about getting through to Joel. Your head was thinking all morning till something your grandmother used to say appeared front and centre again, she was a funny woman– incredibly intelligent since she was a lawyer, but also an amazing cook.
Your mom used to ramble on about everything she made her and her siblings when they were younger, your grandfather would always joke that she got to his stomach and somehow ended up in his heart– she’d call out from the kitchen, every time, and said the same thing. “Best way to a mans heart is through his stomach!”
It wasn’t an original saying she made up, but it was true. So maybe that’s what you needed to do, you didn’t need to make it to his heart in the same way your grandmother made it to your grandfathers– that wasn’t the goal. The goal was showing him you cared. Appreciated the stair and his kindness for offering so abruptly, and that maybe you both needed someone like that to lean on, a real friendship.
Immediately you opened a cupboard, looking inside to see if you had the ingredients you needed, you did– when that saying popped into your head, along with the image of your grandparents, another memory pulled you back in.
Sundays in the rainy outskirts of Pittsburgh, where your grandparents grew up and never left, you’d always stay on a Saturday night to give your mom a break. Being an only child, and only grandchild in close distance with your grandparents, you spent a lot of time with them- you’d wake up to the smell of waffles and syrup, homemade hash-browns and eggs that your grandmother was tedious about. Then came along the smell, the one you yearned for even as a child, her homemade chocolate chip cookies. They were perfect, soft on the inside with a slight crunchiness on the edge– the browned butter giving them a caramel taste, and she always did half milk chocolate half semi sweet, for balance.
They were probably the best things you’ve ever eaten, it had been so long since you had them that you had forgotten, but in an instant the memory flooded back– you swore you could taste them in your mouth. That’s when you knew how you were going to get Joel, so you started, first off browning the butter– then taking it off the stove and letting it cool.
You mixed the butter and mix of brown and white sugar, adding in a few eggs and splash of vanilla– whisking it before the flour was folded in. You added the chocolate chips in, folding it again before adding a few more– ‘theres no such thing as too much chocolate, measure with your heart’ was another thing your grandmother whispered when she first showed you the recipe, always in a confiding tone like you were the only one she trusted with such secrets like her recipes.
They went into the fridge for an hour before being cooked and left on the side to cool, while they cooled you cleaned up and got ready– after a shower, you opted for your usual jeans, long-sleeved woollen navy sweater and a dark grey undershirt below since the weathers getting cooler. You walked down the stairs a little before you stopped on the stair he fixed, the board was a slightly lighter shade of wood than your other wenge-coloured boards but it didn’t bother you– you stood on it, appreciating the fact it was there again.
Smiling to yourself before you walked fully down, going back to the kitchen– you grab a small plastic container and place four cookies in it, leaving you with two. You couldn’t give him cookies and not also give him some for Ellie, you knew Ellie from the few times you seen her working in the restaurant– she wasn’t shy and you both got along quite well.
Pulling on your boots at the door before picking up the container again, you opened your door and stepped-out, closing it and walking down your porch step. You hadn’t thought about the fact Joel might not have been working, but you knew about the library– him being in charge of the renovations, the ones you had asked for.
You’d brought it up in the council meeting, presenting the idea to the rest of the members, explaining that the children need more selection than the small one that sits in the school– that it would be useful for the whole town, you even suggested giving the jobs to the new comers since they’d been wanting to help out more. Working in a library was less stressful than having to shove them right into the restaurant kitchen.
Making your way there you weren’t nervous, why should you be? He’s getting cookies and company, why would he be annoyed about that? The building came more into view as you walked further down Main Street, smiling at people who passed by with a wave, some of the kids shouting over at you as you waved back– it was nice.
Slowly but surely, you got there, you seen Tommy across the way and decided he’d be the best person to ask about Joels whereabouts. You walked over, waiting for him to notice you since he was mid conversation with one of the other workers, both holding mugs in their hands.
He notices you hovering and smiles. “Hey! Everythin’ okay?”
You nodded and held up the container slightly. He looked at the contents for a second before raising a brow. “For me?” Pointing to his chest.
You laughed, shaking your head. “No… your brother, is he here?”
That makes his head jolt as his face goes even deeper into the surprised expression. “You made Joel cookies?”
You nodded your head again, brows furrowing as if this was normal and Tommy was the strange one. “Yeah, why? Does he not like cookies?”
“No.. no he does, he’d probably eat anythin’… just shocked. Didn’t know you two were so close– suppose that would explain the stair thing.” He spoke to himself rather than you in that moment.
“Well, they’re actually because he fixed the stair… it was so nice of him but he wouldn’t let me give him anything for it, so– I made cookies he couldn’t refuse.” You joked and Tommy chuckled.
He nodded then shook his head, in slight disbelief, mug still in hand. “And here I thought he’d never make an impression… full of surprises that one.” He nods into the building. “He’s in there… everyone else took a break– but Bobs too much of a builder, refused to stop.”
You laughed with a thankful smile before you moved by him, muttering a thanks on your way by. You walked inside, the buildings different now, a grey-white colour from the layers of plaster having been applied to the walls– it looked huge now. You heard banging from behind a wall in the back corner, you moved in that direction.
Slowly you stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as you seen him, back turned as he stood on a ladder– hammering a shelf to the wall, this was one of the first rooms they finished so it looked more put together. It had designs on the wall, one of the painters in Jackson had done it by hand, a farmyard scene on one wall– dinosaurs on the other and a full diagram of the planets on the last one.
It looked great, you knew the kids would love it, and now the shelves were going up– each set a different colour to blend in with each wall. You were brought of your admiration when you heard a muttered curse come from Joel, you didn’t want to startle him by talking so when he started descending from the ladder you stood up straighter.
Once he had landed his feet on the ground he turned around and instantly froze, you smiled– welcoming as you held the container in your hands, he didn’t look unpleased just- frozen, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“I brought you cookies.” You called out to him as you held up the container, smile never wavering.
He coughed gently before letting out a gruff hum, he couldn’t muster up a thanks? It struck you as weird but you let it go.
You began to walk over to him, the room wasn’t huge, but big enough that it took you a second to get to him– by that point he was on one knee in-front of his tool box looking for something. You stood behind him, a few feet away.
You spoke up again, trying to break the awkward silence. “You left abruptly last night, never got to thank you for the help. I really appreciate it. No one else offered so thank you for that too, it was sweet.”
After you said that you swore you seen his shoulders tense, it was subtle, barely there but you seen it through the fabric of his flannel. Why was he being so strange? Was he allergic to friendly compliments and gratitude from an appreciative neighbour? Or was it just you specifically, had you said something?
No point wondering and making it worse in your head, so you did the brave thing and asked. “Have I done something to make you uncomfortable Joel? If I have I apologise, that was never my intention.”
Immediately he stood up, so fast that it startled you a little, then he turned and shook his head at you– reassuringly. That shocked you a little, as-well as the softness in his gaze, like a silent apology- one you knew you’d never hear in words from him, but somehow it made it more sincere.
“No… you did nothin’ wrong, sorry about how I’ve been actin’… this places been keeping me up at night,” he looks around the room slightly as he continues, “…want it to be perfect, done on time too. Very hard to do both.”
When he looks back to you, you give him an understanding smile. “Well, I think it’s looking pretty perfect so far, you’ve done a good job.”
Your eyes soften slightly, just so he knows you’re being sincere before you hold the box out. He looks down at the container and then back to you with a raise brow. “Told you it was a favour, don’t need nothin’..”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t take them, theres some for Ellie too– so lets just pretend they’re a gift for her and there just so happens to be two extra, means you’re not taking anything and I know I’ve given you something.” Your tone is gentle, but leaves no room for arguing as you urge the box into his hand.
He just sighs and shakes his head, but when he looks to you theres a slight upturn to his mouth– like always its slight, but enough for you to have felt your job was executed excellently and appreciated. “Thank you.” It’s earnest.
You gave him a friendly smile. “Heard you’re refusing to take a break?”
“Tommy?” He raised a brow.
You nodded, laughed softly before you looked at him. “Y’know this place won’t run away on you just because you pause for lunch?”
He looks down sheepishly, a slight chuckle leaving his lips.
You tilt your head, querying in a friendly tone. “Why don’t we get lunch? Then if it does magically run off– it’ll be my fault.”
His head shoots up, abruptly– like you’d just asked him to commit a crime, both brows raised in a shocked but also wary way. As if you’re playing some elaborate prank on him, but he speaks up– the slight shock never faltering. “Seriously?”
You nodded once, firm, sure of your decision and making sure he understood that. “Yeah, I’m not working today– nothing lined up. Besides… think we could both use a friend, no?”
It was blunt, you were just a blunt person, some people found it rude, others a little intimidated– you were fully expecting him to be angry, as if what you’d said was an insult. Instead, he just nodded, gratefully, then smiled– an actual smile. “That’d be nice.”
And that’s how the friendship began, it was slow at first and a little awkward, but weeks passed and the conversations got less surface level, it started with small talk– then the usual backstory stuff, life before the outbreak, interests and hobbies. Then he told you about Sarah, he looked heartbroken as he spoke about her– told you she was the light of his life, you couldn’t help but feel sad for him.
You actually cried that night, when you got home, it sort of hit you in a funny way– like the sight of him so bereaved, even after all these years, he loved her and then she was ripped from him so horribly. It hit you in a way nothing had before, and it explained him more.
Why he was so guarded, and emotionally quiet– he lost his daughter and never got her back, that would ruin anyone.
After that lunch you decided to be open, you told him what happened to your mother– you’d mentioned she’d died just before you got to Jackson four years ago. You never mentioned how it happened though, you never had to anyone.
You sat across from him as you spoke gently. “We were in this raiding group, she wanted an out– they weren’t good people. We decided one night we’d go search for a route out, we were staying in a mall at the time, we hadn’t explored the whole place. So that night we did, but we got into a store and there was an infected– it was so dark and we didn’t want to wake the others with the light from our torches so we went in blind. It was really stupid.” You paused for a sip of water.
You had grieved her a long time ago, but part of you still hurt a little as you spoke about her– you still kept it together enough as you spoke up again. “It pounced on me, since we weren’t exactly being quiet it heard us– I screamed and she immediately ran over as I tried to fight the thing off… my gun had fell out of my hand when I fell, she refused to carry one so all she had was a knife. She stupidly decided to stab the thing from behind, it didn’t do anything but make it angry and run for her– I grabbed my gun and shot it as quickly as I could. It was too late, she got bit.”
Your voice cracked as you said the next part, swallowing back the hurt as you looked out the window beside you. “I…. I had to shoot her that night, she begged me, said I had to do it before she turned– she didn’t want to hurt me. I–” Your head dropped and Joel spoke up gently.
“Hey.. hey its alright…” He placed his hand a-top yours, it had been resting on the table as your fingers jittered a little. “It’s hard to talk about these things, aint easy to remember somethin’ like that.”
Your eyes looked to his, the sadness betraying in your gaze as you give him a sad smile. The fact his hand is on yours doesn’t faze you, it’s not intimate touch– at least not to you. “You’re stronger than you know, she’d be proud of you– you got out and made somethin’ of yourself, like she wanted you to.”
You then placed your other hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze– a silent, grateful squeeze. “Thank you for being so understanding… I don’t normally tell people that story, I just say she passed and leave it at that.”
You notice his gaze falter from yours as he looks at your hands, you move your hand off his, expecting him to do the same. He doesn’t, his touch lingers, for a few seconds before he sees someone passing and quickly pulls it away– looking away… sheepishly?
Your brow furrows, why would he be so embarrassed by a friendly touch of comfort? You didn’t mention it, but it lingered. Heavy and strange.
A few days later, you were walking back to the library, like you had been the last few months. Holding a brown paper bag in your hand, wrapping yourself in your heavy jacket tighter as the November chill set in. Once you got to the site, you did your usual nods and polite smiles as you walked by everyone, walking in and going to where Joel was sat– waiting as he fiddled with some sort of electrical in his hand, glasses rested on his nose bridge.
You sat down in-front of him and he looked up with smile, looking back down to the thing in his hand. “Hey, been fixin’ this…” he clicks something, “…all damn day.. done now.”
He sets it down on the floor, pulling his glasses off as you sit with the brown paper bag in your lap, you reach inside and hand him a sandwich wrapped in parchment, then you pull yours out– resting the bag on the ground beside your seat before you look back to him, already unwrapping his.
This had become the normal for both of you, anytime you had a free lunch schedule or the day off, you’d come down here to the site– or you’d go to the coffee shop. It had became a tradition now, you making sandwiches, sweet treats for after, and he’d provide the coffee.
“You’re eager today..” You laugh softly as he takes a bite like he’s not seen food in decades.
“Is’ good… real good.” Even if he bites like an animal, he always covers his mouth when he speaks– so polite for such a gruff man.
That made you laugh again, a matter-of-fact tone showing as you talk back “Well, I’m glad I could please the critic.”
He chuckles, taking another bite as you take your first. It’s silent as you eat together, the silence is different now, less awkward and more comforting– like you’re just enjoying the company of one another and that’s all you need.
Once the sandwiches were finished you pulled two peach muffins from the bag, both wrapped up with parchment also– you opened the packaging as he poured the coffee into two mugs.
You handed him a muffin in exchange for the mug of his famous coffee, which was actually very good– you smiled and muttered ‘thanks’. He nodded once before he uncased the muffin and took a bite, letting out a hum. “Wow…” he finished chewing before he replied again.
“This is amazin’… thanks.” His voice sounds do appreciative, like he can’t believe someone actually made him a muffin– just because.
You shake your head dismissively as you give him a soft look. “Its okay… gives me something to do, besides what are friends for? Would rather you eat than starve and work too hard.”
His gaze lingers, you look down as you pull a piece off, placing it in your mouth before taking a sip of coffee– chewing throughly, looking back up to him. You catch his gaze lingering, but immediately he looks away, taking another bite– again, you say nothing, but it lingers.
“Coffees good…” You keep your eyes on the top of his head before you speak up again. “Joel… you’re acting strange.”
He looks up, brows etched with confusion. “What?…”
“You’re acting strange, like you’ve got something big to say but won’t.” You place another piece of muffin in your mouth as you watch him, chewing as you await his his retort.
A flash of something that borders on a caught feeling glazes his eyes, but it disappeared as he spoke up. Shrugging and looking away like he’s hiding something. “Dunno what you’re talking about, everythin’s alright.”
You don’t believe him, but you also can’t force him to talk so you just nod. “Okay, if you say so… but if you do have something you need to talk about, you can tell me– y’know that right?”
He looked back to you, and his eyes softened, he smiled and nodded. “Yeah.. ‘course. You can talk to me too, about anythin’.”
You smiled again, a little harder this time, never in a million years did you think you’d be here– sat across from the harsh man everyone walked the opposite way from, who never opened up, never showed any other emotion besides a scowl and plain tone.
Yet he’s here, one of your closest friends in all of Jackson– sharing a muffin and a smile, reminding each other you’re both here. No matter what. Neither of you judged each-other, or kept the harsh realities of pasts hidden. You lay them out on the table, raw and bare.
And it didn’t change a thing, for either of you, it just brought you closer.
warnings: this chapter contains smut, age gap, sex work (stripper reader), power imbalances, blackmail, and elements of slut shaming. reader discretion is advised!!!
word count: 11k
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Before the world stopped spinning, before curfews and mask mandates and Joe Cross swaggering around like a man who hadn’t spent the last decade losing slow and petty battles, there were the nights. Velvet, heat-slicked, low-lit nights.
Nights at The Velvet Horseshoe where the air was always a little too thick and the speakers coughed out synth-heavy remixes of songs no one could remember the words to. Where you lived by the glow of neon, by the flick of lighters and the clink of glasses and the shift of bills tucked into lace like confession.
The club didn’t really open—it hummed. A living thing. Mirrors on every surface, the faint stench of vanilla body spray and cheap vodka in the air, sticky on your skin before you even stepped backstage. You could feel the heartbeat of the room before you saw it. Music thudding like something alive, strobe lights blinking like the room had secrets. Which it did. All of them.
And he was always there.
Not always—but often enough that it felt like the difference between ritual and religion.
The mayor.
He’d slip in after hours sometimes, when the main room was winding down and the men with wives were shuffling out, heads bowed. When the bachelorette parties had left in a hailstorm of glitter and stale perfume. He didn’t sit at the edge of the stage. That wasn’t his style. No, he sat in the dark corner booth where the pink light hit just enough to gloss over his features, not reveal them.
A man like him—late forties, tan skin, calloused hands, a mustache neat enough to be precise, hair always slightly disheveled in a way you knew he cared about—he didn’t come here for fantasy. He came here for you.
It started with small things.
A hundred tucked in the tip jar when he knew you hadn’t danced all night.
A raised glass when you caught his eye from across the floor.
A quiet request to the DJ to let you keep your song for another week—he’d noticed when it changed.
The first time you gave him a lap dance, you thought it would be forgettable. He’d asked for you by name—murmured soft, like saying it too loud might make it real—and you weren't used to that. Married men liked discretion more than orgasms. You expected him to lean back, smirk, maybe slide his hands just close enough to make it a game.
But he didn’t touch you.
Not once.
Not even when you straddled him, when you rolled your hips slow and deliberate like you were winding down time itself. He kept his hands clenched on his thighs, jaw tense, tie loose around his neck like he’d forgotten what it meant to wear one. His eyes never left yours.
It unsettled you. That he looked at you like that.
You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You okay, Mayor?”
He closed his eyes. Exhaled through his nose. Said your name so soft it barely made it past the bass thrum of the speakers.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” he’d said.
“But you are,” you whispered back. “And you’ve been coming back.”
That earned a smile, small and crooked. “Maybe I’ve got bad judgment.”
“Maybe,” you said, fingers tracing the edge of his collar. “But you’ve got good taste.”
That night, you didn’t undress. You didn’t have to. You just moved on him like you knew something he didn’t. Like his sins had a price and you’d already added up the total.
He stayed long after your set, just sitting there in the corner like he didn’t want to go back to whatever house waited for him. The girls whispered about it after. About the way you made him sweat under his own suit jacket. About the way he looked at you like he wanted to ruin you slowly.
But that wasn’t what it was.
Not really.
The third time he came back, he didn’t request a dance.
He asked to talk.
Which, in a place like this, was worse.
You were sitting on the bar top, swinging your heels, a cherry sucker between your teeth because you were bored and the night was slow. He stood near the back hallway, coat folded over his arm, mustache freshly trimmed, eyes watching you like he was trying not to.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, voice dry.
“I don’t drink with customers,” you lied.
He smirked. “Good policy.”
You slid off the bar. “But I make exceptions.”
That was the first night he asked you questions that weren’t about your job. About the town. About your opinion on the curfew they were trying to pass. Whether the new gas station had been cutting into tips.
You blinked at him. “Are you...campaigning here?”
“I’m not campaigning,” he said. “I’m just asking.”
“No one ever just asks.”
He sipped his drink. Neat, something dark. The kind of bourbon only a man with regrets drinks. “I do.”
And he did.
Every time he came in, he asked about the other girls. How Jessa’s sister was doing after the accident. If the twins were really getting evicted or just dramatic. If you were still living near the arroyo where the coyotes howled like the desert had its own gods.
No one had asked you where you lived before. Not because they didn’t care—but because they didn’t want to know.
He was different.
Not good. Not kind. Just...different.
He looked at you like he’d already heard the worst about you and still wanted to sit at your feet and hear it from your mouth instead.
You remember one night, late fall.
The club was half dead, the air outside thick with a wind that felt like it was warning the town to sleep with one eye open. You hadn’t danced all evening. Just sat backstage in your robe and tights, running your fingertips along the spines of old costume jewelry boxes, wondering how many hands had touched these walls before yours.
He came in late.
Always after midnight.
You were behind the bar this time, refilling glasses and ignoring catcalls from a group of roofers who were in town for a project no one cared about. He didn’t wave, didn’t ask. Just slid into the booth and waited.
You wiped your hands and walked over without being asked.
“You know,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him, “people are gonna start talking.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Let them.”
You smiled. “Yeah? You keep coming back...because?”
“Because I’m losing my mind over you.”
You leaned in. “Are you?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at you. Like he wanted to. Like he would if he didn’t still have a soul to protect.
Instead, he said, “You want to get out of here?”
You blinked. That wasn’t the game.
“You mean tonight?”
He shook his head. “Sometime. When your shift is over.”
You were quiet.
Then, “You want to take me to your bar, Mayor?”
He tilted his head. “Would that be so bad?”
“It’d be political suicide.”
He smiled—sad, slow. “Then I’ll pay in advance.”
There were other nights.
The night you danced to his favorite song—slow, smoky, something you only played when the lights were low and the crowd had thinned. He didn’t even glance at the other girls. Just watched you. And after, he slipped backstage when no one was looking, cornered you in the hallway near the mop closet.
“You know what you’re doing to me,” he said, breath rough.
You pressed a hand to his chest, fingers splaying over the fabric. “You came here, Ted. You wanted this.”
And he had.
He kissed you that night.
Hard.
Pressed you up against the wall like he’d been starving. Your robe fell open, his hands shaking as he touched your waist, your ribs, your throat. He didn’t undress you. Didn’t need to. He just held you there and whispered your name like it hurt.
“I’m not supposed to want this,” he’d said.
“But you do.”
“I do.”
There was the night you saw him cry.
You never told anyone. Not even Jessa. You kept that one close.
It was a Thursday. Dead inside the club. Just you and a few girls watching TV in the dressing room, waiting to go on. You got a text—no name, just...You working?
You were about to say no. But something made you say yes.
He showed up twenty minutes later, eyes red, shirt wrinkled, coat forgotten somewhere behind him. You didn’t ask.
You just pulled him upstairs, past the private room, into the storage loft where no one went.
There was a futon. A fan that didn’t work. A window that only opened halfway.
You made him sit.
He didn’t say much. Just sat with his elbows on his knees, head bowed like the weight of the whole damn desert was pressing on his neck.
You sat beside him.
He turned his head, looked at you like you were a lighthouse in a town that didn’t have a shore.
“My father died,” he said.
You didn’t ask how. Didn’t offer condolences.
You just slid your hand into his. Held it there.
He didn’t kiss you that night. Didn’t even try.
He just sat there.
And you let him.
Later, when the pandemic started, when his bar—Garcia's bar—closed and the lights at the Horseshoe stopped buzzing, when the plywood went up and the whole town smelled like silence and disinfectant, those were the memories that stuck.
Not the dances. Not the tips.
But the way he’d said your name.
The way his hands had trembled when they touched your skin.
The way he never looked at you like a man buying something.
Just a man who had nothing to trade, and wanted you anyway.
Now, in your house—your actual house, with its crooked windows and the sagebrush curling along the back fence—you wake up some mornings and swear you can still feel the ghost of those nights.
The smell of him on your neck.
The way his voice dipped when he forgot to be careful.
The private booth.
The pink light.
The little look in his eyes that said, I know this is wrong, and I want it anyway.
And maybe that’s the whole story.
Not good. Not clean. Not right.
Just real.
And coming for you. Again.
It had been about a week since that morning in your kitchen—sunlight slicing the tile, the air thick with promises and fear and the ghost of pleasure still caught between your thighs. Since Ted had said he wasn’t going to lose you, and you’d let yourself believe it. Since the word election had stopped being a distant thing and become a second skin stretched too tight across town.
Now it was everywhere.
Posters, fliers, those ridiculous 3x5 palm cards with his campaign photo on them—the one where he was trying not to squint in the sun but still looked like he was about to singlehandedly fix everything.
You saw his face stapled to telephone poles, taped in gas station windows, tucked under the windshield wipers of cars outside the hardware store. Eddington had never seen a campaign this polished. Not for mayor, anyway. Not for something most people used to vote on between bites of a gas station burrito.
It should’ve made you proud. And sometimes, in the quiet, it did.
But mostly, it made you ache.
Because everywhere you looked, he was smiling at strangers like he didn’t still crawl into your bed at night, arms heavy around your waist, breathing your name like a benediction. Because those pins his volunteers wore—GARICA 2020: A STRONGER EDDINGTON—were passed out to everyone on Main Street except you.
You’d seen them hesitate.
One girl, fresh out of college and smelling like citrus lotion, had stepped toward you outside the laundromat, holding out a folded pamphlet and a branded cloth mask, but her eyes had flicked down your legs—cutoffs, boots dusty from the arroyo path—and stopped.
Then she smiled too politely. Pivoted. Offered it to a man behind you instead.
Which was ironic. Because the man behind you hadn’t spent the last year memorizing the taste of Ted Garcia’s mouth in a pitch-dark dressing room. Hadn’t let him fuck you against a folding chair at 2 a.m. while the bass from the club still thumped through the floorboards.
But sure. Give him the pin.
The first time you saw one of Ted’s campaign videos on your phone, you were barefoot in the kitchen, reheating old rice in a pan and sweating through a tank top. The video autoplayed between a makeup tutorial and a COVID news update. No warning. No transition.
And then he was there.
Standing in front of the community center, masked, eyes serious, voice low.
“Eddington is our home,” he said. “And even now, we protect each other.”
You nearly dropped your fork.
You watched it three times. Not because it was good—though it was—but because you couldn’t believe how well-behaved he sounded.
Like the man on your screen wasn’t the same one who’d once whispered fuck, baby into your shoulder while the whole town slept under a heat advisory. Like the same mouth hadn’t mapped every inch of your stomach.
You texted him, half-joking...You hiring an actor to play you now or what?
He didn’t answer right away. You figured he was busy.
But then, ten minutes later:You want a mask with my name on it?
You stared at your phone a long time before typing: Only if you personally deliver it.
That night, he did.
He brought two—one white, one navy—and handed them over like they were contraband. You stood in your doorway with a beer in your hand and sweat on your lower back, trying not to grin as he muttered something about “high-quality elastic” and “cotton blend” like it mattered.
You asked, “You make house calls now?”
He leaned in, low. “Only for you.”
You didn’t let him leave.
In public, nothing had changed. You still walked to the corner store alone. Still caught side-eyes from women old enough to be your mother. Still crossed streets when someone’s husband lingered too long near the hardware store and pretended not to recognize you.
You kept your mask on, head down. Pretended like the weight of your past was something you could pack up into a purse and leave at home.
But Ted?
Ted was everywhere.
His voice on the radio. His face on the morning news. His name in hashtags that trended just barely outside the state.
People called him steady. Reliable. Calm in crisis.
They didn’t know about your kitchen floor. About the way his voice cracked when he said he couldn’t wake up in that house without you. About the way he fucked like a man who thought this might be the last good thing left in his life.
You were.
And maybe that’s what made it worse.
Because now, when he showed up—always after nine, headlights off, the soft rumble of his SUV gliding down your gravel driveway—you felt it deeper.
No matter how full his schedule got—no matter how many interviews he gave, how many council meetings he chaired over Zoom—he still came.
Sometimes for an hour. Sometimes just long enough to touch your wrist, to kiss you like he needed to remember what your mouth tasted like. He’d talk to you with his hands, his mouth, his breath. And sometimes, with words.
“Joe’s campaign video dropped today,” he’d mutter, nose in your collarbone.
You’d hum. “Let me guess—grainy footage and a Bible verse?”
He chuckled. “Something like that.”
“Still trying to outwit you with quotes he doesn’t understand?”
“Still failing.”
Then, quieter...“He’s gunning for me.”
He never said gunning for us. But you heard it anyway
One afternoon, you were walking back from the market—eggs, cereal, another sad bottle of red—and you passed one of the corner campaign booths. Four volunteers under a white pop-up tent, waving at cars, handing out water bottles with Garcia 2020 printed along the label.
You kept your pace slow. Let your eyes drift over the table.
There, lined up neatly in a clear plastic tray, were those campaign pins.
Navy blue. Silver text. STABILITY. STRENGTH. GARCIA.
Your eyes lingered. Not long. Just long enough.
A boy—maybe high school, maybe early college—caught your gaze. Smiled.
You waited.
He reached for a pin.
Paused.
Then turned back toward the other side of the table.
You didn’t stop walking.
Didn’t let it show.
But it sat heavy in your hand the whole way home—the absence. The reminder. That no matter how many times he touched you like a promise, the town still saw you as a footnote. A distraction. A stain on the mayor’s otherwise spotless shirt.
When you got home, you tossed the groceries on the counter. Didn’t bother putting the wine in the fridge. Just stood there in the dim kitchen light, heart in your throat, hand shaking as you peeled the mask off your face.
And then your phone buzzed.
You home?
You didn’t even have to check the name.
You typed: Yeah. Bring pizza.
He was there within the hour.
You didn’t tell him about the girl. About the booth. About the way your chest ached like something was breaking quietly inside you.
You just let him kiss you in the hallway. Let him press you against the wall like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.
Let him stay.
A few nights later, you were half asleep on the couch, watching a rerun of a show you didn’t even like, when his voice cut through the static.
You blinked. Sat up.
The TV glowed blue. Ted stood center-screen—buttoned-up, firm-jawed, the kind of leadership they printed on the sides of buses.
You laughed.
Aloud.
Like an idiot.
He was so serious. The video was slick, professional. A slow pan across Eddington’s skyline, his voice layered over shots of Main Street, the community clinic, the shuttered diner. You watched him talk about safety, resilience, town unity. He looked straight into the camera like he believed it.
Like he didn’t spend his nights buried in you, voice hoarse from saying your name into the sheets.
You texted him again: This ad is killing me. You sound like you just came back from war.
A few minutes later: You like the haircut?
You laughed and typed: Very mayoral.
He sent a selfie from inside his SUV. Shirt collar open. Tie loosened. Smile lazy.
Be there in 10.
Every time he came, it felt a little more dangerous. Not because of who he was. But because of what it meant—to keep choosing you. Again and again. In the dark. Off-camera. Out of sight.
And you kept letting him.
Because no one else touched you like that. No one else said your name like it tasted like peace.
Because some part of you—a stupid, reckless, romantic part—thought maybe, just maybe, there was a version of this story where you weren’t a liability. Where he didn’t have to choose between you and the town.
Because when he curled up beside you in bed, shirt off, voice raw from arguing with the council all day, you believed him when he whispered, “I don’t care what they think. I care what you think.”
And even though you knew that was true—he had to care; he was still the goddamn mayor.
But he was all yours.
Just until the next campaign poster blinked past you on a telephone pole.
Just until someone else reminded you that you weren’t supposed to be seen.
But he kept coming.
And you kept answering.
Because even now—especially now—he was still coming for you.
Again. And again. And again.
You ran out of soap on a Thursday.
The kind of dry, hollow Thursday that made the house groan in its bones. Heat bleeding through the adobe walls, floor tiles too warm for bare feet, the air stale like it had been sitting still for weeks. Which it had. You hadn’t seen a cloud in days. The sky had gone static, pale blue and uncaring, like the sun had decided to burn without apology.
You stood at the sink, staring down at the bucket where you washed your clothes now. The last squirt of soap dripped slow and reluctant into the gray water, swirling around your underwear and two ratty tank tops like it was doing you a favor.
“Shit,” you muttered.
You didn't have a washer. Or a dryer. The club had one in the back hallway near the exit where they threw the trash, but it had been locked behind deadbolts since lockdown.
So you did what girls like you always did—made it work. Elbow deep in water, hands raw from wringing fabric, fingers wrinkled from bleach. You’d hung clothes on the rusted line in your backyard, weighed them down with old clothespins and the kind of prayers nobody really answered.
But soap—you needed soap.
So you put on your mask, slipped into your sandals, tied your hair into a knot that wouldn’t last ten minutes in the wind, and walked.
The store was a half-mile out, tucked between a feed supply shop and a boarded up beauty salon. It was old, cracked in the foundation, buzzing with flickering lights and humming refrigerators that sounded like a dying animal. The kind of place that sold off brand cereal and expired lip balm, but always had the basics.
You walked past a Garcia for Mayor sign on the way there. The corners were curling in the heat. His face smiled up at you from it—sincere, softened by shadow.
Inside the store, the air conditioning hit like a slap. You blinked, adjusted your eyes to the flicker of fluorescents, and moved toward the cleaning aisle.
It was mostly empty. A few scattered bottles of off-brand detergent. Some bleach that would peel the skin off your hands if you weren’t careful. You grabbed the soap. Turned it in your hand like it could tell you something. Then grabbed a second one just in case. You had the cash. Not much else, but that.
And then you saw her.
First it was her laugh.
Soft. Familiar. Tinted with memory.
You turned, slowly, careful not to make it weird. Your eyes landed on her across the aisle—by the baby food.
Her name hit you like a glass of cold water. Marlee.
She hadn’t worked the club in a while. Left just before COVID hit. Maybe three months before the world shut down and you stopped wearing glitter. She’d always been sweet, a little quiet, the kind of girl who got tipped just for blinking slow and twirling a strand of hair. She had legs for days and the kind of soft voice men leaned in to hear.
And now she was pushing a stroller.
You blinked. Swallowed.
She hadn’t seen you yet. She was talking to a man, hand on his elbow. Her ring caught the light like it was showing off. The baby in the stroller was squirming—chubby arms, fuzzy head, making happy noises like the world hadn’t ended.
You watched from behind the shelf of canned beans, fingers clenched around the soap in your hand, breath slow and tight behind your mask.
She looked good.
Not rich, not flashy. Just…soft. Grounded. Her shirt had a little stain near the collar, and her shoes were worn out, but there was something calm in her. Something settled. She looked like a person who had somewhere to be. Someone who wanted her to come home.
You should’ve turned around.
You should’ve walked straight to the register, bought your soap, and forgotten it.
But you didn’t.
You stepped into the aisle like someone else was steering your legs.
“Marlee?”
She turned, paused. Her mouth opened in surprise, and for a second, you couldn’t tell if she was going to smile or pretend she didn’t see you.
Then she smiled.
“Holy shit,” she said. “Hey.”
You stepped closer. “It’s been a while.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it has.”
Her eyes flicked down to your basket. The two bottles of soap. Then back up. But her smile didn’t fade.
The man beside her—tall, blond, forgettable—muttered something about getting eggs and disappeared toward the back.
You stared at the baby in the stroller. “Is he yours?”
She beamed. “Yeah. Milo. He’s almost eight months.”
You did the math. Just before the shutdown.
“That’s…that’s really good, Marlee.”
She looked at you like she knew what you meant. Like the space between us and them wasn’t new.
“How have you been?” she asked gently.
You shrugged. “Still here.”
She nodded like she got it. “You still working the club?”
You could’ve lied. You didn’t.
“It’s shut down. Since March.”
“Right. Yeah, of course.”
A silence opened between you. Not awkward. Just full.
“I always thought you’d get out first,” she said softly. “You were smarter than the rest of us.”
You blinked. “You got out.”
She looked down at Milo. “Yeah. But not by planning. Just…timing. Luck, maybe.”
You didn’t say anything.
Then—because you couldn’t help it, because it clawed its way out of you—you asked, “Is he good to you?”
She looked up. Her eyes were glassy, but not sad. “Yeah. He really is.”
Another pause.
You nodded. “That’s good. You deserve that.”
So do I, you didn’t say.
She reached into her purse. Pulled out a pen. Wrote something on the back of a grocery receipt.
“I don’t know if this is weird, but…if you ever need someone to talk to. Or, I don’t know. Watch a movie or something. You don’t have to be alone, you know?”
You stared at the number. Took it.
Your fingers were shaking.
You didn’t say goodbye. Not properly. Just nodded again, whispered something like thanks, and turned down the next aisle.
You didn’t cry.
Not until you were outside, walking past the cracked sidewalk where the kids used to sell lemonade in the summers, where the chalk drawings still clung to the corners like fossils.
Not until you saw another one of his signs.
Ted.
You stopped. Let the sun hit your neck, let the weight of it all melt into your skin.
Maybe it wasn’t stupid.
Maybe you weren’t just a secret with good legs and an even better mouth.
Maybe.
You thought of the way he looked when he was asleep, one hand always reaching for you like instinct. You thought of the way he muttered don’t leave when you got up for water at 3 a.m. The way his eyes softened when you laughed. The way he held your face after sex like he was trying to memorize it.
You pressed your hand against your chest. Felt your heart thump.
Maybe, you thought.
Maybe there could be something real.
You walked home with two bottles of soap, a phone number in your pocket, and the first flicker of hope you’d let yourself feel since the neon at The Velvet Horseshoe went dark.
Back at your house, you filled the sink.
Washed your clothes slow.
Hung them on the line.
Watched them sway in the desert wind, like maybe, just maybe, they knew something you didn’t.
The shirts were still damp when the TV flickered on.
It was nearly four.
The sun had started its slow descent behind the western hills, casting a soft copper hue across your front steps. The air outside carried that heavy, pre-evening heat that stuck to your collarbone like honey, and the flies had started circling with their lazy buzz.
Inside, the fan hummed weakly against your cheek. A half-glass of red wine sat sweating on your coffee table, next to a bowl of pistachios you hadn’t touched.
The remote sat snug in your hand, familiar now like a limb. You flicked through channels until you landed on the town hall live stream. A local news anchor with frosted lips and roots in need of touch-up introduced the Eddington Town Hall as if it were the Oscars, all hopeful and hollow.
The frame cut to the building—tan adobe, built in the ’60s, long before charm mattered—and inside, people were spaced six feet apart, masked, wary. The crowd was thin, cautious, a mix of aging residents, council members, and a few concerned business owners who looked like they’d kill to reopen the diner if it meant one more cup of black coffee in a chipped ceramic mug.
And there he was.
Ted.
Your breath stalled just a moment.
His tie was burgundy, crooked in a way that told you he’d done it himself. His mask was off—just for the cameras—and you saw the way his mustache twitched slightly when he adjusted the microphone, the way his eyes scanned the room like he could smell the tension before it spoke.
He looked good. Tired, sure. But good.
Professional.
Rehearsed, but not stiff.
“Good afternoon, Eddington,” he began, voice warm and worn at the edges like an old record. “Thank you for being here today, whether in person or watching from home.”
You curled deeper into the couch, one knee drawn up under your shirt, and took a sip of wine. His voice filled the space around you. You didn’t turn on any lights. Just let the sun leak through your curtains and coat everything in soft, bruised gold.
Ted started outlining the re-opening plan. The diner would resume takeout orders by mid-May. The mechanic on Route 6 had filed the right paperwork and would open with limited staff. Masks were still required. Curfew would stay in place. No large gatherings. The Velvet Horseshoe was not mentioned—not once—neither his bar. But you weren’t surprised.
He looked up between each bullet point, meeting eyes in the room like he was speaking to them one by one. Like he gave a damn.
It was when he got to the local vaccination rollout that the air changed.
You didn’t see him until the camera panned left.
Joe Cross.
Perched on the edge of his seat like a vulture too eager to wait for the kill. His mask was off his face—of course—and his shirt was tucked in too tight, making his skinny frame look more like a stretched rubber band than a threat. But you knew better.
Joe had a way of smiling when he was about to start something.
And sure enough—
“Excuse me, Mayor Garcia,” Joe said, rising slowly.
Ted didn’t flinch.
“Sheriff Cross,” he replied, all cordial veneer.
Joe stepped closer to the mic stand, hands in his pockets like he was playing humble. But his voice carried that slick, nasal bite that always tried too hard to sound reasonable.
“I just want to clarify for the folks watching at home,” Joe said, tilting his head like a snake sizing up its next move, “that the reopening measures you’re announcing today are…based in science, yes?”
Ted’s brow lifted, barely.
“They’re based in state guidelines and local health board advisories, yes.”
Joe nodded. “Right. Right. Because we all just want to be safe. We all want to trust our leadership.”
The way he said leadership made your fingers tighten around the stem of the wine glass.
Ted didn’t blink. “Was there a question in that, Sheriff?”
Joe’s lips twitched. “Only that I find it interesting—curious, even—that the same leadership asking us to be cautious, to stay inside, to wear masks and respect boundaries, might be…how shall I say this—” he turned slightly to glance at the crowd “—engaged in behaviors that suggest otherwise.”
You didn’t move. Not a breath.
Onscreen, Ted’s jaw flexed. The kind of quiet tick that meant he’d already decided how to handle this long before it started.
“I’m sorry, Joe,” he said, voice syrup-slow. “Would you care to be more specific, or are you just here to stir up vague paranoia for sport?”
The people in the room shifted. The councilwoman in the back hid a smirk behind her clipboard.
Joe’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m just saying—” he lifted his hands “—that for a town this size, people notice things. They talk. They see who’s driving where. Who’s knocking on what door.”
Your stomach turned.
Not just because of the insinuation. But because Joe was too much of a coward to say your name. Too careful to keep his venom general, but just loud enough to let it bite.
You knew he wouldn’t out you outright. That wasn’t his goal.
He wanted to corner Ted. Trap him under morality and optics and let the town connect the dots themselves.
But Ted didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.
He stepped up to the microphone, one hand gripping the wood podium like it was a lighthouse in a storm.
“Let me be clear,” he said, voice calm but edged. “I am here to serve this town, and I’ve done so without interruption, without excuse, and without prioritizing my personal comfort over public safety.”
Joe opened his mouth, but Ted lifted a hand—not dismissive, not rude. Just enough to say, I’m not done.
“I understand that there’s temptation to look for scandal where there is none. To believe that authority must equal corruption. That morality is a performance.”
A pause. A breath.
“But my job isn’t to perform,” Ted said. “It’s to protect. To lead. To care. Even if that care isn’t always seen or understood by people who measure integrity by who they can shame into silence.”
The room went still.
Even Joe shut up.
On your couch, you swallowed hard. The wine sat untouched now. The glass warm in your palm.
Ted looked directly into the camera then.
And you felt it—somehow, impossibly—you felt it in your bones.
“I will continue to do what is right for Eddington,” he said. “Even if it’s not easy. Especially then.”
He stepped back. The moderator mumbled something about moving on. Joe sat, eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed. The rest of the meeting dragged on like a deflated balloon, but you didn’t hear it. Not really.
You stared at the screen until it cut to a local insurance ad.
Then you turned it off.
The silence in your house was deafening. Even the cicadas outside seemed to wait.
You walked to the kitchen. Set the glass down. The soap bottles still sat on the counter from earlier.
Your heart was beating in your throat.
He didn’t name you. He wouldn’t. You knew that.
But you also knew the fire in his voice wasn’t about hypothetical scandal.
It was about you.
It was always about you.
You walked to the door. Opened it. Let the dusk air hit your bare legs. The desert wind had changed—softer now. Cooler.
You looked up at the faraway hill.
Where his house sat like a secret.
And you waited.
Waited to see if his headlights would appear in the distance.
If they didn’t tonight, maybe tomorrow.
But you knew one thing for sure—
He wasn’t running from anything.
Not even you.
It’s eight by the time he pulls up.
The sun’s been gone for an hour, and the desert has cooled just enough for the air to stop sticking to your skin. His SUV crunches over gravel, headlights cutting a path through the dark toward your stucco house—its silhouette low and square against the night sky, just the way he always finds it...quiet, unassuming, slightly too dark.
There’s no porch light. No glow from the windows. Nothing but stillness.
He parks, cuts the engine, sits for a moment with his hands on the wheel and the weight of the day pressing in like gravity. His spine aches from standing too long at the podium. His jaw is still tight from biting down through Joe’s little monologue, keeping himself from grinding his molars into dust.
He can still feel the microphone in his hand. Still hear your name in the words Joe didn’t say.
His eyes drift to your door. Closed.
He gets out.
The wind kicks up sand and carries it against his pant legs. He adjusts the collar of his jacket as he steps onto the porch, dust swirling around his boots, that old wind chime by your door rattling like bones. A single porch chair. A chipped clay ashtray with nothing in it but one long-dead bee.
He tries the handle.
Unlocked.
His brow knots.
He’s told you so many times.
Lock your door.
Doesn’t matter if no one knocks. Doesn’t matter if the street’s always empty. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re invisible out here. That’s how bad things happen. That’s how people disappear. That’s how women get hurt and men like him get phone calls too late in the night to fix anything.
He steps inside, frustrated already. The darkness swallows him whole.
“Hey,” he calls, voice low. Not angry. Not yet. “You leave your damn door unlocked again?”
No answer.
The air smells like lavender and detergent, with something underneath it—soap, maybe. The soft, damp tang of wet fabric still drying. He knows it like he knows the scent of your skin. Knows it in the way the house sighs when he walks in. Knows it in the way the silence isn’t empty. It’s lived in. Yours.
He fumbles for the light switch, but it flickers weakly and dies again. He exhales. Of course the bulb’s out. Of course you haven’t changed it. You don’t even own a stepladder.
He toes off his shoes. Shakes off the dust. Shrugs off the weight of the suit jacket, folds it over his arm. Your house is cool, quiet, like it’s holding its breath.
He doesn’t call out again.
Instead, he moves through the house like he belongs there—which he does, even if you won’t say it out loud. Even if he can’t. His tie comes off next, then the buttons of his shirt, slow and neat. The muscles in his back stretch under the cotton. His undershirt clings to his stomach, sticky from nerves, from the desert, from the tension he still hasn’t let go of.
Down the hall, your door is half-shut.
He pushes it open, careful not to let it creak.
You’re in bed.
He can barely make out the rise of your blanket in the dark, the curve of your shoulder against the old pillow, the wild shape your hair makes across the sheet. The window’s cracked, letting in the desert night like a lullaby. Outside, a coyote howls.
Inside, you’re breathing slow.
You don’t even stir when he steps in.
His belt unbuckles with a soft clink, and then he’s tugging the rest of his shirt off, letting it hang over the back of a chair. Pants come next, slow and practiced, then socks. His undershirt is the last to go. He folds everything carefully—habit. Old training. Muscle memory from a life where everything had to be perfect before it could be personal.
He slides under the sheet behind you.
The bed is warm. You are warmer.
You murmur something in your sleep. It’s not a word, not really, just a sound—comfort, recognition, muscle-deep.
He exhales, finally.
You’re curled on your side in one of those tiny tank tops you wear to sleep in, legs bent slightly, hands tucked close to your face. There’s a hole in the hem. He knows because he’s seen it before. Knows you keep wearing it anyway.
He lies behind you, not touching yet.
Your laundry is still hanging outside—he saw it when he pulled up. Tank tops and shorts swaying on the line like party flags in the wind. You’ve been washing your clothes by hand again. He told you he could send someone with a portable washer. You refused. Said you didn’t need charity. Said you had a system.
And yet.
Here you are, collapsed like a doll.
He watches the slope of your shoulder rise and fall with each breath. Wonders how long it’s been since you let yourself sleep like this. Wonders how many blisters you got from wringing out that many clothes.
He reaches out, slow. Slides one arm around your waist, careful not to startle you.
You stir at the contact. A soft hum at the back of your throat.
Then you shift, just slightly, your hand finding his chest in the dark. Palm flat. Warm. Familiar. You press a kiss to his sternum without lifting your head. Just a soft, sleepy press of lips. No words.
But he feels it.
Feels it like a flood.
That stupid tie. That goddamn podium. The council’s stares. Joe’s smug face. All of it melts under the weight of your skin against his.
He closes his eyes.
He doesn't speak, doesn’t ask how your day was, doesn’t tell you what Joe said behind the cameras, doesn’t remind you to lock the door again in the morning. He just breathes.
Lets your kiss settle like balm.
Lets your breath guide his own.
Lets the stillness of your house wrap around the both of you like the softest truth—something that can’t be printed on campaign posters or whispered in grocery store aisles or used as ammunition in a sheriff’s mouth.
This is the only thing that feels real.
This.
You.
In the dark, he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. You sigh at that, still half-asleep, and murmur something else—something he can’t catch. But it doesn’t matter.
He’s here.
You're warm.
And tomorrow, the world will spin again.
But for now, this bed is all that matters.
And finally, finally, he lets himself fall asleep next to you.
When the morning sun filters in through the thin curtains, you blink awake slowly, your arms aching.
Not the kind of ache from being held too long, or fucked too good.
The kind of ache that comes from scrubbing. From work. From dipping your hands in cold water over and over to wring out twenty-something tank tops and shorts until your knuckles went raw and your shoulders burned. The skin on your palms is tight, slightly chapped. You flex your fingers beneath the covers and groan quietly at the sensation.
Your arm shifts across the mattress, reaching without thought.
Empty.
But his side is still warm.
And your heart stutters in your chest, just a little, because he was here. He ishere.
The weight of that is intimate in a way nothing else ever has been. You don’t remember the exact moment he crawled into bed beside you, only the pressure of something familiar, safe, heat that gathered behind you like a slow tide. A kiss pressed to his chest, half asleep and wordless. You think maybe he kissed your hair back.
You sit up, stretch. The sheets fall around your waist and your tiny, faded tank top does nothing to shield you from the cool air. You don’t bother with more clothes. What’s the point? He’s seen everything. Touched everything. Memorized the places no one else dares to ask about.
You step barefoot into the hallway, the floor cool against your feet, your body sore but soft with sleep. The smell of coffee hits you first. It floats lazily through the air, warm and rich. You hear the soft clink of ceramic bowls and the occasional rustle of a cereal box being shaken too hard.
Your lips twitch into a smile before you even round the corner.
He’s in your kitchen. Shirtless.
The windows are open, letting in the early morning wind, and his back is to you, shoulder blades shifting as he reaches up into the cabinet for something. The muscles in his arms are still firm, but there’s age there too—soft edges earned honestly. He’s wearing the same slacks from last night, the waistband low, his belt gone. His hair is messy in a way that makes you ache a little. Like you missed your chance to tangle your hands in it.
He’s pouring cereal. Into two bowls.
And you laugh.
It bursts out of you without warning—bright, raspy from sleep, and startled by how much you needed the sound. He turns instantly, the box still in hand, and when he sees you—barefoot, panties, that ridiculous little tank top you sleep in, hair a mess, skin glowing in the morning light—he smiles.
Not the political smile. Not the one he gives on camera.
This one’s softer. Sleepier. A little crooked.
"Well," you say, stepping further in, rubbing your sore arm, “looks like the mayor’s making breakfast.”
He shrugs, glancing down at the bowls. “Cereal’s the only thing I can make without destroying your kitchen. You want me to scramble eggs again and fill the house with smoke?”
“God, no.”
He smirks. Pours milk like he’s doing something noble. “Didn’t think so.”
You hop up onto the counter beside the sink, cool tile under your thighs, legs swinging slightly. The cotton of your tank top rises just enough to expose the under-curve of your breasts. He notices. Doesn’t say a word. Just hands you a bowl like you’re a queen and this is all he has to give.
You take it with a grin. The spoon is mismatched. You don’t care.
He settles in at the small table in your kitchen, the one with only two chairs, like you’d been waiting for this dynamic long before it was real. You follow, bowl in hand, and sit across his lap like you’ve always belonged there. Your leg drapes over his thigh, your foot nudging against his opposite knee. You set your cereal on the table and dig in one-handed while his fingers trace lazy lines along your calf, up the back of your knee.
It’s stupid. It’s simple.
But it feels sacred.
"You sleep okay?" he murmurs.
"Mm." You chew. Swallow. Nudge your toes under his thigh. "You were here when I woke up. That’s all I needed."
He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. Just a light one. No words.
You keep eating, the spoon clinking against ceramic. There’s a fan in the corner that oscillates every few seconds, pushing warm air across the room in a lazy arc. Outside, a bird chirps. The wind makes your laundry sway. The silence between you stretches, but it’s not the bad kind. Not the kind that begs to be filled.
It’s domestic. Intimate. Something you didn’t know you were allowed to have.
“Big speech last night,” you say between bites.
He groans. “Don’t remind me.”
“You handled it fine.”
“I wanted to punch him.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t.”
“Yet.”
You smirk into your cereal. “The town would riot.”
“They’d elect him.”
You roll your eyes and rest your cheek against his shoulder, bowl balanced between you and the table. “You’re too good at that—pretending you don’t care when you do.”
His fingers curl around your ankle. “You think I’m pretending?”
You glance up, eyes locking with his. “No.”
He nods slowly. Spoons another bite into his mouth, chews thoughtfully. Then says, mouth half full, “You didn’t lock your door last night.”
You groan dramatically. “Ted—”
“You said you would.”
“I was tired.”
He looks unimpressed. “That’s not an excuse.”
You wriggle your toes against his thigh like it’s a distraction. “Were you this annoying when you were married?”
“I was never married.”
You blink. “What?”
He shrugs. “Not once. Not even close.”
“I thought—”
“I know. Everybody does.”
You tilt your head, watching him. “Why not?”
He eats another bite. Then pauses. “I guess I never wanted anything enough to risk it.”
“And now?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he picks up your foot and presses a kiss to the arch, his mustache brushing your skin. Your heart thuds so loud you’re afraid he can hear it.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he says, voice quiet.
You nod.
“You always gonna make me cereal?”
He chuckles. “If I can keep you in my lap while you eat it.”
“Deal.”
You finish your bowls in easy silence, your legs tangled, your fingers brushing against his thigh every few seconds like you’re tethered. The morning slips by in that soft, shapeless way time does when you’re with someone you’re not supposed to need, but do anyway.
And when the bowls are empty and your coffee's gone cold, he doesn't rush to leave.
He just pulls you closer.
And stays.
But only for a little while longer.
Eventually, the spell breaks, like they always do. The kind of soft morning that only exists between bodies and sheets and cereal bowls eventually starts to slip through your fingers. It starts with the clock. Then the sun inching higher through the dusty curtains. Then the sound of a text message vibrating on his phone.
Reality. Always clawing its way back in.
You’re still on the couch when he starts moving. One of your legs is tossed across his lap and the tank top you slept in is stretched off your shoulder, threatening to fall entirely. His thumb is brushing lazy circles on the inside of your thigh, and your eyes are half-lidded, content to stay like this forever. But you feel it the moment he tenses.
The shift.
You glance up at him. His jaw’s tight, eyes locked on the screen of his phone, whatever words glowing there sinking into his skin like poison. He doesn’t even say anything at first. Just turns the screen off, tosses the phone face-down on the couch beside him. You don’t ask. You already know.
Campaign. Joe.
“You gotta go,” you murmur.
It’s not a question.
He nods, but doesn’t move. Not yet.
“I don’t want to,” he says, voice rough from sleep, from not enough coffee, from maybe too much wanting. “But yeah. I have to.”
You pull your leg off him slowly, cool air rushing to the spot where he’d been warming your skin. You try not to sigh. Try not to show your disappointment, but you know he sees it anyway.
Ted always sees it.
Still shirtless, he stands and stretches, the muscles in his back shifting like landscape under skin. You glance out the window toward the backyard. Your laundry’s still hanging from the line, flapping gently in the wind. Tank tops, shorts, panties, a few bras—all faded, mismatched, sun-stained. You’d forgotten all about them until now.
“You gonna help me grab those before the wind steals ‘em?” you ask.
He grins. “You giving me orders now?”
You arch a brow. “You’re the one who said I need to start locking my door. Sounds like you want a domestic life.”
He snorts, already pulling on his shirt, though he leaves the buttons undone. “You want domestic, sweetheart? Let’s go save your underwear.”
The two of you move out into the backyard in bare feet. The late morning sun is hotter now, brushing against your skin like heat you almost forgot existed, the kind that sinks into your shoulders, into the crown of your head, into your toes. The breeze isn’t much, but it’s enough to keep the tank tops dancing.
Ted carries the basket. You pull the clothes down one by one, careful not to wrinkle them too much, careful to fold them with the kind of quiet diligence you reserve for mundane tasks. He just holds the basket open, letting your warm laundry fall into it like petals.
You hand him a pair of pale pink shorts, the elastic band curling at the edges. “You remember these?”
He nods. Doesn’t even look at them. “You wore them the first night I followed you out of the club.”
You grin, cheeks warming. “I wasn’t even trying that night.”
“You never have to try,” he says simply.
And you hate how easily that ruins you.
You move on. Keep pulling clothes from the line. Tank tops, socks, panties. At one point, you hand him a black lace thong and he doesn’t say a word, but he’s definitely smirking when you look at him. You bump his shoulder on purpose.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like the idea of being surrounded by your clothes doesn’t wreck something in him.
Like the idea of seeing his own shirt mixed in there—his shirt you wore to bed once and never gave back—isn’t quietly breaking him.
And you—well. You’re already spiraling.
Because as you work in silence, you keep looking at him. The way the sun warms his forearms. The way his hair is still messy from sleep, like you’re the only one allowed to see him this way. The way he shifts the laundry basket in his arms to accommodate each new piece like it’s sacred.
You imagine things you shouldn’t.
Him standing out here with you not just this morning, but every morning.
Him helping you hang baby clothes in a few months. Helping you fold them with sleep still in his eyes and a soft belly under his t-shirt because he’s aged into comfort. Into family. Into yours.
You imagine a wedding. Not big—something tiny, out near the old arroyo. Nothing but dry sage and heat and a few folding chairs. You’d wear white even though people would whisper. He’d wear his best jacket. You imagine his hands trembling as he held yours. His vows—quiet, too quiet to hear over the wind, meant only for you.
And you imagine a baby. Not now, not this moment. But someday. A girl with his eyes and your stubbornness. A little boy with his laugh. One of each, maybe. The kind of kids who’d make the town whisper louder.
But the whispers wouldn’t matter.
Because you’d be his.
And he’d finally stop pretending he didn’t want that.
When the last shirt’s in the basket, you follow him back into the house, your fingers brushing against his as you take the basket from him. You set it on the table, and for a second, it just sits there. A basket of sun-warmed clothes, the whole house filled with that cotton clean scent. The image of a life you don’t dare say out loud.
Ted’s already checking his watch. You know the routine.
“Don’t let them push you around,” you say.
He grins, but it’s tired. “They wouldn’t dare.”
You walk him to the door. Slowly. Dreading it.
He grabs his jacket off the back of the chair. Doesn’t put it on yet. Just holds it. And then turns to you.
“You gonna lock the door this time?”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, Ted.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t move.
And neither do you.
You both stand there, close. Closer. He smells like your detergent now, like sleep and sun and morning coffee.
“Come back after your meeting?” you ask, quietly.
He nods once. “If I can.”
That’s never a guarantee. But it’s never a lie either.
When he finally leans in to kiss you, it’s not soft.
It’s not polite.
It’s a claim.
One hand cups your jaw, the other around your waist, and his mouth lands on yours like he’s starving. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you in case the world ends again. Like he’s fighting something invisible and losing.
You kiss him back, breathless, fists curled in his shirt. You’re still standing in the doorway when he pulls back.
His lips are red. His eyes are darker.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs.
“Not if I marry you first,” you whisper.
He laughs. Not mockingly. But like you just handed him something fragile.
Then he pulls on his jacket. Opens the door.
And just like that—he’s gone.
Kicking up dust in his SUV, heading straight for a fight you can’t follow him into. Not yet. But you will.
You always do.
The dishwater had cooled by the time you got to the last plate. Your fingers were pruny, wrists sore, the ache of domesticity settling into your body like an old song you hadn’t heard in years. It was peaceful in that sleepy, air-stuck kind of way. Windows cracked, a breeze barely threading through. The hum of the desert was all around—cicadas warming up, a neighbor’s dog yapping lazily in the distance, and the faint chime of wind through dry mesquite.
You were just starting to tug the sheet taut across your bed, fluff the pillows with that strange sense of intimacy left behind in the fabric, when your phone buzzed violently against the side table.
You frowned. Unknown number.
You stared at it long enough for it to almost go to voicemail. But something—a gut pull—told you to pick up. You answered on the fifth ring.
“Hello?”
The voice came in fast. Too fast.
“Ohmygod—it’s me, it’s Jessa—please don’t hang up, listen—can you—fuck—can you come get me?”
You blinked. “Jessa?”
“I’m at the sheriff’s station. He—he arrested me. I swear to God, I didn’t even do anything, I was just—Jesus, can you just come? I didn’t get my call last night, they didn’t give me my damn call, he didn’t. He just let me rot in here. I don’t have anybody else. Please.”
Your stomach dropped.
Joe.
You didn’t need a name to be said. You already knew.
You could hear the static of the phone line, the way Jessa’s voice cracked through it like she was barely holding herself together. And you could picture her—mascara smudged, glitter still stuck to her skin from two nights ago, the tiredness in her eyes that was a language only girls like you understood.
“I’m coming,” you said. “Give me twenty.”
The heat hit like a slap when you stepped outside. You didn’t even try to hide from it, just pulled on the lightest thing you could find—denim shorts that barely counted as clothing and a tank top that was practically see-through in the sun. You didn’t do it for attention. You did it because the air felt like fire and you were in a rush.
Still, you knew how it’d look.
Your sandals slapped against the dirt as you made your way down the road into town. Eddington stretched out in front of you like a mirage. You passed the closed gas station, the shuttered thrift store, the old movie marquee that hadn’t changed its lettering since February. Someone was finally replacing the letters, maybe getting ready for reopening.
You ignored the glances. The whispers.
That old man with the toothpick in his mouth, standing out on his porch like the sun didn’t hurt. The two women from church who always paused when you walked past, holding their Bibles a little tighter. Even the kid riding his bike who slowed down just to stare.
You kept walking. Eyes forward.
The sheriff’s station sat like a blister at the edge of downtown—beige brick and shadow, the flag above it whipping half-heartedly in the breeze.
The front doors creaked when you pushed them open.
And there he was.
Joe Cross.
Standing behind the reception counter like he had nothing better to do, like he hadn’t just kept your friend locked up for no reason other than the fact that he could. His badge gleamed under the harsh ceiling light. That stupid tie was crooked. His glasses fogged slightly from the temperature shift.
And he was smiling.
Like he’d been waiting for you.
“Afternoon,” he said, voice syrupy and smug. “Didn’t expect you to make such quick time. Especially on foot.”
You didn’t respond. Just walked up to the desk, arms bare, hair messy, your skin still dewy from the sprint and the heat.
“I’m here for Jessa.”
He clicked his pen. Unnecessarily. “Are you?”
You didn’t flinch. “She called me. Said you had her overnight.”
“Well,” Joe leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter, voice dipped low like he was telling a secret. “She was found loitering. Trespassing technically. But let’s not split hairs.”
“Where?”
He tilted his head like you were cute. “Back alley behind Reyes’ bar. You know the one. It’s always so interesting who turns up there.”
You didn’t bite.
“She didn’t get her one phone call.”
He shrugged. “Phones were down last night.”
“Convenient.”
The silence between you spread like oil. Joe’s jaw flexed. He tapped the pen against his clipboard.
“She’s not a criminal,” you said.
He smiled. “Neither are you. Technically.”
You fought the urge to lunge across the counter.
“She has bail, right?” you snapped. “Or are you just making this up as you go?”
He took his sweet time flipping the papers, scanning over whatever printout he didn’t actually need to look at. Eventually, he sighed. “Fifty bucks. You got it?”
You pulled your wallet from your back pocket and slapped the bills down without counting. His fingers grazed yours when he picked it up. You yanked your hand back.
“I’ll bring her out,” he said. “Wait here.”
And when he turned, you saw it—that slow, deliberate swagger in his step. A man drunk on the little power he thought he had.
Your fingers curled around the edge of the counter. The air in the room felt stale, like old paper and chlorine. You could still smell the faint scent of someone’s takeout behind the desk—greasy and unappealing.
Voices filtered in from the back. Then footsteps.
And then—Jessa.
She looked like hell in the way only girls like you could and still be beautiful. Hair messy, eyes red, oversized zip-up hoodie and cutoffs. But when she saw you, she cracked into something soft. Something real.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, rushing toward you.
You didn’t say anything. Just opened your arms. Let her crash into you like she needed it to survive.
Behind her, Joe leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching.
“I told her not to call you,” he said casually. “Told her it’d only drag you into mess you don’t want.”
You kissed the top of Jessa’s head. “You don’t get to decide that.”
His eyes narrowed, but his smile stayed. A mask. Always.
You took Jessa by the wrist and started toward the door. She was trembling. Her hand clutched yours tighter than it needed to.
And right before you stepped outside, you turned to Joe.
“Next time you want to start something, leave her out of it.”
“Or what?”
You didn’t answer. Just smiled back. A mirror. A warning.
Outside, the sun burned hotter than before. And the wind picked up, carrying whispers with it.
The door clicked shut behind you.
And the town watched.
The sun hadn’t set yet, not really. Not the way you needed it to. Not the way it used to—slow and syrupy, pressing amber over the rooftops like a lullaby. This light was harsh. It sliced across Eddington like truth, exposing every flaw, every whispered secret, every lipstick smear that never quite washed off.
Jessa walked beside you, too quiet.
Her eyeliner had smudged from the station’s heat, or the tears, or both. You’d seen her like this once before—after a regular with a wedding band left bruises where he swore he didn’t touch. You’d let her stay at your place then, made her pancakes in the morning and painted her toes while she read tabloids out loud.
You loved her like a sister you never wanted. That kind of love was complicated.
“You need to stay in,” you said, voice flat like the road ahead.
She didn’t answer.
“I’m serious, Jess.”
Still nothing.
You stopped walking and turned. “He knows your face now. You’re on his radar. You can’t go dancing into Denny’s or Derek’s or whoever’s.”
She blinked up at you. “What’s he gonna do? Arrest me for being poor?”
You didn’t smile. “Worse. He’ll make it look like your fault.”
A beat. A breeze. Dry and rude and carrying the stink of desert rot and motor oil. Somewhere, a lawn sprinkler clicked like a warning.
“I’ll stay in,” she mumbled finally, already halfway checked out. “Ma’s probably got a casserole anyway.”
The house came into view—beige stucco with cracked window trim and a Virgin Mary statue out front that had a wasp nest tucked under her robes. Jessa stood at the door like she was thirteen again, chewing her cuticle and pretending nothing bad had ever happened to her.
You didn’t hug her. You never did. But you touched her wrist gently before she went inside. She looked back once, eyes tired, then shut the door.
And then it was just you.
The walk home was quiet except for the sound of your own footsteps scuffing the baked concrete. You passed a mutt barking at nothing, a for-sale sign swaying in the breeze, and a boy on a BMX bike who didn’t look at you twice.
The sun stayed high, like it was refusing to set for you. Like it knew what waited at home.
You thought about Ted.
Not in the way you used to—not just his hands, his breath, the way he’d press his mouth to your chest like he was listening for something—but in the way you’d started to need him. Not sex. Not really. Not just. You needed the way he looked at you, like you were still tethered to something bigger than this town.
Was he coming tonight?
He hadn't said. Sometimes he just showed up, sweaty from a press conference, the SUV idling in your driveway like a secret he couldn't keep. Sometimes he’d knock. Sometimes he didn’t.
You wanted him to come.
You needed him to.
The wind kicked up dust behind you, and you didn’t turn around.
You saw it the moment you stepped onto your porch.
A white envelope, centered right in front of your door. Not stuck in the mailbox. Not wedged between the frame. No stamp, no return address. It had been placed—deliberate, careful.
Your stomach dropped, but your hands were steady.
You bent down, picked it up. The paper was thick. Expensive. Not local.
Someone wanted you to see this. Someone wanted you to open this. Someone did this on purpose.
When you opened it, inside were photos.
You didn’t breathe as you flipped through them.
One.
Two.
Three.
All grainy. All clearly taken from a distance—long-lens shots from a car or the alley or God knows where.
And there you were.
There he was.
Leaving the Horseshoe. Pre-pandemic, pre-hell, back when your lipstick was redder and his tie was straight.
You remembered the night immediately. Early November. Cold enough for him to press his coat around you in the parking lot, even though his SUV was only ten feet away. You’d kissed him like you were drunk, even though you weren’t. He’d slid his hand up your thigh, underneath your little black dress, and you’d laughed into his mouth.
And someone had captured it. Every second.
The angle was perfect. The implication was worse.
His hand under your hem. Your mouth on his. Your head tilted back like a girl in love, not like a girl trying to survive.
Your fingers trembled now.
Someone had been watching.
Not just watching—waiting.
Collecting proof. Building leverage.
There was a sticky note inside the envelope, too. One line, typed—not written.
Thought the Mayor should be more careful who he screws.
No signature. No threat. But it didn’t need one. The threat was in the silence. In the knowing.
You stood on the porch for what felt like years. The cicadas had started to scream, and your mouth had gone dry. The sun was still there, glaring like a warning, and your throat ached with the kind of sob you refused to give voice to.
Not yet. Not here.
You unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The house felt smaller than usual.
The walls tighter. The shadows longer.
You dropped the envelope on the kitchen counter like it might bite you, and paced once around the room. Your heart was knocking so hard against your ribs you thought you might crack from the inside out.
summary: Joel wasn't always this closed off, but in a world as cruel as this you have no choice but to put up a guard- after the outbreak he never thought he'd have safety again, but when he found his brother in Jackson, that town changed everything. After a long journey to Utah and back, he finally settles into his forever home, but that doesn't mean the mistakes of his past don't haunt him. As he's fighting his inner turmoil of guilt and grief, he starts gaining feelings for you that he hasn't felt in years. He'd learned early on that love brought nothing but hurt- yet, theres something about you that gets him, something that won't fade no matter how hard he tries, but he's not so sure you'd ever feel the same.
warnings: More specific warnings will be on each chapter, slow burn, lots of yearning (mostly from Joel), fluff, angst, joel is obsessed, chapter alternating POVs, conflicting feelings, no use of y/n.
summary: Joel gets settled into life in Jackson, even getting involved in the community– though there might be a reason other than just being a friendly neighbour to all.
warnings: age gap (no specific ages mentioned), slow burn, some angst, yearning with a capital y, Joels POV, reader not looking twice in Joels direction, Joel not handling his feelings well.
Joel and Ellie had arrived back to Jackson after all that had happened, between finally getting to Utah, then Joel finding out how the fireflies were going to get the cure- ending up with Ellie unconscious in his arms as he fled the hospital– it had been a long few months. He just couldn’t let her die, he wouldn’t– she deserved to have a life and a choice, not die on a table as doctors extracted samples from her brain in hopes of creating a cure, they couldn’t even be sure was going to work. She wasn’t dying on his watch for a maybe.
He was selfish, god– he was so selfish, he regretted the decision the second he made it, but he lied to her about everything, telling her they had found others like her and no longer needed her. He shouldn’t have lied, he should’ve came clean– but that little girl meant more to him than he could ever explain, he couldn’t break her trust by telling her the stupid and selfish choice he made, it would ruin not only her, but her trust for him. He couldn't lose her. Now they were back, in the only place he’d ever felt was truly safe, Jackson, Wyoming. The town that he had came across by accident, while looking for his brother, who ended up being there; Tommy was always finding himself in strange places. He had a house now, an actual functioning house, one him and Ellie shared– it sat on the very end of one of the streets.
It was big enough for both of them, the exterior was your average looking suburban house, a mix of white and the original wood colour– though it could’ve used a fresh coat of paint, he wasn’t bothered enough by it to care; it had a good amount of windows and a lawn with a white picket fence and a few large trees on either side of it. There was a porch, he liked that, even made himself a rocking chair just so he could sit out there and take it all in. At first he was wary about decorating the interior, there was furniture but it looked like something you’d see in a book about ’Antiques, a grandmothers guide to furnishing’ . Though he was sick of looking at the bare and old cream walls– something about decorating it as his own filled him with a sense of dread, like if he somehow made it his personal- it would all disappear. Like everything else he touches.
After a few months of being in the house, Ellie had brought up the prospect of painting her room, he could tell she was walking on eggshells when she spoke about the dislike she had for the cream- almost caramel colour that plastered the four walls around her. He was hesitant, but seeing her so enthusiastic about the idea of night-sky blue walls, maybe even hand painting some stars on the roof so every time she lay down to sleep, ‘it would be like I was actually there, in space y’know? so. fucking. cool.’– he couldn’t say anything but yes, all that was coursing through his brain was, ‘you’ve let her down enough, do one nice thing for her.’
So he nodded, gave her a small smile and said “Sure, anythin’ you want, its your room… I’ll talk to Tommy tomorrow, see if he can get me some ’night-sky blue’ paint.” In that moment he didn’t think he’d seen her happier, she practically leaped off the dining table chair across from him and ran off to her room to map out the star pattern on her roof.
Sure enough, he stuck to his word and the next morning stopped by the restaurant in Jackson, Stiegers– Tommy was sat eating his breakfast when Joel sat down in-front of him, set shoulders and same blank expression– Tommy looked up and Joel gave a nod to him. Tommy laughed, then raised a brow. “You’re up early?… everythin’ alright, thought you couldn’t socialise till after one?”
Tommy being the younger brother, and complete opposite of Joel in every regard, was always teasing his older brother about everything. He wasn’t half wrong though, compared to everyone else in Jackson, Joel was a lot less social– that’s just because he doesn’t believe in making meaningless small talk and acting interested in peoples lives when he couldn’t care less. Whereas Tommy was a community man, always helping out and chatting, a true saint for a place like Jackson– Maria made a real man out of him. Joel had his people, they were all he needed, even before the outbreak he wasn’t much of a social butterfly– always too wrapped up in work or Sarah to have a functioning social life, and he wouldn’t have changed that for the world.
Joel looked at Tommy before he lets out a sigh, then beginning his gruff querying about the paint. “You help the construction team out, right? Remember you mentionin’ somethin’ the first time we showed up here… I was wonderin’ if there was a way for me to get some blue paint? Dark blue paint. Its for Ellie, she’s lookin’ to decorate her room like space.”
He was fully expecting Tommy to laugh in his face, but he didn’t, he just nodded and gave a small smile. “Sure… I’ll ask around.” That was that. A few days later Tommy brought the paint around, handing it to Joel with a knowing look and smile before heading back to his house, later that night Joel surprised Ellie with the paint– she was beyond ecstatic, he didn’t think it was possible for one person to have so much excitement over something as mundane as paint.
Now it had been two years of Ellie and Joel living in Jackson, still sharing the house at the end of the street– finally having decorated it as his own, he even made himself a workshop in his bedroom so he could do his carpentry and wood carving; a new found hobby of his. He’d finally been getting more involved in the community, helping out the construction team on building the new houses- even being put in charge of guiding the restoration of an old building into a new library, he’d also been going on patrols every week– but all of the ‘community get togethers’ were out of his comfort zone, the odd time he sucked it up so Tommy and him would have some time together- he was only there for Tommy and to keep an eye on Ellie.
Until last years New Years Party; celebrating the incoming year of 2026, he’d seen you again, and that same thing inside him jittered– a strange warmth that buried itself deep in his chest and wouldn’t shake, one small look at your profile, your hair, even the soft sound of your laugh- made it grow. And it terrified him.
But you never looked his way, never once spoke to him, smiled, waved– even a nod, and it hurt him. You owed him nothing, he knew that much, yet all he thought when he saw you was that same aching feeling in his chest, the one that made it physically impossible to think of anything but you. He'd been feeling like this for months now, but never once mentioned it to you, or even tried to strike up a friendly conversation– why? he was scared.
Scared you'd reject him as stupid– as that sounds for a man like Joel, uncaring and closed-off, but it was true, he knew he wasn't an easy person to be with, to love. He had a past, a dark and unforgiving past, that he couldn't get rid of because it haunted like a ghost with revenge as it's purpose. He wasn't meant for a woman like you, he knew that, and clearly you did too since you never looked twice in his direction– he could tell you were smart enough to stay away, from him and his closed-off nature, but at the same time– all he wanted was for you to see him.
It started getting bad, anytime he'd see you, even if it was just a glance of you down the street– that aching feeling would come back, ten fold. He tried to ignore it, tried to fight it off, distracting himself with random objects if he was shopping and saw you, or focusing on conversations around him if he got a glimpse of your back at a get together.
Nothing worked. Nothing even scratched the fucking surface. If anything it just got worse. He started hoping you'd come around when he was out, searching for your figure in the crowds of the town hall– it was pathetic, and obsessive, and weak- Joel wasn't weak, or so he thought.
So he steered clear of your path for a while, stopped showing up to events completely, walked the opposite way if he even saw a figure on the street that resembled you. Anything to not have to see you in-front of him– and get that feeling in his chest that he can’t get rid of. He just needed a cool off period, a little time to whip his mind back into its closed off and no emotion way, but you’d done something to him– whipped his mind in the complete opposite direction, one that was hard to reshape back to his old way. It also didn’t help that this Saturday was a council members birthday, which meant a party, the whole of Jackson under one roof, as they celebrated Carlton turning 64; he was head of agriculture in Jackson and incredibly respected in the community.
Joel had been invited, seeing as Tommy and Carlton were close, and it would’ve been rude to say no– he was just going to no show and make an excuse later, but that gnawing feeling came back, the one that made him feel all fuzzy inside- purely at the thought of getting a glimpse of your beautiful face and gentle smile. He hadn’t seen you in weeks and it was eating away at him, but at the same time he felt like a massive loser– he should just talk to you if he’s so interested, he told himself. The weakness got the best of him so he got dressed in his best jeans and flannel, which was dark grey colour, like an angry cloud threatening to pour– very fitting for Joel in his latest predicament. Fixing his hair into it's usual messy way by running his fingers through it a few times and cleaning up his beard- ’this is ridiculous,’ he kept muttering to himself, you don't look at him so why is he getting dressed up? but he never stopped getting ready.
’This is pathetic… I am pathetic,’ was all that was coursing through his messed up mind as he walked down the main street, Septembers late afternoon breeze hitting his hair gently as he kept his head down– the last thing he needed, was some chirpy drunkard walking up to him to have a brain-melting conversation. Once he made it to the corner of the street, where the town hall sat, he could already hear the noise of people laughing and muffled voices– he could even hear the music bleeding out from inside the hall.
He walked up to the entrance, giving a few people polite nods on the way by, slowly opening one of the heavy, wooden double doors– loud music, conversations and the sound of shoes dancing on wooden floors immediately hit his ears, he moves past a few people and heads towards the bar. Once he gets to the makeshift bar at the back of the hall; it would only come-out for gatherings, he orders a whiskey and turns his head slightly to scan the room for Tommy, or so he told himself. His eyes fail him until he sees that familiar back of someones head, and its definitely not Tommy’s– unless Tommy had suddenly grown a head of hair that fell down to his mid back like a waterfall, or soft curves that looked beautiful in those jeans. His mouth went dry just at the sight of your back across the room from him. He is incredibly fucked.
He was pulled out from his guttered mind by the bartender clearing his throat from behind the bar, Joel quickly turned back around and muttered a gruff, “Thanks.” with a short nod before picking up the short tumbler, one fourth of it filled with dark amber liquid. As he walked off he spotted Tommy in the back corner of the room, sat at a table with a few of the construction guys, their partners and his wife Maria; Joels nephew, Benji, sat on her lap.
He makes his way over, once he nears the table theres a few ‘Hey man!’ from the guys and some smiles from the women, his usual small, short smile gracing his face for a second. Tommy offers him a seat and he nods and sits down– taking a sip of his drink and nursing it in his hand as he listens to the conversation between the men, sometimes giving the odd comment or gruff laugh.
After an hour and a half, but it felt like three to him, he was about to get another drink when he saw someone nearing the table, someone who looked eerily familiar.
He was listening to Danny rant on about some of the guys on the last wall patrol, that’s when he heard your voice, incredibly close, his eyes immediately bolted to the direction of where he could hear you– and there you were. Stood to the side, in-front of him from across the table as you spoke to Maria, leant down slightly so you could interact with Benji a little, letting the toddler mess with the ends your hair and hands like it was the most interesting thing in the room.
In that moment, you so close, profile of your heavenly face mere feet away from him, being so soft with his nephew- that same warmth spread through his chest like wildfire, and suddenly he forgot all of his thoughts, no longer listening to the men yawn on about patrol and building plans- you flood every sense in his body with just your presence.
Just as a smile was threatening to appear, he was jolted out of his longing daze by the clearing of Tommys throat, his eyes veer back to Tommy beside him– his eyes land on Tommys face, his brows are furrowed in an almost concerned manner. “You good?…” Tommy queried in a curious voice, and Joel just swallowed that soft feeling back before nodding, back to his heady-self in a matter of seconds.
“All good.” Plain and to the point, that was Joel, that should always be Joel– none of this ‘soft longing, warm, lovey-dovey’ bullshit; or at least that’s what he kept uttering in his mind so his eyes wouldn’t look back to you.
Then you mentioned to Maria about a broken stair board from a few weeks ago and Joels interest was immediately peaked. “It was a shock..” You laughed out as you let Benji continue his game with your hands– you were so amazing with kids, no wonder you were such a good teacher. “One minute I was walking upstairs, the next thing half of my left calf was hanging underneath me as I held onto the bannister for dear life– still have to remember to skip a step every night till I find someone to fix it.” Maria laughed, so did everyone else– Joel didn’t.
All those men sat there, perfectly capable of fixing a singular stair board in an hour, not one of them offering to help out a neighbour– someone like you, the only reason any of their children could properly form sentences and use critical thinking, and they just laughed. It pissed him off, beyond belief, so much so that he looked at you– and declared something he knew he would regret the minute he uttered the words.
“I’ll fix it.” That was it, that was all he said, a smile on his face– you glanced at him with a taken-aback look, but it sounded like a promise, a solution to a problem, a way he could show he was fully capable… but what was he trying to prove? Or who was he trying to prove it to? That he cared enough to fix something, something so simple as a stair? As if that would somehow make him an important figure in your life.
But for him it wasn’t simple, it wasn’t just a stair, it meant you could live comfortably– to not have to consciously think about something as simple as walking up your stairs to bed after a long day, you didn’t deserve broken stairs- you didn’t deserve to have to think twice about safety. Jackson was supposed to be as safe and worry-less as possible in this cruel world- so if he had to fix that stair for you to walk up it care free and unharmed, then. he. would.
By that point you had nodded appreciatively at him, he nodded once back then looked back to the men, who were utterly shocked that Joel Miller was offering to help someone; willingly– of his own fucking volition… Though the interaction was brief, and practically nothing, it made that warmth in his chest the same temperature as the sun, it burned, it hurt- but–god–if it didn’t make him feel good.
That night, was the same as every other– accept it wasn’t, cause you had acknowledged him, never-mind acknowledging you fucking nodded. He was glad he could fix something for you, that was how he showed his care, by fixing small things that had a big impact. He hadn’t even asked when he could come over, or what time, he was so wrapped up in your interaction he didn’t even figure out when he could fix the stair– so he plucked up the courage, two days later, to go to your house.
He waited till the evening, seeing as it was a Monday and you’d be teaching till 3, probably staying a little after to clean up and set the classroom for the next day. At 5:35pm, he shrugged on his jacket and pulled on his heavy boots, had he gotten freshened up a little before he showed up to your door? Maybe. That day he opted for a mid-afternoon shower rather than his usual morning one, even though he was clinical about his routines, having to give it up so you’d see the best version of him was a compromise he was willing to make. Maybe then you'd look at him for longer than five, measly seconds.
But if thats all he got, then he'd take it with a grin on his face– well maybe just a small smile, Joel didn't grin– he was a grown man.
His hair still slightly damp as he stepped out onto his porch, shutting his front door behind him, he picks up his tool box that he had left sitting there from earlier this morning- deciding that it would be easier to remember it that way, he was pretty terrible at remembering things and it would embarrass him to show up with no tools and somehow offer to fix your stair. With tool box in hand, freshly trimmed beard and the second nicest flannel he could find, not the same one from Saturday- a forest green one, he began his walk to your house, having asked Tommy for your house number yesterday. He needed to make an impression.
After five minutes, he was there, in-front of your house, it wasn’t far– one street over from his, sat on the edge of the street just like his. It was quaint and smaller, the exterior all dark wood and a navy door- you had a small lawn, half the size of his and a small pebbled path leading to your porch. Once he had walked up the path and the singular porch step, he hesitated- maybe knocking randomly wasn’t the way to go about it… but you sounded like you needed the stair fixed as soon as possible? He was so lost in his contradictory train of thoughts that he hadn’t noticed you at the door.
When he did his brain immediately quieted, all of the overthinking disappearing as you smile at him in the doorway of your house– the first thing to snap him back to functioning was your confused tone as you question his reason for being on your porch, tool box in hand. “Hi?… is everything okay?..”
He simply nodded, then realised he should explain instead of standing, staring like you were the one randomly standing on his porch instead of the other way around. He lifted the tool box in a ‘see’ manner and mustered up the most gentle smile he could, explaining in a gruff murmur, but a soft natured hint seeping in the more he looked at you. “Didn’t mean to disturb you… jus’ had some free time, thought I could fix that broken stair of yours… I offered on Saturday but we never made a plan- assumed as soon as possible was the plan?” Did he just try to make a joke? Now he was really surprising himself.
A moment of realisation hit you, and you nodded with a smile – he made you smile, which in turn made him smile, and internally gloat at the fact you smiled at his stupid attempt at lighthearted sarcasm. “Right!.. I remember now... I honestly forgot. I would really appreciate it- it’s starting to become a slight hazard.” You stepped aside so he could walk in, and he did, he looked around and nodded approvingly, admirably at the decor– you can tell a lot about someone from their house decor, he picked up on the coziness of the space, warm lighting and darker colours– it truly felt like a home from the moment you step foot inside.
You showed him to the stairs which were just down the hall and he got started, he never really realised that fixing your stair wasn’t going to be like hanging-out, but now your absence was hitting him– he was halfway through the job when you appeared in the doorway, immediately his gaze went to you and he gave you a polite nod- a sign he’s aware of your presence, before he turns back to pulling out the old nails from the previous board.
“Do you want anything?… I have coffee or tea? I have water too..” You asked with a polite tone, he shook his head and you nodded once again– it went silent before you spoke up.
“Sorry about this, usually I’m a better host… this was just unexpected– but incredibly appreciated.” You smiled at him again, and he turned his head– his eyes softened as he shook his head reassuringly– if only you knew how much he appreciated the fact that you even let him in here, in your home, your space, without barely knowing him- yet trusting him with your stair.
“Its alright, I ain’t the best house guest either… I’m all good here, nearly done gettin’ this board off then just have to nail the new one down– should be done in… 10 minutes?” The questions rhetorical, you nodded understandingly before walking away again– he should’ve said something, asked about your day or complimented your hair so you'd understand how he feels. He shakes his head to himself, like he’s trying to shake away the what-ifs of a conversation that had just ended.
And surely enough, ten minutes later he’s all packed up, picking up his tool box and slinging his folded over jacket across his forearm– walking across creaky floorboards till he hits the doorway of your kitchen, he halts when he sees you slightly leant over the kitchen counter, forearms rested in-front of you. You’re reading something– probably some kids homework, but seeing you leant over like that, in those jeans that drive him insane already, his mouth goes dry along with his brain. That sight would never leave his mind, ever.
He cleared his throat, to get your attention but also so you’d stop standing like that– he doesn’t even wait for you to turn your head to him, he had to go now- he knew if he didn’t he’d do something stupid, so he utters in his gruff and hurried tone as he walks to your door. “It should be good now… don’t want anythin’ for it, did me a favour by gettin’ me out of the house- was my pleasure.”
God, he sounded pathetic, before he even let you insist and argue over his terms, he gave you another short nod, walking out of the front door and into the cool breeze, that’s what he needed after that. A rude awakening. A slap from mother nature because what he was thinking in there was wrong. He isn’t right for you, he’s too rough, and harsh, and far too fucking old, he doesn't know you and he’s never even tried to. You barely look his way and never would, so his feelings are one-side and meaning-less– thats what he keeps repeating in his mind as he walks back to his house, jaw set. Assumptions were Joels way of coping, its easier to assume than to get the truth and be hurt.
Even if his feelings for you ate him alive, for the rest of his life- he'd deal with it. He's convinced himself he knows how you feel and thats enough to keep him from telling you how he feels, so he’d just admire from afar- like he had been.
summary: Joel wasn't always this closed off, but in a world as cruel as this you have no choice but to put up a guard- after the outbreak he never thought he'd have safety again, but when he found his brother in Jackson, that town changed everything. After a long journey to Utah and back, he finally settles into his forever home, but that doesn't mean the mistakes of his past don't haunt him. As he's fighting his inner turmoil of guilt and grief, he starts gaining feelings for you that he hasn't felt in years. He'd learned early on that love brought nothing but hurt- yet, theres something about you that gets him, something that won't fade no matter how hard he tries, but he's not so sure you'd ever feel the same.
warnings: More specific warnings will be on each chapter, slow burn, lots of yearning (mostly from Joel), fluff, angst, joel is obsessed, chapter alternating POVs, conflicting feelings, no use of y/n.
Summary: It’s July, which means it’s time for the annual family trip to the summer house, when you arrive a day after everyone else you're hit with a shock guest, your secret lover who, just so happens to also be your dads best friend, Joel Miller. Its hard to stay away from one another, that’s until the first Sunday of the trip rolls around and Joel hurts his back– you being a doctor and his girlfriend helps a little, in more ways than one.
Warnings: Smut/ MDNI 18+, lots of kissing, established relationship, age-gap (reader is 28, Joel is 43), dirty talk, fluff, slightly jealous!joel at times, mentions of reader being an ER doctor, one mention of insecurity, description of injury and bruising, no use of y/n.
W/C: 6.7K
A/N: hi to anyone who is reading this, i'm still new to this platform and have mostly just been a silent reader but thought i'd take a try at writing something... posting this is very out of my comfort zone and it probably isn't written the best since this is my first time ever writing fan-fiction but hopefully with more practice and time it'll get better, enjoy!
When you arrived to the summer house, all you expected was the same four people to be sat waiting for you, but as you walked inside you got that instant hit of cedar and wood scented aftershave– at first you thought your nose was playing tricks on you, that’s until you step outside, and sat in the garden of the summer house, your families’ summer house– was none other than Joel Miller. Your heart instantly dropped, your dad never mentioned this, he never told you that Joel would be here– but then again, why would he? He doesn’t know about you and Joel, the late-night calls and weekends spent lying in, he didn’t even know you knew him outside of their friendship.
It'd already been a week since you’d gotten to the summer house, still the same as you remembered, the same bright white exterior– now adorned with accents of sage green shutters and front door, your mother had insisted they both needed a new coat of paint a year ago and your father, of course, had happily obliged.
Though, he did probably have about five neat whiskeys in his system as he smiled over at her and said, “of course honey, anythin’ you want”. She knew him too well– it still had that same smell when you first walked in, like fresh sea air and coconut scented candles- your mother also had a knack for raiding every Bath and Body Works of all coconut scented candles they had.
For the most part it had been okay, a few hiccups the first night between your father and two brothers, James and Ben– they were always arguing about something, but your dad tried to reel it in for once, ‘for Joels sake’, he kept saying. You couldn’t believe that, for once, he was being the level-headed one, thank. god. for Joel– in more ways than one, you suppose. With you and Joel, you’d not even tried to sneak around, it was too risky– with everyone under the same roof, one wrong move and all hell breaks loose.
It's not that you both were embarrassed, the opposite actually, it was just better this way– he’s your dad’s best friend, it’s not exactly the easiest situation to bring up at dinner, or at anytime for that matter. The age-gap didn’t necessarily help the situation either, it wasn’t illegal by any means, you’d met him for the first time when you were 24, he was 39– so it was legal, but people in Texas are judgemental, and your family were the church type; meaning they wouldn’t take kindly to you shacking up with a guy 14 years older than you, never-mind the thought of the community outcry.
Then– to make matters even worse your dad had invited over the neighbour and his son, Dave and Ryan– the last few nights for dinner, they’d bought the house beside yours here in San Antonio, 17 years ago; a year after your family had bought theirs. Your dad and Dave became instant friends and your brothers and you became friendly with Ryan over the years- your brothers more than you. Your dad and Dave had always joked about setting you and Ryan up; but you’d played it off as some dumb thing they did to embarrass you both as teens– that was until this year, you’d found out they went through a bit of financial trouble a few years back and could no longer fully afford the house, so they rented it for those summers they were gone, but now they were back. You hadn’t seen him in so long, you wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t handsome, he was, but Ryan had always been kind of a dick, even to your brothers who he called his friends– he was just one of those guys, too confident and self-assured that it naturally manifested into cockiness, that then manifested into full on dick-ish.
After the first dinner on the Wednesday night, Ryan had been over every day, for your brothers you assumed– but then you saw his eyes veer to you from across the garden, or when you’d lounge on the chairs beside the pool, even when you’d walked past him a few times and he’d just randomly strike up conversation with that stupid, smug grin he’d plaster on his face to seem appealing- the only thing it did for you was the sudden urge you’d get to smack it off him.
The first night you thought you were in the clear, it was nearing the end of the dinner and nothing had been said thus-far that was until, your dumb dad had brought up the jokes him and Dave used to make when you were younger– about how you used to ‘get pretty for Ryan’ all those years ago– pfft, as if! You were just fifteen and self-conscious. Ryan had laughed at the remarks, you smiled awkwardly and sipped your drink but your eyes subtly veered to Joel and you seen the falter in his smile. In that moment, part of you felt horrible– but a deep, twisted part of you revelled in the fact he looked pissed at that, the thought of him being jealous over dumb remarks from ten years ago made your thighs clench together under the table.
After that night Joel had made a point to show off, you could tell, he started making a point of walking past you in his swimming trunks, swimming in the pool when you were lay basking in the sun on a lounger, even in the morning he’d walk downstairs in his sweatpants and no t-shirt just so you’d do a double take– and you had to say it worked incredibly well, you could barely peel your eyes away half the time, you were always focused on some part of his body when he was around.
His legs were nice, strong, sun-kissed like the rest of him, they looked especially beautiful when he’d get out of the pool– each step he took his calf muscles flexed, glistening as the sun hit off the water balling off of them. His arms, my. god. his arms… they’d send even the most holy of church women to silence if they got one glance of those thick, honey-toned biceps– his forearms weren’t much better, sometimes if he flexed the right way this–one–vein would pop out with practised ease, it trailed from the crease of his elbow and somehow, wrapped sinfully over his arm till it hits his hand, and you don’t even want to get started on his hands. He was just a complete sight for sore eyes, he was built just right, broad and heady, the gruffness he carries in tone almost melts into his demeanour making him even more want-able– that was the only way you could describe him, not easily attainable, but want-able.
He'd also been getting more involved in the stupid activities your brothers, Ryan and your dad had been doing for years– the type of activities you’d only see frat guys participate in at parties to show off to girls- even though it usually did the complete opposite; things like beer pong, shot-gunning beers and for some strange reason, they had added running… to the mix this year? When you’d seen Joel stroll down into the empty kitchen on Friday in a pair of what could only be described as glorified underwear, black with a thin white strip down the side, they were running shorts but just slightly too tight for him. You snorted into your coffee and he turned his head to look at you, stood over the sink filling a water bottle as he tilted his head in confusion– you set your coffee cup on the table in-front of you and your laptop, turned on your seat to face him; your legs crossed under you, still in your shorts and baggy t-shirt from the night before.
“What are you wearing Joel?” You looked him up and down again, smiling in an almost disbelieving way as you tilted your head to match his. “Are those my brothers running shorts?”
When he nodded you laughed softly, turning back on the seat properly so you could grab your coffee, head turning back to him once more as shake it in a tutting manner, taking another sip of your coffee– it wasn’t that they looked bad, they didn’t, they looked amazing on him– you were just amused that Joel Miller was actively choosing to go on a run on a Friday morning at 7:12am.
Then, he walked over to the table and sat beside you, you looked over to him again– trying to make it as un-ogling as possible, but when you seen him sitting so leisurely beside you, you couldn’t help but smile softly, your elbow set on the table as you rested your chin on your hand- still gazing at him as you mutter something softly. Something just for him, even though the kitchens empty.
“You look handsome…” That’s all you say, but it’s enough for him to turn his head and smile at you, it was more of a grin, a real and almost boyish grin– then Ryan walked in, immediately the intimate mood broke, and you went back to your coffee and laptop in-front of you.
Sunday afternoon, 12:46pm. It’d been a quiet morning, it had rained today, and it wasn’t letting up, you and your family were supposed to go shopping today but you decide to pass– thank god you had, otherwise you’d be stuck in that awful rain, you’d changed from your usual shorts and baggy t-shirt to a sweater and sweatpants. For some odd reason– you decided to make cookies, so you had been downstairs all morning, at some point you forgot the whole house was empty except for you and Joel– he hadn’t came down all morning and once you’d made the cookies and cleaned up you finally realised he was here, weird, but you just set the drying towel down and made your way to the stairs.
You made it up the stairs and walked down the obnoxiously long hallway, until you made it to his room, you went to knock the door but it was already slightly ajar– you saw him through the crack, face down on the bed in sweats and a t-shirt, you slowly made your way inside and shut the door softly- when you shut the door you’d seen him tense, you locked it quietly, just in-case, speaking up gently.
“Just me…” You spoke under your breath, making your way over as you plopped yourself down beside him on the bed, his head was turned away from you as he lay on his stomach- you smiled to yourself, then you noticed his hand on his back and your brows furrowed slightly, his voice jolts you out of your thinking as he speaks up- tone just as southern and gruff, but there was always a hint of softness when you were alone.
“Went on a run this mornin’ with Ryan, think I–” He tried to roll over, but– to no avail he just lets out a slight groan and gives up before he continues again. “–pulled somethin’ in my back… hurts like hell.”
You press your lips together in an attempt to hold back a laugh, but a small snicker leaves them and you can practically feel his annoyance permeating through the room in that moment, you move to rest your hand over his on his back. “Joel… why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve gotten you something.” Your tone sounds like a mix of defeated and pleading.
He was always so stubborn about things, one of those guys that would never ask for help, probably didn’t believe he needed it in the first place– but you have a feeling there’s more to it, you just think it would’ve been smart to ask the only actual doctor in the house for a little help. You looked back to him again before you leant down and kissed the back of his head gently, overtop those salt and pepper curls that adorned down the nape of his neck– his hair was another thing you very much appreciated, he had let it grow out a little one time and you had complimented it– after that he always got it cut in that exact way.
“You do realise my dad didn’t pay $200,000 in med school tuition for four years, for me to walk out with no medical degree?” You hear a gruff, short laugh leave his lips and you smile to yourself.
“Well, doc. I ain’t gonna bother you with my pathetic back, just an age thing, pulled something– nothing worth wastin’ your time.” He says it so finally, as if there’s no room for the fact that he could have hurt himself.
“Or–maybe–it’s the fact that you’re running 5 more miles than you ever have before, every single day, for no reason?” If he knows anything about you it’s that you don’t take finality, so of course you challenge in your matter-of-fact way.
He just stays quiet, no reply, no arguing, no pushing back, just silence– tells you all you need to know, you gently rest your free hand on the mattress and keep your other rested on the side of his lower back, you rest all your weight on the arm that’s connected to the hand on the mattress. Gently, you lean over him, till you get to an angle where your heads now in-front of his, so he’s looking at your face rather than the dull cloud grey of the wall in-front of him. When you see his brow all set, the way it would when he’s annoyed but doesn’t really understand why, you smile softly- he looks at you and you can see his brow soften.
“Hi…” You confide, almost like it’s a secret only worthy of his ears.
He smiles at you, you can tell he’s softened now, the furrow of his brow no longer there– the creases stay but that’s just from age and his constant use of his forehead when expressing how he feels without using words. “Hey…” he replied, as softly as was humanely possible for the gruff and heady Joel.
You stay leant over him as you speak again, tone gentle, less clinical– if there’s one thing you know about Joel, it’s that he doesn’t take kindly to advice being given in an authoritative tone, he doesn’t like being lectured when he’s already in a pissed-off mood. “Y’know the worse thing for a back injury is heat?”
When you’d placed your hand on his back minutes earlier, you felt his hand first which was warm–like always–until you moved your thumb slightly and there was heat radiating off his back, more than normal, that’s when you made the conclusion he’s using a heating pad. Probably asked your mom for something and that’s the first thing she handed him, what he needs is a cold compress. From how he's acting you don’t think it’s too serious, he’s probably right about pulling a muscle which suggests inflammation; the worse thing for inflammation is heat– what he also needs is some ibuprofen and rest.
“It could be serious but from the way you’re acting I’m gonna guess it’s just a pulled muscle, which means something in there is inflamed– and that heat pack is exacerbating it even more…” You gently sat back on the mattress beside him as you spoke. “Can I take a look?” You knew he would say yes, but you didn’t want to assume so you ask– just in case.
When he nods you gently lift up his black t-shirt, holding it up to his mid back as your fingers graze the soft skin over his spine, you gently lift the heat pack off– it’s a little bruised but that’s not uncommon for pulled muscles, where the bruise is placed isn’t sinister so you know he hasn’t done any irreparable damage- just overexertion. You graze your fingers over the light yellow and purple patches, dotted over that beautiful honey-toned skin– when you graze the skin, you hear him let out a soft breath, as if he was holding it in and didn’t realise until he let it out.
You slowly pull the t-shirt back down, letting it rest on the edge of the waistband of his sweatpants before you lean back over to look at him– gentle eyes on his as you smile. “Theres a little bruising but you haven’t hit the point of no return– rest and icing it should take the pain away, but the bruising will go away with time…” You lean in closer, kissing his forehead benevolently. “no more running for a little while, but I’m gonna guess you’re not really displeased by that?”
You lean back from his forehead to look at him again and he’s smiling softly, almost sheepishly up at you– after a few seconds of silence he shakes his head. “Nah… I’m pretty okay with that.” He lets out a gruff, short laugh, then he looks back to you again– eyes gentle, beckoning. “How’d you get up here without anyone noticin’?”
You were about to reply when he decides to shift under you, with soft grunts he moves from laying on his stomach to laying on his back– now why would he ever think that was a good idea? He’s wincing slightly before he settles back, head resting into the pillows– your hands now bracketing his broad shoulders as they rest on either side of the mattress; you’re still hovered over him. Rather than being leant over his back, his chest is now grazing yours– you adjust your head and gaze so you’re looking down at him rather than being horizontal, you give him a confused smile.
“Everyone’s gone into the city for the day, won’t be home till after dinner– they made dinner reservations this morning, I said I’d make you dinner y’know?… My mom couldn’t believe I was offering to cook, played it off like I had a newfound love for the Food Network.” You laughed softly as you looked down to him, but his eyes just softened even more, and you didn’t know what else to say in that moment.
You relished in that look, those eyes of his– the fact he moved onto his sore back just so he could look up at you, with a gaze that was pathetic- in a way that made your knees weak. He looked at you like it was the first time he’d gotten a glimpse of you since he got back from war, as if, for the first time– he could just look at you, your hand moves to push back a few hairs from his forehead.
Fingers graze the shallow cracks adorning his soft temple, pushing the hair back till it hits the edge of his forehead– your eyes drift back to his, your touch tender- like if you press to hard, somehow; he’ll crack underneath you.
“I like your hair today, you look like some sorta… eighties folk rock singer.” You listen to his words as he plays with one strand between his fingers, twisting the ends between his forefinger and thumb pads gently– you hadn’t done anything different with your hair, you actually thought it looked a little messy, but you know Joel- he wouldn’t say something if he didn’t mean it.
You smile down at him, sheepishly, at his gentle way of making you feel like the most beautiful woman to grace his presence. “Didn’t do anything different, guess it’s just because I did it a few hours ago it’s a little less pristine?”
“Looks pretty pristine to me…” He sounds so sure of himself, like he’s already convinced you your hair looks nice. “–looks effortless or whatever, ain’t that your whole thing? The effortless look?”
You raise a brow before you push his chest gently, feigning offence with a smile on your face. “Is that your idea of a compliment? And no, well–I dunno–shouldn’t I be asking you that? If you think I look effortless?” You question softly.
He shrugs before he reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers graze your cheekbone tenderly as he continues to look up at you with a warm smile. “Effortless is a compliment in my books, means you don’t have to try– got that natural thing goin’ for you… lotta people would kill for that.”
Yet again, your brain melts, into some sort of soft, gooey mess, all because of his words and touch– to him its seems like the easiest thing but hearing him talk about you like that makes you feel all but completely broken open, in a good way- the best way. You, once again, smiled down at him in an endeared way. “Yeah?…” You pleaded in an affirming voice.
His calloused palm cups your cheek, caressing it as he keeps his eyes on you, soft crows feet forming on either side of them as he smiled– his eyes were always on yours. “You sound shocked by that? You don’t think you got natural beauty?”
If anyone else had said it, it probably would’ve been an insult– some sort of mockery on your ‘lack of self-preservation’ when it came to looks, since a lot of the time you were so busy with work at the hospital (and the hours were killer in the Emergency Medicine field), your self-care was always on the back burner. Was that healthy? No. At the same time– you knew what you signed up for when you chose to specialise in EM, so you got used to the oddly timed sleeping schedule, eye bags and lack of social events.
Hearing him talk about you like that made all of that disappear, you were no longer worried about your non-pristine hair or that your eye-bags were particularly greyer today. None of that mattered when Joel was beneath you, caressing your face with his calloused hands, looking up at you like you’d just saved his metaphorical cat from a tree; with pure and real admiration.
He spoke up again, after your lack of response but sudden sufficiency to stare. “You’re sittin’ funny.” He looks up at you with a playful grin, you look down and you suppose you were sitting funny– your knees were under you, but resting on the mattress beside him as you hovered your chest over his, hands bracketing his shoulders on the bed. You were only sat like that since he was on his stomach before he decided to roll over, the only other way you could sit but keep the closeness was if you sat on him– or rather, straddled him.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, but his back was sore and the last thing he needed was you resting all of your bodyweight on his hips– especially since its his lower back that’s hurt. “I don’t know how else I’m gonna sit properly and stay close, without sitting on you…”
“So sit on me?” He replied plainly, as if it was the most normal thing– and for you both- it was, that wasn’t the problem– you just didn’t want to hurt him.
“If I sit on your lap Joel, I’m gonna kill your back even more… all my weight will be on your hips, it’ll hurt– I don’t want to do that.” Your tone began matter-of-factly, then faltered into a worried one, eyes heavy on his and you move one of your hands to rest on his shoulder.
“Y’know that was a rhetorical question? I ain’t gonna break, I ain’t made of glass– can handle you… ‘Sides, house is empty for the first time in a week- means we don’t gotta worry ‘bout anyone.” He’s already tugging at your hips before he’s even finished his point, you laugh softly before you shake your head in a sarcastic ‘unbelievable’ way– but his borderline pleading tone made you relent.
“Okay! Okay!,” You sit up on your knees beside him as you move his hands off your hips. “–you’re relentless, Miller.” You let out a sound that’s a mix of a scoff and laugh before you move, slowly moving one knee to bracket the other side of his hips– keeping your hips off his. “Tell me if anything hurts?” You firmly tell him, no room for argument.
He sits up and nods, self-satisfied grin plastering his face– he’s so fucking proud of himself for getting you to sit on his lap, you laughed softly and lowered down at a pace that matched one of a sloth descending from a tree. When your hips made contact he winced a little, barely, but you noticed and hovered– he looked over at you with a raised brow and a non-audible ‘seriously?’ before he moved his hands to your waist and guided you all the way down, wincing again as you settled.
“You’re fucking ridiculous…” You mutter sarcastically as you shake your head, and he just nods proudly, each nod long– making sure that you understand, that he understands, just how fucking ridiculous he is, but he doesn’t care. You roll your eyes playfully, placing a hand on his chest in-front of you– you tried to play it off like you were just doing it to hold yourself up, but it might’ve helped that you could feel his broad chest and warmth beneath his t-shirt.
His hands moved under your sweatshirt, even though you weren’t cold, Joels hands felt like two heaters being placed directly on your skin– the soft heat is such a contrast from the callous and span of his hands, you let out a soft breath as they rest on the sides of your ribs. You look down at him with a gentle expression as your hand continue to rest on his chest, you can feel his heartbeat on your palm– steady and knowing, like it has a specific rhythm when you touch his heart.
“Thought comin’ on this trip meant I’d see you more, that’s why I came– realise how stupid that thought was now… though, seein’ you in those bikinis– makes me regret comin’ a little less.” As he spoke his fingers grazed the underwire of your bra.
“What about now?… if you stayed home you wouldn’t have been able to have me like this– you regret your decision even less?” You query with a smug grin, his fingers graze right around the wire of your bra till they hit the back band– resting over the clasp.
“‘Suppose… just a little pissed my backs so fucked, otherwise I’d have been down there hours ago,” He leaves his sentence open-ended and you raise a brow, he smirks smugly at you and you scoff.
“Say it…” You all but whine out, he knows you hate when he does that.
He half scoffs, half laughs before gently pulling your head closer– hovered over his again, one hand still at the clasp of your bra. His warm breath cascades over your lips, then he hovers his head up, lips against your ear as he breathes out. “You’d be up on that counter.” Your breathing halts.
As his head leans back from you, you look down with a silent craving gaze. “Joel…” You breathe out, your head dropping down to rest your forehead against his shoulder in a defeated manor– the hand on the back of your head caressing the hair there, he lets out a soft, almost teasing chuckle- he knew exactly what he was doing.
He piped up after a few seconds, tone low and deep– downright provocative. “Baby… you’re killin’ me here.” His hand continues to caress your hair, once he speaks you look up from his shoulder– your hands move up his chest, one resting a-top his shoulder, the other rests on the side of his face.
You lean down even more, lips parted as your breaths mix with one an-others– your breathing gets heavier before you lean in, kissing him gently. The kiss doesn’t stay gentle for long, your fingers in his hair gripping the short tufts as you move your lips against his– his hand gripping the hair at the nape of your neck- pulling you even closer in an attempt to deepen the kiss even further.
The hand on your bra clasp had wandered down and was now resting on the small of your back, his palm firm and flat against the skin– conforming to the slight arch in your back as a result of you on his lap. After what felt like hours (probably only a few minutes had passed), you pulled back to catch your breath, forehead resting on his as your chest heaved. “Fuck…” You breathed out, your hand resting on the side of his head moved to the back, griping the hair there gently.
He laughed softly, sort of mockingly– his chest heaving, moving his fingers right into your hair, he looks at you. “That good, huh?” Then the bastard full on smirks at you, all but gloating that he broke you down into a heaving, speechless mess from a few kisses.
You’re trying to think of a good way to wipe that smug smirk off his face, but words continue to fail you, you decide to be bold. Slowly, you move the hand that was on his shoulder downwards, till you hit the middle of his chest, you lean up straight on his lap as you keep your gaze guarded– gently, you start rocking back and forth in his lap, over his cock– you can feel his breath hitch under your palm, his length hardening underneath you. You let out a soft whimper as you keep your eyes on him, you were going to try the whole smug-dominance thing but it had been so long since you felt him that everything left your mind the minute you rubbed yourself against him.
“Jo- Joel…” You whimper softly, your eyes close softly as your head falls back– he grips your hair a little roughly, but not enough to hurt you as he guides your head back up.
“Look at me…” He grunts out. “Need to see you..” Another groan, his hips bucking upwards, begging for more friction. You open your eyes to look at him and let out your first real and incredibly needy moan, you watch as he winces with another buck of his hips– his back, in all of this you had completely forgotten about his back, immediately the doctor in you made your body pause its movements.
Then his gaze falters, his brow furrows in a hungry, frustrated manner. “Why’d you stop? Everythin’ alright?”
You nod, your chest heaving as you caress his hair carefully. “You were wincing, I forgot about your back– don’t want to hurt you anymore than you already are… we can–”
He cuts in mid sentence. “Baby… baby…” Both of his hands cup your face and your apologetic look falters, he shakes his head with a soft smile. “You ain’t hurtin’ me… I was alright, perfect actually.” His fingers tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’m okay to keep goin’, but if you don’t wanna–”
You cut him off with a deep kiss, your hand gripping his hair as you pull his face impossibly close to yours– letting your lips part as his tongue enters your mouth. One of his hands moves to rest against the side of your neck, the other moves back to its spot under your sweater, on the small of your back– gently he pulls you closer to his chest. He’s now fully sat up with you in his lap, holding your back gently before he rolls you on your back and hovers over you- never breaking the kiss.
He pulls back and you let him, letting go of his hair, you watch as he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it to the side before he leans back down– kissing you again as his hands grip the opening of your sweater, he gently tugs it up and you arch your back off the bed slightly so he can get it off. You sit up as he pulls it off, chasing his lips as your hands cup the sides of his head, deepening the kiss again– his hands holding your waist firmly.
You’ve barely been able to breathe never-mind speak, he pulled back slightly before he leans in– kissing down your jaw, neck and collarbones till he hits your chest, he grazes his lips over the bare skin peaking out from your bra and you let out soft moans, gripping his hair gently. You look down to him and after he’s kissed the expanse of bare skin on your chest he kisses his way back up to your lips, his lips graze yours before you breathe into his mouth. “I’m so wet Joel… I need you, I really need you…” He lets out a desperate growl before he pulls you back in, kissing you hard.
He lays you down again and kneels between your legs as he sits up straight, he hooks the tips of his forefingers into the waistband of your sweatpants– leaning back down to kiss down your ribs and stomach, simultaneously, he pulls down your sweatpants till they pool at your knees. You let out a needy moan at each kiss before he hits the front of your pelvis– he places a few soft kisses over your panties then pulls back again, always leaving you high and dry.
You whined softly, immediately sitting up on your elbows so you can look down at him, tilting your head and raising a brow when you see him hovered over the space between your thighs– thumbs now hooked in the openings of your panties for your legs. “You gonna actually do something or just continue to breathe on me like I’m one of those un-blowable birthday candles?”
He smirks at you smugly and you scoff to yourself, just as you scoff you feel him grip the part of your panties his thumbs were hooking and pulls them off, enticingly slowly, once they hit where your sweatpants rest he bunches them both in his hands and pulls them off fully– throwing them aside just like he did with his shirt. You watch him sit up on his knees again, watching you lay there, just in your bra with your legs open as he sits between them– his gaze is slightly possessive as he speaks up. “Ryan ain’t ever gonna see you like this… you hear me?” You laughed softly at first, but his gaze only hardened on you– you nodded understandingly and instantly the possessiveness left as quick as it came, was he jealous of Ryan? Is that why’d he’d been doing all these things and getting involved, so he could keep an eye on Ryan?
You were so lost in thought you nearly missed his hands moving, immediately you drop all questioning thoughts– your gaze followed his hands as they move down to his hips, hooking his fingers into his own sweatpants before he pulled them and his boxers off, at the same time. When he’s sat bare in-front of you, your mouth goes dry, but at the same time the sight of him is mouth-watering- you’d seen his cock before, thick and honey-toned just like the rest of him, you look back up to his eyes before you opened your legs even wider, a beckoning invitation. He slowly crawls until he’s on top of you, your legs wrap around his waist; arms wrapping around his neck with your hands rested on his back, fingers gripping at the skin before he’s even entered you.
You keep your eyes on his, his hands bracket your head on the mattress, strong arms flexing under his weight– he looks down at you, speaking up after minutes of heavy breathing and silence. “Gonna go slow… been so long since I felt you, wanna enjoy it.” His tone was hungry, commanding and like always left no room for disagreement– like you’d ever disagree to feeling him fully and slowly.
Then, achingly slowly, he moves his hand down to grip himself, gently tracing the wetness of your folds before he lines himself up and enters you unhurriedly– your back immediately arches as you let out a broken moan, fuck that felt good. Your fingers claw at his back even harder, digging into the skin as he continues pushing himself inside you, inch by inch– each one breaking you open more and more, somehow you managed to keep eye contact; aside from the occasional flutter shut so you could let out a particularly loud moan, one that would make your jaw slacken for a second before you collected yourself.
Once he was fully inside you he waited before moving, letting you (and himself) adjust to the fact he was finally, fully back inside you, after a few seconds you looked at him– he looked down at you and knew from your gaze that you were ready, you were so fucking ready. Gently, he thrusted his hips into yours and you let out what could only be describe as a cacophony of embarrassingly desperate noises, one of your hands moved from his back into his hair as you pulled his head down to meet your lips– kissing him hungrily as his thrusts got deeper. “You feel… so fuckin’ good… missed the feelin’ of fuckin’ you.” Those words made your hips chase his movements even more, made your mouth move faster and the hand in his hair claw the fistful even harder.
His pace quickens as your noises get needier and louder, he knew what that meant, so he accommodated for it– hitting that one spot deep inside you that he knew made you see stars, and–god–were you seeing stars. “I’m so fucking close Joel… keep going...” You moan into his mouth, the heated kissing never faltering– your words seemed to work because you were moaning louder and louder till it hit, the pure rush of heat and ecstasy as you threw your head back into the pillow and let out a cry of noises and words. Some his name, others curses– after a few seconds, you’re brought out of your fucked-out daze when you feel his movements more frantic, his voice louder as he utters your name and things like ‘so fuckin’ good’, ‘fuck… oh fuck’ till theres one last ’so fuckin’ beautiful’ before a loud groan and the feeling of his warmth leaking into you slowly.
His thrusts become gentler as he rides out his orgasm, you feel him begin to soften inside you before he pulls out and collapses beside you, laying on his back- his eyes shut as his chest heaves. Your breathing isn’t nearly as frantic anymore, and you look over to him, sweaty and worn-out. Theres something inherently soft about Joel after sex– its like his whole demeanour changes when he’s post-fuck, soft and pliable, like you could ask him to do for you anything and he’d just say yes in a sex-haze because he’s so pleased. Your hand moves from the mattress to rest on his forearm, squeezing it once to get his attention, and when he turns his head with a soft look in his eye– you smile.
“Making sure you’re still alive, was worried I was wrong about your back and somehow it had killed you.” You muttered sarcastically, but gently– hand moving up to his face as you push a few sweaty curls off his brow.
“Still here, just happy- and unable to fuckin’ breathe…” He let out a gruff chuckle. “…don’t think i’ll ever get used to fuckin’ you– its like every time you just… find a way to make it feel like my first, scary stuff.” His tone was one of sarcasm as he dramatically shuddered, you pushed his arm gently– never could take anything too seriously, could he? But your stupidly, sheepish grin let all ideas of you acting annoyed fly out the window.
He always knew how to make you feel like you were meant to be, like you were always destined to be his.
